Fulk The Reluctant. Elaine Knighton

      “My father has ever been true—faithful to both the earl and our lord king.”

      “You cannot expect me to believe that. Why then was I sent to confiscate this place? I was shown the king’s seal upon the matter—” Fulk stopped in his tracks. He rubbed his brow and she followed his look toward the shield hung over the bed, blazoned with the FitzWalter arms.

      A pair of lions, back to back. Fitting symbols for a family who would fight to the death.

      “My lady, go, rest you this night, and on the morrow let us speak again.”

      Jehanne straightened her shoulders. “I do not wish to further discuss the plots and intrigues that have ensnared my family. You are here simply because I refused the earl and his henchmen, thus he has used other means to force our cooperation. The effect on me is the same, for I have no doubt you will go to great lengths to protect your sister. But since you appear to be a pawn just as am I, I intend to do something about this injustice.”

      Fulk questioned her with an arched brow.

      “I shall petition the king. In person. And you shall be forever removed from the chessboard.” Jehanne strode to the door, fully expecting Fulk to stop her with one of his big hands on her arm.

      “Perhaps you should do, lady. But give me a month, ere you set my doom into motion.”

      “Why should I grant you any grace period?”

      “Because you have not a chance in hell of changing the king’s mind. And because I spared you.”

      Jehanne suddenly felt small and alone, no longer righteous. Despite what she would like to think of him, she had a feeling this opponent possessed a sense of honor. And that made it all the harder to hate him on principle, for being the one to take Windermere away from her. The question was, could he hold on to it? She might yet retake the keep, God willing.

      “Agreed, Sir Fulk. We shall not act in haste. I bid you good night.”

      He opened the door for her. As she passed him, heat escaped from his open robe, licking at her back. Still, Jehanne shivered. She hurried toward her own chamber. Her women were nowhere in sight, and she risked a look over her shoulder. Fulk had retreated, and Malcolm was already in place, watching her for a moment before he ducked into the solar.

      Jehanne shrugged off the sense of isolation that dogged her as she walked down the echoing corridor. The Scot had apparently chased her ladies away, damn him. She paused, her hand on the door of her own chamber, reassured by the murmur of her women’s voices within.

      Another thought occurred to her. If the earl did want Windermere for himself, why send a man who hated him, even under the pretext of her father’s supposed treason?

      She looked up toward the solar. The keep would still belong to Fulk, who might not share its potential, as the earl’s other lackeys would have done. It was almost as though the earl had placed both his enemies into one pot.