The Dark Knight (27 page)

“Are you unwell?” Faulke asked. He watched her changing expressions with alarm. “You look very pale.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. There was a dull roaring sound in her ears. Everything began to grow dark around the edges of her vision. Faulke looked as if he were reaching for her through a long tunnel. Her eyes drifted shut and she let the darkness take her.

The problem with fainting was that nothing got solved in the short amount of time you were unconscious. Avalene awoke beneath the lean-to just as heartsick and miserable as ever. The only good to come from the embarrassing episode was solitude. Faulke had apparently decided he had better things to do than sit with a woman who might keel over again at any moment. Actually, he had politely asked if she felt better, assured her that one of his men would fetch him if she felt ill again, and then excused himself. She was left to her own devices, although the weather kept her from venturing beyond the lean-to.

The rain had stopped more than an hour ago but she was still soaked through and freezing. Dusk fell early in the forest, along with the temperature. She would give almost anything for the oblivion of unconsciousness or the warmth of a fire. Instead she rubbed her arms, wriggled her legs, hugged herself and shivered, then started the routine all over again.

It was obvious that Faulke had ordered everyone to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Most of the men had dismounted in the hours since Richard’s departure, but none of the horses were unsaddled and only the packhorses were hobbled to graze. There were no fires, no more warm furs or dry cloaks. Other than an occasional stare of curiosity, the men left her alone with her thoughts. Faulke glanced in her direction every so often as well, but he, too, seemed satisfied to leave her be. Perhaps he thought she needed time to come to terms with this change in her circumstances. She doubted a lifetime would be enough to absorb it all.

She looked around the campsite at the men who surrounded her and realized again that this was the sort of escort she had expected from her father; more than a score of mounted soldiers plus Faulke and his cousin Richard. Had she really believed that her father would send a lone knight, two soldiers, and a child?

One of Percival’s particularly appealing smiles flashed through her memory and the butterflies took flight again in her stomach, quickly followed by a dull thump of pain in her chest.

There was something seriously wrong with her. She had honed her instincts for survival when it came to men and Percival had effortlessly brushed aside her defenses as if they were nothing. She told herself over and over that what she felt for him had been nothing more than an infatuation. Granted, it was a particularly strong infatuation, but an infatuation nonetheless. She had deluded herself into thinking she loved him. Love was not based upon lies and betrayal, and there was no escaping the fact that her interpretation of love had been based upon both.

So why did her heart skip a beat each time she thought of him? Why did her breath catch in her throat each
time she thought she heard Richard’s return, her gaze searching for a glimpse of her faithless knight?

It occurred to her that, while her mind finally knew and accepted the truth, her heart still had trouble letting go of the illusion. She had to crush all of these treacherous feelings before anyone guessed the truth. If Richard brought Percival back as a prisoner, she would have to appear completely unaffected by his presence. She would have to behave as if he meant nothing to her. The task did not seem possible. It seemed every memory of him included a touch or caress that had made her feel warm and safe and … special. He had bewitched her. She was bewitched still, and she was very much afraid that everyone in camp would become aware of that fact if she had to face him.

Her gaze moved over the men and found Faulke again. Her intended husband was handsome, rich, and powerful. Yet she felt nothing at all for him. There were no butterflies in her stomach when she looked upon him, no quickened heartbeat, no feelings of breathlessness. There was a sureness in her, a certainty that went beyond questioning, that she would never experience those feelings with Faulke or any other man. She would never again allow a man to have that much power over her, to toy with her as if her feelings meant nothing, to twist her heart until her whole body ached.

In every way imaginable, it was for the best that the affair with Percival … or whatever his name might be, had ended before it began. She would forget him. Someday. Until then, she should be thankful that their trysts went no further than they did. She had allowed a handsome man to kiss her and caress her, but those were not unforgiveable sins. One day she might appreciate that her first and only taste of passion was with a man she had thought she loved.

She was so engrossed in her morbid thoughts that she barely noticed when Faulke began to walk toward her. There was a wary look in his eye.

“How are you feeling, my lady?”

She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug but remained silent. The more she observed him, the more she realized that there was something about Faulke that made her nervous, a feeling that his benevolence toward her was forced and his kindly demeanor false. However, she allowed for the possibility that she could be misjudging him. Her trust in all men stood on shaky ground. John and Lord Brunor plotted against her while her own father negotiated a betrothal that would surely mark her a traitor, and Percival had made her believe the impossible. Now there was Faulke, determined to marry her regardless of the consequences. If he thought to win her trust with smiles and platitudes, he was in for a rude awakening.

The intervening hours had given her plenty of time to recall all of the things she had said and done over the past few days, things that now made her burn with shame. If nothing else, Percival’s betrayal reminded her that she must depend only upon herself. She would trust no one. There seemed little reason to doubt that this truly was Faulke Segrave, and that everything he said was the truth, or the truth as he understood it, but she would not let her guard down again so easily.

“If Richard’s search is unsuccessful, we will make camp here for the night,” he said. “There will be a fire to warm you.”

She rubbed the tips of her fingers with her thumbs. Her skin was so wrinkled from being wet for so long that she could scarce feel her hands. “A fire would be welcome.”

Faulke nodded, then clasped his hands behind his
back and stared down at her. “We have not had an auspicious beginning, you and I, but I would have you know that I will not hold this … situation against you. He played upon your womanly weaknesses to gain your trust, and your aunt did not help the situation with her plotting. You should never have been left alone with any man for any reason, or been allowed to ride out of the keep without an escort.” He took a deep breath and released it very slowly, as if he wanted to say much more on the subject but thought better of it. “The damage is done and we shall eventually put this incident behind us. Once we are wed and I am certain your children will be mine, we shall not speak of him again. Do you understand?”

“Aye,” she said carefully. His crude words made her hands clench into fists, but she supposed she should feel lucky that another man was so eager to have her as his wife. There was no doubt in Faulke’s mind that they would be wed. However rude his declarations, he would soon be her husband and he deserved to hear the truth. Still, she could not look him in the eye as she said it. “I can set your mind at ease on one matter. He did not bed me. You will still have a virgin bride.”

He studied her face for a time and she felt her cheeks grow warm, but then he slowly shook his head. “ ’Tis better if there is no question in anyone’s mind. I would not have our first child born for at least a year after the ceremony, which will leave no doubt about the parentage even if the child should arrive early. My people must be certain that any child you bear will be mine. Indeed, all of Wales must be certain that your children are mine.”

“I understand,” she said in a quiet voice. Indeed, she understood exactly what he was saying. What she had suspected all along was true; he intended to breed the next Prince of Wales with her.

The plain truth did not insult or disappoint her. She certainly did not expect him to say he intended to marry her for some sort of noble or romantic reasons. Such luxuries were reserved for peasants and errant knights who …

She forced her thoughts away from that dangerous path. That brief moment of her life was over. The small humiliations she had suffered over the years at John’s hands were hardly a comparison, but she found herself almost thankful for his callous treatment. John’s spitefulness had hardened her, unwittingly given her the strength to withstand this much crueler blow. She would survive this betrayal. Duty and family were all that mattered now. They were all that had ever really mattered.

When news of the negotiations with the Segraves came to Coleway, she had been pleased that her father had managed to find her such a high-ranking husband. Now the only feelings that penetrated the walls around her heart were pain and dull resignation. Perhaps someday she would once again feel some measure of appreciation that she was getting exactly what she had always thought she wanted.

“Have you recalled anything that might prove helpful?” Faulke asked, bringing her out of her reverie. “Perchance did you overhear one of his men call him a name other than Sir Percival?”

She shook her head and answered in a toneless voice. “He was Sir Percival to them. His men are Oliver and Armand. They also claimed to be English, but all three men spoke fluent Italian. And the boy spoke nothing but Arabic and Italian.”

He was still “Sir Percival” to her and always would be. Perhaps that would change when she learned his real name, although she was beginning to doubt that would ever happen. With each hour that passed, it was becoming
less likely that he would be returning to the camp with Richard. Even knowing of Percival’s betrayal, she could not bear to think of what was likely happening to him and his men. Were they still alive? Were they prisoners?

“Will we be wed at Hawksforth?” she asked, desperate to take her mind off Percival and his fate. Hawksforth was the seat of the Segrave family, a massive castle supposedly twice the size of her father’s. She made a conscious effort to keep her gaze focused on Faulke rather than on the road where Richard should have reappeared hours ago. “Is that where we will live?”

“We will wed when we reach Wales, as soon as a priest can be found,” he said. “Then we will journey to Hawksforth where you will reside. I travel constantly between my family’s holdings, so I am rarely at any one fortress for more than a fortnight. However, I suppose I would call Hawksforth my home. My father is in residence there most of the time, along with his advisers.”

Now that she had him talking, she decided it was time to pose the question that concerned her most. She struggled to find words that would not sound insulting or treasonous. “Under these circumstances, do you think Edward will withdraw his consent for our marriage and demand an annulment?”

There was a long silence before he answered and she found herself studying his mouth, trying to imagine his lips upon hers. No matter how pleasant Faulke was to look upon, the shudder that ran through her at the thought of kissing him was not in the least pleasant.

“King Edward cannot deny that a hasty marriage was in your best interest to ensure your safety from unscrupulous rogues,” he said. “Even if Edward insists upon an annulment, it would take the Church years to dissolve the marriage and I fully intend to have an heir by
then, which means the Church would be even less likely to grant an annulment. There will be a fine levied, since I am required by law to obtain my liege lord’s consent to wed, but that will be the end of the matter.”

A boldness she had not known she possessed seemed to take hold of her. “Since you have no intention of consummating our marriage for several months, perhaps it would be best if I stayed at Weston Castle with my father until—”

“After the trouble I went through to … rescue you, I am not about to give you up for such a paltry reason.” He reached down and tilted her chin upward until she met his gaze. His eyes held no warmth; the lines of his face were harsh and forbidding. “Your father understands the benefits of this marriage, and the consequences should he oppose it. Do you understand the consequences, Avalene?”

“Consequences?” she echoed. “What consequences?”

He gave her an intense look as though trying to decide if her question was serious. “Your father’s holdings are vulnerable to the de Clare and Mortimer families. His land sits between the lands owned by those powerful earls and the Segraves. If a civil war were to break out, he would need an equally powerful ally to hold the de Clare and Mortimer armies at bay. He needs the Segraves.”

“You think the de Clares and Mortimers would remain loyal to the king?” she asked, before realizing her words implied that he would turn traitor.

“I know they will be loyal to themselves and use a war as an excuse to expand their holdings,” he answered. “Weston Castle is a ripe plum they will both wish to pluck. If the Segraves pledge an alliance with your father, none of the Marcher lords would dare challenge him. Without an alliance, I would consider laying siege
to Weston Castle myself to ensure it did not fall into the hands of the Mortimers or de Clares. Those are the consequences. Do you understand what I am telling you?”