The Princess

by Elizabeth Elliott

  That was brutal but true, and the truth still hurt a deep, guarded part of my soul. Hartman and I had both contracted mumps in the last month of my pregnancy. He had nearly died of his illness. I had wanted to, when I watched my babe take a few labored breaths and then no more.

  Everyone knew that a case of mumps as severe as Hartman’s often left a man unable to father children. Without that explanation, I would be impossible to marry off to any nobleman who needed an heir, no matter my wealth or bloodline. Even so, my father had to act quickly, before the gossip in Rheinbaden about my husband’s fertile mistress followed me to England.

  “Mumps is the rumor,” Faulke agreed, “but it does not change the fact that your ability to produce a healthy heir is unproven.”

  I refused to feel guilty. It was the Segraves’ actions that had led all of us to this place. Faulke was hardly the innocent victim. Ach, he even looked the part of a villain, with his wild beard and fouled clothes. I gazed at him with cool eyes. “The terms of our marriage are due in great part to your own matrimonial history, Lord Faulke. You are very young to have buried three wives. There are rumors of murder.”

  His hands fisted at his sides and his lips barely moved when he answered my charge. “I did not murder my wives.”

  “I do not particularly care,” I lied. “The terms of our marriage are such that you now have a vested interest in my health and longevity.”

  “I am well aware of the terms,” Faulke bit out. “I am a wealthy earl only as long as you live.”

  “My father feels that is sufficient motivation to ensure I do not fall victim to the sorts of unusual accidents and illnesses that befell your previous brides.”

  Faulke studied something on my gown, and then he lifted his gaze to mine again. “Are you such a dutiful daughter that you would willingly enter into marriage with a man rumored to murder his wives, a man who makes no secret of the fact that he wants another woman as his wife?”

  “ ’Tis a daughter’s duty to obey her father,” I said in an even tone. “ ’Tis the duty of a princess to serve her country and to obey her king. Do you suggest I commit treason?”

  “Refusing a suitor is hardly grounds for treason,” he countered in a low voice. “You are the daughter of a king and the widow of a crown prince. Aside from my own unsavory reputation, one of my grandfathers was in trade, the other was a landless knight in service to your great-uncle at Pembroke. My grandmothers are even less illustrious. The only reason we hold a title is because my father happened to be in the right place at the right time to save your grandfather’s life on the battlefield. Will you truly be content with a man of such ill-repute, one with the blood of commoners in his veins?”

  His questions gave me pause. He was the first person who expected me to voice an opinion on the matter.

  I wondered why he cared.

  My opinion counted for nothing. It would make no difference in our circumstances.

  And then his strategy became suddenly clear. He could not refuse the betrothal without insulting his king. Men had found themselves locked in the Tower for more minor offenses. Faulke obviously valued his freedom, and thought there was another means to escape the trap of our marriage. I had to admire his strategy. “Do you think I have some choice in this matter?”

  “Daughters hold a special place in the hearts of their fathers,” he said with a small shrug. “Surely your father would take your happiness into consideration.”

  Was he jesting? The children of kings were a far different matter than the children of commoners, or more specifically, the children of a newly made barony. My father had mentioned that Faulke had three young daughters, but Avalene knew little about them.

  I looked at him in a new light, recalling some of the close-knit families in the village at Grunental, the castle where I had spent the last lonely years of my marriage. I had sometimes envied them, husbands and wives who loved each other as well as they loved their children, but I always knew they were a phenomena of the common classes. And yet Faulke had just boasted of his common blood. Did his daughters hold a special place in his heart?

  What a novel concept.

  “The king is most assuredly unlike most fathers,” I said before I could be distracted by the idea of loving parents. “He takes into consideration what is best for England, which also happens to be what is best for him. I am certain my happiness is a sacrifice he is willing to make, should he be forced to choose between my happiness and the good of the realm.”

  Faulke studied my face for a long moment, and then he tilted his head forward to rub his brow. I could almost see the fight seep out of him. His muttered words confirmed as much. “Then it seems we are to be married.”

  “It would seem so,” I agreed. The anger in his eyes faded and I made a startling realization. He had truly believed I could refuse my father’s order. I gestured toward his clothing. “Is that the reason you came to our first meeting in such a state? Did you hope I would find you so repulsive that I would cry off?”

  His mouth twisted into a grim line. “Your repulsion was an entirely unplanned effect, Princess, brought about by Chiavari’s determination to sever my betrothal to Lady Avalene as quickly as possible.”

  Faulke looked at his cousin, then down at his own garments, as if seeing their state for the first time. “We have ridden across most of Wales and southern England in the last month, and have seen nothing but rain for the past fortnight. Hours ago we were taken prisoner at the gates to London, and then brought to this palace. Richard and I were escorted to this solar under guard soon after I signed our betrothal contract.” He spread his hands again, this time in a mocking gesture. “Thus, we appear before you.”

  He stared boldly into my eyes, almost as if he were issuing a challenge of some sort. I could not seem to look away. Nor did I want to. If he were trying to intimidate me, it would not work.

  Eventually a movement at the doorway caught my attention, then Sir Roland stepped aside to allow another man to enter the solar. I gave Sir Roland a nod, and the knight announced the stranger.

  “My lords and ladies, may I present Mordecai of the king’s council and adviser to the royal family.” The old knight ended that announcement with a bout of coughing that had Mordecai looking at him askance.

  Everyone else in the solar stared at the newest arrival, just as we had all stared at the Segraves. Most mystics were outright frauds, but no one rose to the rank of royal adviser without proven skills of some sort. Still, the only thing that appeared mystical about Mordecai was his clothing. The long robes he wore were made of a strange, shimmering cloth that seemed to change color with every movement as he walked into the room, from darkest black to deep purples and blues, with occasional fiery streaks of red and gold.

  I was certain the genial smile and innocent blue eyes disguised a mind as devious as my father’s. I fought down the urge to back away when he stopped before me and lifted my hand to give it a perfunctory kiss.

  “Princess Isabel, you are even more beautiful than I remembered.”

  Mordecai watched me process his compliment, his lips curved in a secretive smile that set my teeth on edge. I nodded a greeting. “You have not changed at all from my childhood memories of you, Mordecai. I hope you will share your secrets for retaining such youthful vigor. Beautiful women are known to be vain.”

  “And still clever,” he said with a chuckle. “You were always my favorite of your parents’ brood.”

  That was news to me. Unwelcome news, which I decided to ignore. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “You have many decisions to make in the coming weeks,” Mordecai replied. “The banns will be read during the next three Sunday masses at St. Paul’s, and the marriage will take place the following Monday. That gives you little more than three weeks to make the necessary preparations.”

  “You seem to hav
e something specific in mind,” Faulke remarked. “What preparations must be made?”

  Mordecai’s gaze flickered to the mullioned windows that overlooked the gardens. The late summer sun cast golden rays across the floor. “The journey to Wales will be the most pressing, of course. It must be accomplished before winter. You have more than one hundred Rheinbaden soldiers and servants in your company, Princess. How long did you prepare for your journey here from Rheinbaden?”

  “Several months,” I answered. “But we can be ready to move again with less work. We have all the necessary livestock, wagons, and crates. We will simply need to lay in fresh supplies.”

  Mordecai shook his head. “One hundred of your father’s soldiers will also go with you to Wales. Some of the soldiers have wives and children, or other entanglements, so there are always the camp followers to consider. Lord Faulke arrived in London with a score of men, whom I assume will also accompany you. In all, your company will number nearly three hundred people. You will be responsible for them all.”

  This time I looked to Gerhardt and then to Sir Roland, but the English knight merely lifted his shoulders in a shrug of apology. I had assumed Sir Roland, the captain of my father’s guard, would make provisions for his men, and I’d had no knowledge of the families and camp followers. Ach, we would be a small city.

  “Aside from the journey and the eventual living arrangements you must make for the number of people who will reside at Hawksforth,” Mordecai said, “there is also the matter of Maldon Castle and your other estates.” He turned to my future husband. “Lord Faulke, your father will become sheriff of Maldon upon your marriage and oversee the stewards at Isabel’s estates. You will be within your rights to replace them with your own appointments. However, your wife may have her own opinions about the stewards, as most are her relatives. I expect other matters will arise during those discussions that you will wish to address.”

  “My bride and I do, indeed, have much to discuss before the wedding,” Faulke said. He gave me a formal bow that lacked any trace of insult or mockery. “By your leave, my lady, my cousin and I will depart your company. As you pointed out earlier, we are hardly fit for an audience. We will return on the morrow to discuss the preparations for our marriage in more detail, after we have had a chance to make ourselves more presentable.”

  I toyed with the idea of a polite curtsey and then dismissed it. I still outranked Faulke, and I did not want him to think I was softening. I gave him a syrupy smile instead. “I shall count the hours until your return, sir.”

  Rather than take his leave, he took several steps toward me, and that odd feeling was suddenly back in my stomach again. Butterflies. Or fear. From the corner of my eye I saw Gerhardt move forward to a protective position at my side, close enough to intervene, and yet far enough to draw his weapon without skewering me.

  Faulke stood so close that I wanted to take a step back, envisioning smears of dirt on my white bliaut, but that would look cowardly so I held my ground. I barely flinched when he reached out and captured my hand in his. And then I stared dumbly at our joined hands, his so large that it almost enveloped mine completely. My natural instinct was to pull away from such an unexpected intimacy, and I allowed myself to take a step backward from the mud-covered knight, as far as his hold would allow, but he held fast to my hand.

  He waited until I looked into his eyes, and then I couldn’t seem to look away. He turned my hand over and pressed his lips to my wrist, his gaze holding mine captive the entire time. His deep voice was just above a whisper. “I shall endeavor to make the wait worth your while, Princess.”

  The words were innocent enough, but my cheeks felt suddenly warm. Before I could conjure up a witty retort, or summon a rational thought of any sort, he released his hold and backed away several steps. He bowed again, and then he and his cousin left the solar. I watched them go with a mixture of disbelief at his audacity and surprise that he had somehow managed to have the last word. He had left me speechless. Again.

  Eventually I sat back down and resisted the urge to cradle my hand in my lap, to trace the imprint of his lips upon my wrist. The strangeness of my reaction to his touch baffled me. I flattened my palm against my thigh and tried to rub away the lingering tingles in my hand and wrist without being obvious about it. Why had he done such a thing? Did he think I would somehow fall under his spell, overwhelmed by a simple kiss on my wrist? Had a simple kiss rendered me senseless?

  I suddenly felt everyone’s gazes upon me as they waited for me to react in some way to Faulke’s departure. Only Mordecai was bold enough to finally break the silence.

  “This marriage is of great importance, Princess. You will be suitably rewarded for your cooperation.”

  I glanced at the kindly expression on his face and then looked away. It was a mask, one as false as any of the masks I wore to conceal my true thoughts and feelings. I leaned my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes. My emotions were in turmoil. I was tired. Exhausted. I hadn’t slept well since I left Rheinbaden, and not at all the night before. Those were the reasons for my odd reaction to Faulke Segrave’s touch. He was an insulting, uncouth, unwashed bear of a man, likely as barbaric as the Welshmen he ruled. His touch had actually repelled me. Aye, repelled. I was so on edge and out of sorts that I would have reacted the same if anyone had held my hand and kissed my wrist in that moment. It was a moment that would never happen again.

  The hopes I’d had for a tolerable marriage lay in ashes. Yet Mordecai and my father both encouraged and praised my cooperation as I was swept toward a future that promised to be more miserable than my past.

  Aside from counting the hours until our next meeting, I dreaded even more the day when Faulke learned the full truth of my deception in this marriage.

  I released a slow sigh and wondered if I would live long enough to be “suitably rewarded” for my part in this crime.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Poison

  That night I dreamed about Faulke Segrave. The odd part was that I knew it was a dream. Pursuit and capture seemed to be the main themes of the evening, and we took turns looking for each other in a darkened forest as if we were playing a game. Several times I laughed when he couldn’t find me.

  “Princess?”

  A hand encased in a knight’s glove reached toward me from swirling mists and I shrieked in fright. The hand motioned me toward the shadows. Although this was definitely a dream, I wasn’t foolish enough to go willingly into the shadows.

  “Show yourself!” I demanded.

  The hand motioned me forward again. “Come closer, Princess. I cannot linger long.”

  That voice did not belong to Faulke. My mind drifted through a list of possibilities and stopped on Sir Roland. I looked up to where the face that went with Sir Roland’s hand should be. Shadows. I stared again at the disembodied hand. I knew this place wasn’t real, but I knew just as surely that I was here for a reason. I reached toward Sir Roland’s hand. Just as my fingertips almost reached his glove, another voice called out to me.

  “Princess?”

  Someone grabbed my shoulders to pull me away from the outstretched hand. I tried to reach out farther, even as the gloved hand withdrew into the shadows. The sight of that hand disappearing into nothingness sent shivers down my spine and I drew back, suddenly afraid of being drawn into the shadows and disappearing myself.

  “Princess, please. You must wake up!”

  That was Hilda speaking, one of my attendants. She sounded frightened. I struggled toward consciousness.

  “What…?” I was still so drugged by sleep that I could barely form the word.

  “My lady, wake up!” Hilda gave my shoulder another firm shake. “Sir Roland is dead! Murdered!”

  My eyes popped open just as Hilda leaned over me with a candle that was blindingly close to my eyes, so near that I could feel its heat curl my eyelashes. I close
d my eyes and tried to keep my voice calm so she would not be startled and drip hot beeswax onto my face. “I cannot see with you holding that candle so close, Hilda.”

  “Forgive me, Princess. I am just…there was a murder last eve! Here!”

  The golden red light behind my eyelids became marginally darker. I opened my eyes again and sat up. My bedchamber was still dark, but through the window behind Hilda I could see the pink glow of dawn. Gretchen, my other attendant and my oldest friend, stood at the foot of my bed, her hands clasped before her as she chewed on her bottom lip.

  I remembered the dream and shuddered. “What happened to Sir Roland?”

  “Two of the English soldiers found his body when they went to wake him,” Gretchen answered, “although they think he has been dead for most of the night.”

  “Faulke is dead, too?” I asked, struggling to separate the fragments of my dream from reality.

  “No, Sir Roland,” Hilda said. She shook her head and spoke to me in a slow, deliberate tone. “The captain of your English guard is dead, not your betrothed. They took Sir Roland’s body to the great hall. Gerhardt has also sent for Lord Dante.”

  Sir Roland. He was an old man. A sick old man. I recalled several times when he had been overcome with coughing spells in the last few days. “Why would Gerhardt involve Chiavari?”

  Hilda and Gretchen exchanged a look. Gretchen said, “Ashland Palace is still Lord Dante’s until he leaves for Italy, my lady. ’Tis customary to inform the host when a death occurs among his guests.”

  “Of course,” I said as I rubbed my eyes. “I am not quite awake yet.”

  “Do you wish for a robe or would you like us to dress you?” Hilda asked.

  I stared at the canopy above my head and tried to gather my thoughts. I had dreamed of two men, and now one was dead. Was it possible that both had died? Or, did the dream mean nothing at all?

  “We assumed you would want to view the body,” Gretchen said. “ ’Tis your duty, my lady.”