Iris was right. Diara knew she was right, and as she thought on that, she began to nod her head. “Papa has been trying to marry me off for years,” she said. “He told me that I would only marry the highest bidder, and Beckett’s father must have bid dearly. But now there is no longer a betrothal…”
“And?”
“And I can tell my father just what I want in a husband.”
“What would that be?”
Diara stood up, moving to the window and gazing over the fertile landscape of the softly rolling hills around Cheltenham. Overhead, birds rode the drafts as the clouds began to roll in from the west.
She could smell the rain.
“I do not want a boy,” she said. “Beckett was a boy, hardly older than I. I want a grown man.”
“Handsome?”
“Of course,” Diara said. “Handsome and strong, mature, responsible. Someone who wants a wife and is prepared to treat her like… like…”
“Likewhat?”
“Like she is important.” Diara turned to look at her. “Like she matters to him. Iris, I spent years at Carisbrooke with the pages and squires as my friends because the girls were petty and would not talk to me. Lady de Redvers was the worst of them, and so were her awful daughters. Because the boys were my friends, Iwas accused of being unladylike. I was accused of teasing them. But you know I did not; never did I tease anyone. Had they not been my friends, I would have had no friends at all. But my father thinks I was a harlot because of that vicious gossip from spiteful women.”
Iris shook her head. “He did not think that,” she said. “He did not listen to the gossip of fools.”
“He listened to a countess and her forked tongue,” Diara said, torn between the sadness it provoked and the anger. “But it does not matter. I will tell him that I will not accept a child as a husband. I want a grown man who did not listen to Lady de Redvers’ gossip, who does not even know de Redvers and the politics of London. Someone who is far away from that kind of thing so he will not have a preconceived notion about it. I simply want a fighting chance to have a good marriage, Iris. Is that too much to ask?”
Iris shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I will support you, whatever you wish. I will tell Uncle Robin that Lady de Redvers was a jealous liar. She only did it because you were more beautiful and kinder than her two daughters. They are trolls, those two.”
Diara’s eyes glimmered with mirth and gratitude. “How do you know that?”
“Because I saw them,” Iris said. “Remember? I fostered at Thetford, and whenever de Redvers would have a gathering, I would come with Lady de Warenne. I saw de Redvers’ daughters at least three times. They were wretched creatures.”
Diara laughed softly. “I know you saw them, but you never spent any time around them,” she said. Her smile faded. “I wish I hadn’t. I dislike women as a whole, Iris. I dislike them intensely. I have never had a good experience with any woman other than you and my mother.”
“That is because we’re not jealous of you,” Iris said. “We’re proud of you.”
That brought a grateful smile from Diara, but Iris could feel the woman’s pain. She’d been so persecuted by her own sex that she didn’t trust, nor did she like, women as a sex, just as she’d said. Iris had heard it before.
It was a lonely way to live.
Outside, the rain was beginning to fall in widely spaced, fat droplets. They hit the windowsill now and again, causing Diara to reach up and grasp the oil cloth that was hanging from the top of the window. Securely fastened, it would keep the rain out. But just as she unrolled it, she caught sight of one of her father’s knights down in the bailey, motioning to some of the soldiers. It was clear that he was giving orders, and Diara paused, watching the tall, dark-haired knight as he moved about. Iris walked up beside her to help, also seeing what she was seeing.
There was a commotion going on down there.
“What’s Pryce doing?” Iris asked curiously. “It looks like he’s sending men to the stables.”
Diara was watching her father’s captain as he sent more men on their way with orders. Pryce de la Roarke had been with her father for many years, an older man who was more like an uncle to Diara than a mere knight. He was wise, but he was also strict. The man didn’t have a humorous bone in his body. If someone was looking for understanding and compassion, they more than likely wouldn’t get it from Pryce. He was, however, quite efficient at his job and could show kindness when he wanted to.
But that was rare.
“I do not know,” Diara said. “He’s issuing commands. Men are running.”
Horses began to come around, out into the bailey, and Iris leaned on the windowsill to get a better look in spite of the rain.
“It looks as if men are preparing to leave,” she said. Then she looked at Diara. “Who is leaving?”
Diara shook her head. “No one that I know if,” she said. “Papa was down in the solar yelling about the betrothal and how…”
She stopped suddenly, and Iris peered strangely at her. “Howwhat?”
