The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,69

Henry and his ghastly wife, the better, and it seemed Roger had not gone off to his religious seminary after all. He wondered vaguely what his father was planning to do with the feckless idiot now he had no clear path in life.

After dismissing his family from his thoughts, he dwelt instead on his wife, who had unexpectedly been sent into a blind panic at the prospect of unannounced visitors. He didn’t think he’d seen her flurried before. Except, perhaps that morning after their wedding when he’d planned on leaving her at the palace. That had sent her into something of a spin. Still, it hadn’t been a glazed-eyed, pale as a ghost, cold sweat sort of panic. Not even after they had so nearly been murdered in their beds in that second inn.

No, she had been shaken that night, but not sick with dread and fear. He considered this a moment in frowning concentration. He had a strong notion it had been the knocking on the door that had set Una into a panic, and he remembered vividly how she had wept in his arms at that first inn, the night they had spoken of Strethneal. He had known then that Una hadn’t really laid her ghosts to rest from the war but hadn’t wanted to dwell on the matter.

After all, it was no business of his, or so he had reasoned at the time. Now he found himself wondering if there had been a knock at the door when Wymer’s forces had arrested her. He would never ask of course. Forcing a confidence from her might make her believe him willing to take on more than he intended.

Also, he did not mean to reopen any old wounds if he could help it. Una’s scars were not visible, but clearly, they ran deep. If not, they could not make her lose her appetite and send her into a frenzy even now, years later simply by a knock at the door.

In any case, what could he possibly do to lighten her burden? She was obviously used to shouldering it alone and simply putting a brave face on it. For some reason, that thought didn’t sit quite right with him. He reached out for her in the dark and drew her closer to him. “How’s your stomach now?” He placed his palm carefully over the slight swell of her belly. “Still queasy?”

“It’s not turning over anymore,” she assured him.

“You’re not hungry?”

“No.”

“A pity,” he sighed. “Mr. Beverley’s pie will probably last us a sennight as it is.”

She gave a soft chuckle at that. “Did you tell Otho to hire him?”

“Not in so many words.”

“You may have to,” she said, and he heard the pillow rustle as she turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. “Otho’s far too harsh a judge of character.”

He grunted. “You don’t need to tell me that. He’s still looking at me as though deciding where to dispose of my body.” He could almost feel her frowning in the dark. “That was in jest. I usually am … joking I mean.”

“Yes, I know,” she agreed absently, and he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or not. “Your brothers aren’t very like you, are they?”

“No,” he agreed. “I did tell you so.”

“Yes, but you also told me your younger brother was entering the priesthood,” she pointed out. “He certainly seems very ill-suited for such a vocation.”

“Yes, I think that plan must have fallen by the wayside,” he murmured in agreement. “Noticed that about Roger, did you?”

“His tongue was practically hanging out across the table,” she said dryly, and Armand laughed. “I don’t think Rose even noticed,” she mused. “She’s a very pure-hearted girl.”

Privately Armand thought Rose was something of a simpleton, but he gave a murmur that could be taken for agreement. “You will admit I am right about Henry being chicken-hearted at all events,” he said. “And presumably your heart no longer bleeds for him after my cruel treatment of him in boyhood.”

“When did I say—”

“When we were at the tower,” Armand retorted. “You read me a proper lesson on proper brotherly feeling.”

“Well,” she said after a moment’s pause, “that sounds very tiresome of me and I apologize.”

He retreated into surprised silence. “If you’re going to be so reasonable about it, I have little choice other than to accept your apology,” he said humorously, and yawned, rolling onto his back. “In any event, you will admit, I sketched my sister-in-law to perfection. Did you hear her