Page 17 of An Ill-Made Match

He watched as she opened the casement window and threw the water from the basin out before refilling it from the jug. Every move she made was graceful and decisive. She washed her face and hands and dried herself off with a cloth, before turning back to him. “Do you have such a thing as a comb?” she asked.

Roland nodded toward his pack. “Help yourself.”

She balked a bit at going through his things, but when he simply placed both hands behind his head and stretched out on the bed, seemed to realize he wasn’t going to get it for her. “Where should I look?” she asked, unfastening the cords with nimble fingers.

“I’m not very tidy when it comes to packing,” he admitted as she flung open the lid and winced, casting him a reproachful look.

“I did warn you,” he smirked.

She peered inside. “Is it wood or bone?” She lifted out a pen-knife and discarded it, then a dice-cup, followed by a pack of cards. “Ah, here ‘tis.” She turned it over in her hands before sitting in an uncomfortable looking wooden chair and loosening her hair braid.

He guessed she did not want to sit on the bed and pulled a face. His stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry,” he commented and supposed he must be feeling much improved.

Eden glanced over at the table by the window. “There’s the bread and cheese the servants left last night.”

Roland eyed it with disfavor. “It looks stale.” He rose from the bed and walked over to pick up a hunk of the bread. It was hard as a rock. “It must have been stale when they brought it in,” he said with disgust and crossed to the basin to wash.

Eden did not respond. Her hair was now a black shining veil down to her waist almost. He tried not to stare, but in truth he found it hard to tear his eyes away from her. She was too pale and slim to be comely, but for whatever reason, she pleased his eye this morn. Elegant. It was never a word he thought he’d use to describe a woman, but that was the only one that fitted her. She sat in only her shift, in a common tavern chamber, and still managed to look like a queen. Her eyes were a deep royal blue. How had he never noticed the color before? He wanted to object when she started to neatly braid her hair again, but managed to still his tongue. Instead he looked about him for his clothes and set about getting dressed. He’d almost forgotten Oswald’s letter, when he noticed it out of the corner of his eye. When he’d fastened his tunic, he walked over to the window and perused its contents, turning his back as Eden donned her black gown.

Dear Roland, Oswald had written.

Hopefully this letter finds you mostly recovered from the after effects of your nuptials. Few know so well as I, the unpleasant repercussions that have to be endured before one is restored to full health. After some deliberation, I believe it would be better if you allowed me to prepare the ground for you at court for a month or so before you and Eden return. By that time the talk of your marriage should have died down somewhat. You can also be assured that I will do my best to reconcile the King and Queen to your unsanctioned union.

I can put it about that you have taken Eden on a tour – perhaps to compete in a tourney or two along the way and display your prowess in the field to your bride. You might even decide to journey as far as Vawdrey Keep, to show Eden the property she is now mistress of by rights. I am sure you know best how to conduct yourself in a manner that your new wife will find agreeable.

I remain, as always, your affectionate brother

Oswald

Roland’s eyebrows shot up as he read the letter through twice and then passed it wordlessly to Eden, who had finished dressing. He watched her gaze travel over the page. Her eyes widened and then grew thoughtful as she neared the end of the missive.

“Perhaps your brother is right,” she sighed, as she passed it back to him. “These scandals are usually only a three-day wonder, after all.”

He murmured some agreement as his mind ticked over. There was a tournament close by that he had meant to attend once the betrothal feast was over with. It was being held at Sir Aubron Payne’s estate in nearby Tranton Vale. He had his armor and weaponry, provided Oswald had not taken any of it back with him to court. Somehow he doubted that his brother had taken such a mis-step, after suggesting as much in his letter. In any event, he could check with Cuthbert after they had broken their fast. “Shall we venture below stairs and see if we can find some repast?” he suggested absently, and held his hand out to her. Eden looked a little flushed as she took it, and he led their way out of the room and down the stairs in search of food and his squire.

**

Eden started her third piece of toasted bread with a slightly self-conscious air. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was. Glancing at Roland wolfing down his second plate of roasted fish, she comforted herself she was not the only one suddenly ravenous.

“Regaining your strength, like as not,” commented the landlord’s wife with satisfaction as she tucked her hands behind her apron. “Millie, bring another dish out for these gentlefolk,” she bellowed in the direction of the kitchen. “Starting to get a bit concerned about you, we was,” she confided, with a shake of her head. “I mean, we knew you was newlyweds, but there’s overdoing a thing you know.” Eden shot a startled glance at Roland who looked as blank as she felt. “Depend upon it”, I says to my man. “Poor little maid will be as wan as a bowl of curds by the time he lets out of that there bedchamber!”” Roland’s mouthful of cod was suddenly choking him and the good lady thumped him obligingly on his back. “Better sir?” she asked solicitously. “You needs to learn to control your appetites,” she said with a sly wink at Eden. “I’m sure your good lady wife will agree to that.”

Eden sat up very straight. “Quite,” she said in a stifled tone, unsure how else to stem the tide of the woman’s words.

“There now, don’t take on, that squire o’your’n explained how it was to us,” said the landlady cheerfully. “How mad the young sir was for you, that he wouldn’t rest until he’d stolen you out from under your uncle’s hand. Even if it meant he had to ruin you first.”

Now it was Eden’s turn to nearly choke. Her eyes watered as she swallowed her dry mouthful of toast.

“Cuthbert told you that, did he?” asked Roland grimly. “What an obliging lad he is.” His head turned sharply as sound of a whistled tune growing closer. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

This must be Cuthbert, thought Eden, who had only the vaguest impression of Roland’s squire. He was a good-looking youth, she thought, though clearly not a Vawdrey with that head of golden hair and clear blue eyes.

“Good morrow”, he grinned, sauntering up to their table. “Risen finally, have we?” He gave a bow, that was more of a nod in Eden’s direction.

Roland glanced at the window in surprise. “The hour is surely not more advanced than eight,” he frowned.

Cuthbert cleared his throat. “Aye, true enough, but you’ve missed a full day and a night in entirety.”

“What’s that?” Roland asked thunderstruck.