The Dark Knight (54 page)

This was the moment I had waited for since the Segraves first entered this chamber, radiating their anger and contempt. They were men and therefore thought themselves above me. I had just corrected their thinking. Now would come the well-deserved apologies.

“Do you speak Welsh?” Faulke asked.

“Of course not,” I quipped. “The Welsh are barbarians. Their language is hardly one I would—”

“Chwerthin yn uchel,”
Faulke said to his cousin.

Richard smiled, and then he laughed out loud. The laughter stopped abruptly when Faulke made a quick cutting motion with his hand, and then Richard’s face resettled into a mask of surly anger.

“We can play childish games all day,” Faulke said. “I do not particularly care who declares themselves the winner.”

I blinked once in astonishment. So much for an apology. And so much for thinking he would not know how to answer
my
insult. Before I could think of an appropriate response, he, too, decided to make a more informative introduction.

“An hour ago I was faced with the prospect of immediate imprisonment or a royal bride. You may be happy to know that I have just signed our betrothal papers. It seems we shall be married within the month.” He folded his arms across his chest, which brought my attention to the size of his arms. They were huge. “You might be a princess, but I am the man you will soon call your lord and master.”

His arrogance made mine pale in comparison, which was not an easy feat. He also made my father’s generosity sound like a punishment, the ungrateful churl.

“Most men would think themselves blessed to gain such prizes,” I retorted.

“Most men are not brought to the altar at the point of a sword.”

My gaze went to his side and I noticed for the first time that his scabbard was empty. Indeed, both men had been relieved of their weapons. So the rumors were true. The Segraves had been brought to Ashland Palace as prisoners. Little wonder they were so angry. Still, it was their own greed that formed this prison, and they were being amply compensated for their troubles.

Despite my own frustration with the situation, I made an unexpected discovery as I watched Faulke draw in a deep breath and then slowly release it through pursed lips. Despite the wild beard, there was something appealing about the shape of his mouth. That is, if one were attracted to rude, uncivilized sorts of men with intriguing mouths, which I am not. Still, amidst the dirt and anger, I was beginning to understand what other women might find somewhat appealing. He was a man who had Presence, that indefinable air that was part and parcel of all natural leaders. And if pressed I might even admit that his eyes were his most compelling physical feature. They reflected a sharp, piercing intelligence that he directed squarely in my direction. His unwavering gaze made me feel as if he knew full well there were secrets inside my head that affected him, and I suspected he was already developing strategies to pry them loose. I would do well not to underestimate this man.

“Our marriage will provide your family with more wealth and power than you could have ever hoped for from a marriage to Avalene de Forshay,” I pointed out. “Gilbert de Clare is the only other Englishman to be so rewarded by our king and he was already a powerful earl before he wed my sister, Joan. Indeed, de Clare petitioned my father for years before he finally won my father’s blessing. By all accounts the earl is well pleased
with the marriage. You have just been handed a similar marriage on a platter.”

His appealing mouth turned downward and the tone of his voice turned darker. “An hour ago I also learned that Avalene de Forshay, the woman I was legally betrothed to marry, has been promised to another and put forever beyond my reach by your father’s order.” He shook his head. “The day may come when I am pleased with our impending marriage, but today is not that day.”

I was not particularly pleased with this day myself. I had hoped for a man who would be the complete opposite of my first husband, Hartman. This would teach me to be careful what I wished for.

Of course I had expected a certain amount of resentment from the Segraves. After all, Faulke just learned that he had been outmaneuvered by my father. Still, I had not anticipated this level of hostility. He had never met Avalene de Forshay until he tried to abduct her a month ago. He had held her prisoner for less than a day, so he could hardly claim loss of affections. The titles he would gain with my dowry included an earldom, several baronies, manors, lands, and all the wealth that went with those lands. Faulke would soon be one of the richest and most powerful men in England. All he had to do was tamp down his ambitions in Wales. Was that really such a sacrifice?

It was a stupid question. I had been surrounded by ambitious men all my life and none of them welcomed the sacrifice of their ambitions with open arms. Why did I think Faulke would be any different? I knew the Segraves’ history.
“Ruthless Ambition”
should be their family motto.

I recalled a conversation I had earlier in the day with Faulke’s former betrothed. Avalene had been terrified at the thought of becoming his bride. However, she had
made a thorough study of Faulke and his family in anticipation of their marriage. She had proved my best source of information about the Segraves since I was now his betrothed and she was freed to marry another man, one she loved to distraction. She had happily shared her vast stores of Segrave knowledge with me. Indeed, she often seemed downright grateful, as if imparting her information about the Segraves was somehow cleansing. “Lady Avalene warned me that you would not be happy with our betrothal, but I did not fully comprehend just how displeased you would be.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes, a spark of interest perhaps, as if I had just said something he wanted to hear. “Gilbert de Clare did not want to wed your sister half as much as I wanted to wed Lady Avalene. She is everything I want in a wife.”

Which meant that I was
not
what he wanted. Was he trying to make me jealous of Avalene, or simply taking another opportunity to insult me?

Most women
would
be jealous of Avalene de Forshay. She possessed the variety of fair-haired beauty that turned men’s brains to sap. She also had a sweet, sincere demeanor, and naïve honesty that made it impossible not to like her. Even if she were an ugly shrew, it was difficult to be jealous of a woman who was head over heels in love with a notorious assassin. Dante Chiavari, her soon-to-be husband, was not even an Englishman. If my father had told me I must wed a murderer for hire and move to Italy for the remainder of my life, I would think it the harshest of punishments. Avalene was ecstatic. As far as I was concerned, the woman inspired more astonishment than jealousy. And that proved how little Faulke knew Avalene if he thought he could stir my jealousy toward her.

I pretended to adjust the cuff of my sleeve as I considered my response, letting my fingers trail across the
smooth bumps of the seed pearls that encased my arm. One sleeve of my gown was worth more than Avalene’s entire dowry. The Segraves were driven by greed. There was nothing sentimental about the reasons he wanted Avalene for his wife.

“You are barely acquainted with Lady Avalene,” I said, “which means that what she would have brought to your marriage was more important than the lady herself. And yet she has very little in the way of lands or wealth.”

He spread his hands and lifted his shoulders, a silent admission of the truth. “Surely you are aware of the reasons I sought her out.”

“Aye. Our impending marriage is a direct result of those reasons,” I said, and then I repeated the story told to me by the king. “Your father and the other English Marcher barons on the frontier of Wales rule your Welsh lands by your own laws. Many resent the fealty you owe to England and most would like to set themselves up as kings in Wales, but you would have to fight the Welsh as well as my father’s armies if you rebel. Avalene is the only English noblewoman with direct blood ties to the last Prince of Wales. If you wed Avalene and then father a son on her, the native Welsh would accept him as their prince even as a newborn babe. They would fight willingly in an army of Englishmen if it meant they would see one of their own once again on the Welsh throne. Other Marcher barons in Wales would be drawn to stand with you to gain independence from England. You could rule all of Wales through such a child.”

“Those possibilities existed,” he admitted, as he tilted his head in a mockery of a bow. “However, now that your father has interfered, there is no longer any possibility that Avalene will be my wife.”

“My father is no fool.”

“Nor am I,” he warned. “You were married nearly ten
years and yet you have no children. My father is the first baron of Carreg and he has no other male heirs. It appears your father has found an expensive yet certain means of extinguishing my family’s line and insuring that all of our lands and titles will revert to the crown.”

Ah, here was the true crux of his anger. I had hoped all the Segraves would be so blinded by the wealth and titles my father intended to rain upon them that they would meekly accept the explanations for my childless state and hope for the best. The accusation should not have caught me unaware, but I had to force my reply through stiff lips. “My husband contracted mumps many years ago, just before our first child was stillborn.”

That much was true. Hartman and I had both contracted mumps and then I went into labor while I was still ill. Hartman nearly died. I wanted to. According to the physicians, my poor babe never stood a chance.

Everyone knew that mumps was a mild illness in children, but much more severe in adults. Indeed, cases as severe as Hartman’s often left a man unable to father children. My child’s birth had also been sufficiently difficult to make the physicians question my ability to carry another child. There was crushing disappointment, but no real surprise when I could not get pregnant again.

After I became a widow and once more marriageable, my father made certain everyone at his court knew that I had carried a child before Hartman’s illness. Without that explanation, a barren daughter would be impossible to marry off to any nobleman who needed an heir, no matter my wealth or my bloodline. However, my father was not foolish enough to marry me to anyone he intended to keep as an ally. He also had a limited amount of time before the gossip in Rheinbaden followed me to England.

“Mumps is the rumor,” Faulke agreed, “but it does not change the fact that your ability to produce a healthy
heir is unproven. The betrothal contracts are such that only an heir of your body can inherit the lands and titles your father will bestow upon me, as well as the lands and titles my family already possess.”

“Gilbert de Clare agreed to the same terms when he wed Joan,” I pointed out. “She was also unproven and yet provided his heir within the first year of their marriage and even now she is pregnant with their third child in three years.”

“Aye, the fertility of your mother and sister proved persuasive in getting my father to agree to the terms,” he said. “That, and the fact that you carried a child before your husband fell ill.”

The look he gave me said he did not share his father’s opinion. I could hardly blame him. No one in England knew that Hartman’s mistress bore him four children after his illness while I remained childless. At least, the English didn’t know about it just yet. Rumors were bound to follow my return to England. One of my own people might let something slip. But in the meantime, the king had, indeed, found a way to extinguish Faulke’s line.

I had sworn an oath to my father that I would not reveal the truth before my marriage. Trapping Faulke in this marriage would save hundreds, likely thousands of lives by averting a war and it would remove the Segraves as a threat in Wales. Of greater importance to me, personally, was my father’s promise that he would assure the future of my people should anything happen to me. Assuring their future meant insuring they had a future. The unspoken threat was that my people would suffer greatly if I proved difficult. All in all, marriage to this churl was a small price to pay to keep my people safe and prevent a war.

A year ago I never could have envisioned a day when the son of a lowly English baron had to be blackmailed
into marrying me. Granted, kings and princes would never again vie for my hand, but I still could scarce believe that my future would be banishment to the wilderness of Wales to live amongst the barbarians with a man who was most likely a traitor and possibly a murderer.

I dismissed the guilt I felt about my part in this deception. It was the Segraves’ actions that had led all of us to this place. Faulke was hardly the innocent victim. Indeed, he even looked the part of a villain with his wild beard and fouled clothes. I gazed at him with cool eyes. “The terms of our marriage are due in great part to your own matrimonial history, Lord Faulke. You are extremely young to have buried three wives. My father found it most coincidental that your wives tended to die whenever a more attractive marriage prospect presented itself.”

In an instant the anger in his eyes turned to icy fury. His lips barely moved. “I did not murder my wives.”

“I do not particularly care,” I lied, although I did store away the knowledge that the subject of his unfortunate wives could provoke a reaction. “The terms of our marriage are such that you now have a vested interest in my health and longevity. If I die without an heir, everything reverts to the crown, including your father’s titles. If I die with an heir, my child immediately inherits the lands and titles you hold in stewardship, although you may act as regent if the child is younger than twenty.”

“I am well aware of the terms,” Faulke bit out. “I am a wealthy earl only so long as you live.”

“My father feels that is sufficient motivation to insure I do not fall victim to the sorts of unusual accidents and illnesses that befell your previous brides.”

Faulke released another long breath, the muscles in his jaw now rigid with anger. “Are you such a dutiful daughter that you would willingly enter into marriage
with a man rumored to murder his wives, a man who makes no secret of the fact that he wants another woman as his bride?”