Page 99 of An Ill-Made Match

“Childers? Who is he? What the hell does he mean by addressing you as ‘Mistress, whose every word, leads my heart to throb inside my breast’?”

Eden gave a startled laugh. “He’s not addressing me.” Her expression turned grave, seeing he was not amused. “He’s a poet. That is merely three verses of his epic poem he has revised.”

Her guiltless manner calmed him a little, but still he returned to the piece of paper with displeasure. “Tell him to write his poem on a separate damn page next time,” he said. “I don’t appreciate such sentiments being scribbled in the body of a letter sent to my wife.”

Eden straightened up at this, looking serious. After a moment’s heavy pause, she nodded. “I will.”

“I understand that this stuff is important to you Eden,” he said gravely. “But there need to be rules. I can’t have men accosting you in corridors and writing you love notes. I’ll end up killing someone.”

“What sort of rules?” she asked warily. “Is this about a private correspondence or attending poetry meets?”

“You can continue to do both,” he said, with extreme trust and generosity if he did say so himself. “But I need your word you’ll tell me if anyone oversteps any boundaries.”

She breathed out. “Very well,” she said.

“Very well, what?”

Eden looked disconcerted. “Very well, I promise?” she ventured uncertainly.

“Very well, husband,” he stressed.

Eden opened and closed her mouth on a no doubt tart reply. “Very well husband,” she said meekly, surprising them both.

Roland turned his head sharply, when he heard what sounded like a stifled chuckle from the vicinity of the fireplace. Both his brothers swivelled hastily back to face the fire. He returned to Eden, who was seemingly oblivious to their avid audience.

Hesitantly she reached out and took one of his hands in hers. “Thank you,” she said, robbing him of all breath. “For understanding when something’s important to me.” He looked down at their clasped hands a moment, before taking a deep breath. “Of course,” he said, wishing devoutly his bloody brothers weren’t drinking in their exchange. He twisted his hand and interlaced their fingers. “This time tomorrow night,” he said. “All this foolishness will be over, and we can get on with our lives. Our married lives,” he stressed, leaving no room for her to get the wrong impression. “Together.”

She nodded, and a light knock was heard on the door. The dogs both bounced up, but he managed to clamp Castor’s collar. “Quiet boy!” Her cousin had arrived for her. Already.

**

“So, it is true then, that you nearly strangled some poet this afternoon?” commented Mason as Roland closed the door after seeing Eden and Parnell off.

“Eh?”

“Cuthbert heard it from one of the pages.”

“Come and sit with us,” directed Oswald, gesturing to a chair.

“Where is Cuthbert?” asked Roland, dragging a chair toward the fire. He slumped down in it feeling heavy of heart. When Oswald went to pour him some wine, he waved it away. “I want a clear head on the morrow.”

“One cup won’t fog your head,” Mason pointed out. “Unless you’re Oswald.” Roland just shook his head. “Cuthbert’s out making merry with the other squires,” added Mason. “No doubt fleecing them out of their pennies at cards or dice.”

“And telling them salacious gossip,” added Oswald. “You and Eden really are doing the current rounds at court. He will be dining out freely on that tale for many a week.” He replenished Mason’s goblet of wine, and poured himself and Roland water.

Roland shrugged, unconcerned. Castor came and lay at his feet.

“That dog recognizes you as his master,” said Mason. “He’s not looking for Father anymore. How is all at the Keep?”

“Baxter’s mad as ever. Fulco’s mother’s means to keep him unwed. We’ve a new maid from the village, named Brigid. I need to buy...” he waved a hand vaguely. “Hangings and draperies and such.”

A heavy silence greeted his words, looking up, Roland saw his brothers regarding each other with raised brows. “What?” he asked.

“Did our little brother first list people above possessions?” asked Oswald.

“Did he just bring up the subject of Fulco and his lack of a wife?” chimed in Mason.

“Did he just mention curtains?”