“I have no intention of being foolish,” I said with less heat than I had intended.
He smiled a little at that. “Foolishness is the last thing I would expect of you, Princess.”
Again I felt the sting of a backhanded compliment. I decided to sting back. “Then we are in agreement that a fourth dead wife would benefit neither of us?”
“Aye, none I hold dear will benefit from your demise,” he said in a grim voice.
I turned my head to look through the diamond-shaped panes of glass and into the gardens. The sky was as gray and dreary as my thoughts. Murder, lies, treason. How could there be room for any happiness in our future?
“I did not want to burden you with these worries,” Faulke said at last, breaking into my thoughts. “But the ink is scarce dry on our betrothal, and already one of your men lies dead of poisoning. Then your question in the great hall…”
My gaze went back to him and I realized that somehow I was beginning to believe he was innocent. However, there was a cynical voice inside my head that wondered if I would be so willing to believe the same story from a man who appealed less to the eye. And yet, there was more to Faulke Segrave than a handsome face and strong sword arm, something that had pulled at me from the very start.
“I know my reputation,” he said. “I know there is nothing I can do or say to prove my innocence. ’Tis a wasted effort to even try. People believe what they will, no matter the truth.”
That was a sentiment I agreed with wholeheartedly.
“I am not convinced of your innocence,” I said honestly. “But I am beginning to believe in its possibility. That means I must accept that you suffered an unusual number of losses in a short number of years, or someone has little liking for the women you marry.”
“That is one way to put it,” he said dryly. His brow smoothed just a little. I think it was relief that I might actually believe him.
“So you would have me believe there is someone in your household who does not care for your brides, or someone was sent there to assassinate them, and you have enemies who would like to see me in particular die in such a way that you can be blamed for my death. Is that the gist of what you wanted to tell me?”
Those few traces of softness left his face. “Aye, that is the gist of things.”
I studied the toes of my slippers. My father had known these same facts. Say what he might about regrets over my childhood, his actions spoke louder than words. When it came to royal politics, I was simply a type of currency, a fact I would do well to remember. The only person in the world I could truly trust was myself.
“I can only speculate about the future based upon events of the past,” he said. “All I can say with certainty is that my enemies will be your enemies, and yours will be mine.”
“My enemies might be more numerous than you think,” I retorted.
He lifted one shoulder. “I could make the same claim.”
“It seems we have that in common,” I mused. “One can only wonder how many new enemies we will create once our vows are read. How do you think your people in Wales will react when they learn your new wife will bring a small army of the king’s soldiers into their midst?”
“My lands in Wales are on the edges of the frontier, often on the edge of lawlessness, when the native Welsh become restless,” he said. “Most will be grateful for the extra swords, but there is no doubt they will be wary. I suppose you will need time as well, to accustom yourself to the change in your circumstances.”
“My circumstances?” I echoed.
“You have come down a step in the world, Princess. A very large step,” he said as his gaze moved purposefully around my bedchamber, and then he held up his empty hands. “I am no prince. I cannot give you a crown and a kingdom, or lands and jewels, or rarities I cannot even imagine. But you are to be my wife and you will live where I live. You will learn soon enough just how different your life will be as Lady of Hawksforth.”
“I am much more than the Lady of Hawksforth,” I reminded him.
“First and foremost, you will be my wife,” he countered, “and Hawksforth is my family’s seat.”
I wondered at his attachment to the place. “Surely you are aware that my estate at Maldon offers ample comforts? And the moment we wed, Maldon will become your new family seat.”
“I will visit Maldon,” he conceded, “but Hawksforth will be our home.”
Whatever he saw in my expression made him frown.
“You will be easier to protect at Hawksforth,” he said, apparently rightly thinking that I wanted an explanation. “I know little of Maldon and its people, and even less about its defenses. We will not live there until I am certain it is safe.”
I raised my brows at that last edict. And then I lowered them when I realized he would have that right as my husband, to decide where I could and could not live. At least, until my father intervened. Ach, I could spend years in Wales, a virtual prisoner at Hawksforth. Now there was something unpleasant to look forward to. Unless…
“All three of your wives died at Hawksforth,” I pointed out.
“I do not forget that fact,” he said. “However, if one or more of their deaths were intentional, there are three likely culprits. It could be someone I know well, a Segrave who would stand to gain something when I remarried. Or the culprit could be one of my enemies who would have something to gain if I were hung for their crime. A Segrave would have no reason to kill you, and every reason to ensure your safety. My enemies are another matter. They have ample reasons to plot your death. However, this time I am aware of the threat they pose. You will be even more protected than my other wives, surrounded by servants and men I trust, as well as the soldiers in your father’s hire. And your own people, of course.”
“It sounds as if you intend to make me a prisoner.”
“I intend to make you safe.” He sounded stubborn on the point.
“You said there were three possible culprits: a Segrave or one of your enemies.” I held up one finger, and then a second as I listed the suspects, and then I wagged my third finger. “The third possible culprit. Who do you suspect?”
He found something interesting to look at through the windows behind me. He hesitated as though considering a chess move, and his voice turned quiet. “Dante Chiavari.”
CHAPTER NINE
Magnetic Forces
What a ridiculous claim. Chiavari had nothing to gain from murdering Faulke’s wives. I stared at him until the pieces fell into place.
“You think my father ordered Chiavari to murder your wives?” I sputtered.
He hesitated a moment, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “The idea has crossed my mind. More than once, after Alice died.”
“Why would my father order their deaths? Any of their deaths?” I shook my head. “That makes no sense.”
“Your father has little liking for my family,” he said. “I now live under a cloud of suspicion because of my wives’ deaths. It has made me a near outcast. Honorable families refuse to betroth their daughters to me, or my daughters to their sons. Baron Weston was given little choice in the matter, but Weston was so desperate to keep Avalene from me that he enlisted the king’s help to break our betrothal.” He gave me an assessing look. “Frankly, I am still amazed that you are part of that bargain. I have become a cynical man, Isabel. The terms of our marriage contracts make me wonder if the king somehow knows you will not enjoy a long life.”
I took a deep breath and forced my voice to sound calm. “You think my father would conspire to murder me?”
“I no longer know what to expect from your father,” he said carefully. “Although I do not think even he would sacrifice one of his children’s lives for political gain. If this marriage is intended to be an olive branch, I am willing to accept it. I have been completely honest with you about the dangers you will face as my wife.
If there is some problem with your health or well-being that you know about, you would be well served to tell me now.”
I forced myself to look him straight in the eye. “There is no problem with my health or well-being. Indeed, I will probably outlive you, unless one of your enemies or my father murders me first.”
He had the grace to break eye contact and look at the floor, in what I assumed was a moment of guilt. I supposed that made him a better person than me. Just because I told the truth did not mean I told the whole truth. Yes, I was healthy. And barren. Faulke would learn soon enough of my family’s natural ability to turn a phrase to our favor.
It also occurred to me that he had professed his innocence in the deaths of his wives, but he had never claimed to be innocent of treason. Not that I expected him to claim anything but unwavering loyalty to the king. Anything less could mean his head. Still, it was something to think about.
“Surely I would be safest right here in London, here at Ashland Palace,” I argued, “at least until you are comfortable with Maldon’s defenses. Chiavari will be gone soon enough. I am surrounded by men I trust, and I am certain my father would allow us to stay at Ashland as long as we wish.”
“We will live at Hawksforth,” he said, unmoved.
Not if I could help it. Three of his wives had died at Hawksforth. I did not intend to be the fourth.
“I did not want to trouble you with my worries,” he said in a sincere tone, “but your question at the feast convinced me that we needed to have this discussion.”
“I know my father has encouraged you to spend time at my English estates,” I said. “Do you intend to ignore the king’s ‘suggestions’?”
“He cannot object to my actions, if your safety is my first concern.” The corners of his mouth turned downward. “I will make your life with me as comfortable as possible. In time, I think we will find our marriage tolerable.”
It was my turn to frown. “Is there something about me now that you find intolerable?”
He put up his hands, as if beseeching the heavens. “I did not intend to insult you again!”
“You do have a talent for it,” I said. “You are fortunate that I have thicker skin than most.”
“Indeed, I am thankful,” he agreed, just before his expression turned anxious. “Not that I think your skin is thick. It is quite lovely. The loveliest. Exquisite, even.”
We stared across the room at each other. To my amazement, his lips began to curve into a slow smile. Just as amazing, I felt my face reflect the same expression.
Aside from whatever strange force was at work between us, I had always been a good judge of character. Hartman was the exception, but I could excuse that poor reasoning to the folly of youth.
Yes, Faulke had a quick temper, but so did I. It was a Plantagenet family trait. His temper could be reasoned with. Mine, not always. He was the kind of man who would give his life to protect his family, and I would soon be his wife. Given the provisions of our marriage contract, I would always be as safe with him as I would be with my own people.
The dangers were undeniable, and the secrets between us only increased those dangers. Our journey together would probably end badly, but whenever I was in his presence, there was an unshakable feeling that we were meant to be together…no matter how long our union might last.
The more I stared into his eyes, the more my thoughts about him began to drift into dangerous territory. Yes, he had frightened me, and yet some irrational part of me wanted him to comfort me as well.
The irony of that feeling was less worrisome than it should be.
“What are you thinking about when you look at me that way?”
“Nothing,” I blurted out, far too quickly. In other words, nothing I wanted to tell him.
“You feel it, too, don’t you?” he asked.
“Feel what?” Ach, I sounded like a simpleton.
He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again, his expression troubled. “I cannot explain it.”
I was not about to try. His brows drew together and I could almost see his mind at work on the puzzle.
“An alchemist once visited Hawksforth,” he said at last. “He showed me sets of lodestone magnets and explained how they worked. Are you familiar with magnets?”
Magnets? He was going to tell me a story about magnets? I lifted my shoulders. “They are not uncommon in Rheinbaden.”
He nodded, and then continued. “The alchemist showed me how one end of a magnet would attract another magnet with twice the power.” He held up his index fingers and pointed them at each other, and then tapped his fingers together. “Next he turned the ends around so they would repel each other and make it nearly impossible for the two ends to touch.” He folded his fingers down and bounced the knuckles toward each other in the air without touching. “I could feel the invisible power contained within the magnets when I worked them together. We even made a game of using one magnet to push another across a table.”
“I have played a similar game,” I said, remembering the strange, invisible force that surrounded the dark chunks of metal.
“The power that draws and repels the magnets is a mystery,” he said, “but that invisible energy is the closest I have felt to the force that is at work between you and me.”
It startled me to realize he was right. An unseen force almost hummed in the air around us, sometimes repelling us, keeping us a set distance apart, other times turning us toward one another and drawing us together with a power outside our own will. I could feel it, sense it. And yet, I could not give it a name.
Our gazes held while I thought about what he’d said. Everything he’d said. I was a good and experienced judge of liars. Unless he was an unrivaled actor, he had been telling me the truth about his wives’ deaths, about his strange attraction to me. And I was resisting him with the last resolve left in me.
What would it be like to stop resisting? Even now, my hands were clenched along the edge of the window seat and my feet were braced against the floor, my mind’s subconscious resistance to the invisible force that drew me toward him.
“We will be good together,” he said slowly. He did not move, but I could feel his words move over me like a caress. “Do you want me, Isabel?”
I blinked once. “What did you say?”
He stood up and walked toward me. I stood up as well, because I did not want him to tower over me. He did not stop until his boots brushed against my skirts. His voice sounded deeper, rougher.
“Suddenly I am having trouble concentrating on anything beyond the fact that we are alone in your bedchamber, and my rights as your betrothed.” He stroked the side of my cheek with one finger, the look in his blue eyes intent. “Do you want me, Isabel?”
This time I blinked twice. That was the only response I could muster. That question could mean so many different things. Regardless, if I said no, he would surely recognize the lie.
He didn’t wait for my answer. The butterflies in my stomach took flight when he bent his head to kiss me, a soft, undemanding kiss that quickly deepened. His arms went around me and I melted against him, sensations I was almost beginning to expect began to bombard my senses. Just like that, my calm, rational state of mind departed.
My arms went around his neck and his hands skimmed over them, as if to assure himself that they were properly placed, and then they slid down my sides, over my waist, then my hips, and then he pressed me into his body. At the same time, his tongue swept into my mouth and a mewling sound came from my throat, a sound I wasn’t even aware I could make. My heart seemed to slow down and yet speed up at the same time, the beats so strong and deliberate that I could feel them against my ribs.
He tilted his head as though he wanted to taste me from every angle, savor each touch, and yet he crushed me to him as though I might try to pull away. I should try to pull away…for
some reason I could no longer recall. He overwhelmed my senses.
During all of that emotional upheaval, my thoughts kept whirling back to magnets. I held on to him as if the magnetic force were a part of me. My skin wanted to cling to every part of his body. I don’t think I could have peeled myself away from him if I had tried. Even the air felt charged with the energy that drew us together.
Soon our breath came in harsh gasps and I swore I could hear both our hearts beating while our hands moved over each other with rough urgency. Despite the randomness of his caresses, I knew that he was memorizing my shape with his touch, knew it because I was making the same survey of his body, recording all the details in my greedy mind to be reviewed again later. The curve of his massive shoulders, the ridge down the center of his back, the height that meant I had to raise my hand to stroke his chest. And the heat of his body. It was amazing. I wanted every measure.
He continued to do remarkable things to my mouth. The first time he had kissed me this way I had been unprepared, overwhelmed. It was still overwhelming, but now I wanted to participate. When I stroked my tongue against his, he responded with a low growl, his arms sliding completely around me as he claimed my mouth. His hand moved up to the nape of my neck and he wrapped his hand around my braid to hold me in place while he explored my mouth.
Soon the fabric and leather between us felt cumbersome and unnatural. I wanted to feel his skin, the source of all that heat. He stirred emotions that had lain dormant for longer than I could remember.
No, they were not remembered feelings. I had never felt this way in Hartman’s arms. This was new territory. A new awakening.
A sound of some sort penetrated my senses enough for a tendril of sanity to blow across my fevered mind. Royals were not ruled by animal passions. And yet, here I was, ready and willing. My bed was just a few paces away.
That thought stirred a vague sense of panic. What was happening to me? He made me feel helpless in his arms. I did not like feeling helpless. At least, I did not like it until today. Now I wanted to somehow give myself over to his care, which was ridiculous. I took care of myself. But how nice it would be to lay my head upon his shoulder and simply luxuriate in the decadence of being held in his arms, of being treated like a woman rather than a princess.
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