The Princess

by Elizabeth Elliott

  “Enjoyable?” I echoed as I made a point to change whatever moon-eyed expression he saw on my face into a scowl. What was wrong with me?

  It suddenly occurred that he had been acting very odd since his arrival today. I stared at the scar above his right eyebrow while I tried to discern his true intentions behind all of the smiles and gallantry. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  He gave me a baffled look.

  “Yesterday you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me or my family, and had only agreed to our marriage under duress. Today you arrive transformed in all ways, from your clothing to your character.” I tried not to stare too long at the clothing or the character. “Surely you must admit that I have reason to question your conduct.”

  “No woman has ever accused me of being too nice,” he said with a broad smile that gradually faded when it was not returned. “I must confess that I was not on my best behavior yesterday.”

  “I am relieved to hear it,” I said under my breath.

  “Our fathers have been negotiating this marriage for longer than I realized,” he said, “and for more reasons than I was aware. It was unfortunate that our first meeting took place before I had a chance to meet privately with my father.”

  “What magical powers does your father possess to turn yesterday’s churl into today’s charmer?” Ach. I had said that aloud. I should have just been thankful that he no longer glowered and glared at me. Like he was doing right now.

  “Yesterday I tried to envision every possible outcome of the day,” he said. “Most scenarios ended with me either dead or imprisoned. Surely you can understand why my mood was not particularly pleasant.”

  “I was not responsible for anything that happened to you yesterday,” I said with a sniff. Nor did I deserve to be blamed, I didn’t add. No one cared how I felt about being married off to a stranger. Then again, yesterday Faulke had inquired about my feelings on the matter, albeit for selfish reasons.

  “The betrothal caught me off guard.” He looked away from me. Either he regretted how he had behaved, or there was something of great interest in the hedges. “I assumed you were part of the plot to end my betrothal to Avalene. It did not occur to me until after I left Ashland that you had no hand in yesterday’s events.” He fell silent again as his gaze moved over me in another one of those disturbingly personal inventories that traveled from my head to my slippers, and then back again. “Our first meeting was so far from ideal that I considered bringing you a gift today, and to beg your forgiveness for whatever insult I caused. And then I realized you already possess riches beyond my imagining, and there is no forgivable excuse for my behavior yesterday.”

  As apologies went, that wasn’t much of one. And a gift did not appear to be forthcoming. “Believe me, you were not what I imagined, either, when I envisioned our first meeting.”

  He tilted his head to one side, another mannerism that was becoming familiar to me. “Have I managed to insult you again?”

  I lifted my shoulders to show how little I cared about his insults, and then I found an interesting cloud to stare at. “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me,” he said. I watched the cloud drift slowly across the sky until it began to look like a duck. He released a deep sigh. “Where you are concerned, I seem to have a talent for saying the wrong thing.”

  A twinge of guilt twisted my gut. Despite my runaway imagination, he wasn’t flirting with me or trying to seduce me; he was just being nice. And I was being purposely rude in return.

  “These are trying times for us both,” I admitted.

  His lips curved into a wry smile. Ach, something traitorous went on inside me every time that man smiled. Butterflies. I decided I hated them.

  Whatever he saw on my face made his smile fade. “How did the king convince you to marry me?”

  “A daughter’s duty is to obey her father,” I answered, almost by habit.

  “Yet you are no longer a child,” he said, “and you do not strike me as the meek and mild type. Surely you were given some incentive to marry so far below your station?”

  I could not decide if he meant to prod my temper with these frequent reminders that he lacked a noble pedigree, or if he was really that insecure about the differences in our stations. Either way, I supposed it would do no harm to reveal a portion of the truth. “My father says our marriage will avert a war in Wales. He also promised to care for my people, should anything happen to me.”

  “Your father tends to make threats rather than promises,” he said. “Could it be our king is clever enough to make one sound like the other?”

  The truth did not require confirmation. My people were safe, only as long as I agreed to my father’s plans for my marriage.

  “I have answered your question,” I reminded him, “but you have yet to answer mine. How did your father convince you to marry me?”

  “Much the same as yours,” he said. “My father made me realize that our marriage would benefit my people, as much as it would my family. Win or lose, many of our soldiers would die if a war were to break out, and the common folk always pay the highest price when nobles argue. I am not so unreasonable that I would put my people to the sword, if a tolerable alternative exists.”

  Was his change of heart truly so simplistic? I wondered. “You still haven’t told me why you are being so nice.”

  His mouth flattened. “I would rather begin our marriage as friends instead of adversaries.”

  Something in my chest gave a painful twist. The death throes of a thousand butterflies, no doubt. He seemed wholly unaware of what his…friendliness was doing to me, and it wasn’t his fault that I mistook his kindness for something else. He was only trying to make the best of a bad situation. I had plenty of practice in that arena.

  “Yesterday you made clear your dislike of my family in general and your distaste of me in particular.” I lifted my chin and pretended I didn’t care about his opinions of me. “I would rather have honesty between us than a pretense of friendship.”

  “I do not find you distasteful,” he retorted. “Surely you are aware of your beauty. Of your…” He shook his head, and made a frustrated gesture with his hand. “Distasteful is the last word I would use to describe you.”

  The beauty remark was probably incidental, something he told all women, but I couldn’t gauge the truthfulness of the rest. Nor could I think of an appropriate response.

  “I know few women who are so self-assured,” he went on. “You are a queen in all but name. The idea that the king would favor me with such a gift was beyond my imagination. Yesterday I expected to be imprisoned or put to death. Instead…You were unexpected.”

  He waited for me to reply. I had no idea what to say.

  “My family could still be ruined,” he admitted. “The possibilities plague me, but my father feels certain the king will not interfere unduly in our marriage. That means we are both pawns. How we go forward together from here is the only decision left to us. I am not your enemy, Princess.” He watched me very carefully. “Will you give me a chance to be your friend in truth?”

  Was this some ploy to win me to his family’s side of the political game we played? I didn’t know what to think. Or what to say.

  “Perhaps we should return to your ladies.” The stiffness of his voice jarred me from my thoughts.

  “My foot is still throbbing,” I said as I flexed the arch of my foot to test the injury. I could probably walk, but I didn’t want to risk him picking me up again and sending my senses into another nosedive. “Would you mind if I sat a bit longer?”

  A shadow of disappointment crossed his face, but he bowed his head. “I am at your service, Princess.”

  He put a little more space between us on the bench, and placed his hands on his knees. The wistful look he gave the path that led back to the orchard gave me more to think about. Was he
ready to leave because he regretted the things he’d said to me? Were they honest confessions, or all lies? I no longer trusted my ability to discern the truth.

  The cynical part of me scoffed at my heart’s gooey response to his false flattery. Another part of me longed to believe he found me attractive.

  And that was the most astonishing development of this afternoon. A handsome man smiled at me, and my heart became as gullible as it had been when I was a child. I was old enough to know better. My unwelcome attraction to Faulke was ridiculous. His smiles meant nothing. Doubtless he tried to charm all women with that smile. Smitten. What foolishness.

  “Have you talked to your people yet about our journey to Wales?” he asked, interrupting my tangled thoughts.

  I shook my head, thankful for the change of subject. “Not yet.”

  “I would like to have my cousin Richard work with your steward and the captain of the English guard to make plans for the trip. I know you have relatives along the way who might offer provisions. Could you give your captain a list of those relatives so we can plan accordingly?”

  “Aye.” My annoyance with my reactions to him disappeared. “There will be a delay of some duration until my English captain is replaced. He died last night.”

  “The old knight who introduced us yesterday?” he asked. “He did look ill, now that I recall him.”

  “Sir Roland was poisoned,” I said.

  Faulke stared at me for a moment in silence, and then he was suddenly on his feet again, towering over me. “What did you say?”

  “He was poisoned,” I repeated. As I explained everything that had happened that morning, he began to pace back and forth in front of me, asking occasional questions. It never occurred to me that he would have this much interest in Sir Roland’s death, although now I wondered what had made me think that way.

  “Why did no one send me a message?” he demanded.

  “I sent a missive to your townhouse this morning.” I lifted my shoulders. “I thought you received it. Chiavari seems to have the situation under control.”

  “I am your betrothed,” he informed me. “Anything that affects you now affects me. I will be informed in person of everything that happens at this palace until we are wed.”

  There were few people who could issue orders to me. Faulke was not one of them, at least, not yet. If he were not so upset by the news of Sir Roland’s death, I would have pointed that fact out to him.

  “I do not trust Chiavari as far as I can throw him,” he went on. “I find it suspicious that your captain was poisoned in such close proximity to the realm’s most notorious poisoner.”

  “I, ah, I thought that was an unusual coincidence myself,” I admitted. “However, it now seems likely that Sir Roland’s son-in-law received the poison and inadvertently gave a portion to Sir Roland.”

  “Perhaps,” he allowed. “But what if the situation is reversed? What if Sir Roland encountered the poison here at Ashland, and gave the sweetmeats to his daughter’s family? Perhaps Sir Roland found the poisoned sweetmeats before they could be delivered to their intended victim. You.”

  “Chiavari would not harm me,” I said, even though I had asked myself the same questions. “His marriage depends upon my father’s continued good graces, and there is some matter he must deal with in Italy that he is counting on my father to support as well.”

  “You said yourself that you barely know your parents. If you died now, I would be blamed and my life would be forfeit.” He gave me a pointed look and spoke very slowly. “If Chiavari is loyal to your father, I have to wonder: Is your father loyal to you?”

  I made an indignant noise. “My father would not order my death, if that is what you insinuate!”

  As the initial surge of outrage faded, I began to question my certainty. My father had lived without me nearly all of my life. I would be gone again from his life within a matter of weeks, my wealth and lands bound in an expensive marriage to a man who played dangerous politics. If I died…

  A cynical voice whispered in my head that I could actually be worth more to the king dead than I was alive.

  “My death so soon after our betrothal would make no sense. The marcher barons would use it as an excuse to stir more trouble among the rebels.” I folded my arms across my chest and pretended a confidence I did not feel. “If someone intended to murder me and make you look the culprit, they would wait until we are wed.”

  “I would be blamed,” he said again. “No matter how or when you might die, how long would I live, if the king made certain everyone believed I had murdered his daughter?”

  I lifted my chin so it would not quiver. “My father would not order my death.”

  “I want you to move into my townhouse,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I will send for more of our soldiers. Yours will have to do until they arrive.”

  I raised my brows. Did he truly think my retinue could be contained within a London townhouse? “I cannot leave Ashland Palace until we are married.”

  “You cannot stay,” he insisted.

  “Can you house three hundred people in your townhouse?”

  He scowled and pressed his lips together in a straight line.

  “Then I will move in here,” he said at last, nodding as if to agree with himself. “A company of my soldiers as well.”

  “There is certainly enough room at Ashland for you and your soldiers,” I said, “but I doubt Chiavari will allow it. This will remain his palace until he sails for Italy, and he does not want you anywhere near Avalene.”

  “Aye, you have the right of it,” he said with a scowl. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then I could almost see an idea occur to him. “Chiavari cannot object to an edict from the king. Either your father will agree to my request, or I will have questions about any objections he might make.”

  The idea of him interrogating my father almost made me smile. Would he really be so foolish? I wasn’t certain how I felt about this new protective streak in him. “This is quite a change from how you felt about me a day ago. Yesterday I believe you would have rejoiced had I dropped dead of poison.”

  “I do not rejoice at anyone’s death,” he said in a stiff tone. “Yesterday you were a stranger, and I mistakenly thought you were involved in your father’s plots. Regardless, you are now my betrothed. I have the legal right and responsibility to keep you safe from every threat, even if that threat comes from your own family.”

  He sounded as if he meant what he said. Yesterday we were strangers. Today he was ready to slay dragons for me. No wonder women found him irresistible.

  “Do you trust the captain of your Rheinbaden guard?”

  “Gerhardt?” I asked. “Of course I trust him. He is sworn to me.”

  He lifted one dark brow. “Does that vow mean the same in Rheinbaden as it does in England?”

  “My people are loyal.” I left it at that for the time being. Eventually it would become obvious that most of my people were an assortment of misfits who had lost favor at other courts. Not that Gerhardt numbered among the misfits. He was Gretchen’s brother, and my best knight.

  “I should return you to your ladies,” he said, breaking into my thoughts. “I need to request an audience with your father, and then make arrangements to move into the palace.”

  The thought of us living under the same roof made the butterflies in my stomach stir back to life. I pushed them down even as I stood up to test how much weight I could put on my foot. “I am ready.”

  He hesitated and looked as if he wanted to say something more, but in the end he raised his head and stared at the sky. Was he praying? The awkward silence stretched out until he gestured toward my leg. “Can you walk?”

  “ ’Tis fine,” I lied. “I can walk.”

  He stood next to me and then took my hand and wrapped it around his arm. “Lean on me, if you need
to.”

  I nodded and began to retrace our steps. We walked no more than a dozen steps before he swept me up into his arms again.

  “Your foot is not fine,” he said, and settled me more securely in his grip.

  He was right. The bruise on my foot was worse than I had thought, so I did not object to being carried. However, I enjoyed it as much as I had feared. My heartbeat sped into its silent chant again: smitten, smitten, smitten. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  He looked down at me and a dark lock of hair fell across his forehead. I resisted the urge to push it back into place. Ach, I could get lost in this man’s eyes. Instead I averted my gaze and kept my hands to myself. The chant in my head turned into stupid, stupid, stupid.

  When we came into sight of my people, a small flurry of activity arose. My ladies clamored toward me, my guards stepped forward, and the musicians fell silent. However, I scarcely took note of them when I realized there were two new additions to the company: Mordecai and my father.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The King

  “What is he doing here?” Faulke whispered as he lowered my feet to the ground.

  His breath was hot against my ear and had a strange effect on my body, similar to his smiles, but much more intense, which I had thought impossible until now. I managed to lift my shoulders in a shrug.

  “Why is he carrying you?” Gretchen asked in German.

  At the same time Gerhardt demanded, “Are you injured?”

  “I am fine.” I answered in French, so my father would understand. “I stepped on a shell and bruised my foot. ’Tis nothing.”

  Indeed, my small injury was the least of my problems. This was the first time my father had visited me at Ashland Palace. Sir Roland’s death was the most likely reason. At least, I hoped that was the reason. So far in my life, nothing particularly good had come from any meeting I’d had with my father. I wondered if today would be different.