Sandor sat on top of Stranger, letting the black stallion pick out his own way home in the dark. The horse knew the path home, so despite the late hour and the darkness surrounding them, Sandor trusted him to see them both back to the ranch safely. The evening with the newly wedded couples, celebrating their nuptials over roasted, honey-glazed duck with potatoes, had been… bearable. The whiskey he had consumed had helped, of course.

Sandor had not wanted to engage in conversation, and had offered Ray only a handful of one word answers and a few grunts when the man had tried to include him in conversing with his redheaded bride. The only other person who had made a noteworthy attempt to speak to him had been Melisandre Dondarrion.

"While the arrangement with Miss Sand did not work out, I could find another suitable woman for you and bring her out on our next trip," she had said to him.

The cold, hard glare Sandor had leveled at her in silent response had soon put paid to that idea and she had not so much as glanced in his direction for the remainder of the evening. Clearly the woman had been put out, but Sandor thought she should count herself lucky that he had not opened his mouth and let a torrent of choice words (ones Ray had bid him not to use this evening given the company they were keeping) pour forth describing just what he thought about her and her matchmaking skills. The courtesy of ignoring him was not, however, extended to Sandor by his former bride-to-be, who spent most of the evening intermittently scowling at him between episodes of glowering at her supper.

Miss Sand's earlier words rang out in Sandor's mind for most of the meal, and he knew the humiliating cry of "You expect me to marry that? You told me the man was not handsome, not that he was missing half of his face!" would stay with him long past the time of her departure from the small, frontier town of Kennel Keep. He also knew that the words were most likely to return to him on those nights he found that his company was only fit for an amber-filled bottle of liquor. In the wee hours of the morning, before the darkness of the night bled into the coming of a new day, when his anger turned into self-pity, and the memories of the past his sober self could usually keep at bay barrelled forth and assaulted him, that's when her bitter, biting words would return to him.

While Sandor felt the crushing blow of rejection from Miss Sand, as he and Stranger made their way back home, he could admit that he was secretly relieved not to be returning to the ranch with a wife in tow. Ever since first consenting for Melisandre's matchmaking service to bring out a mail order bride to him, a gnawing, unsettled feeling had taken up root inside his chest. After all, what did he know about taking a wife, for gods' sake! The only grown women he had spent any significant amount of time with had been bought and paid for. He had coarse manners at the best of times, and no skill at gentle conservation. He was better suited to working with animals, and he knew that he could understand his horse's mind far better than he could ever that of a woman.

Ray had reasoned that a mail order bride would therefore be a suitable fit for Sandor, since both he and Sandor needed to marry to ensure that they received the government's grant that would aid their efforts in keeping their ranch out of the Lannisters' grasp. Sandor appreciated that in sending away for a wife, he would not need to woo her or spend any more time in her company beyond what it took for her to step off the stagecoach and for them to reach the Lord of Light's temple before they would be wed. He had not expected love or warmth to grow from any marriage he pursued, not truly, but the way Ray spoke at times about his late wife, reminiscing on times they had shared, and his hopes to enjoy similar companionship and camaraderie with his new bride did make Sandor pause, and perhaps, just perhaps, he might have entertained a thought or two about what it might be like to have a woman he could call his own; a woman who would be comfortable, and dare he say it, happy, in his company.

Of course, all his worrying over taking a wife had been all for nought. Not only had Miss Sand rejected him, but he had suffered a second rejection at the hands of that slip of a girl who had the misfortune of having Walder Frey as her groom. He had been as surprised as the poor girl when Tyrion's foreign bride had suggested she marry him, the only available man, but one look in his direction from the frightened mouse and she had decided that she would rather bind herself to Walder Frey than him.

Walder fucking Frey. A woman - or in this case, girl - would rather pick Walder fucking Frey to marry than him.

Sandor's fingers unconsciously tightened in anger around the reins he held, unintentionally jostling the bit in Stranger's mouth. The horse huffed, his breath forming puffs of short-lived clouds in the moonlight, and pulled at his reins in annoyance.

"Easy, boy," Sandor murmured to his horse in apology.

It's not like he had wanted to marry the poor girl, but the rejection still stung.

Luckily, while he was returning to the ranch as a bachelor, at least Ray had had better luck with his Ros. For a brief moment at the church during his friend's wedding ceremony, he had wondered if Ray's redheaded beauty was about to leave him, quite literally, at the altar. But, alas, whatever internal debate she was having, or whatever nerves had stayed her tongue, had been won and overcome and she had said I do. So, while Sandor and Stranger made their way back to the ranch under the moon's faint light, Ray and his newly wedded wife enjoyed the comforts and finery of a suite at the hotel for their first night together.

Sandor pushed down the twinge of jealousy he felt rising up inside of him at the thought of just how the pair would be spending their time together, as well as the fleeting memory of how soft and round Ros' backside had felt when she had stumbled into him after Frey had knocked her out of his way in the temple earlier. While he would allow himself to admire the woman's fair looks, he sure as fuck was not about to start lusting after her shapely figure, not now that she was Ray's wife.

'Not while sober anyway, you dirty, old mutt,' a sneering voice, one that he knew was his own, whispered inside Sandor's head.

The woman's impending presence out at the ranch unsettled Sandor more than he cared to admit. He had observed her throughout the dinner at the hotel, straining his ears to hear her softly spoken words, to try and garner what he could about her. He had thought his observations discreet, but he had spotted Ros glancing at him several times to see if she was still being watched before quickly averting her eyes. Only once did their gazes meet, and when they did, Sandor found himself wondering how a woman such as her ever ended up as a mail order bride. Or, more cynically, why a woman like her chose a simple rancher such as Ray to be her husband. While she was a widow with no financial assets of her own, surely a woman who possessed such beauty, elegance and poise could have her choice from hordes of suitors vying for her hand without having to travel across the continent to find herself a husband? Out of the droves of men who would gladly fall over themselves for a woman like Ros, why did she choose a simple rancher way out in a quiet frontier town? Ray was a good and honest man who would not mistreat her, Sandor knew that, but how could a woman miles upon miles away, who had only communicated with him through letters, know that? Had that been her reason for choosing him over her, no doubt, countless other options? Or was there some other reason…?

As Sandor pondered, he thought of Tyrion's beautiful bride. He knew Tyrion had purposely advertised for a pretty bride and had not been shy about mentioning the great fortune he possessed. Therefore, it was no surprise that the woman who had accepted Tyrion's proposal was very comely. However, Ray had no such wealth and had been truthful about what he could offer a wife. The ranch they shared was prosperous, and with the land the government grant would give them now that he had taken a wife, it was a fairly sizeable enterprise, but it was one beholden to the many elements out of their control, so its fortune could change from one season to the next. Had Ros wanted a more stable, or easier life, Sandor reasoned she would not have chosen Ray.

'So why pick him?'

Perhaps she was hiding debts that would catch up with her? Or maybe she had become embroiled in a scandal back in Vale City? Either one might be a reason for her wanting to find a husband quickly.

'Hmmmm…'

Their correspondence had not been quick though, had it? Letters had been exchanged between the pair over many a month, allowing them to get to know one another, before they had decided to wed.

'There goes that theory…' Sandor thought grumpily.

"What d'ya think, huh, Stranger?" Sandor asked his horse. "Think she's up to no good?"

The dark horse offered no opinion on the matter and left Sandor to his musings.

Little did Sandor know that at that very moment back at Kennel Keep, his dear friend's puzzling, new wife stood clutching a blade with a white-knuckled grip, watching blood drip from it onto the floor.

.

Oh la la...!

Thank-you to everyone who is reading my story, you're all fabulous 💕 Please do leave a review, I reply to all of them!

BTW, I've created picsets on AO3 for all of my chapters so far and will be doing them for all future chapters, so you can go check those out if you like 🎨