The Falconer's Daughter - Liz Lyles Page 0,55
him. Your uncle has worked very hard on the betrothal.” She opened the door and pushed the girl in.
The Earl sat at one of the long wooden tables beneath the great stone arch that divided the hall from the solar. He was not alone. “Come here, Cordaella,” he said, rising. “I have good news for you. News that our friends, the noblemen, Dones de la Torres, have brought.” She knew then that it was all true—Spain, the Duke Fernando, leaving England. Her mouth half opened in protest but no sound came out. The Earl’s face was red from drink. “As you know, Don Carlas de la Torre is an emissary of Don Pedro Fernando, the Duke of Santiago and Count of Galicia.” Eton smiled benevolently. “Look what he has brought for you, Cordaella.” He dumped a fat black pouch onto the table, sending a heap of gold coins and precious stones in a spill of color along the table surface. “This is but one token of his Grace’s respect.”
She stared at the jewels, transfixed. The heap of color shimmered, trembling as the Earl bumped the table. “Lucky Cordaella!” Eton enthused, drawing her closer. “Is it not exciting? The Duke is one of Castile’s most important men. You shall have a very powerful husband.”
More powerful than you, she wondered? Still she said nothing.
Eton tossed a gold coin at her and instinctively she reached out to catch it. “Very good,” he said. “Think on it, Cordaella. Gold. A palace on Santiago’s main square. Hundreds of servants. What more could a lady desire?”
“But to Spain!” Her voice faltered, and she clenched the gold in one hand, only half aware of its heavy weight.
“You will survive, even grow accustomed to the place,” the Earl said matter of factly, as if expecting the initial resistance.
Carlas de la Torre spoke calmly. “His Grace is much impressed with you. He has heard that you are as pretty as you are learned. He looks forward to discussing some of the books you have read.” He smiled, revealing even teeth. “Perhaps someday you will be able to travel with him, have a chance to visit those Italian ports you seem to enjoy reading about.”
She didn’t understand his reference. “My lord?”
“The last time my brother and I were here you were reading the Italians—” His heavy lids lowered to conceal his eyes. “Let me think, who was it? No, not Petrarca. Not Dante. Boccaccio. Giovanni Boccaccio.” Again the smile and the flicker of his lashes as he looked up to catch her glance. “What did you think of him? Were you impressed with his style? Or, was it the subject matter?”
“What’s this? What are you talking of?” The Earl mopped his brow. “What was she reading? When?”
Don de la Torre held Cordaella’s eyes. “I mentioned the novel to his Grace. He thought it most interesting that a girl your age would have such—” and he turned away, breaking the tension—“interests.”
“Is it the port of Aberdeen his lordship desires?” She forced herself to speak then, refusing to be silenced, intimidated. If she were to marry Fernando, she would be a Duchess. If the Castilian was wealthy, then she would also be. She watched her uncle, seeing how his mouth pursed at her question. She would find a way to beat him at his own game. If the Earl of Derby was rich, she would be richer. If he owned ships, she would someday own more.
A smile played at the corner of Don de la Torre’s mouth. “His Grace does want the port, as well as the trade agreements connected with the region.”
“I see,” she said.
“Do you?” Carlas prompted softly.
She met his gaze, her head high. She was afraid but not weak. She was a girl but not a possession. Perhaps it would be better for her in Castile. Away from Peveril. Away from the Earl. She hoped her anger was better hidden then it felt. “I do,” she repeated calmly. “I bring something of value into the agreement. This is good. His lordship, the Duke Fernando, will know I am important to him.”
The Earl flushed. “You best not talk such nonsense. I don’t like your tone.” He stared hard at her, his eyes glassy. He seemed impatient, eager to seal the agreement. “Cordaella, then you accept the proposal?”
She stared back at him, seeing his red face, the bloodshot eyes. He must have been drinking for hours. How pleased he must be. She bit down on her jaw, holding to her calm,