Page 43 of An Ill-Made Match

Dimly, Roland had some idea that womenfolk in the main, were supposed to be more talkative than Eden was about herself. “And do you like him?” he found himself asking. “Your uncle.”

Again, she moved around restlessly. If his ribs did not hurt so much, he’d throw a leg over her to stop the fidgeting.

“Yes,” she said, then seemed to realize she was not giving him much. “Of my cousin Lenora, I am very fond.”

He waited, but she did not ask him for any return of confidences. He had no idea why that bothered him so much. Maybe that was why he found himself saying suddenly. “It should have been me that gave you the tournament crown.” He heard her surprised intake of breath, her head turn.

“I would not at all have been happy if you had,” she said after a heavy pause. “In fact, my reaction would have been just the same. I would have awarded it in turn to Gunnilde.”

He stared at the space where he imagined her face was. “And why is that?” he asked testily.

“Because, the crown is for the prettiest girl present. Not the cleverest girl, or the most talented girl or even the worthiest girl. The rules are very simple.”

Roland opened and closed his mouth. He was wary of taking a misstep now he had her talking to him again. “It’s not that straightforward,” he said after a moment’s pause.

“Yes, it is,” Eden corrected him.

“No, it is not,” he contradicted her patiently. “In your eyes Payne’s daughter was the fairest, but many would not agree with your view.”

“She is young and fresh and eager to please. That is pretty in my eyes.”

“Exactly,” said Roland. “In your eyes.”

She chewed this over for a moment. “Very well, I agree that if you are going with conventional attractiveness than her stepmother, Lady Payne would likely be the more popular choice. But I wanted to give my friend a day to remember.”

A day to remember? Frustrated by the dark bedchamber, Roland stared instead at the ceiling. He had not really thought overmuch of how the recipient of the tournament crown felt about it. Well, if he was honest, he had not considered it at all. It was a mere detail, a footnote to the real business of the tourney. Was it really such a matter of distinction for a girl to receive it? He cast his mind back, remembering how Gunnilde Payne had kept reaching up to reverently touch her head and check it was really sat there. Certainly, she had seemed so proud she might burst at any minute. Over the course of his career he had cavalierly handed it over only to the most beauteous maiden present. Mostly, this had been Lenora Montmayne. She had never seemed overly thrilled by the distinction, and had received it merely as her rightful due. But then, he thought judiciously, she must have received dozens of the things over the three years she had been at court. Maybe, her very first had meant something to her, but after that… He cast a look toward Eden, who was obscured in darkness, but seemed for once to be lying very still. He wanted to ask if she had never received the garland, but he already knew the answer. Suddenly, the taste in his mouth was bitter. He felt a ridiculous longing that he could turn the clock back and – what? Crown Eden Montmayne tournament Queen when he’d had the chance? It was stupid. He could no more turn back time than anyone. What was the use in thinking such thoughts? And if he had done such a thing, everyone would have been in uproar at such uncharacteristic behavior. “Eden,” he said heavily, concentrating on the throbbing ache in his sides.

“What is it?”

“You weren’t mistaken.”

She hesitated. “About what?”

“I would not have taken kindly to you accepting the crown from Kentigern. Or anyone else for that matter,” he added. Somehow it was easier to confess such a thing in the dark. Suddenly, he was glad he couldn’t make out her expression.

She didn’t speak for a long while. Then she said simply, “I see.”

But he didn’t think she could see. Any more clearly than he.

**

By the time Roland woke around six, Eden was already sat on the edge of the bed, braiding her long hair. She had pursed her lips at the idea of donning the ice blue dress, but had washed and dressed in it all the same. Roland washed gingerly, his rubs had turned black and purple overnight. He noticed Eden wince when she glanced at him while he dressed.

“Will you be able to ride?” she asked.

He crooked an eyebrow at her. “Of course.” They hurt, but not as badly as the day before.

Below stairs, they found Cuthbert already tucking into roasted fish with bread and butter. He hailed them cheerfully, and they joined him. “Got something for you, milady,” he said, nodding toward a bundle of something on the floor.

Eden peered at it doubtfully. “What is it?”

“Take a look and see,” replied Cuthbert, with a wink.

She reached down and unfurled the soft material to find an exquisite cape of a dark berry color, a matching hood and long mittens made of the finest silken wool. “They’re beautiful!” she exclaimed. “But where-?”

“Dice cup?” asked Roland knowingly.

Cuthbert grinned and nodded. “I’m always lucky in towns that don’t know me.”