Dreamspell (32 page)

She put her head to the side, inviting shadow to darken her fine features. “The truth of who I am.”

“’Tis said you are the king’s leman.”

“And you believe it.”

“I know not what to believe, Lady Lark.” That last came hard, as if the name belonged not to her but the one who now called herself Nedy. “I have heard that you were sent to be my wife. Am I to believe that?”

Her eyes widened, but suspicion turned her expression around. She could not have spoken her distrust louder had she shouted it.

“Is it true, Lady Lark?”

“How do you know we are to wed?”

It
was
true, and a less desirable truth than when he believed Nedy Plain was this woman. “’Twas told to me by Lady Jaspar of Castle Cirque. It seems all rumors lead to her.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured. “As Edward decreed we are to be married, he would have you know I am not his leman.”

“You could not steal past Alice Perrers?”

She scowled, the display marring the soft curve of her mouth and thickening her slender neck. “Alice, malice! She was difficult, but that I live is testament that naught comes between Edward and his purpose.” She turned away, took two steps, and swung around. “From the moment his gaze picked me from the other courtiers, he knew me, but for a time allowed me to believe my revenge was at hand.”

What revenge had she hoped to work? And for what reason?

“To my surprise, Edward was kind. He took me for long walks, sat near, but not near enough to touch me—except my hand on occasion.” She laughed. “Have you guessed, Lord Wynland?”

Why had Edward not bedded her? She was lovely, and he a man who could have whatever he wished, a man to whom vows were to be kept only as it pleased him, as evidenced when he had taken Alice Perrers to mistress prior to the queen’s death. Was it possible he cared enough for Lady Lark to surmount his lechery? “Do tell, my lady.”

“Twenty years ago, my mother worked in the palace kitchens. Her name was Alayna. She was young, beautiful, and betrothed. Then she met Edward.”

Fulke needed to hear no more. He knew what had passed between the king and the ingenuous kitchen maid, but he would give the lady her tale.

“He seduced her, and for nearly a year they met at every opportunity. But though the king professed his love, when she revealed she was with child he sent her from the palace with only a purse of coin.” Lark swallowed as if to wash down the bitterness. “’Twas not long ere Alayna’s mother discovered her daughter was pregnant. As time would reveal to all what manner of woman Alayna was, she was quickly wed to her betrothed and she and her husband were sent from London. Six months later, a child was born in a hovel in the cold north of England.” Though the pain of her past glistened in Lark’s eyes, she held her chin level. “I was that child.”

Edward’s misbegotten daughter. Had she not told him, he might not have guessed, but now he could see it in her face.

“As my mother died in birthing me, I never knew her. But I knew my stepfather—a fool of a man. Had not my mother confessed ere she died, he might have believed me to be of his loins though I came too soon.” She closed her eyes. “Ten and seven years I suffered his hatred of the woman who betrayed him. Ten and seven years I scraped after him, endured his drunken beatings, and dreamed of revenge. But not upon him—upon the one who discarded my mother.”

What kind of woman had Edward sent him? “You sought to seduce your own father?”

“Not so far as consummation. I am not completely godless.” A slight smile tipped her lips. “In my mind, I played a thousand times the moment I would reveal myself. Then, in my seventeenth year I took my stepfather’s coin and fled. For two years, I toiled as a lady’s maid, learning all that might raise me above the common, and when I was ready, I
borrowed
my mistress’s finest gown and went to court.” She grimaced. “What I did not know was that I had the look of my mother.”

How Edward must have enjoyed his game—had likely used it to strike jealousy in Alice’s breast.

“So you see, Lord Wynland, I am a lady only because my father deems it.”

“Why does he deem it?”

“He sees in me the woman he loved.” Her voice softened. “My stepfather’s hatred caused me to judge Edward harshly. ‘Tis true he indulges overly much and is oft without conscience, but he is old and growing older. In him I have found someone for whom I care, and I have forgiven him.”

“Yet he does not acknowledge you as his daughter.”

She looked down. “For what? I am yet misbegotten. Too, Alice’s fear of being supplanted allows him to bend her more easily to his will.”

Of course. “Could she be responsible for the attack on your baggage train?”

“’Tis possible.”

But she also feared Fulke might be responsible. “Who knows you are Edward’s daughter?”

She stepped nearer, squinted again. “You, Edward, of course, and the dark one who imprisoned me.”

What she wished to know was if Fulke and the “dark one” were the same. “Why do you call him the dark one?”

“Never did I see his face—or perhaps
her
face. My captor’s voice was strained, as if disguised.”

Curious. “How did this dark one learn you were Edward’s daughter?”

“He found the missive from my father that I was to deliver to you.”
Was it you?
her eyes asked.

Fulke set his hands on her shoulders. “Search me well, my lady, for I do not lie. By my troth, the attack on you was not of my doing.”

“But ‘tis true you do not wish to wed me.”

“As I wish to wed none.” Except one for whom he ought never to have felt. “Still, I would not kill to be free of you, Lady Lark. Rather, I would convince Edward otherwise.”

“And if you could not?”

“I would take you to wife.”

She wanted to believe—he saw it in her eyes, but she could not let go of whatever Sir Arthur had told her. She put her shoulders back. “You need not worry on wedding me, for I vowed that if the lord delivered me from death, ever I would do his bidding. Thus, I shall enter a convent.”

He would not argue that. “Tell me of the attack, Lady Lark.”

She stepped from beneath his hands and crossed to the boys to look down at them. “’Twas bloody. They were everywhere, striking life from my escort.”

“Who?”

She shook her head.

“There were none dead but the king’s men, my lady.”

“Aye. They surprised us.”

“How?”

She spun around. “They were outfitted as knights and called that they were sent by you to escort us to Brynwood Spire.”

Moriel and his band of murderers. “I sent no one.”

“They were among us a half hour ere they attacked. ’Twas so sudden, then more came from the wood. My maid ran screaming into the trees. I followed but had not gone far when I was captured.”

“You would know your attackers if you saw them again?”

“I saw only a few and not well. My vision is poor. I see fair at distances, but not when one is near.”

Then it was not only suspicion that caused her to peer so earnestly at him. “Where were you taken, my lady?”

“I know only that death was to have found me in the oubliette of a castle.”

“Which castle?”

“Upon my escape, I did not linger to discover its name, Lord Wynland. I ran as fast and as far as my infirmity would allow, sleeping by day and traveling by night until three days past when I came upon Farfallow.”

Then she had arrived in advance of Crosley. “How came you to be here with Sir Arthur?”

“Fate. Only that, though I have questioned it many times.” She stepped forward. “Angered though you are that he took your nephews, Sir Arthur is a good and honorable man. No harm did he intend John and Harold.”

And she could scarce see the nose between her eyes. “How is it you escaped your captor?”

“He brought me to a tower that overlooked the bailey that I might name the woman who claimed she was me—the same woman whom the king’s men tell me you hold.”

Then she had been imprisoned at one of the castles at which they had paused during their search. Cirque? Of course, it might not be one of those at which they had paused considering Nedy’s disappearances. “When were you taken to the tower?”

“A sennight past, perhaps more, perhaps less. I fear I was not all in my mind having been starved and thirsted for days.” She put her head to the side. “How is the woman called who took my name?”

“Nedy Plain. She and Sir Arthur are well acquainted.”

She recoiled as if struck. “She told you this?”

“’Tis as they both told me when they conversed this eve ere Crosley and I met at swords.” Nedy who had stayed Fulke when he would have made a quick end of Crosley. “If she was a party to the attack, so too would be Sir Arthur.”

“No, not him. Never could I believe he ordered it.”

Was she in love with him? “Then why does a woman he knows well don your clothes and pretend she is you, Lady Lark?”

She rubbed her temples. “I do not know, but neither did my captor know. For whatever reason this Nedy Plain did what she did, methinks she is not a party to those who killed my escort.”

For a traitorous moment, Fulke prayed she was right.

Lark nodded. “Your Nedy Plain is likely a commoner who blundered on the massacre and took advantage of it.”

But if a commoner, how had she come upon the gown she had worn when he chased her through the wood? It had fit as if made to her every curve. “Tell me of the castle bailey, Lady Lark. What did you see?”

“I paid little heed to anything but the woman my captor asked me to name.”

“What was she wearing?”

“A gown of homespun. An ugly thing and too large.”

Esther’s gown?

“And there was a knight who followed her as if she were of import.”

Sir Malcolm. Then it
was
at Castle Cirque she had been imprisoned, meaning this went beyond Cardell, meaning Jaspar may have determined to rid him of a wife. She
had
known of Edward’s plan to wed Fulke to Lady Lark when no other had. Could it be? Jaspar was many things not pleasant, but a murderer? “How did you escape?”

A smile slipped onto Lady Lark’s lips as if she found pleasure in the memory. “A stone from the sill was loose. I swung it and God’s hand guided it to the dark one’s head.”

And that eve Lady Jaspar had suffered what Fulke believed was one of her headaches. Coincidence? He strode to the tent flap. “Squire James!”

“My lord?”

“Bring me Sir Leonel.”

The squire turned and ran.

Fulke looked to where Nedy Plain sat with Arthur Crosley’s head in her lap. He dragged a harsh breath and told himself he was not jealous. Soon all would be revealed.

C
urse Nedy Plain! He had given her a chance, and for it punishment would be given him. Leonel pumped his hand on his sword hilt as he followed Squire James across camp. If not that the squire had summoned him to Wynland, he would now be on his horse and headed away from Farfallow. What awaited him in the tent made his heart constrict.

He had been a fool to allow desire to bring him to the place he now found himself. When Nedy had tried to halt the confrontation between Wynland and Crosley, he ought to have mounted up and gone from here. Instead, he had followed her and been captivated by her acquaintance with Crosley. Fool!

Squire James lifted the tent flap.

Leonel pumped his hilt twice more, resolved he would not take his hand from it, and ducked inside. He looked first to the man whose presence dominated the tent. The hard set of Wynland’s face caused a thrill of fear to wind Leonel’s innards.

As the flap dropped behind him, he turned his gaze to the other occupants of the tent—John and Harold asleep on the pallet and the woman who sat beside them. He looked back at Wynland. “My lord?”

“Do you know Lady Lark, Sir Leonel?”

A lovely woman, though not beautiful like Nedy. Executing a bow, Leonel sought to compose his face while he kept it turned down. “’Tis my deepest regret we have not met, my lady.”

She pulled her mantle more closely around her shoulders, acknowledging him with a lowering of her lids.

Wynland stepped between them. “It has been learned that Lady Lark was imprisoned at Castle Cirque. What do you know of this?”

He jerked, sputtered. “How can that be, my lord? I would have known if the lady was at Castle Cirque.”

“And you did not?”

Was that him trembling? Did it show? “The lady is mistaken.”

“She is not.”

“Surely you cannot believe Jaspar capable of such an atrocity? ‘Tis true she wishes you for a husband, but this? I will not believe it.”

“If not you nor Jaspar, who?”

“I know not, my lord, but be assured that when I return to Castle Cirque I will discover the truth of it.”

“You will not be returning.”

Leonel felt every ridge and crevice of his wire-wrapped hilt. “You think ‘twas me.” Fear, powered by ire, thrust him forward a step. “For what would I do it? I bear this woman no ill and have naught to gain from her death.”