Otto looked shaken, but also visibly relieved. Foolish, foolish man.
“Trial by combat will decide the matter,” Edward decreed, as if he were deciding which horse to ride that day. “Aye, the outcome will decide the matter of your son’s guilt or innocence. I assume he is skilled with a sword?”
“Aye,” Otto said, still not realizing that his answer was an agreement to wager his son’s life.
Edward settled more comfortably in his chair. “My daughter’s champion will, of course, be her husband.”
I felt the blood drain from my head. Foolish, foolish me. Leopold might make a habit of preying upon women and the weak, but he was feared in combat. I could not say how many tourneys he had won, but his losses were rare.
Avalene had never spoken a word about Faulke’s prowess in battle. I had heard much more about his skills in the bedchamber than I had about his skills with a sword or lance. The only conclusion I could draw was that he did not possess those skills.
The king would certainly be aware of Faulke’s skills, or lack thereof. Yet my husband could scarcely refuse, when my father named him my champion. I felt a horrifying suspicion that my father had just ordered Faulke’s death.
And then the larger picture of what was really happening unfolded in my mind.
Leopold had actually committed a crime against me, according to English law. If my father let that crime go unpunished, others in Rheinbaden might feel free to jeopardize Elizabeth’s safety, if she wed Prince Frederick. Edward needed to make an example of Leopold.
Faulke’s death now, nobly defending his wife’s honor, would mean that all of the Segraves’ holdings would be mine, and eventually belong to the crown. And the marcher barons could not argue with a man’s right to defend his wife’s honor.
I considered myself ruthless with my enemies, but even I could barely comprehend the layers of my father’s deceptions. Faulke had played his part, and now my father had but one last use for him: to send a message to King Albert that Edward would not tolerate any threats to his daughters. It did not seem to bother him that Faulke would likely die in the process of sending that message.
Having finally put all the pieces together, I still knew better than to even whisper a protest. There would be consequences. Given my father’s uncertain tempers, the consequences would likely be beyond my ability to undo. I needed time to think, to plan, to outmaneuver.
“The trial will take place today,” Edward said. “Here and now.”
“What?” Otto and I both said in unison.
“All parties are present, there is no reason to delay.” The king nodded toward two of his knights. “My men will supply you with appropriate arms, and then you will return here anon and the trial will proceed.”
I glanced at Leopold and my stomach roiled at what I saw. His expression left little doubt that he looked forward to killing my husband.
“Father, I—” I was interrupted by Faulke’s hand on my shoulder in an almost painful grip, and Count Otto’s objection.
“Sire, I must protest.” He looked from his son to Faulke. “This is…King Albert will be very upset if my son kills one of your earls. ’Tis not a promising start to our negotiations. We have no wish to upset you, Your Highness. Let us pay the princess a weregild, whatever reparation you feel is appropriate.”
“I have named my price.” My father motioned to two of his men. “Prepare them.”
That was the end of the discussion. Both men left, both seeming eager, Faulke with a steel jaw, Leopold with an ever-present smirk.
In my father’s defense, perhaps Edward thought Leopold would not want to jeopardize the betrothal negotiations by killing Faulke, but I knew that Leopold would fight to his last breath to win, regardless of any consequences. I did not want Faulke anywhere near Leopold when they were both armed. And I was powerless to stop it.
“He is better than you think,” Richard murmured behind me, so quietly only I could hear. “The king knows this.”
My heart fluttered. Of course, Richard would think Faulke invincible. Or perhaps I could be a widow again before the day was out. I refused to consider it. Refused.
“Shouldn’t we do this on a tourney field?” Count Otto asked. “There are preparations that should take place, squires to prepare the knights and tend their battle armor, and there should be horses.”
I silently agreed with him. There should be more. Mostly, more time to prepare.
Leopold was deadly in tournaments. Faulke had actually fought on the Welsh frontier. Surely that counted for something? However, even if Faulke presented himself well, accidents happened. He could be killed by a lucky strike.
I wondered what the punishment would be if I threw up in front of everyone. My stomach was as tight as a knot.
The two men returned. Both had shed their tunics and much of their court finery, and both looked of a similar height. Faulke wore all black, and his stance said he was ready for battle. It was like watching a panther turned loose among house cats. The finely tooled belt was gone, replaced by a heavier one that held a short sword and an assortment of knives. Leopold also had a short sword and knives strapped to his side so they would be evenly matched with regard to weapons. My hands balled at my sides.
“Prepare yourselves,” the king ordered, wasting little time on the niceties. “Leopold von Tyrol, you stand accused of endangering the life of your future queen and a princess of England. Faulke Segrave, you stand for your wife’s honor. The first man to draw blood will be declared the winner.”
“Oh, thank God.” I didn’t realize I spoke those words aloud until my father gave me a disapproving look. It was just such a relief to realize he didn’t intend for the contest to end in a death. Not today, anyway. Faulke had a chance to come out of this ridiculousness alive, but I still didn’t trust Leopold.
My father’s knights stood closer to their liege and to us as the men squared off against each other. The Rheinbaden envoys found places along the far wall so the center of the room was empty, except for the two combatants. Each man circled, sizing up the other, and then Leopold struck out with a lightning-fast blow that Faulke easily deflected. Faulke’s guard was up now and his eyes narrowed on his opponent.
He allowed Leopold to strike out a half dozen times, nearly giving me heart failure each time. But Leopold’s sword never came close to Faulke. The distinctive ring of metal against metal was deafening in the chamber, and each metallic ring made me flinch in fear, sliding my gaze over Faulke after each blow. I longed to run my hands over him to check for damage.
“He’s learning his opponent,” Richard said in a low murmur, leaning close to my ear so we wouldn’t be overheard. “Leopold is showing his impatience. He will begin to tire from those swings. Faulke will find an opening. He is looking for a place to draw blood without killing him.”
Richard’s words calmed me a little. I viewed the fight through new eyes, and realized that Faulke expended little effort deflecting each blow, while Leopold put his whole body into each swing. Leopold was not looking for an opening to draw blood; each of his swings would have crippled or killed Faulke if they had managed to connect with flesh. But each blow left Leopold vulnerable. Indeed, he left an opening each time he swung, but I couldn’t fathom why Faulke didn’t take advantage of those openings.
Another blow came down from Leopold’s sword, slashing hard, but he changed direction at the very last minute. My breath stalled in my throat when there was no metallic clang, replaced by the sound of fabric ripping.
Somehow Faulke had anticipated Leopold’s move. He stood unscathed, while Leopold cradled his sword arm, a long, jagged tear in his sleeve. Blood gushed from a deep wound to Leopold’s biceps. Faulke turned to face the king and held his sword up to salute his liege lord.
“It is done,” Edward announced as he got to his feet. He glared at Leopold. “You are judged guilty,
Leopold von Tyrol. Take him into the crown’s custody.”
The two knights my father had signaled stepped forward, swords in hand.
“That was a lucky blow!” Leopold protested. “He barely scratched me!”
“Sire, you cannot do this!” Otto said at the same time.
Leopold foolishly decided to continue his protests by holding the knights at bay with his sword. The king’s two knights stopped their progress, warily eying Leopold’s weapon. Before I even saw him move, Faulke had stepped in from Leopold’s side. He knocked Leopold’s sword from his grip and the weapon clattered to the floor several feet away. He made it look easy. And then he twisted his blade around and blood appeared on Leopold’s left sleeve, this cut even deeper than the first, but in exactly the same spot as the cut on his right arm. The knights ignored Leopold’s screams of pain and protest. They quickly stepped forward and fully disarmed him, and then dragged him from the chamber, still yelling his innocence.
Faulke resheathed his sword, bowed again to the king, and then came to stand in front of me, his back to Count Otto. He lifted my hand for another of his indecent kisses on my wrist that I was beginning to expect, and then he looked up and winked at me. It was done so quickly that I hardly had time to register what he’d done. He had winked! As if this were all a big joke to him. As if he had not just taken a year off my life from fear! I glared at him as he walked to my side, nudging Richard out of the way.
“Where is my son being taken?” Otto demanded, taking a threatening step forward.
“He will be our guest in the dungeons until your departure,” Edward said. “The sooner we conclude our negotiations, the sooner your son will be released, and you and your men will be free to leave England.”
The king gave Mordecai a meaningful look, and then he left the chamber.
“Count Otto, give me the name of the inn where you will be staying,” Mordecai said. “We will send word when the king will grant your next audience.”
Otto glanced at the tapestries that concealed the door that the king had exited through, and then he looked at the tapestries behind him, where Leopold’s wails could barely be heard in a distant corridor. His mouth was a thin, angry line.
“You realize I will tell King Albert of this…this…treatment,” Otto said with a glare for Faulke.
“Your son grievously insulted my wife; he was judged guilty by right of combat.” Faulke’s tone was mild, but there was a note of steel in his voice. “Your king was aware that Princess Isabel would not rejoice to see your son or nephew here, yet you were allowed to bring them anyway. If I were you, I would question the reasons why, rather than complain about the justice of another king. Men have been drawn and quartered for lesser crimes in England.”
Count Otto opened his mouth to argue, and then abruptly closed it again. His gaze flickered from me to young Hartman, whose fists were balled at his sides, and then back to Faulke. From his expression, Otto had already asked himself those questions. “We shall await your king’s summons.”
We remained where we were until the Rheinbaden envoy had left. Faulke glanced toward Mordecai. “I would prefer that my wife not be subjected to their company again.”
“Oh, right, you have not heard.” Mordecai shook his head with a patently false look of befuddlement. “Your father leaves for the north tomorrow morning. Scottish troubles again. I doubt he will return to London before snowfall.”
Faulke exchanged a glance with me. I shrugged, indicating that I had been unaware of my father’s plan, and then stopped midshrug. Count Otto would also be unaware of my father’s plans. Leopold could spend months in the dungeons, awaiting my father’s return. I might have smiled. Faulke might have shared that smile when he saw it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The English Princess
Dinner that night in the great hall was more like a feast. Even Chiavari and Avalene joined us.
At the beginning of the meal, I reassured my soldiers and servants that everyone could stay in my service, or return to Rheinbaden with Count Otto and his envoys if they didn’t want to continue on with me to Wales. It was another unknown land for them to consider, wilder by far than England, but more civilized than we had been led to believe. Throughout the meal, most of my people came up to tell me that they would gladly stay.
Everyone milled about between courses, repeating the tale of Faulke’s challenge in the king’s court to anyone who hadn’t heard the story yet, and to many who had. Leopold became more villainous and bloody with each telling. Faulke, well, it was harder to make him more of a hero in my eyes than he actually had been, but many tried.
To my surprise, Hilda and Gerhardt were seated together, their heads bent in conversation each time I glanced their way. What did those two adversaries have to discuss?
I didn’t worry about it for long. Fear and suspicions were no longer my constant companions. Happiness wanted to burst from every pore in my body.
Faulke served me the best portions from his trencher, while his other hand did indecent things under the table. He whispered suggestions in my ear that made me turn red and look forward to the end of the meal, until the musicians struck up a round and he grabbed my hand to dance. He was a good dancer, of course. All the ladies danced, even Hilda and Gerhardt. It had been so long since I had danced with anyone that I was breathless and laughing when we returned to the table. I took a long drink of the cider I had requested, thinking my exertions must have made the cider taste strange. I pushed it away and sat down to enjoy the next course.
Looking around the hall, I finally felt as if I had come home. English, Welsh, and German voices filled the air, but the sound was hearty and festive. Faces that weren’t outright smiling at least looked happy or satisfied. Faulke was right. This was the life I never knew I wanted.
“He bled like a stuck pig,” Richard told Dante again. “A quarter hour was all it took. Not even a quarter hour. My saddle was still warm when we returned to Ashland!”
That was the third time Richard had told Chiavari and his knights the tale of how Faulke had bested Leopold. I meant to tease Richard about his exaggeration, but my throat felt suddenly tight and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. Those dances were more taxing than I realized. I started to take another sip of cider, and then remembered it hadn’t tasted good. I put the goblet down just as I began to wheeze.
“What is wrong with you?” Faulke demanded. Whatever he saw on my face made his grow pale. His arm went around my waist and he lifted me to my feet, feet I couldn’t feel for some reason. “Good God, Isabel! What is wrong?”
I meant to answer him, but my lips were numb. I pressed my finger around my mouth and felt nothing. Then I rubbed my hand across my face. I was beginning to feel numb all over.
There was a clatter when Faulke swept his arm across the table in front of us, and pushed all the dishes aside.
“What are you doing?” I said with some difficulty.
Faulke lifted me into his arms, and then I was lying on the table.
“Stay still, don’t move,” Chiavari ordered. He stood next to Faulke and leaned toward me. For a crazy moment, I thought he intended to kiss me, right there in front of everyone. Instead he sniffed my breath, and then raised up enough to look into my eyes. It was weirdly impersonal, the way he stared at me. “Her pupils are too large.”
“This is—” I stopped talking, my voice only a harsh whisper. What was wrong with me?
The odd thought went through my head that, laid out on the head table, I must look like a suckling pig that had just been served. Everything was suddenly brighter. Too bright. There were halos around each of the high windows where the late afternoon sunlight streamed in. It was as if I suddenly had super sight.
If my eyes were working too well, my ears weren’t working well enough. There was a lot of noise in the great hall, but it sounded muffled, as if I were unde
rwater. It took a moment to realize the commotion was over me. The only voice I could hear clearly was Faulke’s, and he sounded frantic.
“I know she’s been poisoned! Do something about it, Chiavari!” His blue eyes were nearly black with rage and fear, and I wanted to take his sword and run through the creature who made him feel that way.
I had missed part of the conversation. Faulke held my hand in a tight grip and I realized with a start that my hand was numb. I turned my head and saw Gerhardt holding Hilda, while Richard had his arm around Gretchen as they all stared at me with similar expressions of dread and fear. Avalene stood to one side with Chiavari’s knights, Oliver and Armand. Rami was insistently tugging on her skirts. When I looked out over the great hall, everyone had stopped eating and drinking to stare at what was happening at the head table. Every expression looked serious, and many hands were clasped together, their lips moving in prayer. Maybe this wasn’t so ridiculous after all.
My stomach began to hurt.
Poison. I tried to understand it. Someone had poisoned me. Someone wanted to take me away from Faulke. The truth finally penetrated my numbed senses, and I’m sure there was horror on my face when I looked back up at him. There was terror on his.
“Don’t you die, Isabel. Don’t you dare die!” He leaned over me and I saw a strange radiance outline him. Was this the magnetic force we had discussed so often? I watched as the colors around him radiated dark, angry red streaks with occasional eruptions of lemon yellow.
“Not a halo,” I rasped, reaching up to touch his cheek. How I loved the rough feel of his stubble, loved to feel it against my skin. “Something is wrong.”
“Chiavari has gone for an antidote,” he told me, his tone urgent. “Hold on, Isabel.”
I heard voices all around me chanting Latin prayers. Who was praying? Who would poison me? Count Otto, or one of his men from Rheinbaden? No, it had to be someone in the great hall, perhaps one of my own Rheinbaden people in Otto’s hire as a spy. How ironic if I died, and never even knew who killed me.
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