Page 20 of An Ill-Made Match

Cuthbert bobbed around on his saddle, pointing out various standards and pennons. “Lord Kentigern’s here!” he exclaimed with satisfaction, gesturing at a large banner of a portcullis against a blue background. “I thought we would not see him till Vettell.”

Roland nodded absently but was clearly scanning the colors for someone else’s. “There,” he said, pointing to a tent set to the far left. “There’s Bev and Attley’s pavillion.” He set off in that direction and Eden surmised these were his friends Sir Edward Bevan and Sir James Attley. She knew them by sight, but did not think she had ever exchanged more than three words with either of them. Her heart sank a little at the prospect of Roland breaking the news to his closest acquaintance, but she braced herself and urged her horse forward nonetheless. It must have been their standards he recognized, for the tent flaps were down and no-one was in sight except for a sulky-looking boy with a head of coppery curls.

“Ancel’s still around then,” Cuthbert said as if he took no pleasure in the fact.

“Who is Ancel?” asked Eden, when Roland took no notice.

“Sir Ned’s new squire,” Cuthbert answered without enthusiasm. “There he goes,” he added with a snort, as the boy slipped around the side of the tent and scarpered. “Scared he’d be asked to help rub down the horses, likely as not, lazy beggar!”

Eden did not get the chance to respond, for Roland had swiftly dismounted and before she knew it, was plucking her out of her saddle.

“I can dismount myself,” she objected rather breathlessly, as he set her down in front of him.

“Newlyweds, remember?” he murmured, crooking an eyebrow at her.

Were they supposed to be playing a role? Eden wondered with a frown. If so, he had not filled her in on the plan! Before she could voice any reservations, he had wound an arm around her waist and was steering her toward the opening of the tent. “See to the horses,” he flung over his shoulder at Cuthbert. Eden took a deep breath as the woven jute fabric was brushed aside and she found herself pulled through the entrance.

Inside the tent, all was in disarray. Eden’s eye fell first onto the wooden table strewn with armor, and then on the two surprised males in a varying state of undress.

“Roly!” shouted the taller one jovially. “Didn’t expect to see you here, you young brute!” His eye wandered idly to Eden and then widened. “What the-?”

The blonder one yelped, and scurried behind the other side of the table to secure the ties on his braies.

Roland side-stepped in front of Eden, obscuring her view. “Why the hells aren’t you two dressed at this hour?” he complained. “I’ve been up for hours!”

“Not really fair Roly,” protested Sir Edward. “Bringing spectators into this area before noon!”

“Did you bring all your prospective in-laws?” asked Sir James with pointed disapproval.

“She’s not a spectator,” answered Roland mildly. “She’s my wife.”

Eden, who was still stood behind his bulk, closed her eyes, even though she couldn’t see their reactions. The stunned silence that greeted his words, spoke volumes. Roland picked up an overturned goblet and poured some ale from a jug into it. He took a swig, and then passed it back to Eden. So thirsty was she, that she happily drained the rest of the cup.

“Y-your wife, you say?” stammered Sir James, still clad only in his white linen underclothing.

“Aye,” agreed Roland, taking the empty cup back off Eden and calmly re-filling it. She shook her head when he re-offered it to her. He tossed back the contents in one gulp. “Take a drink with me.” he suggested to his dumbstruck friends. “And you can toast our health.”

“You surely jest?” ventured Sir Edward.

Eden, thinking she had cowered long enough, stepped around Roland to stand squarely at his side. His hand slid around her waist to draw her closer still. She suffered this without comment and returned Sir Edward’s stare.

“But…. Surely that’s the wrong one?” pointed out Sir James in a hoarse whisper, looking from one to the other.

“I changed my mind,” shrugged Roland, and sat down easily on one of the benches. His heavy hand on her hip, compelled her to follow him down until she was sat squarely in his lap. Eden flushed. “Pour three cups, sweetheart,” said Roland, seemingly oblivious to the shocked disbelief in the room.

Eden sat frozen a moment, but then reached for the tray of cups in the middle of the table. Sweetheart? She could feel at least two pairs of eyes trained on her disbelievingly, as she awkwardly poured the foaming ale into three goblets. She pushed two of them in the direction of his friends and then picked up the third, which she offered uncertainly to Roland.

“We can share,” he said. “Bev, you toast us first.”

Sir Edward, picked up the cup and cast about him wildly. Considering he was dressed in a pair of green woolen hose and had a bare chest, Eden was impressed when he cleared his throat and struck a dignified pose. “To the bride and groom, worthy among your friends,” he said gravely. “Your very good health.”

“Hear, hear,” joined in Sir James hastily.

Eden took a sip and passed the cup to Roland who drained it.

“Another,” he said to Eden, and she picked the jug back up as the other two slammed their cups down on the table. After she’d poured again they all turned to Sir James Attley.

He straightened up and raised his goblet. “Drink! May you live your wedded days in plenty.”