Chapter 10

This was turning into a more interesting and enjoyable interlude than Dante could have possibly imagined. To think he had been opposed to the plan! Without it he would likely be sitting in the squalid heat of London to await his summons from the Council, bored and restless, his thoughts dwelling impotently upon what awaited him in Venice. Instead he had this last chance to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine of the English countryside, with the distraction of a beautiful woman on his arm. A beautiful, willing woman, he corrected, as his gaze slid over her.

Avalene was busy putting everything back into the rucksack that he had unpacked, her movements elegant and economical, her attention focused completely on the task. He had never encountered a woman so beautiful who was so completely unaware of her looks. Nothing in her manner indicated that she thought herself out of the ordinary, and yet she was stunning, a treasure that had awaited his discovery. Last night he had staked his claim on that treasure.

Although their kisses were meant to be a distraction from her chilling discovery that she could sense his lies, the distraction worked in ways he hadn't intended. One taste of her emptied every rational thought in his head. It was not until she called him "Percival" that he finally came to his senses and realized she had neatly turned the tables. His clever ruse to drive her away by insulting her with accusations of seduction and then crudely suggesting an affair were also miscalculated, but he had hardly been thinking straight. He wanted her, and at the same time, he wanted to keep her safe. How could he protect her from himself?

The question no longer mattered. He had made a decision during the long night as he held her in his arms and watched her sleep, the beast inside him always plotting, always planning.

"Please, do not let me keep you from your meal," she said, pulling him from his thoughts. Her fingers worked at the ribbon that bound her braid. "I would like to comb and replait my hair before I join the others, if you do not mind?"

Mind seeing her hair unbound? He wouldn't miss this for the world. "I will wait."

She pursed her lips, but did not argue. He stretched out again on their makeshift bed and propped his hands behind his head, content to linger. He had never watched a woman comb out her hair. He was soon fascinated by the way her slender fingers loosened the plaits, the graceful sweep of her comb through the long, golden strands. Such a simple pleasure, an intimacy he had never known before he met Avalene. Just watching her made him feel relaxed and at ease in a way that no one else had ever managed. He felt like a different man when he was with her.

His sister complained that he tended to brood too much and view life too seriously, even though she was well aware of the reasons for his views. Brooding was the last thing on his mind when he was with Avalene. When she wasn't busy clouding his mind with lust she made him feel downright cheerful. He just couldn't quite pinpoint the reasons why.

"Let me plait your hair." Where had that idea come from?

She arched one brow. "Do you often plait ladies' hair?"

"Nay, but I would like to plait yours." He would like to feel the silky strands between his fingers, wrap it around his hands, let her hair—

"Another time, perhaps."

He couldn't believe she had refused him. What she saw in his face made her smile, the serene Madonna smile that always made him want to smile back at her.

"I can do this much faster than you can." She divided the locks into three strands, and then began to braid with practiced efficiency. "This is also the one thing I might be better at than you."

Why that innocent remark should send his thoughts in lewd directions was a mystery, but away they went. She was all softness and curves from the swell of her cheek to the shapely lines of her ankles. Her skin was so flawless and translucent that nearly every emotion could be gauged by her coloring; her moods ranged from wool white, to shell pink, to the deepest flush of scarlet. He was arrogant enough to be certain that he was the source of most of her blushes.

It was the tension between them that flustered her most and caused the most delightful reactions to even the smallest lures he sent her way. It didn't take him long to realize that she'd never been courted. Not in the innocent, acceptable ways that all young maidens were courted in every household the size of Coleway, and certainly not in more clandestine ways. Was that part or all of the reason she responded so readily to him now, because this was the first time she was made aware of a man's desire for her?

He felt a new emotion stir to life as his gaze moved over her. Possessiveness. Jealousy. Or a mixture of both. The feelings were so foreign to him that it was impossible to tell.

He watched her finish her braid and take the mirror out of her rucksack to examine her reflection. She looked up at him from beneath her sweep of lashes, found his gaze upon her, and blushed shell pink. No, those blushes belonged to him alone. She was his now, just as Mordecai had promised—his to do with as he pleased. The possibilities that came to mind were endless and all most pleasing. There were remarkable depths of passion locked beneath her cool exterior. He could not wait to wade deeper.

Mordecai had warned him of this lure, and perhaps the magician had even cast some love spell over them both to hurry along the inevitable. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that he would do just as Mordecai had suggested and take full advantage of this time with Avalene. He could pretend to be the gallant knight for a few more weeks. As long as she remained blind to the beast that lurked beneath his disguise, this could well be the most enjoyable journey of his lifetime. He only wished it could last a lifetime.

It was a childish wish, but a part of him yearned to be the man she thought him to be; she made him want to be worthy of her. Unfortunately, the die was set long ago and it was far too late to redeem himself. He was not an honorable knight. He was not worthy of her. When she learned the truth, this masquerade would be at an end.

He watched her bite her lower lip, stared helplessly as she let it slide out slowly from beneath her teeth, the thoughtful lip-bite rather than the nervous lip-bite, or the embarrassed lip-bite, or the I'm not going to laugh aloud lip-bite. He recognized the differences already.

It was just one of many small mannerisms that never failed to send a wave of desire through him. Sometimes it lapped at him like the warm, gentle pull of a tide. Other times it hit him with enough strength to take his breath away, like now. He had just kissed her. Could she still taste him on her lips?

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, worried by whatever she saw in his face.

"Nothing," he answered promptly. "What is wrong with the men at Coleway?"

She tilted her head to one side as if she were trying to listen to his thoughts, trying to read the meaning of his words in his eyes. "Pardon?"

"Why were you never courted?" It was a reasonable question. Nothing on earth would have stopped him from courting her had he been a respectable squire or knight at Coleway. Any male with a pulse had to feel the same. What force or threat had stopped them?

"I was courted!" she protested hotly, and then she bit her lower lip, mostly on the left side with her mouth twisted slightly to the right. It was the same lip-bite she had used on the day they left Coleway, the one he had noticed every time she told someone a lie about the reasons for their departure. Her expression turned defensive. "I had a few admirers."

"Yet I was the first to kiss you," he mused, trying to contain a smug smile. "Surely I am not the first who wanted to kiss you."

She mumbled something under her breath, and her face became almost as red as her gown. Interesting.

"I'm sorry, I could not hear what you said."

She looked up at him and he was surprised to see the threat of tears in her eyes, the shimmering surface of a blue lake. She spoke each word very carefully. "You are the first."

Did she think he did not believe her? Granted, she had a natural talent for kissing, but he had recognized her innocence soon enough. As soon as he had quashed the irrational jealousy that someone else might have kissed her first. He tried to keep his voice gentle. "I just said as much."

She twisted her hands in her lap and would not look at him. "No, I meant that you are the first to kiss me as well as the first who wanted to kiss me."

Gesù , she actually believed what she was saying. "You expect me to believe that no other man or boy ever tried to steal a kiss from you? Or lingered in your presence for the sheer pleasure of your company?"

"I am not trying to make you believe anything," she said, her voice curt now. "I am telling you the truth. Apparently I have a tendency to speak my mind too freely, and most men do not like to keep company with opinionated women."

"Who told you that nonsense?" He was already sure of the answer, but she actually had to consider the question for a few moments.

"John, I suppose." She lifted her shoulders and her lips turned upward at a forced angle, as if she were practicing how to laugh with people who made fun of her rather than let anyone know how much it hurt her to be laughed at. "My failed courtships were always a source of great amusement to him."

They were not a source of any amusement to Dante. He wondered if he would have time to return to Coleway before they set sail for Venice. He would very much like to show the steward his idea of amusement. "Did you ever consider that John was behind those failures, that he engineered them?"

She shook her head, offering a wry smile. "I have no one to blame but myself. I am hardly the type of simpering maid that most men seem to find…interesting."

The expression in her eyes was almost apologetic, and yet strangely hopeful at the same time. Was she hoping he found her interesting? Mission accomplished. Yet why should his interest be so unexpected?

The proof was before him, as unbelievable as he found it. Her no-nonsense modesty and complete lack of vanity made sudden sense. She didn't think she had anything to be vain about.

"John threatened them," he said, picturing it in his mind. "He used some threat that made each of them run away from you, and then he made you think their defection was somehow your fault, a ploy to undermine your confidence, to keep you from encouraging them."

She shook her head again, but it lacked confidence. "Why on earth would he do such a thing?"

"I told you he was obsessed. He wanted you all to himself with no rivals, even rivals who would be allowed no more than innocent flirtations." He didn't add that he probably would have done the same thing, had he been in John's shoes. The thought of any other man touching her, kissing her, made his fists clench. "Do you really have so little understanding of your appeal?"

She looked at him with guarded eyes and he could see that she did not. Her gaze had turned wary, as if waiting for him to spring some hidden trap. In that moment he could have cheerfully slit John's throat. Possessiveness he could understand. But to break her spirit? That, he would never understand. He was only thankful that John had failed in that regard. She was bruised but unbroken.

Perhaps he could heal her.

The thought lodged in his head and refused to be silenced, even though it was an absurd notion with countless flaws. He was the monster that destroyed. No one would cast him in the role of a healer. Still, the idea intrigued him. He felt the most ridiculous need to make her happy, to keep her safe and protected. To truly make her his own. Not just for a few weeks, but for as long as she would have him.

He had never taken responsibility for anyone but himself. Even his sister had been left in the care of an uncle when they arrived in England. Granted, that had not turned out so well and he still carried a measure of guilt for abandoning her. Could he abandon Avalene as well, leave her fate in the hands of others? Then there was the bigger question: Would she want him to take responsibility for her?

His mind raced forward to the inevitable day when she learned he was not the gallant Sir Percival. That would be the day her smiles turned to tearful pleas, the day she would cringe whenever he touched her in the most innocent ways. Still, there was no reason she needed to learn of his deceit until they were on a ship bound for Venice. He had already intended to keep her sequestered in London and not reveal any portion of the truth until they were at sea. That part could proceed as planned. There was also a good possibility that she would never learn he was a notorious assassin. His men would not reveal the truth if he forbade it. He could tell her the king's reasons why she had to leave England for good. He could also tell her something close to the truth about the reasons he had abducted her; that he owed Edward a favor, that he really had saved her life. Would that be enough to regain her trust?

Even if he managed to earn forgiveness, the next hurdle would be convincing her to live with him as his mistress. He was still determined to take an Italian wife to form a political alliance and secure his family's safety in Venice, although the idea was becoming less appealing with each day he spent with Avalene. Nevertheless, he would not give up all of his carefully laid plans because of an infatuation with a woman who did not even know his real name, whom he intended to make his mistress before she made that momentous discovery. Perhaps he would change his mind, but as things stood, he would be lucky if she did not simply run from him screaming.

She would never agree if she knew a convent was her alternative. Taking the veil was an acceptable occupation for a woman of her station. Living in sin with a man was not.

She need never know of the convent , the beast inside him whispered. Instead he would make her understand how well he would treat her, the comfortable, even lavish lifestyle she would lead. He would install her in some monstrous palazzo where she could make use of the chatelaine skills she so cherished. He could picture her there on a balcony overlooking the canal, smiling up at him. He could picture himself there as well, just as happy with his innocent, opinionated beauty.

No, he decided, she was far too precious to be locked away in a convent. Deceit was his specialty, and he would do whatever was necessary to keep her. He would lie to her for the rest of their lives if it meant she would stay with him willingly. She was his reward for all the years he had spent in the darkness of men's minds.

"Sir Percival?" She sounded nervous.

He smiled at her effortlessly, filled with new purpose. "Avalene de Forshay, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met."

She blinked twice, very slowly, as if she expected him to disappear each time she opened her eyes. She sat in frozen silence. He was fairly certain she had stopped breathing as well.

He had lied to her about almost everything else, but in this he would be completely honest. She would know his true feelings about her. This morn he had gone too far, allowed his lust to rule his senses when he bared her shoulders and breasts. That was a lapse of control that made him feel more delight than regret, but he would be more careful with her in the future. He would show her the respect she deserved. He would court her. It might be his only hope to outweigh the lies when the time came to reveal a few.

"'Tis true," he assured her. "Avalene, you could be the most opinionated woman in Christendom and I would have found a way to court you, had I been a knight at Coleway. I have wanted to kiss you from the moment we met."

Her mouth formed a delightful little O but no sound emerged. She really was irresistible.

He cupped her cheek and kissed first her lower lip, and then her top, and then both lips together when she recovered enough to kiss him in return. He drew back before she could lead him too far astray. There was a little V between her brows and she wouldn't meet his gaze. "What are you thinking?"

"I scarce know what to think," she murmured. Her lashes lifted and the wary look was back in her eyes. "Yesterday you did not want me. Today you do. I am…confused."

"Yesterday I was still trying to resist you." He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers and watched her eyes lose focus, and then she gave him an enchanting little shiver. "I should have known it was a pointless cause, me, trying to be noble."

She made a sound of disagreement, and then her teeth worried at her lower lip. Uncertainty. "Did I truly seduce you last night?"

"Aye." He couldn't help but smile. She was seducing him right now.

"That was not my intent," she admitted.

"I know," he said. "You do not have to try very hard. Actually, you do not have to try at all. God help me when you intentionally set out to seduce me. You will leave me in ashes."

Her lips curved upward. If she only knew the power she could wield over him. "I will try not to distract you again…when you do not wish to be distracted."

"Mm." Aye, she was more dangerous than she knew. It was time to move them both away from their bed before he weakened and decided to spend the day there. "Now is one of those times when I do not wish to be distracted. We need to eat and be on our way."

"Oh." She looked startled, as if she had forgotten where they were. "Of course. I will get my things."

"Just leave those," he said, when she began to gather up her cloak and saddlebag. He stood up and then held aside a handful of willow branches, indicating that she should precede him. "Rami will pack the horses while we eat. Let us refresh ourselves then find some food."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and hesitated. One of her fainter blushes stained her cheeks and he guessed the problem easily enough.

"Do not tell me you lack the courage to face a boy?" he teased. "A woman who fled her home with no more than a rucksack and braved the night of the Witches' Sabbath in the wilderness is afraid to face a child?"

"I am not afraid of him," she said, as she lifted her chin. "I am simply embarrassed. You should be as well."

"I am a man. We do not get embarrassed over such matters." He placed his hand on her waist and ushered her out of their cozy lair. "Trust me, everything with Rami will be fine."

The view beyond the willow tree was nothing unexpected to him, but he allowed Avalene a few moments to get her bearings and let her eyes adjust from the shade to the bright sunlight. The tree they had slept under stood in the midst of a small clearing of deep green grass, spiked here and there with tall clumps of golden straw that had survived the winter in haphazard fashion. Behind them was a ridge where Oliver would be keeping a lookout. Ahead of them the grass grew gradually shorter then disappeared entirely, replaced by dark, mottled stone as the clearing gave way to a bluff. Armand sat cross-legged near the edge of the bluff with Rami seated next to him, both turned away from Dante as they studied the seemingly endless vista that encompassed a gently sloping valley and the lush forest.

The sight was breathtaking and the exact reason he had chosen this vantage point—to make certain they could see an enemy's approach from miles away and flee at the first sign of danger. He wondered if Avalene would realize his strategy and question him. A knight filled with pride and honor would stand and fight to protect those in his care, no matter the cost. He was not a man of honor. Those who ran lived to fight another day.

Armand glanced over his shoulder, nudged Rami, and they both rose to face them. Although Oliver and Armand were his two most trusted men, they were nothing alike in looks or temperament. Oliver had the rough, hard-bitten look of a common soldier while Armand had a very youthful, angelic-looking face that made women of all ages sigh. Ironically, Oliver had the softer heart of the two while Armand's ruthlessness often approached that of Dante's. He kept a close eye on Avalene to see how she would react to the handsome knight.

Surprisingly, she seemed to have eyes only for the boy, but her expression was one of confusion. He looked to Rami and realized something was definitely wrong. The boy's face had lost all color and he began backing away in a pace that matched their approach.

"'Tis the woman in red," Rami said in Italian, now holding up both hands as if that could halt Avalene's progress.

"Why is he looking at me that way?" Avalene asked.

"'Tis the same woman you just saw beneath the tree," Dante told him, also speaking Italian. "What is wrong with you?"

"I did not see her face," Rami breathed, as he began to back away from them. "Her face. 'Tis identical to the face on the card Oliver showed me." He began to back away faster as Avalene reached out to him. "Do not touch me, jinni!"

The words were scarcely spoken when Rami's heel caught on a rock and he began to tumble backward toward the edge of the bluff. Before Dante could reach the boy, Armand had his shoulder down and he rammed into Rami, knocking him sideways and sending him hard into the rocks. For a moment, no one moved, no one spoke.

"What on earth?" Avalene pressed her hands over her heart, and then rushed to the boy's side. Armand stood up and brushed gravel away from his knees as she knelt down next to Rami. The boy's head rolled back when she tried to lift him and it became obvious he had hit his head on the rock ledge and lost consciousness.

"There is no blood and he is still breathing," she said, as she carefully turned his head to reveal a nasty lump that was already forming near his temple. "Do you have any cold cloths I could use to bind his wound?"

Dante just stared at her. Did she seriously think he had cold cloths sitting around, waiting for use on an injury? A single jerk of his head sent Armand to search out the supplies.

"That was the strangest thing," she said, as she patted the boy's hand. "It was almost as if he were afraid of me. I heard him call me ‘the woman in red,' which is plainly obvious from my clothing, and then something about my face. What else did he say to you?"

"He is afraid of you," Dante said, frowning at the boy. He might as well tell her that much, since Rami was unlikely to be any fonder of her when he awoke. "You remind him of a picture he once saw of a jinni , an evil Arab spirit that sometimes masquerades as a beautiful woman."

"You must tell him I am not evil!" She looked from Dante to the boy. "I suppose he will be frightened all over again if he awakens to find me hovering." She stood up and moved to stand next to Dante. "You must see to his injury."

"There is nothing to ‘see' to," he pointed out. "I will wrap his head when Armand returns, but there is little more to be done. 'Tis nothing more than a bump."

Avalene placed her hands on his side and actually tried to push him toward the boy. "You must sit with him until he awakens. Every injured child should have someone to sit with them."

He wanted to ask who had left her alone when she was ill. Instead he reached out and took hold of her wrists, pulling her away from his side and back toward Rami. "You are the woman. Tending children is not a man's job when there is a woman available. Rami will overcome his fear soon enough when he realizes you intend him no harm, and then you can dress his wound."

"Ahgh." Rami began to stir. A moment later his eyes opened and then he tried to strike out at Avalene. Dante doubted Rami was even aware of his actions, but he had the boy's arms pinned to the ground before Avalene could draw a startled breath.

"You will never raise your hand to this lady nor call her insulting names," Dante told him in Italian. "Do you understand?"

"Ah-aye, my lord."

"How do you feel?"

Rami gave Avalene a look that said he would rather be in a viper pit than be this close to her, but to his credit he gave a sigh of resignation and then gingerly felt his head. "The light hurts my eyes, and now there is a demon inside my head, beating upon my skull with a hammer."

"Is he all right?" asked Avalene. "Do you have a wineskin or something else he can drink?"

"Aye," Dante said. "There is a wineskin next to my saddle beneath the tree. Will you get it for him?"

Avalene nodded, and then she was off to fetch the wineskin.

Dante spoke quickly, running his words together in the hope that Avalene would not be able to translate their meaning even if she overheard them. "She understands a little Italian. Be careful what you say in her presence. Saying nothing at all would be best. Understand?"

"I am sorry, master," Rami said in a low voice. He gave Avalene's retreating figure another worried look. "Oliver showed me the cards and told me—"

"No harm was done except to yourself," Dante said. " Still, you have insulted her. That will never happen again. To prove your remorse, you will let her care for you and act grateful."

Another nod, this one tinged with a look of fear. "I will not fail you again, my lord. Please, let me prove myself worthy."

"Do not prove yourself a burden," Dante warned.

Armand returned about the same time as Avalene, holding what had once been a finely woven linen shirt that was now a neat stack of dripping wet bandages. He laid them on the grass near Rami, and then turned to Dante. "Should I help Oliver ready the horses?"

"Aye, we should have left at daybreak," Dante said.

"He cannot ride," Avalene countered. "Look at his eyes. There is something not yet right with him."

"He looks fine to me."

"He needs to rest."

"Absolutely not." He gave Rami's shoulder a gentle prodding and spoke again in Italian. "Can you ride?"

"Aye, my lord." Rami struggled to his feet, ignoring Avalene's outstretched hand. He wobbled back and forth in his efforts to steady himself, looking as if he were a drunken villager on May Day. He sank back down to the ground and knelt on the rock, breathing as hard as if he had just run a long race. "I do not feel so good."

Avalene had no need for the boy's words to be translated. They became unfortunately obvious to everyone a moment later when Rami leaned forward and lost his breakfast.

"On second thought," Dante said to Armand, "you might as well wait to get the horses ready."

An hour later, there was little more to be done for the boy. Avalene announced the injury would require a day or two of rest before the boy's nausea and dizziness would fade away. Armand had thrown sandy dirt over the spot where Rami had become ill to smother the smell. Avalene had dressed the boy's head and then gathered the necessary ingredients to make willow bark tea. Even now, Rami rested comfortably beneath the tree in the bed Dante had so recently vacated. All that remained was to wait for the swelling to go down.

Time was a precious commodity, but their vantage point would provide plenty of warning if they were being pursued. They could spare a day at most, Dante decided, as he eyed the midday sun. He would give the boy a day to recover and then they would continue the journey, one way or another.

In the meantime there was one chore he could do that would help set his mind at ease. He motioned for Armand to follow him up to the crest of the ridge where they found Oliver watching over the tethered horses and the valley to the east. It was his first real opportunity to speak to his men without Avalene underfoot and he assured them that all was going according to plan before he reviewed the specifics.

"There will be search parties set out by now from Coleway," he told them. "The real Sir Percival will soon arrive and they will realize I have no intention of taking Avalene to Weston Castle. Faulke Segrave would be close by as well, and it's possible he's descended upon Coleway to offer his services to the search party. We must assume that one or more of the parties has thought to set out on the road to London. Indeed, 'tis the route they will first suspect once they realize she is not in the hands of the real Sir Percival. I am going to backtrack to see who is behind us. Armand, you will stay close to Rami and Avalene. Oliver, if I have not returned before moonrise, come look for me."

"I had already started to prepare the horses for our departure," Oliver said. "Your horse is saddled and ready, my lord."

"Excellent."

"My lord, there is another solution to this problem," Armand said, before Dante could stalk away from them. "The three of you could set out while I remain here with Rami. You could tell the lady that we will catch up with you in a day or two. If Rami does not recover quickly…" Armand lifted his shoulders in a way that left little doubt as to the boy's fate should his injury linger.

"If that were my intention, I could eliminate the boy by slipping poison into the willow bark tea," Dante told them. "He would simply appear to die of his head injury and Avalene would be none the wiser."

He shook his head and actually felt a bit sorry for the boy; Rami's luck had taken a decided turn for the worse. It was a matter of simple math; forfeit one life or five. Still, he had grown fond of Rami in the weeks since his rescue and he sensed that Avalene had a soft spot for the child as well. "Our press for time is not yet so urgent. I will give him today and this eve to recover himself, and then we will see where things stand. For now, Avalene seems to have taken an interest in the boy and that might prove useful."

"Aye, my lord."

"I will return early if I find a search party closer than I anticipate," Dante said. "Otherwise, I will see you again around moonrise."