A True and Perfect Knight Read online

  “Huh?” Haven grunted the question.

  Gennie looked at him and saw as much confusion in his eyes as she felt in her heart.

  “Join hands, you dolts.”

  Exhausted, Gennie shifted at the same moment as Haven, bumping his shoulder. Startled, she looked at him. Brown eyes glared down at her. The king reached forward and grasped her hand. Gennie jerked in surprise, but the king’s grasp remained firm until he placed her hand in Haven’s. Heat from Haven’s palm sizzled up her arm. She felt dizzy. The councilors at the end of the room stared. Gennie blushed. The father’s words droned past her ears.

  “We gather here in the sight of God…”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I do.” Haven’s statement echoed throughout the chamber.

  Gennie shook herself from her exhausted daze. “You do what, Sir Haven?”

  Anger blackened his face. Several discreet coughs from the end of the room distracted her. Something was not right. Closer to hand, the priest glared at her interruption. Edward looked fit to burst. What was going on?

  The priest continued. “Do you Genvieve Eloise des Jardins Dreyford take this man as your husband, promising to obey him in all things, to adore him with your body, pledging him your fealty, cleaving to him as your liege lord and giving him all your worldly goods, saving only that which you owe to Christ?”

  “What? Take de Sessions as my husband? Of course not.”

  The coughing increased.

  “Are all those men ill?” Gennie asked. “Sir, send for a posset, and I will tend to them.” She started for the opposite end of the chamber, but Haven’s hand held hers fast. “Please you, Sir Haven, let go. I may be dead an hour hence, but I will not stand by idle when others are sick and in need.”

  “They are not sick, madame. You must remain and answer the priest.”

  “I have already answered the priest, and I will not wed you. What would be gained by such a foolish action?”

  “It would please me greatly.” Edward’s soft words accompanied a dagger-sharp look that even Gennie in all her weariness could not mistake.

  She swallowed in an attempt to moisten her suddenly dry throat. “Well, I…uh…that is, I suppose no harm can come from it. We can always hold the execution afterwards, but I insist on having a shroud to wrap my body.”

  “By all means, madame. You have my oath as King of England, that when you die, you will have the finest of shrouds. Continue, Father.”

  Gennie blinked at the brilliance of Edward’s smile. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the men at the end of the room fall to his knees, moaning. She moved toward him once again, but Haven’s grip remained strong. “The priest, madame.”

  “Do you take this man as your husband, madame?”

  Gennie looked into Haven’s unsmiling face. He squeezed her hand and nodded. “I do,” she said, and felt as if the hangman’s noose had just tightened around her neck.

  “Do you have the rings, sir?”

  Gennie saw Haven swallow.

  “Bek, where are those rings I gave you?” Edward shouted to his secretary.

  “Here, sire.”

  A heavy circlet of gold filled Gennie’s palm. The priest’s words faded as she stared at the ruby-eyed lion that crested the ring. She felt Haven shove a golden band onto her finger, and she fumbled to follow suit. Unable to meet his cold eyes, she focused on their joined hands.

  “I pronounce you man and wife. Go with God.”

  Haven’s grip loosened, and Gennie shook his hand off. “Now I will tend that poor man who collapsed. After that”—she glanced toward the king—“we can proceed with my hanging.”

  The king waved dismissal at the councilors crowding near the door. “That will not be necessary.” Edward took Gennie’s arm, guiding her to the table where Bek had laid out documents, quills and ink.

  She ignored the items. “Not necessary? Of course it is necessary. Someone so ill requires immediate care.”

  “You may note, Lady de Sessions, that the man has already been taken care of.” Edward pointed to the now empty far end of the room.

  “I do not understand. How…?”

  “His friends took him away to get him help. Naught remains but to sign the marriage contract.” Edward smiled and held the quill out to her.

  Lady de Sessions. He had called her Lady de Sessions. Was she well and truly married to the man who had effectively killed Roger? “But…”

  “Come.” The king put the quill in her hand. “It is too late now to protest. Sign and then we shall have a marriage toast.”

  Gennie dipped the quill in the inkpot, then scratched her name on the vellum.

  Haven snatched the quill from her hand and scrawled his signature below hers.

  The clerk dusted the documents with sand and when they were dry handed them to Haven.

  A servant brought wine at the same moment that a dusty messenger entered the chamber. The king moved aside to read the message, then turned to Haven. “I must leave immediately. A slight detour is required before I can march on Llewellyn. I regret that you must take Milady de Sessions with you into Wales, for there will be none here to have a care for her or Dreyford’s family. See to your lady, and when your men rejoin you depart with all haste for Two Hills Keep, as we discussed.”

  Edward does not know the widow, Haven thought. Else the king would realize that with her in tow, all haste would be very slow indeed. Regardless, Haven chastised himself, Edward Plantagenet has given me a task. It is up to me to see it carried out.

  Within moments, the king and all his attendants disappeared. Haven stood alone with Gennie in the empty chamber. He looked at the two cups the servant had placed in his hands before departing and held one out to Genvieve. “Milady, will you share our wedding toast?”

  She wore a dazed expression. Her brow wrinkled in confusion as she took the cup. “Wine would be welcome, sir.”

  He watched her put the cup to her lips; lips that he knew were tender and sweet. Her throat, that delicate column of ivory and rose, rippled as she swallowed. He waited, hoping she would break the silence that weighed as heavily as the marriage into which the king had coerced him.

  With all the councilors looking on, he had had no choice but to go through with the marriage. Edward had known that. The king had also known that Haven would refuse if asked to marry Dreyford’s widow.

  But Edward wanted the woman in the care of someone trustworthy. Who more trustworthy than a man who honored his vows to his king over a friend’s life? Edward had gotten exactly what he wanted. Haven supposed he should be grateful. Because of this marriage, his soul was no longer in danger. Roger’s wife and child would live. So why did Haven still feel as if he had betrayed his promise to protect her? Why did he want to smash something?

  “…before my execution, sir?”

  Haven shook his head, set aside his untouched wine and allowed Genvieve’s words to pull him from his thoughts. “What did you say?”

  “I asked if you wished to consummate the marriage before my execution.”

  The thought of Genvieve’s slender neck in the hangman’s noose put torch to all of Haven’s frustrations. He grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her from the floor. Furious with her, with Edward, with himself, Haven kissed her. It was an ungentle echo of their sudden wedding and boded ill for this unwanted union.

  He lifted his face a breath from hers and snarled, “Edward has condemned us both, milady. There will be no execution. This marriage will be consummated, but only when I am damned good and ready to do so.” He dropped her back to the ground, then turned on his heel. His long legs took him to the entrance in a trice. The door slashed open under his grasp. He paused on the lintel. “I will send a servant to show you to our chamber.” Then her husband was gone.

  “So, Sir Husband.” Gennie paced away from the gaping door and addressed the vacant room. “You will consummate our marriage when you are ‘damned good and ready’. And should I not be ready, will you perform this c
onsummation by yourself?

  “Ooh. She shook her fist at a sunbeam that pierced the gloom from a high narrow window. “No one ever tried my patience as Sir Haven de Sessions, not even Roger at his worst. Vraiment, to be de Sessions’s wife is a fate worse than death.” The end of the room halted her progress and her tirade. She braced one hand against the wall, then leaned forward, resting her hot cheeks on the cool surface. Covering her face with her other hand, she sobbed.

  “Dear God in Heaven, how can I tolerate this? He has made me cry. I swore that I would never again cry because of a man, especially a faithless man.” And who more faithless than a man who betrays a friend? she reminded herself.

  Gennie wiped tears from her cheeks and lips. Her mouth was still swollen from that punishing kiss. “Is not that like a man, to take out his anger on a woman’s body? Does de Sessions think this marriage is of my making? Mayhap I enchanted the king into deciding on this travesty?”

  A cough sounded from behind her. “Milady.”

  Gennie spun round, holding back a startled sound with a hand over her bruised lips.

  The servant bowed. “I am to guide you to your chamber.”

  How long had he been there? She could hardly ask. Nor could she ask if he had overheard her outburst.

  She shook out her skirts and followed the servant from the room. What did it matter if the servant heard or talked of what he heard? Surely de Sessions knew how she felt. Servants’ gossip could not make that any worse.

  The servant preceded her in silence. Too much has happened, she thought. She was not to die. Instead, she was chained to a man she could not trust, a man who confused and sometimes frightened her. Please God, he will never know how much. De Sessions was right: Edward had condemned them both. Try as she might, she could see no way out of this situation.

  Somehow, she did not think that de Sessions would carouse himself into treason and death as Roger had. She might dislike Haven, but she knew he was no drunkard. Haven de Sessions was a very dangerous man. A man who held complete authority over her.

  Wrapped in her thoughts, Gennie nearly knocked the servant over before she realized he had stopped and opened a door. He gestured her inside.

  “Will you need anything else, milady?”

  Gennie looked at the room, unseeing, then looked at the servant. “No, that is, yes. My husband will be hungry when he returns.” Men were always hungry. “Please bring us food and drink.”

  “Very well, milady.” The servant left, closing the door behind him.

  Gennie stepped toward the fire. She sank down upon a footstool and warmed her hands at the blaze. She wished the fire could warm her thoughts as it did her hands. But all she felt was the cold chill of worry.

  How could she survive another marriage, especially marriage to Haven? How would he treat Thomas? She had no wish to trust de Sessions with anything, least of all Thomas’s safety. Yet, thus far, Haven had displayed no inclination to show Thomas cruelty. Indeed, de Sessions had been extremely patient with her son’s needs as they traveled toward Chester. She had no true choice, after all. As de Session’s wife, she must yield all to him whether she would or no.

  That being so, mayhap this marriage had one bright spot. Surely she could submit to de Sessions for the sake of her son. The knight was a powerful man, after all, and a friend of a very powerful king. Gennie straightened her shoulders. Oui, as bad as this marriage might be for herself, for Thomas it was a good thing.

  Determined to accept her fate, Gennie waited for Haven to return.

  The sound of voices roused Gennie. She blinked sleepily and peered into the dimness surrounding the door. Her husband loomed, solid and dark, talking to a servant who placed supper upon a side table.

  “No matter what the hour, I want my man Soames brought to me as soon as he arrives.” Weariness pervaded de Sessions’s curt words.

  “Aye, sir. Will there be anything else?”

  “Nay.”

  The servant left. The door closed. Gennie watched as Haven ran a hand across his eyes. Firelight flickered over his sharp cheekbones and stubborn chin, skimming past thin lips that wore a downward turn. He exhaled a small sigh.

  About to rise and serve him, Gennie settled back when he dropped his hand to the table and began assembling a trencher. Perhaps he hadn’t seen her. Despite the square set of his shoulders and his proud stance, she got the impression he carried some great weight—a weight that caused him pain and anger. Unwilling to add to that burden, she remained silent.

  “Would you prefer your fruit with or without clotted cream?”

  Gennie’s head jerked. How had he known she was awake? “Without, please.” Her voice was shaky. Not wanting him to see her anxiety, she shifted toward the fire. She was aware when he sat on the floor next to her, but she refused to look at him. She was afraid. Afraid to draw the anger that she suspected lay beneath his bleak frown. Roger had never hesitated to vent his anger on her. Would de Sessions do the same?

  He set the trencher before her, along with a richly carved goblet. Her thoughts focused inward. She plucked bits of food and ate without tasting, too aware of the man who sat unmoving beside her.

  She chewed slowly, unable to bear the silence yet uncertain what to say. She swallowed and waited, sipping at the wine all the while. The trencher was for both of them. Good manners dictated that she not eat more until he had taken food. A sideways glance showed that her companion stared morosely into the fire.

  “You do not eat, sir?”

  His blazing tawny gaze turned on her. “What?”

  She leaned away from the leashed emotion she saw there, then gestured toward the trencher. “You serve us food, yet you do not eat.”

  He grunted and without looking at the trencher took some fruit and cheese into his hand. He devoured the food, as though starving, but did not reach for more. His darkling glance returned to the fire.

  “What troubles you, sir?” Gennie asked the question quietly, praying that she would not provoke that earlier intensity from him.

  He studied the flames. “King Edward told me that he ordered our marriage ‘in order to prevent more treason’.”

  Gennie gasped but held her outrage to herself. No protest on her part would change de Sessions’s opinion of her, nor the king’s.

  “Those were his exact words?”

  “Aye.” Her husband continued to stare into the fire.

  “I see. You must find marriage to me distasteful at the least.”

  He turned his hard gaze on her. “And does this marriage please you?”

  Gennie placed the goblet on the floor between them. She twisted her hands together in her lap and looked past him, into the fire. “Non.”

  “Then you understand my problem.”

  Gennie shook her head slowly. “Did you wish to wed another?”

  “Nay. Did you?”

  “Non.”

  “That is good.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you do your duty?”

  What was he asking? Did he expect her to turn a blind eye to his whores as well as share his bed? Or need she only run his household? Tend his wounds? She had sworn before God and king to be Haven’s obedient and faithful wife. How could she do else? “Oui, sir. Will you likewise perform your duty?”

  “I will.”

  I will, he says. And just what does he mean? Gennie wondered. Will he slake his lust on me and me alone? Protect and provide for me? Raise my son to be a good, strong man? Experience had taught her not to expect too much from a man’s promise to perform his duty.

  Gennie raised the goblet, took a drink and stood. “Then I will await you in bed.”

  Haven grasped her wrist, holding her in place. “First, I would have wine.”

  Gennie looked toward the table where she saw a pitcher, but no other goblet. “There is but one cup.” She held it out to him.

  “We are man and wife. We share trencher and cup…”

  His hand left her wrist and covered her own finger
s around the goblet. The warm, vital strength of his grip sent shivers through her.

  “…just as we will share a bed.”

  She eased her hand from beneath his, but the warmth of his stare held her in place. She watched as he put his lips to the cup. Did he realize that ’twas the same spot where she had sipped moments ago? He swallowed, and the muscles in his throat moved. Her own throat went suddenly dry. She licked her lips. He lowered the cup, and Gennie’s hand went to her neck. There was more than heat in his eyes now. She fled.

  As Gennie began to disrobe, Haven turned back to the fire. It should be distasteful to bed his friend’s widow. He thanked God that nature was taking its course. For even as he had asked his questions, he had felt the rise of desire in his loins. It was simple lust, recalled by the firelight playing over her face as candle glow had over her body that one time he entered her tent unannounced.

  In this case, the church sanctioned his lust. He need feel no guilt over an act that it was his duty to perform. So why did he hesitate to join his wife in bed? Did he really fear that Roger’s ghost somehow stood between them? He could hear Roger’s words from the gallow’s steps. “I cannot trust my wife.” Haven shook the thought from his head. Roger was dead. Gennie was no longer his best friend’s wife, she was his wife. And tonight they would consummate their marriage before God as was proper.

  He should feel no guilt. Gennie had by her own admission agreed to share that bed with him. He was not forcing her. No more so than he forced himself. Haven shook his head. This bedding was a duty, and neither his feelings nor Genvieve’s were important. If neither of them received pleasure, at least their souls would be safe. He grimaced and drained the cup, trying to sweeten the bitter taste that duty left in his mouth.

  Chapter Thirteen

  From the bed, Gennie watched Haven drain his goblet. He set the empty vessel on the mantelpiece. Her husband stood for a few moments, staring into the flames that cast the only light in the room. Then he stretched his arms above his head, reached over his shoulders, grasped the back of his tunic and swept it over his head.