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.
“Do you think you could mark on this map where you know the Northern treasure to be hidden?” he asked, setting it down between them.
Una’s expression remained calm, but he thought he felt a ripple of unease from her as she drew the document toward her. Just for the tiniest moment, he wondered if she had lied about the prospect of hidden treasure, but then dismissed the thought. She seemed inherently truthful, if anything.
She frowned over the map, running a finger over its surface. “It still shows the border,” she commented with surprise.
“It’s an old map.”
Her finger hovered over a large area marked by