A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight's Tale Book 3)

by Diane Darcy

  She wanted to be at her best tomorrow as well. If she got the chance to talk Wallace up to anyone important, she’d do it.

  When she went back, because engagement or not, she was still going back, right? When she did, she wanted to know she’d done her best to right the wrong she’d done him.

  Actually, she wanted to clear his name.

  Surely, the aristocracy couldn’t be so different from the Hollywood elite? And she’d successfully navigated that crowd for years, hadn’t she?

  Lady Helena was right. They all needed to look their best, be at their best, if they wanted any favors from the king.

  They all needed to be beautiful, charming, and most of all, entertaining if they wanted to get ahead in this business.

  Or whatever it was.

  It was a good thing she knew so much about swimming in a world of prima donnas.

  Wallace could not help but note as he walked through the crowd, that he did not have many friends left.

  He’d never been sociable, did not have the talent of it, preferring his actions to speak for him, but when his family had power, many had flocked close, and at least he’d allies.

  Now, he thought that perhaps they enjoyed the way the mighty had fallen.

  He was glad for Lord Marshall’s friendship, but he also needed new friends and supporters. Perhaps enemies of the Dinsdales, who mayhap did not care aught about Wallace, but would be glad to see the other man fail.

  Surely, they’d not been the only ones the man targeted?

  He approached a group of men, laughing and chatting, and took a place among their circle. “Hawthorne, Bishop,” he greeted two of the men he knew.

  “Wolfsbane, I wondered if you would show up.” Hawthorne took a drink from his mug and then lifted it to the others. “What think you, men, are we to see another spectacle during the wedding?”

  The men chuckled, but uneasily, as they watched Wallace. “Do not mind him,” Bishop said. “He has been in his cups for a while now.”

  “Nay, ’tis not that at all,” Hawthorne said. “I am only saying what everyone else is thinking. So, what say you, Wolfsbane? How do you like your manor house?”

  Wallace punched him in the throat.

  The man gagged and staggered until he fell on his backside. He clutched at his throat, and Wallace smiled pleasantly at the other three men. “How was your travel?” he asked as the other man gagged on the ground. “Any troubles on the way out?”

  The three men agreed in unison, that travel had been pleasant enough.

  Wallace gave a nod and continued on his way, as two of the other men quickly went to help their friend.

  Lord Bishop came after him. “You need to watch thyself. You’ve not many that see the need to befriend you at court as you’ve naught to offer but a strong arm, and an unruly temper.”

  Wallace crossed his arms, and looked down at the shorter man. “Then I’ve naught to lose, either, have I?”

  Bishop laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I suppose not. Come with me. I doubt Hawthorne will remember any of this on the morrow.”

  Wallace followed Bishop, and they went from group to group chatting with men, and eventually the subject would arise that Wallace was, in fact, looking for another fight with Dinsdale.

  The consensus was the king would not agree.

  “And if the king decides to confiscate your lands when Dinsdale targets you next?”

  No one wished to hear.

  Wallace felt more and more hopeless as the evening proceeded, until he finally sought out his bed.

  It took a long while for him to fall asleep,

  There had to be a way to capture the king’s favor, but he didn’t know what it was.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Aye, my lord. They are here. They’ve set their tent up at the back of the keep.”

  His man, his spy, opened a piece of material and showed Paul the jewels that lay within.

  Paul took them and studied them in the candlelight, turning them this way and that as he watched them gleam before covering them once more. “No one saw?”

  “Nay, my lord. I was able to reach under the tent, and pull her dress out with no one being the wiser.”

  “Excellent.”

  The man bowed himself out of the room.

  She was here. And he had bested her once again. Lord Paul Dinsdale, Baron over Lady Helena’s former holdings, felt an almost gleeful happiness rise up within him.

  The emotion wasn’t a part of his personality, or rather, it had not been, until the last year.

  Lady Helena and her family sleeping in a common tent on the hillside while he and his son had been given a room inside the castle made his heart lift with pleasure.

  He would wager she wished to be married to him now, didn’t she?

  Her husband dead.

  Her son disgraced.

  He couldn’t wait to see her upon the morrow.

  Would she attempt to get back in his good graces?

  He snickered at the thought of it, but knew she would not.

  Even now, the woman had pride, grace, and should have been the mother of his children. His!

  He rubbed at the long scar on his face. In the end, he’d won, hadn’t he?

  He couldn’t wait to see her face when she learned that he’d petitioned the king to betroth her eldest daughter to his son.

  The king had thought it an excellent idea, had commended Paul for his generosity and foresight in keeping the Wolfsbane blood among their former property.

  Their grandchildren would finally have the blood they were meant to carry.

  God was obviously on his side in all of this, because the only thing he’d not been able to control, was the joust at Stirling, and by rights, his son should have been dead.

  He’d received strength and brawn from him, and taken after his mother in beauty, which was a benefit, but, unfortunately, also in temperament, which was not.

  The boy could fight, but he wasn’t a match for Wallace Wolfsbane.

  And yet, here they were. His son still alive, Paul still in possession of the Wolfsbane fortune, the wrongs against him set right.

  A satisfied smile played about his mouth as he looked at the jewels in hand once more, before carefully covering them and putting them in a drawstring bag, tied around his waist, hidden within his clothes.

  He didn’t get where he was without being careful.

  Chapter 25

  When Cara awoke the next morning, it was with an elbow in her side and Dori drooling against her neck once more.

  She shrugged the younger girl off, shoved until she turned over, and then leaned on one elbow to see if Wallace was still there.

  He was asleep, a few feet away from Dori.

  Tenderness welled up within her at the slack, innocent look on his face.

  It made her realize how often he looked like he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

  It was cold in the tent, and she laid back down and covered up, enjoying the warmth of the others.

  It was light, but it had to be pretty early in the morning, as they’d gone to bed early, falling asleep to the sounds of talking and laughter.

  Male voices, as Lady Helena had quickly pointed out when Amelia complained they couldn’t join in.

  She thought about getting up, but decided to wait until the others woke.

  Maybe they could score some early breakfast.

  And then Cara knew exactly what she wanted to do with the first part of her morning.

  For the duration, all girls leaving this tent were going to look gorgeous.

  As no one else wore makeup, she felt like her girls had a real chance at standing out.

  She well knew that beauty was a commodity, and right now it might be the only one they possessed.

  She wasn’t sure how it would help yet, but she also knew that when you felt well turned out, you also put your best foot forward.

  She planned to remain optimistic and hoped for good thin
gs coming their way.

  It certainly couldn’t hurt.

  “Psst.”

  At the sound, Cara got up on her elbow and glanced over at Wallace. She raised her brows at him.

  He threw back his covers and gestured for her to come and join him.

  She grinned and shook her head, nodding toward his mother.

  He mouthed the words, “Come here.”

  Again, she slowly shook her head, her smile widening.

  He lowered his coverings with a sigh.

  “Very well, I am up,” said Lady Helena. “All this moving about would wake the dead.”

  Cara giggled and said, “Don’t mind me, your son is trying to seduce me with his wiles.”

  At that, Lady Helena sat up to look over at her son.

  When he grinned, she shook her head. “Behave, or you shall find you’re not too old for the switch.”

  Cara laughed out loud at that, and both Dori and Amelia stirred.

  “Girls, turn away while your brother gets dressed and leaves the tent. You, as well, Cara,”

  Wallace got up and they could hear him moving around, getting dressed, and Cara couldn’t help another giggle, which set the other two off.

  “I see I command no respect within my own family,” Wallace said as he left the tent leaving them all laughing.

  “Enough, girls, enough. Let us dress and join Wallace for morning meal.”

  Cara reached for her dress, and just as she opened her mouth to tell Lady Helena of her plans for later, she realized it was missing.

  She carefully pulled the covers back near Dori’s head, then near Lady Helena’s, and even reached over to disturb the covers where Amelia had slept.

  “Where is my dress?”

  She could feel panic rising within her as she lifted furs and blankets, and then looked around the small tent for any sign of her blue dress.

  “It must be here,” Lady Helena said.

  Cara’s mouth dried. “You don’t understand,” she was still furiously going through bedclothes, and she crawled to Wallace’s bedding to go through that as well. “I sewed my necklace into the pocket.”

  At that, Lady Helena joined in the search, urging Amelia and Dori to help. They lifted one blanket at a time, looked under their makeshift pillows, and finally acknowledged it wasn’t there.

  Lady Helena lifted the edge of the tent near where Cara’s head had lain, and where she’d placed her rolled up dress.

  She looked at Cara, her eyes stark. “It’s been stolen.”

  Cara sank back on her heels, and pressed her hands to her face.

  That was her ticket home. Without it, she was stuck in this place.

  Without it, Lady Helena might not want her to marry her son.

  What was she going to do?

  Wallace felt the color drain out of his face when his mother told him the news.

  “Stolen?”

  Cara looked to be devastated, and he felt tired, worthless.

  “You should have given me the necklace.” Wallace said exactly the wrong thing and watched as Cara flinched.

  That line of thought was pointless now, and he wished he could take it back.

  “What do we do?” Lady Helena asked, seeming at a loss for the first time in his life.

  “Dinsdale?”

  The lethargy left him as Wallace felt his temper rising, spiking, in an incredibly short period of time.

  Before he realized he’d done it, he was grasping the hilt of his sword, and half turning away to go and kill father and son before his mother reached out and stopped him.

  “We have no proof. How could he have known of it?” Lady Helena gave a helpless shrug.

  “He has spies, everywhere.”

  Wallace looked over to where Cara sat on a pile of blankets, her shoulders hunched, head down, but he could tell she was quite pale.

  She’d just lost everything of value that she owned.

  He wished to go to her, to reassure her, to promise her that he would get back her necklace, but how?

  He wouldn’t even know where to begin.

  Dinsdale probably was behind the theft, but he would never be able to prove it.

  And it could just as well have been someone else.

  She had not worn it here. It had to have been someone who’d already known about it. He’d not forgotten about the attempt at the manor. So, someone in their party?

  Favian? He was little and quick and could certainly have done it. But what use would he have for jewels, or payment? It would be noted immediately.

  Sir Gladwin? Nay. Not with their history. Sir Thomas? The man was loyal to the bone.

  Someone who’d seen it at Marshall Keep?

  He’d been pleased she’d taken the necklace off for travel, as he hadn’t wished anyone to notice it and try and steal it.

  Now he wished she’d kept the thing around her neck.

  He made his way out of the tent, only to stop a few feet away and look around. Tents were springing up on every available surface.

  And then there was the keep itself behind them, filled with the nobility and all of their servants.

  Even the villagers were able to come and go for the most part.

  There were so many people here, that all he could do would be to put the word out, let people know the piece had been stolen, and hope for the best.

  He did not expect to ever see it again, and once again his hopes for their future were dashed.

  Once again, he had naught. Not a fresh start, no future for himself and those in his care.

  He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to rein in the anger, the unfairness of it all.

  Everything he valued had been taken.

  He’d honor the betrothal, but would Cara?

  Would Cara honor their betrothal now that he’d proven unable to protect and defend her?

  An insidious idea worked its way into his thoughts. Was there a chance that Cara herself had turned the piece over to Dinsdale?

  He didn’t want to believe it.

  But she had been the one to halt the joust in the first place, and now the necklace that he’d hoped would bring stability to him and those in his care was gone.

  Though she did look devastated, he wondered if the entire thing could have been an act, designed to bring him lower than ever.

  As low as he could go.

  To demolish and even eradicate his family.

  He doubted she’d ever intended to come with him. And now, the moment she was back near the Dinsdales, the necklace disappeared.

  He walked, unsure of a destination, trying to shrug off suspicions, as the thought of Cara, a turncoat, was worse than what the stolen necklace represented to him.

  He stopped and leaned back against the stone wall of the keep, to calm himself and get his thoughts under control.

  If Cara was indeed against him, he’d find that out soon enough.

  It might be foolish, but he’d keep his faith in her until he absolutely knew otherwise. If she was to crush him, so be it, but it would not be with his help. She’d have to do so clearly, concisely, and without the aid of his distrust.

  He pushed himself off the wall, and went to spread the word about the stolen necklace.

  He first ran into Sir Gladwin and Sir Thomas and told them what had occurred. “Scout around. See if you hear aught about the stolen necklace, or any gems that make a sudden appearance. This lot would likely buy, no questions asked, for a favorable price.”

  He had no hopes for its return. None at all. But he had to at least try, no matter the outcome.

  Fatigue settled hard upon his shoulders, but he pressed through, and approached the first group of men.

  He would do what needed doing, and what was new about that?

  It seemed that was all he ever did. Try.

  Try, fail, and let himself and others down.

  A calm acceptance seemed to settle within him, harden into a knot in his chest.

  He would get the king to acknowledge his
right to another joust with Dinsdale, and when he did, he would win, even if it killed him.

  The men looked up at his approach and waved him over. “Wolfsbane. Join us, won’t you?”

  He did, and quickly shared news of the theft, well aware he looked the fool. It seemed he could not hold aught that he owned.

  Within the next hour, news of the pilfered jewels spread to every corner of the castle and beyond.

  Cara carefully wiped off the clay she’d used to stain Dori’s lips, then rubbed crushed and oiled rose petals onto Dori’s bottom lip with her ring finger.

  The effect was perfect. Just enough color to compliment, but not enough to make it too obvious she’d been enhanced.

  Cara, sitting cross-legged across from her, leaned back and smiled. “Perfect.”

  She tried to ignore the tension in her stomach.

  She was still sick over the loss of the necklace.

  Sicker still, that Wallace had initially blamed her.

  And why wouldn’t he? She should have known better than to ball it up right by the edge of the tent, where anyone could lift the edge and take what they wanted.

  And he was right, she should have given him the necklace. He’d have been far more adept at protecting it then she would have been.

  She just worried he wouldn’t give it back, when the time came.

  When the time came for her to go back.

  Legitimate fear, surely?

  But as he was the only protection, standing between her and all sorts of horrible experiences, she should have trusted him.

  She tried to snap her attention back to Dori, who was sitting across from her, cross-legged and still, the scarf tied in her hair reminiscent of the 1970s.

  Amelia had found her a twig earlier that they’d dipped in oil, and carefully smeared crushed coal upon, to thicken and darken the lashes.

  Once dry, it didn’t seem to come off on their skin, so again, perfect.

  The precious stick of eyeliner, she’d gotten from Gillian, and she’d smoothed a barely there amount on upper eyelids.

  She glanced at Amelia, sitting still, who she’d finished with about fifteen minutes earlier.

  She looked beautiful, and Cara was quite proud of the way her hair had turned out. The unraveled braids waved beautifully, at the same time giving her hair double its former bulk.