Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

"W ell done, my lady," Roi said, lips twitching with a smile. "Where did you learn to shoot with such skill?"

Diara still had the bow in her hand. "Contrary to popular belief, I wasn't only taught domestic things that are expected of women," she said coyly. "Carisbrooke was a wealth of learning opportunities, and archery was one of them."

"I can see that."

"If you need me upon the battlements the next time the barbarians attack, I am at your disposal."

Roi laughed softly, reaching out to take a bow from Eddard. It was a warm afternoon, two days after his arrival to Cicadia, and he was finding out just what kind of woman he was about to marry. He and Diara had spent nearly every moment together since he arrived, and the archery competition was the latest event in days that had been full of such things.

And he'd enjoyed every single minute of it.

In fact, he couldn't remember when he'd enjoyed anything more.

"I will take that into consideration the next time I need archers in battle," he said, selecting an arrow as stable servants removed the arrows from the targets several dozen yards away. "Not to slander your skill, I will say that hitting a moving target is slightly different than hitting a bale of hay."

Big targets had been raised against the castle wall near the stables as Diara, Roi, Iris, and Pryce competed for the title of Supreme Archer. Or Queen of the Archers, as Diara so charmingly put it, because she was convinced that she was going to win. Truth be told, Roi was happy to let her because he very quickly realized that he loved to hear her laugh, and she did a lot of it. She was a smooth-talking, sweet flatterer and brilliant conversationalist, something he'd never before seen from a woman.

But it wasn't just with him.

She teased and laughed with her cousin. She did it marginally with Pryce, who mostly stiffened up and seemed nervous when she did it. She called out to the servant moving the hay bales around, taunting him without making it seem mean-spirited. She even talked to the dogs that would wander into their range. As Roi was coming to see, she was just a very friendly person, and a happy one as well.

But he remembered what Westley had told him.

She is evidently quite… friendly.

Absolutely, he could see that she was. It simply seemed to be her personality, and it was clear at Cicadia that she was well loved. He'd spent two evenings with her, chatting nonstop during supper, and never once did her banter suggest anything inappropriate. No ribald comments, no sexual innuendos. Nothing. She was, quite simply, the most charming woman he'd ever met, and he couldn't believe Beckett had never mentioned it. His son had only spoken of her in passing, and only rarely, and he'd never mentioned what an enchanting creature she was, which Roi found odd. But not so odd, considering Beckett hadn't wanted to marry at all.

Aye, Roi knew that.

He'd ignored it, however. No young man wanted to marry at an early age, and Beckett had been no exception. There was a whole world out there, as Beckett had put it, that he wanted to see. He wanted to see and experience everything he could. There was no crime in that. But the reality of a wife didn't sit well with him, so in a sense, Roi didn't blame the lad for not speaking favorably of a wife he never wanted.

But, God's Bones… what his son had missed out on.

As he was pondering the situation and the woman a few feet in front of him, he suddenly realized that servants were gripping the hay bales, moving them from side to side. He came to stand next to Diara as she tightened up the string of the bow.

"What, pray, is happening with the targets?" he asked, fairly close to her ear. "Have you decided to use men instead of hay?"

Smiling, Diara looked over her shoulder at him. "You said that hitting a moving target is quite different," she said. "I will prove to you that I can hit a moving target."

He fought off a grin. "What shall I do if you hit one of those men?"

"Give him a proper burial."

He lowered his head, laughing low in his throat. "Mayhap you should not hit him and save me the expense."

"I will try. But no promises."

He continued to laugh. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, my lady," he said. "Look at those men—they are positively terrified."

She stopped fussing with the bowstring. "They must show courage," she said, selecting her arrow and lining it up. "I do not mean to be rude, but do not speak to me while I am trying not to hit those men. If I do, it will be your fault."

Smirking, Roi backed away, and after a couple of seconds, Diara let the quill fly. It sailed straight into the center of the hay bale, even though it was moving back and forth, and the men who had been witnessing the competition from the wall above erupted in cheers. Beaming, Diara turned to Roi.

"Well?" she said. "What do you have to say to that?"

He clapped lazily, still smiling at her. "I say that my betrothed is the most skilled, the most brilliant, and the most beautiful woman in all of England," he said. "I say that I am a very fortunate man."

The big grin on her face turned to one of genuine warmth, and he could see her cheeks growing pink.

"Do you really?" she said, sounding as if she didn't believe him. "Or are you simply saying that because I bested you?"

Eyes riveted to hers, he reached out and took the bow from her. "I most assuredly mean it," he said softly. "I do not say anything I do not mean. You are the most skilled, brilliant, and beautiful woman I have ever had the honor to meet."

Diara let him take the bow. She was so pleased by his kind words that she was feeling a little flushed. And the way he looked at her… sweet Jesus, the man had a gaze that could cut through steel. She felt as if he was looking right down into her heart, for if he really could, he would see just what these past two days had meant to her.

Everything .

They had meant everything.

"You flatter me, my lord," she finally said, lowering her lashes. "I do not know what to say."

"Say that you are pleased with this betrothal."

She lifted her gaze. "I am very pleased," she said. "Do you not know that?"

Roi's gaze never left her face as he held out the bow for someone to take from him. When Pryce reached out to grasp it, fully aware that Roi couldn't take his eyes of Diara, Roi simply held out an elbow to her.

"Walk with me," he said quietly.

Diara latched on to his arm with both hands, and the two of them headed off toward the center of the bailey, where they could have some privacy. At this time of day, it was the least crowded part of the yard. Leaving Pryce and Iris to pick up the bows and arrows from their game, they wandered in the direction of the kitchen yard. Diara clung to Roi's big arm, feeling the strength and firmness beneath her grip. On the wall overhead, she could see Mathis near the gatehouse, watching them.

She knew why.

Truthfully, she was surprised he hadn't tried to interfere over the past couple of days. Mathis had been offering for her hand since before she went away to foster, but her father had turned him down repeatedly. Mathis was a friend and nothing more in her eyes, and he knew it, which made the situation worse for him. Diara could only imagine how difficult it must be for the man to watch her show affection to someone else, and there had been times in the past when he'd deterred or otherwise intimidated suitors that had come to call. But not with Roi; Mathis knew he couldn't get away with anything. The man would probably squash him like a bug.

But she wondered if Roi had sensed anything from the quiet, moody knight.

"Well?" she finally said. "Where shall we have the crowning ceremony?"

He looked at her. "What crowning ceremony?"

"Because I am the Queen of the Archers."

He chuckled. "I see," he said. "I suppose we can do it in the hall tonight. I will put you on a table and insist all worship at your feet."

"Including you?"

"Especially me."

Diara broke down into soft laughter, indicating she wasn't at all serious about the crowning. Well, not really. But it was fun to tease him.

"May I ask you a question, Roi?" she said.

"You do not have to ask permission to ask a question," he said. "Simply ask me. I will answer if I can."

"How long are you going to remain at Cicadia?" she asked. "And when you leave, will I go with you?"

Roi nodded. "Your father wishes for us to be married right away," he said. "Did he tell you that?"

Diara shrugged. "My mother has," she said. "Have you agreed?"

He glanced at her. "That is your decision."

"Why is it my decision?"

"Because I want to make sure this betrothal is agreeable to you," he said. "Why do you think I have been here for two days? I wanted us to come to know one another a little. I want us to be certain."

She came to a stop and looked at him. "I told you that I was certain the first night you were here," she said. "But if you feel you need more time to make your decision, then I will go along with whatever you wish."

He looked at her, his eyes glimmering. "And I told you that I was also agreeable on that first night," she said. "That has not changed."

"Then why do you feel we must wait?"

"I simply want to make sure you've not changed your mind."

"I haven't. Have you?"

He shook his head. "I shall say it again," he said. "I am the most fortunate man in the world. When you become my wife, I shall be the proudest one as well."

She smiled, once again flattered by his compliment. "I was wondering if we may speak on something," she said. "I know it may seem silly, but I have never been married before, and I was wondering what your expectations of me are. As your wife, I mean. Are there certain things you expect from me? Things you expect me to do? I see other married folk, like my parents, and I see how they are with each other. How each person has a role. I was wondering what you expect from us. From me."

She was rambling on a little, as if she didn't know, exactly, how to ask the question. But it was a legitimate question as far as he was concerned, and an astute one. The woman wanted to know what she was getting in to.

"That is a reasonable concern," he said. "But there is no simple answer. Being my wife will require all of the usual things—tending my home, tending to me. We've not discussed this, but I have two daughters. Did you know that?"

Diara nodded. "Beckett told me," she said. "Adalia and Dorian."

"That is correct."

"Are they fostering?"

"They were, but they returned home a couple of years ago," he said. "They had been fostering since they were young, and I simply wanted them home, with me. They live at Pembridge."

"Are they your chatelaines?"

Roi snorted. "Nay," he said. "Though they are involved in the management of the house at my mother's insistence. Dorian is fourteen years of age, and all she wants to do is tend to her horses. She has four of them. She cares nothing for managing a household, but my major-domo does require her to do chores. She must help manage the stores, and she hates every minute of it. Adalia, on the other hand, understands the duties more."

"How old is she?"

"She has seen seventeen years."

"Then she is a woman grown."

Roi half nodded, half shrugged. "Nearly," he said. "She is much more adept at doing things around the keep, but she has a terrible head for figures. I am constantly having to fix her sums. If there are ten onions in a bag, she'll count seven. She always has. But she has other talents."

"Is she betrothed?"

Roi shook his head. "She is not," he said. "Men terrify her. She is of an age where I must think about seeking her a husband, but every time I bring it up, she weeps. She says she would rather go to a convent."

"Is that a choice for her?"

"I suppose," he said. "But I am hoping she outgrows this fear. I do not think it is normal for a lass to feel that way."

"Mayhap she hasn't met the right man yet."

"Mayhap."

The conversation lagged a little, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Roi was aware he hadn't fully answered her question, so he reached out and took her hand. Holding it tightly, he began to walk again.

"As for you," he said. "I suppose my expectations would be that we always try to understand one another, that we always be kind to one another, and that we always be truthful. A marriage is nothing without truth."

Diara liked the feeling of her hand in his big, warm palm. It made her feel safe. "I will agree completely," she said. "Sometimes the truth is difficult, but it is better to know than to not know. Nothing solid can be built on a foundation of deceit and secrets."

"Very wise," he said, smiling at her. "Who taught you such things?"

"I had to learn for myself."

"Where?"

They were on to something she really didn't want to talk about. She wasn't sure how they got here, but she'd opened the door when she made her comment— I had to learn for myself. She supposed that she should tell him before someone else did. The man traveled in the first social circle and knew many warlords, including de Redvers. He hadn't been oblivious to what his wife and daughters did to Diara, so she thought that perhaps it was time for a little of the truth she just spoke of and hope she didn't offend him.

"You mentioned that you knew the House of de Redvers?" she said.

He nodded. "Of course."

"Do you know the family well?"

"Well enough."

"What do you think of them?" she said. "Are you a good friend?"

At this point, they'd reached the kitchen yard. There were a few goats and chickens scattered about, and servants as they moved about on the course of their duties. Coming to the gate, Roi paused again and faced her.

"I'm assuming you're asking for a reason."

"Aye."

"You fostered at Carisbrooke," he said. "Are you a good friend of Lady de Redvers?"

She hesitated a moment before slowly shaking her head. "Nay," she said. "She did not like me very much."

He scratched his head, clearing his throat as if he wanted to say a good deal, but instead, he was searching for the right words.

"I had wondered," he muttered. "Aye, I know them well. Am I a good friend? Nobody is good friends with Richard de Redvers and his wife… She's respected, but not well liked. She is a shrew of a woman, from what I've seen."

Diara felt a great deal of relief with that statement. It would be easier to be honest with him about her time at Carisbrooke now. "I would never disparage them because they taught me a great deal," she said. "But you should know that Lady de Redvers and her daughters were not very nice to me. If we are speaking truthfully, they were horrible to me. It wasn't bad in the beginning, when I first went to foster when I was about twelve, but as I grew into womanhood, they became quite… unkind."

Roi wasn't without sympathy. "How so?"

Diara showed some reluctance. "I do not wish to complain."

"You are not complaining by telling me the facts."

"I do not wish for you to think I am a gossip, or worse."

"By speaking of your experience at Carisbrooke? I would not think that."

She took a deep breath. "The daughters did not like me because the pages and squires would pay attention to me and not to them," she said. "I do not ignore people. I like to talk to them because I find people interesting, but there was a squire that one of the daughters was sweet on, and he did not like her. He would only talk to me."

Roi nodded in understanding. "And that is when the trouble started."

"Aye," Diara said timidly. "They told the other wards not to speak to me, and soon, none of the women would. The only people I had to talk to were the other pages and squires, and even some of the knights, because the women shunned me. Lady de Redvers would punish me for what she considered inappropriate behavior, all because the only friends I had were the boys around me. It only grew worse as I got older, and finally, I had to beg my father to let me come home. The other woman had resorted to stealing my things and cutting my hair while I slept. I am telling you this not to complain, as I said, but should you ever encounter Lord de Redvers and his wife, and they only have terrible things to say about me, I want you to know the truth. You can ask any of the men or boys at Carisbrooke about me and they will bear witness that I was never immoral or sinful. They will tell you that I was quite persecuted."

There was not one part of that rather painful statement that Roi didn't believe implicitly. He knew the de Redvers. He knew that they were petty and ambitious. The House of de Lohr didn't have a close relationship with them, but the House of de Winter did, and de Winter was a great friend to Hereford. Roi had been in the politics of England too many years not to know of the disdain most had for the de Redvers. Diara's story was probably one of many emerging from Carisbrooke, stories of poor treatment and shame. He felt a great deal of pity for her.

"I would never believe what they told me, even if I did not know you," he said. "But you should know that before I came to Cheltenham, I was told that you had something of a reputation for being… friendly."

As he watched, her eyes filled with tears. "I am so very sorry," she said. "I know those rumors have been going around, but I did not know you had heard them. I swear to you on all that is holy that they are not true. I've never let a man touch me, and I swear upon my very life that I have never even been kissed. I would never let a man I was not betrothed or married to do such a thing."

The tears were falling, and he grasped her hands, holding them against his chest. "Listen to me," he said softly as she sniffled. "I know they are not true. I am a good judge of character because, quite often, my life depends on it, and I can tell that you are a woman of good and noble character. You are sweet and friendly, and that can rouse jealousy in the hearts of those who are not. They wish they were like you. They envy your spirit and your beauty. Those are the people who have started those rumors, without merit, and I do not believe any of it. Please do not weep. I will defend your honor to the death, my lady, I promise."

That only made her weep harder. "No one has ever said that to me," she said, pulling a hand free out of pure necessity and wiping the tears from her face. "Not even my father. He is ashamed of me."

"I am not. And I am the only one who matters."

She nodded, overcome by his support, and he smiled at her. Lifting the hand he still held, he kissed it sweetly, twice, before reaching out to smooth a few stray pieces of hair from her face.

"Stop your tears," he said gently. "There is no need. I will take care of everything from this point forward, and woe to the man or woman who repeats anything unsavory about you. They will have to deal with me."

She was trying to regain her composure. "Thank you," she said. "But I am very sorry my burden will become yours."

He kissed her hand again. "I'm not," he said. "My shoulders are very big for such burdens, in case you've not yet noticed."

She took a deep breath, stilling herself. "I've noticed," she said. "I've noticed everything about you, and it's all quite nice."

He smirked. "Thank you, my lady," he said. "I am flattered that you should take notice of an old knight like me."

She cocked her head at him, wiping the last of her tears away. "You are not old," she said. "You are ageless."

"I have bits of silver hair about my face."

"Those are merely bits of steel from your sword," she said. "When you fight in battle, the slivers fly off your blade and into your hair. They become part of you."

He laughed softly. "I like that," he said. "I shall tell everyone that from now on."

They smiled at each other for a few moments, joy and warmth filling the air between them. The past two days had seen such happiness overtake them, such giddy happiness, that it was difficult for others not to see it. If there was any question lingering that this betrothal was not agreeable to both of them, that had been summarily dashed.

It was more than agreeable.

"My lord!"

A shout came from the gatehouse, and they turned to see Eddard heading in their direction. He was moving at a swift pace, jogging intermittently, and Roi let go of Diara's hand for propriety's sake. They were betrothed, but he didn't need to be seen pawing her in public.

"What is it?" he called.

Eddard held up something in his hand, and as he drew closer, they could see it was a vellum envelope. He handed it to Roi, who looked at the seal.

"From my father," he said, casting Diara a quick glance as he broke the seal and unfolded it. After reading the message quickly, he folded it back up. "I must speak with your father."

He took Diara's hand, and they headed back to the keep.

*

"You will be married here, before you leave, if you want to take her with you."

Roi wasn't pleased with that response. "My son is not even in the ground yet," he said. "I do not intend to marry the woman he was betrothed to until he is properly buried. That is where I am going—back to Lioncross on the morrow to bury my son, and I would like to take Diara with me."

"Marry her first."

"Nay."

It was a standoff in Robin's solar. Roi had just received word from his father that Beckett had arrived at Lioncross and the family was preparing for his funeral. It would take Roi two days to return to Lioncross, and he didn't want to delay. He also didn't want to leave Diara behind, but he didn't want to marry her before he went. He didn't feel that was particularly appropriate when his son wasn't even properly buried yet. Everything had its order, and the order was to honor Beckett before he could take the woman who had been intended to be his wife.

But Robin didn't see his perspective. In fact, he was being quite mulish about the entire situation. He sat at the expensive table in his solar, wine in hand and a stubborn expression on his face.

"I will not permit my unwed daughter to travel with you to Lioncross Abbey," he said frankly. "What if you get there and decide not to marry her? How could you even think to compromise her like that when she is already… Well, it would be unthinkable."

Roi cocked an eyebrow. "When she is already what ?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were about to tell me that your daughter is already talked about in such ways, weren't you?"

Robin bolted out of his chair, instantly furious. "In what ways?" he demanded. "What are you saying?"

Roi didn't rise to the man's anger. "I am saying that you were not honest with me in the least when you were not forthcoming with the rumors regarding your daughter's reputation," he said. "Do not deny it, for it would be a lie. You never told me that the House of de Redvers spoke unkindly of her. I had to hear about it from someone else."

Robin was taken aback. "So that is why you feel it is appropriate for you to escort my unwed daughter to Lioncross?" he hissed. "Because her reputation is already compromised? It is a two-day trip. What were thinking of doing with her when night fell, de Lohr? Did you think it would be a simple thing to damage her because she is already spoken of in such a way?"

That unfounded accusation had Roi's dander up. "You have said many things over the past several weeks that have been slanderous and ugly," he said. "You have bullied and annoyed my father, you have bullied and annoyed me, and now you are accusing me of immoral intention. I am telling you now—one more word from you that even hints at insult or petulance and you'll not like my reaction."

Robin wasn't used to being challenged. He didn't like it when anyone fought back against his tirades, so he stiffened with rage. "You threaten me in my own home?"

Roi jabbed a finger at him. "I make you a promise," he said. "Any more of this bad behavior from you and I will tell my father to dissolve whatever alliance you may think you have with the entire de Lohr empire. We will no longer tolerate your childish tantrums, Robin. I am warning you."

Robin was angry, but not angry enough to fire back at him. He didn't want the de Lohr alliance removed, but he was coming to see that he couldn't control Roi. More and more, he was coming to realize that. The man would do as he pleased no matter what Robin wished for him to do, and that awareness made Robin's blood boil.

"No alliance, no marriage," he said, trembling because he was so angry. "If you are serious in your promise, then I will dissolve the betrothal at this very moment. I'll find a husband for my daughter who will bring me a strong alliance elsewhere."

Roi hadn't forgotten that Diara was standing back by the doorway, hearing all of this. Before another word was said that would see his betrothal broken, he took a deep breath. He found that he had more at stake than he thought he did.

He didn't want to lose Diara.

"See if you can understand my position, Robin," he said, struggling with his composure. "Think back to the days when you had some compassion and understanding. My son is in a wooden box at Lioncross Abbey, waiting for me to return so he can be buried. I do not want to marry Diara before I put him in his crypt because she was his betrothed before she was mine. It would be in extremely bad taste to marry her now and then show up to my son's funeral married to the woman that had once belonged to him. Furthermore, if I marry her now, my focus will not be on her. It will be on my son and the grief that is tearing at me. That is completely unfair to her. Can you understand that in the slightest?"

Robin was still in verbal battle mode. "It will make no difference to your son if you are married to her or not," he said. "Beckett is dead. He is not going to crawl out of his grave and berate you for marrying a woman he did not show much interest in marrying to begin with. It will not affect his ability to lie in that grave and rot."

That was all Roi could take. He took three steps and lashed out an enormous fist, catching Robin squarely in the face. The man fell backward, immediately unconscious, as the blood flowed from his mouth and nose. But Roi didn't even check to see how badly he'd hit him; he simply turned for the door, where Diara was standing with her hand over her mouth in shock. He marched right up to the panel and put his hand on the latch, pausing to look at her before he opened it.

"If that upset you, then I apologize," he said through clenched teeth. "But I will let no man speak to me so callously about the son I lost. He should be thankful you were in the chamber, or I would have done much worse."

With that, he yanked the door open and headed out of the keep. Diara, however, wasn't going to remain behind. She ran after him, catching him as he descended the stairs into the bailey.

"Wait!" she cried, rushing down the stairs. "Roi, please wait!"

He came to a halt at the bottom of the steps, turning as she came up behind him. Her eyes were wide with concern.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He took a deep breath, struggling to calm himself. "I am going to prepare my horse," he said. "I am also going to tell the de Lohr troops to prepare to leave immediately. I must return to Lioncross."

"May I go?" she said eagerly, putting her hand on his forearm. "Please? I should very much like to go with you."

He sighed. Looking into that anxious face, he was starting to feel some remorse for what he'd done. He knew it was the end of the betrothal, and he deeply regretted that.

"I do not think you should," he said. "I am certain that when your father awakens and realizes what happened, our betrothal will be no more."

"Why?" she said. "You did nothing to warrant such a thing."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? You just saw what happened."

She was very calm as she spoke. "I saw my father trip and hit his face on the edge of his table," she said evenly. "I saw you move to try to catch him, but he still injured himself. That is all I saw."

Roi's eyes widened. "You… you saw what ?"

She smiled at him. "I saw my father trip and fall," she repeated patiently. "Now, I am going to tell my mother that Iris and I will be going to Lioncross to attend Beckett's funeral. Iris will make a good chaperone, don't you think?"

"But your father did not give permission."

"He did," she said. "Before he hit his head. He simply will not remember."

With that, she winked at him and turned around, heading back up the steps and disappearing into the keep. It took Roi a full minute before he realized that he was standing there with a stupid grin on his face. Every hour, every minute, saw him learn more about this woman he was about to marry.

And positively loving it.