“What would you receive if you succeeded in tricking me?”
She met his eye, her head rising. “I asked Lord Plimmwald for a dowry so I could marry.”
“And whom did you want to marry?” Was there someone at home, a servant boy she was in love with? He clenched his walking stick so hard it dug into his palm.
“I had no one particular in mind, if that is what you are asking.”
“But you wanted to marry.”
“Yes. I wanted a husband who would love me.” Defiance was in her eyes, but there was a slight tremor in her voice, and her jaw twitched, as if she was clenching her teeth.
“So you did all this—risking my wrath, risking that I would find out you were not a rightful earl’s daughter—all for a dowry so you could marry well?”
She tilted her chin up. “I also asked for a goose and a side of pork every month for my family.”
He turned his back on her and ran his hand through his hair. To think that she would ask for such a thing, for a basic provision of food for her family . . . or perhaps she was lying again.
He could not allow himself to feel sympathy for her. He must keep his wits about him.
He must not be like his brother.
“I might have married you. I might have made you my wife, thinking you were Lady Dorothea. What kind of fool do I look like in front of every powerful noble . . . All this, after I condemned my brother for sleeping with a maidservant.”
Why could he not have chosen some other woman? Why Avelina? But he knew why. It was because she had seemed good and kind and had expressed her thoughts without any false pride or pretense. He had admired her forthrightness and her compassion. And although he had never thought a wife with strong opinions was a good thing, he actually found he liked her opinions—or at least admired her for having them. He wanted to get to know her, to know everything that was in her heart. He wanted to marry her and, surprising even himself, to love her. Yet . . . she had deceived him.
“I was not trying to make you choose me.”
He turned around to face her again. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her lips were pursed.
“I would not have let you marry me, thinking I was Lady Dorothea. I would have told you the truth.”
“You wanted me to marry Lady Magdalen.” He expelled a breath, suddenly realizing the truth. “I thought you were only being modest, frightened by my attention.” He had hoped, deep down, she felt the same way about him, that she was just as drawn to him as he was to her. But he had deluded himself.
She looked at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. “I could not marry you. Of course I wanted you to marry Mag—Lady Magdalen. She is kind and noble and she needed a powerful husband like you, since her father died and there is no one to defend her castle.”
That sounded logical, at least. And it was just as logical for him to send her away and never think of her again. Just as logical for him to choose someone else to marry.
“Go to your bedchamber. Do not come down to the Great Hall. I do not wish to see you again.”
He turned and stalked out of the room and down the corridor—and felt as if he’d just been punched in the gut.
In her bedchamber, Avelina sat on the floor by her door, listening for Magdalen to walk by on her way to her room. After a few minutes she heard footsteps. Avelina jumped to her feet and yanked open the door, but it was only a kitchen servant, bringing her a tray of food.
Avelina stepped back and let the servant in, who eyed Avelina askance as she set the tray on her table.
After the servant left, she lifted the cloth covering the food. The smell that wafted up to her made her stomach turn. She laid the cloth back over it and went back to the door and sat, drawing her knees up and laying her head on them.
Was Lord Thornbeck able to eat? Tears stung her eyes again. Dear God, please . . . comfort him. I’m so sorry for hurting him. She sat, alternately praying and crying.
Someone was coming down the corridor. Avelina stood too quickly and had to reach out a hand to steady herself. Before she could open the door, someone knocked.
Avelina opened the door to Magdalen.
“Oh, Magda—Lady Magdalen, please forgive me. Please let me explain.”
“May I come in?”
“Yes, please. Come in.” She closed the door. “Please forgive me for deceiving you.”
“I forgive you, of course.” Magdalen’s expression was sad, and she sighed. “But I would like to know why.”
“My lord, the Earl of Plimmwald made me feel as though I was doing it for the good of our people.” She sighed. “He told me people would die if I did not strengthen our alliance with Lord Thornbeck.”