The Dark Knight (10 page)

Later she admitted that it was her strange awareness of the man that had made her react in ways that were most unlike her, an immediate sense that she had landed exactly where she was meant to be, in the arms of a man who could hold her safe and secure against any threat. He was familiar to her in ways she could not fathom. She wanted to melt into him, to lose herself in his gaze, forget that anyone else existed. It was the singular most unique experience in her life.

The footsteps drew closer and she took a deep breath to steady herself and brushed the wrinkles from the skirt of her newly-donned scarlet gown, sparing a glance at her aunt next to her. Something fluttered in her stomach when Sir Percival finally entered her chamber and started toward her. Already she had forgotten how big he was and yet how gracefully he moved.

There were other things about him that seemed different from what she remembered of him in the great hall. His hair was not pure black, as she had thought. The candlelight in her chamber brushed waves of deep mahogany amidst the ebony, an unexpected flame in the depths of night. The same dark shadows defined his jaw, the sharp planes of his cheeks, the masculine lines around his mouth. Altogether, he had the face of a fallen angel; a dark, sensual vision of sin.

He watched her just as closely and his gaze drifted lower for a leisurely examination of every part of her. It was such a thorough inspection that she knew she should be offended. Later, she would be offended. For the moment, she basked in the rare warmth of a man’s appreciative gaze.

The men at Coleway tended to avoid her for the most part, just as certain as she was that she would find some
dreadful task for anyone who had time to gawk at or speak improperly to a maiden, especially one who had the power to make their life unpleasant. Flirting did not engender respect, and she tolerated none of it from her uncle’s men.

There had been a few exceptions, of course, a few young men brave enough to offer their assistance in the gardens as she gathered herbs and flowers, or their escort when she joined the hunt, or to request her hand in a dance. Regardless of whether she found their company pleasant or tiresome, their attentions never lasted beyond one or two small signs of courtship before they began to ignore her or actively avoid her company.

John teased her mercilessly over her failures at even those most innocent of courtships, somehow aware of each rejection, slyly insinuating that they had found her personality as lacking as her beauty. She had tried to ignore John’s venom, knowing he delighted in making everyone miserable, yet the poisonous words took root after a while. She felt clumsy and awkward around any man she found the least bit attractive. Knowing any encouragement would only end with her own hurt feelings, her deliberately cold, shrewish manner was always enough to keep them at arm’s length. The ploy worked well on both sides. She could not recall the last man who had bestirred any interest.

Her father’s knight was a different story entirely. He would be worth the risk just to see him smile at her again. He made her feel small and delicate, this man who had caught her so easily in his arms. Yet, for some reason, he also made her feel helpless and more than a little afraid that he could hurt her in ways she had never experienced.

Part of her awed reaction was due to his size and strength, she supposed, evident in every hard line of his
body. But mostly there was something about the way he looked at her. Something … predatory. No man had ever looked at her that way.

She watched him as he followed her uncle into her chamber in a slow, unhurried pace and saw his gaze sweep across the room once, and then again, as if he were wary of some threat. Despite this awareness of his surroundings, she had no doubt that she was his prey. He ignored Lady Margaret and came to a halt directly in front of her.

“My lady,” he murmured, as he made a slight bow. “Allow me to apologize for this intrusion. Your aunt’s generous offer to lend me your quarters is a great honor, but Lord Brunor tells me you will be forced to sleep on a stone bench beneath the solar windows. ’Tis not right for a knight to enjoy his own comforts at the expense of a lady. I would sooner sleep on a bed of thorns.” He didn’t give Avalene a chance to respond to those astonishing statements before he turned to Lady Margaret. “I am well accustomed to hardship and discomfort, my lady. The window seat’s cushions in the solar will provide a far finer pallet than any I had expected. I beseech you to grant me this boon as I find it a far more attractive reward.”

“Nonsense,” Margaret began. “You were promised—”

“ ’Tis a matter of honor,” Brunor said, as he gave his wife a look of warning. “You must not force Sir Percival to accept something that would be at such sharp odds with a knight’s code of honor.”

Margaret pressed her lips together, but gave her husband a reluctant nod. “Very well, the reward was not meant to cause you distress, Sir Percival. Of course you may sleep in the solar whilst you are at Coleway. ’Tis only a few paces down the hallway, so that should work out equally well.”

Brunor made an obvious sound as he cleared his throat.

“That is, I am certain you will be equally comfortable there,” Margaret hurried to say. “The servants should have a brazier warming the room by now, and I ordered extra sleeping furs for Avalene that you can use. Aye, you will be quite comfortable. Did you happen to notice Avalene’s fine needlework?”

There was a moment of silence as everyone absorbed Lady Margaret’s abrupt change of subject, then each gaze slowly followed the direction of her hand to one of the dragon banners.

Sir Percival walked toward the banner to take a closer look. He touched the delicate needlework that outlined the dragon’s claws and scales, and even the shadows she had achieved by dyeing many pieces of fabric slightly different shades of red.

“This beast is a work of art,” he said. “Indeed, all of the banners are flawless. Such work requires long hours and an artist’s eye. You have an exceptional talent, Lady Avalene.”

“ ’Tis one of her more useful skills,” Margaret said. “She cannot—”

Avalene broke in before Margaret could reveal some new flaw that Percival would report to her father. “Each year I send a set of banners to my father for the ramparts of Weston Castle. Perhaps you saw the ones I made last year? He requested the dragons specifically for this year’s banners … as a gift for the Segraves. A betrothal gift, I suppose.”

“I hope the Segraves will appreciate your abilities,” he said, without answering her question. Impossibly green eyes stared at her with such intensity that it was almost a relief when his gaze left her face. “These banners are gifts fit for royalty.”

“I …” She meant to thank him, but a different thought took shape in her mind as she looked up at him, a thought planted by her dealings with John and his cronies. “I think you jest, Sir Percival. They are simple banners, not works of art.”

“I seldom jest,” he said, “and never at the expense of a lady. The beauty of what I see in this chamber surpasses anything I have seen of the like. I am in awe of your talent.”

She realized with a start that she believed him, believed with all her heart that he would never laugh at her, even behind her back as others had done in the past, usually at John’s urging. She also wanted to pinch him, just to make certain he was real. In all her dreams and flights of fancy, she had never created a knight quite so perfect as Sir Percival of Weston.

She wasn’t sure how long they stared at each other, but he was the first to look away. And still she stared. Brunor cleared his throat again, louder this time, and Sir Percival glanced at her. Their eyes met again only for an instant and his features betrayed nothing, yet within that flash of green was a warning so immediate and understandable that she instantly lowered her lashes.

“I believe a hunt is in order for the morrow to refill the larders,” Brunor said abruptly. “We will have another feast the day after the hunt to give everyone a chance to say their farewells to Avalene, and then you can depart the morning after the feast. That should also give everyone ample time to prepare for the journey. What say you, Percival? Will that satisfy your schedule?”

“Aye,” he said simply.

“Very well,” Brunor said. “There are a few things I must discuss with my wife. Avalene, show Sir Percival to the solar.”

“Aye, my lord.” Avalene held out her hand toward the doorway. “If you will follow me, Sir Percival?”

He looked as if he meant to say something in response and then thought better of it. Instead he merely inclined his head in agreement, and then he fell into step behind her. The door from the turret led directly to the passageway from the great hall. Her nerves and awkwardness returned with a vengeance as she pointed out what she felt was necessary. “This hallway leads to the chapel and there is a garderobe through the doorway at the end of the passage.”

He made no response and she quickened her step. Halfway down the dimly lit passageway she opened a door to reveal a room much larger than her own chamber. It was the main gathering place for the ladies of the castle to gossip and sew during the day. The row of wide, arched windows on the outer wall drenched the solar in bright, airy sunlight during the day and provided ample light for sewing, but there was a definite chill to the room in the evenings. In keeping with its mostly feminine uses, the room’s plastered walls were painted robin’s-egg blue and decorated with hundreds of painted vines and roses. Tonight the moonlight cast strange shadows through the mullioned panes, and the cheerful, painted patterns took on a more sinister appearance in shades of black and gray. Avalene was glad that Percival had insisted upon sleeping here, and heartily agreed that a knight should not force a lady from her own bed. He really was quite honorable.

“Lord Brunor must have had your baggage brought up as well,” she mused, nodding toward the saddlebags by one of the window seats. His silence made her wonder if he had already reached the stage where he wished to ignore her. “There is a candle and flint near the brazier. Is there anything else you require, Sir Percival?”

Even though the question was a simple one, she again had that odd feeling that he was torn about his answer. At last he said, “Do you want to stay at Coleway, my lady?”

The question so startled her that she made an unladylike sound in the back of her throat. “I can think of nothing—” She pressed her lips together before more churlish words could escape them. He would surely report every word of their conversations to her father. “That is, I am very grateful for all that my aunt has taught me and my uncle’s many kindnesses over the years, but I look forward to the day I will be mistress of my own home. If my father can gain a valuable alliance through my marriage, all the better. Has someone told you that I do not wish to leave Coleway?”

“Not exactly.”

She waited until it became obvious that was all he intended to say on the matter. Another fear took root, one that made her rethink her vow to be careful with her words. “Lady Margaret ofttimes thinks I am some great trial upon her patience, yet at other times she thinks I am all that keeps Coleway’s household running smoothly. Indeed, I suspect she will do everything within her power to keep me from leaving. If she has suggested that I do not wish to leave Coleway, or that I am somehow not ready to become a wife, let me assure you that I do not share her opinions on the matter. Take me to my father, and I will run Weston’s household until I have proven myself capable of managing a great estate. It will not take long before he realizes I will not embarrass our family. Or, has John told you some piece of gossip? You may not remain at Coleway long enough to realize, but the steward rarely has good things to say about anyone. He does not—”

Percival held up both hands. “You mistake the question,
my lady. I simply wanted to be certain you were ready to leave what has become your home. Some ladies might become … sentimental on such an occasion.”

Of course
, she thought. He wondered if he would have a sobbing female on his hands when they departed. Instead she had given him ample reason to seek out John and Lady Margaret to find out why they did not think her ready to leave Coleway. What was it about this man that rattled her wits? She felt like kicking herself. It would be best for her to leave this chamber before she gave him any more bad ideas. “I look forward to the day we leave for Weston, Sir Percival. If you will excuse me, I’m certain my aunt and uncle will soon wonder what is keeping me.”

She gave him a quick curtsey and all but fled from the room, keeping her gaze averted until she was in the passageway and the door had closed behind her. Still, she did not feel free of the invisible hold he seemed to have over her. He flustered her. There was no other word for it. He looked at her, and she could not think straight. She was fast losing count of the unexpected ways her body reacted to the smallest, strangest things such as the sound of his voice, or the scent that clung to his clothing. No other man had ever had such a disturbing effect on her. He was something entirely new to her world.

The girlish crushes in her past faded to insignificance, their pull nothing like this bone-deep awareness of a man. Whatever its causes, whatever her reactions, they had to stop. He was her father’s knight and would soon be her guardian on the trip to Wales, and then nothing more. They would spend a few weeks in each other’s company on this journey, perhaps she would see him on occasion at Castle Weston, and then she would go to the Segraves. Their acquaintance would last no more than a few months at most, and then it was unlikely she would
ever see Sir Percival again. Mooning over a man she barely knew and would never know very well was as much a waste of her time as it was dangerous.

She reached the door to her chamber and stood with her hand on the latch as she contemplated the potential consequences of her unexpected attraction to Sir Percival. There were tales aplenty of disgraced maidens and adulterous wives. Until today, she had thought those women were either weak-willed or selfish. What honorable woman would risk disgracing herself and her family simply to be with a man who was not her husband or her betrothed?