Page 24

“You have a particular jeweler in mind?”

Oswald shrugged. “Aphrany’s best.”

“Very well, my lord.”

“Have we forgotten anything?”

“Undoubtedly sir.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” admitted Oswald. “No matter, at least we’ve made a start. We can remedy any oversights later.”

“My lord?” asked Bryce in bewilderment as Oswald locked his drawer and stood up from his chair. “Are you attending the King this afternoon?”

Oswald shook his head. “I’m going back to my quarters,” he said. “I have a new wife to pacify.”

It was a pity, Oswald thought on his way back, that he had no clear vision of how he would actually achieve this. The problem was, that had rushed her. He had not wanted to bother with wooing or any of the other rituals people went through when selecting a spouse. He still didn’t, but he would have to make some concessions. It wouldn’t kill him to take her to a few of the palace entertainments and introduce her around. Also, he admitted to himself with unease, letting the King think she had coerced him into accepting the veracity of their marriage had not been chivalrous of him. He was not sure how he could set about righting that wrong. After all, he had only instigated their marriage as a means to an end, but that did not mean he should be inconsiderate of her feelings. The King no doubt, would be vocal with his displeasure and others would pick up the tale which could be humiliating for Fenella. He frowned over this a moment, before deciding the best way to counter the court gossip would simply be for them to show themselves abroad as an amicable wedded couple. After all, reflected Oswald, how hard could that be? People married all the time. Many stupider men than he managed to maintain functioning marriages.

Thane was an insignificant, mediocre little man. The fact he had inspired such strong feeling in Fenella was a good thing, he told himself. It was a sign that she was worth cultivating. In time, with encouragement she would transfer her loyalty to him and then all would be well. He just had to ease her over this rough patch while she adjusted to the changes in her life. His steps felt lighter once he’d decided on his course of action and he entered his rooms feeling positive. It was an unwelcome surprise to find the fire unlit and the living quarters empty despite his earlier orders. Meldon was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Fenella. He walked straight through to his bedchamber and was surprised to find his wife a huddled lump in the bed.

“Fenella?” He walked around to her side of the bed and flipped back the blanket to find her hot and shivering and fully clothed beneath the covers. “Fenella?” He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek and found her hot and feverish. She whimpered at his touch and tried to turn away. “What was that?” he asked, catching a hoarse whisper.

“Cold,” she repeated, pulling the covers tighter around her.

“Nay, you’re burning with fever,” he corrected her. “We need to get you undressed.”

“No please,” she wept.

“Fenella,” he said reasonably as he stripped back the blankets, rolled her onto her side and started unlacing her dress. “You’ve no doubt caught a chill on that long ride yesterday and then sitting on draughty floorboards last night. It’s hardly to be wondered at.”

Her eyelids kept drifting shut as he maneuvered her around until he could pull the wool dress up over her head, leaving her in her thin shift. “I’m so cold,” she mumbled. Her eyes had a dull, glazed look. He wasn’t entirely sure she recognized him. “I’ll get the fire lit in here for you,” he said, lying her back down on the mattress. She caught his hand and held it tight. “Please don’t leave me,” she said looking right at him.

Oswald paused. Her hand clutched his convulsively. “Very well,” he said. “I won’t.” Gently withdrawing his hand, he dumped the yellow wool dress onto the floor and then after a moment’s hesitation, dragged a chair from against the wall next to the bed. “I’ll just fetch some wood for the fire,” he told her, disappearing into the adjoining room where he raided the larger fireplace which was stacked up with chopped wood. He cursed Meldon under his breath, as he lay and lit the fire in the bedchamber. Clearly the old rogue had gone off on his errands after all, despite his express orders to stay in attendance of his mistress. Once the fire was burning merrily, he returned to her side and poured her a fresh cup of water from the jug. “Fenella, you should drink this.”

Her eyes snapped open to look at him. Suddenly, she lurched forward, trying to scramble out of the bed. “I’m going to be unwell,” she gasped.

Catching her meaning, he reached behind him for the basin off the dresser and held it in front of her as she retched and clutched at the bowl until she vomited.

Oswald held the basin steady with one hand and stroked her back with the other. “Shhh, all will be well. You’ll feel better presently,” he murmured as she shivered and apologized. “Is that the last of it, do you think?”

“I think so,” she rasped. “I’m so sorry.”

“Drink the water.”

She took a hurried sip.

“Rinse your mouth out and spit.”

She followed his orders, seeming lucid for the first time since he’d returned.

“Now get back in the bed,” he told her as he carried the bowl to the door.

“Are you leaving?” she asked sounding panicked.

“No, I’ll return presently.” He was surprised to catch a look of relief in her eye at his response. Meldon was just coming through the door as he emerged from the bedroom. “Ah here you are, at last. I have something for you here.” He placed the basin of vomit on the table. “You can fetch more firewood and fresh water for your mistress.”

“Who’s been a-sick?” asked Meldon in surprise.

Oswald directed a withering glance at him and disappeared back into the bedroom.