Epic Knights of Legend and Steel

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Thetford

Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Late September

“I will not marry this… this piece of metal and you cannot make me!”

Dressed in his ceremonial finery, Davyss de Winter stood at the ancient door of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, a dark-colored structure built from the local flint stone, and faced a very angry young woman.

Lady Elizaveta du Reims had arrived a half-hour earlier to the old Thetford church, accompanied by two older women and several French guards, all from the Gascon House of l’Arressengale. There were also du Reims soldiers, having arrived even earlier in the day to accompany the Earl of East Anglia to his daughter’s wedding, but the two houses seemed to deliberately keep themselves apart. They lingered in huddled groups outside of the church as if they did not know one another.

Davyss thought it was an odd situation when he arrived and politely greeted du Reims, but he didn’t ask the man why his wife and daughter were off on their own while the earl stood by himself, surrounded only by his men. Frankly, Davyss had his own problems. He had just come from Drake who had staunchly refused to attend his own wedding, demanding to send Lespada instead.

Where on earth could he have gotten that idea? Davyss thought, although he already knew the answer. It had never been a big secret in their family how he and Devereux had married. Davyss had then spent two hours trying to talk Drake out of it and when Devereux discovered her son’s plans, she joined in the argument. Unfortunately, because that was how Davyss and Devereux’s wedding had been conducted, there wasn’t much by way of argument that the parents could give… sending your sword will ruin this marriage? No, that didn’t work, because clearly Davyss and Deveraux had a very strong marriage. Your wife will hate you? No, that didn’t work, either, because Deveraux adored her husband. It is shameful? No, it really wasn’t shameful. It was perfectly acceptable.

Therefore, while Drake remained at Thetford Castle under the careful watch of both Devon and his brother, Denys, Davyss and Devereux and their youngest son, Dallan, headed for the old Church of the Sepulchre. Davyss, once again, carried Lespada , wondering how on earth he was going to explain the lack of a flesh and blood groom. He supposed that given the fact that Drake had actually even agreed to the marriage, he should have been grateful for small mercies, but he found that he was mostly concerned with how East Anglia was going to react to the presence of the steel groom. Once again, Lespada would marry another lovely young woman, as an aversion to marriage among the male members of the de Winter family seemed to be a pattern.

With everyone gathered at the door of the old church in preparation for the ceremony, including Drake’s friends, James de Lohr and Cortez de Bretagne, Davyss greeted everyone as the father of the groom and announced that the bride would be marrying Lespada by proxy because Drake was ill. That announcement instantly brought the bride to the boiling point and now Davyss found himself facing down a furious young woman.

“My lady, it is perfectly acceptable and legal to marry the sword of your husband,” Davyss said evenly, remembering how someone had explained the very same thing to his wife, long ago, as he’d watched from the shadows. “If you understand anything about the knighthood, then you will know that the sword of a knight is the most precious possession he has. It means more to him than anything and is a symbol of all that he is. Drake is unable to attend you this day and sends his sword in his stead with the utmost respect.”

Elizaveta didn’t care if having the sword represent her groom was a sign of respect or not. Having spent the past month traveling from France to Norfolk, she had only been given two days to rest before attending her wedding. She was still quite exhausted and rather ill, herself, from having eaten some bad food the week before, so the fact that her husband had chosen to declare illness rather than attend his own wedding didn’t sit well with her in the least. At that moment, the battle was on.

“It is a coward’s way out,” she said, unrepentant that she was being rude to the earl. In her mind, he deserved it. “You are coddling your cowardly son and if he does not have the strength to stand and be married, then I shall not marry him at all. I will marry no weakling.”

Behind Davyss, he heard a snort of laughter, quickly shushed, and suspected it was his youngest son, Dallan, who had said very much the same thing before they’d left Thetford Castle. Tall, blond, and pious, Dallan was not on his brother’s side as far as this marriage was concerned. Davyss further knew that Devereux had probably thrown an elbow into Dallan’s ribs to silence him.

“My lady, I assure you that my son is not a weakling,” Davyss said, his manner cooling with the rude girl. “If you refuse to marry the sword by proxy, then you insult the entire de Winter family. Is that your intention?”

“It is not,” Christian du Reims, standing behind his daughter, spoke. A big man with black eyes and long, gray hair gathered at the nape of his neck, he had been a fierce fighter in his younger years. These days, he was simply a lonely, old man. “We have no desire to insult the House of de Winter, Davyss. I apologize for my daughter’s manners. She is weary from her travels. Let us conduct the initial mass now and proceed into the church for the nuptials.”

Elizaveta whirled to her father angrily. “Nay,” she said flatly. “I will not marry the sword of a weakling.”

Christian’s eyes narrowed. “If you say that again, I fear I shall have to beat you in front of these kind people,” he said. “That will not give them a very good impression of the wife their son is to marry.”

Elizaveta’s eyes narrowed as well. She was not about to back down on this matter and her father had always given in to her whims, no matter what, so his attempts to discipline her where not well-met.

“You shall not,” she said, although she moved away from him. “You would have me marry a sword, Father? I find that shocking and without honor.”

Christian was about to verbally lash his daughter when Devereux stepped in. Woman to woman, she could not let the slander against Drake go unanswered, no matter how poorly her son was behaving. What two fathers could not do, one mother could.

“My lady, you have brought up honor many times,” she said, maneuvering herself in front of Davyss to face the very beautiful but, evidently, very spoiled young woman. “It is evident that you do not understand what honor entails if you so freely slander my son without knowing anything about him. It is clear you have no honor yourself to display such horrific manners in front of a host of people who have come to witness your marriage, which I am not entirely sure will happen now given the insults you have dealt both the House of de Winter and my son.”

Elizaveta sized up the woman in front of her. She was older, but still quite lovely and it was very clear she was formidable. That was evident the moment she opened her mouth to speak. Elizaveta didn’t want to get into a verbal battle with the woman and struggled to control her tongue.

“Lady de Winter, I presume?” she asked.

Devereux nodded, once. Elizaveta continued. “My lady, surely you cannot condone the fact that your son has decided not to attend his own wedding,” she said, sounding less angry and more pleading. “I cannot imagine he is ill enough that he cannot make this ceremony. I have traveled for a solid month to be in Norfolk for a wedding I did not ask for, yet I am here. Surely your son could drag himself from his sick bed to show me a small measure of respect for the fact that we will be joined for life. Is that too much to ask, my lady?”

Devereux regarded the woman, feeling her offence against the girl waver just the slightest. As young as Elizaveta was at this moment, Devereux was much the same those years ago when Davyss refused to show up for their wedding. In truth, she couldn’t become too angry at the girl and she almost laughed when she realized that, at this moment, she was taking on much the role as Davyss’ mother had. Well did Devereux remember the confrontation between Lady Katharine de Winter and herself, where Devereux declared she wanted nothing to do with marriage to a de Winter and Lady Katharine had quickly put her in her place.

These circumstances weren’t much different and it was difficult not to feel pity for the du Reims girl. Back in the days of Devereux’s marriage to Davyss, Lady Katharine had covered for Davyss at the time, knowing Davyss was watching the entire exchange in the shadows. Lady Katharine had never given her son away, not even at the end of the conversation when she’d left the church. The entire time, Davyss had watched the exchange. It had made him very curious about the woman he was to marry to the point where he actually came forward and revealed himself. But Drake wasn’t lingering in the shadows like his father had been. He was sitting, carefree and happy, over at Thetford Castle, laughing that he did not have to attend his own wedding. Perhaps that inflamed Devereux in the slightest. Frankly, perhaps it inflamed her a lot.

Drake would not have the last laugh in all of this.

“Come with me,” Devereux said.

Snatching Elizaveta by the wrist, she yanked the girl into the old church as the others stood by and watched, open-mouthed. Devereux turned around upon entering the cool, dim church and pointed to her husband.

“Close these doors,” she commanded. “Do not open them until I tell you to.”

Davyss, his eyebrows raised in concern at his wife’s actions, nonetheless did as he was told. He and Dallan closed the heavy church doors, ancient things carved from ancient oak, despite the protests of not only Christian du Reims but also of his wife, who suddenly found her voice and began protesting loudly. Devereux could hear their raised voices as she pulled the reluctant Elizaveta deeper into the church, no doubt terrified that Lady de Winter was about to pummel their rude daughter. But pummeling was not on Devereux’s agenda. They were nearly to the altar when Devereux came to a halt and turned to face the bride.

“You will have no fear of me, Lady Elizaveta,” she said, seeing the terror on the girl’s face. “I will not harm you, I swear it, but I have a plan that I need your complicity in. Will you listen?”

Terror wasn’t quite what Elizaveta was feeling; positive that Lady de Winter was going to beat her for her insolence, she had decided she was going to fight back and was relieved and thrilled to realize that a motherly beating wasn’t what Lady de Winter had in mind. In fact, she was relieved nearly to the point of collapse, for this entire day had been trying and stressful. The mention of Lady de Winter’s plan had Elizaveta’s curiosity peaked.

I need your complicity….

“Aye, my lady,” Elizaveta nodded, still somewhat wary. “I will listen.”

Devereux paused before continuing. She was studying Elizaveta’s face, seeing great beauty and great strength there. She didn’t sense a truly spoiled lady as much as she sensed a truly strong one. The woman wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

“Thank you,” Devereux said. She let go of the girl’s wrist. “I will ask you a question and you must be completely truthful with me. Will you do this?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Are you agreeable to this marriage or were you forced into it?”

Elizaveta hesitated. She wasn’t sure that truthful is what Lady de Winter really wanted. She didn’t want the woman to go back on her word not to beat her.

“My parents want this marriage, my lady,” she said. “I am obeying my parents.”

It was the answer Devereux suspected. “Then you are not keen on the idea.”

Elizaveta’s expression looked pained. “It is nothing against your son, my lady,” she said. “I… well, it is all rather perplexing and complicated. I….”

Devereux cut her off. “Say no more,” she said. “You do not want this marriage and my son does not want this marriage. But it is possible you will both change your minds if you met one another. My son is a fine example of a man, my lady. He is tall and strong and handsome. He has been decorated for valor. Did you know that?”

Elizaveta shook her head, looking somewhat surprised. “I did not, my lady.”

Devereux nodded to confirm the information. “His marriage to you was a gift from Edward for valor in battle,” she said. “You were not told that?”

Elizaveta again shook her head. “I was only told that Edward had selected a husband for me from a fine family.”

Devereux cocked her head. “So you know nothing of my son?”

“Nothing, my lady. Only that he is a de Winter.”

Devereux was coming to realize that the young woman was nearly in the dark about the man she was to marry, which was rather surprising given who she was and the value of her family name. It was little wonder that she had fussed so about facing a sword for a groom. To her, quite clearly, it must have looked slanderous and calculated, which Drake had intended it should. Devereux, however, was trying to smooth things over, to undo the damage her son would do. She sighed heavily.

“Drake is not cowardly, my lady, not in the least,” she finally said. “I cannot allow you to think such things about him. He is an honorable and virtuous knight. He is much loved by his friends and family and I am sorry that was not conveyed to you. He has waited a very long time to marry, to find a wife worthy of him, and we had hoped it would be you.”

Elizaveta listened carefully to all Devereux told her, describing the man she was to marry from the mother’s point of view. She was still hesitant, and somewhat frightened, but she was also very curious now about the mysterious Drake de Winter. That expression of interest was exactly what Devereux was hoping for.

“Forgive me, then, if I insulted you for calling him cowardly,” Elizaveta said. “But for a knight to send his sword to the wedding mass seems quite cowardly to me.”

Devereux cocked an eyebrow. “It seemed quite cowardly to me, too, when his father did it to me,” she said, watching Elizaveta’s eyes widened. “Aye, he did it to me so I know exactly how you feel. However, I met him under certain circumstances where I did not know who he was, at least at first. You have not even had a chance to meet my son. I think that if you do, you may not be so resistant to the marriage.”

Elizaveta was quite intrigued with what Lady Devereux was suggesting. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

A twinkle came to Devereux’s pale eyes. “Are you willing to go along with what Drake might consider a very bad joke?”

Elizaveta’s lips twitched with a smile. “It is very possible, my lady,” she said. “I would be willing to get back at him for sending his sword to a wedding ceremony and not coming himself.”

Devereux rather liked the young lady’s train of thought. “Not to punish him, mind you,” she said. “But mayhap to let him see what he would be missing by not showing up to his own marriage.”

“Agreed.”

“Then this is what we shall do.”

*

“Mother has returned,” Devon said, peering from the lancet window into the eastern bailey of Thetford Castle. “And she has someone with her.”

Drake, who had been sitting at a small table in his father’s solar using a pumice stone to sharpen an assortment of daggers, glanced up from the blade he was working on. “She’s returned from the church?” he clarified curiously. “Why would she do that? Isn’t there a marriage going on?”

“You should be the one to answer that question, not I”

Drake spit upon the stone he was grinding the blade against and ignored his brother’s remark. “Who is with Mother?” he asked.

Devon couldn’t quite see who it was, for both women were too far away to really see much. He turned away from the window.

“I will go and see who it is,” he said. “You will stay here.”

Drake grunted at his twin. “If I want to stay here, I will,” he said. “If I do not wish to stay here, then I will be gone when you return.”

Devon stood at the door, eyeing the man he was almost identical to physically. In personality, they were miles apart, for Devon didn’t have the roaming spirit and aggression that Drake sometimes had and he certainly didn’t share his views on marriage. He thought his brother was being quite ridiculous about the whole thing.

“I would advise that you do not run,” Devon said. “I will be forced to follow you and I will catch you. I will subdue you, tie you to a tree, and beat you with a switch. I will have the village children come and throw rocks at you. It will be too humiliating for you to bear.”

Drake cast him a droll expression. “You are frightening me, little sister.”

Devon rolled his eyes and headed through the door. “Be here when I get back or this little sister will turn into a big girl with claws and clubs.”

“I thought that’s what you were already.”

Devon scowled at his brother’s insult and left the room, slamming the door in his wake as Drake grinned. He always liked to have the last insult where his brother was concerned. Dagger and stone still in hand, he stood up and went to the window where Devon had so recently been standing and peered into the bailey below, trying to catch a glimpse of his mother and whomever the woman was with. It seemed odd that she should have returned to Thetford when there was supposed to be a wedding ceremony going on; his wedding ceremony, as Devon had pointed out.

But there was more to it than a cursory oddity; what Drake found odd was that his mother and the woman with her were on foot. Although the castle wasn’t far from the church, it was still a decent walk. Everyone had headed over from the castle on horses or in a carriage, as was his mother’s case, but there were no horses or carriages to be seen. Just two women walking into the bailey. As Drake watched, the woman walking next to his mother suddenly went down, collapsing into the mud of the bailey.

Instinct took over. Drake fled the room to render aid as any good knight would do. In hindsight, he would have done better had he barricaded himself in the room and never opened the door again.

Life, for him, would change forever.

*

“Excellent,” Devereux whispered to Elizaveta, who was in a heap in the dust of the bailey. “Stay there. Trust me when I say that my sons will come. They will not allow a woman to lie in the mud and not try to help her in some way.”

Elizaveta was trying to keep her face out of the dirt without moving her head. The way she had fallen had her face nearly pressed into the dirt of the bailey. “Are you certain?”

Devereux knelt over her, putting her hand on the woman’s forehead. “Aye,” she said. “Quiet, now, they are pouring from the keep. Remain unconscious until I tell you to wake up.”

Elizaveta obeyed and closed her eyes. On the rather nice walk over from the church, she and Lady de Winter had been given ample time to concoct a plan to snare the slippery Drake de Winter. Well, not so much snare him as introduce him to Elizaveta without his knowledge. But he would soon know who she was after some innocent conversation and perhaps a bit of flirting. At least, that had been Lady de Winter’s suggestion but Elizaveta wasn’t entirely sure. She had never been very good at charming men. The mere thought frightened her or, more often than not, disgusted her. She had never been any good at behaving in an exceedingly charming manner. She hoped her efforts today, however, would be enough. She had promised Lady de Winter that she would try.

So she lay on the dirt as thunderous footfalls approached. Someone even kicked dirt in her face in their haste and it was an effort not to react. She heard Lady de Winter speak.

“Denys,” she said, sounding frightened. “Where are your brothers?”

Denys de Winter, the biggest de Winter brother at five inches over six feet and had his mother’s fair coloring, pointed to the keep. “They are coming,” he said, bending over both his mother and the fallen lady. “What happened? Who is she?”

Devereux pretended to tend the fallen woman, lifting up an eyelid and feeling her pulse. “A wedding guest,” she said vaguely. “She was feeling poorly so I brought her back here. I suppose she was feeling worse than I had realized.”

By this time, Devon was descending the massive motte of Thetford’s keep, followed by Drake. The twins rushed up to their mother, encircling her and the woman on the ground. Drake immediately bent over the collapsed lady.

“What happened, Mother?” he asked, looking between the lady and his mother. “Are you well?”

Devereux could hear the concern in his voice, which pleased her. “I am well,” she said, “but this lady, quite clearly, is not.”

Drake returned his full focus to the lady. All he could really see was long, dark hair and the side of the woman’s face. “Who is this?”

Devereux stood up, pointing to Elizaveta. She deliberately avoided answering his question. “Pick her up, Drake,” she instructed. “Take her up to my chamber. Be quick about it.”

Drake didn’t hesitate. He scooped the woman into his arms as he stood up. She was light and petite, and as her head fell back against his arm, he could see how exquisite she was. A stunning beauty with pale skin, a sweetly-shaped face, and very dark hair, Drake was rather astounded at her magnificence and was deeply and genuinely curious about her identity. He kept her collected against his chest, carefully, as his mother scurried ahead and rushed up the tall motte to the keep where she held back the entry door.

Passing through the big, Norman-arched entry, Drake made sure not to hit the woman’s head on the doorjamb. His mother was out in front of him again, heading for the narrow spiral stairs that led up into the keep, and Drake took the stairs very carefully so he wouldn’t bump the lady’s head on the stone walls. In fact, he was cradling her quite gently, something that did not go unnoticed by Devereux. She knew her cavalier son had a weakness for beautiful women and, for once, it was working against him. He was snared, or at least heading in that direction, so Devereux hoped. Therefore, it was a struggle to keep the smug smile from her face as they came off the stairs and she headed for the chamber she shared with her husband. Drake followed on her heels.

“Put her down on the bed,” Devereux instructed, noticing that Devon and Denys were piling in behind them. She immediately went to her two other sons and turned them around, pushing them back out of the door. “Devon, send your wife to me. Denys, go and tell the cook to bring me hot water and some wine for the lady. Go, now.”

Devon and Denys obediently left to carry out their mother’s request. When the room was vacant but for Drake and Elizaveta, Devereux went to the door.

“Drake, you will watch over the lady until I return,” she said.

Devereux vanished before Drake could ask the woman any questions at all. He was left standing next to the bed, looking down at the magnificent creature lying upon the coverlet. Somewhat confused as to what he should do next, or how he should help, he pulled up a chair that was against the wall and sat down a foot or so away from the bed. He thought perhaps to give the woman some wine if there was any in the room, as his father usually kept a supply, but a perusal around the room failed to locate a pitcher. The moment he returned his attention to the bed, he saw that the woman was awake and looking at him.

Startled, Drake hoped that she wouldn’t start screaming with a strange man alone in the room with her. Awkwardly he smiled, trying to think of something to say, when the woman spoke.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Drake kept his tone calm and steady. “I am Drake de Winter,” he said. “How are you feeling? You were with my mother and collapsed in our bailey. Do you remember?”

I am Drake de Winter. So the elusive de Winter son made an appearance as his mother had hoped he would. Elizaveta resisted the urge to smile. The entire walk from the church had been filled with planning, on how Drake would need to be drawn out of hiding and Devereux, knowing her son, had suggestions on how to do just that. To play on his sympathies, on his great attraction to the opposite sex, seemed to be the way to accomplish such a thing. Elizaveta was willing to do as she was told considering neither she nor Drake could refuse the marriage. There was nothing she could do but go along with Lady de Winter’s plan.

But it was a plan that had worked and worked quite quickly. Elizaveta took a moment to study the man she was pledged to marry; he was certainly handsome enough– his mother had not exaggerated. He had dark hair, long and wavy to his chin, and dark eyes with long lashes. She could see them when he blinked. He had a square-set jaw and dimples in both cheeks when he spoke. She’d never seen such wide shoulders and the hands he clasped politely before him were the size of trenchers. The man had enormous hands. Somewhat fascinated by what she was seeing, Elizaveta responded belatedly to his question.

“I do remember,” she said softly. “I would imagine I am quite dirty now, having fallen in the mud. I must apologize for my appearance.”

Drake smiled faintly. “No apology is necessary, my lady,” he said. “In fact, I can hardly see the dirt at all.”

Elizaveta smiled; she couldn’t help it. He had a rather suave way about him, an impish gleam already in his eyes although she suspected that part of it was very practiced. It came fairly easily, a glimmer in his eye of interest but without warmth. She began to sit up, brushing at the dust on her fine clothing.

“You are kind to say so,” she said, shaking out her dusty skirt so the dirt fell to the floor at her feet. “Sir Drake, you said your name was? I have heard your name before… ah, yes! I remember now. Aren’t you supposed to be at the wedding in town?”

Drake had jumped to his feet when she sat up with the intention of offering his assistance should she become woozy again. He’d rather liked carrying her and the thought of holding her again to steady her was not a distressing one. But her question instantly had him on guard, feeling somewhat embarrassed and cornered.

“I suppose that depends on how you look at it,” he said evasively, eyeing the beautiful woman as she brushed the dust off her skirt. “What is your name, my lady? If I already was told, forgive me, for I do not remember.”

Elizaveta didn’t look up from brushing off her satin shoe. “I am a wedding guest but, due to circumstances, I find myself here at Thetford Castle,” she said. “I was told that Sir Drake was too ill to attend the ceremony. You look well enough to me.”

Drake stared at her. It was an odd statement on a subject that only his mother and father knew, an excuse that was only to be used with the bride’s family. An illness has kept the groom away. Yet his mother had evidently told this young woman. He knew his mother would not have told a random wedding guest that the groom was feeling ill. Therefore, this young lady had to be more than a random wedding guest. She had to be someone rather important to the event.

A creeping sense of shock began to fill Drake as to the identity of the mystery lady. You look well enough to me , she had said. Was it possible that she was actually the other half of this wedding equation? He was coming to suspect who she was. Not only did she know the groom’s excuse of illness, but she had blatantly refused to give him her name. More than that, she had brought up his absence from the wedding ceremony, not once but twice. Given the fact that she had returned to Thetford with his mother, and that his mother was uncannily crafty at times, Drake was coming to think that his mother had planned this little scene all along. A fallen lady and a chivalrous knight made a recipe that only his mother would concoct.

Damnation! That was Drake’s first thought when he realized what had happened. But in the next breath, he found himself looking at the dark-haired lady on the bed and thinking all manner of swift and elated thoughts; God’s Bones, she’s magnificent! He studied the woman, her porcelain features and lovely, dark hair. He couldn’t see much of her figure because of the layers of clothing she wore, but he couldn’t imagine it was in any way imperfect.

Drake stared at the lady who was to be his wife, thinking that perhaps the marriage wasn’t such a bad idea after all, at least based on her physical appearance. Her character and personality, however, were another matter altogether. He wasn’t about to let any woman who would conspire with his mother get away with it.

He would lay a trap of his own.

“It is a malady that comes and goes,” he said in a calculated move, settling back in his chair as she brushed off the last of her dirt. “I am feeling better than I was.”

Elizaveta stopped brushing and looked at him. “Oh?” she said with feigned interest. “What malady is it? Mayhap there is a cure.”

Drake propped a big, booted foot up on the bed beside her, a foot that was as long as her forearm. “I am not entirely sure what it is,” he said.

“Have you seen a physic?”

He nodded, pretending to be coy about it. It was a great bit of acting on his part. “I have,” he said. “The physic has seen it before but… well, you will understand that it is difficult for me to speak of, especially in the presence of a lady. It is not a malady for delicate, female ears.”

Elizaveta frowned. “I do not understand,” she said. “I have never heard of a man having in indelicate malady. What terrible illness would have kept you from your own wedding?”

Drake shrugged, eyeing her, seeing that she was interested in his troubles or, at least, seemed to be. He thought to push her a bit to see how far he could go without sending her running.

“I lied to my mother about it,” he whispered loudly, as if it were a great secret. “I do not want her to know where I contracted this illness.”

“Where in the world did you contract it?”

He pretended to be ashamed. “The brothels in Paris,” he said, still whispering loudly. “My mother does not know I have frequented them. She believes me to be grand and virtuous, but the truth is that I caught something the last time I was in Paris. It causes… well, it is rather terrible to describe… something green and… it runs. It is most foul. It smells of cheese.”

Elizaveta’s eyes widened and she resisted the urge to slap a hand over her mouth in disgust and shock. “God’s Bones,” she hissed. “You are correct, Sir. It is indelicate to tell a lady such things.”

Drake shrugged carelessly. “You asked,” he pointed out. “If you did not want to know, why did you ask?”

Elizaveta was quickly becoming outraged. “You did not have to tell me all of it,” she said. “I do not need to know… those things.”

Drake slouched back in the chair. Truth be told, he was rather enjoying her revulsion. It was difficult not to smile in the face of her indignation.

“Then you should not have asked,” he told her. “You will not tell my mother, will you?”

Elizaveta shook her head and stood up. “I will not,” she said firmly. “And I will not discuss this with you any further.”

Drake stood up, too. Standing next to her, he could see what a petite, little thing she was, barely coming to his sternum in height. More than that, her cloak had billowed out when she stood up and he caught a glimpse of a full bosom and slender waist. He liked it a great deal.

“Do not go,” he begged, seeing just how much he could taunt her before she burst into tears. “I will not speak of the green, cheese-smelling slime again. Would you rather discuss the brothels where I caught it? The women there are actually quite fascinating. Some of them have great talents that you might appreciate.”

Elizaveta was aghast. “I would not want to speak of those women,” she seethed. “What kind of a fool are you to speak to a woman that way? Do you honestly believe I wish to discuss the whores you have known?”

He pretended to be quite baffled by her anger. “I was simply making conversation, my lady,” he said, completely fake in his innocence. “I will not discuss whores if you do not want me to. What else shall we discuss?”

Elizaveta was at the end of her patience. She turned for the door. “Nothing,” she said flatly. “Good day to you, Sir Drake. I hope you recover from your… illness.”

Drake could no longer hold off the smile as he watched her storm to the door. “Speaking of illnesses, you seem to have recovered quite swiftly from yours.”

Elizaveta came to a halt, turning to look at him. There was something in his tone now, something different that hadn’t been there before. There was a knowing hint, something that suggested he might be more intuitive and sharp than she had given him credit for. As she looked at the man, that impish glimmer in his eye had turned into something deeper, something more humorous and perhaps even more wicked. He’s toying with me , she thought. He is trying to upset me . Aye, it was all quite clear to her. Drake de Winter was toying with her. Was it possible that he suspected her identity even though she’d not told him? Was it possible that he was more astute than she had surmised? All of these things were quite possible but rather than allow him to chase her from the room with talk of a whore’s disease, she wasn’t going to leave. Perhaps she could be the one to force him from the room. If he thought he could rid himself of her so easily, he was grossly mistaken.

The game was on.

“Not entirely,” she said, putting her hand to her forehead and moving back into the room, towards the bed. “My illness, too, comes and goes. It is a female affliction, something unseemly to discuss with men.”

Drake watched as she sat upon the bed, seemingly exhausted whereas moments before, she had seemed quite strong and irate. He eyed her with some suspicion. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “Have you seen a physic?”

It was the same question Elizaveta had asked him but she was prepared. Knowing the man was on to her identity, at least assuming he was, she would taunt him just as he had taunted her. She would send him crying from the room before he could do it to her.

“I have,” she said. “Much like your malady, he is unsure what it is, either.”

Drake was rather enjoying the anticipation of her answer. He was fairly certain she was on to his game just as he was on to hers. The battle of wills, and taunts, was escalating.

“I am sorry to hear that,” he said with mock regret. “Where did you contract this malady?”

She batted her eyelashes at him quite exaggeratedly, so much so that he almost smiled. It was an effort not to.

“Well,” she said reluctantly. “I… I suppose I can tell you since you were so open in sharing your affliction with me. I did not contract my malady in a brothel, as you did. I contracted it in the house of a great lord.”

Drake pretended to be very interested; he folded his enormous arms over his chest in a thoughtful gesture. “I see,” he said. “What happened, if I may ask?”

Elizaveta had been waiting for that question. I’ll show him, the arrogant fool ! “It was in France,” she said. “You know they are much different in France, at times. Much different.”

“Different how?”

“In the way they treat women.”

“How did they treat you?”

“I was used for entertainment.”

His eyebrows lifted. “What kind of entertainment?”

She averted her gaze, too dramatic a gesture to be a real one with real feeling. “For other lords,” she said. “One time I was to act like a dog and men were permitted to pet me. One time, I was ordered to be a horse and men were actually allowed to ride me. And if a man desired to whip me, he was permitted to. I have scars all over my… well, suffice it to say that none but my husband will see them. By looking at me, you would think that I am young and quite perfect, but I promise you the opposite is true. That is why my parents have had such a difficult time finding a husband for me.”

Drake eyed her; he was fairly certain that she was jesting with him because she suspected he had been jesting with her, but he couldn’t be entirely certain. He didn’t know the woman, after all. What if there was some measure of truth in what she said?

“How old are you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I have seen nineteen years,” she said. “But it is not my age that has been troubling. It is my sordid past. Men do not want a wife who has permitted men to ride her like a horse, pet her like a dog, or spank her like a naughty child. My flesh is covered with whip marks and big handprints from men slapping at me. No one wants a wife who has been used in such a terrible fashion.”

Drake’s eyebrows lifted. He kept telling himself that she was only taunting him, that she was getting back at him for the teasing he dealt her about the green slime, but even so, he didn’t like to hear it. What if some, or all, of it was true? He didn’t want a wife who had been used like a common strumpet even if she was the daughter of the Earl of East Anglia. But for as much as she was going to push him, he was going to push her back.

“Let me see your marks,” he said. “I will tell you whether or not a husband will want you.”

Elizaveta’s head jerked to him, her eyes wide with surprise at his request. “I will not let you see them,” she said. “It is not your right.”

“It is my right, Lady Elizaveta du Reims,” he said, watching the astonishment in her expression. “Aye, I know who you are now. I am to be your husband, so I am told, so let me see your marks.”

Elizaveta’s outrage cooled dramatically as the obvious, the entire reason for their meeting, was acknowledge. The secret was out in the open, now spoken for both of them to hear. She stared down Drake just as he was staring her down. There was tension in the air, one waiting for the other to break. But Elizaveta refused to break.

“Show me your green slime,” she said in a crafty gesture, “and I will show you my marks.”

“You first.”

She shook her head. “You told me of your malady first,” she said. “A true knight will never deny a lady’s request. You show me first.”

She was right. Damnation! Drake thought. She is right! He drew in a long, contemplative breath, all the while scrutinizing the woman he was supposed to marry. The truth was that he liked the fact that she was quite sharp and cunning. She was more than an intellectual match for him. She was also lovely to watch, well spoken, and beautiful. But she had one hell of a stubborn streak in her… and so did he.

“A true lady would not ask to see such things,” he countered.

Elizaveta’s lips twitched with the beginnings of a grin. “And a true knight would not have discussed a disease picked up in a brothel.”

He nodded his head, conceding the point. “Mayhap,” he said. “But you said yourself that you have a sordid past, so I was not divulging information to a true lady.”

“You did not know that at the time.”

“It is true, I did not,” he said. “But I would venture to say that you fabricated that entire tale to dissuade me, which makes you just as much a liar as I am.”

He had her on that point, sort of. Elizaveta cocked her head, realizing they had come to the end of their tit-for-tat. It was time for total truth between them now that each knew who the other was. Identities had been confirmed. If they did not move past the charade, the situation might become much worse between them. Bitterness and resentment were right around the corner if she did not change direction. Elizaveta wasn’t willing to let it go that far, not if she was to be married to the man for the rest of her life.

She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in hell.

“Total truth between us, Sir Drake,” she finally said. “Do you really have an affliction of green slime?”

Drake didn’t hesitate; he shook his head. “I do not,” he replied. “Have you really been petted like a dog and ridden like a horse?”

“I have not.”

“Do you really have whip marks or handprints on your body?”

“I do not.”

“I will find out soon enough, you know. It would behoove you to be completely honest with me.”

“I am being completely honest.”

Drake believed her. He didn’t know why he should, given that this woman colluded with his own mother, but he believed her. More than that, he realized that in their short exchange, he had come to like her somewhat. She had a sense of humor, which he greatly appreciated, and for some strange reason, he could see her verbally sparring with his brothers, which pleased him immensely. She was not a woman to back down. He dipped his head to her in a gallant gesture.

“Then I will be completely honest as well,” he said. “I am not ill. I did not come to the church today because I do not wish to be married. It is nothing personal against you, Lady Elizaveta. It is simply that I am not pleased that I’ve been pushed into a marriage I cannot refuse.”

Elizaveta suspected that had been the reasons behind his failed appearance at the church all along. She couldn’t fault the man his honesty.

“Nor I,” she said. “I am here because I was forced to be here and being greeted by a sword and not a groom did not help my opinion of this marriage. Since we are both being forced into this, do you think it possible that you could be kind enough to take the time to come to the church in person? I have come in person for you, in fact. I would ask to be shown the same respect.”

It was not an unreasonable request and Drake saw no reason to refuse her. In fact, he realized that he didn’t want to. Lady Elizaveta du Reims had proven herself worthy of him in just the short time he’d known her. Perhaps it was utterly arrogant to think that way, but he did nonetheless. He rather liked her fire.

“Since you have asked so politely, I will be more than happy to escort you to the church,” he said. “Shall we walk or ride?”

“If we walk, we can tell each other more terrible stories about our pasts.”

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. Before he could respond, however, he could hear his mother’s voice as she was coming up the stairs. He could hear his brothers, too. The troops were returning and a mischievous twinkle came to his eye.

“Since you colluded with my mother to play a joke on me,” he said, “I wonder if you will collude with your future husband to play a joke on his mother?”

Elizaveta grinned. “She will probably become quite angry,” she said. “She is a very strong-willed woman.”

Drake nodded patiently. “Indeed she is,” he said. “Will you do it?”

“What shall I do?”

He told her and she fell back on the bed, eyes closed and deathly still. Drake stood over her. By the time Devereux opened the door and stuck her head inside the chamber, it was much the way she had left it– the lady on the bed and Drake standing over her. Her brow furrowed with concern.

“Has she not awoken, Drake?” Devereux asked.

Drake nodded. “She did, indeed,” he said, looking at his mother rather casually. “She told me who she was. So I throttled her. She is quite dead now.”

One could hear Devereux’s scream all the way into town.