The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,103

asshole.

It didn’t help that he’d always felt guilty as hell for the wedding night he must have given her. Drunk and practically unconscious, he supposed, was marginally better than drunk and rampaging with lust. But was it though? At least if he’d been in the mood to swive, he’d have given her his tongue or his fingers first. She must have been dry as dust and he must have hurt her a good deal. He swore again. And then, to crown his folly, he’d gone and practically accused her of feigning her virginity!

He was appalled that Una could think she needed to learn additional tricks as she was not pretty enough to hold his attention. Surely it was obvious that he was wildly attracted to her? Having said that, the poison of court had likely wrought some damage even before their disastrous wedding night. He only hoped she had not done anything she found distasteful, in the belief he needed added stimulus to bed her. Had she even wanted to play that damned dragon game with him, or had she felt duty-bound?

Could it be that Una still thought she had to be amenable in all things where he was concerned? He felt gnawed by doubt and closed his eyes a moment, feeling overwhelmed. There was no way he could put all this to rights. The only thing he could promise now was to start treating her with the respect she deserved and should have commanded from him from the very beginning.

“Bad head?” asked Otho with sympathy, and Armand saw his brother-in-law was sat in the great hall buttering bread. Armand grunted and joined him. “You’re up early,” Otho commented, and Armand surveyed him with disfavor. Otho pushed the platter of fried fish toward him. “Help yourself.”

“Is no one else yet up?” Armand asked, glancing about with surprise.

Otho shook his head. “Just you and I.”

Armand eyed him speculatively as he loaded fish onto his plate. “You prepared this meal?” Otho assented. “Why are you up so early?”

Otho set down the loaf and poured two cups of weak ale. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, just as Armand had given up all expectation of a reply.

“Why?” Armand asked, glad of a distraction from his own worries. As soon as he asked, he realized his mistake. Of course, Otho was worried about the approach of suspicions Northerners. Hearing that would only serve in making Armand feel even guiltier for not focusing on their real concerns right now. He scowled.

“I … er … had to speak to Rose yesterday,” Otho admitted, avoiding his gaze. Armand’s eyes widened. He took a bite of bread and butter. The fact he made no verbal reply seemed to unnerve Otho into speaking further. “I may have been a bit too harsh,” he continued in a voice that rasped.

“She’s still chasing after you, then?” Armand asked shrewdly.

Otho colored furiously. “Of course not!” A telltale flush was spreading right up his neck. Una’s brother wasn’t very good at lying, Armand thought wryly. “She’s not that sort of girl. She just—she doesn’t know what she’s about, that’s all!”

“She does seem a bit backward,” Armand agreed.

Otho’s eyes shot daggers back at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well …” Armand shrugged. “Just that she lives in a bit of a dream.”

Otho’s shoulders relaxed. “Precisely,” he rapped out, but he still looked deeply uncomfortable, and after pushing his food around his plate a moment, thrust it away from him uneaten.

“Has Una ever been betrothed to anyone but me,” Armand asked heavily, before he could change his mind or Otho fling off in another mood.

Otho looked startled. “What? Why?”

“Answer the question.”

Otho scratched his close-shorn head and Armand wondered not for the first time why he wore it like that. He wasn’t a pilgrim, so was he performing some kind of penance? “There was some talk of pledging her hand to some prince of the Western Isles,” he said slowly. “But that was years ago, when she was just a girl.”

“No one since?” Armand asked quickly.

Otho shook his head. “Once we embarked on war, there was precious little time to devote to royal alliances,” he said with a shrug. “Our father had other worries on his mind.”

“What about unofficially?”

“How do you mean?”

“You know, champions, admirers, that sort of thing.”

Otho snorted. “You’re thinking of the Southern court,” he said flatly. “We had no fripperies like that on our battlefields. My father jealously guarded his heir in any case. None of his generals were permitted to grow too close