Page 41 of An Ill-Made Match

“That would have been the noble thing to do.”

“I’m not noble.”

Eden glared at him. He wondered if any of her pet poets had ever written about those eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that you always fling off like that, if you do not win?”

“Not just me,” he shrugged. “Kentigern, de Crecy, Orde. None of us would stay to watch the other celebrate a win.” She stared, incredulously. “This is real life, Eden. Not ‘The Tales of Maurency of Jorde’.”

“Well, maybe you should take a leaf from that book.”

“Not bloody likely,” he laughed, genuinely amused.

She shot a curious look at him, before looking hurriedly away.

“And what about the spectacle you treated me to?” he asked lazily. “Have you nothing to say of that?”

“What spectacle?” asked Eden suspiciously.

“Hal Payne hanging off your every word, while you clung to his arm. You seem unaware that he eyes you with the same greedy gaze he bestows on a sugared plum!”

Eden gaped at him. “Hal Payne is the veriest child!”

“He’s a lad of fourteen years, and believe me did not regard you with the eyes of a mere babe.”

“You’re being ridiculous!” she scoffed, then seemed to consider before rallying. “And even if he was dazzled by this dress, and the pomp and ceremony of the occasion, it was a passing whim which would have faded as soon as I was out of his sight.”

Roland snorted derisively. “You know absolutely nothing of the male animal.” The truth of this shut her up a moment. “And thanks to your espousing them, the Paynes will all be showing up at Court at some point,” he added dryly. “And no doubt, I’ll be subjected to the same maddening display all over again!”

Eden pursed her lips and stuck her nose in the air.

Almost, he had to hide a grin. “So you have no apology to make me, wife?” he asked, shaking his head in mock-disappointment.

“You’re not really angry anymore,” she said forthrightly, surprising him. “You’re just amusing yourself at my expense.”

“Not exactly,” he said slowly. He watched as she took a deep breath.

“Are you suggesting you lost because I distracted you, by appearing in a borrowed dress and sitting next to an attentive youth?” she asked pointedly, turning in her saddle to face him.

Roland blinked. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No,” he answered. “Today is not the first occasion I’ve lost to Kentigern. He’s a strong opponent.” Her eyes widened at that, before she turned back to face front again. Now, why had she looked so surprised by his words? Immediately he missed her eyes on him.

“We’ll have to stop presently and I’ll have you up before me,” he said.

“What?” Her tone was far from pleased. “Why?”

“Your horse is going lame.” It was a bold-faced lie, but Eden swallowed it, leaning forward to murmur sympathetically to the horse she had named Christobel. Seeing the concern on her face, he added: “If she goes rider-less for the afternoon, likely it’ll pass.”

She looked relieved, and he didn’t even feel guilty. He noticed Cuthbert turn in his saddle and glance back at them with a speculative look on his face. Roland stared back at him, daring his squire to contradict him, but the little swine only smirked.

**

They did not reach an inn until night was falling. Eden had been sat up before him for the past three hours, and the bitter taste had long since receded from his mouth. How could it linger, when her sweet-smelling hair tickled his chin, and he had one arm wrapped securely about her waist? His ribs hurt like the devil though. Every movement of the horse seemed to jolt them. He longed to just lie still for a few hours.

“This is a large town. Where are we?” asked Eden, breaking her silence.

“Pryors Naunton,” he answered. “It’s the nearest city to our estate.”

“Pryors Naunton? I’ve heard of it,” she said with surprise. “Is there not a very fine cathedral hereabouts?” She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him.

“Well, there’s a cathedral at any events,” he conceded. “Whether it’s fine or not is anyone’s guess. I’ve never set foot in it.”