The Dark Knight (11 page)

Now she had a better appreciation for the lure of temptation. It would not be so hard to encourage a friendship between herself and Sir Percival on the journey to Wales. There were no rules against an innocent friendship or harmless flirtations between a knight and a lady. Knights pledged themselves all the time to ladies who were married or betrothed to other men, as a tribute to either their beauty or the warmth of their personality, or both. Countless knights had pledged themselves to Lady Margaret, and Lord Brunor actually took pride in their numbers. They walked with her in the gardens, carried her favor in tourneys, and composed countless poems and songs in tribute to her beauty that they performed with various degrees of success in the solar when Margaret held court with her ladies. Avalene had found it all rather nauseating at times, but the thought of Sir Percival being smitten with her enough to compose poetry made her heart skip a beat … until reality intruded once more.

His effect on her was undeniable, but she refused to hope that he felt the same way. His eyes were too worldly and his face too handsome to be instantly captivated by anyone so plain or ordinary. There must be a string of
beautiful women who vied for his attentions at Weston. She was no more to him than a duty. That was the reason she had to—

“Avalene will not leave Coleway in two days or two hundred.”

The sound of her aunt’s voice was muffled, but still loud enough to be heard clearly through the door. Avalene pulled her hand away from the latch and then leaned closer to the gap between the wooden door and the stone doorway. It was Lady Margaret’s next words that caught her undivided attention and sent a chill down her spine.

“Aye, I am well aware that John wishes to marry her. ’Tis a small enough reward for all he has done for us and you should have petitioned my brother long before the Segraves became involved in her betrothal. Failing that, you could have helped me arrange her compromise with some traveling merchant or minstrel. Now the timing will appear suspicious.”

Every drop of blood in Avalene’s veins turned to ice. Her aunt and uncle, the very people charged to keep her safe, were plotting to ruin her.

It was not hard to piece together their plan. The man she despised more than any other had somehow convinced them to help trap her in a marriage that would shame both her and her father. The scandal was beyond her ability to imagine.

Numbed to the bone, she was helpless to do anything but listen as Margaret continued her argument.

“Still, you cannot fail to see my logic. If she is compromised by Sir Percival you can have him arrested. Even if you decide not to hang him, my brother could not argue our logic if we spare Percival’s life and send him back to Weston Castle without Avalene. Reynard will still wish to marry her off quickly, and a steward
who is cousin to a baron will be a fitting husband for a woman so disgraced.”

Her aunt had to be standing very close to the doorway to be heard so clearly in the passageway because Avalene could not make out one word of her uncle’s lengthy response. Despite pressing her ear as hard as she could to the crack between the wall and the door, the conversation in the chamber was impossible to follow until she heard Margaret’s answer. “Aye, you are correct, my lord. I had not considered those possibilities. Perhaps we should both meet with John tomorrow to discuss your concerns. Surely he has thought of them as well and will have a solution, which is fine by me as long as the trap is sprung by tomorrow night. In any event, she could walk in upon us at any moment and this discussion is best saved for our own chamber. I will go see what is keeping her.”

Avalene scrambled away from the door and schooled her expression into blank innocence. She pretended to still be walking down the passageway toward her chamber even as the door opened and she met Lady Margaret’s startled expression with one of her own.

“Oh! How long have you been here?” Margaret demanded.

Avalene glanced over her shoulder to collect her wits, then turned and lied to her aunt’s face. “I just returned from the solar. Sir Percival was kind enough to answer a few questions I had about my family at Weston.”

That such questions had never occurred to Avalene while she was alone with Sir Percival caused a momentary pang of guilt, followed by a wave of relief. Margaret appeared to believe her. “Well, do not dawdle. We have all had a long day and your uncle is determined that the hunt begin at dawn on the morrow. ’Tis time for us all to be abed.”

“Aye, my lady,” Avalene murmured as she stepped to one side of the passageway. “I will bid you good eve.”

“I sent word to the kitchens to let them know we will break our fast earlier than planned,” Brunor told Avalene. He followed Margaret from the chamber and stepped into the passageway, then turned to give her a considering look. “You are welcome to join us on the hunt.”

“Cook may not be well enough to return to his duties,” she said. “ ’Tis best if I remain here to make certain the meat is properly dressed once it arrives.” She wondered how they failed to notice the way her voice wavered, the way her hands trembled, even though she had them clenched behind her back. Their only concerns, as usual, involved their own comforts. Who would see to all these small details once she returned home to Weston?
If
she returned to Weston. “Will you be attending the hunt as well, my lady?”

“Of course,” Margaret said, looking slightly perplexed. “You know well enough that I never miss a hunt.”

“And Sir Percival? Will he go on the hunt as well?”

Brunor answered before Margaret had a chance. “Aye, why do you ask?”

“I need to plan a midday meal for the hunters,” she said, thankful to have thought of such a plausible explanation so quickly. “I will have food sent to the huntsman’s lodge at midday, and then the food carts can haul the game back to the castle to be dressed. I will also speak to the marshal about the carts I will need for the journey to Weston.”

She breathed another small sigh of relief when Brunor nodded.

“Do what you must to prepare for your journey,” he said. “Use your time wisely. Already the hour grows late
and you have much to do on the morrow. We will bid you good eve, niece.”

Somehow she managed to keep her expression politely blank as she bid her aunt and uncle good night. Her wobbly knees held steady as she watched them walk away until finally they turned the corner at the end of the passageway. She even felt a strange sense of calm as she stepped into her chamber and quietly closed the door behind her, and then she leaned her back against the door and slowly sank to the floor.

Avalene awoke with a start, the sound of her own cry echoing in her ears. The covers had tangled around her feet and she struggled to sit up, desperate to free herself from the last drugging effects of the nightmare, needing to assure herself that she was well and truly awake. The gasping sound of her ragged breathing completed the transition from sleep to awareness.

She opened her eyes and discovered she was in her chamber at Coleway … safe … for the time being.

“Foolish dreams,” she said aloud. Given the plot afoot to compromise her father’s knight and force her into a ruinous marriage, it was hardly a surprise that she would have nightmares. What she found surprising was that she had managed to nod off in the midst of her worries.

“Foolish
nightmares
,” she amended, although she still trembled like a frightened mouse.

Moonlight streamed through the windows in her chamber, so bright that she would scarce need a candle
if she decided to move about in the room. The position of the moon said the night was only half spent; it would be hours yet before the hunt began and she had still not decided what she would or could do to avoid her fate. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to clear her jumbled thoughts. Surely there would be a way to escape the castle during the hunt?

Perhaps she could say that she intended to ride out to the huntsman’s lodge, and then make a break for her father’s fortress in Wales. The problem with that plan was that none of the guards would let her set foot from Coleway without an escort, and she could never survive such a journey on her own. Women did not ride alone outside the walls of a city or fortress, no matter the excuse. Her best hope lay in convincing Sir Percival of the danger they both faced.

Ah, that was it! She sat up straighter in bed as the plan that had taken shape before she fell asleep came back to her in a rush.

She had intended to wait a few hours until everyone in the keep was asleep before she crept from her chamber and paid Sir Percival a visit in the solar, hopefully to talk him into helping her escape from Coleway. The last thing she remembered was thinking the dragons and griffins on her banners appeared particularly sinister in the moonlight, and then … nothing.

Her gaze moved along the tall rows of banners that hung still and motionless on the walls … or did they? A dragon banner near the door seemed to billow slightly, as if the beast were drawing a deep breath and preparing to release a blast from its fiery nostrils.

Avalene shuddered. The chamber could come alive with any number of creatures if she gave herself over to fanciful imaginings. Instead of dwelling on her fears, she forced her gaze upward to stare at the black void of the
beamed ceiling as her thoughts turned to the conversation she must soon have with Sir Percival. She had practiced the words over and over before she fell asleep. Now she silently repeated them to refresh her memory.

Would he believe her accusations? What if he repeated their conversation to her aunt or uncle? If she could not convince him of the danger, they were both doomed.

For some reason, a fragment of her nightmare kept prodding the edge of her mind. She could remember nothing of the dream except her mother’s voice and the urgent warning that had finally awakened her, ancient Welsh words that sounded familiar, yet their meaning eluded her.

She whispered the words aloud,
“Nid dieithryn fydd angau,”
and the meaning came to her even as she spoke the translation, “Death comes in disguise.”

She heard a small rush of air in the darkened chamber, the almost imperceptible sound of a quickly drawn breath.

’Tis nothing but a draft, she told herself, even as her pulse quickened. Was the room suddenly colder? Her bedding lay in tangles at the bottom of the bed. She pulled her favorite quilt closer to her body and smoothed the sheets.

Another small noise made her hands still. A chill of certainty made her shudder. Someone—or
something—
was in the room with her.

She clutched the quilt to her chest like a shield as she listened for any other noise, any small sign that she was not alone. The silvery moonlight that streamed through windows made her plainly visible and vulnerable to any intruder while the recesses of the room remained in impenetrable night shadows. The room was silent but she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched.
She tried her best to sound firm and in control of the situation, bravely calling out, “Who goes there?”

In response, the dragon banner moved again, seeming to open its wings for flight. The figure of a man materialized, stepping from beneath the great beast’s wings. The only sound she could manage was a small squeak of fright.

“Have no fear, my lady. ’Tis I.” The man moved away from the banner into the moonlight and added, quite unnecessarily, “Sir Percival.”

“Oh!” She laid a hand over her racing heart. “You scared me half to death.”

She waited for him to explain his presence, but he remained still and silent. Too still and too silent for her peace of mind. Whatever garments he wore blended with the shadows so well that she could make out only the most basic of his features; the vague outline of his body, the shadowed planes of his face. More of him remained hidden than revealed. A flicker of some unknown emotion made her shiver, the same shiver that she experienced each time she saw him. Its source still remained a mystery. Excitement? Fear?

Danger
.

The word popped into her head and refused to leave. She was alone with him, trapped in this chamber with a man she scarcely knew.

“You should not be here.” She was pleased that she managed to sound calm. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she was certain he must hear it, too.

The hard tone of his voice did nothing to reassure her. “Where are your guards?”

“My guards?” she echoed. Was he somehow part of the plot? Would the guards burst through the door at any moment to catch them together? She might somehow be able to explain away a trip to the solar, but his
presence in her bedchamber in the middle of the night defied explanation. She would be ruined.

“Aye, your guards,” he repeated, in the same dangerously quiet voice. “I heard your screams in the solar, which means a soldier on night watch should have heard your cries as well. Where are the guards who should be posted here?”

“W-what screams?”

He made a sound of impatience and took a step forward. She hugged her knees to her chest, instinctively trying to make herself as small as possible, feeling as if she were a mouse that had found itself in the path of a hungry cat.