The Dark Knight (51 page)

“She is not worth the trouble,” Carreg added, before Faulke could argue. He turned to Baron Weston. “No offense, my friend, but what your daughter would bring to a marriage cannot compare to Isabel’s dowry.”

“Do not claim me as a friend,” Weston retorted. He crossed his arms across his chest and glared at Carreg. “I did not
willingly
choose your son for my daughter. Still, I was resigned to make the best of the match. Now that you have what you really wanted, you throw her to the wolves like a meatless bone. Do not think I will soon forget this insult, Carreg.”

Dante felt a small bit of relief at no longer being the sole focus of Weston’s malice. He was also glad to see some small indication that Weston actually cared what
happened to his daughter. Of course, that might not work to his benefit, but he would tell Avalene of her father’s concern.

“The king decided his daughter was better suited for my son than yours,” Carreg pointed out. “Do you question our king’s decision?”

Weston clenched his jaw so tight that Dante could almost hear his teeth grind.

“What do you get from this?” Faulke interrupted, looking at his father. “You agreed to be stripped of your titles, stripped of your lands and much of your income. Unless you somehow benefit more than what is apparent in this contract, you would never willingly step meekly aside while I assume your mantle. Why did you agree to this betrothal?”

“Your new properties are mostly along the coastline far to the east of London,” Carreg began, “the opposite side of England from our holdings in Wales. Our Welsh holdings require a lord to be in residence much of the year while Isabel’s properties have long been managed by the sheriff of Malden. The sheriff has decided to step down from his position, so I shall serve at the pleasure of the king as Malden’s new sheriff and continue to oversee Isabel’s properties there.”

Dante surmised that Carreg would live as an earl in one of Malden’s castles and collect an income from the king, as well as a substantial portion of the income from Isabel’s properties. A sheriff was but one rank below a baron, and many wielded considerably more power than the noblemen who outranked them. Most were far richer than the barons since they reaped the rewards of a lordship without the burden of the expenditures. Carreg’s vast properties in Wales sustained themselves, but produced little income. He would be made far wealthier as Malden’s sheriff.

“The risk is staggering,” Faulke finally muttered. “Could you not convince the king to leave your title and lands intact?”

It was Mordecai who answered the question, but he looked at Carreg as he spoke. “Edward is disturbed that you have already buried three wives at such a young age. The dispensation to the heirs of Isabel’s body is intended to ensure that the king’s daughter and his future grandchildren receive the care and nurturing due royal personages. The clause eases his mind and makes him more certain that Isabel will live a long and happy life as your wife.”

In other words, Dante thought, there would be no more killing off one wife when a wealthier one happened along. And if he read Mordecai correctly, it was the baron rather than his son who bore responsibility for Faulke’s frequent marriages. He wondered if Faulke was aware that one or more of his wives had died by his father’s hand or order, and then decided it was none of his concern. His only concern was—

A sudden flash of inspiration came to mind. He sat up straighter in his chair.

“The terms of Isabel’s contract are much the same as those of her sister, Joan,” Dante pointed out. “Gilbert de Clare was no coward three years ago when he risked his lands and titles to marry Joan, and already she has presented him with his heir and a daughter, and she will deliver another child to him this fall. Gilbert faced the same decision you must make today, except he was forced to give up his rights to two earldoms and receive them back in his wife’s name with the same risk that Joan might die before she bore him heirs. Great men seize the opportunities laid before them. Will you prove yourself less of a man than a de Clare?”

Dante struggled not to smile in the face of Faulke’s
outrage. The de Clares were the sworn enemies of the Segraves, both families intent upon expanding their holdings in Wales at the expense of the other. To infer that Faulke was less of a man than a de Clare was akin to calling his mother a whore. He moved in for the kill before Faulke could lose hold of his temper.

“You can be a wifeless rebel who will be stripped of all your lands and titles the moment you raise a sword against England, or you can be an English earl wed to the king’s own daughter with wealth and power beyond that of any other Marcher baron.” He worked to keep his shrug casual. “Surely even you can see that your people will benefit far more from wealth than they will from war. The choice is yours.”

“What are
your
intentions in Wales?” Faulke demanded. “You obviously intend to keep Avalene for yourself. What makes you think Edward will agree to your intent more readily than he agreed to mine?”

Beneath the table, Dante’s hand closed reflexively into a fist. He would like nothing more than to smack the affronted insolence from Faulke’s face. “My intentions do not concern you. She will be no threat to you
or
to the king. That is all you need to know of the matter.”

And all Dante intended to tell him. He wanted Faulke out of Avalene’s life, completely. Rather than wait for another of Faulke’s arguments, he reached for Avalene’s contract and pushed it toward Faulke.

“Before you can accept and sign the betrothal to Isabel, you must renounce your contract with Avalene.” He tilted his head toward the end of the table where Mordecai watched Faulke with an unblinking gaze. “Mordecai will act as the king’s witness.”

“I have not yet agreed to anything.” Faulke brushed his hand across the pages of Isabel’s contract. “I
will
not agree to anything before I read every word of this contract,
and then I will make my decision. What I decide is what will be best for my people, and not what is best for you or the king, or my father.”

Carreg made a sound of impatience. “Read the thing already. Once you sign Isabel’s contract, we will be granted an audience with the lady and you will see for yourself that she is all you could hope for in a wife.”

Faulke’s face was an interesting shade of red and growing darker by the moment, but he returned his attention to the contract. At last he came to the end.

“So be it!” Faulke snarled, his attention once again on Dante. “I renounce my betrothal to Avalene de Forshay, you spawn of the Devil! Instead I will wed the spawn of my great and illustrious king.”

“ ’Tis the right decision,” his father put in, smiling broadly now. “All will be well. You shall see.”

“Oh, I can scarce wait to begin this glorious new life you have made for me.” Faulke’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You will grow fat and rich at Malden while I shall become a prisoner in my own fortress. Mark my words well, Father; do not become too comfortable amidst your new wealth. ’Tis likely the daughter is just as capricious as her sire, and unlike you, I will not play lapdog to any Plantagenet.”

“Perhaps you should withhold judgment until you meet your bride,” Mordecai said. He rose calmly from his seat and then took an inkwell, blotting sand, and a quill from the wooden box, along with several copies of the betrothal contract. He spread the documents across the table and then held the quill out to Faulke. “I would imagine Isabel is growing impatient to make your acquaintance. You should not keep her waiting.”

The contracts were already signed by the king and Baron Carreg. When he signed the last copy of the contract, Dante began to breathe again. He could almost feel the weight lift from his shoulders. Avalene was free.

“Escort our guests to Isabel’s solar,” Dante told Reginald, anxious to see all of the Segraves leave the hall. Mordecai and Baron Weston remained.

Mordecai reached into the wooden box and retrieved a scroll, bound with the same ribbon and seal as Isabel’s betrothal contracts. He spoke loudly enough for everyone who remained in the hall to hear his words as he handed Dante the scroll. “Dante Chiavari, you have interfered in the marriage of one of his loyal baron’s daughters to the son of another loyal baron. As you are a foreigner and a guest in this land, the punishment for your crimes is banishment from England for no less than one full year. You are to leave England as soon as suitable passage can be obtained.”

Dante’s smile turned wry. “This can be arranged.”

“Excellent.” Mordecai placed his hands in his sleeves. “Having taken her unlawfully from her family and for holding her captive without her family’s knowledge or permission, or the king’s, a betrothal contract has been drawn up that orders you to wed Avalene de Forshay immediately.”

Dante lifted a brow over the blatant lies about “knowledge” and “permission.” “I have no argument with the edict. We shall be wed on the morrow.”

He was already reaching for the inkwell when Mordecai’s answer froze his hand in midair.

“Baron Weston must also agree to the terms.” Mordecai’s gaze flickered to Avalene’s father, who was again staring daggers at Dante. “Weston understands the potential difficulties that might someday arise from any marriage Avalene might make to one of Edward’s subjects, but he argued quite convincingly that his daughter should not be punished with banishment and marriage to a foreigner. He feels his daughter should be allowed to take the veil and retire to a convent. The king has no wish to interfere if Avalene has a calling to God, and agreed to leave the decision in her father’s hands.”

“You said the choice was mine,” Dante said between his teeth. “Faulke has made his choice. I have made mine. Avalene will be my wife.”

“I have no intention of signing that contract,” Weston said. “Avalene will go to a convent.”

“No.” Dante folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. The matter was settled.

“I will not allow my daughter to marry a hired killer, and a foreigner to boot.” Weston emphasized his point by bringing his fist down upon the table. “The king gave his word that she could leave here with me today, and then take her vows and become a nun.”

“She will go nowhere with you today or any day,”
Dante warned. “You had years to claim your daughter or commit her to a convent, but instead you let her languish in your sister’s questionable care until the Segraves forced you to recall her existence.” He turned to Mordecai. “You must make Edward see reason. He does not want to test my loyalty on this issue.”

“Edward is determined on the matter,” Mordecai said, which most likely meant Mordecai was determined on the matter. “The decision lies with Baron Weston. I would suggest you stop insulting the man you hope to make your father-in-law.”

Dante clenched his fists beneath the table and took a slow, deep breath through his nose, doing everything within his power to hold on to his temper. He had done everything asked of him, followed every instruction. Avalene was to be his reward. It was the future Mordecai himself had predicted, and Mordecai was very rarely wrong. He had no doubt about his ability to keep Avalene from her father, but if Mordecai sided with the baron, that was another matter altogether.

He decided to ignore Weston for the moment. In truth, everything depended upon Mordecai’s decision. “What has changed? Why is the choice no longer mine?”

“Nothing in the future is ever certain,” Mordecai said. “All depends upon choices and decisions made in the present, words that are spoken as well as those that go unsaid. Baron Weston originally intended to leave for Wales after he struck his name from Avalene’s betrothal to Segrave, with assurances from the king that no harm would come to his daughter. The baron assumed she would be placed in a convent, but Edward mentioned that a wedding might be a more likely outcome. ’Tis no secret that Baron Weston does not approve of you for his daughter.”

Dante briefly closed his eyes. It was not like Edward
to let slip any information that he wanted kept private. The king was not happy that Dante intended to leave his service, and it was entirely like Edward to let his displeasure be known in such a petulant manner. That Mordecai backed the king’s interference meant there was more at work here than royal spite.
Gesù
. His future really
did
depend upon Weston’s decision. At last he turned his attention to the man who held his fate and Avalene’s in his hands.

“My lord, we have not had a good start,” he began. “I do not know how much you have been told about me or my family—”

“Oh, I know all about you,” Weston cut in. “Mordecai told me everything.”

He did not sound impressed.

“Then you must know I can match the settlements the Segraves offered. Indeed, I can double their value. If you need more men to defend your lands, I will provide the wages required to keep a company of soldiers no less than five years.” He was starting to sound desperate. Best to stop offering bribes until he knew exactly what Weston wanted in return for his agreement. “I will take good care of your daughter, Baron. She shall not want for anything as my wife.”