“I will always be truthful with you. Lying is not in my nature.”
She was sobering, growing serious. “Will you please tell me if the rumors about you are true?”
“What rumors are those?”
“That you are Longshank’s son?”
His smile faded, an odd look coming to his eye. “Does it matter?”
“It does not. But I would like to know the truth.”
He sighed faintly, somehow moving closer to her in the process. There was a lengthy pause, during which time Toby watched his expression as he pondered her question. She held her breath, wondering if he was going to answer her. Finally, he opened his mouth.
“Since we are betrothed, I suppose it is your right to know,” he said. “Aye, he was my father. I was his firstborn surviving son, born before his heir, Edward the Second.”
Toby struggled not to openly react to what she had always been told. Still, to hear it from his lips was something of a revelation.
“And your mother? Was she really a Welsh princess?”
He nodded slowly. “From all accounts, she and my father were very much in love,” he began stroking her shoulder, his hand trailing down her arm. “Her name was Dera. She was the youngest daughter of Dafydd ap Gruffydd and she met my father when Dafydd and Edward were briefly allied against Dafydd’s brother, Llewelyn, Prince of Wales. Their love affair was brief, resulting in my conception, and when my mother perished in childbirth, Edward gave me over to the great Marcher Lords of de Lara to raise when I was still an infant, hence the name I carry is de Lara.”
“But you are a prince on both sides of your family, not simply a knight.”
He shrugged. “I would be proud to be a mere knight, but by virtue of my birth, I am slightly more. The Harbottle Commons lordship is only the beginning.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “The beginning? I do not understand.”
He drew in a long, thoughtful breath. “Along with Harbottle, I hold title to the baronetcies of Workington and Consett as wellas the title Viscount Whitehaven, Lord Protector of Cumbria. I am also the Earl of Carlisle.”
Toby couldn’t help it; her eyes widened. “You are an earl?”
“That is a recent title.”
Her mouth flew open; she slapped a hand over it so she wouldn’t look like an idiot. Tate acted as if it was truly nothing to be shocked over and took her hand back, just so he could kiss it again. The storm cloud colored eyes glittered.
“Now you will tell me about your lineage, Mistress Elizabetha Cartingdon,” he said. “And mind you leave nothing out.”
She was still stunned, struggling to gather her wits. “I am certainly none of the peerage you speak of,” she said. “The most I can do is claim relation to the barons of Northumberland. The last baron, Ives de Vesci, had several daughters. My father was a son of de Vesci’s third daughter. And my mother’s sire told me that we are descended from a Viking king named Red Thor.”
He smiled knowingly. “I can see the beauty of Viking maidens in you,” he said. “You clearly should bear the title of ‘lady’, not mistress.”
She shook her head. “My father is only a farmer, a wealthy man through hard work. He is slightly above a peasant and slightly below the nobility.”
“Nonsense,” Tate said softly. “If you are relation to the barons of Northumberland, then you are clearly entitled to be called ‘my lady’. And when you are my wife, you will be much more.”
Toby just stared at him, her hazel eyes limpid with a doe-eyed expression. It was clear that she was still struggling to digest everything. “Will you tell me something more?” she asked softly.
He was moving closer to her, inspecting her, devouring her with his gaze. “Anything.”
“Will you tell me about your wife?”
His dark eyes gazed at her with mild surprise. “What do you wish to know?”
She shrugged, averting her gaze. “I… I suppose I was just wondering who she was and how you met her.” She looked up at him again, speaking quickly. “You do not have to tell me if you do not want to. I am only curious and nothing more. I would hold only the highest respect for her, I assure you.”
He gazed at her a moment before a smile tugged at his lips. “I would never think otherwise,” he said quietly. “And I suppose it is natural to be curious; therefore, her name was Catherine and she was a member of the de Broase family, close allies of the de Laras. We were pledged many years ago, in fact, when she was slightly more than a child. I was fifteen years older than her when we married; she was only sixteen.”
Toby nodded every so often, listening to every word. “I take it that she did not have appalling manners like me,” she quipped softly.
