Page 8 of His Forsaken Bride

Roland gave a visible start and then colored up. “You set your spies on me?” he asked belligerently.

“Of course not,” scoffed Oswald. “I hardly need the aid of a spy to recognize my own brother.”

Roland shrugged a brawny shoulder in annoyance. “Always forget how bloody observant you are,” he muttered. “Why bring it up now? You never let on before!”

Oswald sighed. “I don’t know. No reason.”

“There’s always a reason with you,” said Roland darkly.

Oswald wondered with surprise if that was true. “I’m tired,” he admitted. “And speaking without considering my words.”

“Must be a first for you,” retorted his brother. “Ever the damned politician.” Roland pushed his plate away and contemplated his brother frowningly. “What is it? What’s got you rattled?” he asked slowly.

“It’s nothing,” said Oswald aloud. “Just a trying morning, that’s all.” He smiled wanly. “So far there’s been a divorce and a suspicious invitation to supper.”

“Who got divorced?” asked Roland with a raised eyebrow. They very rarely discussed Oswald’s business.

“Sir Ambrose Thane.”

“Oh?” grunted Roland suspiciously. “Who’s he?”

“Diplomatic equerry to the King in the north.”

Roland pulled a disgusted face. “Oh, a damn ambassador! Court’s overflowing with dullards these days! Who’s the wife?”

“Which one?” Oswald answered wryly.

Roland choked on his cup of ale. “The devil you say! I’ve heard a lot of things about the North, but I didn’t know they practiced polygamy!”

“He’s not northern,” said Oswald absently reaching for the fruit bowl. He helped himself to a grape.

“How did he end up with two wives then?”

Oswald watched his brother as Roland pushed away his plate of half eaten cheese. He was suddenly sick of Sir Ambrose Thane and his many wives. Instead he realized this was the first conversation he’d had with his youngest brother in weeks. “Did you read the letter from Mason that came last week?” he asked in an abrupt change of subject.

Roland shrugged. “I glanced it over.”

“It seems unlikely he and Linnet will come to court in the next few months.”

His brother grunted.

“It can’t be easy to travel with three children,” Oswald said mildly. “Especially Archie,” he added with a vague shudder thinking of his godson.

“Why don’t they leave them at Cadwallader, then?” said Roland belligerently. “Especially that red-haired little demon-spawn!” They both brooded a moment on the subject of Archie Vawdrey, their nephew.

“Don’t let Mason hear you refer to his son and heir in those terms,” warned Oswald. For some reason their brother and sister-in-law insisted on believing their son was some kind of angelic protégée, instead of the little villain he really was. “Maybe he’s improved in the last two months since we last saw him?”

“He could hardly be any worse,” retorted Roland.

“Still,” said Oswald. “It would be good to have all the family together again.” He hesitated. “Since father died…”

“Save it,” Roland growled.

Oswald sighed. It was strange to think their blustering, purple-faced sire had been the glue that held them together. “I know you were closest to him…”

Roland dragged his chair back abruptly. “Are we done here?” he gritted out.

Oswald shrugged. “Apparently.”