"But you know the history of my family. You know I would not repeat it." He looked down at her with a mixture of regret and irritation. "Why else do you think I have arranged this marriage?"
Helene sat up, holding the sheet to her breast, an arrested expression in her eyes. "Whom do you marry, Simon?"
"You don't know?" He stared, incredulous.
"How could I know? I spend no time at court. I have no visitors but you," she exclaimed. "You said only that you were marrying. Nothing about how it would mean the end of us. Nothing about when or who."
He sighed. "I am marrying the Lady Ariel Ravenspeare, Helene."
"A Ravenspeare!" she breathed. "Dear God in heaven. They killed your father."
"I've seen enough blood spilled in the last years, Helene. I am awearied of blood and anger and war. My family has been locked in enmity with the Ravenspeares for so long, and each generation deepens the wound, whether with an illicit passion or an act of violence." He leaned over her, his eyes intense, his voice low. "A marriage made in good faith can only heal."
"But they killed your father."
"And I will meet them now in peace."
Helene turned from him. She knew that look, the sudden clenching of his jaw, the hardness of purpose in his eyes, the power of will behind the quiet words. When Simon Hawkesmoor was in this mood, he was unmovable. He was a man of such paradoxes. A man of war who loathed conflict in his private life. A man of massive strength whose loving touch was so tender and gentle it would not crush the petals of a rose. But above all, he was a man of powerful convictions and principles. He stood way above the petty disputes, the spite, the opportunistic betrayals of the political court. No party claimed his allegiance, and he lived in no one's pocket. For this he was both respected and feared. A man who could not be bought.
She lay silent, listening to him as he moved awkwardly around the chamber, dressing himself. She heard the clunk of his belt buckle as he put on his swordbelt, and knew that he was ready to leave her.
"What if the Ravenspeares will not meet you in peace?" She rolled onto her side so that she could see him. Her eyes were dark against the white pillow.
"Ranulf has agreed to the marriage… admittedly with a degree of- persuasion from the queen," he added. "Judging from the number of invitations that have gone out, he is preparing to marry off his sister in a lavish style."
He sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hand. "Helene, if anyone can understand what I'm doing, it must be you."
"For a man of war, you have a strange fondness for peace," she said, curling her fingers in his large palm. "But the Ravenspeares are known for their treachery. What makes you think you can trust them?"
"There can be no treachery if Ranulf wishes to keep his place at court. I told you, love, that the queen herself wants this marriage."
"Maybe so." Helene hitched herself onto one elbow. Her anger and bitterness were gone. They would do no good and she was too wise a woman to bid farewell to her friend and lover in resentment. "But Ranulf Ravenspeare would betray his dearest friend if it suited his purpose. And he's not known to be a forgiving man. It's said he'll carry a grudge to his grave… or to the grave of his enemy."
Simon smiled. "For one who never goes to court, you're remarkably informed of gossip, my love."
"Deny it."
He shook his head. "I cannot. But it's not as if we plan to embrace each other as beloved family. After the wedding, after this month of celebration, I will take Lady Ariel to
Hawkesmoor, and Ranulf and his brothers will never have to lay eyes upon me again. But the marriage will have put an end to the old enmity, once and for all."
"You are an extraordinary man, Simon Hawkesmoor." Helene touched his cheek with her free hand, tracing the path of the livid cicatrix.
He put up his hand to clasp her wrist. There was a look of uncertainty in his eye, a strange and unusual diffidence about him. "Do you think a young girl will find me repulsive, Helene?"
"How could you think such a thing?" she gasped, sitting up, clasping his face between both hands.
"I have a body and a countenance covered in scars," he said with a hesitant little laugh. "I must walk with a stick. I have thirty-four years to her twenty."
"You are beautiful," she said.
"And beauty, as we know, is in the eye of the beholder." He laughed again, taking her hands, turning them palm up and kissing each one. "But I am grateful for your confidence, my dear."
"If the Lady Ariel Ravenspeare cannot see you as you really are, then I'll open her eyes for her," Helene stated.
"Such a champion!" He took her face and kissed her mouth hard. "We must say farewell, my love. But you will always be my dearest friend."
She slid off the bed, accompanying him to the door. "Have a care, Simon. Do not trust too easily."
He laughed, and this time his laugh was harsh, an abrupt change from the diffidence and tender humor of a minute earlier. "I do not go alone under Ranulf Ravenspeare's roof, Helene. I shall be well attended, and well on my guard."
"Ah." She gave a little sigh of relief. "For a moment I was afraid you were so intent on your mission that you had lost caution." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "You will visit me in friendship, even after your marriage?"
"Of course," he replied simply. "You will always have a place in my heart, Helene."
"And it's not as if you're marrying for love," she murmured, standing back as he opened the door.
He turned to look over his shoulder at her, and his eyes darkened. "There can never be a place in my heart for a Ravenspeare, Helene. But I will do my duty by the girl, and if she does her duty by me, she will receive all the kindness and consideration of which I'm capable."
The door closed behind him. Helene went to the window, to watch him emerge into the street below, expecting him to turn and look up at the window as he always did. But this time he didn't. He left the inn that had always been their rendezvous, and walked down the lane, leaning more heavily than usual on his stick, his cloak billowing around him in the brisk winter wind that whistled around the street corner.
Helene turned back to the room, filled with a strange apprehension. She told herself it was not apprehension for Simon but anticipation of the loneliness that lay ahead for her. She was still in her prime, too young to be condemned to a life of chastity… to exchange the turbulence of love and passion for the blandness of friendship.
"No," Ariel stated. "I will not dress up in a wedding gown when the groom is nowhere in sight."
Ranulf's face darkened. "You will do as you're bid, sister. Your wedding is set for noon and you will be ready for it." He gestured to the bed where lay a froth of pale lace. "You will dress and show yourself belowstairs. It will not be said that the Ravenspeares reneged on their contract."
Ariel shook her head, standing her ground. "When the earl of Hawkesmoor comes to claim his bride, Ranulf, then and only then will she dress herself for sacrifice."
"Why, you obstinate, disobedient-" The angry words died and he fell back, his hand still upraised, as the wolfhounds ranged in front of Ariel, facing him, teeth bared, hackles raised. "Call them off," he demanded tightly.
"Not until you lower your hand, brother."
His threatening hand dropped to his side. Ariel said, "Down," in a soft voice, and the dogs sat, but they remained in front of her, staring fixedly at the earl.
"I command that you dress immediately for your wedding." Ranulf spoke through compressed lips. "Hawkesmoor may well be intending to arrive at the chapel at the very stroke of noon. I will not have him find us unprepared. This family will give no sign of hesitation, of reluctance, for this wedding. The queen will receive reports that the Ravenspeares conducted themselves impeccably, and if there is to be any criticism, it will be directed at the Hawkesmoor."