Page 39 of An Ill-Made Match

“You would have preferred it then,” she answered. “If I had accepted Lord Kentigern’s gesture? Curious! I had an idea you would not care for it. I shall be sure to bear that in mind, should it occur again.”

Roland stared at her in helpless indignation. His chest heaved. She was tying him in knots. Was she doing it deliberately? “Did he place it on your head?” he ground out, unable to stop himself.

“No, he did not,” she replied crisply. “He tipped his lance toward me. The garland fell into my lap, and I promptly placed it at Gunnilde’s brow. That is all.”

The gods alone knew why, but that did appease him a little. He tore his eyes from Eden’s infuriatingly calm face, to look at the Payne girl again. She was watching them both anxiously.

“If Sir Roland thinks I should give it back-?” she started.

“No-” he began, only to be cut off by Eden’s firm “Nonsense!”

Gunnilde looked extremely relieved. “Oh good,” she beamed. “For it is quite the most exciting thing to have ever happened to me!”

It seemed to Roland, that the fact it had been given to her by another woman did not lessen the distinction for her in any way. He turned to his wife. “We’re leaving,” he told Eden abruptly.

“Leaving?” she repeated.

“Now,” he clarified.

She stared at him. “Why?”

“You vastly over-estimate yourself, wife,“ he told her bitingly. “Your place is where I say it is. No more, no less. You are merely required to obey my will.”

Eden stiffened, then turned back to her friend. “I must have some speech with your family before I leave.” She glanced down, “Your step-mother’s dress-”“

“Oh, do not trouble yourself on account of the gown,” Gunnilde assured her, glancing nervously at Roland. “For it does not even fit her anymore. I am sure she will be happy for you to return it to her when ‘tis convenient.” Eden pursed her lips and looked as if she might argue, but Roland turned on his heel, refusing to wait. “Go now,” he heard her friend urge her. “And I will let Father know directly that you are departing.”

He did not hear Eden’s reply, but only her hurried foot-falls after him. He just knew somehow that her nose would be in the air – stubborn wench!

Once they got back to the room, he wasted no time in slamming trunks and throwing his things into his bag. Eden of course, had nothing to pack, but busied herself tidying her appearance. He could feel her eyes on him, as he fastened the ties, and almost forbade her to even speak. He just knew whatever she said was going to infuriate him. Sure enough, it was not long before she spoke up.

“I didn’t even wear that garland, why are you so out of reason cross about it?” she started patronizingly. “Lord Kentigern likely did it as a courtesy to you, or perhaps because I am lately a bride…” Her reasonable tone was like a red rag to a bull.

“You know nothing about it, Eden,” he said angrily. “He did it to rile me and for no other reason than that, so don’t fool yourself!”

Eden stood very still a moment. “I did not flatter myself it was because I was the most beauteous there,” she said in an ominously quiet voice. “So, you need not worry I have any illusions on that score.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” he snapped, and she turned her back on him.

They were packed to leave within twenty minutes and neither of them spoke a word until they descended the stairs and were bade farewell by the Paynes. Sir Aubron was disappointed, but not surprised by their impending departure. “Too bad m’boy, too bad,” he tutted. “But we will remember for many a long day the magnificent way you unhorsed him in the melee yesterday. Is that not so, my son?” He turned for confirmation from his son and heir, but instead of standing worshipfully by to speak to the King’s champion, young Hal was bent over Eden’s hand. Roland regarded the brazen youngling with a jaundiced eye. Hal’s cheeks were flushed, and he lingered a few heartbeats too long before relinquishing her hand.

“Young puppy!” snorted his father. “Growing up too fast,” he sighed.

Roland struggled a few moments with this. “You should squire him out,” he retorted. “That would soon knock some sense into him.” And see to the boy’s puppy fat, he thought. Every time he looked at him he was either fawning over Eden or some sticky treat.

“There may be something in what you say,” murmured Sir Aubron. “But I’d miss the lad, sending him off to Wymer’s court.”

“It’d be the making of him,” said Roland callously. “You should give it some thought.”

“I will, my boy. I suppose you’re – er – quite happy with your own squire?”

Roland’s jaw ticked. Cuthbert was an impudent knave, but at least he had shown no propensity to hang after his wife. “Quite happy,” Roland lied. “You could do worse than speak to Attley,” he suggested grudgingly. “He’s currently without squire.”

Sir Aubron nodded, looking thoughtful. “Sir James,” he said nodding slowly. “I knew his father.”

Roland shot a look over at Eden who was now embracing Payne’s daughter, who was crying copious tears and hanging about her neck.

“…Of course, I will write. We will maintain a correspondence and you must come to Court,” Eden was saying soothingly. “I shall speak to the Queen.”