The Princess

by Elizabeth Elliott

  Once we were inside my bedchamber, I left the door ajar. I don’t know why that opened door soothed my nerves, but it did.

  Faulke looked just as apprehensive about being in a confined space with me. He no longer looked angry; he looked…dumbfounded. His gaze traveled everywhere, and then seemed to settle on the bed.

  I had brought my own bed from Rheinbaden, of course, a massive four-poster made of walnut from the Black Forest. The canopy and curtains were made of pink and white cloth sewn into wide stripes with gold thread. A padded quilt of the same pink and white fabric covered the bed, and the bolsters were trimmed in white ermine fur. Smooth linen sheets lay beneath the quilt, and a thick down mattress completed the cozy nest. Altogether, it was my most impressive piece of furniture. I gave Faulke a few moments to take it in.

  My frayed nerves began to settle amid the familiar surroundings. I moved to the deep-set windows and took a seat on the padded cushions, and then motioned him to sit. Faulke continued his visual inspection of the room, obviously ill at ease, but he finally took a seat opposite me on the edge of my bed.

  “They will be listening at the door to the solar,” I explained. I held up my palms to indicate our surroundings. “You said you wanted our conversation to remain private. Here, no one will overhear what we say.”

  “You are not afraid to be alone with a murderer?” he asked, his words close to a challenge.

  “My death here would mean your own,” I answered. Oddly enough, I felt calm. The usual riot of emotions his presence set off in me were quiet now. It still hurt to look at him, he was that handsome, but I was beginning to see the man behind the attractive face. A man who might not be my enemy. “I assume you have not lived this long by making a habit of rash decisions.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, and then shook his head. “I forgot who you are, what you are. It will take time before I grow accustomed to…Nay, ’tis unlikely I will ever grow accustomed to the gulf between us.”

  The thought occurred that he might be as angry with himself as he was with me. And then I wondered “what” he thought I was, although I was fairly certain I knew the meaning of “who.” He had dragged an English princess from a room filled with the king’s soldiers, in front of my own Rheinbaden soldiers. It was stupid of me to have allowed it, and even stupider to think I could disguise my abduction. Surely he had known there would be consequences to his actions.

  “You will always outrank me,” he said, easily reading my thoughts. He set his jaw, and in that moment, I realized my rank was a bitter pill for him to swallow. He nodded toward my arm, where I could still feel the imprint of his fingers. “Forgive me, Princess. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I accept your apology.” My arm hurt, my heart still beat too fast, and the knot of tension in my stomach remained. I folded my hands together in my lap to hide their tremors. “You wanted to tell me about your previous marriages?”

  He looked as if he wanted to say something more about how we got here. His gaze went to the door, then to me, and then back to the door again. He took a deep breath and braced his hands on his knees. “I would ask that you never question me in public about the deaths of my previous wives. Ask me anything you like in private, but I do not want you to raise any more speculation over those deaths than already exists.”

  Even I could admit that a wedding feast was an inappropriate venue for my question. His announcement about the special license had thrown me out of sorts. Actually, I had been out of sorts since I had met him. “You are right, of course. I should not have said something so provoking in front of others. I apologize.”

  He looked surprised, and then nodded to accept my apology. He raked a hand through his hair that left it mussed, and I bit down on my lower lip to keep myself from walking over to comb my fingers through his hair to straighten it.

  “We are private now,” I said. “Will you tell me the truth of your involvement in your wives’ deaths?”

  “Aye, you deserve the full truth,” he replied. “On the day we met, I told you that I did not murder my wives. I did not murder them, but there is a possibility that at least one of them was murdered.”

  “Avalene already told me how your wives died,” I said when it became obvious he was awaiting my reaction. I ticked off the list. “Childbirth, a fall, tainted food. You are either a very unlucky man, or one who is fortunate to still have his head.”

  “ ’Tis my luck that is lacking,” he retorted. “The idea that I could kill a woman…To have most people believe the worst of me. It is a hard charge for a man to live with.”

  “With three dead wives in less than ten years, ’tis a near certainty that at least one of the deaths was unnatural,” I pointed out, trying to keep my voice reasonable. “You said yourself that you are aware of the gossip.”

  “Aye,” he answered, his voice bitter. “They say I am responsible for the deaths of all three, but even a baron’s son is not above the law.”

  “So you have some sort of alibis?” I asked.

  “I was by Jeanne’s side when she died of childbed fever,” he said in a quieter tone. “Jeanne struggled throughout her pregnancy, the delivery was difficult, and then she grew weaker each day after the babe was born. Her death was clearly due to complications of childbirth.

  “I was in London when Edith fell to her death, and then I was at your father’s court at Caernarfon Castle when I received word that Alice had succumbed to dysentery. I was nowhere near my last two wives when they died.”

  I dismissed the first death because Avalene had told me that his marriage to Jeanne of Wentworth had been a love match, and a mother’s death during childbirth was not unusual. Faulke’s absence only meant he did not have a direct hand in the deaths of his last two wives, but he could have ordered them done.

  “People remark that you have been uncommonly fortunate in the wealth your brides brought to your marriages,” I said. “Wealth that remains in the hands of the Segraves.”

  “My father arranged all of my marriages,” he replied, “and he has an undeniable talent for it. Jeanne was a noblewoman with wealth of her own that will pass to our daughter, Claire.”

  “Your last two wives were commoners, as well as wealthy heiresses,” I pointed out. “Will their wealth also pass to their daughters?”

  “In part,” he admitted. “All of my wives’ families were wealthy and powerful in their own rights, and my family’s wealth increased with each bride. I will not apologize for making sensible marriages.”

  “If your wives’ families are as influential as you claim, surely they demanded some sort of justice when their daughters died?”

  “The king himself ordered a full inquest after the deaths of Edith and Alice,” he said. “Roger Bigod presided over the inquests.”

  “Earl of Norfolk and Marshall of England,” I murmured. “I am told he is well respected by my father and his court.”

  “Aye, ’tis true. I was actually grateful to be judged innocent by a man with more to gain if I were found guilty,” he said. “However, there is still plenty of speculation about my guilt. No one came forward to say they witnessed Edith being pushed from the tower, or saw someone put poison in Alice’s food. At the same time, no one could say that they saw Edith slip and fall, and no one else died from the same food that Alice ate. Their families remain convinced that I am behind their deaths.”

  “Accusing someone of murder and proving that guilt are two separate things,” I said. Had he gotten away with murder, or was he unfairly accused?

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I cannot be proved guilty, because what little evidence exists points to my innocence. The lack of evidence also means I cannot prove myself innocent beyond any doubt.”

  I stated the obvious. “So everyone can believe what they will about your marriages, and people are ever ready to believe the worst.”

  He tilt
ed his head. “If my wives had been poor orphans, everyone would have looked upon me with pity when they died and cursed the Fates. Because they were wealthy, everyone looks at me with suspicion and waits until my back is turned to accuse me of crimes I did not commit.”

  “Surely you cannot blame them for being suspicious,” I said. When Avalene first told me the rumors, they had seemed salacious gossip. Now was the reality. I was about to marry a man who murdered women, or one who stood unjustly accused of their murders. There was no sure proof either way. I would have to decide for myself.

  “There are times when even I wonder at the manners of their passing,” he said. “Their deaths were untimely, but my responsibilities to marry well and produce an heir did not change. These are concepts you are familiar with, Princess. I have three daughters who need a brother to ensure their futures, should something happen to me before I can arrange their marriages.”

  That last comment made a tendril of guilt wrap around the knot in my stomach. He needed an heir, and he would not get one from me.

  “Normally, the opinions of others do not concern me,” he said, “not until the gossip begins to affect my family. I was negotiating a betrothal contract for my eldest daughter, Claire, when Alice died. If Claire marries well, her husband can take care of Claire and her sisters, if I should die before my time without a male heir. However, Kenric of Remmington broke off negotiations within a fortnight of Alice’s death, claiming his son was still too young for him to make such an important commitment.”

  “The Warlord?” I blinked once in astonishment. “Kenric of Remmington is…He is—”

  Faulke made a cutting motion with his hand. “ ’Tis an open secret in England that Kenric of Remmington is your half brother. Apparently he was your father’s only youthful indiscretion, a liaison with a baron’s daughter made shortly before he met and wed your mother, but one that had lasting consequences. I knew the circumstances of Remmington’s birth long before I approached him about a possible marriage between our children.”

  Kenric of Remmington. I had first heard of him at my father’s court, and learned of our blood ties soon after. Remmington had proved his mettle in the Holy Lands, as well as in the last outbreak of war in Wales. Indeed, he was feared by his enemies as well as by many who considered him a friend. If Claire wed into that family, Remmington could prove a powerful ally for the Segraves, but one who would never turn traitor against the crown. At least, I did not think Remmington would turn against our father. On the other hand, my family’s history was littered with brutal betrayals between fathers and sons.

  Another thought gave me pause. “Did you agree to our marriage to improve your daughter’s chances of marrying a Remmington?”

  “That possibility was not on my mind when Chiavari dragged me to this palace to break my betrothal to Avalene de Forshay.” He shook his head and frowned. “My daughters’ futures were very much on my mind later that day, when I spoke to my father about our marriage. Right now, the cloud of suspicion that hangs over me also extends to my children. ‘Bad blood,’ I’ve heard whispered.”

  Aye, I could well imagine. Everyone knows that murder and madness runs in the blood. Who would want their son wed to the daughter of a murderer, a trait that could easily pass to their offspring? That would take strong incentive, indeed. Say, the incentive of making a match with a newly made earl’s daughter, whose stepmother is an English princess.

  “So our marriage will be the leverage you need to renegotiate your daughters’ futures.”

  It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “Aye. Claire’s betrothal is my first priority, once we are wed. Remmington’s son is my first choice, but there are others who will do.”

  I supposed he was wise to strike while the iron was hot. There would be few offers once the English realized our marriage meant Faulke would eventually lose everything, and there would be no offers at all if I, too, suffered an untimely death.

  “Which of your wives do you think was murdered?” I asked, becoming more certain that he did not have a hand in the outcome.

  He looked startled by the abrupt change in direction, and then his expression turned thoughtful. “Edith. More than a few of my people think she was somehow lured to the parapets, and then pushed over the side. She did not like heights, and few think she would have gone to the wall willingly.”

  I cleared my throat. “There are rumors that Edith was so opposed to performing her wifely duties that she might have committed suicide.”

  Faulke stared at me in silence.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Your frankness,” he said. “I suppose Avalene de Forshay has been filling your head with tales about me?”

  “Many people whisper in my ear.” I lifted my shoulders. “You will likely hear rumors about me as well. I am simply asking if this rumor about Edith is true.”

  “Edith was far too religious to commit the mortal sin of suicide,” Faulke said firmly. “Indeed, she was religious to the point of fanaticism. She even petitioned me for permission to enter a nunnery.”

  My face must have showed my astonishment. His tone turned defensive.

  “The request is rare, but not unheard of among nobles,” he said. “The church will allow husbands or wives to leave their marriage, if they have the calling.”

  “Edith had no right to ask,” I sputtered. “Noble marriages are binding agreements, and the terms of the contract must be fulfilled before the arrangement can be concluded. Neither party can remarry while the other lives. I have never heard of a noblewoman daring to ask for such a boon before she gave her husband at least an heir and a spare.”

  “Edith’s parents coerced her into the marriage,” he said. “Throughout the entirety of our marriage, she was single-minded in her goal to become a nun.”

  I made a sound of impatience. “If Edith were so averse to being a wife, she should have opposed her family and refused to wed anyone except Christ.”

  He gave me another odd look.

  “What did I say now?” I demanded.

  He simply shook his head. “Edith did not have your strength of character.”

  I studied the man sitting on my bed and tried to decide what Edith had found so objectionable in her marriage. “She rose from a merchant’s daughter to become a baron’s wife and the mother of his child, the lady of a substantial keep with servants of her own. What more could she have hoped to find within a nunnery?”

  “God,” he said simply.

  “Sometimes I do not understand people,” I muttered. Not that the way Edith lived her life mattered anymore. It was her death that concerned me.

  “So Edith’s death was unlikely to be a suicide,” I said, “and just as unlikely to be an accident, yet there were no witnesses to say what actually happened. What about Alice?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and scowled at the floor. “Most of the time I believe her death was an unfortunate case of spoiled food. However, the symptoms described to me could as easily describe a deliberate poisoning.”

  “And here, too, no one saw anything amiss that could point toward foul play?”

  He shook his head, his expression grim.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “These are speculations you need never share, and I would be none the wiser that you had ever entertained such thoughts.”

  “You will be my wife.” He gave me a direct look. “That has proven to be a dangerous occupation.”

  I was surprised he would make such an admission, but he was not done with his revelations.

  “Most days I set aside my misgivings and tell myself I am seeing crimes where none were committed. Other days, I wonder at the inconsistencies and odd coincidences.” He leaned forward to let his arms rest on the tops of his legs and loosely clasped his hands together. “The odds of any intentional harm befalling you should be small. Betwe
en your soldiers, the English guards, and my own men, you have a small army who are sworn to safeguard your welfare. However, my last two wives died under suspicious circumstances, and I know that I was not their murderer. An assassin may be in my household even now, awaiting my next wife’s arrival.”

  An icy finger of dread went down my neck. Now I was certain I wanted to remain in London.

  “There is also the fact that my marital history opens paths to new villains. I have enemies who would welcome the opportunity to murder you, if they knew the king would never learn their identity. Your father would need no proof of my guilt beyond the fact of your death to order me beheaded. Your murder would mean my own death sentence, as well as the ruination of my family. You will—” He pressed his lips together. “That is, I would ask you to take sensible precautions.”

  Aye, everything he was, everything he possessed, now depended upon my life. Of course he wanted me healthy. Apparently my thoughts were reflected in my expression.

  “My concerns about the deaths of Edith and Alice are reasonable,” he said. “I would make the same request if our marriage contract did not contain its more unusual requirements.”

  “I’m sure you would.” Silently, I wondered.

  “You will be my wife,” he said in a deeper voice. “You will be a part of my family, the mother of my daughters…and hopefully the mother of our own children. I have always done my best to protect my family, and the mantle of my protection now includes you.”

  The reminder of the heirs I would never bear tempered my mood. Ach. Would I ever hear the word “children” and not feel a wave of guilt? As for his protection, I had no need of it. However, my inclusion in his family touched me more than I cared to admit.