Journey in Time (Knights in Time) (27 page)

“In law school, I read the color blue conveys trustworthiness and dependability,” she’d told him as she dressed.
 

     
One side of her mouth remained puffy while the unhealed blackish-red cut bisected her upper lip. The facial swelling had subsided, but her cheeks and jaw bone bore an array of bruises in various combinations of primary colors. A dark mouse still sported one eye. Nasty as her marks were, they didn’t compare to the kaleidoscope of colors on Dankworth’s face.

Alex smiled with pride. In spite of her injuries, his classy Shakira walked down the main aisle with a stately bearing no woman in the room could outrival. Her face lit up as she caught sight of him. For the first time that morning, she smiled. Alex winked back.

     
Basil also watched with avid interest. "I see why you are reluctant to let her go. One could almost believe she is noble born,” he said, eyeing her while she took her place in front of the king. "But, regrettably she isn’t. You’re certain you wish to keep her?"

     
"Yes. Why?" Alex asked, as Basil's keen gaze swept over every inch of Shakira.

     
"It is possible you’ve seen reason and reconsidered the king's wishes. If so, I could take care of her," Basil said with a lopsided grin. "She’d be safe and finding a place for her in my household is not a problem."

     
"Where would that place be--your bedchamber perhaps?"

     
"Anything is possible."

     
Alex laughed softly, his eyes on Shakira.

     
"What amuses you?" Basil asked.

     
"Memories, we have some good ones."

     
"Any particular one in mind?"

     
"When you broke your nose."

     
Basil’s eyes narrowed. "That’s not a good memory for me. It hurt like the devil and played havoc with my sense of smell."

     
"Yes, it did. So, if you wish to sniff around for a willing lady this eve, I suggest you stop gaping at Shakira like she’s a fresh baked cherry tart."

     
"God's teeth, are you in love with her?"

Alex hesitated.
In love
? Impossible, he told himself, a little less sure than he ought to be. Granted, he didn’t want another man to touch her, ever.
Typical testosterone fueled jealousy
. Yes, he missed her when he went to Wales, more than he expected.
Missing isn’t loving
. And yes, he wanted to kill Dankworth for harming her, such was his bloodlust.
But any honorable knight
would seek revenge
. All of it added up to what he’d call deep affection.

Fingers snapped in his face.

"What?"

"I asked if you were in love and you went silent." Basil stared at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"I am not in love. Can we leave off the subject now?"

"Shh, Dankworth is telling his version," the woman next to him whispered.

To someone who didn't know the truth, the lie sounded credible. Dankworth testified he caught Shakira trying to steal. She escaped and ran off. He went in pursuit, dragged her back, and disciplined the "Jezebel," as was "his right."

The man had the gall to act indignant over his incarceration. The outrageous tale rekindled Alex’s anger.

"I’d love to have five more minutes with the brute."

A loud, derisive snort from Basil drew the attention of the people standing around. "Careful Guy, he tells a colorful story. Next you know, the blackguard will ask for compensation from you."

The king silenced Dankworth and gave permission for Shakira to speak. She curtsied and then turned to the defendant.

"Milord Dankworth, you have alleged I am a thief. What item of jewelry do you say I stole?"

"A ring--" his swollen mouth twisted and he spoke only from one side as he embellished the lie, "an emerald ring of my mother's."

"Describe it for us, please."

"The band is gold filigree. The center is an emerald the size of my thumbnail surrounded by pearls."

Shakira eased over to Cybill Dankworth and locked a hand around her wrist before the woman could move away.

"You mean this ring?" Shakira forced his mother’s hand up. She took care not to block the king’s view as she removed the ring from the tinier woman’s finger. With great dramatic flair, she lifted her other hand in the air and tried the ring on each finger. When the ring didn’t fit past Shakira’s knuckles of her right, she repeated the action with her left hand.
 

"So Milord, you accuse me of stealing a ring I cannot wear. One I knew was too small based on my greater size alone,” she said and gave the ring back to Cybill. “Why would I do such a thing?"

"’Tis obvious--to sell." He glanced around at various members of the audience and up to the king. His expression exuded smug boredom with the question.

"I see. You now infer the
Baron
Guiscard is unable to give his paramour coin if she desired it."

"I...I..." Dankworth's smirk slipped as a deep furrow of wariness formed between his eyes. "You plant that seed of disrespect. You dissemble and mislead those who would listen."

"Do I? If I’ve misinterpreted your statement, please enlighten us as to what you actually meant. An allegation of theft must be substantiated by motive. Your accusation I stole for profit suggests I needed money. Is it your intention to imply the
Baron’s
finances are lacking? If so, I’m certain
Baron
Guiscard would be interested in hearing how you came upon such information, or in his case, misinformation."

A low grumble traveled through the room. For a tradesman, even one favored by royalty, to cast such aspersions on the reputation of a noble was an affront to every courtier present. The insult usually carried serious ramifications.

 
Her face a mask of impassivity, Shakira aligned herself so the king saw Dankworth’s furtive eye movements, his twitches and tics.

"Milord Dankworth, we await your answer."

Silence.

"Milord?"

Silence.

"Moving on, what time do you allege I ran away?"

"I do not know."

“Afternoon or evening...when?”

“The theft so offended me, I did not mark the time.”

Shakira looked askance at the evasive answer. "Do you often have trouble distinguishing between daylight and moonlight, Milord?"

Everyone, including the king, snickered. Dankworth glared at her. "Dusk, it was dusk."

"Do you recall what gown I wore when I escaped?"

"The same one you left the palace in."

"This one?" She motioned to a guard who brought a bundle over which Shakira unwrapped containing the dress in question.

"Yes."

"You are sure."

"Yes. Your Highness, must I endure this..." Dankworth raked Shakira with insolent eyes, a sneer further distorted his damaged mouth. "This harlot’s questions much more?"

“Proceed,” the king said, turning to Shakira.
 

She shook the dress out and displayed it for the king. "
Baron
Guiscard informed me the
prince’
s hunting party returned early from the hunt due to an incoming storm. That storm started mid-afternoon here in London."

An intentional tactic, she referenced the prince and used Alex’s title rather than the simpler Sir Guy. The politics of the class distinction between a noble and tradesman offended her but served her purpose. To this king and court, the distinction was justified.

"Notice, Your Highness, there is no mud, or dirt, or watermarks on the material. I could not have gone into the street at dusk without soaking my gown." She laid the bottom of the gown across the back of her hand. Underneath, she splayed her fingers and held the hem up for the king’s perusal.

The king raised questioning brows at Dankworth who offered no response and refused to look the monarch in the eye.

"I’d like to point out this repaired spot is sewn with thread which does not match that of the original seamstresses’. The dress ripped when Milord Dankworth’s maid stripped it from my body."
 

Shakira folded the gown over her arm and confronted Dankworth. "Do you deny your mother intended to rob me of my clothes for inclusion in her own wardrobe?"

"You slander a God-fearing woman. I will not answer your scurrilous question."

"I believe the evidence speaks for you."

Shakira returned to stand before the king and held the dress against her. “You can see the sleeves and hem are shortened. Alterations made to fit a much smaller woman.

"Lady Dankworth was wearing my gown when the
baron
and
earl
arrived. After my rescue, the baron used his dagger to sever the buttons in order to facilitate the removal." She arrayed the gown to exhibit the bodice’s missing buttons. "I would ask Your Highness to take into consideration this man and his mother are more acquainted with thievery than I."

Shakira set the dress aside, ignoring the shout of protest from Dankworth's mother. The woman’s screams continued as guards led her from the hall.

"Do you have any other questions for the accused?" The king’s dry monotone concerned her. Was he bored with her female blather? She wavered and then mumbled a nervous, "yes." The king cocked a brow. "Yes, Y
our
Highness."

She worried the stitches on her surcoat with anxious fingers then hid her hands in the folds of her dress. She faced off with Dankworth again.

"You admitted to beating me. Do you deny you used a riding crop to whip me when I fought off your attempted rape? Do you deny confessing pain gives you as much pleasure as fornication before you flogged me?"

"You lie. I struck you for stealing. I never whipped you or tried to force myself on you. I cannot account for any lash marks. Who knows what sinful things a whore, like you, does for coin?"

“Guard, the crop please,” she said. The same man who brought the dress brought her the whip.

Shakira held the riding crop high and pulled several long, black hairs from the knotted tip. "Do you deny these strands of hair were yanked from my head when your whip snagged them? I would remind you, you’ve sworn an oath of truth before your king. To perjure yourself is to break that oath, an act of disloyalty.”

She walked to both sides of the hall showing the black silky strands to the spectators and then to the prince. "Your horse is a grey, as all here know. Again, I ask you, do you admit to whipping me?" She spun and pointed an accusatory finger at Dankworth. "Whipping me..." her voice heated with condemnation, as she stalked toward her abuser, "when I was under the protection of King Edward as his ward."

When no answer came, she addressed the courtiers who clustered near the king. Her manner solemn, her height imposing, an aura of confidence radiated from her.

She dropped the pitch of her voice a fraction lower. The change barely discernible, the added authority in the modulation was a subtle courtroom tact she liked to employ. “Is not a betrayal of one’s sovereign’s trust tantamount to treason?” She directed the question to the prince.

Edward made no acknowledgement but studied Dankworth who refused to look his way.