The Dark Knight (32 page)

“I assure you that I am the man you have heard tales about, and I am, indeed, a man with much blood on my hands.” His head tilted slightly to one side. “Is that the reason you are not afraid of me? Because you have some misguided belief that I am not an assassin?”

She shook her head. “Even though you deceived me with the charade as Sir Percival, I believe you are who you now claim to be. I just cannot believe you are
what
you claim to be.”

“Who and what I am are one and the same.” His voice was sure, but his expression reflected his bewilderment.

She knew she was speaking in riddles, but she could not think of an explanation that would make sense to anyone but her. Why was she even trying? “I cannot explain it other than to say that you are not what you are supposed to be.”

“Just what do you think I am, other than a man who has killed countless traitors?”

She had intended to change the subject, or to retreat
again into silence, but his words made something in her mind click into place. “That is the answer. You just said it yourself. You have killed countless
traitors
.”

She nodded to herself and then stared up at the sky as she mulled over the revelation. All day it had been a minor annoyance in the back of her mind; the inexplicable reasons why it didn’t particularly bother her that she was the captive of the notorious King’s Assassin. Now she realized why his identity did not matter.

“Some would call it murder,” she began, “but I think your profession must be little different than that of the executioner. The king has the authority to order the execution of any man or woman in his realm who breaks his laws or turns traitor. You carry out his warrants. ’Tis not entirely different from a knight riding into battle against the king’s enemies, except the violence is focused upon one person rather than an entire army. I do not fear knights who have killed in battle, just as I see no reason to fear you.”

He studied his hands as he used the tip of the knife to scrape under his fingernails. “And you are not the least bit afraid to be my prisoner?”

“Whatever reasons you have for my abduction, murder does not seem to be a part of them. And if you truly are an agent of the king …” She lifted her shoulders. “ ’Tis my duty to obey my sovereign’s wishes, and yet at the same time I must wonder at the manner of my summons. It does not bode well for my future.”

“Hence your anger.”

“Aye, hence my anger,” she agreed, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

He looked away from her and seemed suddenly intent on something across the campsite. “You are a strange woman, Avalene.”

He was only just realizing this fact? She was cursed
with a bloodline that made her dangerous to her own king, her father had abandoned her, her aunt and uncle had betrayed her, and she had no friends to speak of. These were hardly the hallmarks of a normal, likable person. He had deceived her into thinking he viewed her differently, into thinking he liked and understood her. She should have known better. Men like Sir Percival truly did not exist. She released a deep, heartfelt sigh and then immediately tried to cover the sound with a small cough.

“Are you really so disappointed that you will not marry Segrave?”

“Aye.”

His eyes immediately took on a hard, shuttered look. “You realize that he will never touch you again.” It was not a question.

“He was preferable to the Tower,” she muttered.

He made a sound that might have been agreement, and then he seemed to relax a little. “Is that really all he is to you, a means of escaping a different fate?”

“Of course.” She could see that he didn’t understand and wondered why the explanation mattered to him, or, for that matter, why she bothered to provide it. On the other hand, she had nothing better to do and what did it really matter? “He would not be my choice if I had any other. However, I would do almost anything to protect my family and avoid becoming a prisoner for the rest of my life. Who wouldn’t?”

“Who indeed,” he murmured. “So, you do not feel the same sort of attraction toward Segrave that you felt toward me?”

Her jaw locked shut. She lifted her chin and looked pointedly away from him. The pain was no longer a ripple but now came in crushing waves. Her gaze went to Rami who lay on the ground, rubbing his swollen
stomach with all the satisfaction of a well-fed cat. She kept her gaze focused on the boy and tried to keep her mind focused there as well—anything to keep her thoughts away from Dante, away from the pain in her chest and the burning sensation in her eyes. She would never give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“Avalene?”

Leave me alone!
“What?”

“Do you care for Segrave?”

Anger burned through her. She spoke in a low, tight voice, her gaze still fastened on Rami. “As you said, he blackmailed my father into the betrothal and it seems likely he intends to incite a rebellion in Wales. I am nothing more to him than a means to secure the support of the Welsh natives. He is nothing more to me than a means to protect my father’s lands and avoid imprisonment. So, no, I do not care for him in the way that you mean.”

She breathed a sigh of relief that she had made it through that speech without her voice breaking. She refused to add that she despised Segrave for what he wanted from her and what he had done to get his way. However, she would marry a three-headed goat if it meant she could avoid the fate that Segrave threatened for her father or the fate that the king threatened for her.

“Forgive me,” he said in a much gentler voice. “I misunderstood.”

“Why do you even care?” she demanded, turning to face him again. “You have already assured me that I will never see Faulke Segrave again, much less marry him. What is the point of knowing my feelings about him? Why ask all of these questions?”

“I am curious about you.” His expression looked almost apologetic. “The way your mind works intrigues me.”

She pressed her lips together and returned her attention
to Rami. “How nice that you find my predicament so entertaining.”

“Not entertaining,” he countered. “Never that. ’Tis you I find fascinating. You said that I am not what you expected. Well, I find you to be just as unexpected. No fear. No hysterics. No pleading or complaints. I am at a loss as to what to make of you.”

Wonderful. He found her fascinating. Only because she was not a cowering, sobbing female. He did not know that she never cried, never pleaded, never showed her fears, at least, never where anyone could see or hear her. Lady Margaret had cured her of those weaknesses long ago.
‘Stop that bawling or I will give you something to cry about’
was a phrase she had heard often during her first few months at Coleway, usually followed by actions that made her realize the words were not an idle threat but a solid promise. Her aunt could not abide anyone moping about over problems that did not concern her.

And then there was John, of course. The steward was always quick to exploit any vulnerability. She had been careful to keep her emotions firmly in check no matter how mercilessly he provoked her. He delighted in the confrontation when anyone rose to his bait. Her cool disdain had always infuriated him. So she had learned to keep her true thoughts carefully hidden and eventually became so adept at the practice that it had become second nature. Had all the years of hiding her feelings somehow changed her? Dante certainly seemed to think she was abnormal.

Ah, the irony. He was the only person with whom she had ever felt comfortable enough to show her weaknesses, to hold out her heart to him like some silly cow-eyed maiden. She deserved to have it handed back to her in pieces for behaving like such an idiot in the first place.

“Come,” he said. He bent down to pick up something from the grass, and then he was on his feet in one fluid movement. He held out his hand to her. “There is a spring near the horses where you can get a drink of fresh water and rinse your hands.”

She blinked once at the sudden change of subject.

“Aye, that would be welcome.”

She followed him past the horses toward a line of trees that marked the path to the spring. He gave her a few moments of privacy, and then seemed in no hurry when she took her time. The water was cold and bracing enough to wash away the melancholy brought on by their conversation. Why had she spoken to him so candidly? There was no harm done that she could imagine, but she should not be sharing any of her private thoughts with him. They were no longer … friends, and yet he had effortlessly drawn her out, somehow lulled her into that same deceptive sense of being safe in his company, all while she babbled away about her innermost feelings. Oh, he was good. She pressed her lips together, determined anew to treat him to silence.

After they performed their ablutions, he took her back to the camp and then down the path she had watched him follow earlier where she found their saddles and saddlebags, and a makeshift bed. One bed.

“Where are you going to sleep?” she blurted out. So much for her resolve on the silence issue. But how could she let this go unchallenged? It had to be a mistake. There was no possible way she could sleep with him.

“I am not going to let you out of my sight again,” he said. “The only question is whether you will sleep next to me voluntarily, or if I need to tie you to me.”

I would rather be tied to a tree
. She almost suggested it.

“I did not sleep at all last night,” he said, “and very
little the night before. I have no intention of ravishing you in your sleep.”

“I know that,” she snapped. She knew very well that ravishing was the last thing on his mind. There was no longer any need for that pretense; she was simply his prisoner and he wanted to make certain she stayed put. It was her own actions she worried about, especially after she fell asleep. She would have to do something to make certain she did not curl up next to him during the night, unconsciously seeking his heat and the myth of his protection. That horrid scenario was much more likely if she were tied to him, and the thought of having her hands and feet bound alarmed her more than the thought of sleeping next to him. She gritted her teeth. “I do not need to be trussed up like a lamb for market.”

“Good. I do not want to do anything that would hurt you.”

Their gazes met in an instant exchange of understanding that he had already done things that hurt her much more deeply than any rope could. He looked away first and busied himself by straightening the furs that formed the base of their bed. She bit her lip and tried to decide how best to handle this uncomfortable situation.

This was nothing new, she reminded herself. She had slept next to him before, and she was so tired that she would likely be asleep within moments. Perhaps this would not be so bad if she could put a few saddlebags between them. “Why are we so far away from the others?”

“When have you seen my men and me sleep in the same place at the same time?” he asked, even as he shook his head. “We spread out in case anyone should attack us during the night. Distance offers more time for a warning.”

That explanation made sense. She knelt down on the furs and the grass rose far above her, offering them as
much privacy as if they were within the walls of a chamber. It made her uneasy to be alone with him. “Maybe I should go sleep with Rami.”

“He and the men will take turns standing guard tonight.” He picked up the saddlebags that she had lined up in the middle of the bed and returned them to their place behind the saddles. “You will stay with me.”

She gave the saddlebags a wistful look, even though she knew why he had stowed them away. They had taken up half the space on the bed. She sat down on the furs, and then carefully tucked her skirts and cloak around her legs, hoping that would restrict her movements. She made sure she was on the very edge of the furs, giving Dante as much room as possible, and then she lay back and rested her head on her saddle and closed her eyes.

The bed was surprisingly comfortable. The long grass provided a soft cushion beneath her. They had enough blankets and cloaks to ensure they stayed warm throughout the night, but those comforts were not enough to instantly lull her into sleep. Not until Dante was in his place and she could be certain that nothing untoward would happen. What if his claim that he wouldn’t ravish her was another lie? He was a man, she was a woman, and everyone knew that most men were not all that particular about the women they slept with. She opened her eyes again.

The sun had sunk below the trees but there was still plenty of light to watch him prepare for bed. He unbuckled his sword belt, and then began to remove an astonishing number of weapons from an astonishing number of places: inside his sleeves, from straps around his arms, more on his legs and inside his boots, around his neck. He was a veritable fortress. At last he stacked the entire cache a good distance away from the bed.

“Are you not worried that your weapons will be too far away, should we come under an attack?”

He sat down and pulled his boots off. “I am more concerned about your proximity to my weapons.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you really think I am a threat to you?”

“Anyone with a weapon is a threat,” he said, as he settled next to her. He spread his cloak over both of them and then lay down. “I did not live to a ripe old age by taking chances.”

He was hardly ancient, but there was no reason to challenge his opinion. Instead she tried to picture herself holding a knife to him, demanding he set her free. The idea was preposterous. He would have the weapon away from her before she could draw a breath. Then it occurred to her that he was deliberately making it more difficult for her to steal one of his weapons while he slept. Could she attack a sleeping, defenseless man if it meant a chance at freedom?

“I did not intend to give you ideas,” he said, once again reading her thoughts. “However, should you ever manage to turn a weapon against me, you had best be prepared to use it without hesitation. You will never get a second chance.”

She swallowed audibly and wished she had never asked about his weapons. Perhaps her life was not as safe in his hands as she had imagined. There was fear in her after all. “My father will pay a handsome reward if you take me to him in Wales.”