Page 72 of An Ill-Made Match

“That it would be most odd for you to encourage one such as Sir Renlowe.”

Roland frowned, placing his cup back down on the table. “How so?”

“I would have thought it obvious,” said Eden, arching her elegant brows at him.

Something about her manner immediately irritated him. Doubtless she thought poor Renlowe should be spouting poetry instead. “Not to me. Why don’t you enlighten me with your superior knowledge on such matters,” he asked coolly.

Eden put down her spoon and regarded him censoriously. “At Tranton Vale, he was ignominiously defeated in the joust” she pointed out. “Then he was knocked unconscious and taken hostage in the melee.” The slight pucker between her brows cleared as she recalled something. “I was told you paid his ransom that day, so he was free to join the feasting. That was why I thought you had taken him under your wing. And after that he was defeated at the Challenge to Arms. Badly.”

“And pray tell me, how do you think the likes of Kentigern, Orde, de Crecy and myself started out?” asked Roland, with an edge to his tone. “Do you imagine we sprang forth as fully developed fighters and tacticians in our first season?

“Well, I would certainly hope you showed more natural talent for it than poor Sir Renlowe,” she retorted.

“I’ve seen competitors spit out a tooth, shake off a concussion, and lash broken fingers to a lance,” said Roland harshly, then paused, but she said nothing. “I know Renlowe has what it takes because he is unflinchingly brave. Doesn’t matter how many times he gets knocked down, he’ll get back up, and one of these days mark you, he will start winning.”

“Sir Renlowe?” she asked incredulously.

He gave a short, curt nod. “He is utterly fearless.”

Eden stared at this, before rallying. “Or utterly stupid,” she said.

Roland drew back his chair, getting to his feet. “Skills can be learned,” he said. “Courage can’t.”

“Where are you going?”

“To check on the horses.”

“Surely Fulco can do that,” Eden pointed out, two spots of color appearing in her cheeks.

“I need some fresh air.” He was disappointed, he realized. Which made him as stupid as she clearly thought he was. He’d known all along that Eden was stuck up and haughty. She’d made no secret of the fact, she preferred intellectuals to knights. Why did it feel like such a slap in the face, then? It made no earthly sense. It dawned on him that Eden was still speaking. He stared at her impatiently.

“…If I said aught that offended you-” she was saying.

“You didn’t,” he cut her off, striving to sound bored, but merely coming off as rude. “I would have to value your opinion in order for it to offend me.”

Eden gasped. “And this,” she said. “Is precisely why I don’t understand the way you carry on in the bedchamber!”.

“What?” Now Roland felt his own face heating.

“Why do you keep pretending I’m someone else, come bedtime?”

Roland stared at her. “Pretending you’re-?” Words failed him. “I’m not pretending you’re anyone but you,” he retorted.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I?” he asked, mystified.

“Because,” her face reddened. “We don’t value each other’s company or opinions. We’re not friends. Yet as soon as we’re in the bedchamber you… you keep kissing me.” She lowered her voice over the last two words as if they were somehow indecent.

And he must be as twisted as she was, because for some reason, that made his blood course faster. He kept his face impassive, but it was a struggle. “So?” he asked. “You’re my wife, aren’t you? Funny sort of husband I’d be if I didn’t even kiss you first.”

Eden looked back at him with frank skepticism.

“What do you expect me to do?” he demanded. “Just lift up your skirts and have my merry way without even a kiss first?”

When she appeared to consider this, he felt winded. “N-no,” she said after a moment. “I understand the kissing and such before. I’m talking about afterward. It seems… superfluous.”

“Superfluous?” he echoed blankly. For some reason he was finding it hard to concentrate. He felt like she’d kicked him right in the chest. “Well, now you’ve told me,” he heard himself respond. “Rest assured it won’t happen again.” He threw his napkin down with a hand that shook slightly. He had a bitter taste in his mouth.