Page 21 of The Consolation Prize

“Newlyweds?” asked Una, gamely. “Then perhaps we should visit it, husband? For we have not yet been wed three days.”

The landlord looked from one to the other of them. “Is that so? A happy coincidence! You must make for the shrine as soon as you have taken your meal.”

Armand appeared to take this under consideration. “We have been blessed already by a priest,” he prevaricated. “Why should we need this additional benediction?”

The landlord seemed to be enjoying a private joke. “Oh ho! You won’t want to miss this opportunity, good sir, indeed you won’t!” he said, rubbing his hands together. “There is a seat at that shrine, formed naturally in the rock it is. They do say that the saint blessed that seat so whosoever sits in it first, be it husband or wife they will hold sway for the rest of their marriage.”

“Indeed?” said Una with raised brows. “It seems too good an opportunity to miss.”

“Sounds a very risky business from my point of view,” Armand pointed out with a grin. The landlord guffawed and two more maidservants emerged at this point carrying roasted venison, white pea soup, pork pie, and a large flagon of ale.

“This all looks very delicious,” Una said to the landlord, who bowed to them and then poured three cups of ale.

“Do not hesitate to hail me, should you need anything else,” he said, retreating to the kitchens.

“You’re sure we can’t tempt you to join us?” Armand asked Otho cheerfully, but Una’s brother would only glare at the floor and shake his head. “A pity,” sighed Armand. “But you can only lead a horse to water.” Otho looked up quickly at that, but then flung away from them, slamming the door shut behind him so hard that the hinges rattled.

“He means well by me,” Una said unevenly. “Only he does not understand.”

Armand reached for the venison and began to carve. “Try not to worry,” he said to Una as he placed a slice on her plate. “We won’t stop again until nightfall, so you need to eat well now.”

“I think he will be dogging our steps,” Una replied in the manner of one making a confession. “He has a determined character and will not accept defeat on this so easily.”

“Or he will be skulking in the stables waiting for us to finish here,” Armand agreed briskly. “But there’s little to be gained from worrying about that now.”

“Sir Armand,” she said earnestly, placing her hand over his. “You must not underestimate Otho. He is very handy with a sword. Indeed, he came out of that May Day tournament as the rightful winner—”

He felt a prickle of annoyance. “Una,” he said, turning his hand under hers, to capture her fingers. “You must not underestimate me, either. I am perfectly capable of handling brother Otho.” She looked startled and frankly unconvinced, which was his own fault really for shamming that loss in the first round.

“Was May Day the only event you ever saw me fight?” he asked, releasing her hand, and reaching for his ale cup. Was it too much to hope she might have seen one of his more reputable displays in the field?

“The King required my presence at all of the royal tournaments held over this past twelve months,” she answered, avoiding his eye.

Armand cast his mind back. Unfortunately, he had found it more profitable to throw all his recent royal performances. He eyed her silently as she picked up her spoon to sample her soup. Gods, she must think her husband totally inept. The thought was strangely bothersome to him. Almost, he hoped her churlish brother was waiting outside for him, so he could vindicate himself by sending him sprawling in the dirt.

“Have some more bread,” he said aloud, shrugging off such uncustomary thoughts. After all, what did he care what she thought of him?

He managed to keep the conversation flowing during their meal, ably assisted by Una who it seemed was an old hand at hiding her unease. Her conversation and dutiful smiles did not show her anxiety. The only thing that gave her away was the way her fingers could not keep still. When they were not plucking at her napkin, they were tearing her bread into small pieces or burying themselves into her skirts.

Armand found himself grudgingly respecting her fortitude. No one could have been pleasanter or smiled wider as she thanked the landlord when he reminded her to visit the shrine and “gain the upper hand.” Of course, the landlord did not know that Armand had already wrung a promise from her that she would yield to him in all things. For some reason, that thought was a disquieting one, too.

“What piece of advice did Bess give you?” he asked impulsively, as he extended his hand to her, helping her up from the bench.

Her smile seemed less forced this time as she took his hand. “She cautioned me against the wiles of a pretty face,” she admitted. “And suggested an old man for my next matrimonial prospect.”

“Did she, by gods,” he laughed, pulling her out of her seat and glad to see the twinkle restored to her eye. “I hear they are easier to handle.”

“That always seemed unlikely to me,” she admitted. “In my experience old men are stubborn and intractable, and it is almost impossible to change their mind on any point.”

He guessed she was speaking of her sire but not wishing to raise that particular specter right now, he did not voice his suspicion. Instead he led her outside and felt her tense as they approached the stable. The groom, however, fetched their horses without any altercation, they remounted and were soon back on the road.

The next few hours passed without incident. It was a pleasant ride, the sky was blue, the sun shone, and all seemed right with the world. Whenever he glanced Una’s way, she had a smile playing about her lips and was clearly enjoying herself.

Doubtless she was seeing south Karadok at its best, for the trees and hedgerows were in full blossom and the fields full of workers employed in planting out the crops. It must indeed be sweet for her to savor such views, after three years of house arrest with the dour Mycroft family and then a year and a half stuck at court attending stuffy state functions.

“Not long now,” he said, catching her eye. “The inn we are making for is The Merry Wayfarer. I know it well and we are assured a good night’s rest there.”

Such, however, did not prove to be the case. For when they finally arrived at the inn, Armand was most put out to find the landlord who came out to greet them was not familiar to him. It soon transpired The Merry Wayfarer had changed hands. After an indifferent supper, they retired to their room and he drew a map out from his saddlebag and unfolded it.