Читать книгу Siege Of the Heart - Elise Cyr - Страница 9

5

“So this is where you have been hiding.” Isabel found her father’s advisor staring out over the castle walls, a remoteness to his weary features.

Captain Thomas turned and smiled, and she impulsively threw her good arm around him. After a moment, he gently pushed her away. He studied her face and shook his head, clucking in disapproval. “It was a foolish thing to do, my lady, especially considering the messenger’s tidings.”

The messenger… She flushed under Captain Thomas’s gaze and stood by the wall. The newly risen sun glinted off the rolling countryside still blanketed in snow. She tried to concentrate on the scenery, but her thoughts would not heed her. Captain Thomas would not be put off any longer. They would have the conversation she had avoided by running away like a child, with more disastrous results than she thought possible.

“Your father bade me to stay in Ashdown to protect you, and by joining the scouting party against my wishes, you have undone that,” he said in a sharp voice. “Your brother is as good as dead if he is not already. And you already know your father’s fate.”

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “To think he was brought down by a fever…” Julien’s message told her their father had been injured at Stamford Bridge and died of a fever two days outside of London during the army’s march south to the coast, where William’s forces waited. He had been so full of life when he left—he had patted her cheek and told her not to worry before he and his soldiers surged through the gates. “He deserved better. Now, I only wish Julien had decided to come home instead of going on to fight the Normans at Hastings.”

Captain Thomas closed his eyes for a moment. “You mustn’t let it trouble you. Your brother made his choice a long time ago.”

Isabel grimaced. “I know.” Julien had fully embraced his English ancestry. He spent much of his life at court, befriending many of the English thanes and housecarls. Julien had done everything he could to diminish his Norman background in the eyes of his fellow Englishmen to be accepted. Facing the Normans would be the ultimate test.

She shook her head. “Even if he lived, even if he could be pardoned, Julien would rather die than admit to his Norman blood.”

“The same that runs through you,” Captain Thomas said. “You will have to think of your future.”

“I know.”

“You should not have left the safety of the castle.”

She shivered, but it was not because of the biting winter wind scouring the upper walls. “I needed to feel useful.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady, that is no excuse. You should have known better.” Seeing her frown, he added more kindly, “I taught you better, child. But none of that matters now. Whether you had joined the scouting party or not, Alexandre would still be here.”

Her nails dug into her palms. “I know.”

“You will have to go with him.”

“I am needed here.”

“That matters not. William has summoned you.”

Isabel crossed her arms but stayed silent.

Captain Thomas sighed. “I will bid the sentries to watch for any suspicious activities. There have been no new sightings of the Welsh on our lands. That does not mean it will remain that way. No doubt they saw an opportunity to strike, with the Normans commanding everyone’s attention.”

“What else have I missed?”

“The son of Wilfred the candle maker has taken ill.”

Isabel nodded. “I will visit them today.” She looked up at Captain Thomas. “In the meantime, William’s men, this Alexandre… He must not know about my father.”

“I have not said anything to the Normans, nor will I until you grant me permission. But Isabel, you are a woman alone in this world. Any other girl would flock to this William the Bastard and throw themselves at his mercy.”

“I am not any other girl.”

“My lady, he could secure your future.”

“By selling me off like chattel? I am Lord Bernard Dumont’s daughter, and I have my rights.”

“I am not denying your heritage, my dear, but your father’s name will not protect you forever. You will have to face William soon enough.”

“Nay, you are right about that. But until I get rid of these Normans, my father’s death must remain a secret.”

“What of your people? They have a right to the truth as well.”

She breathed deep, her shoulder throbbing at the movement. “The loss of both their lord and their king would be too much right now. And I will not leave until I am certain the Welsh are no longer a threat.”

Captain Thomas did not reply, but his disapproval tinged the air around them.

“What do you make of Alexandre?” Isabel asked to break the silence.

For a moment, she thought he would not answer. “From what I can tell, he is a natural leader and is well-favored by William. His men will do anything he bids them.”

“That may be true, but the man I met last night was an arrogant, churlish—”

“You are being unfair, my dear.” Isabel snapped her head up. “Yes, you are,” Captain Thomas said as he stared back at her.

“No, I am not. He treated me like a child.” Even now, the overconfident curl of Alexandre’s mouth and the corresponding twinkle in his eyes were sharp in her memory. “He thinks he can walk into my home and tell me what to do. He is insufferable and—”

“He is a different man from that of your father or brother, and you must learn to deal with him lest reports of your conduct gets back to William. Alexandre will see you as a lady and expect you to act like one.” Isabel tried to interrupt him. “I am not finished,” he said mildly. “And you know very well you do not act like a lady,” he said with a hard look at the padded men’s tunic she wore over her dress.

She smoothed the material over her hips. “This will serve me if I am going to tend to Wilfred’s child.”

“I wonder what Alexandre will make of your plans.”

Her hand lingered on the quilted material. “He does not command me.”

Captain Thomas let out an exasperated breath. “You have grown too wild. You must not provoke him with your boldness. I know you are strong and as capable as a man in many respects, but his upbringing will blind him to your unique qualities. You must understand that.”

“I only understand there are people who need me.”

* * * *

Alex circled the hall, his steps heavy and deliberate as the rushes crunched underfoot.

“There you are,” Jerome said as he reached his side. “What is troubling you? You look like a caged animal with all this pacing.”

Alex came to a stop and faced the fire pit in the center of the room. “I am merely impatient for our lady to grace us with her presence this morn.”

“Ah, so her identity has been confirmed. Did she have any information about her father or brother?”

“Only that her father should be returning here shortly and her brother would have been at Hastings.”

“We already surmised as much.”

“I am well aware.”

A calculating look stole over Jerome’s features. “Eh bien, at least were the reports of her charms accurate?”

Alex thought about lying, then dismissed the thought. Jerome would have the truth out of him whether he willed it or not. “Her beauty is inducement enough to accept William’s proposal,” he said.

“You seem disappointed,” Jerome said, undeterred.

“There is little else to recommend her at present beyond her appearance. She is defiant, stubborn, and, most importantly, unhappy with our presence here.”

Jerome grinned. “You should be able to cure her of that. It is high time you met a challenging woman.”

Alex shook his head. He did not have difficulty finding female company—something his men never tired of reminding him. Alex kept his encounters with the fairer sex to occasional brothel visits and brief trysts with obliging serving women. Things were simpler that way. He already knew in marriage, nothing was simple.

“Think on what is at stake,” Jerome insisted.

Alex crossed his arms. “We both know my father will not welcome me back.” He looked around the room and sighed. “I cannot walk away from this even if she never warms to me.”

“What’s this? The great Alexandre d’Évreux put off by a mere woman? I am in shock. I must meet this female terror.”

Alex chuckled and for a moment the weight on his shoulders eased ever so slightly. Jerome, a comrade since Alex completed his fostering, was always able to make him laugh. “You will soon enough, I wager. I have not given up, but I will have to be my most charming. Starting today.”

“Oh?” Jerome said, with a lascivious waggle of his brows.

“Yes. She has promised to acquaint me with her home, so we may be of service as we await her father’s arrival.”

“I see. That sounds promising.”

“Only if she comes,” he said grimly. “I have been patient long enough.” Alex called for Matilde and ordered her to wake Isabel and bring her to him.

Jerome watched him as Matilde scurried out of the room. “Are you sure she is well enough to be up? Perhaps she is still recovering.”

“Perhaps,” Alex allowed, “but after my audience with her last night, I believe she would not meekly accept orders calling for rest. She needs to be active.”

“Like you?” Jerome asked with a wry curl of his mouth. “I confess you have not told me anything that causes me worry.”

Alex shook his head. “We shall see. Right now she is ruled by fear. Of us. Of what will happen. She hid it very well, mind you, but I do not know how to convince her I am not her enemy.” He stared into the fire’s weak flames.

“You must remember, her brother is as good as dead and her country has a new king. Her trust of anything Norman is doubtful despite her father’s connections.” Jerome held out his hands. “Perhaps when Lord Dumont is found…”

Matilde reentered the hall, and he gave Jerome a tight nod, silencing him. “That is my hope.”

She hurried over to them. “Sir, she is not in her chambers.”

He studied the old woman’s worried countenance, convinced for once she was ignorant of Isabel’s whereabouts. “Search the area. I want her found immediately. Jerome, you are with me.”

Matilde left to organize a search of the castle while Alex strode out to the stables. He wanted to see if Lady Isabel’s mount was still in its stall. And, as he suspected, the stall stood empty. Curse the girl. He looked at Jerome. “What do you say to this?”

He shrugged. “The reports did say she was high-spirited.”

Alex growled. All hope in getting to know the girl better vanished. Why had he not expected such trickery? Within moments, he, Jerome and two more of his men had saddled their mounts. Then they galloped through the castle gates to conduct a search of the grounds.

* * * *

Isabel cantered past snow-covered fields on her way back from the village.

Wilfred’s son was indeed sick, with a chest-rattling cough that made his mother Hilda cringe each time the boy drew breath. Isabel had taught the panicked woman the precise amounts of herbs for a poultice they spread over the boy’s neck and chest. Then she had taught her how to brew an infusion the lad should drink every day for a week.

The boy’s breathing had already eased slightly when Isabel had taken her leave of the modest, straw-thatched home. Wilfred and Hilda’s effusive thanks hardly made an impression on her as she had mounted and headed to the castle.

She rode past the sleepy homes of her people. Curls of smoke from their fires climbed into the sky. She was grateful they had not been exposed to the brunt of the Norman invasion. Thankfully, once word of the battle had broken out, her father’s tenants had decided to do nothing without his consent. If they panicked and left the safety of the Dumont lands, her family’s name would not protect them. Even now, even with a new king, they had enough trust in her father to see them through these turbulent times. She frowned at that thought and urged her horse faster down the road.

She soon let Hardwin have his head. With the wind in her face, she matched her movements to her horse’s strides. He took her to the edge of a small wood. A stream, not frozen fully, wound through it. The soft tinkle of water made the forest less lonely in its snow-blanketed state. Isabel dismounted and walked along the bank. She bent to pick up a stone with her left hand and threw it into the stream, splintering the ice threatening to take hold.

She had explored here before, playing games with Julien when they were younger. Their youthful shouts still seemed to linger on the frigid air. If she squinted, she could see her brother’s brown mop of hair as he crouched behind a tree trunk, ready to jump out and scare her. Tears blinded her as they slipped down her cheeks, blurring the memories. She angrily brushed them away.

Now was not the time for grief. Not with Normans in Ashdown. Now, she had to plan.

The Dumont lands were hers—to manage and, more importantly, to protect. And she needed to make sure they would stay that way. She also needed to ensure her people would survive the transition to Norman rule. She needed to know she had done all she could to prepare them and thereby honor her father’s legacy.

With Alexandre and his band of Normans already enjoying her hospitality, she was at a loss as how to proceed. She took a deep breath, trying to steady the tumult she felt cascading through her. The sharp air burning in her lungs only provided a momentary distraction.

Her horse pranced fitfully beside her. She reached out to pat Hardwin’s neck, but then she heard it too—men on horseback crashing through the underbrush.

Alexandre and a group of his men barreled toward her. Branches snapped, and snow swished in the wake of the galloping horses. She jammed her foot in the stirrup and hauled herself into the saddle. A sharp pain sheared across her body, daring her to cry out. She had reopened her wound, but if she stopped to check her shoulder, Alexandre would catch up to her.

She would not speak to him out here in the woods, surrounded by his men and not hers. She had seen the grim look on his face. He was definitely angry, but he needed to realize she was not some simpering, ignorant noblewoman who would demurely accept his authority. She was Lady Isabel Dumont, and would not stand to be ordered about by some brazen and bull-headed knight.

As it was, she had already made a fool of herself by collapsing in his presence. The reins dug into her palms. She had to show him she was no weak woman in need of his protection.

With the help of her superior mount and intimate knowledge of the forest, she led Alexandre and his men on a merry chase, through dormant thorn bushes and over fallen logs. She would have laughed every time one of their muffled curses floated within hearing if her shoulder did not pain her so much. She finally emerged from the woods and spurred her horse on. Hardwin kicked up clods of snow and easily outstripped Alexandre and his men.

In the bailey, she dismounted, spying Kendrick and Godric as they exited the stables.

“Isabel, my lady, you look well!” Kendrick exclaimed.

She clasped each of their hands in turn. “Where have you been?”

“Captain Thomas suggested we tend to the Welsh bodies and clear the site,” Kendrick said. “He also thought it best we get out from underfoot of our Norman visitors.”

“I am glad to see you feeling better, my lady,” Godric cut in.

Isabel nodded. “I thank you. I am still—”

“They are still here?” Kendrick dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. “I thought they would leave once they learned of your father’s ties to Normandy.”

Her chest tightened at the suspicion in his voice. She turned around. Alexandre and the rest of his men streamed through the gates.

The Norman dismounted and strode over to her. “Perhaps you forgot your promise, my lady.” The Norman’s icy stare did not miss Kendrick’s defensive attitude or the protective stance he took in front of her.

“William is eager to renew his acquaintance with my father,” she explained in English to Kendrick softly. “He sent these men here to escort him to London.”

“And has your father returned?” Kendrick asked her without taking his eyes off Alexandre. Two more Normans now flanked the stormy-faced knight.

“No. The Normans will be staying here until he gets back. They have been...” she struggled for the right word, “well-mannered so far.”

“So far...” Kendrick echoed hollowly as Alexandre turned his unbearable stare on her.

Isabel pushed past Kendrick and returned to her horse’s side, head held high. Kendrick still had his hand on the hilt of his sword, and Godric was tense beside him. “Stand down,” she said firmly. Kendrick’s gaze flickered to her, and he reluctantly complied.

“My lady?” the Norman prompted. “I thought we had plans for today. And they did not include chasing you across the countryside.” He came to a stop next to her.

Isabel busied herself with her saddlebags and the collection of medicinal herbs she had stored there for the ride. “Oh yes…that. I decided my horse needed the exercise.”

Alexandre grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face him. Her bundle of herbs scattered to the ground. He must have been too angry to see her wince in pain. Or the fact that Godric was barely able to keep Kendrick from attacking him.

The Norman held her in place as a stable boy hurried over to lead the horses away. The warmth of his hands sunk through her cloak. Her breath hitched. The sage-like smell of crushed yarrow leaves warred with the pungent odor of hyssop.

“I must insist you do not leave the castle grounds without my permission in the future,” Alexandre said. “It is too dangerous for you to wander off without an escort. You could have been hurt!” By now he was shouting, his deep voice attracting more onlookers.

“I assure you I am perfectly safe on my own lands. Although, if you are concerned, you could return my weapons. And you, sir, are the only one who is hurting me.” She looked meaningfully to his hand on her injured shoulder.

Alexandre immediately let go. “Jesu! I am sorry. Are you all right?”

Though ready to argue further, she remained silent as one of the servants gathered up the herbs and medicinal plants strewn across the ground. Alexandre watched her with concern. “I am fine,” she said slowly once the servant had retreated.

“I forgot your injury in my concern for your welfare. A thousand pardons, my lady.” He held out his arm. “We should get you inside so your shoulder can be tended.”

She wanted to protest, but nearly all the castle inhabitants were watching their interaction now. A public quarrel would just make things worse. He had done it again—made her feel like a fool.

She hesitated in taking his arm just long enough to let the man know she was not happy about being led inside like a child. As they headed to the stairs, Matilde found them. Isabel instructed her to fetch more bandages and meet her in her room.

She felt the Norman’s eyes on her as they walked to her chambers in silence. Alexandre waited for her to enter, and after a moment’s pause, he came inside as well, hovering near the door. She removed her mantle and flung it on her bed. A small amount of blood had soaked through her dress.

She saw his grimace at the rust-colored stain and took pity on him. “It opened when I remounted in the woods. It was not your fault.”

Alexandre looked at her for a moment, his ice blue eyes unreadable, before giving her a short nod. Matilde arrived moments later with two servants.

“It looks like you will be well tended, my lady. When you are through here, perhaps we can continue where we left off.” It was not a request.

“Impossible, I am afraid. I have left the running of the household to Matilde for too long.”

Alexandre studied her for a moment, silently challenging her. “Très bien. I look forward to seeing you at the evening meal.” He gave her a slight bow and mercifully left the room.