Chapter 21

It took Faulke Segrave four more days to reach London. Dante spent much of that time keeping his promise to linger over Avalene, but each afternoon he released her from their self-imposed exile in his apartments to join Isabel and her ladies in the great hall. He wondered if she knew what it cost him to pretend he did not worry each moment she was out of his sight, to manufacture important matters to occupy his time while she was away so he would not constantly check on her, matters that were not at all important in his mind. Nothing was more important to him than Avalene.

Caring this much for someone was dangerous. Not only dangerous for himself, but equally dangerous for Avalene. He had never before been foolish enough to hand his enemies such a potent weapon. Hopefully they would be far away from England before her importance to him became common knowledge. Once they arrived in Venice there would be time to worry about the new enemies he would acquire. He was already making plans for the steps he would take to keep her safe in Italy. He would not repeat his father's mistakes.

For the time being, he had to keep faith in the measures he had already taken to ensure her safety at the palace when he could not be with her. He did not quite trust Isabel or her guards, and yet Avalene seemed to enjoy Isabel's company and therefore he could not forbid what brought her pleasure. Still, he made certain she was always guarded by men who knew their lives depended upon her safety.

The group of women had moved their gatherings to the great hall out of necessity, since Gerhardt insisted on having four of his soldiers on hand to protect Isabel, and Dante insisted upon an equal number to protect Avalene. Apparently there had been much eye-rolling amongst the ladies about that level of security, but they did not much complain. Avalene spent most of her time telling Isabel everything she knew of the Segraves, both the good and the bad. She felt certain the information would be put to good use by the king's daughter.

It was midafternoon when Dante returned to the palace. The women and their retainers would all be gathered in the great hall at this time of day, which was perfect for his plan. He wanted plenty of people who could swear to the fact that they witnessed Faulke renounce Avalene. Those inside the hall would also know of their arrival by now. Hell, half of London knew of their arrival. It was hard to miss Faulke and his score of men, Dante and a handful of his own soldiers, along with forty of the king's guard and an edict from the king to persuade Faulke to come quietly. It made Londoners nervous when so many armed soldiers rode through their streets. But the small army was now safely within the courtyard with the curious citizenry on the other side of the gates. That left only the curious on this side of the gate to deal with.

All of the Segraves had been bound with their hands tied behind their backs well before they reached London, their horses placed on tethers, and then they were marched into the city on foot. Now they were herded into a group in the roadway where the king's soldiers could keep an eye on them. Faulke and his men were dirty and dusty, and looked like they had been on the road for weeks in foul weather, which they had been. Dante wondered if he and his men had looked as grisly when they arrived at the palace. If so, it was a testament to the strength of their bond that Avalene had found something appealing in a face that looked anything like the ones before him.

At a signal from Dante, Faulke and Richard were brought forward, a soldier on either side of them. Another soldier cut their bonds and then both men began to rub their hands and wrists to get the blood moving again. Faulke looked livid, Richard merely looked surly.

He had told them very little, as of yet, only that the king had ordered them brought to this palace to receive his message and documents related to the message.

"Lady Avalene will be in our company this afternoon," Dante told Faulke and Richard, recalling the incident with Gerhardt. If either man said or did something to insult Avalene, his temper was likely beyond the control he had exercised in the solar. He would give them fair warning. "You will speak to her with the utmost courtesy or I will cut out the tongue that offends her. If either of you manages to touch her, I will cut the skin from the hand that has soiled her and then I will fillet the flesh from the bones. Do you understand me?"

"Aye," Faulke said in a curt tone. He still looked furious. Richard looked wary. Apparently Richard was more adept at hearing the truth than Faulke, who seemed to dismiss the promises as empty threats. "When do you intend to tell us why we were brought here? We were to meet at the Ox Head Inn."

"As I said earlier, you will listen to the king's message and read the documents he has sent for your signature. There is also someone here who wishes to meet you. At the conclusion of our business, you and your men will be free to leave."

He did not add that they might not be breathing when they left, if Faulke failed to make the correct decisions. He would keep his promise to Mordecai for as long as possible, but this man was all that prevented him from making Avalene his wife. His death was a price he was willing to pay.

He turned on his heel and made his way into the great hall.

Avalene was nowhere in sight, nor were Oliver and Armand, whom he'd left to guard her. A ribbon of unease unfurled in his belly. She must be in their apartments with his men, or occupied in some other part of the palace for whatever reasons. There was no need to worry, but he could not ignore the chill that ran through him. Isabel and her people were missing as well, but two strangers were seated at one end of the head table. Both were finely dressed, one mostly in shades of blue that accentuated his white hair and blue eyes. The older of the two men had steel-gray hair and wore black and red; Segrave colors. The older man's dark eyes were fixed on Faulke as they walked forward and Dante knew without being told that this was Faulke's father, Baron Carreg. His gaze moved to the man in blue and he realized the white hair still bore traces of blond. The blue eyes were the same shade as those he had looked into just this morning when he bid Avalene good-bye. Baron Weston.

Another man stepped out from the shadows of the massive fireplace that dominated the wall behind the head table. His dark robes had made him almost invisible against the blackened stones of the hearth.

Mordecai.

The magician smiled. Dante's steps faltered.

"Ah, at last everyone is present."

"I did not expect to see you here," Dante managed.

"I am here as the king's representative," Mordecai said, his eyes lit with humor. A wooden box that was identical to the one Dante had brought from his audience with the king sat on the table before Mordecai. "Did you really think I would miss this meeting?"

"I suppose I should have known." Dante rubbed the back of his neck. "Where is Avalene?"

His steward, Reginald, who had been standing to one side of the table with his gaze fixed on the flagstones at his feet, took a step forward. His voice trembled noticeably. "Lady Avalene is in your solar, my lord." Reginald's hand swept out to indicate the two barons, while Dante's racing pulse began to calm. "These men demanded she be brought to the hall. One claims to be her father. I informed them that Lady Avalene is not to receive visitors in your absence."

"Actually," Mordecai said, "Baron Weston insisted upon the matter, but your man, Armand, convinced him that it would be healthier for all involved to wait for your arrival. He was most persuasive."

"He threatened us!" Baron Weston broke in. "He refused to admit our soldiers to the hall and had them taken to some stable yard under guard. Now you haul in Carreg's son and his cousin as if they are common criminals. Are we all prisoners here? What is the meaning of this, Mordecai?"

"Aye," Dante echoed. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Please, everyone, take your seats and I will explain." Mordecai's voice was grave, but Dante saw a spark of humor in his eyes. He was enjoying this little drama. "Perhaps stools could be brought for Lord Faulke and his cousin?"

Dante motioned toward Reginald and the stools soon appeared, and then he walked around the table to take his own seat. Unlike those of his guests, his chair had a backrest and arms. He leaned back and pretended to make himself comfortable, crossing his legs by propping one ankle across his knee and folding his hands across his stomach. Baron Weston's cold glare followed him the entire time, his hands fisted so tightly atop the table that his knuckles were bone white. He was fairly certain Avalene's father wished to strangle him. Not that he blamed the man. If he had a daughter and was forced to sit at the same table with the man who had ruined her…Aye, Weston was showing remarkable restraint.

Then again, perhaps Weston did not yet know the role he played in Avalene's abduction or realize that she shared his bed. Thank God, Armand had made certain she remained in the solar. He did not want her to see her father's reaction when he learned the truth, if he did not know already. He returned Weston's furious glare with a cool gaze and watched the man actually bare his teeth at him. Oh, Weston knew, all right.

"King Edward thought it best if all parties involved in these proceedings gathered to make certain there were no misunderstandings," Mordecai said, when everyone had taken their seats. He removed several scrolls from the box that bore massive seals and were bound with elaborate ribbons, and then carefully spread them on the table. "There are three betrothal contracts before me. The first is Faulke's betrothal contract to Avalene. Baron Weston has already struck his name from the contract. Faulke, once you renounce your claim to Avalene and strike your name, the contract will be broken."

"I will not do it," Faulke declared. "The king must approve or deny my betrothal to Avalene de Forshay. Either way, the other Marcher barons will hear of what was done here."

"The king offers you another choice," Carreg said, his voice a deeper, harsher version of his son's. "I have negotiated in your name with the king for a betrothal more advantageous than your betrothal to Avalene de Forshay."

"More advantageous to the Segraves, or to you?" Faulke demanded. "What price have you put upon my honor this time? What could possibly be more advantageous than a marriage to Avalene de Forshay?"

"Watch your tongue," Carreg warned. "You will have an earldom from this, you ungrateful wretch, and more wealth than you know what to do with."

Faulke's eyes widened and his gaze moved to Mordecai.

"'Tis true," Mordecai said, as he pushed one of the scrolls toward Faulke. "Actually, you will gain four titles; the earldom of Malden being the most important, as well as Lord of Helmsford, Sildon, and Thurock. The castles, manors, and lands entailed to the titles are listed in the contract, along with the annual income from the properties. Your father has reviewed the detailed reports of each holding and has pronounced himself satisfied with the settlements. However, you should also read the contract to make certain you agree to the terms."

Faulke looked as if he had swallowed a frog. The whites of his eyes showed all around, and his mouth hung open in an expression that might have been comical in other circumstances.

"We shall be men of great consequence," his father informed him. "We shall have the standing and resources to make life either easy or difficult for the king. The terms of this betrothal are more than you could ever hope to acquire through a marriage to Weston's daughter."

"Who is the bride?" Faulke managed.

"The king's own daughter!" Carreg declared, smiling now. There was a calculating glint of greed in the old man's eyes. "Your wife shall be Isabel of Ascalon, the widow of some Frankish prince, but she is yet young and healthy, well able to provide you with heirs."

Faulke took a moment to digest that astonishing news, then his eyes narrowed. "How many children does she have?"

"None so far." Carreg waved away that detail. "Her husband suffered mumps or measles or some such disease in his youth and could not even sire a bastard. You must look at the number of children her mother bore. Sixteen, in all, near thirty years of fertility! Her married sisters are fruitful as well. You have already proven your virility and I have every confidence that you will have an heir from Isabel within a year."

"You had best read the contract," Mordecai told him. "Or do you need someone to read the documents for you?"

Richard leaned in to whisper something in his cousin's ear. Faulke scowled and then began to read through each parchment. The contract was several pages long and included much more detail than Avalene's betrothal contract. They would all be waiting quite a while before Faulke would finish reading. Dante signaled to Reginald to bring more wine and refreshments, and then settled back to wait.

His gaze went often to the door that led to his apartments. He would give almost anything to leave the hall and go to Avalene, just to reassure himself that she was all right. She had to be worried. However, he had no wish to give Faulke any reason to refuse the betrothal to Isabel. Avalene's beauty was enough to tempt any man. Given the terms of Isabel's betrothal, having Avalene within sight could sway Faulke's decision in the wrong direction. The patience that always came to him so naturally was now forced into place.

He knew the exact moment Faulke came to the thornier terms of the contract. His fist slammed onto the table, making both barons flinch in surprise.

"This is outrageous!" He stood up and swept the pages of the contract to the floor, and then leaned across the table toward Dante. "There is my answer. Our business is concluded. Honor your bargain and allow my men and I to leave, and release my betrothed to me."

Dante took a sip of his wine and watched Faulke flex his fists. "Regardless of your answer, you will leave here without Avalene. You will never see her again. If you refuse the king's daughter, you will have no bride, and you will have no reason to blame Edward for your circumstances. Indeed, I would imagine the insult to his highness will reap its own rewards."

Faulke opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again. His brows smoothed from a scowl to a puzzled frown. "What do you mean?"

"You could not capture Avalene and force a marriage, so you intended to use Edward's refusal to approve your betrothal to Avalene as an excuse to return to Wales and incite rebellion. However, if you refuse the betrothal to Isabel, Edward will approve your betrothal to Avalene."

"Fine," he said, with a sharp nod. "She will go with us, as I said."

Dante shook his head and gave him the type of look that a parent would bestow upon a child who had disappointed him. "Did I not make clear what would happen if you touched her?"

Faulke merely folded his arms across his chest and glared. "If Edward tries to keep her from me, the barons will see this injustice just as clearly as the injustice of a refusal."

"Edward will have nothing to do with keeping her from you."

Understanding dawned on Faulke's face. "You cannot keep her." He glanced at Baron Weston, but turned to Mordecai. "He cannot keep her. The king must order him to release her to my care. Despite whatever coercion the king used upon my father and hers, she is still my betrothed!"

Mordecai lifted his shoulders. "I do not think an order or the king's involvement would make much difference. The dispute is between you and Dante."

"He is on English soil, subject to—"

Dante cut him off. "If you refuse to renounce Avalene, all you will have of her is a scrap of parchment that says she is your betrothed. You will never have a bride."

"That is unacceptable!" Faulke was now breathing hard. "I will not allow it."

"I will not allow any man to lay claim to what is mine," Dante said. "There is only one course of action that will assure you live long enough to create an heir. Renounce your claim to Avalene and pursue the much more favorable match with Isabel of Ascalon."

"I have known Dante many years," Mordecai added. "He does not make idle threats."

Faulke pursed his lips and lowered his furious gaze to the parchment that lay scattered on the flagstones.

"Think of your people," Richard said to Faulke. "Think what the wealth of an earldom will mean to them."

For the first time all afternoon, Faulke looked thoughtful. He turned again to his father. "Is Isabel sickly? Is she prone to illness?"

Carreg cleared his throat. "I have only seen the lady from a distance at court, but I have it on the best authority that she is healthy as a horse."

"Have you lost your mind?" Faulke demanded of his father. "You have not even met the woman, and yet you would risk everything, our lands, our titles, everything , on the health and fertility of a childless widow?"

"I have every faith that you can manage to keep the woman alive, at least until she gives you a few heirs," his father argued. "Aye, 'tis a gamble, but look what we will gain! Nothing worth having is easy or without risk."

"You realize that you would have to give up your own title upon my marriage," Faulke pointed out. "All of our titles are relinquished to the king and then given back in his daughter's name. Even so, I will merely be a caretaker of all this importance and wealth for the miracle heir who must also be as healthy and long-lived as his mother, else we are all made paupers. The risk is too high. Avalene de Forshay is—"

"Avalene is nothing to you," Dante interjected. He studied the beds of his fingernails. "I grow tired of hearing her name upon your lips."

"She is not worth the trouble," Carreg added, before Faulke could argue. He turned to Baron Weston. "No offense, my friend, but what your daughter would bring to a marriage cannot compare to Isabel's dowry."

"Do not claim me as a friend," Weston retorted. He crossed his arms across his chest and glared at Carreg. "I did not willingly choose your son for my daughter. Still, I was resigned to make the best of the match. Now that you have what you really wanted, you throw her to the wolves like a meatless bone. Do not think I will soon forget this insult, Carreg."

Dante felt a small bit of relief at no longer being the sole focus of Weston's malice. He was also glad to see some small indication that Weston actually cared what happened to his daughter. Of course, that might not work to his benefit, but he would tell Avalene of her father's concern.

"The king decided his daughter was better suited for my son than yours," Carreg pointed out. "Do you question our king's decision?"

Weston clenched his jaw so tight that Dante could almost hear his teeth grind.

"What do you get from this?" Faulke interrupted, looking at his father. "You agreed to be stripped of your titles, stripped of your lands and much of your income. Unless you somehow benefit more than what is apparent in this contract, you would never willingly step meekly aside while I assume your mantle. Why did you agree to this betrothal?"

"Your new properties are mostly along the coastline far to the east of London," Carreg began, "the opposite side of England from our holdings in Wales. Our Welsh holdings require a lord to be in residence much of the year while Isabel's properties have long been managed by the sheriff of Malden. The sheriff has decided to step down from his position, so I shall serve at the pleasure of the king as Malden's new sheriff and continue to oversee Isabel's properties there."

Dante surmised that Carreg would live as an earl in one of Malden's castles and collect an income from the king, as well as a substantial portion of the income from Isabel's properties. A sheriff was but one rank below a baron, and many wielded considerably more power than the noblemen who outranked them. Most were far richer than the barons since they reaped the rewards of a lordship without the burden of the expenditures. Carreg's vast properties in Wales sustained themselves, but produced little income. He would be made far wealthier as Malden's sheriff.

"The risk is staggering," Faulke finally muttered. "Could you not convince the king to leave your title and lands intact?"

It was Mordecai who answered the question, but he looked at Carreg as he spoke. "Edward is disturbed that you have already buried three wives at such a young age. The dispensation to the heirs of Isabel's body is intended to ensure that the king's daughter and his future grandchildren receive the care and nurturing due royal personages. The clause eases his mind and makes him more certain that Isabel will live a long and happy life as your wife."

In other words, Dante thought, there would be no more killing off one wife when a wealthier one happened along. And if he read Mordecai correctly, it was the baron rather than his son who bore responsibility for Faulke's frequent marriages. He wondered if Faulke was aware that one or more of his wives had died by his father's hand or order, and then decided it was none of his concern. His only concern was—

A sudden flash of inspiration came to mind. He sat up straighter in his chair.

"The terms of Isabel's contract are much the same as those of her sister, Joan," Dante pointed out. "Gilbert de Clare was no coward three years ago when he risked his lands and titles to marry Joan, and already she has presented him with his heir and a daughter, and she will deliver another child to him this fall. Gilbert faced the same decision you must make today, except he was forced to give up his rights to two earldoms and receive them back in his wife's name with the same risk that Joan might die before she bore him heirs. Great men seize the opportunities laid before them. Will you prove yourself less of a man than a de Clare?"

Dante struggled not to smile in the face of Faulke's outrage. The de Clares were the sworn enemies of the Segraves, both families intent upon expanding their holdings in Wales at the expense of the other. To infer that Faulke was less of a man than a de Clare was akin to calling his mother a whore. He moved in for the kill before Faulke could lose hold of his temper.

"You can be a wifeless rebel who will be stripped of all your lands and titles the moment you raise a sword against England, or you can be an English earl wed to the king's own daughter with wealth and power beyond that of any other Marcher baron." He worked to keep his shrug casual. "Surely even you can see that your people will benefit far more from wealth than they will from war. The choice is yours."

"What are your intentions in Wales?" Faulke demanded. "You obviously intend to keep Avalene for yourself. What makes you think Edward will agree to your intent more readily than he agreed to mine?"

Beneath the table, Dante's hand closed reflexively into a fist. He would like nothing more than to smack the affronted insolence from Faulke's face. "My intentions do not concern you. She will be no threat to you or to the king. That is all you need to know of the matter."

And all Dante intended to tell him. He wanted Faulke out of Avalene's life, completely. Rather than wait for another of Faulke's arguments, he reached for Avalene's contract and pushed it toward Faulke.

"Before you can accept and sign the betrothal to Isabel, you must renounce your contract with Avalene." He tilted his head toward the end of the table where Mordecai watched Faulke with an unblinking gaze. "Mordecai will act as the king's witness."

"I have not yet agreed to anything." Faulke brushed his hand across the pages of Isabel's contract. "I will not agree to anything before I read every word of this contract, and then I will make my decision. What I decide is what will be best for my people, and not what is best for you or the king, or my father."

Carreg made a sound of impatience. "Read the thing already. Once you sign Isabel's contract, we will be granted an audience with the lady and you will see for yourself that she is all you could hope for in a wife."

Faulke's face was an interesting shade of red and growing darker by the moment, but he returned his attention to the contract. At last he came to the end.

"So be it!" Faulke snarled, his attention once again on Dante. "I renounce my betrothal to Avalene de Forshay, you spawn of the Devil! Instead I will wed the spawn of my great and illustrious king."

"'Tis the right decision," his father put in, smiling broadly now. "All will be well. You shall see."

"Oh, I can scarce wait to begin this glorious new life you have made for me." Faulke's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You will grow fat and rich at Malden while I shall become a prisoner in my own fortress. Mark my words well, Father; do not become too comfortable amidst your new wealth. 'Tis likely the daughter is just as capricious as her sire, and unlike you, I will not play lapdog to any Plantagenet."

"Perhaps you should withhold judgment until you meet your bride," Mordecai said. He rose calmly from his seat and then took an inkwell, blotting sand, and a quill from the wooden box, along with several copies of the betrothal contract. He spread the documents across the table and then held the quill out to Faulke. "I would imagine Isabel is growing impatient to make your acquaintance. You should not keep her waiting."