The Dark Knight (23 page)

In the great hall of Snape Castle, Guy and Celeste sat upon their padded armchairs before the fire, and drank warmed wine from glazed pottery cups. Francis occupied a smaller chair at his father’s left hand. His Venetian wife, Jessica, sat on a footstool beside him. A large gray wolfhound snoozed on top of Guy’s feet. Otherwise, the large chamber was empty, though Tonia suspected that the family’s servants were hiding in nearby nooks and crannies, eager to catch every word that was spoken. She tightened her grip on Sandor’s arm.

“Do not be afraid,” she whispered to him, though her own heart beat in double time. “Pappa’s bark is much worse than his bite.”

Sandor gave her a quick sideways glance. “I will remind you of that jest at a later date. For now, let us render proper courtesies so that your parents will see that I am not a barbarian.”

Together, Sandor and Tonia bowed and curtsied in a courtly manner to the Cavendish family. When Sandor stood, he rolled back his shoulders and faced Sir Guy. Tonia squeezed his arm to give him silent encouragement.

Guy sipped
his wine. He did not offer any to Tonia or Sandor. Instead, he asked, “Before we discuss your ravishment of my daughter, tell me the news from London. You said King Edward is dead?”

Sandor tensed. Then he replied, “His Majesty died in early July, though what date I cannot say. My jailer did not confide that information to me.”

“Jailer?” echoed Celeste.

“Aye, Mamma,” Tonia answered before Sandor could. “’Twas the reason he did not come to me sooner. One of the King’s minions had Sandor imprisoned in the Tower.”

“’Tis a hellish place,” Francis told his wife.

Sandor nodded to him. “Aye, my lord, you speak the truth. Within the week after the King’s death, a young girl named Jane Gray was proclaimed Queen by the Duke of Northumberland.”

Guy slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair, waking the hound. “The very villain who ordered Tonia to be executed for her religion. I see now why he did it. I will wring his life from him, drop by drop.”

Sandor shook his head. “You are too late, my lord,” he told him. “On the day that I was released from my cell, the great duke was released from his life. He was executed for treason on the twentieth of August.” He turned to Tonia. “And so the wheel of fate has come full circle.”

Francis glanced at his silent father, then asked, “On the road, you told me that Queen
Mary,
not Jane, gave you freedom. Which one rules our fair land?”

Sandor smiled. “Mary, King Henry’s elder daughter, is now the rightful Queen. They say she will be crowned in London come November.”

“And
Jane Gray?” Francis asked.

Sandor sighed. “She too is now a prisoner behind the Tower’s rough walls. I never saw the lady myself, but they said she was very young and did not want the crown in the first place. ’Twas all Northumberland’s idea. His son was married to her.”

“And so the duke would have been a kingmaker,” Francis murmured to his wife.

Celeste lifted her wine cup. “And there’s an end to it. A health unto Her Majesty, Queen Mary!”

Guy, Francis and Jessica raised their cups. “And so say all of us.” The four drank in silence.

Sandor glanced at Tonia.

She nodded. “Speak now while Pappa has his mouth full,” she whispered.

Taking advantage of the momentary lull, Sandor cleared his voice. “My lord and lady, ’tis time to discuss the bride-price.”

Guy blinked, then a sneer crossed his lips. “I see that you are not shy, knave, but a hardheaded businessman. Therefore, I, too, will come straight to the point. There is no dowry for the likes of you. Begone by morning’s light.”

Tonia gulped. This interview was much worse than she had anticipated.

Sandor did not show the slightest distress. Instead, he said, “My lord, you misunderstand me. I do not ask a payment
from
you. I ask you to tell me how much you want for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Both of Tonia’s parents gaped at him. Francis quickly added, “’Tis true, Father. ’Tis a custom among the Egyptians to
pay
the father of the bride. A most interesting idea, don’t you agree?”

“Oh la la!” Celeste
laughed, breaking the tension. “How marvelous! Just think of it!” She poked her husband playfully in his ribs. “Tell me, Guy, my love, how much would you have offered for
my
hand, eh?”

Tonia’s father colored from the neck up and cleared his throat several times. A grin hovered on Tonia’s lips, but she bit them to suppress it.

“I…I would have paid a great deal, sweetling,” Guy stammered.

Celeste’s violet eyes danced with wicked delight. “
Oui,
but
how
much? In round figures?”

Guy twitched in his chair. Francis covered his smile by drinking deeply from his cup. Jessica giggled behind her fan. Only Sandor remained serious.

Guy coughed. “A hundred gold sovereigns! Nay, five hundred! By the stars, my love, you are priceless. I cannot put a value upon you.”

Celeste clapped her hands. “You have all heard my husband. Five hundred gold sovereigns! Oh la la! What grand shopping I will do when we go to London in November for the coronation!”

Guy turned redder. “’Twas a sum for your father, not for you to spend, my sweet. What of it? I have been married to you for years—and with only a dozen silver spoons as a dowry, if you recall.”

Sandor frowned. “Mere silver for this great lady? My Lord Cavendish, your good wife is worth a thousand times that amount.”

Celeste grinned broadly at him. “See? That is how a Frenchman speaks.”

Sandor inclined his head to her. “
Merci, ma dame.
I am grateful for your support, but I must confess that I am also part Italian. I am the grandson of the Duke of Milan.”

Tonia
stared up at him. “You never told me this,” she whispered.

Sandor smiled at her. “I never knew myself until my grandmother revealed it, after I had been released from the Tower.”

Guy leaned forward in his chair. The sleeping wolf-hound twitched one ear. “How now? This is a new tale. Now you pretend to be of noble birth so that you can claim my daughter?”

“’Tis no lie, my lord. The duke wooed my grandmother when she was young and very beautiful. The child of their love was my mother, born on the outside of the blanket, of course, but still the daughter of a duke.”

“A pack of lies,” Guy muttered to Celeste. “The Gypsy’s stock and trade.”

Sandor’s ears burned at the tips but he held his temper. Opening his pouch, he withdrew the
tarocchi
card. “The duke gave my grandmother many gifts, including a deck of beautiful cards like this one.”

Francis extended his hand and Sandor, after a moment’s hesitation, gave the card to him. He trusted the younger man would not destroy his precious memento. Sandor was not so sure of Tonia’s father.

“On the face, you see the Fool. He is a traveler in search of new horizons. On the back is the duke’s coat of arms and his motto.”

“Amor vincit omnia,”
Francis read aloud. “‘Love conquers all’ and I recognize the arms as belonging to the Visconti family. I once lived in Italy for several years and had the honor to meet your cousin, the present Duke of Milan.”

His wife
Jessica nodded. “
Si,
my lord,” she said to Guy. “Even in Venice we knew of the Viscontis. They are a very noble family and great patrons of the arts.”

An unexpected sense of pride washed over Sandor. Francis had called the present duke his cousin. “‘Love conquers all’ is the motto that I have adopted as my own.”

Guy drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You are overbold, Gypsy,” he remarked in a soft voice.

Sandor looked Lord Cavendish straight in the eye. “I am of the Visconti blood, my lord, and I dare to love your daughter, Tonia, with every sinew of my being.”

“And I love Sandor, Pappa. We are married and I carry our child. We are one blood, and there’s an end to the matter.” Her eyes flashed with blue fire.

Guy sat back in his chair and folded his hands together. “Is that so, Tonia? You would forsake this warm, safe home to wander up and down the byways with this man?”

Before Sandor could protest that he planned to build them a cottage, Tonia replied, “I do. Sandor risked his life for me, and I am proud to be his wife. Like Ruth in the Bible, I will go where’er he goes.”

Sandor kissed her hand before he returned his attention to the business at hand. “The bride-price, my lord. I wish I could offer a hundred sovereigns for Tonia, though she is worth her weight in gold. Alas, I do not possess that much. However I am willing to work—”

Guy
signaled for silence. “Cease this haggling. You have already paid the price.”

Sandor glanced at Tonia, who shrugged. “How so, my lord?”

For the first time since the nerve-wracking interview began, Guy permitted the corners of his mouth to turn upward with the barest hint of a smile. “You saved Tonia from a miscarriage of justice. Her life and well-being are all I have ever wanted.”

“And I agree,” added Celeste.

Sandor was not sure that his ears had heard correctly. “You
accept
my service to Tonia as the bride-price, my lord?”

Guy nodded. “I do.”

Sandor was almost afraid to breathe, let alone ask one more question. “And if you accept this price, then you agree that I am worthy of Tonia?”

Guy glanced at Celeste, who gave him a little nod. He sighed. “I do.”

Tonia broke from Sandor’s handhold and dashed for her father. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, Pappa! Mamma! You have made me the happiest woman in England.”

Sandor heard music in his ears. He felt like dancing around the chamber, but he feared that his exuberance might confound the Cavendishes. Instead he struck his chest with his fist. “I will be an honor to Tonia and to your family, my lord. You will see anon.”

Celeste rose from her chair, drawing all attention to her petite form. “Mark me, my children, I have one condition to make—now that a Catholic queen rules England, you two must repeat your vows before a priest in our chapel.” She gave Sandor a look of concern. “Are you Catholic, perchance?”

Sandor
relaxed his shoulders. “
Oui, ma dame,
I was baptized—” He was about to say that he had been drenched with holy water seven times, but Tonia cut him off.

“—in a cathedral in Paris, Mamma. Sandor is most Catholic.” She cast him a look that he did not dare to challenge.

Celeste clapped her hands. “
Très bien!
Then ’tis done. In one swoop, we have regained our daughter, who in turn has regained her mirth. We have a new son to add to our family, and in the wintertime, we shall greet our grandchild. I am most pleased. What say you, my love?” she asked her husband.

Guy finally smiled. “Your mother has spoken, Tonia. I am a wise man—I know when I have been vanquished.”

Francis poured wine into two more cups. Then he handed them to Tonia and Sandor. Lifting his own cup, he said, “Drink with me to the happy couple.”

Laughing, Tonia looked up at Sandor. “And what is the toast?” she asked.

With a wry grin, Guy raised his cup. “Love conquers all!”

“And so say all of us,” Tonia and Sandor cried, before they kissed.

Mid-December 1553

G
uy was enjoying
a quiet doze in front of the fireplace in the upstairs solar when Celeste burst into the room waving a piece of paper. “How now?” he grumbled.

“
Ma foi!
They did not wait for us!” Celeste pointed to the paper.

Guy pulled himself upright and rubbed his head to clear away the cobwebs of sleep. “No one waits for us, my love, least of all time. Who has left us now? Did Alyssa elope?” he added hopefully. His last unmarried daughter had been giving them a great deal of worry lately.

Celeste laughed as she settled herself on his lap. “Nay, ’tis a letter from Sandor. I must congratulate him. His writing has much improved.”

Guy became instantly alert. “What’s the news?” he asked, thinking of the young couple now settled on a modest farm at the far side of the moorlands where Sandor bred and trained horses. A very easy dowry to pay, Guy thought, and the only one that his stubborn son-in-law would accept. “Are they coming sooner for the Christmas revels?”

Celeste
giggled. “Nay, they will not come for Christmas at all.”

“What?” Guy roared. He looked forward to having all his children around him during the holiday season. “Doesn’t that Gypsy celebrate Yuletide?”

Celeste kissed him on his nose. “
Oui,
he does, but they will keep closer to home this year. Their babe has come—a month before its time.”

“What?” Guy clutched her arm. “Is Tonia well? Is the child healthy?”

Celeste laughed again. “Oh la la! My husband is such a brave knight, yet he turns into a cream pastry when he—”

“Peace, peace, woman! You are killing me with suspense. Is it a boy?”

She eyed him over the top of the letter. “So what is wrong with girls?”

Guy snorted. “Nothing! I have three of them! Is it a girl? Do not tease me, Celeste! What is it?”

“Hold your tongue,
mon cher,
or else you will never hear the news. Sandor writes, ‘In the early hours of the seventh of December…”’ Celeste paused. “Why do babies always come before breakfast, I wonder?”

Guy snapped his fingers. “Ask God, not me. Read on, I beg you.”

“Let me see, ah… ‘Tonia was safely delivered of a…”’ Pausing again, she giggled.

Guy blew out his cheeks. “Of a
what?
I am a dying man, sweetling. What did Tonia have?”

“‘Of a
boy—’”

“A boy,” Guy
mused under his breath. “Thanks be to God and all his angels.” Having never had the pleasure of spoiling a baby boy, Guy thought himself in paradise.

“Sandor goes on to say that…hmm. Methinks he says that he wrapped his son in red flannel—”

Guy nodded. “A wise precaution against fever. My mother always did that.”

“And laid him within a…a
horse’s
collar?”

Guy snatched the letter from her hands. “Did you read that aright? Did Sandor misspell ‘cradle’?” He reread the letter with particular care. “’Tis true—a horse collar, for Sandor writes that all Gypsy children sleep their first nap in this fashion. He says ’tis for good luck.”

Celeste smoothed her hand over her husband’s silver and golden hair. “’Tis a novel idea to be sure, but not a dangerous one. You did not give me time to finish the letter. Does the child have a name yet?”

Mumbling “horse collar” under his breath, Guy scanned down the ink-blotted sheet. When he spied what he was looking for, he grinned broadly. “Aye, they have named the little one Thomas—for my father, God rest his soul—Cavendish Visconti Matskella. ’Tis a mouthful to pronounce, methinks. But, Sandor goes on to say that they will call the child Cavi. Sandor ends by promising to have our grandson baptized ‘seven times over.’”

Guy glanced up at his wife. “Now what do you suppose he means by that?”