Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Cicadia Castle

Cheltenham

"W hat did your father say?"

The question came from a young woman far too eager for information that didn't concern her in the least. But it concerned her cousin, and in her mind, that made it her business, whether or not it actually was.

She was addressing a young woman in a pale shift with a surcoat of thin, yellow wool over it. The young woman was ethereal in her beauty, with long blonde curls to her buttocks and a face of perfect porcelain. For certain, tales of the beauty of Diara le Bec were far and wide.

For good reason.

"Hush," Diara said as she entered the chamber and shut the door. She went so far as to grab her cousin and slap a hand over her mouth, dragging her to the other end of the chamber, where a cushioned window seat overlooking the small bailey awaited them. Only then did she remove her hand from her cousin's mouth and shove her onto the seat.

"Well?" her cousin said anxiously. "What has happened?"

Diara appeared genuinely distressed. "Terrible news, I am afraid," she said. "It would seem that Beckett de Lohr was killed in an accident a short time ago. My father has just received word of it, and he is beside himself."

Her cousin's eyes widened in shock. "Nay!" she gasped. "It cannot be!"

"I am afraid it is."

Diara spoke grimly, but genuine grief wasn't there. She spoke of the incident in an almost detached manner, which gave her cousin pause when responding. In truth, she reacted the only way she could.

With polite pity.

"I am so terribly sorry," her cousin said. "Is that what your father wanted to speak with you about?"

"Aye."

"But what happened to him? What kind of accident?"

Diara sighed sharply. "A horse threw him," she said, putting her hand to her head to stave off the headache that was coming on. She suffered from them regularly, sometimes so powerful that she couldn't rise from her bed. "Please do not ask any further questions, Iris. I cannot answer them right now. This news… it is devastating."

Lady Iris le Bec was about to disobey her cousin's request, but she could see by the look on Diara's face that the woman was serious about no more questions.

Devastating? Perhaps.

But to whom?

The betrothal between Diara and Beckett de Lohr had only been sealed for a couple of years, but in that time, she'd met the handsome Beckett only once. They'd spent some time together. Beckett hadn't been particularly attentive, but Diara was certain she could change that with time. He seemed to be a dreamer, too—he wanted to travel and do great things, things that didn't include a wife, and he'd told her so. Diara hadn't told her father about those conversations, mostly because it would have enraged the man, so she kept it to herself. She was convinced she could change Beckett's mind once they were married, and she'd clung to that hope, though deep down, perhaps she wasn't entirely certain she could make the man into something he didn't want to be. But she was determined to be a good wife because that was what her parents wanted.

And now this.

But knowing all of that… why was she speaking of devastation at the news?

Iris wondered.

"Deedee, I must ask you a question," she said. "Mayhap it is not a kind question, but I feel I must ask."

"What is it?"

"Did you feel something for him that I was unaware of?" she asked. "I am certain your father is upset, and I know why, but it seemed to me that he was more excited about this marriage than you ever were."

Diara looked at her sharply. "That is a terrible thing to say."

Iris averted her gaze. "As I said, it was not a kind question," she said. "I do not mean to be cruel, but Uncle Robin always seemed much happier about the marriage than you were. He spoke of it so frequently, while you… you were less inclined to speak of it."

Diara knew she was right. It was certainly a terrible thing to say, but it wasn't untrue. She couldn't hold up a front any longer because Iris, who had lived with her family for years, knew everything that went on. She knew the players, she knew the nuances, and she knew the situation.

She knew what Diara thought of her intended.

There was no use denying it.

With a sigh, Diara sat heavily opposite her cousin on the window seat.

"Two years ago, my father came back from France crowing about the betrothal he'd made with the House of de Lohr, a marriage he'd practically sold his soul for, or so he said," she said wearily. "He'd arranged a contract with the Earl of Hereford and Worcester's second son, Richard, the man named after the Lionheart. According to my father, Richard de Lohr will replace his father as the greatest knight in the realm once his father passes away, and his son would enjoy all of the benefits of such respect. That means his son will enjoy the same prestige."

Iris was watching her cousin closely. "I know."

"Then Beckett came here with his father."

"I was here."

"And you saw what went on."

Iris nodded slowly. "I saw a man who was arrogant and apathetic towards you," she said. "Beckett was not kind to you in the least."

Diara put her hands over her face. "It was worse than that," she said. "You saw what happened. He would mostly ignore me, but the moment I spoke to any man other than him, he would glare at me."

"But he hardly spoke to you himself!"

Diara threw up her hands in despair. "He called me a whore before he left," she said, verging on tears. "Do you remember that? He told me that he'd heard all about how I had dozens of men following me around, and he said that only a whore would have such a following."

Iris went to sit next to her, putting her arm around her shoulders. "He did not know you," she said softly, with encouragement. "He did not know that you are bright and witty and men are naturally attracted to you. You are a happy, sweet woman, Deedee. Beckett could not see that through his suspicion and jealousy."

Diara flicked a tear from her eye. "I've never even been kissed," she said sadly. "How can I be a whore?"

"I know," Iris said, giving her a hug. "But it is not for lack of trying. From men, I mean. Some of your admirers are here at Cicadia, and they hang on every word you speak. They would gladly give you a kiss if you would let them."

Diara snorted softly. "My father's knights?" she said, smiling weakly at something she didn't find particularly humorous. "One of them has probably never taken a bath in his life, another one is simply a good friend, and the last one is too, too old. I have known him since I was a child."

Iris removed her arm from the woman's shoulders and clasped both of Diara's hands in her own. "Though I am sorry for Beckett's death, because surely it is a terrible thing for his family, I do believe it is a good thing for you," she said. "You were going to be miserable with him, Deedee."

Diara wouldn't look at her as she shook her head. "That is not true."

"It is," Iris insisted. "I have watched you try to convince yourself for two years that this will be a good marriage. We both know it would not be. Beckett made it clear he does not want a wife, and he made it very clear that he was unhappy his father had forced him into a betrothal. He would have made you miserable."

"I would have been a good wife."

"To a man who did not want one?"

"He was young," Diara argued weakly. "That's all I really saw in him—immaturity. He would learn to appreciate a wife as he grew older."

Iris sighed sharply. "That is your mother talking," she said. "Aunt Annie was trying to convince you that all would be well if you would only be patient. But she was wrong."

Diara looked at her then. "She had no choice," she said, suddenly firm. "I had no choice. Truth be told, I was not happy my father forced me into a betrothal either, but there was nothing I could do about it."

"There is now."

Iris was right. Diara knew she was right, and as she thought on that, she began to nod her head. "Papa has been trying to marry me off for years," she said. "He told me that I would only marry the highest bidder, and Beckett's father must have bid dearly. But now there is no longer a betrothal…"

" And ?"

"And I can tell my father just what I want in a husband."

"What would that be?"

Diara stood up, moving to the window and gazing over the fertile landscape of the softly rolling hills around Cheltenham. Overhead, birds rode the drafts as the clouds began to roll in from the west.

She could smell the rain.

"I do not want a boy," she said. "Beckett was a boy, hardly older than I. I want a grown man."

"Handsome?"

"Of course," Diara said. "Handsome and strong, mature, responsible. Someone who wants a wife and is prepared to treat her like… like…"

"Like what ?"

"Like she is important." Diara turned to look at her. "Like she matters to him. Iris, I spent years at Carisbrooke with the pages and squires as my friends because the girls were petty and would not talk to me. Lady de Redvers was the worst of them, and so were her awful daughters. Because the boys were my friends, I was accused of being unladylike. I was accused of teasing them. But you know I did not; never did I tease anyone. Had they not been my friends, I would have had no friends at all. But my father thinks I was a harlot because of that vicious gossip from spiteful women."

Iris shook her head. "He did not think that," she said. "He did not listen to the gossip of fools."

"He listened to a countess and her forked tongue," Diara said, torn between the sadness it provoked and the anger. "But it does not matter. I will tell him that I will not accept a child as a husband. I want a grown man who did not listen to Lady de Redvers' gossip, who does not even know de Redvers and the politics of London. Someone who is far away from that kind of thing so he will not have a preconceived notion about it. I simply want a fighting chance to have a good marriage, Iris. Is that too much to ask?"

Iris shook her head. "Nay," she said. "I will support you, whatever you wish. I will tell Uncle Robin that Lady de Redvers was a jealous liar. She only did it because you were more beautiful and kinder than her two daughters. They are trolls, those two."

Diara's eyes glimmered with mirth and gratitude. "How do you know that?"

"Because I saw them," Iris said. "Remember? I fostered at Thetford, and whenever de Redvers would have a gathering, I would come with Lady de Warenne. I saw de Redvers' daughters at least three times. They were wretched creatures."

Diara laughed softly. "I know you saw them, but you never spent any time around them," she said. Her smile faded. "I wish I hadn't. I dislike women as a whole, Iris. I dislike them intensely. I have never had a good experience with any woman other than you and my mother."

"That is because we're not jealous of you," Iris said. "We're proud of you."

That brought a grateful smile from Diara, but Iris could feel the woman's pain. She'd been so persecuted by her own sex that she didn't trust, nor did she like, women as a sex, just as she'd said. Iris had heard it before.

It was a lonely way to live.

Outside, the rain was beginning to fall in widely spaced, fat droplets. They hit the windowsill now and again, causing Diara to reach up and grasp the oil cloth that was hanging from the top of the window. Securely fastened, it would keep the rain out. But just as she unrolled it, she caught sight of one of her father's knights down in the bailey, motioning to some of the soldiers. It was clear that he was giving orders, and Diara paused, watching the tall, dark-haired knight as he moved about. Iris walked up beside her to help, also seeing what she was seeing.

There was a commotion going on down there.

"What's Pryce doing?" Iris asked curiously. "It looks like he's sending men to the stables."

Diara was watching her father's captain as he sent more men on their way with orders. Pryce de la Roarke had been with her father for many years, an older man who was more like an uncle to Diara than a mere knight. He was wise, but he was also strict. The man didn't have a humorous bone in his body. If someone was looking for understanding and compassion, they more than likely wouldn't get it from Pryce. He was, however, quite efficient at his job and could show kindness when he wanted to.

But that was rare.

"I do not know," Diara said. "He's issuing commands. Men are running."

Horses began to come around, out into the bailey, and Iris leaned on the windowsill to get a better look in spite of the rain.

"It looks as if men are preparing to leave," she said. Then she looked at Diara. "Who is leaving?"

Diara shook her head. "No one that I know if," she said. "Papa was down in the solar yelling about the betrothal and how…"

She stopped suddenly, and Iris peered strangely at her. "How what ?"

Diara blinked as if startled by the answer she was about to give. "How he would go to Hereford himself and demand restitution," she said. "My God… do you think he is actually going to ride to the Earl of Hereford and Worcester and demand that I be allowed to marry a dead man?"

Before Iris could answer, Diara was rushing from the chamber, taking the spiral stairs of the keep far too quickly as she made her way down to the first floor where the main rooms of the keep were. There were two solars, one for her mother and one for her father, plus a small hall and a collection of other smaller chambers. But Diara was heading for her father's solar, where she last saw the man, and she heard his raised voice before she ever burst into the chamber.

Startled by his daughter nearly ripping the solar door off its hinges as she entered his solar, Robin looked at his only child in shock.

"Diara?" he said, both puzzled and annoyed. "What is wrong, lass?"

Diara didn't even look at the other people in the chamber. She was completely focused on her father as she rushed toward him.

"Why is Pryce ordering horses to be brought forth?" she demanded. "Papa, are you going to see Hereford?"

Robin had been in the middle of a raging sentence, but was now forced to calm himself simply by the expression on his daughter's face. He took a deep breath and turned away from her.

"That is none of your affair," he said. "You will leave, please."

Diara didn't obey. In fact, she began to follow him.

"Papa," she said. "You cannot blame the House of de Lohr over the death of a son. Don't you think they are sick with grief over it? You cannot go there and make it worse. You will make an enemy of them."

Robin glanced at her. "I appreciate your concern, but it is unnecessary," he said. "If you must know, I am indeed going to Lioncross Abbey, but I am going to express my condolences to Hereford. You needn't worry."

Diara wasn't sure why she didn't believe him, but she didn't. She took a moment to look around the chamber, seeing her mother and the remaining two knights in the chamber. Her father had three, and with Pryce outside, Sir Eddard de Vahn and Sir Mathis de Geld were inside the solar, perhaps awaiting further orders. Diara might have actually believed that had she not heard her father ranting as she ran down the stairs, so they were merely there to take the brunt of his rage.

So was her mother.

Lady Ananda Maxwell le Bec was looking at her daughter with some apprehension. Unlike most husbands, Robin sought his wife's counsel. She sat in on any business or anything that had to do with Cicadia Castle or the Cheltenham earldom. She was a brilliant woman, wise with her advice, and that was something Diara had inherited from her. But Diara was the life of any party, whereas Ananda was quite reserved. Reserve wasn't what Diara saw in her mother's expression, however.

What she saw, she didn't like.

"Papa," Diara finally said. "Should I not go with you, as Beckett's intended? I should like to extend my condolences also."

"Nay," Robin said flatly. "I will go. It is my duty. You will remain here with your mother."

"She is not going?"

Robin's jaw flexed as he looked at her. "If you have come here to ask foolish questions, then I will again tell you to leave," he said. He pointed to the door. "Go, please."

There was so much that wasn't being said. Diara could feel it. However, not wanting to argue with her father in front of people who served him, including her mother, she quit the chamber.

But she didn't go far.

Diara sat on the spiral steps that led to the upper floor, just out of sight. She could still see the solar door, however, peering around the bend of the staircase, and she could hear more of her father's shouting, but she couldn't really hear the words. The thick walls of the keep muffled them. But she waited him out, knowing something would happen at some point, until the door opened and one of her father's knights spilled out.

Mathis quit the solar, quietly shutting the door behind him. He turned for the entry, but hissing from the stairwell caught his attention. Diara was waving him over, and he headed in her direction.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Waiting for you," she said. "He's not going to Lioncross to convey his condolences, is he?"

Mathis was a good man from a good family. He'd been in love with Diara since nearly the moment he met her, so talk of betrothals didn't sit well with him. He'd offered for her hand, more than once, only to be told that although he was an excellent knight and Lord Cheltenham appreciated his service, he wasn't suitable for the earl's daughter. Worse still, Diara only viewed him as a good friend. Therefore, he had to stand by and watch someone else take what he wanted.

It was a difficult position for him.

"Nay," he said after a moment. "He is not."

"Is he going to demand that they consider the betrothal a marriage by proxy?"

He knew what she meant. Sometimes, betrothals were considered just as good as a marriage. The church considered it binding, so, for all intents and purposes, Diara and Beckett were already married. In theory, anyway. But Mathis shook his head.

"I do not know," he said honestly. "He paid Roi de Lohr five hundred marks of gold, which was half of your dowry, when the betrothal was agreed upon, so I think he is going to demand the return of the money."

Diara sighed heavily. "I wonder if they'll return it?" she said. "I was thinking he was going to demand that I be considered Beckett's wife and all of the benefits that would entail."

"Like what?"

"Like anything he would inherit from his father, I suppose," she said. "I don't really know. All I know is that my father does not seem the least bit concerned that a young man has died. He only seems to be concerned about the marriage that will never happen now."

Mathis was watching her as she spoke. Those sweet, slightly red lips that he'd dreamt about kissing. But he shook himself mentally before those thoughts took hold.

Thoughts that would do him no good.

"Whatever he is going to do, he seems to want me and Pryce with him," he said, looking away and feeling the familiar stab of disappointment. "He is leaving Eddard here in command."

"When is he leaving?"

"On the morrow."

Diara thought about her father riding all the way to Lioncross Abbey Castle, the largest castle on the Welsh marches with an enormous standing army. A castle he wanted very much to be allied with by marriage, as he'd told her many times.

That gave her an idea.

"Mathis," she said. "Do you suppose he is going to Lioncross for another reason?"

Mathis glanced at her. "What other reason?"

She looked at him thoughtfully. "What if he does not want the money returned?"

"Of course he will. That is a good deal of money."

"But what if he allows them to keep it in exchange for another de Lohr husband?"

That thought hadn't occurred to Mathis. "The House of de Lohr has many sons and grandsons," he said. "That may be a distinct possibility."

Diara thought so, too.

And she hated it.

Slowly, she stood up.

"It would be nice if my father looked at me as his child for once and not something to be bartered with," she said, turning to mount the steps. "If I had any sense, I'd simply run away."

She wandered up the steps as Mathis watched her go. When he was certain she was out of earshot, he craned his neck around in time to see her right foot disappear as she continued to the next floor above.

"With me?" he whispered. "If you would, I'd leave this minute."

It was a sweet, if not heartbreaking, thought.

And a foolish one at that.