The Dark Knight (7 page)

Even if he were homely or scarred, he radiated the vitality and danger of a warrior in his prime. Tall but not
towering, broad-shouldered yet lean in the waist, he was not the sort of man she had expected her father to send. In the past he had delegated this task to elderly or infirm knights and usually sent them in groups of two or three. She suspected it was simply a means to make them continue to feel useful.

There was nothing elderly or infirm about this man. Even if he had traveled all this way on his own, the sight of such a knight would make any thief or brigand hesitate to challenge such a formidable opponent. He appeared very capable of defending himself against any who might be foolish enough to cross him.

He came to a halt directly below her and no matter how she craned her neck, the most she could see was the top of his head when he removed the helmet and tucked it beneath one arm. Although his hair looked thick and dark, she couldn’t be certain of its exact color in the dim light. Why she should feel any curiosity over the color of a man’s hair was beyond her, but the curiosity was there all the same.

“I bring greetings from my liege lord, Baron Weston.”

Avalene smiled, and then immediately frowned when she became aware of her silly reaction to such a simple greeting, especially since his words were not even directed at her. It was the sound of his voice, she decided. Not too deep, yet deeper than most, the smooth cadence was perfection itself. He had a voice that made people want to listen to what he had to say.

“The baron asked that I deliver the coins for his daughter’s allowance into your keeping, along with a message.” Sir Percival placed a leather purse on the table before Lord Brunor, then reached inside his surcoat and withdrew a rolled parchment scroll. “I can recite the baron’s message, if you wish.”

“Aye, proceed,” said Lord Brunor.

Not that it mattered, but Avalene wondered if her father had warned Sir Percival of Brunor’s failing eyesight or if the offer was simple courtesy. Her odd musings ended the moment Sir Percival broke open the wax seal and unrolled the parchment, then began to read aloud.

The baron’s message opened with the usual flowery praise for the fine care and instruction his daughter received at Coleway, although Avalene wondered how he could be so certain that Lady Margaret guided her with a “firm but fair hand toward the ideal of English womanhood.” As far as she knew, her father received news of her just two times each year from the messengers who delivered her allowance to Coleway. His own letters had never contained a word of praise or pride, or any sentiment that could mislead Avalene into thinking he might sometimes think of her with affection. Long ago she had accepted the fact that there was no longer any room in Baron Weston’s heart for his only daughter. His new wife and sons filled that cherished place completely.

She released an impatient sigh when Sir Percival began a passage that related news of her stepmother and two half brothers. This part of the message would be long and glowing, and utterly boring as far as Avalene was concerned. According to her father, his sons were the cleverest boys ever created, while his baroness, Lady Anne, was the perfect wife and mother. It was hard to stir up sisterly affection for two brothers she had never met, born of a woman she secretly despised for taking her own mother’s place in her father’s heart.

While Sir Percival read through the baron’s boasts of his sons’ latest feats and accomplishments, Avalene began to mentally compose a glowing report of her own actions to send back with Sir Percival. Her father needed to know that she had learned—and mastered—the duties and responsibilities of a great household, and that
she looked forward to the day she would become the wife of an important man who would prove a powerful ally to her family in Wales.

Or, perhaps she should be bolder and tell him that she would rather be roasted alive than marry one of Brunor’s knights and be forced to remain little more than a servant at Coleway, burdened with all the duties of a chatelaine and more, but with none of the power that was owed only to the lady of a castle. She would not last more than another year before the lectures and torments at Coleway drove her mad. It was past time for her to marry and leave her family’s home for that of her husband’s. She said a silent prayer that it would happen very soon.

“Negotiations with the Segraves continue to move slowly,” said Sir Percival.

Avalene leaned closer to the balcony railing, her own report suddenly forgotten.

“Lower your voice, Sir Percival,” said Lord Brunor, motioning for him to move closer. “The servants have no need to hear this part of the baron’s message.”

Sir Percival stepped as close as he could to the table and leaned forward, then he continued the message in a much quieter voice. The others in the great hall tried to pretend indifference even whilst they whispered among themselves in tones loud enough to obscure even the smallest hints of Sir Percival’s words. Only John, Lord Brunor, and Lady Margaret were close enough to hear the conversation.

Avalene scowled. She could hear nothing of the news that concerned her most. Did the negotiations move slowly because the baron feared for her safety? That thought seemed unlikely, since most fathers would leap at the chance to align their family with the powerful Segraves, no matter the rumors about Faulke. After all,
daughters were expendable. The alliance made by her marriage would survive, even if she did not.

Doubts about her well-being should not be a concern, and yet what she knew of Faulke Segrave, along with the rumors she had heard of him, was hardly comforting. She would be his fourth wife, although that was not an unusual situation if a man were her father’s age. Yet Faulke Segrave was just a few years older than Avalene and had managed to become a widower three times in less than a decade. The death of a wife in childbirth was not all that uncommon, and even the loss of two wives in such a manner within a short span of time would not be unheard of. But according to the most widely known and accepted facts, Faulke’s first wife had died after a mysterious fall down a stone stairway, the second wife had died in childbirth, and the third wife had died from an odd fever that had not affected anyone else. Compounding the strange deaths was the fact that Faulke had married very young the first time, supposedly in a love match to a woman who brought little to the marriage, and then she conveniently died when a wealthy heiress caught his attention and later became his second wife. After her death he quickly married another heiress from an even more powerful family. Now there were rumors that the third wife had died when Faulke discovered there was a potential bride with strong blood ties to the last royal Welsh prince and hero, Llewellyn the Great.

No one at Coleway Castle knew of Avalene’s relationship to Llewellyn, not even her aunt and uncle. Everyone was aware of her Welsh blood, of course, and the fact that her mother was a Welsh noblewoman. However, while people speculated upon her direct relationship to the Welsh prince, no one actually believed it. Her father had taught her to dismiss any claims as gossip and exaggeration.

John had convinced Lord Brunor and Lady Margaret that the facts of Avalene’s lineage were fabrications since, in his words,
Every Welshman boasts of blood ties to Llewellyn whether they exist or not, and the Welsh are such good liars that they have all convinced themselves they are Llewellyn’s long-lost sons and daughters
.

In truth, only the most foolish Welshmen boasted of such ties because everyone knew Llewellyn’s descendants tended to live short lives. Those who were not killed in battle or executed for treason were imprisoned. All potential heirs to Llewellyn’s throne were made wards of King Edward’s most trusted noblemen, but all of those children died as mysteriously and suspiciously as Faulke Segrave’s wives.

Fortunately, her grandmother had escaped her imprisonment in a convent and no one had kept a close eye on the female line until more recent years when the direct male line died out. By that time, Avalene’s mother had been well cloaked in anonymity, having even kept the truth of her heritage from her husband until several years after their marriage. Avalene’s father had quickly realized the wisdom of keeping the secret. By the time her mother died when Avalene was nine, she had been taught to recite her mother’s family tree as easily as her name, but to never let anyone but her father hear the names of her ancestors.

Had the Segraves somehow learned her secret and another of Faulke’s brides died because of it? It was a disturbing coincidence, but she felt certain her father would have discovered the truth of the situation before he agreed to a betrothal. He might have all but forgotten her since his new wife and family came along, but surely he would not tie her to a man who would murder her when a better prospect presented itself. His last missive indicated that he was favorable to the match, and so she
had every expectation of becoming Faulke Segrave’s next bride. Indeed, she looked forward to her marriage and felt certain the betrothal would be announced very soon … as long as Lady Margaret quit interfering in the situation.

Whatever her father’s thoughts were on the matter of the Segraves, Avalene could hear none of them. The tapestry that concealed her hiding place also made it impossible to eavesdrop on the quiet conversation taking place below her. She braced her hands on the railing and rose to a half-crouch, and then turned her head sideways so her ear rested close to the top of the railing. The tapestries no longer muffled the sounds from the hall, but Sir Percival’s words were still no more than indistinct murmurs. She lifted herself a few inches higher and leaned farther over the railing.

Dante Chiavari knew of the girl’s presence on the gallery above him, likely a chambermaid who could not resist the opportunity to eavesdrop. He dismissed her from his thoughts as more nuisance than threat. What concerned him most at the moment was Lady Margaret’s reaction to her brother’s missive.

“This will not do,” Margaret said. She had produced a handkerchief from her sleeve halfway through Dante’s recitation of Baron Weston’s plans for his daughter. The delicate scrap of fabric was well on its way to being shredded between Margaret’s hands. “Tell him, John. Tell him why Avalene must not be allowed to leave Coleway.”

Dante’s gaze lingered a moment on Lord Brunor, who still appeared more concerned with his meal than the fate of his niece, then moved on to the man seated to Lord Brunor’s right. John had already identified himself
as the castle’s steward and his oily smile made Dante take an immediate dislike to him. Aside from being garbed from head to foot in a rather startling shade of red, his features resembled those of Lord Brunor closely enough for Dante to assume they were kin of some sort. However, unlike Lord Brunor, there was a sharp, calculating look in John’s eyes that immediately set Dante’s instincts on alert. Very little would escape this man’s notice. There was also the fact that the steward’s opinions seemed to hold great sway over both the lord and lady. He could prove troublesome.

“The time for reason may be at an end,” John said thoughtfully. “You have tried to warn your brother of Avalene’s shortcomings, but he seems determined to move forward with arrangements for this match. I fear there is little more you can do to avert this tragedy.”

“Tragedy?” Dante echoed.

“ ’Tis obvious Baron Weston told you little of Avalene’s … character,” Margaret answered. “The Segraves’ holdings are vast compared to Coleway. The wife of Faulke Segrave will be expected to oversee several great households and hundreds of servants. Avalene can scarce manage a few simple duties here at Coleway without constant oversight by John. He is ever correcting her foolish mistakes. The girl is incapable of managing a household of any size, and we would all be best served if she were to remain at Coleway where John can keep an eye on her and we can all provide her the guidance she needs.”

“The girl is not stupid,” Brunor said at last, as if he’d read Dante’s thoughts. “A bit lazy, perhaps, but no more so than most young women her age. The responsibilities of a husband and children will give her the maturity she needs, but I am in agreement with John and Lady Margaret. Despite their efforts to mold the girl into a responsible
young woman, she will never master the duties required of a chatelaine. Such tasks are beyond Avalene’s capabilities. I conveyed as much to Baron Weston in my last missive and suggested she remain at Coleway as wife to one of my knights. What says Weston to that suggestion?”

Dante had no idea. “The baron did not make me privy to such a suggestion or his opinions on the matter. My only instructions are to collect his daughter and return her safely to Weston. As the baron’s message relays, I am also aware that he intends to move forward with her betrothal to Faulke Segrave, pending the king’s approval of course.”

“We should send a more strongly worded message to my brother,” Lady Margaret said to her husband. “Oh! We should send John! He is sure to make Reynard see reason.”

“My orders are clear,” Dante said, in a voice that had all three of them looking up at him. “I am to leave Coleway within two days of my arrival, and Lady Avalene will accompany me.”

“How dare you—”

“Be silent,” Brunor told his wife. “He has his orders. I have stated our case to your brother, and he has made other plans. You must accept it. Avalene is Weston’s daughter and he wants her returned to Wales. ’Tis our duty to make certain this man fulfills his orders.”

Margaret leaned closer to Brunor and they began to exchange heated words, but Dante scarcely paid attention to them. A fine silt of wood dust drifted downward through the air, and then a few small bits of rotted wood brushed down his arm. He assessed the situation in an instant. The railing above him was about to give way. Unless the chambermaid had sense enough to immediately move back from the railing, she was about to land
on the head table and perhaps injure Lord Brunor or Lady Margaret, and probably break her own neck in the process.

His readiness to protect the lord and lady would assure “Sir Percival’s” acceptance at Coleway and play on the chivalry that Mordecai had urged him to exploit. He made his decision in a split second, just as the creak of rotted wood warned him of the impending disaster. He took a quick step sideways to position himself directly below the girl, and then he braced himself for the impact.