The Dark Knight (44 page)

It was as if Fate had fashioned her just for him. Her breathtaking beauty had been the first thing to catch his eye, but he had known other beautiful women and that alone was not enough to hold his interest. Her true beauty lay within, in her courage and bravery, in the ways she took care of everyone in Lady Margaret’s household without even realizing she was doing the job of her incompetent aunt and doing it without complaint, in the ways she cared for her family even when they had abandoned and betrayed her. Then, of course, there was
the way she treated
him
. He had never before been the subject of such unabashed adoration.

From the start he had told himself that none of it was real, that she would run from him screaming when she learned the truth. But her soft gazes and the wonderment in her eyes had been impossible to resist. She made him want to be perfectly normal, to cleanse himself of his sins, to become a man worthy of her affections. He had quickly developed an obsession, a
need
to be the focus of her attention, to be connected to her through as many of his senses as possible; his gaze upon her face, his touch upon any part of her body, the sound of her voice, her scent, the taste of her upon his lips. All of these things were required, and yet never enough.

It helped that she felt the same irresistible pull that had initially attracted him to her, its strength such that she seemed to have forgiven him for the charade as Sir Percival. For that, she
should
forgive him, unless she truly had some sadistic wish to be wed to Coleway’s steward. Still, there were times when he caught doubt in her eyes and knew that she still had trouble trusting him. Or times, like today, when he would give almost anything to know the truth behind her thoughtful silences.

The food had arrived in his absence and Rami had already descended upon the table like a horde of locusts, albeit a tidy horde. The boy was always careful to leave every dish arranged as carefully as when it had arrived without a crumb out of place, even if crumbs were all that remained of certain dishes. He had expected Rami’s obsession with food to fade as the passing weeks proved the certainty of a full belly each day, but it was obviously going to take more time before the boy stopped stockpiling for the next famine. He sent Rami to the
bathhouse with a few words and then settled down to wait for Avalene.

Oliver and Armand entered the solar not long behind him, clean-shaven and neatly groomed, and Reginald soon after. Wrapped in thoughts of the woman in his bedchamber, he had almost forgotten his order to meet here. He bid them partake of the food, although he also instructed them to join Isabel and her company for the evening meal to find out what more they could about their guests. Reginald’s spies had been busy already. He listened with interest to the tale of Isabel’s unexpected arrival and all Reginald had learned in the days since then.

It was as Reginald and Gerhardt had informed him earlier; Edward had a husband in mind for Isabel and she had returned to England to await the wedding. Unwed royals were rarely free of a spouse for long; most were betrothed in the cradle, or, as in Isabel’s case, remarried at the close of their mourning period to form a new alliance for the king with another royal family, or as a special reward for one of his higher-ranking nobles. Royal daughters came entailed with riches and titles for their husbands and the children of such unions. Envoys from impoverished princes probably began to land on Edward’s doorstep within a month of Isabel’s widowhood.

No one yet knew the identity of her future husband, but the more Dante learned of the situation, the more his suspicions were aroused. Isabel’s retinue was part of her dowry: a score of her dead husband’s royal guards who were completely loyal to her, three score of servants who were also from her husband’s household and also loyal only to their mistress, and one hundred of King Edward’s royal guard who were loyal to the king. In other words, a good part of Isabel’s dowry consisted
of an army. And it was an army that would reside within her husband’s walls, but one her husband would not control. Interesting.

Reginald struggled to find the politest words possible to call Isabel a spoiled brat. Again, not so unusual for Edward’s daughters. They were richer and more powerful than most men, and virtually above the law. He supposed there would be trouble if one of them outright murdered someone in front of witnesses, but even then he would not bet on them suffering many consequences. They were part of the royal family. The rules that most of society followed did not apply to them. Power and wealth on that scale tended to breed arrogance and conceit. He did not envy Isabel’s hapless new husband.

As Reginald continued his report, Dante suddenly recalled another act of arrogance, this one on his own part. He had been in a foul mood before he left for Coleway, resentful of the girl who had delayed his retirement from a craft he abhorred. He had known she would need garments upon her arrival in London. In a moment of pique, he had ordered the clothing made up in cheap fabrics and common materials. The gowns that awaited Avalene in his chamber were not fit to touch her skin. Even his servants wore finer garments.

He gave a mental groan and wondered how quickly new gowns could be made. The situation would be bad enough without Isabel’s presence. To present Avalene to royalty in peasant garb? He would be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.

His gaze went to the bedchamber door. Matilda was a competent seamstress. Not capable of what he had in mind, but surely she would have Avalene’s measure by this time to alter the offensive garments he had provided. Fortunately, he was in a city where anything
could be made possible with the right amount of money and influence. He had both.

He gave his orders concerning the clothing to Reginald, certain they would be carried out. He also ordered a messenger sent to the Tower to request an audience with Mordecai on the morrow. He was equally certain Mordecai was already aware of his return to London, but he knew better than to show up on his doorstep uninvited and unannounced. There were a few other matters that needed his decisions and orders, and then he dismissed Reginald. Before he sent Oliver and Armand to the hall, he made certain there would be two guards posted outside the solar who would bar anyone from entering without his permission, and to accompany Avalene if she should leave his quarters without him. He didn’t plan to have her out of his sight very often or for very long.

Once the others left he angled his chair toward the chamber door and settled in to wait, plotting, planning all the ways he would coax the words he most wanted to hear from her again. These niggling doubts that her silence meant she had reconsidered her feelings for him would go away as soon as he could hold her again, as soon as he could look into her eyes and see the light that shined there just for him. Once Segrave and his annoying betrothal contract were out of the way, he would ask her to marry him. He wondered how she would react to the question. Mostly he wondered what the hell was taking her so long.

The bathwater was ice cold and still Avalene lingered in the tub, trying to hide her shivers from the tirewoman, Matilda, who had helped wash her hair and scrub her back. Matilda had also poured oil into the water that
filled the chamber with the scents of sandalwood and flowers. It felt wonderful to be clean again, to be free of her filthy clothing, but she was not quite ready to leave the sanctuary of her bath to face Dante and his men. Oliver and Armand probably knew she and Dante had done more than just sleep together while they were on the road, but tonight they would know for certain that she intended to share Dante’s bed for illicit reasons. Tonight she would become a fallen woman. Would they look at her differently? Treat her differently?

Having Matilda in the room helped calm her nerves for some reason, even though she was a silent presence as she sat on a stool near the tub, busily hemming one of the too-long new gowns while she waited for Avalene to emerge from the tub. She was perhaps a dozen years older than Avalene, her hair covered with a linen snood, her manner all brisk efficiency. She had laid out the pieces of Avalene’s new wardrobe on the bed, three gowns in all, along with chemises and stockings, veils, and a pair of suede slippers. Avalene didn’t know how Dante managed to purchase clothing for her but she was grateful for it. Her own belt and girdle were barely damaged by their extended wear and once cleaned they would work well enough with the new gowns, along with the circlet that would hold her new veils in place.

She did her best to keep her mind on the garments rather than on the large bed and what would eventually take place there.
Tonight
.

Did Matilda know that tonight was the night? Did everyone in the palace know? She forced her gaze back to the garments still spread out on the bed and decided that while the clothing would suffice for her immediate needs, the sturdy, serviceable gowns made of plain linen were hardly what she would have chosen to meet royalty. In all her imaginings, she never would have guessed
that she would be sleeping under the same roof as one of the king’s daughters. Tonight, of all nights.

The words
tonight is the night
kept growing louder in her head until she marveled that Matilda did not seem to hear them. There was nothing to fear, no reason to feel afraid, and yet her pulse raced each time she looked at the bed. She knew it would hurt the first time, it would hurt enough that she would bleed, but she also knew that Dante would be gentle with her. Indeed, after last night, she looked forward to this one. At least, she wanted to look forward to tonight. Why was she so nervous?

She made herself think of Isabel, to speculate about what the princess would look like, whether or not she would be friendly. Would she look at Avalene’s plain, ill-fitting clothing and laugh? Of course, Dante might not have any intention of taking her to the midday meal tomorrow to meet the illustrious Isabel of Ascalon. Or perhaps she could delay the meeting until the seamstresses had a chance to work up a gown presentable to Isabel’s company. She could also make great improvements to the current gowns if she could just find some embroidery thread and trims. Mayhap some of the fur from her ruined cloak could be salvaged.

Was it just her imagination, or did the bed really grow larger the longer she stared at it?
Tonight is the night
.

Nay, she was to think about Isabel, how she would look a great cow next to the dazzling royal daughter and her court. Then her conscience reminded her of another reason she would never be allowed to meet Isabel. She was a fallen woman now, or, soon would be.
Tonight
. She wasn’t sure what the rules were regarding this predicament, having never imagined she would ever be in the situation, but she was fairly certain kings’ daughters did not consort with harlots.

Ah. Problem solved. What a relief that all of her worries about the garments were unnecessary. Isabel would never see her gowns. She would never even be presented to the princess.

And that freed her mind to decide if she should be pleased or piqued over Dante’s obvious influence over one aspect of her new clothing. Everything was red.

Pleased, she decided, although she intended to ask how he knew that red was the only color she wore before he had even met her. She would have to wait to ask that question until they were alone … 
tonight
.

She sighed and then signaled to Matilda that she was ready to dress. She needed more of a distraction than a bath could provide. It was time to face Dante and the others. Sooner than seemed possible, she was back in the solar.

Dante rose to greet her almost before she entered the room, as if he could sense her approach. He stood at one end of the long trestle table that stood in the center of the room. She had meant to say something trite about feeling refreshed by the bath, but the words froze in her throat when she took a good look at him.

She hadn’t realized how unkempt they had all become on their travels until the evidence of their journey was washed and shaved and combed away. He had taken clothes from his chamber before he left for the bathhouse, and he was now dressed completely in black. He was transformed, but not into the chivalrous knight who had first entered the hall at Coleway. The man who stood before her was a handsome, powerful nobleman who took her breath away.

To be fair, he always took her breath away, but this change from knight to nobleman was unexpected. It ignited new worries that had festered all afternoon in a
quiet corner of her mind. Now she wondered how they had remained silent all this time.

It must be the garments, she decided, their quality far beyond anything a knight would own. His surcoat was quilted in a diamond pattern and shot through with silver thread, his leather braces and boots dyed an exact shade of black and studded with silver rivets. His belt was also studded with silver, the metal worked into the same diamond pattern as his tunic. It was the type of understated elegance that only the very wealthy could afford.

She looked down at her adequate yet simple clothing and felt like the proverbial ugly duckling. An extremely ungrateful duckling. If not for his thoughtfulness and foresight she would have only her own tattered, filthy clothing to don. Aye, she was an ungrateful wretch, but did he have to look so devastatingly handsome? She tried again to feel grateful. Ah, yes. At least she would not have to face the king’s daughter in her plain gowns.

“What is wrong?” His brows were now drawn together in a frown and his smile had vanished.

“Nothing,” she assured him, plastering an overly bright smile on her face that also faded before it fully formed. “Where is everyone?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, and then understanding dawned. “Rami is taking his bath. Oliver and Armand are meeting with the soldiers they left in charge during our absence. They will have their meal in the hall with the others.”

She glanced behind her, looking for Matilda.

“She just left,” he said, guessing her thoughts easily enough. “We are alone.”

“Oh.” She swallowed once, and then forced her feet to move forward so she could take the seat he offered next to his. A puzzled line appeared between his brows.
She turned her attention to the table, which held an abundance of food that should look enticing to her empty stomach but did not. Even the smell of fresh baked bread did not tempt her. “I did not realize our meal had arrived. Will Reginald be here soon to meet with you?”