The Dark Knight (9 page)

If Dante had lifted his knife a moment sooner, he would have choked on the first bite of his meal. Instead he managed to hold on to the food, and even forced down a small mouthful to hide his shock. He instinctively rolled the lump of fish over his tongue to search for any hidden taste of poison while his mind did much the same with this latest piece of astonishing news. What mischief were Margaret and Brunor about? Was this some ploy? More to the point, what could these two hope to gain from it?

The strange plan he had started out with all those weeks ago in London grew more bizarre by the moment. He set his knife aside. “You have me at a loss, Lord Brunor. Baron Weston sent me specifically because he knows I would never betray my liege lord or his daughter in such a vile manner. Why would your wife conceive of such a plan, much less assume I would cooperate?”

“My eyesight is not what it once was,” Brunor said, “but I can still recognize when a man is besotted with a
woman. Margaret and John recognized the signs as well. You do a poor job of disguising your emotions.”

Dante wanted to laugh in his face, he, a master at disguising and controlling his emotions. Until today.

That Brunor had the right of it would indeed be laughable under different circumstances.
Gesù
. Even a near-blind man recognized that he acted like a lecherous goat. Avalene de Forshay had turned his head to sap. However, his brain still functioned well enough to wonder why they seemed determined to serve the girl up to him on a platter. “I meant no disrespect, Lord Brunor, but I had not been warned of her beauty. Indeed, I expected a maiden more plain than comely. I cannot explain what came over me, and can only apologize and swear that nothing will come of it.”

“Ah, but you have yet to reckon with the force that is my wife,” Brunor warned. “She has it in her head that Avalene should not leave Coleway, ever, and the only way to accomplish her goal is for Avalene to marry one of my men. She has pestered me endlessly with her schemes and plans. Now that she knows her brother has no intention of accommodating her wishes, her clever mind has latched upon the only other way to get what she wants. I believe she intends to make certain Avalene is compromised and discovered in bed with a lover. The man responsible will be immediately hung, of course, but not before Avalene’s reputation is ruined. No decent man will want her as a bride after that. That is, no man her father would choose. Marriage to a lowly knight or a high-ranking servant will become the only path open to her. In you, I am certain Margaret sees a way to compromise the girl without losing one of our own men in the process.”

Dante had long ago passed the point where anything he heard or saw could shock him. Still, it was highly
strange for Brunor to confide so much in the man who was supposed to play the pawn. He stated the only response that seemed appropriate. “You astonish me, Lord Brunor.”

“Oh, there is more,” Brunor promised. “Margaret does not know this, but John has pestered me for years to petition Baron Weston on his behalf to contract a betrothal. When it became obvious I had no intention of making such a proposal to my brother-in-law, John began to work his wiles upon my wife to intercede. He is equally determined to keep Avalene at Coleway, and he intends to wed the girl himself.”

Dante blinked once as he absorbed these new details. It was becoming clear that this would not be a simple matter of collecting the girl and riding out of the castle with a fare-thee-well. “Surely John realizes that Lady Avalene is above his station?”

Brunor made a sound of disgust. “John does not believe anyone is above his station. He has convinced Margaret that it is in everyone’s best interests to keep Avalene at Coleway and thinks he has convinced me as well.”

“You did voice your concern about Avalene’s abilities to manage her duties as Segrave’s wife,” Dante reminded him.

“My objections to a match with the Segraves have more to do with politics than any doubts about Avalene’s ability to manage a household,” Brunor said. “ ’Tis obvious the Segraves mean to solidify their base of power in Wales, and there are many Marcher lords who have marriageable daughters. However, few of those lords would willingly tie their family to one so obviously intent on rebellion and treason. I was willing to entertain the notion of keeping Avalene at Coleway through marriage to one of my knights if Reynard wished to
avoid ties to the Segraves, but it appears he has chosen the more dangerous path. That is his choice to make and I will abide by his wishes. However, my wife and steward will not be so easily swayed from their course.”

Dante remained silent, waiting, certain he would learn more if he kept his mouth closed. His patience was soon rewarded.

“I will admit that I have allowed my wife and steward to cling to false hope longer than I should have,” Brunor admitted, “but it seemed harmless until now. If what I suspect is true, this is no longer a harmless game and I will not have a knight lured to murder under my roof.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Dante said truthfully. “ ’Tis unexpected, to say the least, but much appreciated. Baron Weston would be aggrieved should his daughter wed a lowly steward, yet it could be argued that you would benefit from such a match. She has a large dowry and will obviously be sorely missed by those in your household. Such a situation could easily be turned to your advantage.”

“ ’Tis a matter of honor,” Brunor said in a flat voice. “I would not plot against one of my wards any more than I would tolerate another lord plotting against one of my own children in such a manner. My children will be sent to foster in the next few years and I plan to place them with some of the most powerful families in England. My wife does not seem to realize that our whole family would be tainted by such a scandal and our own children’s futures would be affected as well. Strong alliances can be formed through fostering, and I value my alliances with other lords far more than I value the whims of my steward. The only way I would have considered Avalene marrying beneath her station and remaining at Coleway was with Reynard’s blessing. I will not hold her here against her father’s will.”

It seemed Avalene was not the only person at Coleway who valued chivalry and honor, albeit Brunor’s brand of honor was mostly self-serving. Dante nodded when Brunor lifted a pitcher of ale and offered to fill his mug.

“I will speak to my wife on the matter this eve,” Brunor went on, “but I would suspect that John’s thoughts will soon run along similar lines if they haven’t already. He has an uncanny ability to bend people to his will without them realizing they are his pawns until it is time to assign blame. Know that your life is in the balance on this matter. You must be on your guard.”

Wonderful
, Dante thought, even as he gave Brunor a solemn nod. He could almost admire Margaret and John’s machinations if they did not interfere so directly with his own. Already he regretted the promise he made to Mordecai that the girl would live until Segrave was convinced to take another bride. Life would be considerably easier if he could simply poison the girl, then make good his escape. Instead, all of this intrigue was bound to give him a headache by the time he left Coleway. “You have my most solemn promise that I will not be tricked into a compromising position with your niece, Lord Brunor. I shall also be on my guard at all times against any scurrilous tactics to compromise Lady Avalene’s honor.”

Brunor studied his face long and hard, then finally nodded. “My concerns could be misplaced, but I know all too well how my wife’s mind works and John’s as well. Do what you can to avoid being alone with Avalene while you are at Coleway, and I will send extra women on your journey back to Wales to make certain there are adequate chaperones. You should not lower your guard until you deliver Avalene safely to her father.”

“You have my sworn word, Lord Brunor, that no one
will force Lady Avalene into marriage while I draw breath on this earth.” Dante wanted to kick himself. The words sounded too self-assured, too possessive. “I have promised her father that I will bring her home safely and I would sooner die than break my word to Baron Weston.”

“ ’Tis nice to see such loyalty,” Brunor said, “but be advised that what I have told you goes no further. If Baron Weston inquires, I will deny this conversation ever took place. Do we understand each other?”

“Aye,” Dante answered, “we understand each other very well indeed.”

“Good, good, now let us speak of other things.” Brunor filled his mug yet again before he settled back in his chair. “Tell me of your journey from Wales.”

Rather than give Dante a chance to answer, he instead offered his own opinion.

“I journeyed there only once to fetch Avalene when she first came to live with us. Baron Weston’s fortress is most impressive, but I have no great desire to return to such a troublesome wilderness. There are too few inns to sustain a traveler, and too many Welsh rebels in the forests. Now, the roads in England and France are a different matter altogether. A knight can journey to every tourney worth mention and sleep each eve in a soft bed.”

Dante marveled at how easily the man could dismiss his wife’s schemes and change the subject. “You have attended many tourneys, Lord Brunor?”

It was the right question to ask. Brunor launched into a long-winded tale that recounted every mud-splattered mile of his last journey through France, then a tale of a tournament at Crecy, which reminded Brunor a bit of the tournament at Chepstow. That naturally led to a complete accounting of the bloody combats and victorious
revelries of every tournament that Brunor had participated in since boyhood.

Dante could hardly believe that the man who talked so inanely about meaningless tournaments was the same man who had shrewdly recognized and assessed a potentially dangerous situation in his household within mere moments and devised an effective strategy to deal with it. So far, nothing about Coleway or its inhabitants was what Dante expected and he was beginning to hope the night would end soon. There were only so many surprises he could tolerate in one day.

Mostly he was uncomfortable with his audience, as he was more or less on display in the great hall. The people of Coleway seemed convinced by his disguise, but they still saw him as a stranger, a curiosity to be stared at and whispered about. He could not recall the last time he had allowed anyone to study his face and features at such leisure. Although he tried to accept their stares, he kept his head lowered and avoided any direct gazes as he ate.

And then there was the great effort required to appear to eat with the enthusiasm of an Englishman while he actually consumed very little. Strong seasonings and spices were forbidden to a man who must move unnoticed through a crowd, or creep past a garrison of guards without betraying his presence. Most of the dishes before him were smothered with highly scented herbs and seasonings.

In this land of rain and water where nothing and no one ever managed to be clean, Dante made himself the exception. As a result he could smell an Englishman at fifty paces. Most reeked of onions and garlic, and their own stale sweat. Lord Brunor’s scent revealed a fondness for ale.

“I vow my seams will burst if I eat another bite,” he
lied to Lord Brunor. “My thanks for the bounty of your table.”

“ ’Tis fair compensation,” said Brunor. He drained yet another mug of ale, and then pushed away from the table. “I have little doubt that you wish for a respite after such arduous travels. Allow me to show you to your quarters, Sir Percival.”

Brunor spoke in a purposeful tone that could be heard by any of the servants and soldiers at the nearest tables, a subterfuge so deliberate that Dante mentally rolled his eyes. Outwardly, he showed just the right degree of false pleasure. “I would appreciate your escort.”

Avalene heard footsteps in the hallway and knew they belonged to Sir Percival when her pulse picked up. She took one last look around her chamber to make certain everything was in order.

The turret room was once a guard tower that recent expansions to the castle had rendered useless for that purpose, so Avalene had claimed the chamber as her own. Private quarters were a rarity in a castle, and the chamber offered more comforts than a soldier such as Sir Percival would expect. Most striking were the long, colorful banners that hung from pegs placed near the tall ceiling. In all, there were more than a score of banners that covered most of the circular stone walls of the turret, stretching from the ceiling to the floor. Half were made of blue samite with the de Forshay griffins stitched in white and silver. The others were solid black with a large, bloodred dragon emblazoned on the fabric, the standard of the Segraves. The banners were gifts for her father, and they gave her chamber a very noble air.

Elsewhere the furnishings were far simpler; several wooden chests were placed around the room, a stool’s
thick, burgundy-colored pad offered a soft seat near the brazier, and a basket filled with balls of thread was placed nearby. An ample-sized bed claimed a section of the curved wall across from the doorway; embroidered flowers of every color brightened the cream-colored bed curtains, along with the matching coverlet and pillows. An old, chipped ewer held a spray of wildflowers on top of a wooden trunk, and a half-dozen seashells were scattered next to the ewer.

Only a woman would fuss with such small details, arrangements meant to please no one but herself. She felt very much at home in this chamber, surrounded by her feminine comforts. Sir Percival did not belong here. Still, she could easily picture him in her bed. Why did that thought cause her cheeks to warm?

She had tried to explain away her strange reaction to the man as an unexpected result of her accident. Anyone would be shocked senseless by nearly falling to their death. Anyone would feel an overwhelming rush of warmth and gratitude toward the person who rescued them. The only flaws in her reasoning lay in the fact that she felt more warmth than gratitude, and she had not been shocked senseless. Quite the contrary, landing in Sir Percival’s arms had set every one of her senses on fire.

First his scent had filled her head; leather and oiled armor, the crisp smell of the open countryside, and beneath it all, a faint, masculine scent that had made her want to lean closer to find its source. What stopped her was the piercing emerald color of his eyes that made all the colors in the hall seem suddenly pale. She’d had to work hard to pull her gaze away from his and she could scarce recall seeing anything but him. She could tell by the way he effortlessly caught and then held her that there was a hard, muscular body beneath his armor and
she had actually stroked his arm and then his chest, trying to feel what was beneath the cloth and iron.