Page 40 of An Ill-Made Match

So, the wench could be placating when she chose to, thought Roland bitterly. Just not to him! “Eden,” he said sharply.

Lady Payne and Gunnilde were now babbling excitedly at the idea of a Court visit.

Eden looked over. “I am ready,” she said coolly. “Lady Payne has kindly made me a gift of her gown.”

Roland nodded toward Lady Payne, who now only had eyes for Eden.

“A royal visit,” she twittered. “Auby, what say you to that? We will need new gowns of course!”

Sir Aubron turned a vaguely reproachful look on Roland. He shook his head. “There will be no peace to be had now,” he sighed. “Until we have journeyed to Caer-Lyoness.” Roland grunted. “Ah well, such is the lot of us married men,” said Sir Aubron with resignation. “You must take the rough with the smooth, eh?” He nudged Roland with his shoulder and gave a short laugh. “Good journey, my lad. Good journey, my Lady.”

“Thank you for your most kind hospitality,” said Eden politely. “You have been exceptional hosts.”

You really couldn’t fault her manners, thought Roland. Except, for some reason she chose to give him the sharp side of her tongue! Court. He had no great desire to return there with all its damn gossips and trouble-makers. He had half a mind to take her to Vawdrey Keep instead. There at least they would be walled up together and she could not avoid him, running off to the Queen and her damned poetry readings! Then he remembered his brother’s letter. What was it Oswald had written to him? He had suggested something about delaying their return until he had been given a chance to smooth their path with the King and Queen.

“I would not hurry to Caer-Lyoness if I were you,” he said aloud. “For we go now to my place, Vawdrey Keep for a month, and will not return to court until August at the very least.”

Eden’s head turned sharply, but she said nothing.

“Oh but that will be ideal and give us chance to plan,” carried on Lady Aubron quite unperturbed.

**

Eden had preserved a stony silence for over an hour. They were riding easterly and would not arrive in Vawdrey Keep for at least a day and a half. The worse thing was, he knew he was being a moody, unreasonable prick. He was angry at losing the jousting, his best event, in front of her. He was furious at that bastard Kentigern. Hal Payne had been nothing but an irritant, but in the moment, he could not be rational. He was experiencing something he had never even come across before. He, Roland Vawdrey, the King’s Champion, was being eaten alive by jealousy. And it didn’t even matter that it made no earthly sense. Impulsively he tugged on his reins and let Bavol drop back. “You take the lead,” he muttered to Cuthbert. The lad nodded and urged his horse to the front.

“Let’s have it then,” he said tersely to Eden, as he drew level with her. “You do not approve of the plan to proceed to my estate?” He crooked an eyebrow at her.

She regarded him haughtily. “I am surprised you have been able to draw any such a conclusion, as my opinion was not consulted in any way.”

“I’d have to be blind not to, the way you’ve been carrying on,” he said dryly.

“Carrying on?” repeated Eden icily. “I fail entirely to catch your meaning, Sir Roland.”

Sir Roland? He pulled a face. “I mean,” he said with deliberation. “The way you’ve been sat on your horse like a marble effigy.” If she could have sat up any straighter, Roland was sure she would have, but she was already ramrod straight. Gods, she was a proud piece.

“I am sorry, if my style of riding offends you,” she said stiffly, staring off into the distance. Clearly, she did not wish to engage with him in conversation. For some reason, that irritated him too. He wanted to poke her with a stick until she wheeled around and bit back.

“You have nothing else to say to me, wife?” he said, casting about for something to torment her with. “Your behavior at the jousting today, for instance?”

He heard her sharply in-draw breath. “My behavior? I have nothing to reproach myself with, I assure you!” she flung back, her color rising. “Your behavior on the other hand-” She bit back her words, her cheeks aflame.

“Aye, what of it?” he asked arrogantly.

“I am astonished by it, quite frankly,” she said, with a toss of her head. Her silky black hair flew, and distracted him a moment. He remembered how it had looked, spread over his chest that first morning.

He snorted. “What aspect?” Was he enjoying this? Roland wasn’t exactly given over to analyzing his feelings, but to his surprise his irritation seemed to be if anything, trickling away as he conversed with her.

“I would have thought that the King’s Champion would have been gracious in defeat.”

Roland nearly fell of his horse. Where the hells did she get an idea like that? “Gracious in defeat?” he scoffed. “I’m a competitor. I don’t like losing.”

“Most people don’t,” Eden pointed out tartly. “However, part of being a civilized adult means learning to tamp down such emotional excesses.”

Roland squinted at her. “Is that what you do?” he asked mockingly.

“Of course,” she inclined her head. “What you ought to have done is stayed for the rest of the tournament and applauded Lord Kentigern on his win at the banquet tonight.”

“Like hells,” growled Roland.