The Dark Knight (47 page)

She listened to the sound of their heartbeats, uncertain
whether it was hers or his or some combination of the two. Even their labored breathing shared the same pattern, inhaling at the same time, exhaling at the same time. Nothing that she had ever heard or seen or been told could have prepared her for this … this feeling of completion, that they were two parts of the same whole, separate, and yet only truly complete when they were joined together. She had thought her feelings for him were as deep as she was capable, certain of her love for him, certain what she felt for him could not grow any stronger. Now she realized there were not any words to encompass her feelings. It went beyond her ability to describe. Words were not enough, and yet she could no longer contain the paltriest of them.

“I love you.”

“Mi sei mancato molto!”

Avalene dutifully repeated Rami’s words, albeit not as effortlessly.

“Abbastanza bene,”
Rami said, with a small shrug.
“Hai bisogno di più pratica.”

“Aye, I need much more practice,” she agreed. She watched him push a lock of dark hair from his eyes and realized it needed the attention of a good pair of shears. The words for such a request in Italian weren’t within her grasp but she would ask Dante about it later.
“Ho bisogno di fare pratica con il mio italiano.”

“Sì.”
Rami was growing bored with the Italian lessons. He made a show of turning his attention toward the end of the table and gave their empty trenchers a wistful look, punctuated by a pitiful sigh.
“Ho fame.”

“Impossible. There is no way you can be hungry again,” she admonished. “We just ate.”

He turned a sad gaze upon her and his big, brown eyes seemed to swallow up his face.
“Ho fame.”

“You are shameless.” She watched his lower lip tremble. “Oh, very well! When the servants come to clear this away, I will ask them to bring a few nuncheons.
Cicchetti, sì?
”

His smile was beatific. He turned over the whetstone he held in one hand and continued to hone the blade of his dagger. The metal made a soft
whisp, whisp, whisp
sound against the stone. He began to sing a jaunty little tune in rhythm to the strokes. It was a song about pastries and pies.

She rolled her eyes and then turned her attention back to the hem she was sewing on one of her new gowns. She murmured again the phrase he had just taught her, this time under her breath.
“Mi sei mancato molto.” I missed you so much
.

Dante had departed a few hours ago, as reluctant to leave as she was reluctant to see him go, but he had received a message that Mordecai wished to meet with him immediately. And just like that, the most magical night of her life was over … even though the sun had already been high in the sky when it ended. Her lips curved into a secretive smile. There was always tonight.

She pretended to stretch again as if she were yawning, just to take inventory of her new body once more. Last night had changed her in many ways, but physically, that was the most surprising change of all. He made her shockingly aware of every part of her that could be touched and kissed and caressed, awakened responses that she wasn’t even aware she possessed.

“Possessed” was actually a good word for what he made her feel. Naked, pressed against the length of him, his hands on her and hers on him, she felt as if she were an entirely different creature, lean, sensual, lithe, all smooth flow and warm movement. He all but made
her purr. Today there was still some lingering stiffness and soreness to remind her of the transformation.

She used some of the fabric spread across her lap to fan her face. It was suddenly very warm in the solar.

A sharp knock on the door to the hallway cut off Rami’s song in mid-verse. Armand entered the solar without waiting for her to bid him enter.

“Forgive the interruption, my lady.” He gave a low, quick bow of apology, even as Oliver and three servants crowded into the room behind him. They were followed by four more soldiers. “Isabel was displeased when Lord Dante did not present himself at the midday meal to greet her. She has determined to come here to await his return.”

Even as he spoke, the servants placed large trays on the table that held pitchers and goblets, and then cleared away the remnants of Avalene’s and Rami’s meal. Oliver and the soldiers took up a position along the wall behind her. Armand remained by the door. She felt Oliver’s hand touch her shoulder.

“I am sorry, my lady. We cannot deny her entrance.”

“Of course not,” she said, finally finding her voice. The servants departed but they left the door open. She saw that two more soldiers still stood guard outside the door. She looked behind her, then again toward the doorway. Eight soldiers, counting Oliver and Armand. Were they expecting a siege?

Already she could hear several women’s voices in the hallway, but they were still too far away for her to understand any of the words. She stood up and the forgotten gown slid to the floor. Just as she bent down to retrieve the garment, she heard a woman’s voice quite clearly.

“What a cozy solar! Gerhardt, do you think it larger than my own?”

Her words were marked with a trace of the same accent that Avalene had heard in Gerhardt’s voice the day before. How odd. She had not expected an English princess to sound foreign. She straightened in time to hear Gerhardt’s answer.

“I do not think so, my lady. One assumes the rooms in each wing are the same dimensions.”

The lady in question gave a delicate sniff. “How unimaginative.”

Avalene felt her jaw unhinge at the sight before her. Isabel was more than a head taller than she, the same height as most of the men in the room. She wore a pink bliaut made of a shimmering fabric she had never seen before. The fabric was covered with hundreds of delicate flowers and vines and birds stitched in gold thread. Gold braid trimmed the waist, neckline, and sleeves, and a snow-white surcoat lined with the same pink fabric covered her bliaut. The profile of a fierce-looking bird with widespread wings was stitched onto each shoulder of the surcoat, fashioned of gold beads with their beaks and talons made of hundreds of tiny pink beads.

Gold, pink, and white ribbons encased her long, dark plait that ended in a gold tassel that nearly touched the floor. On her head was an enormously tall, flared barbette covered with more of the shiny pink fabric. The crenellated crown was encrusted with seed pearls and the whole of it topped with a profusion of long white feathers that looked like weightless strings that bowed and swayed with the slightest movement of her head. More pearls decorated her earrings and necklace, much larger than those on her barbette, yet still delicate-looking against skin that was nearly the same color. Her lips were the exact shade as her bliaut, but her eyes were a piercing blue, shrewd and intelligent as she examined the solar as thoroughly as Avalene examined Isabel. A
small frown creased between her dark brows as her gaze moved over Avalene and then dismissed her.

Isabel gave a delicate wave of her hand and two more ladies stepped forward, their heads bowed. At first Avalene thought they were twins. Blue-eyed and blond-haired, they wore identical white bliauts with pink surcoats, the fabrics and jewels not as lavish as that of their mistress, but still far richer than anything Avalene owned. She looked down at her own sorry gown and amended that thought with, anything that she
used
to own. Between the three women, they wore more jewels than she had ever seen in one place at one time.

One of the two blond-haired girls carried a stack of pink cushions that she held while the other took a stool from the table and placed it to one side of the room. A cushion was placed on the stool and then the two remaining cushions were placed on the floor on either side of the stool. The two girls sank gracefully onto the floor cushions to take their seats, their skirts spread out around them like puddled flowers that left the scent of sandalwood in their wake. Isabel took her seat on the stool, and then three soldiers, also dressed in their mistress’s colors, took up position behind the women. The room was suddenly quite crowded.

Avalene continued to stare at the tableau in dumbfounded silence.
All
of Isabel’s people were blond-haired and blue-eyed, all dressed in the outrageously feminine colors of pink, gold, and white, and the picture they presented was as something from a religious painting. The room fairly glowed with their radiance. She had lost track of Gerhardt, who still stood near Armand at the door, but she realized he had taken a step forward when Isabel held up one hand to halt his progress.

“She is English, Gerhardt. The customs are different here.” Isabel turned her head slightly to address Armand.
“In my land … that is, in my husband’s land, a lady’s head must never be raised higher than my own.”

Avalene abruptly took her seat.

“This is no lady,” Gerhardt growled, as he jerked his head in Avalene’s direction. He spoke to Armand. “Remove your lord’s whore from my lady’s presence.”

Several things happened at once, but one thing happened first. A long misericorde appeared in Armand’s hand with the deadly tip resting at Gerhardt’s throat. Every other soldier present drew his sword and all the ladies gasped. Even Rami leapt to his feet and positioned himself in front of Avalene, his small dagger clutched in one hand and pointed toward the German soldiers.

“Apologize,” Armand said in a mild tone, as if Gerhardt had made some flippant remark that was hardly worth mention. But a drop of blood began to trickle down Gerhardt’s neck, changing direction slightly when Gerhardt swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed beneath the blade.

Avalene wanted to run from the solar but she could not make herself move a muscle. This was her fault. She had disregarded the rules she had lived by all her life and allowed herself to be swept into a world that contained only Dante. There were consequences to every decision and it was time she faced the truth of her new life. Gerhardt had merely called her the name she refused to acknowledge to herself. He was about to die for simply speaking the truth.

She could see that Gerhardt had no intention of apologizing, and she could see just as clearly that Armand would cut his throat for the imagined insult. And then Isabel’s soldiers would kill Armand and God knew who else. Their blood would be on her hands, all because she was a fallen woman, because she had selfishly taken the
pleasure Dante offered her. She had to do or say something. She couldn’t speak a word.

“This … peasant cannot be in my lady’s presence,” Gerhardt insisted.

Isabel rose to her feet but Avalene remained frozen in her seat, her eyes wide with horror. Of course she was an affront to Isabel, an insult not to be borne by so high a lady. She must make herself rise, make some excuse that Armand would find acceptable, remove herself to the bedchamber where she belonged. She should not be in the solar. Whores did not loiter in places where the daughter of the king could happen upon her.

“He is my favorite,” Isabel said in a low voice to Armand. “I will be seriously displeased if you kill him.”

Armand answered without taking his eyes from Gerhardt. “He would be dead already were my lord, Dante, present.”

“Your lord
is
present,” Dante said from the doorway. His gaze swept over the room as he moved forward. He kept an eye on Armand and Gerhardt when he walked past them but continued straight to Avalene. He wore the same black garments as the night before and now held a small wooden chest beneath one arm. The wooden chest was placed on the table, and then he lifted her cold hand and gently kissed her fingertips as if he had all the time in the world and nothing were amiss behind him. As if a man’s life did not now rest upon the end of a blade. “My apologies for my late arrival, my lady. I was unavoidably delayed by this lady’s father. Will you forgive me?”

He cocked his head in Isabel’s direction but rudely kept his back to her. It took Avalene a moment to realize he had been in an audience with the king. Speech was beyond her at the moment, so she merely inclined her head.

Dante drew her to her feet and then turned to face their audience with Avalene fitted close to his side. One arm rested around her waist. His other hand reached over to hold hers and his thumb rubbed in a soothing motion over her fingers. She had to concentrate just to breathe, but she did notice that Isabel’s gaze moved to their joined hands.

“Apparently I missed an insult to my lady,” Dante said. He seemed unconcerned by the deadly blades that bristled all around them. “ ’Tis probably best if it remains unspoken in my presence. However, my men do not act without provocation and I am certain my lady is due an apology that I have not yet heard.”

Isabel’s eyes tightened at the corners and she spoke to Gerhardt in a swift volley of words, the guttural language one Avalene had never heard.

Gerhardt cleared his throat, his head now tilted back at an awkward angle in a useless effort to avoid the sharp point of the misericorde. “I apologize. No offense was intended.”

Avalene didn’t think that was strictly true, but kept her opinion to herself.