Page 28 of An Ill-Made Match

“Quite,” she agreed after the tiniest pause. It seemed there was cause for celebration after all, she pondered, hoping she did not look as confused as she felt.

Gunnilde sidled up to her discreetly. “They award a prize to the most skillful fighter on both sides at tonight’s banquet,” she whispered.

Oh! Well, that made a lot more sense. She cast a grateful look at her friend.

“Will you join us now for some refreshment up at the manor, before the Challenge to Arms?” asked Sir Aubron hopefully. “I have some friends and neighbors here this day who would be very happy to converse with the King’s Champion himself.”

“Mayhap later,” said Roland absently, reaching out and capturing Eden’s hand, drawing her to his side. “I’ll take Eden back to our tent for now, while I wash and change.” Eden blinked. Why would he expect her to return to the tent for that? Then she noticed the Conways hovering close with Sir Christopher. Suddenly the tent seemed preferable to confronting that bunch, so she decided to meekly go along with it, squeezing his fingers in a mute show of support. He lightly returned the pressure and cleared his throat. “We’ll take our leave of you for now, Sir Aubron,” he said with a nod.

“I’ll look for you later Eden,” called Gunnilde above the clamor of well-wishes toward Roland.

“Yes,” agreed Eden, flashing a quick smile over her shoulder, as Roland whisked her from the tent. “And I for you!”

**

Roland cast a sideways glance at his new wife as he strode across the field with her hand firmly in his. She was facing forward, with her nose stuck in the air as always, and even though she had to be taking three strides to his every one, she managed to keep up with him, far too haughty to ask him to slacken his pace. For some reason he could not fathom, it warmed his blood. He knew not why, and did not care to examine it too closely, but the fact Eden Montmayne was now his, made his chest tight and his pulse quicken. She was his. He felt it again, that overwhelming something that he’d felt when Oswald had first called Eden his bride. It rushed over him, fair taking his breath away and he found himself exerting a slight pressure on her fingers. He’d liked it when she’d squeezed his fingers when old Sir Aubron was talking to him. Making him aware of her presence – not that he needed reminding. His attention had been inexorably drawn to her for the last six months. Since he’d felt her breath mingled with his at that Solstice feast. His feet had been set on this path to her, and now he’d arrived at his destination. Finally. It was a good feeling. Almost like coming home. They arrived at the tent and threw open the flap,

“Out!” he said without much heat to Bev’s squire who was lolling on one of the benches. He scowled, but jumped up and made himself scarce. “Boy’s bloody useless,” Roland murmured, seeing he had not cleared away the remains scattered all over the table from the last meal taken there. He turned hearing the tent flap open again, but this time it was Cuthbert, carrying a bucket of steaming water for him to wash. Roland took it from him without comment and poured it into the basin. “Help me unbuckle,” he directed, pointing to the pauldrons, still strapped onto his shoulders. His squire swiftly unfastened the leather bands and Roland stripped to his waist to begin his ablutions.

Cuthbert moved around the tent swiftly, fetching him soap leaves and clean cloths. From the corner of his eye, Roland could see Eden hovering uncertainly. “Sit down,” he told her. “I won’t be long.”

She trailed over to the bench and sat down. “Shall I pour us a drink?” she asked.

He shook the water from his eyes, and picked up the soap. “Good idea.”

“Ancel’s disappeared again,” complained Cuthbert, laying out his mail hauberk and hood ready for the morrow.

Roland frowned. Who the fuck was Ancel?

“Roland just dismissed him,” explained Eden.

Oh.

“Am I to wait on all three of you, then?” asked Cuthbert with irritation. “You know Sir James doesn’t have a squire of his own at present.”

“Well, you’re dismissed for the rest of the day also,” Roland growled at him. “Make yourself scarce.”

“Really?” Cuthbert’s spirits picked up immediately.

“Aye. The others can shift for themselves when they get in.” Cuthbert, who didn’t need to be told twice, was already halfway across the tent, when Roland called after him. “Take some coin with you. There’s sure to be entertainments and such.”

Cuthbert grinned and made for Roland’s saddle bag, where he extracted a couple of coins, whooped, and showed a clean pair of heels.

“You didn’t tell him how much to take,” commented Eden.

Roland looked up from where he was drying off his neck and shoulders. “No, I didn’t,” he agreed, throwing down his cloth. He donned his tunic, walked over to the table, grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of the bunks.

**

“Whose bunk is this?” asked Eden sounding slightly panicked as he pulled her down onto the mattress beside him.

“Mine,” he answered huskily, drawing her against him, with his hands at her waist. They would not have long before his friends showed up, but he wanted a taste of those lips again.

“But how do you-?”

“I always have the bunk to the right,” he interrupted her, anticipating her question.

He lowered his head but Eden ducked hers. “I surely won’t be expected to sleep here though?” she asked, an edge of desperation to her voice.