Page 45 of An Ill-Made Match

Roland frowned heavily at this.

“So,” piped up Cuthbert who had clearly been following the conversation. “Her previous sister-in-law became her sister-in-law once again?”

“Precisely.”

“You’ve probably got that wrong,” said Roland disparagingly.

“I have not.”

“Sounds damned unlikely.”

“Fenella was married to Sir Ambrose Thane before your brother had that marriage annulled,” huffed Eden. “Then his sister married Fenella’s brother so that means-”

“You sure Thane had a sister?” he asked, off-handedly.

“You’re hopeless,” Eden told him roundly. “I feel sure Fenella would have said as much to you, and you likely paid scant attention!”

“It little matters,” Roland shrugged. “She’s a Vawdrey now. As are you.”

Eden caught her breath, as her wits scattered. She still had not accustomed herself to that fact. Now it was her turn to go quiet. She trained her attention instead on the surrounding green wood which seemed to be growing thicker and denser with each step they took. Strangely enough, it was a long-forgotten story their old nurse used to tell her and Lenora that sprang to mind. A tale of warning against marrying dark handsome strangers who might carry you off to places dark and forbidding from whence you might never be seen again. She glanced at her husband who very much fit the description and shivered.

Roland sat up straighter in his saddle. “There,” he said, pointing ahead.

Eden looked up. A series of hills, maybe even mountains loomed in the distance. Standing out starkly, sat atop the central hillock stood a dark, sinister looking tower. She turned back to Roland with a sense of foreboding.

“Vawdrey Keep,” he said. “It’s never been breached,” he added with apparent pride.

Eden blinked, glancing around. Who on earth would want to? It was in the middle of nowhere! Wondering where any invaders were supposed to emerge from, she murmured, “I see.” No wonder he was amused at the idea of her walking on foot to the village. Getting to the bottom of the hill itself would take her a good hour.

Their horses started the climb up the narrow path, and she fell in line behind Roland with Cuthbert bringing up the rear. Luckily, Christobel was sure-footed. Eden pulled on her new mittens, feeling the chill in the air, as they climbed higher. Somehow, the brooding Keep did not grow any more welcoming the closer they grew to it. Instead, it seemed to grow bleaker still, with its uncompromising grey stone and fortress-like features. Eden started to wonder what kind of a home-coming they would receive when they reached the summit.

“Have you many staff in residence?” she asked, as they reached the top, without any signs of life stirring from within. Roland frowned, but did not speak. Instead, he dismounted and ran up a rickety wooden structure which led to a single large studded door, set surprisingly high off the ground. Seeing Eden’s confused look, Cuthbert leaned over to explain.

“It’s set that high, so a battering ram can’t be used on the entrance.”

“A battering ram?” repeated Eden. Again, she wondered at the Vawdrey preoccupation with invaders.

“Ho!” Roland was shouting, beating his fist against the door. “Fulco? Baxter? Who’s within?”

A tremendous baying and barking of hounds started up, which even the heavy door could not muffle. Eden winced and noticed a flash of white fur in one of the windows above. A ferocious, broad white head appeared there, glowering down at them with a malevolent stare and sharp teeth.

“Castor, you villain!” Roland yelled, in recognition of the large dog. It redoubled it efforts to drown out the racket of the other dogs, throwing back its giant head and howling. “M’father’s favorite hound,” he said, turning back to them by way of explanation.

If that was his favorite, Eden found she did not overly-relish the idea of meeting the rest of the pack.

Finally, it seemed the cacophony had roused someone. A bushy-bearded giant, rounded the side of the tower, with a huge axe over his shoulder, and a forbidding expression. He looked thunder-struck at the sight of Roland, and staggered back a pace or two before righting himself. “Master Roland! As I’m alive!”

“Fulco!” Roland descended the steps, and they seized one another by their right forearms, gripping each other in some form of welcome which Eden had not observed before.

“Quiet, ye evil pack of devils!” Fulco roared at the dogs within. So startled was Eden that she nearly fell of her saddle. Luckily, Cuthbert reached across and had caught Christobel’s head, before the mare had a chance to rear. The dogs barking died down at once, and Roland strode across and held his arms up for her. With little other choice, Eden dismounted into his waiting grasp, and found herself borne over to the alarming Fulco for his inspection. She wondered if Roland’s ribs were really up to carrying her, but if they hurt, he gave no sign of it. Fulco regarded her a moment from beneath bristling brows. Eden stared up at him. Neither one of them seemed equal to the occasion.

“My bride,” said Roland by way of explanation. Fulco gave a nod, and a growl. Eden wasn’t sure if he cleared his throat, or spoke. “Fulco’s served at the Keep some twenty years, man and boy,” continued Roland, seemingly oblivious to her discomfiture. “And his father before him.”

“I see,” said Eden, struggling to find words. “How do you do?” She felt disadvantaged not being stood on her own two feet, but could hardly ask to be set down without seeming churlish.

Fulco stared at her as though she was some strange creature the likes of whom he’d never seen before.

“Is there anyone to attend her?” Roland asked.