The Dark Knight (25 page)

Avalene recognized the dragon that was emblazoned on the chest of every man who surrounded her. At first her brain had trouble comprehending that she had stumbled across a band of Segrave soldiers in the middle of the wilderness. Her luck was astonishing.

Later there would be time to decide if it was good luck or bad. At the moment she was fully occupied trying to control her horse and recover from the fright of her life. One of the soldiers swiftly dismounted and took hold of the horse’s bridle to make certain the animal wouldn’t bolt again, but her hands were fisted in Bodkin’s mane and she couldn’t seem to let go. She could scarce absorb the fact that she was even alive. The man who held her bridle was saying something, but only two of the words he spoke penetrated her senses, two words that stood out as clearly in her mind as the crack of lightning:

“Lord Faulke.”

Her horrified gaze went to the obvious leader of the soldiers as he maneuvered his horse to face hers. All
she could do was stare at the dark-haired man. The man she was supposed to marry. Faulke Segrave.

She shook her head. This was wrong. They weren’t supposed to meet this way. She wondered if her expression looked as appalled as his. This could not be happening.

How long had she dreamed of this moment, her heart filled with anticipation and excitement? Their first meeting was to take place in the great hall at Coleway where she would be dressed in her finest gown, ready to impress Faulke with her poise and grace. Instead she was soaking wet in the midst of a muddy forest and surely looked her worst. Even more humiliating, she was literally scared speechless.

Her stomach roiled and her relief at being rescued evaporated. For an awful moment she thought she was going to be sick. Faulke Segrave was not supposed to be here. Not yet. Their betrothal was not yet finalized. She was supposed to go to her father’s fortress in Wales. She was supposed to spend the next few weeks with Sir Percival.

Sir Percival!
She cast a wild look over her shoulder but the road behind her was empty. He was gone, vanished along with all of her foolish fantasies about him. Reality crashed down upon her, robbing her of breath. They would never again be together. She might never see him again. Her reputation was destroyed, and now she would never commit the crime that had ruined her. And Percival would be lucky to escape this forest with his life, if Faulke learned he was nearby.

Her heart pounded so hard that she was certain the others must have heard the terrible rhythm, and then an awful shudder wracked her body. Every part of her felt suddenly numb, her body frozen in place while her mind struggled uselessly to awaken from a nightmare. Except
she was already awake and the truth refused to be silenced. She forced herself to take stock of the man who now held her future in his hands.

A strange calm settled over her as she studied Faulke Segrave. She felt an odd sense of detachment that allowed her to view him as if he were any stranger she would meet under unusual circumstances. She noticed that he had the natural air of a leader about him, a look of intelligence and confidence that would inspire men to follow him. The black wool hood of his cloak was pushed back to give her a clear view of his face, a face well matched to the minstrels’ descriptions she had based her own imaginings upon. High cheekbones emphasized eyes that were a deep shade of blue, and a few days’ growth of beard covered a strong, square jaw.

For a man rumored to have murdered at least two of his wives, he looked pleasant enough. Most would call him handsome. His voice was inoffensive as well. Not half as pleasing as Sir Percival’s, she amended, but far from offensive.

Except that he was shouting at her.

Granted, her ears were still ringing from the blast of lightning, but she was not deaf. She stared at his mouth and tried to make sense of his words.

“Do you understand what I am asking, my lady?”

She had no idea what he had just asked. Perhaps he had inquired if she had suffered any injuries. That would be a sensible question to ask, considering the circumstances. “I shall be fine.”

“I assumed that much.” He spoke in the measured tones that most people reserved for the slow-witted. “However, I asked your name.”

“Oh.” That made sense. For the time it took to blink her eyes. Why would he ask her name? Who else did he expect to find on this road?

Something wasn’t right. Her initial feeling that he shouldn’t be here became a certainty. How had he learned of her escape from Coleway, and how could he have found them so quickly?

Her heart gave a painful stutter. Faulke had no idea that she was the woman he intended to marry. She was a stranger to them, a woman on a runaway horse who could be anyone. She could lie, a lie that would give Percival and his men time to find her or time to escape. If Percival came across them in pursuit of her, she would have to think of some way to warn him to go along with the lie.

“She is not right in the head,” said the man closest to Segrave. “Look into her eyes, cousin. ’Tis madness I see.”

Her gaze moved between the two men and she noticed a superficial resemblance, dark hair, blue eyes, but her attention returned to Faulke as he nudged his horse a few steps closer to hers and stared hard into her face.

“She is frightened,” he said at last. “God alone knows what that animal did to her. Lady Avalene needs time to recover from her ordeal.”

Her tattered heart gave a sickly flutter. So, they did know who she was. But why were they even looking for her? And what did he think her horse had done to her? Wasn’t it obvious that she was unharmed?

It suddenly occurred to her that the animal in question wasn’t her horse. He was referring to Sir Percival and the treatment she had received in his care. Somehow they knew that she had left Coleway with Sir Percival, and they thought he had taken advantage of the fact that they were not chaperoned.

Her mouth hung open until she realized the expression probably confirmed their notion that she was indeed lack-witted. How dare they call Percival an animal! She was the one who had seduced him, the one who had
decided to sin. He had not forced her to do anything against her will.

Her anger turned to astonishment as she watched Faulke’s eyes soften and fill with what looked like pity. “Can you tell us what happened, my lady? What threats did the cur make that convinced you to leave Coleway with him?”

Oh good Lord, this was worse than anything she had imagined. They truly thought Sir Percival was some sort of blackguard. “I … Uhm … I am fine.”

The look the cousins exchanged was telling. Now they were certain she was an idiot. She honestly didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad.

“She is lack-witted,” the cousin declared. “Most likely she was lack-witted long before the King’s Assassin had his way with her. Why else would her father hide her at Coleway all these years? ’Tis obvious he wanted to conceal her condition.”

“You are too quick to judge, Richard.” Faulke glanced at his cousin. “Did you not learn your lesson from the squire?”

“He told us all he knew,” Richard argued, “and then he threatened to reveal the plot to her uncle unless we paid him double. He got what he deserved.”

“The squire saw the assassin’s face,” Faulke pointed out. “We have not. There was no need to kill him.”

“All of Coleway saw him,” Richard said, and then he nodded toward Avalene. “I’ll wager she saw much more than his face.”

Faulke rubbed his jaw. “Did he … harm you, my lady?”

She was still stuck on Richard’s casual mention of the King’s Assassin to answer the question.

Until that moment, she had thought the King’s Assassin was a legend; a preposterous tale of a ghostly infidel
who floated through solid stone walls to find and execute traitors. Some versions of the tale said his victims died of fright, that he could materialize from thin air and disappear just as easily after his wicked deeds were done. Others said he cut the throats of his victims while they slept and then drank their blood. Most of the stories were exaggerations, but all agreed that anyone plotting against the king should not sleep easy at night.

Faulke and Richard spoke of the King’s Assassin as if he were a real man. As if he were Sir Percival. And they thought
she
was lack-witted?

Sir Percival was a noble and chivalrous knight, as far removed from the evil creature reputed to be the King’s Assassin as … Well, she could not think of two men who could possibly be more different. The idea that they were one and the same was so absurd that she felt a bubble of laughter build inside her. It was hysterical laughter; shrill, frantic sounds that were half laughter, half sobs. Good Lord, what was wrong with her?

Faulke and his men obviously wondered the same. They stared at her as if she had just lost whatever they thought was left of her mind. Their incredulous expressions only made her laugh harder.

It was just as obvious that they had no idea what to do with a hysterical and possibly unbalanced woman. Percival might roll his eyes at some of her antics, but he had never doubted her sanity. He would know that she needed him to put his arms around her right now. He would know how to make her feel safe and protected. But he would never hold her again.

The laughter dissolved away until there was nothing left except her sobs. She wanted Sir Percival. At the same time, she prayed to God to keep him far away from the Segraves. She feared the challenge over her honor would come much sooner than either she or Percival had ever
anticipated, and Percival was clearly outnumbered. He and his men would be slaughtered.

She was aware of Faulke giving out orders during her hysterics, but she paid little heed until she realized a group of soldiers were preparing to search for Percival and his men. There would be no formal challenge, nor even the semblance of a fair fight. The Segraves would simply cut them down.

“Nay!” she cried out. The men who weren’t already staring at her fell silent and turned expectantly. She needed to explain that Sir Percival was not the enemy, and they should not murder him before she could tell them why they had fled from the castle. An explanation might make a difference, but there were too many parts of the story to sort out, she was still shaking, taking gasping breaths, and there was no time to explain. She panicked and said the first thing that came into her head. “You will not find him on the road!”

Oh, good Lord. That was exactly where they would find him.

Faulke gave her a considering look, and then turned to his cousin. “Take half the men and search the road for tracks leading from the forest. Find out where she came from, then report back to me.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Heed me well,” Faulke warned Richard. “I want him alive. In fact, send a rider back to tell me where he is before you attempt to take him.”

“Aye, cousin.” Richard’s reluctance to follow the order was evident in his tone.

Faulke waited until Richard and his men rode off, then he dismounted and began issuing orders to set up a temporary camp. Eventually his attention returned to Avalene. She remained frozen in place, watching helplessly
as Richard and his men disappeared around a bend in the road.

Faulke held out his hand to her. “You can rest beneath the shelter until my cousin returns with word of the assassin.”

It was not an offer. She glanced at her own hands and realized that she had loosened her hold on the reins sometime during her hysterics. After a few deep, steadying breaths, she managed to slide her leg over the saddle but her knees gave out the moment her feet touched the ground. Faulke caught her easily by the shoulders, and then he placed one arm behind her knees and swept her up against his chest.

Until a few days ago she had never been carried about by a man. It seemed only natural to make comparisons. Both times she felt gratitude, but with Sir Percival there had always been something more, an awareness of him as only a woman can be aware of a man, an awareness that made her feel breathless and giddy. Every time Percival touched her she felt a warm flush spread throughout her whole body.

With Faulke, she was simply grateful that he hadn’t let her land in the mud and even more grateful when he set her down upon a soft, dry fur that one of the soldiers had placed beneath the shelter. Her clothes were soaked and she was chilled to the bone, but at least she was on solid ground again and out of the elements. Her muscles had been tensed for so long that they felt shaky and disjointed, as useless as broken bow strings.

She glanced up to find Faulke eyeing the furs as if he contemplated taking a seat next to her. In the end he simply folded his arms across his chest and watched her as if she were some strange creature that might yet prove dangerous. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Where was he taking you?”

She tried to decide if it would be better to tell the truth or to lie, but found she couldn’t focus her thoughts enough to make up anything believable. The truth it was. “First to London, and then to my father. Sir Percival did nothing wrong; he was simply following my father’s orders.” She watched as he almost imperceptibly shook his head. “Are there soldiers from Coleway searching for me? Perhaps the steward and Lord Brunor?”

“I know not.” He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze contemplative as he looked at the ground. “We had a spy at Coleway who came to me soon after you left the castle. We were on your trail before anyone at Coleway knew you were missing. Even so, they will probably send search parties to the west.”

That explained what they were doing here, but not why they were at Coleway to begin with. And how had they missed stumbling across the search party from Coleway that Percival said was in pursuit? He gave her a look that she supposed was intended to impart something meaningful and knowing. Whatever it was went over her head.

“The only reason we rode east is because we already knew you were not with the real Sir Percival, and the man who took you would never escort you to Wales.”

“What are you talking about?” What Faulke said made little sense. Did he still think Percival was the King’s Assassin? Ridiculous. “I left Coleway with my father’s knight, Sir Percival.”