Chapter 5

If Dante had lifted his knife a moment sooner, he would have choked on the first bite of his meal. Instead he managed to hold on to the food, and even forced down a small mouthful to hide his shock. He instinctively rolled the lump of fish over his tongue to search for any hidden taste of poison while his mind did much the same with this latest piece of astonishing news. What mischief were Margaret and Brunor about? Was this some ploy? More to the point, what could these two hope to gain from it?

The strange plan he had started out with all those weeks ago in London grew more bizarre by the moment. He set his knife aside. "You have me at a loss, Lord Brunor. Baron Weston sent me specifically because he knows I would never betray my liege lord or his daughter in such a vile manner. Why would your wife conceive of such a plan, much less assume I would cooperate?"

"My eyesight is not what it once was," Brunor said, "but I can still recognize when a man is besotted with a woman. Margaret and John recognized the signs as well. You do a poor job of disguising your emotions."

Dante wanted to laugh in his face, he, a master at disguising and controlling his emotions. Until today.

That Brunor had the right of it would indeed be laughable under different circumstances. Gesù . Even a near-blind man recognized that he acted like a lecherous goat. Avalene de Forshay had turned his head to sap. However, his brain still functioned well enough to wonder why they seemed determined to serve the girl up to him on a platter. "I meant no disrespect, Lord Brunor, but I had not been warned of her beauty. Indeed, I expected a maiden more plain than comely. I cannot explain what came over me, and can only apologize and swear that nothing will come of it."

"Ah, but you have yet to reckon with the force that is my wife," Brunor warned. "She has it in her head that Avalene should not leave Coleway, ever, and the only way to accomplish her goal is for Avalene to marry one of my men. She has pestered me endlessly with her schemes and plans. Now that she knows her brother has no intention of accommodating her wishes, her clever mind has latched upon the only other way to get what she wants. I believe she intends to make certain Avalene is compromised and discovered in bed with a lover. The man responsible will be immediately hung, of course, but not before Avalene's reputation is ruined. No decent man will want her as a bride after that. That is, no man her father would choose. Marriage to a lowly knight or a high-ranking servant will become the only path open to her. In you, I am certain Margaret sees a way to compromise the girl without losing one of our own men in the process."

Dante had long ago passed the point where anything he heard or saw could shock him. Still, it was highly strange for Brunor to confide so much in the man who was supposed to play the pawn. He stated the only response that seemed appropriate. "You astonish me, Lord Brunor."

"Oh, there is more," Brunor promised. "Margaret does not know this, but John has pestered me for years to petition Baron Weston on his behalf to contract a betrothal. When it became obvious I had no intention of making such a proposal to my brother-in-law, John began to work his wiles upon my wife to intercede. He is equally determined to keep Avalene at Coleway, and he intends to wed the girl himself."

Dante blinked once as he absorbed these new details. It was becoming clear that this would not be a simple matter of collecting the girl and riding out of the castle with a fare-thee-well. "Surely John realizes that Lady Avalene is above his station?"

Brunor made a sound of disgust. "John does not believe anyone is above his station. He has convinced Margaret that it is in everyone's best interests to keep Avalene at Coleway and thinks he has convinced me as well."

"You did voice your concern about Avalene's abilities to manage her duties as Segrave's wife," Dante reminded him.

"My objections to a match with the Segraves have more to do with politics than any doubts about Avalene's ability to manage a household," Brunor said. "'Tis obvious the Segraves mean to solidify their base of power in Wales, and there are many Marcher lords who have marriageable daughters. However, few of those lords would willingly tie their family to one so obviously intent on rebellion and treason. I was willing to entertain the notion of keeping Avalene at Coleway through marriage to one of my knights if Reynard wished to avoid ties to the Segraves, but it appears he has chosen the more dangerous path. That is his choice to make and I will abide by his wishes. However, my wife and steward will not be so easily swayed from their course."

Dante remained silent, waiting, certain he would learn more if he kept his mouth closed. His patience was soon rewarded.

"I will admit that I have allowed my wife and steward to cling to false hope longer than I should have," Brunor admitted, "but it seemed harmless until now. If what I suspect is true, this is no longer a harmless game and I will not have a knight lured to murder under my roof."

"I appreciate your concern," Dante said truthfully. "'Tis unexpected, to say the least, but much appreciated. Baron Weston would be aggrieved should his daughter wed a lowly steward, yet it could be argued that you would benefit from such a match. She has a large dowry and will obviously be sorely missed by those in your household. Such a situation could easily be turned to your advantage."

"'Tis a matter of honor," Brunor said in a flat voice. "I would not plot against one of my wards any more than I would tolerate another lord plotting against one of my own children in such a manner. My children will be sent to foster in the next few years and I plan to place them with some of the most powerful families in England. My wife does not seem to realize that our whole family would be tainted by such a scandal and our own children's futures would be affected as well. Strong alliances can be formed through fostering, and I value my alliances with other lords far more than I value the whims of my steward. The only way I would have considered Avalene marrying beneath her station and remaining at Coleway was with Reynard's blessing. I will not hold her here against her father's will."

It seemed Avalene was not the only person at Coleway who valued chivalry and honor, albeit Brunor's brand of honor was mostly self-serving. Dante nodded when Brunor lifted a pitcher of ale and offered to fill his mug.

"I will speak to my wife on the matter this eve," Brunor went on, "but I would suspect that John's thoughts will soon run along similar lines if they haven't already. He has an uncanny ability to bend people to his will without them realizing they are his pawns until it is time to assign blame. Know that your life is in the balance on this matter. You must be on your guard."

Wonderful , Dante thought, even as he gave Brunor a solemn nod. He could almost admire Margaret and John's machinations if they did not interfere so directly with his own. Already he regretted the promise he made to Mordecai that the girl would live until Segrave was convinced to take another bride. Life would be considerably easier if he could simply poison the girl, then make good his escape. Instead, all of this intrigue was bound to give him a headache by the time he left Coleway. "You have my most solemn promise that I will not be tricked into a compromising position with your niece, Lord Brunor. I shall also be on my guard at all times against any scurrilous tactics to compromise Lady Avalene's honor."

Brunor studied his face long and hard, then finally nodded. "My concerns could be misplaced, but I know all too well how my wife's mind works and John's as well. Do what you can to avoid being alone with Avalene while you are at Coleway, and I will send extra women on your journey back to Wales to make certain there are adequate chaperones. You should not lower your guard until you deliver Avalene safely to her father."

"You have my sworn word, Lord Brunor, that no one will force Lady Avalene into marriage while I draw breath on this earth." Dante wanted to kick himself. The words sounded too self-assured, too possessive. "I have promised her father that I will bring her home safely and I would sooner die than break my word to Baron Weston."

"'Tis nice to see such loyalty," Brunor said, "but be advised that what I have told you goes no further. If Baron Weston inquires, I will deny this conversation ever took place. Do we understand each other?"

"Aye," Dante answered, "we understand each other very well indeed."

"Good, good, now let us speak of other things." Brunor filled his mug yet again before he settled back in his chair. "Tell me of your journey from Wales."

Rather than give Dante a chance to answer, he instead offered his own opinion.

"I journeyed there only once to fetch Avalene when she first came to live with us. Baron Weston's fortress is most impressive, but I have no great desire to return to such a troublesome wilderness. There are too few inns to sustain a traveler, and too many Welsh rebels in the forests. Now, the roads in England and France are a different matter altogether. A knight can journey to every tourney worth mention and sleep each eve in a soft bed."

Dante marveled at how easily the man could dismiss his wife's schemes and change the subject. "You have attended many tourneys, Lord Brunor?"

It was the right question to ask. Brunor launched into a long-winded tale that recounted every mud-splattered mile of his last journey through France, then a tale of a tournament at Crecy, which reminded Brunor a bit of the tournament at Chepstow. That naturally led to a complete accounting of the bloody combats and victorious revelries of every tournament that Brunor had participated in since boyhood.

Dante could hardly believe that the man who talked so inanely about meaningless tournaments was the same man who had shrewdly recognized and assessed a potentially dangerous situation in his household within mere moments and devised an effective strategy to deal with it. So far, nothing about Coleway or its inhabitants was what Dante expected and he was beginning to hope the night would end soon. There were only so many surprises he could tolerate in one day.

Mostly he was uncomfortable with his audience, as he was more or less on display in the great hall. The people of Coleway seemed convinced by his disguise, but they still saw him as a stranger, a curiosity to be stared at and whispered about. He could not recall the last time he had allowed anyone to study his face and features at such leisure. Although he tried to accept their stares, he kept his head lowered and avoided any direct gazes as he ate.

And then there was the great effort required to appear to eat with the enthusiasm of an Englishman while he actually consumed very little. Strong seasonings and spices were forbidden to a man who must move unnoticed through a crowd, or creep past a garrison of guards without betraying his presence. Most of the dishes before him were smothered with highly scented herbs and seasonings.

In this land of rain and water where nothing and no one ever managed to be clean, Dante made himself the exception. As a result he could smell an Englishman at fifty paces. Most reeked of onions and garlic, and their own stale sweat. Lord Brunor's scent revealed a fondness for ale.

"I vow my seams will burst if I eat another bite," he lied to Lord Brunor. "My thanks for the bounty of your table."

"'Tis fair compensation," said Brunor. He drained yet another mug of ale, and then pushed away from the table. "I have little doubt that you wish for a respite after such arduous travels. Allow me to show you to your quarters, Sir Percival."

Brunor spoke in a purposeful tone that could be heard by any of the servants and soldiers at the nearest tables, a subterfuge so deliberate that Dante mentally rolled his eyes. Outwardly, he showed just the right degree of false pleasure. "I would appreciate your escort."

Avalene heard footsteps in the hallway and knew they belonged to Sir Percival when her pulse picked up. She took one last look around her chamber to make certain everything was in order.

The turret room was once a guard tower that recent expansions to the castle had rendered useless for that purpose, so Avalene had claimed the chamber as her own. Private quarters were a rarity in a castle, and the chamber offered more comforts than a soldier such as Sir Percival would expect. Most striking were the long, colorful banners that hung from pegs placed near the tall ceiling. In all, there were more than a score of banners that covered most of the circular stone walls of the turret, stretching from the ceiling to the floor. Half were made of blue samite with the de Forshay griffins stitched in white and silver. The others were solid black with a large, bloodred dragon emblazoned on the fabric, the standard of the Segraves. The banners were gifts for her father, and they gave her chamber a very noble air.

Elsewhere the furnishings were far simpler; several wooden chests were placed around the room, a stool's thick, burgundy-colored pad offered a soft seat near the brazier, and a basket filled with balls of thread was placed nearby. An ample-sized bed claimed a section of the curved wall across from the doorway; embroidered flowers of every color brightened the cream-colored bed curtains, along with the matching coverlet and pillows. An old, chipped ewer held a spray of wildflowers on top of a wooden trunk, and a half-dozen seashells were scattered next to the ewer.

Only a woman would fuss with such small details, arrangements meant to please no one but herself. She felt very much at home in this chamber, surrounded by her feminine comforts. Sir Percival did not belong here. Still, she could easily picture him in her bed. Why did that thought cause her cheeks to warm?

She had tried to explain away her strange reaction to the man as an unexpected result of her accident. Anyone would be shocked senseless by nearly falling to their death. Anyone would feel an overwhelming rush of warmth and gratitude toward the person who rescued them. The only flaws in her reasoning lay in the fact that she felt more warmth than gratitude, and she had not been shocked senseless. Quite the contrary, landing in Sir Percival's arms had set every one of her senses on fire.

First his scent had filled her head; leather and oiled armor, the crisp smell of the open countryside, and beneath it all, a faint, masculine scent that had made her want to lean closer to find its source. What stopped her was the piercing emerald color of his eyes that made all the colors in the hall seem suddenly pale. She'd had to work hard to pull her gaze away from his and she could scarce recall seeing anything but him. She could tell by the way he effortlessly caught and then held her that there was a hard, muscular body beneath his armor and she had actually stroked his arm and then his chest, trying to feel what was beneath the cloth and iron.

Later she admitted that it was her strange awareness of the man that had made her react in ways that were most unlike her, an immediate sense that she had landed exactly where she was meant to be, in the arms of a man who could hold her safe and secure against any threat. He was familiar to her in ways she could not fathom. She wanted to melt into him, to lose herself in his gaze, forget that anyone else existed. It was the singular most unique experience in her life.

The footsteps drew closer and she took a deep breath to steady herself and brushed the wrinkles from the skirt of her newly-donned scarlet gown, sparing a glance at her aunt next to her. Something fluttered in her stomach when Sir Percival finally entered her chamber and started toward her. Already she had forgotten how big he was and yet how gracefully he moved.

There were other things about him that seemed different from what she remembered of him in the great hall. His hair was not pure black, as she had thought. The candlelight in her chamber brushed waves of deep mahogany amidst the ebony, an unexpected flame in the depths of night. The same dark shadows defined his jaw, the sharp planes of his cheeks, the masculine lines around his mouth. Altogether, he had the face of a fallen angel; a dark, sensual vision of sin.

He watched her just as closely and his gaze drifted lower for a leisurely examination of every part of her. It was such a thorough inspection that she knew she should be offended. Later, she would be offended. For the moment, she basked in the rare warmth of a man's appreciative gaze.

The men at Coleway tended to avoid her for the most part, just as certain as she was that she would find some dreadful task for anyone who had time to gawk at or speak improperly to a maiden, especially one who had the power to make their life unpleasant. Flirting did not engender respect, and she tolerated none of it from her uncle's men.

There had been a few exceptions, of course, a few young men brave enough to offer their assistance in the gardens as she gathered herbs and flowers, or their escort when she joined the hunt, or to request her hand in a dance. Regardless of whether she found their company pleasant or tiresome, their attentions never lasted beyond one or two small signs of courtship before they began to ignore her or actively avoid her company.

John teased her mercilessly over her failures at even those most innocent of courtships, somehow aware of each rejection, slyly insinuating that they had found her personality as lacking as her beauty. She had tried to ignore John's venom, knowing he delighted in making everyone miserable, yet the poisonous words took root after a while. She felt clumsy and awkward around any man she found the least bit attractive. Knowing any encouragement would only end with her own hurt feelings, her deliberately cold, shrewish manner was always enough to keep them at arm's length. The ploy worked well on both sides. She could not recall the last man who had bestirred any interest.

Her father's knight was a different story entirely. He would be worth the risk just to see him smile at her again. He made her feel small and delicate, this man who had caught her so easily in his arms. Yet, for some reason, he also made her feel helpless and more than a little afraid that he could hurt her in ways she had never experienced.

Part of her awed reaction was due to his size and strength, she supposed, evident in every hard line of his body. But mostly there was something about the way he looked at her. Something…predatory. No man had ever looked at her that way.

She watched him as he followed her uncle into her chamber in a slow, unhurried pace and saw his gaze sweep across the room once, and then again, as if he were wary of some threat. Despite this awareness of his surroundings, she had no doubt that she was his prey. He ignored Lady Margaret and came to a halt directly in front of her.

"My lady," he murmured, as he made a slight bow. "Allow me to apologize for this intrusion. Your aunt's generous offer to lend me your quarters is a great honor, but Lord Brunor tells me you will be forced to sleep on a stone bench beneath the solar windows. 'Tis not right for a knight to enjoy his own comforts at the expense of a lady. I would sooner sleep on a bed of thorns." He didn't give Avalene a chance to respond to those astonishing statements before he turned to Lady Margaret. "I am well accustomed to hardship and discomfort, my lady. The window seat's cushions in the solar will provide a far finer pallet than any I had expected. I beseech you to grant me this boon as I find it a far more attractive reward."

"Nonsense," Margaret began. "You were promised—"

"'Tis a matter of honor," Brunor said, as he gave his wife a look of warning. "You must not force Sir Percival to accept something that would be at such sharp odds with a knight's code of honor."

Margaret pressed her lips together, but gave her husband a reluctant nod. "Very well, the reward was not meant to cause you distress, Sir Percival. Of course you may sleep in the solar whilst you are at Coleway. 'Tis only a few paces down the hallway, so that should work out equally well."

Brunor made an obvious sound as he cleared his throat.

"That is, I am certain you will be equally comfortable there," Margaret hurried to say. "The servants should have a brazier warming the room by now, and I ordered extra sleeping furs for Avalene that you can use. Aye, you will be quite comfortable. Did you happen to notice Avalene's fine needlework?"

There was a moment of silence as everyone absorbed Lady Margaret's abrupt change of subject, then each gaze slowly followed the direction of her hand to one of the dragon banners.

Sir Percival walked toward the banner to take a closer look. He touched the delicate needlework that outlined the dragon's claws and scales, and even the shadows she had achieved by dyeing many pieces of fabric slightly different shades of red.

"This beast is a work of art," he said. "Indeed, all of the banners are flawless. Such work requires long hours and an artist's eye. You have an exceptional talent, Lady Avalene."

"'Tis one of her more useful skills," Margaret said. "She cannot—"

Avalene broke in before Margaret could reveal some new flaw that Percival would report to her father. "Each year I send a set of banners to my father for the ramparts of Weston Castle. Perhaps you saw the ones I made last year? He requested the dragons specifically for this year's banners…as a gift for the Segraves. A betrothal gift, I suppose."

"I hope the Segraves will appreciate your abilities," he said, without answering her question. Impossibly green eyes stared at her with such intensity that it was almost a relief when his gaze left her face. "These banners are gifts fit for royalty."

"I…" She meant to thank him, but a different thought took shape in her mind as she looked up at him, a thought planted by her dealings with John and his cronies. "I think you jest, Sir Percival. They are simple banners, not works of art."

"I seldom jest," he said, "and never at the expense of a lady. The beauty of what I see in this chamber surpasses anything I have seen of the like. I am in awe of your talent."

She realized with a start that she believed him, believed with all her heart that he would never laugh at her, even behind her back as others had done in the past, usually at John's urging. She also wanted to pinch him, just to make certain he was real. In all her dreams and flights of fancy, she had never created a knight quite so perfect as Sir Percival of Weston.

She wasn't sure how long they stared at each other, but he was the first to look away. And still she stared. Brunor cleared his throat again, louder this time, and Sir Percival glanced at her. Their eyes met again only for an instant and his features betrayed nothing, yet within that flash of green was a warning so immediate and understandable that she instantly lowered her lashes.

"I believe a hunt is in order for the morrow to refill the larders," Brunor said abruptly. "We will have another feast the day after the hunt to give everyone a chance to say their farewells to Avalene, and then you can depart the morning after the feast. That should also give everyone ample time to prepare for the journey. What say you, Percival? Will that satisfy your schedule?"

"Aye," he said simply.

"Very well," Brunor said. "There are a few things I must discuss with my wife. Avalene, show Sir Percival to the solar."

"Aye, my lord." Avalene held out her hand toward the doorway. "If you will follow me, Sir Percival?"

He looked as if he meant to say something in response and then thought better of it. Instead he merely inclined his head in agreement, and then he fell into step behind her. The door from the turret led directly to the passageway from the great hall. Her nerves and awkwardness returned with a vengeance as she pointed out what she felt was necessary. "This hallway leads to the chapel and there is a garderobe through the doorway at the end of the passage."

He made no response and she quickened her step. Halfway down the dimly lit passageway she opened a door to reveal a room much larger than her own chamber. It was the main gathering place for the ladies of the castle to gossip and sew during the day. The row of wide, arched windows on the outer wall drenched the solar in bright, airy sunlight during the day and provided ample light for sewing, but there was a definite chill to the room in the evenings. In keeping with its mostly feminine uses, the room's plastered walls were painted robin's-egg blue and decorated with hundreds of painted vines and roses. Tonight the moonlight cast strange shadows through the mullioned panes, and the cheerful, painted patterns took on a more sinister appearance in shades of black and gray. Avalene was glad that Percival had insisted upon sleeping here, and heartily agreed that a knight should not force a lady from her own bed. He really was quite honorable.

"Lord Brunor must have had your baggage brought up as well," she mused, nodding toward the saddlebags by one of the window seats. His silence made her wonder if he had already reached the stage where he wished to ignore her. "There is a candle and flint near the brazier. Is there anything else you require, Sir Percival?"

Even though the question was a simple one, she again had that odd feeling that he was torn about his answer. At last he said, "Do you want to stay at Coleway, my lady?"

The question so startled her that she made an unladylike sound in the back of her throat. "I can think of nothing—" She pressed her lips together before more churlish words could escape them. He would surely report every word of their conversations to her father. "That is, I am very grateful for all that my aunt has taught me and my uncle's many kindnesses over the years, but I look forward to the day I will be mistress of my own home. If my father can gain a valuable alliance through my marriage, all the better. Has someone told you that I do not wish to leave Coleway?"

"Not exactly."

She waited until it became obvious that was all he intended to say on the matter. Another fear took root, one that made her rethink her vow to be careful with her words. "Lady Margaret ofttimes thinks I am some great trial upon her patience, yet at other times she thinks I am all that keeps Coleway's household running smoothly. Indeed, I suspect she will do everything within her power to keep me from leaving. If she has suggested that I do not wish to leave Coleway, or that I am somehow not ready to become a wife, let me assure you that I do not share her opinions on the matter. Take me to my father, and I will run Weston's household until I have proven myself capable of managing a great estate. It will not take long before he realizes I will not embarrass our family. Or, has John told you some piece of gossip? You may not remain at Coleway long enough to realize, but the steward rarely has good things to say about anyone. He does not—"

Percival held up both hands. "You mistake the question, my lady. I simply wanted to be certain you were ready to leave what has become your home. Some ladies might become…sentimental on such an occasion."

Of course , she thought. He wondered if he would have a sobbing female on his hands when they departed. Instead she had given him ample reason to seek out John and Lady Margaret to find out why they did not think her ready to leave Coleway. What was it about this man that rattled her wits? She felt like kicking herself. It would be best for her to leave this chamber before she gave him any more bad ideas. "I look forward to the day we leave for Weston, Sir Percival. If you will excuse me, I'm certain my aunt and uncle will soon wonder what is keeping me."

She gave him a quick curtsey and all but fled from the room, keeping her gaze averted until she was in the passageway and the door had closed behind her. Still, she did not feel free of the invisible hold he seemed to have over her. He flustered her. There was no other word for it. He looked at her, and she could not think straight. She was fast losing count of the unexpected ways her body reacted to the smallest, strangest things such as the sound of his voice, or the scent that clung to his clothing. No other man had ever had such a disturbing effect on her. He was something entirely new to her world.

The girlish crushes in her past faded to insignificance, their pull nothing like this bone-deep awareness of a man. Whatever its causes, whatever her reactions, they had to stop. He was her father's knight and would soon be her guardian on the trip to Wales, and then nothing more. They would spend a few weeks in each other's company on this journey, perhaps she would see him on occasion at Castle Weston, and then she would go to the Segraves. Their acquaintance would last no more than a few months at most, and then it was unlikely she would ever see Sir Percival again. Mooning over a man she barely knew and would never know very well was as much a waste of her time as it was dangerous.

She reached the door to her chamber and stood with her hand on the latch as she contemplated the potential consequences of her unexpected attraction to Sir Percival. There were tales aplenty of disgraced maidens and adulterous wives. Until today, she had thought those women were either weak-willed or selfish. What honorable woman would risk disgracing herself and her family simply to be with a man who was not her husband or her betrothed?

Now she had a better appreciation for the lure of temptation. It would not be so hard to encourage a friendship between herself and Sir Percival on the journey to Wales. There were no rules against an innocent friendship or harmless flirtations between a knight and a lady. Knights pledged themselves all the time to ladies who were married or betrothed to other men, as a tribute to either their beauty or the warmth of their personality, or both. Countless knights had pledged themselves to Lady Margaret, and Lord Brunor actually took pride in their numbers. They walked with her in the gardens, carried her favor in tourneys, and composed countless poems and songs in tribute to her beauty that they performed with various degrees of success in the solar when Margaret held court with her ladies. Avalene had found it all rather nauseating at times, but the thought of Sir Percival being smitten with her enough to compose poetry made her heart skip a beat…until reality intruded once more.

His effect on her was undeniable, but she refused to hope that he felt the same way. His eyes were too worldly and his face too handsome to be instantly captivated by anyone so plain or ordinary. There must be a string of beautiful women who vied for his attentions at Weston. She was no more to him than a duty. That was the reason she had to—

"Avalene will not leave Coleway in two days or two hundred."

The sound of her aunt's voice was muffled, but still loud enough to be heard clearly through the door. Avalene pulled her hand away from the latch and then leaned closer to the gap between the wooden door and the stone doorway. It was Lady Margaret's next words that caught her undivided attention and sent a chill down her spine.

"Aye, I am well aware that John wishes to marry her. 'Tis a small enough reward for all he has done for us and you should have petitioned my brother long before the Segraves became involved in her betrothal. Failing that, you could have helped me arrange her compromise with some traveling merchant or minstrel. Now the timing will appear suspicious."

Every drop of blood in Avalene's veins turned to ice. Her aunt and uncle, the very people charged to keep her safe, were plotting to ruin her.

It was not hard to piece together their plan. The man she despised more than any other had somehow convinced them to help trap her in a marriage that would shame both her and her father. The scandal was beyond her ability to imagine.

Numbed to the bone, she was helpless to do anything but listen as Margaret continued her argument.

"Still, you cannot fail to see my logic. If she is compromised by Sir Percival you can have him arrested. Even if you decide not to hang him, my brother could not argue our logic if we spare Percival's life and send him back to Weston Castle without Avalene. Reynard will still wish to marry her off quickly, and a steward who is cousin to a baron will be a fitting husband for a woman so disgraced."

Her aunt had to be standing very close to the doorway to be heard so clearly in the passageway because Avalene could not make out one word of her uncle's lengthy response. Despite pressing her ear as hard as she could to the crack between the wall and the door, the conversation in the chamber was impossible to follow until she heard Margaret's answer. "Aye, you are correct, my lord. I had not considered those possibilities. Perhaps we should both meet with John tomorrow to discuss your concerns. Surely he has thought of them as well and will have a solution, which is fine by me as long as the trap is sprung by tomorrow night. In any event, she could walk in upon us at any moment and this discussion is best saved for our own chamber. I will go see what is keeping her."

Avalene scrambled away from the door and schooled her expression into blank innocence. She pretended to still be walking down the passageway toward her chamber even as the door opened and she met Lady Margaret's startled expression with one of her own.

"Oh! How long have you been here?" Margaret demanded.

Avalene glanced over her shoulder to collect her wits, then turned and lied to her aunt's face. "I just returned from the solar. Sir Percival was kind enough to answer a few questions I had about my family at Weston."

That such questions had never occurred to Avalene while she was alone with Sir Percival caused a momentary pang of guilt, followed by a wave of relief. Margaret appeared to believe her. "Well, do not dawdle. We have all had a long day and your uncle is determined that the hunt begin at dawn on the morrow. 'Tis time for us all to be abed."

"Aye, my lady," Avalene murmured as she stepped to one side of the passageway. "I will bid you good eve."

"I sent word to the kitchens to let them know we will break our fast earlier than planned," Brunor told Avalene. He followed Margaret from the chamber and stepped into the passageway, then turned to give her a considering look. "You are welcome to join us on the hunt."

"Cook may not be well enough to return to his duties," she said. "'Tis best if I remain here to make certain the meat is properly dressed once it arrives." She wondered how they failed to notice the way her voice wavered, the way her hands trembled, even though she had them clenched behind her back. Their only concerns, as usual, involved their own comforts. Who would see to all these small details once she returned home to Weston? If she returned to Weston. "Will you be attending the hunt as well, my lady?"

"Of course," Margaret said, looking slightly perplexed. "You know well enough that I never miss a hunt."

"And Sir Percival? Will he go on the hunt as well?"

Brunor answered before Margaret had a chance. "Aye, why do you ask?"

"I need to plan a midday meal for the hunters," she said, thankful to have thought of such a plausible explanation so quickly. "I will have food sent to the huntsman's lodge at midday, and then the food carts can haul the game back to the castle to be dressed. I will also speak to the marshal about the carts I will need for the journey to Weston."

She breathed another small sigh of relief when Brunor nodded.

"Do what you must to prepare for your journey," he said. "Use your time wisely. Already the hour grows late and you have much to do on the morrow. We will bid you good eve, niece."

Somehow she managed to keep her expression politely blank as she bid her aunt and uncle good night. Her wobbly knees held steady as she watched them walk away until finally they turned the corner at the end of the passageway. She even felt a strange sense of calm as she stepped into her chamber and quietly closed the door behind her, and then she leaned her back against the door and slowly sank to the floor.