Hilda made a face when I told her to request French lessons from Lady Blanche. Gretchen spoke up to stoically predict that Lady Blanche would try to seduce Faulke at the first opportunity.
“She is a harlot,” Gretchen said with a sniff of superiority. “They are at Ashland less than a day and already she has tried to work her wiles upon my brother. He rebuffed her advances, of course.”
I looked at Gerhardt. He lifted one shoulder as if to say, What else could I do?
It was no secret that Gerhardt appreciated a pretty woman as well as the next man, but the handful of women he had pursued were timid types; bold women seemed to hold no appeal. Gerhardt was no woman’s prey.
Hilda had learned that lesson the hard way when she first came to my court. I don’t know exactly what happened between the two, but Gerhardt was always overly cordial in Hilda’s presence, while Hilda studiously ignored him. Given that Blanche now seemed cut from the same cloth as Hilda, I could safely assume that Gerhardt’s virtue would remain intact. However, I had no idea what type of women Faulke preferred.
If Blanche were here to spy upon us, becoming Faulke’s mistress would be her first order of business. Yet there was one important benefit to outranking my future husband, I decided. If Blanche planned to become Faulke’s bedmate and confidant, I would make certain of Sir Crispin’s transfer to a place far worse than his last assignment at Windsor. His wife and brother-in-law would be forced to go with him, of course.
“French is not so difficult to learn,” I told Hilda. “Should you happen to befriend Lady Blanche’s brother, Sir Walter, I would be very interested in anything you could discover about Lady Blanche and Sir Crispin. Lady Blanche will, of course, be welcomed to keep our company in the afternoons.”
My attention was drawn to the far end of the hall when Reginald’s staff rang out again, three metallic thumps against the flagstones. The doors were thrown open and at least a score of men stood there, all wearing the Segraves’ bloodred dragon on the chests of their black tabards. The butterflies took flight in my stomach.
Faulke and Richard stood next to Reginald. Today they wore knee-length tunics, more formal than those their men wore. Reginald announced them to the hall even as Faulke and Richard walked purposely toward the head table.
The closer they came to me, the faster my heart began to beat. Richard wore his hair in a topknot. Faulke again wore his hair unbound, but there were waves that indicated his had also been in a topknot until very recently. I wondered if they had come from the practice field. And then I wondered what Faulke would look like in battle, even in a mock battle. Fearsome, I was sure. More butterflies took flight.
The noises in the great hall dwindled to whispers as everyone turned to get a look at my future husband. A startled shriek drew some gazes toward the back of the hall, where Muck emerged from a cluster of serving women, his expression just as innocent as the one he’d worn earlier in the day.
Muck’s diversion seemed to break the spell that had held everyone silent, and conversations started up again. Faulke and Richard finally reached the head table and halted before me, and then both gave a proper bow.
“Greetings, Princess,” Faulke said as he straightened. “There are rumors in London that a wedding took place this morning at Ashland. My guess is that Chiavari learned of my intent to move into the palace.”
Faulke looked…bemused. He also looked as striking as he had in his court finery, although today’s garments were not quite as costly. Black was definitely his color, one that complemented his hair and made his blue eyes look even bluer. There was something about his beard. It made him look dark and dangerous, and at the same time, very virile. I wondered if he was aware of the effect.
Even after Baron Weston’s revelations, the fluttering in my chest was an unwelcome reminder that my heart was being stubbornly susceptible to this man. It wasn’t just the fact that he would be my husband. I was attracted to him in ways I had never been attracted to another. Hartman had made my heart flutter because of his regal bearing and noble chivalry, a girl’s infatuation with her hero. Faulke made my heart beat in a more animalistic rhythm, something that felt like lust. It was a novel emotion in my life. I willed the butterflies to settle.
“Aye, this would be their wedding feast.” My voice sounded higher and sharper than I intended. “Dante and Avalene retired more than an hour past, but there is still plenty of food and drink to be had. Baron Weston and his men also departed not long ago. There should be seats available. Of course, you and Richard are welcome to join me at the high table.”
“I appreciate your hospitality,” Faulke murmured.
“Sir Crispin,” I called out. The knight had joined his wife and brother-in-law at the lower table after Lord Weston’s departure. He stood now and bowed to me. “Perhaps you could make certain Lord Faulke’s men find ample room at the tables?”
“Aye, Princess.” Crispin bowed again, and then walked toward the middle of the hall, tapping several shoulders as he went. The English soldiers began to regroup, filling in the empty places left by Baron Weston’s men, and soon two of the tables stood empty. Faulke motioned to his men, and they filed into their seats. I sat down again, but Gerhardt remained standing.
“I will make certain the Segraves’ servants find the quarters we assigned to them,” he said, still speaking in German. “And I will see that their animals are stabled.”
I nodded once and he was gone. Meanwhile, Faulke and Richard had made their way around the end of the table. I was surprised when Richard took the seat next to Gretchen that Gerhardt had just vacated. Soon he was even attempting a conversation with Gretchen, using many hand motions. Faulke sat in Avalene’s chair next to me. I was flanked by Segraves.
The servers took their cues and brought fresh trenchers for the newcomers, and then large platters that someone in the kitchens had heaped with the jumbled leftovers of each course.
“What was that?” Faulke asked. He pointed to the remnants of the sugar subtlety with the point of his dagger, and then speared a generous portion of ham. The massive sugar boat had been placed on the table in front of Dante and Avalene at the start of the feast, but now it stood in ruins, its masts gone, all of its sides broken away. Only a few dozen almond comfits remained, colorful confetti scattered among the ship’s ruins.
“A boat. Actually, it was a ship,” I said. “It was to signify their journey to Italy. There were Venetian and English banners in its masts.”
“I am sorry I missed it,” he said. “I suspect it was rather spectacular in its original form.”
His fingers brushed over chunks of sandy sugar that littered the dark wood of the tabletop. Breaking apart a sugar sculpture was always a messy affair, but well worth it. Sugar was a rare treat, even for me, and Dante had generously decreed that each guest receive a portion of their sugar boat.
I watched Faulke draw an S in the sugar sand, and then he licked the tip of his finger.
He made a sound deep in his throat and closed his eyes as he savored the treat, his expression one of almost carnal delight. “I cannot remember the last time I had a taste of sugar.”
I watched, transfixed. I could not remember the last time I had enjoyed watching someone eat it. I would hand feed him every remaining grain of the sugar boat, if he would keep making those interesting sounds.
Ach, I was becoming a woman of loose morals. Just a few moments in this man’s company filled my head with lurid ideas. What was it Faulke Segrave possessed that made me lose control of my thoughts so quickly?
He was obviously enticing to look at, but there was something more. It was not any single characteristic on its own, but how all those qualities came together in this one man. Faulke Segrave possessed some indefinable magic that I found irresistible. Of course, I was far from alone in my susceptibility to his charms. The recollection of Avalene’s tales about his exploits with w
omen at the royal court cooled my blood, but not as much as I would have liked.
“So. Chiavari obtained a special license,” he said as he turned his attention to the food on his trencher and cut another piece of ham. He speared the meat on the end of his dagger, and then stared at the pink cube as if it were something of great interest. “When I heard that news, I sent word to your father and requested his assistance to obtain a special license for our own marriage. He has agreed with my reasoning.”
I choked on the sip of wine I had just taken. All of the air suddenly left my chest. Faulke put the ham in his mouth and began to chew, watching me try to catch my breath. The noise of the crowd became a faint buzzing in my ears as I stared at Faulke.
Until this precise moment, my marriage was a future prospect, one not long in the making, but far enough away to seem not quite real, at least, not yet. I would have almost a month to accustom myself to marriage, weeks to acquaint myself with the man I was to marry, and time to come to terms with my fate. With a special license, Faulke could marry me today.
Chiavari had just proved how quickly a marriage could be accomplished. Faulke wanted a hasty wedding. There was nothing my father would like more. Dread doused the butterflies.
Faulke’s tone was deceptively casual. “You do not look pleased by this news.”
Parts of my conversation with Baron Weston replayed in my mind. For the first time in my memory, I said the first thing that came into my head. “Do you intend to murder me, too?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ancient History
For a long moment, Faulke looked frozen in place. Because I did not so much as breathe, I probably looked much the same. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he grabbed my arm. He was on his feet a moment later and I actually cowered when he leaned over me.
“Come with me right now,” he hissed in my ear.
His fingers wrapped around my arm in such a tight grip that I could either obey or be dragged away. I chose to obey, and even tried to look dignified as I matched his long strides. Everyone had fallen silent, even the musicians. I refused to look over my shoulder to gauge their reactions to this startling turn of events. No, I had to keep moving forward and pretend that I wanted to leave.
Faulke’s grip was tight enough on my arm that it was sure to leave bruises. I had forgotten what it was like to fear a man. It was an unpleasant reminder of things I had tried hard to forget, bruises and cuts and days of waiting in my chamber for the swelling to recede.
Those were the sorts of useless thoughts that filled my head as we marched through the maze of hallways. When we reached the doors to my solar, Faulke propelled me into the room, then turned around to face me.
“Can we at least leave the door open?” I hated the quaver in my voice, hated asking for something that I would have ordered without a thought at any other time.
He didn’t answer. Instead he dropped the thick board into place that barred the doors from the inside, ensuring that no one on the outside would be able to enter.
It took everything in me to maintain the shell of my composure. He was still the handsome man I had mooned over just yesterday—ach—just minutes ago. Now I realized how little I actually knew him. Was he a violent man?
Not that I thought he intended to murder me at this precise moment. At least, I didn’t think that was his intention. Still, I did not want to test the bounds of his anger when help was on the wrong side of a very thick door. Why had I prodded him with such a stupid question in the first place?
I examined my surroundings with new eyes. There was only one entrance to the solar from the palace, and he had just barred those doors. There was nowhere to run.
My gaze went to the tall mullioned windows. The grounds of the garden were at least twenty feet below the openings, but suddenly that distance didn’t seem so far. Perhaps that was an option, if the situation turned desperate.
And then an obvious thought clicked into my brain. There was a bar on my bedchamber door as well. If I could escape to my bedchamber and barricade the door against Faulke, perhaps that would buy enough time for his anger to cool or a rescue to arrive.
Faulke still stood before the barred solar doors with his arms crossed over his chest. For a long time, we simply stared at each other. I lowered my gaze to his boots and began to back away toward the door to my bedchamber.
Unfortunately, it only took him a few strides to cover the distance between us. He took my arm, this time in a less forceful grip, and led me to the wooden armchair near the fireplace. The ashes at the edge of the hearth stirred and a tendril of smoke curled upward, evidence of the lingering embers from this morning’s fire. I wished it still blazed. I felt chilled to the bone.
“Sit,” he ordered.
I sat.
“Ask me again,” he demanded, his words clipped and precise.
Before I could answer, I heard Gerhardt’s voice call out to me, muffled by the stout oak doors.
“Prinzessin!”
I looked toward the barred doors, and then I looked at Faulke. His gaze was on my arm, where I was trying to rub away the sting from his grip. I saw a brief flicker of regret in his eyes, and then he took a step backward.
The doors were rattled, followed by entirely predictable pounding and demands to open the doors. “Öffnen sie die türen!”
The bone-chilling fear began to melt away. My people would never let anything happen to me, even at the hands of my soon-to-be husband.
“Order them to stand down,” Faulke said, his expression hard again. “Do it now.”
I thought that over for half a second, and then slowly shook my head.
“I do not intend you any harm. Truly,” he added when I rubbed my arm again. “If you do not tell them to stand down, the only blood that will be shed today will be from your soldiers and mine.”
A great thud at the doors added an exclamation point to his words. It was the sound of someone’s shoulders ramming the doors. They would eventually break them down. I wondered what would happen then. In Rheinbaden, Faulke would be dead before the last man came through the doors. Here, in England, he was my betrothed. He already had the legal rights he would enjoy as my husband. Perhaps that would be enough to stay Gerhardt’s hand.
Perhaps not.
“I have no plan to hurt you,” he bit out. “There are many ridiculous stories about the deaths of my previous wives; I am not ignorant of them. Did you think I would discuss the lurid details of my marriages in the great hall, in the midst of a feast, where anyone could overhear?”
Was that really what this abduction was all about? I had just discussed equally lurid topics with Weston in those same circumstances. Although, now that I thought about it, the head table had been deserted at the time, and I had made certain our voices did not carry.
Another series of thuds distracted me from my thoughts, but the doors still held. I would have to praise Gerhardt about how well the bar and braces had performed under actual use. Not that he would be pleased.
“Tell them to stand down, Isabel. All I want is a private word with my betrothed.”
Well, now he sounded almost reasonable.
I was the king’s daughter. Everyone knew we were here together. If he meant to strike me, surely he would have done it by now. Besides, I wanted to hear what he wished to say to me in private.
I stood up and we stared at each other for another long moment, and then he stepped aside to let me pass. The thuds were rhythmic now: thud…pause; thud…pause; and then a longer pause, and then they would repeat. I stood in front of the doors and yelled, “Halt!”
The thuds stopped immediately. Faulke was at my side an instant later, and then a step in front of me, a protective stance that I had seen often enough from my own guards. This insane man intended to keep me behind him while opening the doors himself.
I laid my hand upon his sh
oulder. He turned to give me a questioning look, and my voice sounded almost steady. “Remove the bar, but let me open the doors.”
He pursed his lips and seemed to mull over the idea, then finally nodded. It was good to know he could be reasoned with in a tense situation. He lifted the bar from its brackets and then stepped to one side, but I noticed he held the bar over one shoulder like a club. His caution was warranted.
“I am going to open the doors now,” I said in my loudest voice, and then repeated the words in German. “Stay back.”
Before I could think better of the idea, I pulled the doors open, but only as wide as my body.
More than a score of men crowded the hallway, and I was certain there were even more around the corners, beyond my sight. Some wore my colors, others my father’s colors, and others still wore the Segrave standard.
“Let us in, Princess,” Gerhardt ground out. His right hand rested on his sword. A drawn sword would be very bad in this situation.
My gaze moved over the other men in the hallway. All of them looked ready for a fight. The longer I looked, the more my mantle of sovereignty settled back into place. I straightened my spine. “There has been a misunderstanding. My betrothed wished for a few private words, and he acted rashly in his haste to speak with me. I am here willingly. Return to your duties, all of you.”
I closed the doors before anyone could argue, although I turned my head and placed my ear on the crack between the doors for a moment to make certain no one tested my order. If I had any sense at all, I would fling the doors open again and surround myself with guards.
On the other hand, I did not want Faulke to think he could cow me whenever he got angry, or think that I would need a score of soldiers to rescue me. I needed to handle him on my own. I would start this marriage on equal footing.
“I did not—”
Faulke fell silent when I spun toward him and held my finger to my lips in a quieting gesture. He still looked angry, but my mind was made up. I walked toward the windows, and then motioned for him to follow me through the antechamber where Gretchen and Hilda slept, and then into my bedchamber. He hesitated just long enough to replace the bar on the solar doors, and then he followed me.
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