“I have no quarrel with a servant or peasant girl who might try to improve her lot or gain a few coins in exchange for a quick tumble with my husband,” I said, striving hard to sound believable. Why did the thought of Faulke with another woman turn my stomach sour? My ladies were right: I had to be realistic. “What I will not tolerate is an affair with any female who would dare to consider herself equal or above me in any way.”
Gretchen and Hilda exchanged a look that I recognized. Pity. They both knew about Maria, just as they knew that many at Rheinbaden’s royal court had treated me as if I were the prince’s mistress and Maria were his wife. My humiliation and their knowledge of it still had the power to make me angry. God, how I hated that woman.
“What do you intend to say to Lord Faulke?” Hilda asked in a hushed voice.
“Whatever seems appropriate at the time,” I said with a shrug, hoping that would dismiss the matter. In truth, I had no idea how to even bring up the subject.
“The women at court will still seek him out,” Gretchen warned, “especially when he becomes a wealthy earl.”
My jaw hardened. “I doubt the English ladies will be very enthusiastic about his company after I ruin the reputations of one or two of them.”
In Rheinbaden, I had been powerless. Here, there would be consequences for crossing me. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to set an example within my own household. “If a friend betrays me, the consequences will be much worse.”
Gretchen bit her lip, but Hilda gave an impatient huff. “You have our pledge that we will not betray you, Princess. I will not break my promise, and you know Gretchen will not break hers, either.”
Well, now I just felt petty.
“I am not so foolish as to think I can keep a man faithful,” I admitted. “But I will not tolerate another Maria in my household, or any woman who reminds me of her in any way. Will you support me in this?”
“Aye,” they both murmured.
“Good. Then that is all we need to say on the matter.” I picked up the manuscript page and barely resisted the urge to fling it across the orchard. Just the thought of Maria von Tyrol could reduce me to helpless fury.
My grip on the page tightened, and then I set it on the table with exaggerated calm. Avalene’s tales that morning of Faulke’s exploits with the ladies at court had resurrected all of the ugly emotions I had vowed to leave in Rheinbaden. Here I had wealth and influence, and, as Faulke had been so quick to point out, I outranked him. Here, I was not an ausländer.
If Faulke dared to humiliate me with his women once we were married, I would make certain he felt an equal measure of shame and regret. And I would make his mistresses pay a price, just as I had promised my ladies, but he would pay as well.
How to inform him of these particular quirks of mine was a worry. It had been hard enough to tell my ladies that I didn’t want them sleeping with my husband. How would I tell my husband that he could not continue his affairs? That was bound to be a jolly conversation.
Today was too soon to have that talk with Faulke. However, it had to take place before the wedding. He would never agree to such a stipulation after the wedding night.
The thought of my wedding night produced another small shudder before I pushed that thought away. Far away. I was getting very good at ignoring the inevitable. Instead I picked up a quill and made another effort to concentrate on my drawing.
* * *
—
ILLUMINATION WAS A good distraction, as it turned out. I continued to colorize each paragraph’s dropped initials that were already outlined in black ink, my mind absorbed with the task. The pages I transposed were part of a collection of fables originally written by an ancient Greek named Aesop. The current pages of the fable I worked upon told the tale of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The wily wolf figured predominantly in every illumination, his face peering out from the loop in a letter “P,” his body twined around a letter “S,” a drawing of him seated upon his haunches with his head thrown back in a howl, the silhouette forming the letter “A.” I loved watching the colored inks bring my wolf to life.
I don’t know why my wolf had blue eyes, but they looked rather familiar. I tilted my head to one side to study the eyes from a different angle. Fragments of last night’s dream teased the edges of my memory. Perhaps I hadn’t recalled the entire—
“Lord Faulke requests an audience, Princess.”
Gerhardt’s announcement startled me. I had been so absorbed in my work I hadn’t even heard him approach. I looked up from my page and saw two men standing next to my captain. For a long moment I just stared at them, dumbfounded. My gaze went to the man nearest me.
Here was the original version of my wolf’s eyes. But that was all I recognized. If not for his eyes, I would scarce believe this was the same person I had met just yesterday. This man was remarkably clean. And just plain remarkable.
I looked down at the forgotten fable page, and then looked up again. No. I hadn’t imagined it. The handsomest man I had ever laid eyes upon still stood before me, with the second most handsome man at his side.
Of course, Faulke was the handsomest one. Aside from his eyes, I could tell it was him by the small scar that ran through his right eyebrow that I had noticed yesterday in my solar. He also had a heavier build than his cousin Richard. Without his armor, Richard looked almost lean next to Faulke, but I felt certain Richard would make any of my soldiers look lean if they stood next to him.
Without conscious effort, my gaze was drawn back to Faulke and I took a quick visual inventory. A sweep of dark hair covered his forehead, and masculine brows offset very blue, very predatory eyes. A short, neatly trimmed beard revealed a square jaw and sharp cheekbones that spoke of Normans in his ancestry. And the mouth was much more appealing without the frame of yesterday’s muddy bush of hair. I made a pointed effort to avoid his gaze as I began to note the astonishing changes in him between yesterday and today.
As with most warriors, he wore his hair long so that it could be tied up for additional padding under his chain mail and helmet. Today it was loose and flowed to his shoulders in dark waves, not quite a true black, but very close. The true black could be found in his clothing, complete and unrelieved from his collar to his boots. A form-fitting black leather tunic covered him from shoulders to knees, split at the front and back for riding, and worked in a diamond pattern with silver studs at the corner of each point. Underneath the tunic he wore a long-sleeved shirt and close-fitted pants that were tucked into tall boots, all black, and all of the finest quality and craftsmanship. Even his weapons were encased in black leather and trimmed with silver. The body beneath all of that leather was broad and powerful, but yesterday I had recognized that both men had the builds of warriors.
Still, the effects a bit of grooming had wrought were amazing. Yesterday he was a dirty, scowling barbarian. Today he was a dark and devastating warlord. The cut and color of his clothing was almost an announcement: Here is a dangerous man. As I studied his face, I understood at last why Avalene had tried to warn me about Faulke Segrave’s looks. The word “handsome” hardly did him justice. The man practically oozed virility.
A thousand butterflies took flight in my chest, and that strange sensation made me feel light-headed. Shock and horror, I decided. This turn of events was entirely unwelcome.
As I gaped at the magnificent specimen of manhood before me, his mouth curved into the smug expression a man wears when he knows a woman finds him attractive. I made myself look away and pretended to study Richard with equal intensity while I concentrated on gathering my scattered wits.
Richard stood a few paces behind Faulke, equally clean, and just as miraculously transformed, but he could not command my attention the way Faulke did. Women likely found Richard just as appealing, as Avalene had claimed. To me, Richard was a pale copy of his cousin and my gaze strayed again to Faulke. Why look upon the
moon when I could stare into the sun?
Although it was no longer a mystery why so many women were willing to marry him, the longer he smirked at me, the easier it was to envision all of the horrible outcomes of this latest surprise. Yes, Faulke Segrave was handsome, but he knew it. Worse yet, he knew that I knew it. A plain woman who could not stop gawking at a handsome man was a recipe for disaster. I’d experienced more than my fair share of humiliations in Rheinbaden, and I needed no more.
I purposely cooled my expression and then spoke to him in a clipped tone. “Lord Faulke. I did not expect you this early.”
The smug expression faded a little. “My apologies, Princess, if I have arrived at an inconvenient time.”
“Your arrival is no more inconvenient now than it would be later,” I assured him, “although I appreciate your efforts to make yourself presentable today. I wasn’t entirely certain how you would arrive. I hope you don’t mind that I arranged for us to meet in the fresh air.”
His smirk disappeared. Behind him, Richard made a snorting sound. Without looking over his shoulder, Faulke smacked the back of his fist into Richard’s gut and the snort ended in a grunt.
I glanced down at my forgotten wolf page and then handed it over to Gretchen so she could pack it away, although first I had to nudge her shoulder to get her attention. She and Hilda were staring at the Segraves as if they, too, could hardly believe the transformation. Judging by their expressions, they obviously approved. Thank God I had already talked to my ladies about pursuing or being pursued by this godlike creature. I wondered if they would have been so quick to make promises if they had seen this version of Faulke Segrave before they made their pledges.
When Gretchen realized I had noticed the direction of her interest, she lowered her gaze and looked contrite. However, Hilda wore her best “Look at me, aren’t I pretty?” smile. That smile disappeared when I cleared my throat, and then she, too, lowered her gaze.
“May I ask what you are working on?” Faulke inquired.
I purposely kept an eye on Gretchen as she placed the page in my writing trunk. I needed a moment to compose myself before I could look at Faulke again and think sensibly. The butterflies had decided to sink from my chest and take up residence in my stomach, and I still felt a little woozy. The truth was slowly sinking in, along with something that felt almost like despair. I would never be able to keep a man who looked like Faulke Segrave faithful, regardless of what I did to his mistresses. All he had to do was smile and women would fall at his feet. My plan was almost laughable in its hopelessness.
“You do not have to tell me,” he finally said, his tone stiff.
It took me a moment to recall his question. I turned toward him, and then gestured to a leather-bound volume that lay on the table. “I borrowed a book from my father’s library so I could transcribe my own copy.”
The storm over his brows cleared to make way for astonishment. “I have never heard of a woman undertaking such a task. Most women cannot even read.” He frowned at the pots of ink that were still on the table. “Is there some reason you did not commission the work?”
The deep sound of his voice set the butterflies in my stomach to stirring. Was there any part of him that was not designed to make females sigh? Ironically, it seemed he was almost a male version of Hilda, whom I refused to look at. She had better be watching her hands, and not my future husband. I lost the fight and glanced at her. She was still staring at her hands.
Ach, what was wrong with me?
I took a deep breath and slowly released it. If he expected a cow-eyed maid, I was about to disappoint him.
“You have found me out,” I said, turning again to Faulke. I widened my eyes and placed one hand over my chest. “I am one of those unnatural females who know how to read and write, and I actually enjoy both pursuits.”
My words came out harsher than intended, but that was probably for the best. The people who knew me rarely appreciated my sarcastic stabs at humor, and strangers tended to think I was simply being rude. Faulke’s startled look reminded me that we were still nearly strangers.
He started to say something, and then seemed to think better of the idea. Our gazes finally met and held. I refused to look away first, but soon found myself drawn in by the intensity of his eyes. They were such an unusual color of blue, piercing and intense. It was like looking into the depths of the ocean. The longer I stared at him, the more the garden faded away until all I could see clearly were his eyes and face, and I soon felt as if I were staring at him from the end of a long tunnel.
I don’t know how long we gawked at each other, but eventually Faulke blinked several times, as if he, too, had been caught in that strange moment out of time, and that brought me to my senses as well. His gaze moved from my face to my shoulders, and then continued to move lower, an insolent inspection that should insult me. I could hardly object when I had just done the same thing to him.
A flutter of awareness went through me and I sat up straighter, wondering if anything about my appearance pleased him. I immediately despised myself for that bit of feminine conceit, and forced my shoulders to relax. I was not the type of woman a man like Faulke Segrave would find attractive. His opinion of my looks meant nothing.
“You would be an unusual royal if you did not know how to read and write,” he said at last. “However, I have yet to meet anyone who would copy a manuscript when they have the wealth to commission the work. Most people would find the task too tedious and boring.”
His tone was conciliatory, but I was determined to stop the creature inside of me that wanted to smile and simper at this man. “Well, now you have met someone who enjoys being tedious and boring.”
He pressed his lips together again.
I felt a twinge of guilt, but tamped it down. Arguing made it easier to avoid the compulsion to stare at him.
By Avalene’s accounts, which I now gave full credence, Faulke was rarely the instigator of his affairs at court. At the time, I thought all Englishwomen must suffer from Avalene’s mad view of men, but now I understood exactly why they wanted him. As I looked upon this picture of male perfection, a knot of dread tightened inside me and threatened to spill the butterflies from my stomach onto the grass at my feet.
Faulke folded his arms across his chest and I stared at the broad lines of his shoulders. I might have sighed. Not in appreciation of the sight. Oh no. It was resignation. I would see pigs fly before I saw this man be faithful to any woman.
“You are obviously unhappy with our interruption to your day,” Faulke said, his voice exactingly polite. “Perhaps we should return at a later time?”
I was tempted to agree. Something was definitely wrong with me. Although Hartman and Faulke looked nothing alike, what the two men had in common were faces that could turn a woman’s mind to mush. I just needed to keep my wits about me until the shock of the Segraves’ transformation wore off. The cow-eyed staring had to stop.
“My happiness is highly overrated these days,” I said. I dipped the rag into a dish of lavender oil, and began to rub the oil into my fingers to remove the ink. The silence lengthened.
“Would you like to take a walk through the gardens?” Faulke asked abruptly.
I blinked once at the abrupt change of topic. “A walk?”
“Aye,” he said, “just the two of us. It would be a chance to become better acquainted. Perhaps we could borrow one of the blankets your ladies are sitting upon?”
I looked toward the path that wound through the gardens. We were betrothed. There was nothing scandalous about the request. Perhaps a little time alone would help ease the tension between us. Or, just as likely, increase it tenfold. “Why do we need a blanket?”
“I left my cloak with my groom.” He looked at me as if I should understand what that meant.
Baffled, I turned to Hilda and spoke to her in German. “Lord Faulke wis
hes to borrow your blanket. We are going for a walk in the gardens.”
“Of course, Princess.” Hilda stood up and began to fold the tan wool blanket that had been draped over her stool. Her delicate blond brows drew together. “Is this some English custom, to walk with a blanket?”
“Apparently,” I said. “Stay here and do your best to entertain his cousin Richard. Gerhardt will translate for you.”
Hilda and Gretchen exchanged a look.
“What?” I asked.
Gretchen set her needlework aside and then drew her braid over one shoulder. She made quite a production of retying the ribbon that held the plaits in place, an obvious ploy to avoid looking at me. “He wants to be alone with you and he wants a blanket, perhaps to lie down upon. You are betrothed. Perhaps he has more in mind than just a walk?”
“Or this could just be some strange English custom,” Hilda chimed in, and then she also lowered her gaze. “But I think Gretchen is right.”
The notion intrigued me. I could barely recall the last time Hartman had wanted to be alone with me for a romantic reason. Even though I could not give Hartman another child, no other man in Rheinbaden would dare seduce the future queen. It was treason. An affair with me was quite literally the kiss of death.
Not that I was particularly alluring to begin with, but the automatic death sentence meant that men did not look at me and think of sex. At least, not in Rheinbaden. But this was England, and I was no longer the future queen. My chaste existence would soon be at an end.
The Princess Page 5
