Page 59 of An Ill-Made Match

Roland cleared his throat. “And now she doesn’t approve of you courting.”

“That’s about the sum of it,” Fulco agreed sadly.

Roland cast his mind back to recall Mrs Fulco, winced and then hastily consigned the memory back to the back of his brain where it belonged. “Who was it you had your eye on, before that?” he asked.

The other man opened his mouth, then swiftly shut it again. “No-one,” he mumbled, but his coloring was high, telling his lie.

Fulco was a damn poor liar, which for some reason cheered Roland up no end. It was hard to imagine him in the role of habitual seducer of innocents. “I’m off to Areley Kings on the morrow,” he told him, slapping him on the back. “I’ll be taking my squire with me and will be some four or five days.”

Fulco looked alarmed. “What about my lady?”

“You’ll have to wait on her,” said Roland airily. “I daresay she won’t give you too much trouble.”

“It ain’t my place!” he objected with spirit. “Who’ll take care of things out of doors?”

“Well I can’t rely on Baxter,” said Roland dryly. “He’s a dyed-in-the-wool woman-hater.”

Fulco looked appalled. “Th-there was one lass,” he stammered. “As always said she was up to the task.” He looked pained.

“As maidservant, or your sweetheart?” asked Roland flippantly.

“Maidservant,” huffed Fulco, looking scandalized.

“Then why haven’t you hired her?” asked Roland suspiciously.

Fulco’s cheeks were like two rosy apples by this point. “Because she’s none too nice in her morals,” he growled.

Roland’s eyebrows rose. “Not fit for anything but rough work?”

Fulco shuffled his large feet. “I was mebbe a little harsh,” he admitted. “I don’t know of any real ill of her. Just that she has a teasing, provoking manner my mother never cared for, and she was widowed very young.”

Roland frowned. “Don’t like to bring this up, Fulco, but your Mother doesn’t approve of your sisters either. Do you go about casting aspersions on their morals as well?”

Fulco looked chastened. “I spoke out of line,” he said looking chastened.

Roland shrugged. “Well maybe she’s not ideal to wait on my wife, but beggars can’t be choosers. If she’ll brave the Keep, then send for her forthwith.”

“Aye, Master Roland,” he said gloomily.

“And look lively about it, man!” Roland ran back up the stairs to the Keep. Fulco quoted his mother far too much for comfort. He doubted any woman would take him on with such an interfering mother-in-law. Feeling reassured about leaving Eden with him, he returned to back indoors in search of his wife. For some reason, his thoughts were never far from her these days. He gave his head a slight shake. Doubtless that would soon pass, but for now he would not worry overmuch about it. Truth was, he felt a deep sense of rightness about installing her here at The Keep. He had not lied earlier when he had said as much to her in bed. She belonged here, as mistress in a way no other woman would. He felt a fleeting pity for Fulco who, no doubt slept in a narrow cot every night without the comfort of a warm body at his side. Poor wretch, he ought to wed. He dwelt a moment on Eden’s daring kiss that morning, and felt his blood warm. While it had far surpassed what he’d hoped for, it wasn’t going to fortify him all day. Not by a long shot.

He did not find Eden upstairs but unexpectedly in the kitchen kneeling on the floor, over a large tub of soapy water. She was wringing something out. “What are you about?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

“I only have one gown,” she reminded him. “I’m washing out my shift and my veil.”

Roland opened his mouth, to say she ought to give it to someone else to do, but stopped himself. No doubt, she would not relish the idea of Cuthbert or Baxter washing her undergarment. “Hopefully Fulco has found some girl in the village,” he said, watching her screw up her nose. “What is it?”

“This noxious stuff Baxter gave me,” said Eden, referring to the lye used for washing the laundry.

Roland snorted. “Come here,” he said pouring out a clean basin of water from a pitcher. “We had best wash it off your hands. It’ll be too harsh for skin like yours.”

She came to her feet. “It stings a little,” she agreed approaching him. “What is its substance?”

Roland smirked at her ignorance. “Ashes and animal fat, mostly.” Eden grimaced as he placed her slender hands in the bowl and suffered him to wash the traces from her white skin. “You never laundered at Hallam Hall?” he observed. Eden shook her head. “You won’t be expected to here either,” he said firmly. “Today is the first and last time.”

Eden looked up. “Who is the girl from the village?” she asked, looking anywhere but at him.

Roland reached for a cloth and set himself to drying off her fingers. “She’s a widow,” he said. “And very likely not suitable to wait on you, but she’ll have to do for now.” He replaced the cloth and put his hands to her waist, drawing her closer. “I need to speak with you. I’ve a tournament in Areley Kings coming up.”