to stand at ease. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this unexpected —and unwarranted—interruption?”
De Gournay sent his cold blue gaze around the crowded chamber, suitably impressed by the regal display of Angevin and Aquitaine power. Equally impressive was the sight of the tall, hooded figure in black; a man whose size and presence dominated the room with sinister intent.
“Wardieu!” Prince John repeated the question. “What is the meaning of this?”
The Dragon advanced slowly into the room, a smile of unearthly pleasure on his face. “I thought it time I met the Scourge of Mirebeau face-to-face. After all, we will be tipping lances this afternoon, and it occurred to me I should meet the man before I killed him.”
The black hood shifted only slightly to show interest. The gray eyes were more intrigued to note the master of Blood-moor Keep was unarmed. He was without sword or dagger, dressed in an elegant midnight-blue doublet lacking the benefit of so much as a breast piece of chain mail beneath. He was bareheaded and his blond hair fell in glossy curls to his shoulders. With no forest shadows to cloud the Dragon’s features, the Wolf was able to scrutinize every line and wrinkle, every lash hair, every bone and muscle that went into shaping the contours of his brother’s face.
“You have the advantage, sirrah,” De Gournay murmured, watching the glinted inspection.
“Our business is almost at an end, Wardieu,” Prince John said irritably. “Could you not have waited a moment or two—”
“Your business with La Seyne Sur Mer is at an end,” De Gournay interjected mildly. “However, if you have some further dealings with the Black Wolf of Lincoln …?”
“The Black—! What are you talking about? Is he here? Inside the castle?”
De Gournay smiled. “Why, he is right here … in this room, my liege.”
John bolted to his feet as if a needle had been thrust into his buttocks. He snatched the money chest out of the Jew’s hands and shouted for his men to close ranks around him. “He is here? Your brother is here?”
De Gournay’s eyes had not wavered from the slits in the black silk mask. “Apparently, my liege, he has become a chameleon of many names and guises, the most prominent among them: Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer.”
The revelation brought utter, complete silence. No one moved. No one breathed. All eyes were fixed on the two knights in the centre of the room.
A black gloved hand rose, and for the second time in as many days, Lucien Wardieu removed the silk hood and gave a brief shake to free the unruly waves of long chestnut hair. The expectant—and subsequently disappointed—gasp from Prince John’s guard was met by scornfully smug looks from the queen’s men, all of whom had known there were no scars or hideous disfigurements to warrant the hood.
“My congratulations,” De Gournay murmured. “Your little masquerade almost succeeded.”
“Guards!” John cried. “Seize that man!”
The regent’s men drew their swords, but gained no more than a few paces across the room before they were met by the flashing steel of their counterparts. The prince scrambled back into the corner, shouting for protection, while elsewhere in the confusion, in a movement so swift only the flickering of an eye caught it, the Princess Eleanor was drawn behind the formidable wall of La Seyne blazons.
“Stalemate?” De Gournay inquired blandly.
A slick whisper of steel brought the Wolf’s dagger out of its sheath and the tip nosing up beneath the Dragon’s chin.
“Not quite,” he said, and smiled.
“Do you think you would leave this room alive if you killed me?”
“One of the main reasons I came back to England was to kill you. Do you think my own survival was ever a weighty consideration?”
“What of the survival of your men? And the Princess Eleanor? Are they of no consideration either?”
The point of the blade was nudged higher. “If the cause is just and honourable, my men are prepared to die—and to die well, taking at least one, perhaps two of your own men with them. Wholesale slaughter within the castle walls might be difficult, even for you to explain to the other wedding guests. As to the princess, you would not be so stupid as to harm her. The queen sent me to resolve the matter as quickly and quietly as possible—but harm her granddaughter, or kill her, and not only will there be an army setting sail from Brittany on the next tide, but you and your … benefactor”—he spat the word,