Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Cicadia Castle

D iara couldn't believe her ears.

In fact, she plopped down onto the bed behind her, staring at her mother as if the woman had just grown another head.

Stunned was an apt word.

"I… I'm what ?" she stammered.

"Marrying Richard de Lohr, Beckett's father," her mother repeated patiently. "Your father has sent word ahead. He and Richard are traveling to Cicadia as we speak, and they should arrive shortly. This is a much better match for you, Deedee. Sir Richard is a son of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. No longer will you have to marry only a grandson. You will be marrying the second son of the earl, a man who has position and prestige. He is an advisor to the king, in fact. You will be an important woman. Are you not pleased?"

Ananda seemed very happy about the whole thing, but Diara could only feel shock. As Ananda began rattling on about what to wear when she was introduced to her betrothed, Diara labored up from the bed and wandered over to the window seats overlooking the bailey. She was trying very hard to accept what she'd been told, though it was difficult. She'd only just had some hope that she could actually have a husband she wanted, and now this. Now, she was to marry the father of her dead intended.

I am to marry an old man.

The realization was sickening. She'd gone from a young pup to an elderly man in the blink of an eye. From one future to quite another. She tried to remember Beckett's father, a man she had only briefly met when she was introduced to Beckett.

He was big.

That much, she remembered. He was a very big man, broad-shouldered, and she remembered he had a big neck, something some of the knights tended to have because they wore heavy helms and heavy protection around their necks and shoulders. Men without muscular necks and shoulders would collapse under such weight, so Beckett's father had muscles all over his upper body. She remembered the size of his hands because he'd reached out to greet Robin, and she'd caught sight of hands that were the size of a trencher.

Big.

That was all she could recall about him.

Leaning against the window as the breeze lifted her hair, she thought hard on the man's face. He had hair that was auburn, with a hint of blond around his face that might have actually been gray. She couldn't really remember. He had to be more than twice her age. However, the more she thought about it, the more she remembered that he was nice looking and that Beckett had looked a good deal like him. Beckett, in fact, had been quite handsome, something he surely got from his father.

So, he was big and handsome. And old.

But she couldn't remember anything else.

For the rest of the afternoon, she had to listen to her mother discussing wardrobe issues. The marriage to Beckett had been coming in the summer, which was about three months away, so although her trousseau had been planned and the fabric purchased, the seamstress hadn't yet begun the garments. She listened to her mother talk about sending word to the seamstress to hurry up with the dresses that had been ordered so that all of it could be packed away and taken with her once she had married.

Her mother seemed to think the marriage was to take place immediately.

Truth be told, that was a little intimidating. Diara had been given two years to become accustomed to the idea that she would be marrying Beckett, and she had taken all of that time to prepare herself for what was to come. Now, in just the space of a few days, her world had been upended, and not only had she lost one fiancé, she had evidently gained another.

Everything was happening in a blur.

As Diara stood at the window and looked out over the bailey, she could hear her mother issuing orders to the servants. They were to bring in trunks and capcases and, already, the packing for the new marriage had begun. Ananda wasn't wasting any time. Of course, every woman wanted her daughter to be married and to marry well, but in this case, Ananda had lost hope over the past few days due to Beckett's demise, so the missive from her husband that another husband for their daughter was on the horizon had the woman worked up into a frenzy.

Diara simply let her mother run with it.

In truth, she was still too stunned to get involved with her own future. She didn't feel like packing or talking about wedding plans. She'd always assumed that she would live with her husband once they were married, which meant they would be returning to Selbourne Castle, a place she'd never been. She had prepared herself for that. But now, she had no idea where she would be living, only that she would no longer be living at Cicadia. When she had been introduced to Beckett, it had been at his father's castle near Gloucester, so she had to assume that was where she was going to be living from now on. A chatelaine of her own castle. Not just any castle, but a de Lohr marcher castle. That was a massive responsibility.

She wasn't entirely sure she was mentally prepared for it.

Certainly, Diara had been trained to run a household just like every other noble daughter in England. That was simply part of their education. She knew how to manage a kitchen, purchase supplies, manage money, manage the servants, and every other task that was normally performed in a noble household. Chatelaines had to know the jobs of every person they supervised, and she knew how to do just about everything. Her training at Carisbrooke had been, if nothing else, complete and thorough. Lady de Redvers was a taskmaster when it came to training her young charges, so in spite of whatever gossip there happened to be flying around, all of that was pushed aside when training was in session.

Now, all of that education was about to be put to the test.

Diara turned to watch her mother as the woman had her trunks neatly lined up so that the packing could begin. Ananda did not seem to have any concerns at all about her daughter becoming the chatelaine for a major castle on the Welsh marches. Either she was so happy to get rid of her daughter that the thought hadn't crossed her mind, or she simply had faith that Diara could effectively accomplish the task. All of that fine training in a fine household was about to pay off.

Her daughter was marrying a de Lohr son.

Still trying to reconcile herself to her impending future, Diara returned her attention to the bailey. She was rather young to be married to a seasoned knight, at least one as old as Beckett's father, because a man like that needed an equally seasoned wife. A man like that had royal connections, and he had seen much in life, so she could only imagine what he must have been thinking about marrying a woman so young, hardly out of fostering herself.

She suspected how it all came about.

Diara knew her father had gone to Lioncross Abbey to demand a new husband to replace the one that had passed away, but she never imagined he would demand the father of her former betrothed. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Robin must have gone straight to the Earl of Hereford and pitched such a fit that the man had no choice but to give him what he wanted. She could just hear her father demanding one of the earl's own sons to fulfill the contract. She supposed it made the most sense that Beckett's father, whom she knew was widowed, should be the chosen one.

She could only imagine what a nuisance her father must have made of himself.

Diara was certain that did not bode well for her. Already, her soon-to-be husband was probably greatly aggravated by her cantankerous father, so she could only pray that annoyance didn't cross over to her. The poor man had just lost his son, and now he'd been forced into a marriage that she was quite certain he did not want. She didn't know who she felt sorrier for—her or him.

The afternoon passed as Diara continued to sit near the window and pondered her future. Her mother continued to busy herself by packing her daughter's trunks, grateful for the fact that Diara wasn't participating because she preferred to do everything herself. That suited Diara just fine, and she remained in the window, watching the bailey, rather pleased that Iris hadn't joined her in her vigil. Her cousin was down in the kitchens today, helping supervise the baking. Ananda insisted that the young women under her charge, including her husband's niece, actively participate in the management of Cicadia, which was rather interesting considering the woman was one of those people who always liked to be in control of everything.

But she also didn't like lazy young women.

The long and moody afternoon passed into evening. Most of Diara's trunks were packed, and her mother was doing inventory on her collection of combs, scarves, and products like cream for the skin and perfume that she felt would be alluring enough for a new husband. Iris had joined them near sunset, when her chores were mostly done and before the evening meal commenced, and she mercifully sat in silence once the situation had been explained to her. None of the usual questions or pestering, probably because she could see the expression on Diara's face and realized this was not the time for her usual interrogation. Therefore, they sat quietly while Ananda virtually ignored them so she could finish her tasks.

Then came a knock on the door.

"Who comes?" Ananda called.

"Eddard, my lady."

Ananda waved her hand at one of the servants, who went to open the panel. Eddard stood there, the knight Diara often accused of never bathing, a hairy young knight who seemed to wear the same clothing for weeks at a time and sometimes looked, and smelled, as if he lived in a hole in the ground. He focused on Ananda.

"A contingent is approaching, Lady Cheltenham," he said. "It is Lord Cheltenham, accompanied by a rather large escort of de Lohr soldiers. Mathis and Pryce have ridden out to meet them."

Ananda clapped her hands together. "Excellent," she said, swishing her hand in his direction. "Go, now. Prepare for my husband's return, and he has a very special guest with him. You will show Sir Richard de Lohr all proper respect."

Eddard hadn't known who was approaching with Lord Cheltenham, but considering he'd gone off to Lioncross Abbey to discuss the death of de Lohr's son, the fact that Richard de Lohr was coming to Cicadia made some sense. With a swift bow, he rushed back down the stairs, leaving Ananda in a state.

"Pack up these trunks," she snapped to the servants. "Leave the blue silk hanging on the peg. That is what my daughter shall wear for her wedding day. Diara! Come here, quickly!"

Diara sighed heavily and, with a long look at Iris, begrudgingly stood up and went to her mother. She'd barely reached the woman when Ananda was reaching out to pull the clothing from her body.

"You shall wear the pink brocade," she said, spinning her daughter around so she could get to the ties on her back. "Pink is such an alluring color on you."

Diara was being buffeted back and forth by her mother's hurried attentions. "It is an ingenuous color," she said. "I do not like it. I would rather wear the sapphire wool or even the red silk."

Ananda glared at her. " I will tell you what to wear for your betrothed," she said. "He must see you as fragile and beautiful. Show a man a delicate flower, and I will show you a woman he wishes to protect. Let him be glad for this betrothal."

"Dress me in pink and I will look like a child."

"Shut your lips and do as I say."

Diara rolled her eyes as Ananda continued to strip her down, calling for rosewater to wash with. Diara simply stood there, shaking her head at her mother's eagerness, until a servant came from the hall to ask about housing the incoming soldiers. That divided Ananda's attention until she could no longer handle both—dealing with the de Lohr soldiers as well as dressing her daughter. Leaving her daughter to the servants, she headed for the chamber door.

"Finish dressing and I shall see you down in Papa's solar," she said. "You and your betrothed should be introduced in private, not in the hall for all to see. Be demure and obedient when you meet him, Deedee. Do not chatter at him as you usually do."

Diara didn't have a chance to reply. Her mother had already flown from the chamber, slamming the door shut behind her.

"God's Bones," Iris muttered as she came over to stand with her cousin. "Aunt Ananda is in quite a state."

Diara's gaze lingered on the closed panel. "Aye, she is," she said. Then she turned around in time to put her hand out to stop the servant who was preparing the pink garment. "Not that one. Bring me the red silk. The one with the angel sleeves."

The servant hesitated fearfully for a moment, but quickly put the pink down and ran off to the wardrobe. What she returned with was an exquisite red dress that Diara had made last year without her mother's knowledge. She'd been given permission to engage the seamstress in town with the garment of her choice and fabric of her own choosing, and she chose a red silk that had been made into a body-hugging garment that was as obscene as it was gorgeous.

Ananda had forbidden her from wearing it.

Unfortunately, it had cost a small fortune to produce, so Ananda wouldn't dispose of it or give it away, either. It was a dress made for a queen, and Diara fingered it as Iris giggled in support of the rebellion. One servant put a featherweight linen shift over Diara's head while the other servant lifted the red dress. Diara shimmied her way into it as it fell gracefully down her body.

Standing in front of the polished bronze mirror, Diara watched the servants smooth out the dress. It had a modest neckline that was high on the chest, but open enough that it hung slightly off her shoulders. The sleeves were what was known as angel's sleeves, meaning they were long past her hands, belled out at the bottom. The bodice was cinched up just beneath her breasts, with crisscrossed red silk ribbons that the servants tightened up to give her a daringly small waist.

Meanwhile, Iris had picked up a comb and set about combing out Diara's blonde locks, which went to her buttocks. It had a natural curl to it, wavy and thick. She braided the front of her hair, pulling it back and securing it with a gold ribbon, while a circlet of gold and rubies went on her brow. The last item to go on was a big, heavy gold cross on a golden chain that had belonged to Diara's grandmother. It was a spectacular piece against the backdrop of the red silk. Truth be told, nothing could compare with Diara in that red dress, for she outshone any woman in England when she wore it. The trouble was that her mother would never let her wear it.

But perhaps her new husband would.

She wanted to look like a bride fit for the son of the greatest warlord in England.

"Well?" she said when everyone was finished fussing over her. "Do I look like a bride that a man might be proud of?"

Iris nodded with approval. "Aunt Ananda will be furious, but you look like a goddess," she said. "If Aunt Ananda becomes angry and makes you give the dress away, can I have it?"

Diara giggled at her bold cousin. "Nay," she said flatly. "I will burn it before I give it away, so be ready to light the fire when I give the word."

"I will steal that dress before you can get it near a flame."

Diara started laughing, twirling in the dress as one of the servants brought over the perfume that Ananda had been picking through. She settled on an oil that smelled strongly of roses, putting it on every bit of exposed skin and rubbing it in. After that, she simply stood there and looked at herself, wondering if she was truly brave enough for the change her life was taking.

Ready or not, it was upon her.

"What is it?" Iris said, standing behind her, watching her. "What are you thinking?"

Diara shrugged, fingering the big gold cross at her chest. "After we received news that Beckett had been killed," she said, "do you remember the kind of husband I told you I wanted?"

Iris thought on that. "You said you wanted a man, not a boy."

Diara nodded. "It seems that I am to get my wish," she said. "I met Sir Richard when I was introduced to Beckett, but I do not remember much about him other than he was a very big man."

"Are you afraid?"

"Not afraid. But a little nervous. What if he does not like me?"

Iris turned her around to face her. "He will love you," she insisted quietly. "Be yourself. Do not listen to your mother and be demure and obedient. You've managed to charm nearly every man you've ever met, Deedee. Now you must charm the only man that counts—the man you are to marry."

Diara nodded as if trying to convince herself of the very same thing. "I remember Beckett telling me that his mother had been dead for many years," she said. "Sir Richard has not married in all that time. If he had wanted a wife, I am sure he would have."

"Whether or not he wants a wife is not of issue," Iris said. "He has you now."

"I am certain my father bullied him into it."

"You do not know that. You cannot assume the worst."

That was true. Iris was wise when she wanted to be. Diara took one last look at herself in the mirror before squaring her shoulders.

"Then I will go down to the solar and meet the man I am to marry," she said. "I can only hope he will be pleased."

"Should I come?"

"If my mother is furious about the dress, then she will be even more furious if you go where you are not wanted," Diara said. "Retreat to the hall and wait for me there. Please."

Iris nodded, walking Diara to the door but going no further. The last vision she had was of that deep red dress heading down the stairs. She couldn't help but think that Diara was walking as if going to her own execution—there was no joy in her movements. Only duty.

Only dread.

Iris found herself saying a little prayer.

Please, God. Let this betrothal be agreeable to them both.

*

Roi wasn't quite sure what he was seeing.

Having ridden hard from Lioncross Abbey for two days, he and Robin and one hundred de Lohr soldiers arrived at Cicadia Castle just after sunset on the second day. It was a dark night, but hundreds of torches lit up the grounds of the castle, illuminating everything in a festive sort of way.

Cicadia was prepared to greet her returning liege in style.

Roi was weary from the ride, not paying much attention to his surroundings as he and Robin dismounted their horses, greeted by Robin's three knights, two of which had ridden out to escort them the last few miles to the castle. He knew all three of them, distantly, but he was understandably preoccupied. He was also thirsty, and hungry, and Robin led him into the keep with the promise of wine and some food before the evening meal was served.

Therefore, Roi entered Cheltenham's solar with the mood of an unhappy and weary man, removing his gloves and taking the time to look at the richly furnished chamber. He'd spent two days reminding himself that everything he saw would eventually become his, and what he saw did not disappoint him. Not even the wine that Robin gave him, which was quite good. So far, everything had been good. He liked what he saw and his mood was starting to lift, just a little.

Then a woman entered the chamber.

That was when he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. An exquisite creature with long blonde hair floated into the room, wearing a dress of red silk that emphasized a figure the curves of which Roi had never seen before. She evidently hadn't known her father was in the chamber, along with his guest, and she quickly dropped into a low curtsy. Roi had no idea who she was until Robin extended his hand to pull her to her feet.

"My lord," he said to Roi. "You remember my daughter, do you not? This is Lady Diara, my daughter. Diara, this is Sir Richard de Lohr, Beckett's father. You have met him once before, at his home of Pembridge Castle. He has come to Cicadia because he has graciously agreed to fulfill the marriage contract and marry you in the place of his son."

Diara dropped into a curtsy again before their eyes even met. "My lord," she said. "You honor us with your presence. Welcome to Cicadia."

Now, Roi was starting to realize what he was seeing. His bride. The truth was that he didn't remember Diara le Bec looking like this. He wouldn't have been able to pick her up out of a crowd. Somehow, in the past year or so, the lady had grown up and matured into magnificence he'd never seen in his entire life. And her voice… soft, gentle, soothing. He could have listened to her all day.

Stunned, he set his cup down.

"This is your daughter?" he said to Robin. " This is Diara?"

Robin nodded proudly. "This is."

Roi looked between Robin and Diara, clearly baffled. "This is the same young woman you brought to Pembridge last year?"

"The same," Robin said, though he was starting to think that something was wrong. "Why? What is amiss that you should ask that question?"

Roi shook his head. "Nothing is amiss," he said, his focus fully on Diara. "I was simply… I will admit that I did not remember her well because she spent all of her time with Beckett, but this glorious young woman is not whom I remember. My lady, you honor me."

Robin was back to beaming, looking at his daughter, who smiled timidly at the compliment. "I should like to, my lord, very much," she said. "But before we speak further, I should like to extend my condolences on Beckett's passing. I was so very sorry to hear of his loss. I was wondering… mayhap it is too much to ask, but I was wondering if it would be appropriate for me to attend his funeral. I should like to pay my respects to him and to your family, if I should be permitted."

Roi stood there a moment, rubbing his hands together, unsure how to respond to her very polite request. He realized he was stunned rather speechless by the whole thing, but there was something he knew for certain—he wanted to speak with her without her father hanging over them. He had a feeling their conversation would be stilted and superficial with Robin around because he had, from the beginning, gripped the reins of control tightly in this situation. He'd worked very hard to manipulate everyone into doing what he wanted them to do, Roi included.

He finally turned to Robin.

"Would you permit your daughter and I to have a few moments alone?" he asked. "I swear upon my oath I shall not take any liberties that I am not yet legally entitled to take. I simply wish to speak with her, if I may. I believe that is my right."

Robin nodded quickly, before the words were even out of Roi's mouth. "Of course," he said. "I will leave you, but I shall remain right outside the door. Summon me when you are finished."

With that, he darted out of the chamber, shutting the door behind him. Roi waited until he was gone before returning his attention to Diara. There were two big chairs before the hearth, which was burning weakly with a flickering flame, and he indicated the cushioned seats upon the elaborate wood frames.

"Will you sit and be comfortable, my lady?" he said. "I am sorry if my request was bold, but given these peculiar circumstances, it is probably best that we have some time to speak alone."

Diara quickly moved to one of the chairs, perching on the end of it and sitting straight because she didn't want to wrinkle the silk by sitting back. Roi took the other chair, finally lifting his head to look at her.

He couldn't seem to stop staring at her.

"It was not bold, my lord," she said. "I am glad you asked. Otherwise, my father might not allow me to get a word in."

"I was afraid of that."

"Then you know him well."

"Unfortunately."

He saw her fight off a smile, an utterly charming gesture, and it bolstered his courage. Oddly enough, he felt as if he'd never been alone with a woman in his life, and it was a struggle not to laugh at himself for it. Sitting with this magnificent creature made him feel the least bit giddy.

"I am not sure how to start, so forgive me if I am tactless," he said. "Do you know why your father went to Lioncross Abbey?"

Diara could see that he was nervous. Perhaps even on edge. He'd done nothing but stare at her with big blue eyes since she entered the chamber, so she was starting to feel uneasy. She sensed that perhaps her appearance did not impress him. In fact, she thought that he may have wanted to tell her that he wanted nothing to do with this marriage and simply couldn't. She knew very well why her father had gone to Lioncross.

There was no use playing stupid.

"I am very sorry, my lord," she said, sounding deeply sincere. "He told me he was going there to offer his condolences on Beckett's loss, but I know he did more than that."

"You do?"

"Aye." She nodded. "He wanted the marriage with Beckett badly, you see. My mother could never have more children, so he was stuck with a daughter when he desperately wanted a son. I am very sorry if he went to Lioncross and forced you into assuming your son's place. It was a terrible thing for him to do, so please know that I had nothing to do with it. I did not tell him to go."

Roi could see how distressed she was by it, but even in her distress, he was so fascinated by her that he could hardly think straight. But he was coming to suspect that this marriage wasn't something she wanted, either. He had to admit that he was disappointed. Now that she'd seen him, she didn't want an old man for a husband.

He didn't blame her.

"Of course you didn't," he said quietly. "You are a beautiful young woman and it is only right that you should like a strong, young husband. Truly, I did not mean to offend you by offering to marry you in my son's stead. That was never my intent. But your father was quite insistent that he either be given a de Lohr husband for you or that your dowry be returned. I thought offering to marry you in place of my son was the more honorable thing to do, but now I see that it was wrong. You have my apologies."

Diara, whose clasped hands had been fidgeting in her lap, suddenly stopped and looked at him curiously. "You… you offered, my lord?"

Roi nodded. "I did," he said. "But I can simply give him back your dowry and you can find a husband more to your liking."

Diara blinked, puzzled by the conversation. "That is not what I meant, my lord," she said, hastening to reassure him. "I am sorry if you thought I did not… that's not what I meant at all. I was simply apologizing that you felt you had to placate my father by offering yourself. Surely you do not want to marry me."

"Surely you do not want to marry me ."

"Not if you do not want to marry me."

Roi's eyebrows lifted. Then he started chuckling, rubbing a hand over his cheek and mouth. "I think we are going in circles," he said. "Do you want to marry me, my lady?"

"If you want me to. But only if you truly want me to."

More circles. Roi suspected she was going to defer to him in all things and leave the decision up to him, so he put up a hand to ease her. "Let us proceed in another way," he said. "May I?"

She nodded eagerly. "I wish you would, my lord."

"Then I suggest that we take this evening to get to know one another," he said. "This is all very new and mayhap even shocking to the both of us, so I think we should take a little time before we make a life-changing decision. If, at the end of the evening, you decide that I would not make a good husband to you, you simply need say so and I shall return your dowry and your father can find you a husband more to your liking. Is that satisfactory?"

Diara seriously thought on that. It was a shockingly generous offer, considering what a marriage to her would bring to him. But he was giving her some choice in the matter, something she was quite touched by. No one, not even her father, had ever given her a choice at all when it came to her own life.

But Beckett's father had.

She had to admit that, in her eyes, that was just the least bit endearing.

"It is," she said. "But I must say the same thing to you. If, by the end of the evening, you decide you would not like to have me as your wife, you simply need tell me. I will not be offended. But I do ask that you be honest with me, my lord, as I will be honest with you."

"I can ask for no better request."

Diara smiled hesitantly. "Good," she said. "When I came to visit Pembridge last year, I did not have the chance to speak to you, so I look forward to the opportunity."

"As do I," Roi said. "But the last time we met, you did what you were supposed to do, which was spend time with Beckett. He had good things to say about you."

"That is kind," Diara said. "I found him polite and full of dreams of adventure."

"I think most young men his age have those dreams."

"Did you?"

Roi was feeling a little more relaxed with her as he settled back in his chair. "Certainly," he said. "Though I cannot tell you exactly what they were. I'm sure I had dreams of battling the French, of killing in the name of the king, of being much decorated, like the gladiators of Ancient Rome."

Diara's smile grew. "Did you wear a wreath of laurel leaves after your first battle?"

Roi laughed softly at the cute question. "I did not even think of it," he said. "But if I had, I'm sure I would have. Now I feel as if I have missed something."

Diara laughed because he was. It was a surprisingly pleasant moment in a conversation where neither one of them was sure there would be such a thing.

It was encouraging.

"Then mayhap after the next battle, I can make you a wreath of holly and plant it right atop your head," she said with an accompanying gesture. "That would make a bright display."

He winced. "And a painful one," he said. "Can we not find a better leaf than holly?"

"Oak, but that can be quite dirty."

"True."

"I could always weave a garland of roses, but that might not suit you too well."

He rolled his eyes. "Thankfully," he said. "I am not entirely sure I could show my face wearing a garland of roses. But if you made it, I would wear it."

She smiled, displaying a big dimple in her right cheek. "Ah," she said. "A man who knows his obligation. If a woman makes it, he wears it. No matter if he likes it or not."

Roi was grinning, swept up in her obvious charm. "Only a fool would not do as a woman asks," he said. "I learned that many years ago."

Diara was smiling openly at him. "And you have carried that knowledge into your adult years."

"Indeed," he said. "Beckett's mother taught me that, in fact. If a man wishes to make his wife happy, then he does as she asks. Truly, it is not difficult, though some men are simply stubborn. But they all learn in the end."

Diara chuckled. "My father still has not learned," she said. "If he feels like obeying my mother, he will do it, but mostly, he insists she obey him in all things."

Roi's smile faded. "I think your father insists that most people obey him in all things."

He was referring to the marriage contract and the commotion he'd caused. Diara knew that, and her smile faded.

"Will you tell me truthfully, my lord?" she asked quietly. "Was he terrible to you? If he was, I cannot apologize enough."

Roi thought her concern to be quite sweet. "Nay," he said softly. "He was not terrible. I suppose if I had a daughter I wished to marry to a fine husband, I might have behaved the same way."

Diara shook her head in regret of her father's behavior. "But he should have waited," she said. "You have only just lost your son. It was too much of him to expect you to fulfill your son's obligations."

Roi shrugged, propping his right foot onto his left knee and brushing the dirt off the heel. "It is done," he said. "I was the most logical choice, so let us speak no more about it, shall we? I do not want you to think your father tied me to a pole and beat me until I agreed."

Diara burst out in soft laughter. "If you must know, that was what I envisioned," she said. "I had this image of my father, who is half your size, wrestling you to a pole and taking a switch to you. Do you mean to tell me that did not happen?"

Roi was back to grinning. "It did not," he said. "But I had some help in resisting him, to be honest."

"Who?"

"My elderly father, for one."

Diara was still laughing. "I have heard tale of Christopher de Lohr," she said. "Elderly or not, I am certain he could take on an army all by himself and still emerge the victor. Men like him are made of legends."

Roi appreciated her respect for his father. "They are, indeed," he said. "And where did you hear tale of him?"

"I fostered at Carisbrooke Castle," she said. "The House of de Redvers is always in the middle of whatever is transpiring in England. There is not much I haven't heard through them."

Roi's eyebrows lifted. "Did you get on well with the family?"

Diara hesitated. In case Roi happened to be friends with the House of de Redvers, she didn't want to disparage them, even though she had enough reason to do so. But she forced a smile.

"Lady de Redvers was a great teacher," she said as neutrally as she could. "I spent several years there. I do like Devon."

"The House of de Winter has property near Carisbrooke. Do you know them?"

She nodded. "I do, my lord."

He held up a hand to give her pause. "Wait," he said. "Before we continue, I would consider it a favor if you would not address me so formally. In private like this, I would be honored if you would call me Roi."

An expression of warmth flickered across her face. "I would be honored," she said. "But… I thought your name was Richard?"

He nodded. "It is," he said. "I was named after my godfather, King Richard. When I was young, I was even called Richie, but somewhere around my eighth year, a family friend called me petit Roi Richard , and from that moment forward, everyone addressed me as Roi."

She nodded in understanding. "Roi," she repeated in that soft, soothing tone he found so alluring. "I like that. I would be greatly honored if you would call me Diara."

"Your father called you Deedee."

She grinned. "Like you, I inherited a childhood sobriquet."

"What do you prefer?"

"Whatever you choose," she said. "I will answer to either."

He smiled because she was, but there was something more to it. As he gazed at her, he could feel the warmth from those eyes. They were the color of periwinkle, as he remembered, but he hadn't remembered them being so magnetic. As if he couldn't look away from her. That giddy feeling he'd been experiencing was only getting worse, which was quite surprising, considering the last time he'd felt giddy was probably back when he was courting Odette. He couldn't decide whether it was thrilling or foolish.

He settled on just a little bit thrilling.

"Then I shall decide how to address you depending on the situation," he said. "And thank you for giving me permission."

"It is my pleasure, my lord. I mean… Roi."

He laughed softly, and she joined him. In a private meeting that could have turned out so badly, they had found common ground and a surprising bit of honesty. Roi had to admit that the conversation—and Diara—had been nothing as he had expected. Frankly, he was flabbergasted by the whole thing, but not in a bad way.

In a way that gave him hope.

"I'm assuming your mother has a grand feast planned for this evening," he said. "I'm further assuming that your father is on the other side of that door, his ear pressed against it, wondering what we're speaking of. Now that we have briefly spoken, it would be kind to let him in."

"Must we?"

Roi snorted. "Of course not," he said. "If you do not wish it, then he can remain out there as long as you desire."

"Good," she said, suddenly looking around the chamber. "But I do not see any wine. I would pour you some because you must be weary from your journey."

"I am, a little."

She rose from her chair. "Then I am afraid we must open the door to allow the refreshments in," she said. "I do not wish for you to suffer."

She was standing in front of him in that glorious red dress, and Roi had a difficult time not looking at what was straight in front of him. He struggled to look her in the eye.

"Trust me when I tell you that I am not suffering," he said. "But opening the door to let the servants bring food and drink would not be unacceptable."

Diara scurried over to the door, putting her hand on the latch. But she didn't open it right away. Instead, she paused and looked at him.

"You said earlier that we should take this evening and decide if we truly want to enter into this marriage," she said. "I… I do not think I need all evening to decide."

His eyes glimmered faintly. "Nor do I."

"I have decided that I am agreeable if you are."

"I decided that the moment you walked into the chamber."

With a smile that set Roi's heart to thumping, Diara opened the door to an impatient father.