Page 20 of The Consolation Prize

“It could well be,” she agreed. “As I said, we were always fond of one another growing up.” She chewed her bottom lip for a moment.

“What is it?” he asked, idly curious about what was on her mind.

“What if it is not Otho?”

“Who else could it be?”

“Soldiers,” she said, tensely. “What if they say I did not apply for the King’s permission, as is correct?” He saw her knuckles were white where she held the horse’s reins.

“His chief advisor was well aware of our plans,” he pointed out calmly. “I don’t think you need worry on that score. And anyway,” he added with a shrug, “if they did, we would simply accompany them back to the palace and get the proper permission.”

Una’s relieved gaze flew to meet his. “Really?” she croaked.

“Of course. What else?” She did not answer, but he saw her relax in the saddle. “What say you to this place?” he asked, nodding to an inn that had just come into view on the horizon. “To take our midday meal.”

Una raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “I am agreeable,” she said and attempted to throw off the heaviness of their prior conversation with a smile.

He almost wished he had held his tongue, instead of troubling her with it. He stole a look at her as they turned into the courtyard. She was clearly an excellent rider with much experience. It was a pleasure to watch her handle the pretty mare Lord Vawdrey had sent for her use. “Was she one of the Queen’s stable?” he asked, directing his gaze at her horse.

“No, I have never seen her before. She’s a real beauty. I doubt the Queen would have parted with such a horse without a lively fight.”

A groom came out of the stables to meet them and they dismounted, handing the horses over to his charge, after extracting one or two valuable items from the saddlebags.

“Come,” said Armand. “Let us see what their table has to offer two hungry travelers.” He held his arm out to her and Una took it. Together they strolled into the entrance of The Red Hind, and he saw her seated at a bench by the window as he went in search of some service. He soon found an amiable looking servant who assured him they would bring out some repast with all due haste.

He was approaching the main chamber again, when he heard Una’s voice upraised and paused on the threshold.

“Indeed, Otho,” he heard Una protesting spiritedly. “You mistake the matter. I was not unwilling in my marriage, and I am here by my own free will.”

He could not make out the impassioned words that answered, for the male with her spoke in tones of low urgency.

“No, Otho,” Una broke in again. “I will not come with you. I beg you will understand, you are threatening my liberty, not aiding it by this action.”

Armand stepped into the room. “Ah, good day,” he said pleasantly, noting how the man’s hand clapped at once to the dagger in his belt. “How do you do? I’m De Bussell and I see you already know my wife.” He walked toward them purposefully but slowly, giving the man time to recover his composure. He was a hulking male with close cropped hair and a strong, stubborn jaw.

“Armand,” said Una with relief, and he did not think she had addressed him so familiarly before. “Allow me to introduce you to Otho, who is by way of a kinsman of mine.”

Otho straightened up, looking Armand’s way with marked reluctance. “How do ye do?” he muttered stiffly.

“But what a pleasant coincidence to run into your kinsman in such a remote spot,” Armand commented blandly, coming to a standstill behind Una. He flashed an easy smile as he dropped a propriety hand to rest on her shoulder.

Otho’s gaze followed the action with frozen hostility before glancing away. He swallowed before answering. “A minor connection only,” he said hoarsely, finding his voice. “From a less venerable branch of the family.”

“I see,” Armand drawled, swinging a leg over the bench, beside Una. “Can I convince you to join us for your midday meal, kinsman Otho? You would be most welcome to share our meal.”

Under the table, Una’s hand briefly touched his own. He was not sure if it was an unspoken warning or a gesture of support. It didn’t really matter, catching hold of it, he raised it above the table and brought it to his lips before folding it firmly between his own two hands. She closed her fingers around his own, grasping him firmly.

“I wish you would, Otho,” she said brightly. “It has been too long since I last saw you, and it would be good to hear how you have been.”

Otho’s jaw worked angrily. “You know I cannot,” he muttered angrily.

“Why?” asked Armand politely, though he knew of only one reason for not breaking bread or eating at another man’s table. It meant, by the old ways that you were forbidden from shedding his blood. “You are fasting, Otho,” he mused aloud. “Perhaps you are on a pilgrimage? Now I come to think of it, I believe there is a shrine near here to some saint or water nymph, I forget which.” The landlord had entered at this point, bearing a platter of fresh bread. “Ah, landlord. Perhaps you can advise us. The shrine near here next to the lake, who is it dedicated to?”

“Why, bless you, my good sir, that shrine is dedicated to Saint Drusis.” He set the bread down and leaned his hip against the table. “That there shrine is the reason for most of our trade these days,” he chuckled, rocking back on his heels.

“A popular saint?” Armand asked, taking a piece of bread from the plate and tearing it. It was barley bread, fresh and warm. He passed a piece to Una, who took it with thanks.

“I should say he is,” the landlord beamed. “Why, newlyweds come from miles around to visit that shrine!”