“Do you understand?” he screamed in her face. “Do you?”
“Yes, yes!” she shrieked. “I understand!”
“Good,” Felsteppe said, taking a deep breath and calming himself considerably. He looked to the priest. “Carry on, Simon.”
The priest began stammering, but Dori couldn’t understand what he was saying. Her ears rang, her mouth filled with blood.
And Reg was dead.
“Let’s honeymoon in Dubrovnik,” Felsteppe whispered in her ear.
* * *
The chamber was tomb silent as Dori finished her tale, keeping her gaze on the king rather than risk looking at Constantine.
“He kept me prisoner until my state was obvious,” she said. “We returned overland to the Channel and then by ship to England. He had sent for his mother—the hag who acted as my son’s nurse. It was she who slowly poisoned me under the guise of offering me a strengthening potion.”
“What of your death?” Henry asked. “Lord Felsteppe genuinely believes you to have been dead these many months.”
“He believes me to be dead because he charged the priest to take me from my home and kill me. Simon.”
“Simon,” the king muttered. “Of course. It could only be Simon.” Then louder, “Apparently, he did not.”
“No. He urged me to flee the country rather than have another death on his already black conscience,” Dori said. “I instead went into hiding at Benningsgate.”
“Rather close to the danger you narrowly escaped, wasn’t it, Lady Theodora?”
“It was my intention all along to return for my son,” she said defiantly. “Baron Amberly’s son. Felsteppe and I were never married in truth. The union was never consummated.”
“Were I you, Lady Theodora, I would refrain from sharing that bit of information with anyone else just yet.” Henry turned to Constantine, and Dori dared a sideways glance at him. He was not looking at her.
“You found her there at Benningsgate, I suppose, and the pair of you thought it more effective to besiege me with your tales of woe together.”
“I had no intention of coming to you at all, my liege. I only returned to England to kill Glayer Felsteppe. Send for him now and I shall prove it to you.”
To her surprise, Henry threw back his head and laughed. “Constantine, Constantine. Honest to your own detriment, as always.” The king sighed and then raised his palms into the air for a moment before letting them fall back to his thighs. “There’s naught I can do. Lord Felsteppe departed with a band of my own soldiers not an hour ago.”
“What?” Dori blurted out.
The king rolled his gaze toward her, almost reluctantly, it seemed. “Baron Amberly has been dead for more than a year now—another sad victim of the Holy Land’s vicious ways, as it was reported. Besides yourself, Lady Theodora, and a disgraced priest, there are no witnesses to his supposed murder. Obviously you’re alive and well. There is no proof that Lord Felsteppe has wronged you in any way. If anything, he’s done you a great service by claiming your child—the boy’s been christened and officially marked as his heir. If you return to your husband and promise to be the meek woman he desires—no matter how difficult a task that would prove—perhaps you will be allowed access to your son. I am not completely without sympathy for you, and so I am willing to have my secretary pen a letter of apology on your behalf.”
“To apologize for not being dead?” Dori demanded in shock.
Henry shrugged. “During the course of my reign there have been several men I would be greatly put out to have turn up alive.”
“Myself for instance,” Constantine accused.
The king sighed and turned his head, leveling a look at Constantine. “No, Lord Gerard. Not you. But I cannot simply give you leave to hunt down and assassinate Glayer Felsteppe. You’d be arrested and tried for murder, as you have no proof Felsteppe intentionally caused the deaths of Patrice and Christian. Even if the charges against you from the Holy Land have been dismissed, the rumors have followed you, and they will carry weight should you be accused of killing a peer in cold blood. I’ll not volunteer to take another whipping for condoning a man’s death—even one who might deserve it.”
“You’re going to stand by and let him get away with murder?”
“You have no proof.”
“My word should be proof enough for you!” Constantine pointed at the king. “You were my friend!”
The king looked at Constantine without anger at the accusation, and Dori thought she saw a spark of compassion in his gray eyes.
“I am still your friend, Constantine. But, more importantly at the present, I am your king. As far as I and my realm are concerned, you are as yet innocent of any treachery here or at Chastellet. You are free to go; none shall detain you in my name. But I warn you, Constantine, the only way you can see Glayer Felsteppe dead by your hand is by the letter of the law, which does not condone what you wish to do. I’ll rouse my secretary in order to provide you a copy of the decree before you depart.”
