The Bride Thief
The Bride Thief
Susan Spencer Paul
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uea508d4a-a2c6-5ae0-8afe-59e11b456019)
Excerpt (#ucfea13fb-270f-5270-9876-124fe3c0dc01)
Dear Reader (#uee5032d3-f7df-59f4-8e70-1f108e05d887)
Title Page (#u8eadc5a0-8933-581e-999b-e91a3cd29d07)
About the Author (#u40bbbbd5-2894-5764-803b-2408e132c4d7)
Dedciation (#ua9cc0011-3692-5805-ac6d-cc9525561b8b)
Prologue (#u1143f29c-03d0-58ca-91f5-aca2302d5653)
Chapter One (#u21561cb8-e034-5434-a319-62c20efdc566)
Chapter Two (#u541cc0b0-4a51-5d07-8857-262edefa5383)
Chapter Three (#ueea8a7e6-b237-5ee3-93fa-4c0f4d980b25)
Chapter Four (#u8012fd44-31cb-554d-a9fa-3eff6084ef64)
Chapter Five (#uadc336ba-8918-5b80-af91-ee60dd97bf77)
Chapter Six (#ueb4095fc-0b8e-5a71-bc11-a8c018ca4d0d)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
It was too late
Sir Justin’s hand closed over Isabelle’s mouth just as her eyes flew open to see him sitting beside her on the bed, and the scream that naturally followed was thoroughly muffled.
“Do not,” he warned, his voice low and firm as he placed a cloth over her mouth and quickly tied it behind her head. Isabelle tried to strike him, but found that her hands and feet were already tied. “I mean you no harm, and I do not wish to hurt you. If you will but trust me a little, I vow, on my honor, that all will be well.” Then, picking her up, he carried her to the chamber’s one window, out of which a rope dangled. “I’ve wanted to tell you this past month, but never found the chance. I find you very beautiful.”
Isabelle had always been rational. Always. But in the wake of Sir Justin calling her beautiful, rationality disappeared, and he had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her all the way down the length of her uncle’s grand manor house before it even occurred to her that she should put up a struggle…!
Dear Reader,
In the third book of her medieval BRIDE TRILOGY, The Bride Thief, Susan Paul, writing as Susan Spencer Paul, tells the story of the youngest Baldwin brother, Justin, a delightful rogue who is being forced by his brothers to marry or lose all he possesses. Justin, however, neatly sidesteps the marriage that has been arranged for him and falls for his intended’s cousin instead, a woman much more worthy of his love.
A young woman puts herself smack in the middle of the investigation of her father’s murder, despite opposition from the local sheriff, who would rather she butt out, in 1996 March Madness author Lynna Banning’s second book, Wildwood, a terrific new Western. And in Tempting Kate, longtime Harlequin Historicals author Deborah Simmons returns to the Regency era for her heartwarming tale of a haughty marquis who falls in love with the penniless daughter of a local earl, after she shoots him by mistake. We are also delighted with the chance this month to introduce our readers to a new Western series from awardwinning author Theresa Michaels. The trilogy opens with The Merry Widows—Mary, the tender story of a marriageshy widow who opens her heart to a lonely widower and his little girl.
Whatever your tastes in reading, we hope you’ll keep a lookout for all four books, wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Bride Thief
Susan Spencer Paul
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUSAN SPENCER PAUL
lives in Monrovia, California, with her husband and two young daughters. She started her first novel when she was in her early teens, but eventually put it aside, unfinished, in favor of more important interests…such as boys. Now happily married and— somewhat—settled down, she’s returned to her love of the written word, and finds it much easier to finish the books she starts.
Dedicated with love and gratitude to my wonderful mother-in-law,
Betty Joyce Liming.
Prologue (#ulink_f4e98ebc-90ce-5758-9834-319f725b5d4b)
England, May 1426
It had been exactly nine years and seven months since Sir Hugh Baldwin, the earl of Siere, married the lady whom he then, as now, loved deeply and completely. She was, in his admittedly biased opinion, the most beautiful, charming, intelligent, witty and desirable woman presently alive on God’s earth, and he counted himself the most fortunate of men to have made her his. It was understandable, then, having spent the past several weeks abstaining from his conjugal rights while this same woman recovered from the rigors of birthing their fourth child, that the earl had eagerly anticipated this particular night, when Lady Rosaleen would at last be able to rejoin him in their marriage bed, and more understandable, having embarked upon that pleasurable encounter, that he should fly into a furious rage upon being almost immediately interrupted by his steward. The steward, who steadfastly remained outside his master’s chamber door despite the dire threats hurled his way, insisted that the earl attend to the missive that had only just arrived from his eldest brother, the venerable lord of Gyer. Fortunately for the steward, the lady Rosaleen found the situation thoroughly amusing, and sent her irate husband down to his working chamber to see to his sudden and unwelcome task, promising that she would repay him tenfold for his attention to duty when he finally returned to her.
“I’m very sorry, my lord,” said Robert, the steward, as he followed his master into his working chamber, “but it cannot wait. The lord of Gyer requires an immediate reply.”
“The lord of Gyer is making a damned nuisance of himself!” Hugh informed his stoic minion as he paced the chamber, dressed in nothing more than a velvet robe. “It’s the middle of the godforsaken night! He probably had a spy here for weeks, just waiting for the moment when Rosaleen and I would shut our chamber door before he sprang. What a pestilential lot of relatives I’ve got.” Swinging about, he pinned his steward with an angry glare. “Couldn’t you have taken care of it, Robert? Forged my name or something? You know how much I hate this sort of thing.”
Spreading the parchment missive flat upon his master’s “ working table, Robert gave a calm, long-suffering sniff. “Please, my lord. The lord of Gyer’s servant must be on his way at once with your reply.”
“Damnation,” Hugh muttered, falling with a thump into the chair behind the table. “I’m going to kill Alex the next time I set sight on him. What in the Fiend’s name does he want, anywise? I hate being a nobleman.”
“That’s not what you said last week, when Lord Farron was christened.”
The earl of Siere made a face of disbelief. “Of course I wasn’t unhappy with it while Farron was being christened. What man is going to be unhappy when hundreds of people are cheering at his newborn son? Are you going to tell me what Alexander wants, or must I read this damned missive myself?”
Straightening, Robert folded his hands behind his back. “It regards your younger brother, Sir Justin. The lord of Gyer is displeased with his behavior of late and wants you to find him a wife.”
“F-find him a wife?” Hugh repeated, choking over the words. He gaped at his steward. “By the rood! Why in God’s name does he want me to do it? Alex is the eldest in this family. Let him find Justin a bride.”
“But you’re the highest-ranking, my lord. The lord of Gyer was right to put the matter in your hands.”
“Highest-ranking,” Hugh said with a snort. “That’s as good an excuse for shrugging trouble onto another man’s shoulders as I’ve ever heard.”
“My lord…”
“Oh, very well.” Hugh took the document up and began to read it. “I’ve got better things to do than sit down here arguing. What’s Alex’s complaint, then? I thought Justin was doing well at Talwar. And he and Christian Rowsenly have made Briarstone profitable, have they not?”
Robert cleared his throat discreetly. “The lord of Gyer seems to believe that they’ve turned Briarstone into a brothel, my lord. He’s not very pleased with the reports he’s had.”
Hugh lifted his head. “A brothel? Have they, now? Well, what’s wrong with that?” His voice took on a defensive tone. “It was very nearly a brothel when I had the managing of it, before I married Rosaleen and got forced into becoming the earl of Siere. Nothing wrong with brothels, though you may not be in the habit of visiting them. I spent some of the best years of my life running in and out of brothels while I was naught but a soldier for King Henry, may God rest his soul.”
“Aye, my lord,” said Robert, staring calmly down his nose at his increasingly irate master. “I’m certain that’s true. But one of the duke of Gloucester’s closest advisors stopped at Briarstone to spend the night and was displeased to be asked by the guards at the gate how much money he wished to spend for his pleasures. Sir Justin drove him off at sword point when the gentleman refused to pay anything. Needless to say, he returned to London and complained to the duke, who in turn complained to your brother, Sir Alexander, who—”
“Who decided to shove the matter into my lap,” finished Hugh, more thoughtfully. “I can scarce believe Justin would do such a thing. He’s ever been most sensible, very like Alex. Surely there’s a better way to calm the lad down than by shackling him with a wife. Ever since that Feltingad wench turned him down—”
“Lady Alicia Sherringham, my lord.”
“Yes, her,” said Hugh, waving a hand about. “Alicia Sherringham. Dim-witted wench if I ever saw one. Justin had a lucky escape when she ran off with that furrier from Carstairs. I hear she chattered the man into an asylum before twelve months were out. I’d hate to see Justin end with a similar fate.”
“But Sir Justin grieved for her, my lord,” Robert reminded him. “Remember the tournaments he attended that first year after she left him?”
“Aye,” Hugh said grimly. “And during the three years after that. It was as if he courted death. He was none too pleased when Alex and I finally arranged to have him disqualified from such events. ‘Twas another year before he spoke to either of us, and even then he was bitter. Perhaps…” He fell silent, thinking. “It may be, Robert, that Justin needs a wife. Who have we got available in the way of brides?”
Chapter One (#ulink_00628530-7192-5929-8103-36941683b523)
June 1426
Three days left. Only three. I wonder if she’ll ever forgive me?
The view from his chamber window did nothing to ease the tension that had shadowed Sir Justin Baldwin like a plague for the past month, since he received the missive sent by his brother, the earl of Siere. London, spread out before him like a crazily patterned tapestry, wasn’t the sort of inspiration that gave a man—any man—an overwhelming feeling of confidence. Of course, it didn’t help that he hated cities and towns. If he’d been home at Talwar, or even at Briarstone, everything would be different. With space to move and clean air to breathe, he might be able to think clearly enough to avoid his chosen course, but here, bound tight in London’s stench and madness, he could barely think at all.
She’ll forgive me. She must. If I had more time to woo her gently, I would. But with only three days left…
Pushing from the window out of which he had spent the past half hour gazing, Justin moved to stand before the polished steel mirror in his rented chamber. His dim reflection gave him little pleasure. His hair was overlong, he thought, frowning and running his fingers through the dark strands to smooth them. He should have had it cut—would have had it cut, if he’d had more notice. But with so little forewarning about the match that had been arranged for him, he’d been fortunate to achieve London as quickly as he had. Not that it mattered. The bride who’d been chosen for him had greeted him with less enthusiasm than Justin, himself, exhibited.
“I owe you for this, Hugh,” Justin said aloud, softly. “I most assuredly do. Could you not at least have chosen a willing lady for me?”
A knock fell on his chamber door, and at his spoken invitation, it opened.
“Good day, Chris,” he said in greeting as Sir Christian Rowsenly, the lord of Briarstone, made his way into the room, dressed in finery that equaled Justin’s.
“Almost time,” said Sir Christian. “Are you ready?”
Ready? Justin thought silently. Oh, yes, he was ready, whether he wished to be or not. If he failed in this final attempt, everything he had spent so many years working for would be taken away. Lost to him completely. All for the lack of a bride. Thus the duke of Gloucester had commanded, at the earl of Siere’s bidding, and thus it would be.
“Yes,” he said, bending to pick up his light dress sword. With a sure movement, he sheathed the beautiful weapon, which had been skillfully fashioned by his own hand. “I’m ready. ‘Twould not help our cause to keep Lady Evelyn waiting. My friend,” he said as he approached Sir Christian, setting a hand upon the other man’s shoulder, “I thank you for all you have offered to do to aid me in this matter. Only promise that you will take every care this day. If Lady Evelyn or her father should discover our intent before we have done, I will not want you sharing my rightful punishment.”
Sir Christian’s smile was fully amused. “You don’t think I’ll let myself be caught? Come, Justin, be serious, I pray.”
“I know you’ll be your excellent self, as you ever are,” Justin replied with a weary sigh, “but as everything that could have gone wrong with Lady Evelyn has, I fear I’m not optimistic about the rest of this unhappy venture.”
“Never fear,” Sir Christian said reassuringly, motioning for Justin to proceed him through the open door. “All will be well. You set your mind and skills toward charming the lovely, stubborn Lady Evelyn, and I’ll dedicate mine toward taking care of the rest. Depend upon it.”
An hour later found both men bowing, by turns, over the hand that Lady Evelyn smilingly offered.
“My lord, Sir Justin,” she said. “How kind of you to visit me again, so soon.”
The words had their intended effect, despite her gentle manner, and Justin inwardly cringed. He felt like a damned dog, sitting by her door night and day, and could only imagine how Lady Evelyn felt—probably like some prize calf at a fair being handed away to the highest bidder. She’d borne the matter admirably, and much more kindly than he would have done. Finding herself so suddenly betrothed to a complete stranger by the duke of Gloucester’s command must have been, for a beauty of her renown, quite an unpleasant shock. Until now she’d held court to an impressive assemblage of admirers, every one of them more suitable as a husband than Justin knew himself to be.
She was beautiful, educated, intelligent. At least Hugh had done that much in choosing a wife for him. And yet, Justin wondered if Lady Evelyn knew what she would lose if she married him. Talwar, with its simple comforts that appealed to Justin’s own nature perfectly, was like a stable compared to the grand wealth of this home where Lady Evelyn had been raised. Was that why she so firmly resisted the match? He was afraid it was only a small part of the reason.
“Thank you for receiving us, my lady,” he said, adding to her father, Baron Hersell, Sir Myles, “and thank you, my lord, for your long suffering in this unusual matter.”
Then, aware that the action would probably be viewed as extraordinarily rude, Justin walked past Lady Evelyn and Sir Myles, fully ignoring their surprise, and strode across the room to where another lady, dark-haired and plainly dressed, sat at a small table behind a stack of large leather-bound books. Seeing his approach, which she’d clearly expected even less than Lady Evelyn and Sir Myles, the girl flushed brightly and clumsily slammed shut the particular book in which she’d been making entries.
“Lady Isabelle.” Justin took the cold fingers she shakily proffered. Her heavy skirt caught beneath her chair as she awkwardly attempted to stand, causing her to stumble forward. Justin set a hand upon her waist to steady her, and the girl’s color became a fiery red.
“Sir Justin,” she murmured with what sounded like horror, her sapphire eyes wide.
Justin bowed over her hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again. I hope this day finds you well?”
“Oh, yes. Yes. Thank you.”
“Will you have a glass of wine, my lord?” Lady Evelyn asked behind him, displeasure clear in her tone.
Justin smiled into Lady Isabelle’s worried eyes. “Will we have the joy of your company, as well, this day, my lady?” he asked, holding fast the fingers that she attempted to tug free.
“Oh—I don’t think—”
“I fear that my niece is too occupied with her work to join us, Sir Justin,” Sir Myles stated over Justin’s shoulder. “Isn’t that so, Isabelle?”
“Isn’t she always?” Justin murmured, too low for anyone but Lady Isabelle to hear. He released her and stepped away, turning to Sir Myles with a pleasant smile.
“Have you received the satisfaction you sought from the duke?” he asked as they walked together toward the table where Lady Evelyn was filling golden goblets with wine.
“I regret to say, my lord, that I have not. I spoke with Duke Humphrey yesterday, as I promised you I would, but I remain unconvinced of the legality of his dictates. To that end, I’ve sent a missive to France for the duke’s brother, John of Lancaster.”
Justin’s brow furrowed. “John of Lancaster? How can he have any say in the matter? His concerns are only for France, as England’s regent there. Surely he would not gainsay the duke of Gloucester in any such domestic matter as this.”
“This may be true,” the baron admitted kindly, accepting the goblet his daughter handed him. “Nonetheless, I will await word from him until I make my final decision.”
“But that may be many weeks, my lord. I have been commanded to wed before this month finds its end, three days from now, else I lose all that I hold as my own.”
Sir Myles’s smile never wavered. “I understand, my lord, and I appreciate your concerns, but I cannot—will not—force my daughter to wed you or any man unless she freely consents to do so. It was her mother’s final wish that Evelyn be allowed to have a husband of her own choosing. ’Tis an oddity, s’truth, but I gave my oath of honor and cannot turn from it.”
Justin’s steady gaze moved to Lady Evelyn’s lovely face. “And you, my lady. Every day for the past month I have come, asking the same question. Has your heart experienced a change since yesterday? Do you have a different answer for me?”
The expression in her eyes told him that he was the most desirable man on God’s earth, while her lips said, “You must know how flattered I am by your declarations, my lord. I can think of no finer fate than to be wife to a man such as you are. And yet, if I only had a little more time to think on the matter… You could not wish me to come to you, to wed you, unless I can bring my whole heart?”
There it was, Justin thought. The same as every day. They must believe him to be a fool ten times over. He felt the trap being laid out as surely as if Lady Evelyn and Sir Myles were spreading a net on the floor beneath his feet. They were a cunning pair, he admitted, but come the morrow, they would know who it was had played their game the better.
“Nay. I would not.”
“Perhaps,” Sir Myles said lightly, “if Evelyn could be more certain of your regard for her, Sir Justin, such a step might become easier for her to take. After all, you were chosen for each other by the duke and your brother, the earl of Siere. It is understandable that any maid, under such like circumstances, would question the sincerity of her betrothed’s feelings.”
“I have come every day to ask Lady Evelyn to become my wife,” Justin told him. “If, after twenty-seven proposals, my desire to wed her is not evident, I cannot think that a hundred more would make the matter clearer.”
“But you would not be making such proposals if ‘twere not for the duke’s command,” Sir Myles argued, while Lady Evelyn blushed prettily. “If there were some way that you might make your own feelings in the matter more sincere, I’m certain Evelyn would feel secure in becoming your wife.”
Justin’s eyebrows rose. “More sincere?”
“Certainly,” Sir Myles said pleasantly, setting his wine goblet aside. “If you truly desire to make Evelyn your wife, could you not prove it by perhaps gifting her with some evidence of that desire? The dowry she brings to her marriage will be exceptional. A suitable marriage gift from you, in turn, would be proof of your consideration for her as a bride.”
“Father, please,” Lady Evelyn protested. “You make it sound like the veriest extortion. I’ll not be bought, nor bargained for. I want only to be certain of Sir Justin’s honest hope to wed with me, nothing more. Is it too much to ask, when we are to be bound together for life?”
“Nay, of course not,” Justin assured her, praying that he sounded fully sincere. He had never been good at plotting and deception, but if he failed in this, all would be lost.
“Perhaps,” Christian said gently, putting his own wine goblet down, “we should leave Lady Evelyn and Sir Justin to discuss the matter more privately.” He turned to Sir Myles. “I’ve been fascinated by the architecture of your fine home, my lord. Would you be so kind as to let me examine it more closely? There are a good many improvements here that I should like to have made at Briarstone, and I would very much appreciate it if you could explain the workings of some of them.”
With a bow, Sir Myles acquiesced. “A wise consideration, my lord. Indeed, perhaps Sir Justin and my daughter will be able to find their way more readily without company present. I will, of course, leave Isabelle.”
“Father, nay,” Lady Evelyn said quickly. “We have no need of an attendant.”
Sir Myles gave her a wry smile. “Haven’t you, my dear?” To Justin he said, “We will leave you for half an hour’s time. No more.”
“I am grateful,” Justin replied. “Thank you, my lord. You will have no cause for worry. I vow it on my honor as a knight of the realm.”
The baron was apparently reassured, and shortly left the chamber with Christian following behind. Justin waited until they had gone before turning his attention to Lady Evelyn, who, with a smile, had taken the liberty of refilling his wine goblet.
Chapter Two (#ulink_16e6795f-3e9e-5ff5-a7e9-6ac5f4b2ca5b)
Don’t trust her, my lord, Isabelle thought from her chair, keeping her eyes firmly on the page before her. Don’t trust either of them. ‘Tis only your land they want, only the power and influence they might gain by wedding themselves to your family.
With all the strength she possessed, Isabelle willed him to heed her silent plea.
“More wine, my lord?” Evelyn offered in the beguiling manner that never failed to charm.
“Nay, I thank you,” Sir Justin replied, and Isabelle whispered a sigh of thanks. Evelyn was captivating enough without the aid of wine, and Sir Justin would need every faculty undimmed if he was to avoid the neat trap that Sir Myles and his daughter had set for him.
He was different from the other men who courted her cousin. Entirely, wonderfully, different. Not only in his splendid physical frame, so tall and muscular, or in his face, which was by far the most handsome Isabelle had ever seen, but in his manner. Where other men praised Evelyn’s beauty with gallant words and poetry, Sir Justin spoke his admirations plainly, simply. Where other men hid behind masks of elegance and propriety, Sir Justin was open and honest, as clear as a bright day.
The next moment, she heard him add, “Will you not offer some to your cousin, who labors so greatly?” and, as Isabelle stiffened with panic and dread, he continued, even more gently, “Indeed, never once have I seen Lady Isabelle when she has not been busy with your father’s accounts. What wonderful diligence.”
Drawing in a breath through parted lips, Isabelle lifted her head, already knowing that he was looking at her. His kindness, though well-meant, was a torture for her. When her uncle and cousin had finally finished toying with him, when Evelyn at last agreed to be his wife, Isabelle knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it any longer—seeing him, suffering his gentle manners and kind ways, his pity. He was simply staring at her, she saw. Not smiling, not frowning. Simply looking into her eyes from across the room.
“Your father,” he said slowly, holding her gaze, “is most blessed to have such a considerate niece.”
“You speak truly,” Evelyn replied with the sweetness she generally reserved for such public displays. “I don’t know what we would do without cousin Isabelle. She’s an angel in every way. She knows very well that Father expects nothing from her in turn for his care of her and Senet, yet she insists upon relieving him of the most tedious duties.” She strolled toward Isabelle carrying a goblet, the tight smile on her lips giving full warning of what Isabelle had in store as soon as Sir Justin departed. “You’ve spoiled us terribly, Isabelle, dear,” she said, setting the goblet with slow care before the pile of books. “And you’ve been working so hard. Wouldn’t you enjoy a rest? Perhaps a walk in the gardens?”
Oh, no, Isabelle thought. She couldn’t save Sir Justin Baldwin entirely from her uncle and cousin, but one thing she could do was not leave him alone to battle Evelyn’s deft machinations. A few minutes alone under the heat of Evelyn’s seductive persuasions and his marriage to her would be as good as done.
“Thank you, Cousin,” she said, dipping her quill in the inkpot and bending over her work again, “but I’ll just finish this first.”
Isabelle didn’t need to see Evelyn’s fury. She could feel the heat of it where she sat.
“Leave your cousin to her work,” Sir Justin suggested in a voice filled with surprising tenderness. It was the first time Isabelle had heard him use a lover’s tone on Evelyn. “Come and sit with me, my lady. We have much to discuss.”
From the corner of her eye, Isabelle could see him touch Evelyn’s elbow, could see Evelyn turn, smiling, toward him.
“You speak truly, my lord,” Evelyn agreed with open pleasure. “There is nothing I should like more.”
Tucking her hand beneath his arm, he led her a distance away, to a couch at the opposite side of the chamber, so that Isabelle heard very little of their conversation. Making the best pretense she could of concentrating on the figures before her, Isabelle watched them—him—fleetingly, moment to moment, as she dared. She had never seen Sir Justin behave in such a way before, with such deference and charm, and the sight made her heart sink. He had fallen under Evelyn’s spell, just as every other man who courted her had. Evelyn, for her part, was masterful; shy, smiling, daintily colored with maidenly blushes.
At last, after what seemed an eternity, Sir Justin stood and pulled Evelyn to her feet. “I’m grateful for your candor, my lady, although I realize how difficult it must have been for you to speak of such matters. But have no care for that, I beg you. Now that I fully understand what you require to be made comfortable regarding the question of our marriage, I shall be able to proceed accordingly.”
“You have gladdened me beyond words, my lord,” Evelyn murmured, her eyes shining. “If I can believe that the man who would be my husband truly cares for me, then my decision to wed will be willingly and, aye, joyfully made.”
She lifted her face to receive his kiss—an invitation that just as well as sealed their betrothal—and Isabelle, her heart twisting painfully in her chest, lifted her head, to watch, as well.
Sir Justin smiled sweetly at the upturned face and closed eyes before stepping back and bending low to kiss Evelyn’s hands. Straightening, he met her bewildered expression and said, “It is past time that I take my leave, for I would never bring you harm in any measure, nor make your father worry. You have made me the happiest of men, my lady. Indeed, you have given me a gift beyond price, for which I shall ever be thankful. By this time tomorrow, I will have proven the depths of my feelings for you. I vow this by all I hold dear.”
Isabelle began to slowly release the breath she’d been holding, but when Sir Justin suddenly turned on his heel and strode toward her, the air came whooshing out in an embarrassingly loud rush. Horrified, she was hardly able to make sense of his words when he at last stopped before her and asked, “May I ask a great favor of you, Lady Isabelle?”
Dumbly, she nodded, unable to form even the simple word “Yes,” on her lips.
He smiled. “Will you do all that you can to finish your work here very soon? There will be cause for celebration shortly, and I’d not wish you to miss a moment of it. For any reason.” With a bow, he added, “I look forward to our next meeting. Good day, my lady.”
He bade Evelyn a similar farewell, and took his leave. The moment the door shut behind him, Evelyn turned to Isabelle with a triumphant laugh.
“Perfect!” she declared, her richly ornamented skirts whirling as she made her way toward Isabelle. “Just as Father said it would be. Absolutely perfect Do you not agree, Isabelle?” Setting her beautifully feminine hands on the tabletop, she leaned forward. “What? No congratulations, Cousin? Come. Wish me happy. Let me hear the words from your lips. Say them, Isabelle! I want to hear you wishing me happy.”
It was unfortunate, in Isabelle’s opinion, that she had not yet learned how to master her temper. Since her parents’ deaths four years before, she’d learned many things—how to beg for help, how to plead and crawl— but her temper, unhappily, had remained untouched by every misery that either her cousin or her uncle had visited upon her. Very French, her father had often said of her temper, approvingly. A thing to be conquered, her mother had always added with despair.
Her stony silence enraged Evelyn, as it always did, and the stinging slap that followed seemed, to Isabelle, just what she deserved for being so stubborn.
“You stupid little mouse,” Evelyn said with seething anger. “I’ve seen you looking at him, watching him. Sir Justin is handsome, is he not? Handsome, and well-favored in every way. And he’s mine. If you think a man like that would ever look at a repugnant mouse like you, then you’re stupider than I ever imagined. Now say it!” Another slap, harder this time, knocking Isabelle back slightly. “Tell me you’re happy for me, Isabelle!”
Evelyn was one of the most beautiful women in London. In all of England, so it was said. Isabelle recited the fact calmly in her mind, while her eyes registered, with deep satisfaction, that in this moment, mottled and enraged, Lady Evelyn was as ugly as the heart she hid.
“Bitch!” Evelyn cried furiously, childishly. “How can you smile? I hate you! I hate looking at your unsightly face every day, sitting here as if you had a right to such comfort, as if you were a queen, instead of naught but a beggar!”
She raised her hand again, and Isabelle straightened, preparing to receive the coming blow.
“Evelyn! Leave Isabelle be. Will you never learn to leave her in peace?” Sir Myles closed the chamber door behind him as he entered the room. “She has work to do, and I want it finished by day’s end. Leave her be.”
“She’s making me crazed, as she ever does,” Evelyn said angrily. “Why can’t you make her behave as she should?”
“Isabelle’s behavior doesn’t concern me at the moment,” Sir Myles told her curtly. “Our guests have just taken their leave. Tell me what happened with Sir Justin.”
Evelyn seemed not to hear his words. Still holding Isabelle’s gaze, she said, “It’s only pity, Isabelle. ‘Tis why he’s so kind, why he deigns to speak with you. Only pity…for a small, unsightly, insignificant mouse. You know it’s true.” She laughed when Isabelle closed her eyes against the pain the words wrought. “Aye,” Evelyn said, more softly. “’Tis worse than death, is it not? You’ve too much pride, mouse.”
Sir Myles grabbed his daughter’s arm, turning her about. “Sir Justin?” he prompted.
Evelyn’s smile was wide, brilliant. “He’s ready to give me anything I want to make me his wife. Tomorrow, he promised, he’ll prove the depths of his devotion to me. He said that he understands perfectly what needs to be done to make me comfortable in our marriage.”
“God be praised,” Sir Myles murmured fervently. “Well done, my daughter. Well done. I had thought he would surely run away when you made him wait so long for your answer. It’s been a near thing, I vow.”
“I would have made him wait until the last day, if you’d not been so insistent in the matter,” she said haughtily, pushing free and returning to the table where her wine goblet sat. “’Tis an insult to be given to a man—any man—in such a coarse manner. Sir Justin is fortunate that I find him so favorable, else I’d never have agreed to the match.”
“Oh, no, my dear,” her father countered, accepting the goblet she handed him. “I’d not have allowed you to let such a prize as Sir Justin Baldwin get away, no matter if you’d found him wholly unacceptable. An alliance with one of England’s wealthiest and most powerful families is naught to be trifled with. I gave you your moment of revenge, my sweet, but never should I have let you throw away such a boon.” He lifted his cup to her in tribute. “Wedded to a Baldwin! Who could have foreseen such a miracle befalling us? You’ll have everything your heart desires.”
“And you,” said Lady Evelyn, “will have the influence you have long craved. I expect you to remember what I’ve brought you, Father, and to be ready to repay me in the future.”
“Repay you? What nonsense is this? You’re soon to become one of the most envied women in all of Britain.”
“Being the wife of Sir Justin Baldwin will have its certain pleasures,” Evelyn admitted, “for he is well-favored in face and form, as well as in his relations. Howbeit, a duller man I’ve yet to meet. Lady Alicia told me what she suffered at his hands years past, before she found the courage to break their betrothal. He constantly wearied her with his dull manners and vexing conversation, and, despite his skills as a lover, she could not bear the thought of spending her life with such a tedious husband. I’m of no such mind to suffer the same.”
Sir Myles gave a careless shrug. “I care not how you amuse yourself in your marriage, Evelyn, nor with whom you do so. I only ask that you keep your name, and reputation, unsullied.”
“And I only ask, dear Father, that you stand ready to lend me aid as I require it. I’ll guard your interests, my lord, if you’ll help me to guard mine.”
With a smile, Sir Myles put his cup forward to lightly tap the one in Evelyn’s hand. “Agreed,” he said, and, laughing, they both drank.
“He is not dull!” Isabelle was on her feet, one fisted hand crushing her writing quill. She was as furious as she’d ever been in her life—more furious than she’d realized she could be—and when her cousin and uncle turned to her, shock on their faces, she repeated, “Sir Justin is not dull!”
After a moment of stunned silence, Evelyn began to laugh, while the baron’s face darkened with anger.
“You’ve no say in the matter, my lady,” he said sharply. “Indeed, you’ve no say in any matter. Be silent and finish your work, before I’m led to punish you for such intemperate speech.”
“I’ll not be silent!” she said hotly. “You sicken me. Both of you.” Her gaze moved over them with unveiled disgust. “Sir Justin Baldwin came here in truth, speaking honestly, in every word and deed a gentle man. Can you think it any better for him to be forced into an unwanted marriage? Yet he has behaved toward Evelyn, and yourself, i’faith, with naught but kindness and good intentions. How can you speak so ill of such a man?”
“By the rood!” the baron swore angrily, setting his goblet down with such crushing force that red wine spilled over the table and onto the floor. “You’ll not speak to me, or to your cousin, in such a froward manner!”
“Oh, Father,” Evelyn said between gasps of laughter. “’Tis too funny! Can you not see? She’s in love with him! Isabelle—” more laughter, gusting harder “—Isabelle’s in love with Sir Justin! Would he not be horrified to know of it? Can you not envision his face if he knew that such a—such an ugly mouse was in love with him?”
Sir Myles was too occupied in scowling at Isabelle to pay his daughter notice. “You’re wrong,” he said to Isabelle, “if you think I’ll ever let you wed. Save yourself trouble, my girl, and heed me well. Keep your thoughts on money and numbers, not on men. If you value your brother’s life, and your own, then understand what I say.”
But Isabelle couldn’t. Her unfortunate temper had taken control, and she was furious. For days now, as they played their game with Sir Justin, it had been simmering. Each afternoon, when he arrived and so urgently pleaded his cause, only to be turned aside by their cruel lies, it had grown hotter. Isabelle had spent four long years suffering and laboring as nothing better than a slave in her uncle’s house. Now, every insult, every unkindness, seemed to well up and burn. Holding her uncle’s gaze, raising her fist, she crushed the writing quill in her hand, mangling the instrument with labor-strengthened fingers until it was beyond use. Without expression, she dropped the broken quill on the open ledger.
Even Evelyn stopped laughing.
The silence that ensued was complete, until at last Sir Myles said, “That was unwise, Isabelle. I shall have to punish you. You shall abide in the cellar without food or drink until that account is finished. If it is not done by morning, when the banker arrives to meet with me, I shall write Sir Howton a missive regarding Senet—”
“He has naught to do with this!” Isabelle cried furiously, taking one step toward her uncle.
“You’re wrong, my dear,” Sir Myles replied calmly. “He has everything to do with it. You will go to the cellar and finish with that account before the sun rises in tomorrow’s sky—” he pointed at the book with a hard finger “—else Senet will return here to London, where he shall be made to rightfully labor for his care, in the lowliest manner I can arrange. I make you my promise on it.”
“Send him to White Tower, Father,” Evelyn suggested with purring satisfaction. “Have them put him to work cleaning out the garderobes. Or, better yet, offer him as a suitable gong farmer.”
The image of her beloved younger brother slaving daily at such a horrible, filthy task—emptying latrine pits—rapidly cooled Isabelle’s fury. She could just imagine her uncle doing such a thing to bend her to his will. He was a cruel man, as wicked as sin in most of his dealings. She’d been too closely involved in his world for too long to take the threat lightly.
Swallowing the angry words she longed to say, Isabelle stepped back and slowly sat in her chair. Her uncle’s soft chuckle told her that he understood her surrender, and she bowed her head.
“Most wise, my child. Most temperate. I shall have a new writing quill brought to you in the cellar, and plenty of candles and ink to work by. When you have dutifully finished your task,” he said, savoring the words, “and when I have approved it, you will be released.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_e9fce563-87a3-569e-a6ca-1404ad8d6549)
It was late before Isabelle was finally let out of the cellar and led, by a lone servant bearing a candle, through nightdarkened halls to the small room that was her bedchamber. Exhausted, hungry and cold, her bones aching from long hours spent crouched over her uncle’s accounts in the cellar’s dampness, she wearily prepared for sleep. In a few short minutes she had removed her clothes and put on the one nightdress she owned, unbraided her hair and brushed it, and washed her face and hands. Gratefully lying down beneath her covers, she muttered a few words of prayer, crossed herself once and, pushing all troubling thoughts of Senet aside, fell asleep.
So deeply did she slumber that at first she mistook the voice for a dream—the same dream she’d had nearly every night since she first met Sir Justin Baldwin. But in the dream, Sir Justin, being a creature of her own making, never actually said anything, and this time, his fourth whispered invocation of “Lady Isabelle” at last pierced the fog of her sleep-ridden brain with realization. By then it was too late. Sir Justin’s hand closed over her mouth just as her eyes flew open to see him sitting beside her on the bed, and the scream that naturally followed was thoroughly muffled.
“Do not,” he warned, his voice low and firm. “I mean you no harm, and I do not wish to hurt you. Be quiet and all will be well.”
“What—?” she cried when he lifted his hand.
“Hush,” he commanded. The next moment, he placed a cloth over her mouth, ignoring her struggles while he quickly tied it behind her head. Isabelle tried to strike him, but found, to her increasing dismay, that her hands were already tied, as were her feet. She screamed again, this time into the cloth, and Sir Justin took her head in his hands, holding her still as he bent over her, eye-to-eye.
“My lady,” he said patiently, “I wish you would not. There is no cause for such distress, and if you do not cease, I will have to make you insensible, which I profess I am loath to do. Already I regret the necessity that made me bind you. If you will but trust me a little, I vow, on my honor, that all will be well.” Then, picking her up, he carried her to the chamber’s one window, out of which a rope dangled. Stopping suddenly, he looked down at her, the thoughtful expression on his face fully at odds with the rampant fear that possessed Isabelle. “I meant to say this before,” he told her, “but forgot. Chris says my mind is ever scattering.” Sitting on the sill, balancing her on his lap, he swung one leg out the window. “I’ve wanted to tell you this past month, but never found the chance. I find you very beautiful.”
Isabelle had always been rational. Always. Even during those unfortunate moments when her temper got the better of her. Very English, her father had said disapprovingly. May God be praised, her mother had said with thanks. But rationality, in the wake of Sir Justin’s calling her beautiful, disappeared as if Isabelle had never known it, and the stupefying result was that he had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her all the way down the length of her uncle’s grand manor house before it even occurred to her that she should put up a struggle.
Sir Christian Rowsenly—a man she would never have thought capable of such a heinous crime as kidnapping— was waiting for them on the ground.
“It took long enough,” Sir Christian whispered tightly, bringing forward two saddled horses. “I was afraid you’d been discovered.”
“She wasn’t there,” Sir Justin replied, handing her over to his friend while he, himself, mounted one steed. “I thought perhaps you’d mistaken which chamber was hers, or that Sir Myles, being rightfully ashamed at keeping his own niece in such a mean place, had lied about it when he took you through the dwelling. I was going to search her out when she at last arrived, and then I had to hide and wait until she had prepared for bed and fallen asleep.”
“I don’t want an explanation now,” Sir Christian told him, lifting Isabelle into Sir Justin’s waiting arms. “God’s feet. If the ward sergeant catches us we’ll be drawn and quartered. Let’s get us out of London, right quick.”
“Aye, and so we will,” Sir Justin agreed, ignoring Isabelle’s squirming as he tightly tucked her up against his body and wrapped her within his cloak. With one strong arm he held her captive, with the other he guided his horse to the cobbled street that faced her uncle’s home.
“Go to sleep,” he advised her quietly as they set out toward what Isabelle knew to be the direction of Bishopsgate. “The guards at the gate have been paid to let us pass without notice, and ‘twill do you no good to make a disturbance. You are full weary.” The fingers that held the reins skimmed lightly over her cold cheek in a reassuring caress. “Sleep, if you can, Lady Isabelle. Our travel this night will be long, but I shall hold you safe. No harm will befall you, I vow.”
He must have heard the groan she gave, for even as the horses began to move more quickly he smiled down at her, so that she saw the whiteness of his teeth in the darkness. “Sleep,” he repeated. “There’s naught else you can do for yourself at the moment.”
Which was true, Isabelle thought an hour later as she fought, and failed, to keep her eyes open. True to his word, they had passed through Bishopsgate and out of the city without being questioned, and had been riding north since. There was nothing she could do to help herself until they arrived at whatever their destination was, save to let her body claim the rest it begged for. Soon enough she would discover why she had been taken, and what Sir Justin wanted her for. Better to be rested and fully aware when that time came than too weary to think.
It was easier than she thought to relax and let herself slide into slumber. Sir Justin’s body was warm, his grip strong and sure. The horses were moving at a steady pace, neither too fast nor jarring. She was more than half-asleep when she felt the cloth around her mouth being loosened and pulled free. Bare fingers and a thumb gently vised her cheeks, rubbing for a few moments to soothe the numbness away, and then her head was tucked more firmly against Sir Justin’s shoulder.
“Is she asleep, then?” she heard Sir Christian ask.
“Aye,” Sir Justin replied just as Isabelle, with a yawn, willingly gave truth to the word. “She’s asleep.”
Isabelle awoke the moment she was pulled from the saddle on which she’d been riding. The sensation she experienced, at first, was similar to drowning, and she flailed as if to save her life.
“I have you,” Sir Justin said soothingly, somewhere near her ear. “Hush, now, my lady. I have you.”
His arms cradled her and she subsided, groggy and bewildered. Her head fell against his shoulder as he carried her from the cold damp of dark night into the warmth and dryness of some dimly lit place.
“Where are we?” she murmured sleepily.
“A monastery in Cambridge,” he answered. “I’m taking you to a chamber where you may rest peacefully and in comfort. There is naught to fear.”
“I do not wish to sleep,” she told him, blinking to clear her eyes. “I wish to know what you mean to do to me.”
“Do to you?” he repeated with what sounded to Isabelle like bewilderment. He glanced at her before giving his attention to a man in dark robes, who approached them holding a candle.
“You are Sir Justin Baldwin?” the monk asked, his face unseen beneath the folds of his hood.
“Aye.”
“All has been made ready. Come with me.”
“Father!” Isabelle cried.
The monk turned. “Yes, daughter?”
“This man has taken me from my home, without my consent! Help me, I beg you.”
There was a sympathetic nod. “Aye, and so we shall, daughter, if that is your wish. You will be free to leave this place in the morn as it pleases you, either with Sir Justin or without. No harm shall come to you while you bide here. I give you this promise on the holy vows I have taken before God.” He turned and walked away.
Sir Justin followed, carrying Isabelle down a long hall and up a number of stairs before at last reaching their destination: a large, clean, well-furnished chamber, warmed and lit by both fire and candle. Placing her in a chair by the fire, Sir Justin knelt and, producing a small knife, cut away the bindings at her hands and feet.
“I regret…” he began as he tried to take her wrists in his hands to chafe them, but stopped when Isabelle yanked free of his touch.
“Leave me be, I pray you, Sir Justin.” Her tone cast harsh aspersions on his claims to the honorable state of knighthood. To the monk, who stood by the door, she demanded, “Why have I been brought here? My uncle, the Baron Hersell, will be more than displeased to know of the treatment I have received this night.”
The monk gave another nod and put his hand on the door. “There is wine on the table, and I will have food brought at once. Father Hugo has been praying in the chapel, and will arrive to greet you shortly.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.
Isabelle turned her angry gaze on Justin, who still knelt before her. “What is this about? Do not touch me!” She tried to pull her feet away, but the warm grip on her ankles held her fast.
“My lady,” he said with what Isabelle felt was unmerited calm, “be pleased to put your mind at rest. I have not brought you this long distance, to a monastery, i’ faith, to rape or harm you. If that had been my goal, I would have managed it at some other, more advantageous spot.” When she continued to attempt to pull her feet free, he said, “I am sorry for having tied you. I thought it the best way to keep you from harming yourself unnecessarily. But look—” his gaze fell to where his fingers gently rubbed her raw flesh “—the rope has done its own damage. If I could take the pain from you, I vow that I would.”
Weary, unwanted tears filled Isabelle’s eyes. She hated crying. Worse, she hated feeling out at sea, as if she were clawing at a slippery rock to gain any sort of hold.
Having long been treated as one without value, Isabelle believed that she was, in truth, without value, and so she said, “Sir Justin, I cannot think I will make a very good hostage. My uncle will not make Evelyn wed you simply to secure my return. He will probably be glad to be rid of me.”
He pulled his fingers from her feet and took hold of her wrists, rubbing them as he had her ankles. “I do not want you for a hostage,” he told her, “and I do not want Lady Evelyn for my wife.”
Despite her every effort not to let them, Isabelle’s eyebrows rose.
Sir Justin smiled. “I never thought I would ask for a woman’s hand in the accepted manner, but as I’m already kneeling at your feet, I suppose I should. Lady Isabelle, will you do me the honor of wedding with me?”
She stared at him as if he’d stunned her with a blow to the head.
He waited a full minute before prodding, “My lady?”
“W-w-wed?” she sputtered. “With you?”
“I’ve surprised you,” he said. “I understand fully how it must seem. But give me a moment to explain, I pray, and all will be made clear.”
Standing, he crossed the room and filled a goblet with wine, then returned, pressing the cup into her hands.
“Drink this,” he said, and bent to tuck his cloak more tightly about her. “Are you warm enough? I threw some of your clothes down to Chris after you’d fallen asleep, and he put them in one of his bags. I’m sure he’ll bring them as soon as he’s finished stabling the horses, and then you may clothe yourself more warmly.”
“You—” she began, then faltered. Just how often did Sir Justin Baldwin deal in kidnapping? He was apparently very well organized at it. “You seem to have thought of everything.” And then she remembered that he had stood in her chamber’s shadows and watched her prepare for bed. Heat warmed her face at the realization that he had seen her—all of her. With shaking hands, Isabelle lifted the goblet and drank deeply, praying for any measure of sustenance. She’d rather be dead than make a muddled idiot of herself in front of this man.
“I hope I have,” he replied thoughtfully. “There was no way to keep you from being distressed in some measure, but Chris and I tried to plan for your comfort, as best we could. I didn’t wish to give you greater reason to turn me—my request—aside.” There was a chair on the other side of the fire, and he settled into it, wearily closing his eyes. “You are aware, I think, that if I am not wed within three—nay, two days, now, I will lose all that I possess? My lands, my holdings, everything.” Opening his eyes, he gazed at her. “Even my horses and livestock. I must have a wife, my lady, else all that I have labored for will be lost to me. I do not care so much for myself, but there are others involved whom I do not wish to see brought low because of my misfortunes.”
“But I can do naught to help you,” Isabelle told him, lifting one hand in a placating gesture. “It is my cousin, Evelyn, whom you are to wed.”
“Not so. She was the bride chosen for me by my brother and the duke of Gloucester, but in the missive I received regarding the matter, it was only stated that I must be married by the first day of July, not that I must be married to her.”
“But Evelyn is ready to wed you. I know it has not seemed so, but she, and my uncle, always intended that it should be thus.”
“Did they?” His smile was suddenly unpleasant. “I am glad they kept from agreeing to the marriage too soon, for I do not wish to wed your cousin, lovely though she may be.”
“But, my lord,” Isabelle protested, “neither can you wish to marry me! You know nothing of me, of my family. I have no dowry, indeed nothing to call my own save what my uncle has chosen to give me. It is impossible for me to marry any man.”
“’Tis not impossible for you to wed me,” he said, sitting on the edge of his chair and leaning toward her. “I have no care for who your parents were, and I do not require a dowry. If you will take me as I am, I will take you, and gladly. I am no great lord, but my home is sufficient, and we could live well and comfortably.”
Isabelle’s head was spinning. He couldn’t mean the things he was saying. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible.
“My lord, I pray you will be serious, and cease speaking such foolishness. Surely there is another, or many others, whom you would more readily choose.”
“Nay,” he said bluntly. “Only you. Let us speak the truth with each other. Do you wish to continue living under your uncle’s hand?”
The question set her off balance, and Isabelle stared at him in silence.
He held her gaze unwaveringly. “He treats you like a servant. He dresses you in servant’s clothes. His own niece. I have never heard him speak a kind or gentle word to you. The chamber that was yours—” he hesitated when she lowered her eyes, and when he continued, his tone was more gentle “—it was in the servants’ quarters. Small and spare. And cold. I cannot fathom why he should treat you so ill, when he is blessed with more than enough wealth to easily treat you better. Especially when you continuously labor on his behalf.”
It’s only pity, Isabelle. ‘Tis why he’s so kind, why he deigns to speak with you. Only pity…for a small, unsightly, insignificant mouse.
Evelyn’s words came back full force, with stunning pain, and Isabelle murmured, “You pity me. You wish to marry me out of pity.”
He moved so silently that Isabelle hadn’t realized it until he was kneeling before her, lifting her chin in his hand so that her eyes met his.
“God’s truth, nay. It is so that I did not want a wife, but if I must have one, I would have her come to our marriage with cause of her own, wanting as much as I to make what we can of it. Lady Evelyn has no need of me, no reason to build a life with a man forced upon her against her wishes. But you might. Would you not like to have your own household to manage? Would you not like to be free of your uncle’s hand? To wed, to have children of your own? If you marry me, Lady Isabelle, I vow that I shall do all I can to make your life happy and content. We can be partners in all things, and can build a good life together. My home, Talwar, is a small estate, not grand, as your uncle’s palace is, but it is sturdy and comfortable, and the surrounding land is a goodly place for raising children. I am not an esteemed lord, as I have told you, but I have enough that you, and any children we give life to, shall never know hunger or discomfort.”
He was a stunningly beautiful man, and the knowledge struck Isabelle even more firmly as he gazed at her. His face was perfect, save for a scar above his brow and a smaller one on his cheek, but neither detracted from the wide set and alluring darkness of his ale-brown eyes, or the aristocratic line of his nose, or the tilt and fullness of his lips. His hair, as richly dark as his eyes, hung thick and waving to his shoulders, which in themselves were amazing to behold. She had never seen a nobleman with such a large, muscular form as Sir Justin Baldwin possessed. He looked more like a hard-laboring smithy than a knight of the realm.
“But why me?” Isabelle shook her head in disbelief. “There must be so many others—”
“Nay,” he said once more. “There are not. And if there were, I’ve no time to find and woo them.” Taking the goblet from her unsteady clasp and setting it aside, he gathered her hands up in his. “We would do well together, my lady. I admit that ‘tis a strange way to start a marriage, but if we are good and truthful to each other and strive to make what we can of our union, there is no reason why it cannot be as happy and fruitful as other marriages are.”
It wasn’t right, she thought. Here he was, so handsome and fine that he could have any woman in the world, asking her to be his wife.
“There are things about me that you do not know,” she said with open misery. “My family has long been loyal to France. Four years ago, my father was convicted as a traitor.” She searched his face for the revulsion she had thought would appear, but his dark-eyed gaze neither faltered nor changed. “He was executed, and all of his lands and possessions were taken from my family. My mother died soon after. Of shame.”
A frown settled on his handsome face, and after a moment he ventured, “Gaillard? Isabelle Gaillard? Your father was the Comte Gaillard?”
“The comte was my uncle in France. His titles and properties have since been reclaimed by the crown. My father lived in England, for my mother’s sake. He oversaw the Gaillard lands here.”
Understanding lit his features. “Ignace Gaillard. Was that your father? Lord Lomas?”
She nodded.
“And your mother was Baron Hersell’s sister? Is that how you come to be beneath his hand?”
“Aye. She was his half sister, through her mother.” Lowering her eyes to their joined hands, marveling on how strange it was to have any physical contact at all with this man, she said, “And so you understand, my lord, that it is impossible for us to wed.”
“Nay, my lady, I do not. I would be honored to have such a wellborn woman for a wife. Will our children not be blessed to receive such a noble heritage?”
Children, she thought. How beautiful his children would be, especially if they took after him, with hair and eyes the color of dark, rich earth.
“But your family would be distressed to have you wedded with the daughter of a traitor.”
“My family has no say. After what they have done to me in this matter, I have no care for their sensibilities. I have said that I would be honored to wed one so nobly born, and so do I mean it. I will never speak lies to you, Isabelle.” He pressed her hands more firmly. “Will you marry me?”
“It is so sudden. I…I must think on it.”
“I fear there is little time for such. Your uncle will be after us soon, if he is not already. ’Twill not be difficult for him to follow after and find us. The men who let us pass through Bishopsgate will readily tell in which direction we rode, especially if Sir Myles pays them well. After that he need only stop at each village on the road to ask whether we passed through, and that will lead him directly here. We must be wed very shortly, before he arrives. Within the hour, i’ faith.”
“But I do not have his permission to wed. I cannot marry without it.”
“What I lack in personal esteem,” he told her, “I possess in family influence. One of my brothers is a priest, and he is here and will marry us. Once the marriage is consummated, your uncle would not be able to remove you from my care, unless he went to the duke of Gloucester to have the union annulled.” He smiled. “The duke will shortly receive missives from my brothers, the lord of Gyer and the earl of Siere, both of whom will request that the marriage stand as legal. I cannot think even the king’s regent will wish to anger two such powerful men as they are.”
“C-consummated?” she repeated with a gulp. “Here? Now?”
His soft laughter seemed to shiver all the way through Isabelle.
“You needn’t worry about that until after you’ve agreed to wed with me.” With a gentle, reassuring squeeze of her hands, he added, “In truth, you needn’t worry about it at all. I will never hurt you, Isabelle.”
“My brother,” she said, thinking suddenly of Senet. “I cannot leave him alone in my uncle’s authority. He is but ten-and-six, and Sir Myles has no care for him, except as a way of keeping me from being disobedient.”
“Ah,” Justin said. “I begin to understand the reason for your devoted service to your uncle. Your brother will come to us, then. He has been fostered with Sir Howton, has he not?” When Isabelle nodded, he said, “I will continue to train him for knighthood, just as Sir Howton has done, and he will have all that we can give him to make his way.”
Isabelle leaned forward. “My lord, do you mean this?”
“On my honor, before God, I vow it.”
The door to the chamber opened, and both Isabelle and Justin turned. A tall blond man, dressed in brown robes and bearing a large steaming bowl, entered.
“God’s mercy,” he said, having contemplated them for a silent moment. “I never in my life expected to see you on your knees before any woman, Justin. You’re clearly more desperate than I understood. Have you convinced Lady Isabelle to become your willing wife, or are you yet trying to persuade her?” Walking farther into the chamber, he set the bowl on a low table. “I’ve brought food,” he stated, and stood to his full height, smiling down at Isabelle. “My dear, you are the most welcome sight I’ve had in many a year.”
“Hugo,” Justin said warmly, standing and hugging the other man. “’Tis good and better to see you again.”
“Aye, and so it is,” the priest replied, returning the embrace. “Be pleased to introduce me to Lady Isabelle, brother.”
“My lady, this is my brother, Father Hugo. He is going to wed us.”
“If Lady Isabelle is willing,” Father Hugo added, moving forward to take Isabelle’s hand. With a warm smile, he bent and kissed her fingers. “My lady,” he murmured, “I am honored. Justin sent me an urgent missive regarding you, and it is with great pleasure that I meet the woman who has finally captured my youngest brother’s heart.”
He was too handsome to be a priest, Isabelle thought. And far too admiring. She could feel herself turning red all the way up to the roots of her hair. “Oh, no, Father, I fear you misunderstand. ‘Tis only that he must wed to keep his lands. I’ve not captured Sir Justin’s heart, or any part of him.”
The look that possessed the handsome priest’s face reminded Isabelle of nothing so much as the pleased way her uncle looked when he saw the profits mounting up in his account books. Beneath his interested scrutiny she felt, for a moment, like a vastly valuable treasure. “That, my very dear lady,” said Father Hugo, “remains to be seen. And so—” he again stood full height “—have you decided which road you’ll take? Are you going to marry this knave and go with him to Talwar, or shall I send for your uncle to come and escort you back to London? For me, I should advise trying the first. From what Justin’s written me, you’ve already tried the latter without much satisfaction. Or is he mistaken?”
“Nay,” she admitted softly, drawing Justin’s warm cloak more firmly about her. “’Twas not pleasant to live beneath my uncle’s hand.”
“Then you may as well try marrying my brother,” Father Hugo suggested cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. “He’s not perfect, i’ faith, but I can promise he’s better than most. If he’s not good to you, you need only send word and I’ll come and make him behave.” He grinned at his younger brother. “I give my vow on that. Now, what say you? Shall I lend my blessing to a wedding this night?”
Justin’s gaze held Isabelle’s, questioning. She drew in a long breath and released it shakily. With a nod, she committed herself to a new, unknown life. “Aye. You shall.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_e6476a94-be17-5076-bf82-78a04da12748)
The marriage took place as soon as Isabelle had been given a chance to eat and clothe herself. Surrounded by men—Sir Christian and several silent, solemn monks—she stood beside Sir Justin Baldwin in the monastery’s small chapel and agreed to be his wife. It should have been, she thought afterward, a moment that carried a certain amount of weight, joy or fear or some life-changing impact. But it had been nothing more than a very simple matter. Sir Justin repeated his vows, put a plain gold ring on her finger and, having received it from his brother, passed the kiss of peace along to her by setting his lips briefly against her cheek. And so, in a matter of a few minutes, they were married. At least in the eyes of the Church. What her uncle would think about it, Isabelle wasn’t able to imagine.
Father Hugo heartily hugged and kissed her when it was over, as did Sir Christian, who said, “You are a kind and beautiful lady, Isabelle Baldwin. Justin is a fortunate man, indeed. I pray God I will be as blessed someday.”
Congratulatory cups of wine were passed and drunk, and then, too soon, Justin was taking hold of her elbow and saying, “There is not much time before daylight. We will bid you all good-night”
Isabelle had never felt so embarrassed in all her life, standing before a roomful of holy men who surely realized Sir Justin’s intent to consummate the marriage.
Father Hugo, setting a reassuring hand on Isabelle’s shoulder, said, “Go and tend to this final matter, then, knowing that God has blessed your union. We will send no witnesses with you, for Lady Isabelle should not suffer further distress this night, when she has already so generously done all that has been asked of her.” He must have heard the breath of relief that she released, for he smiled warmly and kissed her cheek. “God be with you, daughter. Go now with your husband.” To Justin, he added, “I trust you will take every care with your good lady, brother.”
“Aye,” Justin replied simply, pulling Isabelle toward the door and not seeming to notice how stiffly she went.
“Well,” she said as they walked side by side down the darkened hall. “Well.”
He chuckled and said, “Indeed.”
When he suddenly put his hand on her waist, she nearly jumped into a wall.
“Forgive me,” she murmured. “I fear that I’m a little… unused to this.” Which was, she thought, a rather weak way of saying that she’d never so much as kissed a man.
His hand pressed against her with light warmth. “There is no need to ask forgiveness, Isabelle. You have never known a man and are afraid. ‘Tis understandable, i’ faith.”
He stopped before the chamber door, which he opened, stepping back to allow her to enter. A simple room had never looked so awful to Isabelle before. She cast a glance at the bed and imagined herself there, beneath this man, her husband, as he made her his wife.
“Come, Isabelle.” He took her hand and drew her farther in, closing the door. “Let us have an understanding.” Turning her unresisting body by the shoulders as if she were a powerless puppet, he drew her near. “We are all but strangers, you and I, and yet we are also man and wife. I would have you strive to trust me in all things, just as I will strive to trust you.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, gently. “But such as that will take time, and I would not repay the kindness you have done me this night by forcing you to lie with me before you are willing. When I make you my wife complete, ‘twill be because you wish it, and because you have come to trust me. Is this as you would have it, Isabelle?”
“Oh, aye,” she said with open relief, thankful for a reprieve. “You are kind, Sir Justin, and I am more than grateful.”
He nodded. “We will wait until we have achieved Talwar, then, and when you are ready to become my wife in every way, you will let me know. Only promise that it will not be long, for make no mistake—I mean us to be man and wife in every way, and for that I will suffer impatience.”
Isabelle swallowed loudly. “’Twill not be long,” she promised.
“Then we must now make an agreement between us. I abhor falseness in any form, but even more would I abhor forcing you to an intimacy you do not yet desire. Your uncle will demand proof of our union. You understand this, do you not?”
“Aye.”
“Then, if you wish to have time to know your husband better before you share his bed, you must be prepared to answer accordingly. This thing will be between the two of us only.”
Stepping back, he rolled up the long sleeve of his tunic, uncovering his muscular forearm, then strode to the bed and pulled the covers away to expose the stark whiteness of the sheets beneath.
He paused a moment and looked at Isabelle, who stared at him in incomprehension until he pulled a small dagger from a sheath at his belt.
“My lord…” she said, as if she would stop him.
“’Tis the only way,” he said. “Unless you wish to pursue the matter in the more usual manner?”
Without waiting for an answer, he drew the blade across his skin, on the inner arm, beneath his elbow. Red blood welled bright, and when he held his arm over the bed, a few drops fell. He smeared them with his fingers, then stood back and viewed the stain he’d made.
“I’ve no experience with virgins,” he admitted. “I pray that will be sufficient to satisfy your uncle, and any others who may challenge our marriage.”
Isabelle was searching the chamber for a cloth, and at last found a linen napkin. “Here,” she said, taking his bleeding arm. “Let me bind the wound. I pray it will heal readily.”
“It will,” he murmured, smiling as she bent over her work to tie the cloth tightly. “You are a good wife, already,” he said. “Taking care of me so. I like it very much. Isabelle?” She lifted her head, and he took her chin in his free hand. “If you will let me, I shall kiss you as a husband should properly do.” He didn’t wait for permission, but placed his mouth gently over hers and tenderly kissed her, meaning only to give her pleasure and affection. When he lifted his head, he saw, with delight, that she looked dazed.
“Did you like it?” he asked.
She nodded and closed her eyes, and he willingly accepted the offer, lowering his mouth to hers once more, kissing her as chastely as he could, until he felt his body begin to catch fire.
“If we do not stop,” he murmured against her lips, “we will be adding proof to the bedsheet.” With regret, he stepped away from her warmth and softness. “’Tis verily most promising.” He bent and pulled the bedcovers over the stained sheet. “You are full weary, I vow. Lie down and sleep, my lady, and in the morn, if your uncle has not arrived, we will leave for Siere.”
“For Siere?” Isabelle repeated, gratefully sinking down upon the bed.
“Aye.” He rolled the sleeve of his tunic over the binding she’d put on his wound. “I must present you to my brother, the earl, and make certain that my lands are safe.”
She sat up again. “Your brother…when he knows the truth about my father…”
“He will have naught to say on the matter,” Justin replied calmly. He sat on the bed and pushed her down on the pillows. “You are my wife now, Isabelle, and I will not give you up. No man will take you from me, be he your uncle or mine own brother or the duke of Gloucester. In time, you will learn to trust me. It is all that I ask of you.” With his fingertips, he stroked the hair from her brow. “You have been through much this night. Sleep, if you can. All will be well.”
“What of you, my lord? You must be very weary, also.”
“In truth, I am. I will sleep there, by the fire, for a time.”
“If my uncle comes, will you tell him about Senet?”
“Aye. Is there anything you want from your uncle’s home? Any possessions of your own that you value and would have?”
Sadness touched her features, and Justin’s hand, yet stroking the hair at her forehead, fell still.
“What is it?” he asked.
“He will never let me have them. And, in truth, all that once belonged to my parents was made forfeit by the crown. Baron Hersell has more right to them than I.”
His hand began stroking again. “We shall see.”
Weariness made her close her eyes. “I do not wish to cause you trouble.” She yawned. “It is enough to be away from him.”
“’Twill be no trouble. You should have all that is rightfully yours, and though it may be many months in coming, one day you shall.”
But she had already fallen asleep beneath the soothing rhythm of his hand, and didn’t hear his vow. Justin sat beside her for a long while, contemplating his new wife and stroking her silky black hair, which was, he thought, extraordinarily long and beautiful. Her blue eyes, which he also thought beautiful, ever stood out starkly against the frame of her hair. When they first met, he had found it difficult to pull his gaze away from her entrancing face. He was not a man to take anything for granted, and he did not do so now with Isabelle. He had done very well in choosing himself a wife, he thought with pleasure. Far better than his brother Hugh had done. Of a certainty, Hugh would be furious when he discovered the truth, as would Alexander, and Hugo would equally fall victim to their wrath for his part in lending his aid in the marriage. But, although he regretted bringing Hugo grief, Justin didn’t really care. He had the wife he wanted now—a good, fine wife, for whom other men would envy him— and they would make a life together whether his exalted family bade them well or no.
Chapter Five (#ulink_85812c04-c7c9-52f1-be59-979b640ce720)
She was dreaming that her dreams were real. The man she loved was her husband, and they had the most beautiful children—two boys and a sweet tiny girl—and he loved her. They were walking beside a wide, slow-moving river, their children running before, playing and laughing, and he took her hand. She turned her head and smiled, and he, so handsome and fine, smiled back. She could read his love for her in his eyes. It was there, as clear and constant as the river. She knew the feel of his mouth on hers, the warm, sweet pressure. He loved her, and her heart was full of the knowledge.
“You’ll not keep me from searching the place! Get out of my way, holy man, else I’ll strike you down.”
The sound of her uncle’s voice seared through her dreams like a blistering heat, and Isabelle sat bolt upright.
“Justin!” she cried, and the next moment his hands found her in the darkness.
“I’m here. Whisper. Take off your clothes and get under the covers. Hurry.”
He began to tug at her lacings, and she pushed his hands away. “I’ll do it,” she insisted shakily and, with trembling fingers performed the task herself.
He stood and moved about the room; she could hear him throwing his boots off and putting on his sword.
“I wish I could remove my tunic,” he murmured distractedly in the darkness.
“Where is the slut?” Her uncle’s voice boomed louder. “Isabelle! Attend me!”
“Hurry,” Justin said, sitting beside her again. “Nay, remove everything, Isabelle. Do not be afraid.”
“But—”
Without warning, he took hold of her chemise and dragged it over her head, throwing the garment on the floor beside her other clothes.
“Now, under the covers. Nay, do not lie down yet. Help me, Isabelle.” The warmth of his hands fell on her bare shoulders. “Kiss me,” he murmured, already pressing hard, hot kisses rapidly against her face and neck. “We must look as if we’ve been loving. Put your arms around me, sweet. Your hands in my hair.”
His mouth came down on hers then, open and moist, and his tongue pushed between her teeth to invade the depths of her mouth. Shocked, she tried to push him away, but he was solid and heavy, as if made of stone, and her distress went ignored. Pressing her down on the bed, he kissed her harder, until Isabelle felt tears of pain stinging her eyes. When he at last pulled away, she gasped for air, and tried to turn away, but he held her face between his palms and ran his tongue over her lips.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, placing more stinging kisses on her face and neck.
Finally, as Sir Myles’s angry voice neared their door, he thrust his hands into her thick, unbound hair, rapidly disordering it.
“Keep yourself covered,” he commanded as he stood. “And trust me, Isabelle.”
The next moment he had flung the chamber door open, and in the candlelight from the hallway Isabelle could see that he held his dagger in his hand. Her uncle appeared, his face first angry, and then, as Justin grabbed him by the collar, surprised. He began to say a word, but only air whooshed out of him as he was shoved up against the far wall with the dagger held against his throat.
“Now,” Justin said into the other man’s face, “did I hear you insult my good lady wife a moment ago, sir?”
“Aye!” Sir Myles sputtered wrathfully. “I’ll name her. slut and more, i’ faith!” Craning his neck, he looked past Justin’s broad shoulder until he saw Isabelle sitting in the bed, thoroughly disheveled and covered all the way up to her neck with bed linens. “Harlot!” he shouted furiously. “Jezebel! Ungrateful who—”
The last word died unfinished as Sir Myles choked.
“I will kill you for speaking thusly of my lady,” Justin told him, seething, pressing the blade closer.
Suffocating, Sir Myles flapped his arms like a helpless bird. “Off,” he managed, his bulging eyes pleading desperately with Father Hugo, who stood nearby. “Off!”
“That’s enough, Justin,” his elder brother said calmly. “I do not say he doesn’t deserve death, but I’ll not suffer murder within these sacred walls.”
“Then I shall take him outside,” Justin replied evenly.
“Where his men will kill you after you’ve finished with him. Nay.” Father Hugo set a hand on his shoulder, attempting to pull him back. “I’ll not let you be killed this night for such a one as this. Leave him be.” When Justin gave no proof of hearing his words, he added, “Do you wish to make Lady Isabelle a widow so soon after she became a wife?”
“Nay,” Justin admitted. He released Sir Myles and stepped back, warning, “Guard your tongue, and do not speak thus again, else I swear by heaven I will indeed kill you.”
Sir Myles put a hand to his throat and breathed with loud relief. A moment passed before he was able to say, “You—you stole her. You insulted my daughter, and me.”
“I stole the wife I wanted,” Justin said, “to this I admit. As to your daughter and yourself, I cannot think that any insult I may have given compared to that which was given me.”
Sir Myles looked at him with renewed fury. “We gave you no insult! I was willing that my only daughter should become your wife. Evelyn has fully expected to wed you two days from this. How could you mar her name and reputation so? ’Tis worse than mere insult! And to steal my niece from my own home, while I slumbered. With the help of your bastard friend, Sir Christian Rowsenly.” He said the name with sour disdain. “I never should have been so generous as to allow that illegitimate whoreson into my ho—”
The dagger went up again, and Sir Myles was once more thrown against the wall. This time Father Hugo had to use both arms around Justin’s shoulders to pull him away.
“He’s cut me!” Sir Myles cried with horror, pulling bloodied fingers from his throat. “He’s—he’s nearly killed me! My knights! Attend me!”
“Aye!” Justin snarled, amid a loud clattering in the hall. “And but for my brother, I should have done.” He powerfully shoved Hugo away. “Call every man in your service, Sir Myles.” Justin pulled his sword from its sheath, holding it skillfully in his other hand even as the blooded dagger twirled like a butterfly in the other. “’Twill do you no good. I will yet kill you, and happily.” Raising his voice, he called, “Christian Rowsenly! Attend me!”
“I am here, my friend,” Sir Christian said with placid calm as he strode through the crowd made by Sir Myles’s men. “Unharmed and well, and wishing you would be less ready to take insults that belong to me.” Turning to smile at Isabelle, who was trembling with the awareness that she was starkly naked beneath the bed linens, he said with more gentle reassurance, “My lady, you would do as well to return to your slumbers. This is an interesting display, i’faith, but naught shall come to harm you.”
“I want no fight,” Sir Myles said. “My niece has proved her ingratitude this night for the years of care that she and her brother have received at my hand, yet I am willing to take her back. Whatever ceremony took place here this night will be annulled, and you may consider your betrothal to my daughter forever broken, Sir Justin.”
At this, Justin laughed. “I considered it well broken many days ago, when I realized the game that you and your daughter played upon me. I came to you with honor, and you treated me with naught but contempt. Worse, you sought to steal my lands for yourself by making them a payment for your daughter’s hand. But now, my lord, you will suffer the game I have chosen. I have done the stealing, and your niece is my wife. Mine, Sir Myles. You will not have her back.”
Sir Myles turned nearly white. “I must have Isabelle back.”
“So that she may continue to increase your wealth?” Justin asked pointedly, laughing again when Sir Myles’s mouth fell open. “Oh, aye, I’ve learned much about you these past many days, my lord. All that you have has come to you through Isabelle’s efforts. You have made her like a slave to gain riches. Now I am the one who shall enjoy her talents, who will have the benefit of the skills she possesses. She will make me rich in ways you’ve not yet begun to fathom.”
“Nay! You’ll not!” Sir Myles sputtered. “I’ll go to the duke and demand her return. I am her legal guardian, and she did not have my permission to wed. ‘Tis all illegal!”
“Is it?” Justin asked, sheathing both his sword and dagger with equally fluid movements. “We shall see.” He turned and strode back into the chamber, not stopping until he had reached Isabelle and scooped her, bed linens and all, into his arms and out of the bed. “Look!” he said, his tone daring. “Look and see. I have taken Isabelle as my wife before the Church, and in the way of men. The proof is here, my lord. Can you think the duke will deny it? The law requires nothing more than Isabelle’s unforced consent in the matter, and every man who attended our marriage— and Isabelle herself—will attest that she was willing.”
Sir Myles stepped into the chamber, staring at the blood-stained sheet as if it were a horror. “You stole her,” he repeated weakly. “It cannot stand as legal.” He lifted wide eyes to gaze at his niece. “Isabelle, you must come back. Have you no care for Senet?” His meaning was clear.
“You threaten my wife at your peril, my lord,” Justin warned in a low voice. “I have never asked my brother, Alexander of Gyer, for anything in my life, but on the morrow I will send him a missive, asking him to use every power he possesses to have Senet Gaillard put into my guardianship. You will know that the lord of Gyer is a man who is not denied what he asks for by either crown or regent. Until Senet is under my hand, you will treat him well, or suffer facing the king’s regent with my complaints regarding your care of him.”
Sir Myles began to shake. He clamped his trembling hands together in an effort to still them, but when he took another step toward Isabelle, he only appeared to be pleading. “Isabelle, you must come back with me! I’ll give you anything. Do anything. Evelyn will be kind. I swear it. You can’t want to go with this man. He doesn’t care for you. ‘Tis only your ways with money that he wants. Can’t you see that?”
Isabelle saw it. She’d heard Sir Justin openly proclaim the fact before everyone present, while she sat in the bed and felt as if someone had speared her with a jousting lance. She’d been more than a fool to dream that he might want her for herself, that he might care for her, to let herself believe that he’d spoken the truth when he called her beautiful. Now, held in his arms—not with the value of a person, but only as a prize to be fought for—she was filled with pain. She knew what she must look like, naked beneath the covers, marked and reddened from Sir Justin’s kisses, with that deceitful stain on the bed. Mortified at what all who saw her would think, shamed by her foolishness, she wished she could crawl into a hole and hide. But there wasn’t a hole anywhere nearby, and so Isabelle took the only refuge she had at hand, closing her eyes and burying her face against her husband’s hard shoulder.
Justin’s arms tightened about her. “You’ve had your answer, my lord. Now go.”
“Think, Isabelle!” Sir Myles persisted desperately. “Only think. You’re no better with him than you were with me. Do you think he’ll make anything but a slave of you? Evelyn and I offer you the ties of blood, of family. And matters will change, I vow it! I’ll give you a house, and servants of your own. Senet will live with you, as it pleases you. I’ll hire tutors for the lad, and buy his knighthood when the time comes. Isabelle,” he pleaded. “Please come back with me!”
It was true, she thought, pressing a fist against her eyes to keep the tears from spilling out. She was only exchanging one master for another, going from one place of labor to another. But Sir Justin, at least, had shown her kindnesses that had not been necessary. He’d done everything he could not to distress her. And he had told Sir Myles that Senet would come to them at Talwar—if he had lied about other things, at least he’d not lied about that.
“I’ll not go back,” she managed, weeping. “I will go with Sir Justin.”
“Isabelle!”
“Nay!” Justin cut him off. “No more. You will not torment her further. Leave now. I do not merely ask it of you. Go.”
An angry silence filled the room.
“Very well,” Sir Myles said at last. “I will take my men and leave. But heed me, Sir Justin Baldwin. I’ll have Isabelle back. I swear it by all that is holy. And you’ll come to regret this night and your vile deeds. You will, sir. You will.”
When he had left, Justin sat on the bed, cradling a silent Isabelle in his arms.
“A dangerous man,” Father Hugo commented. “Beware him, Justin, and keep control of your temper. As God’s holy word tells us, ‘Be slow to wrath, for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”’
“But it does get rid of Sir Myles,” Justin replied wearily.
“What do we do now?” Christian asked. “Would it not be wise to make for Siere?”
“Aye.” Justin turned his gaze upon Isabelle, who still had her eyes closed against his shoulder, although he knew she did not sleep. “Would that we could rest longer,” he murmured. “But we cannot.” To Christian he said, “We will clothe ourselves and make the horses ready, and then we will ride full haste for Siere, where I will have much to say to my brother the earl.”
Chapter Six (#ulink_7d0be7c0-8cb2-595b-a355-95cb9c1b13e4)
Siere was, for Isabelle, a daunting place. Everything about it was grand, as well as on a grand scale. The castle was enormous, with so many stairs and hallways and chambers that Isabelle commonly got lost. The land surrounding the castle was vast, stretching so far that, even when Justin took her to the castle’s highest tower and pointed out the direction of the borders, she’d not been able to see the end of it. The town of Siere was really a bustling city and, from the personal wealth of the earl and his lady, Isabelle realized that local commerce must be quite healthy.
Isabelle knew the signs of prosperity when she saw them, just as she knew and understood bankers, moneylenders, traders and businessmen. It took a calm, sure hand to manipulate all of those involved to bring about a city’s financial success, and Isabelle was filled with admiration for the one who’d guided Siere along just such a path. Sir Hugh, the earl of Siere, had smiled at Isabelle’s shy compliments on the matter and revealed that it was his wife, Lady Rosaleen, who managed Siere and made every major decision. “I’m only here to make speeches,” he told her, “and to keep the children occupied when their mother wants some rest. Otherwise, I’m nothing more than the official bedfellow.” This he accompanied with a smile so meaningful that even the memory made Isabelle’s cheeks burn. Of course, it wasn’t all true. Lady Rosaleen might be the one who actually had the managing of Siere, and did it very capably, but it was Sir Hugh who ruled. He was an estimable lord, seeming to know everything without being told, heading off trouble before it occurred, always saying the right word at the right moment. Isabelle had only been at Siere for a week, but in that time she’d seen Sir Hugh deftly handle a number of his citizen’s complaints with the ease and wisdom of a Solomon, and she had yet to see one person leave the castle whose anger hadn’t been transposed into calm.
The earl had a gift for putting people at ease, which Isabelle had experienced firsthand when she arrived at Siere and Justin introduced her to Sir Hugh and his wife. Exhausted from the long ride, and weary from the rapid experiences of being kidnapped and married in only a matter of hours, Isabelle had only stared when the earl of Siere sauntered toward her with a welcoming smile on his lips. It had taken several long moments before she was able to mumble some kind of reply, and then, as he stood holding her cold fingers in his engulfing hand, he’d chuckled with warm amusement and said, to Justin, “I gather that you’ve not yet explained about Hugo and me being twins. The poor girl probably thinks that her wits have wandered away.” Which was exactly what Isabelle had thought, at least until Justin explained why it was that the priest who had married them and the earl of Siere looked to be the same man.
Sir Hugh had seemingly received the news of Justin’s bringing a different bride to Siere from the one that had been chosen for him with ease, giving no more evidence of surprise than the slight lifting of one eyebrow, and yet Isabelle was wary. He had been all that was kind this past week, but she had seen him contemplating her often, with a silent, seeking regard, and it was clear that very little escaped those piercing green eyes. A silent tension existed between himself and Justin, as well, and if the earl wondered why his brother and his brother’s new wife didn’t share a bedchamber, he never voiced the question aloud. At least, not in Isabelle’s hearing.
Lady Rosaleen, fortunately, was a much less bewildering presence. Beautiful, forthright and kind, she had immediately accepted Isabelle as her sister-by-marriage, and had done everything possible to make her comfortable.
“Don’t let Hugh rattle you, my dear,” she’d said when she took Isabelle to her chamber. “Baldwins tend to be rather intense, and my husband has the added difficulty of being a dreadful meddler. If there’s any trouble to be gotten into, Hugh will be the first to get into it. He’s not quite as serious-minded as Sir Alexander and Justin are, however, so perhaps that makes up for some of it. Not,” she’d added quickly, glancing at Isabelle with a smile, “that there’s anything wrong with being serious-minded. Justin is a marvelous man in every way, including his sober nature. But I don’t need to tell you that, do I, my dear? Do you love him very much?”
She did, and, sitting before her chamber fire, she’d admitted it, and everything else, to a sympathetic Lady Rosaleen.
“I don’t know how it came to be,” she said miserably, setting her weary head into her hands. “All the time he was courting Evelyn I loved him, and even now, when I know he only wed me to save his lands and to…to further his own gains, I love him. Evelyn spoke truly when she said that he would be horrified to know of my regard. I am a fool.”
“Oh, nay, never,” Lady Rosaleen assured her gently, setting a comforting hand on Isabelle’s shoulder. “You are weary and distressed, and upset at being taken forcibly from your home and married so shortly after, just as any woman should be, but you are not a fool. I cannot say why Justin has done what he has, but you may believe that he would not have taken you unless he held you in some regard. It may be, my dear, that he cares for you more than you think.”
But Isabelle found that hard to believe, despite Justin’s continually courteous and gentle manner toward her. She had only to look in her mirror to see that her face, so plain and common, couldn’t compare to her cousin’s, or Lady Rosaleen’s, or those of most other women. It certainly wasn’t the sort of face to inspire love. And as to the rest of her…well, Isabelle supposed that the most generous thing that could be said about her was that she was kindhearted. But that, matched with her temper, was probably far from sufficient to cause any man to want her. And there was always her unfortunate love of mathematics to consider. Although her skill with numbers was considered well enough in the way of increasing fortunes, it was seldom a topic that men cared to discuss, especially with a woman. Only her uncle’s bankers and financial associates had found discussions with Isabelle enthralling, and they were hardly the sort of men Isabelle wanted to enthrall. Her husband, now…her husband, she wanted to enthrall, to entice, somehow…to make him desire her the way he had probably desired Evelyn. But how? she wondered, setting aside the needlework on which she’d spent the past hour laboring.
The castle was quiet during the afternoons, when the midday meal had been finished and cleared away. In the great hall, where the castle ladies gathered to gossip and ply their needles while the sun yet shone through the tall, clear windows, servants moved with quiet ease, performing their tasks with the same efficiency that was to be found everywhere in Castle Siere. Indeed, not just the castle, but Siere as a whole, seemed to work with all the elegant beauty of a carillon bell clock.
She was waiting for Justin, just as he had asked her to, just as she did every afternoon. Each day at this time he took her for a walk in the gardens, or sometimes along the river, because, he had said, “We must come to know each other better.”
These had been wonderful times for Isabelle, partly because it had been so many years since she had not had to spend her every waking hour inside her uncle’s house, laboring over his accounts, and partly because her husband was such an amiable companion. He had not insisted upon any of his husbandly rights during the week that they’d been at Siere, but he was affectionate nonetheless. Surprisingly enough, he liked to walk with her in the same manner that Isabelle’s parents had done, which was to link his hand and fingers with hers, rather than to simply offer her his arm to hold. The first time he took her hand in such a manner, Isabelle had been so nervous that she felt her palm growing distressingly damp, and her fingers had been so stiff that they ached, but he had not seemed to notice, although he had loosened his grip slightly, and after a few minutes she’d begun to accept the intimate clasp and relaxed. Sometimes he would embrace her lightly, briefly, and kiss her cheek, doing it without warning and so suddenly that it was over before Isabelle had any chance to respond. Afterward, he would gaze at her in an oddly warm manner before taking her hand in his again and resuming their walk.
Leaning her head back in her chair, Isabelle contemplated the great hall’s ceiling. It might be another hour or more before Justin returned from the village, where he had gone with Sir Christian and the earl, and she was weary of needlework. The truth of the matter was, she missed her account books. Oh, she knew they were really her uncle’s, but in four years they had come to seem like hers. She knew each one intimately, from the first entry to the last, from every mistaken inkblot she’d made to every crease in the leather bindings. She had filled each page with meticulous care, had tallied every column twice, had… God’s mercy! Isabelle sat upright, with a hand to her forehead. She must be mad! If Evelyn could only hear her thoughts now, she would laugh long and loud. And with good cause, Isabelle thought with a groan. If anyone could be charged as dull, it was she, Isabelle, and not Justin. She would probably bore her handsome husband into weariness before a year’s time was out, God help her.
“Have you an ache, my lady?”
Isabelle dropped her hand to gaze at Lady Rosaleen, who stood before her with her young son, Lord Farron, tucked firmly in one arm.
“Oh, nay,” Isabelle replied foolishly. “I was only… thinking.”
“Ah,” said Lady Rosaleen, seating herself in the chair beside Isabelle’s. “I must have looked very similar whenever I used to think of Hugh, before we were wed. We had an exhausting courtship. But that seems to be the way the Baldwin men carry out such things. Sir Alexander held his wife prisoner for many weeks before marrying her to gain her dowered lands, Hugh forced me to labor as a servant at his estate for three months before we were wed, and Justin kidnapped you.” Lady Rosaleen laughed. “Poor Willem is the only brother among them who managed to be a gentleman, and he was finally ensnared in marriage to a lady who decided she wanted him for a husband. And a good thing it was, else he’d never have married at all.”
Isabelle laughed, too. “Justin has told me some of these stories before. I think I have been the lucky one, after all that you and Lady Lillis went through.”
“Aye, s’truth,” Lady Rosaleen agreed. “Justin has ever been the most considerate of the men, certainly when it comes to women.”
“Father Hugo seemed very kind,” Isabelle noted.
At this, Rosaleen shook her head. “Hugo, like his twin brother, loves women. All women, regardless of age or condition. I’ve seen those two charm young girls and elderly grandmothers with but a smile, the rogues. I’ll never understand how Hugo has managed to stay in the Church all these years. He’s worse than Hugh, at times.”
Remembering the warm, appreciative gaze that Father Hugo had eyed her with at the monastery, Isabelle had to agree.
“Are you still worrying, my dear, over why Justin wed you?” Lady Rosaleen asked.
Isabelle’s smile died, and she lowered her eyes. “Aye,” she whispered. “I know I should not care so much, for I can give him what he wants of me. I have just been thinking of how I miss working with my uncle’s accounts. ‘Twill be good to have some to work on again soon.”
“You have not known Justin long, as I have,” Lady Rosaleen said gently, “but if you had, you would be reassured, and would know that it is not wealth he wants you for. I have never seen him look at another woman the way he looks at you, with such tenderness and affection. And I have never seen him so content, either, despite his current anger with my husband.”
Isabelle lifted her head. “He has seemed angered with Sir Hugh. Is it because of me that they quarrel?”
“Not you, nay, but with matters that may have concerned you at one time. I do not think any man would like to be commanded to wed, do you?”
With a thoughtful frown, Isabelle replied, “He did not seem displeased to wed Evelyn until she and my uncle were so foolish as to give him insult. But for that, he would have married her.”
“Would he?” Lady Rosaleen asked. “I do not know if that is true. But let us speak of the matter no more, for I’ve no desire to test how red you can go.” She laughed lightly when Isabelle reddened even further. “My dear, if you have missed working with numbers, would you like to entertain yourself with some of my accounts? I should be exceedingly glad to let you work with any or all of them, I vow, for although I enjoy working them, as well, I’ve not much time to do so since this little one was born.” She smiled lovingly at her sleeping son. “Robert, the steward, once suggested that I give Farron over to the care of a nurse, and Hugh nearly took a whip to him, but he spoke the truth. With Kathryn and Harry just babies yet, and Galen so active—” at this, she uttered a long sigh “—I’ve not much time left for Siere, as I used to. ’Tis a blessing Hugh is so willing to lend me aid.”
“Robert does not care to take over the task?”
“Oh, aye, he does, just as he wishes to take over every task, God bless his efficient soul, but he has enough to do in keeping Hugh out of trouble, I fear. ‘Twould be unjust to make him do the accounting, as well. I suppose I should let him hire a treasurer, but I’ve always had the keeping of my own accounts and have never desired assistance until now. Any help that you might be ready to give, dear Isabelle…”
“Oh, aye, my lady,” Isabelle said at once. “I should be most glad to repay your kindness to me in any way that I can.”
The countess of Siere smiled warmly. “Then go to the working chamber that I share with my husband, and see what may be done with the accounts. Stay for as long as you are happy, and when the work grows tiresome, put it away. You have my permission to work there as often as it pleases you, save when my husband is there. I know he would welcome your company, i’ faith, but his language is so unchristian at times that I’d never expose you, or any gentlelady, to it.”
It was, for Isabelle, a boon too good to believe. She nearly dropped her needlework as she quickly stood.
“Thank you, my lady,” she said gratefully. “Is there anything urgent that needs tending, in particular?”
“The rents are far behind,” Lady Rosaleen said thoughtfully, “as are the livestock accounts. Don’t touch the household books, however, for Robert does keep those, and most jealously.”
“Will you please tell Justin where I am if he should come looking for me?”
Lady Rosaleen nodded and smiled. “I’ll tell him. Do not worry on it.”
“Robert,” said Sir Hugh as he walked into his working chamber, carrying his sleeping daughter in his arms. “Well met. Lady Kate had the audacity to fall asleep while being admired in the village. Can you imagine such a thing?”
Setting down the pen with which he’d been writing, the steward rose from his table. “Good day, my lord,” he said, adding, when Justin, holding one of his nephews by the hand, followed his brother into the room, “And also to you, my lord, Sir Justin. May I hope you have at last come to discuss important matters?”
“No, you may not,” the earl said affably. “We’ve come to have a friendly, brotherly chat—”
“Oh, have we?” Justin asked with bemusement.
“We have,” his brother assured him. “And we won’t require a legate, as I’m certain we’ll not resort to violence. If we do, we won’t need witnesses, either. Be pleased to take Katy and Harry to their nurses, Robert.”
Gazing at the small bundle in his master’s arms, Robert gave a disdainful sniff. “Really, my lord. You cannot mean it. And we must discuss these matters.” He picked up several pieces of parchment from the table. “The duke demands a reply, as does Sir Alexander, and Sir Myles is threatening to be very disagreeable if he doesn’t have some satisfaction soon.”
“Sir Myles,” said Justin, “may take himself to Hades. I would be happy to aid him in the task.”
“Justin…” Hugh said in a warning tone. Then, with a sigh, went on, “Very well. We’ll discuss matters. Now please take Katy and Harry to their nurses.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but set his sleeping child in his steward’s unready hands.
“But, my lord!” Robert sputtered indignantly.
“She’s only a babe,” the earl chided, carefully arranging his daughter’s head against Robert’s shoulder. “What grave harm could she visit upon you?” With tender affection, he bent to kiss the child’s forehead, then straightened and looked his steward directly in the eye. “Never say you’re ashamed to be seen carrying my children, Robert?”
The insult hit its intended course, and Robert’s nose lifted sharply. “I will never understand your strange sense of humor, my lord,” he said, “and I was not aware that my duties included being a children’s maid.” He gave an imperious humph and took young Harry’s hand. “Come along, Lord Harold.” As he walked out the door, he called back, “If you don’t have replies ready for me to send this evening, I’ll stand outside your bedchamber door all night.”
Justin shook his head as Hugh closed the door.
“Alexander would never put up with such familiarity in a servant, you know.”
Hugh chuckled and went to pour wine from a nearby decanter. “Alexander can afford to be stiff-necked. If it weren’t for Robert, I’d have been committed to an asylum long ago. Will you have wine?”
Justin gave his brother a considering look. “Perhaps. How long is our ‘friendly, brotherly chat’ to last?”
The earl of Siere filled a goblet for his brother and handed it to him.
“That all depends on you, I think. You might as well say what you’ve been wanting to these past many days. I’ve considered beating it out of you, but somehow the idea of trying to explain that to Rosaleen doesn’t appeal.”
Justin, smiling grimly, only shook his head again.
“God save me,” Sir Hugh said. “I suppose I’ll have the headache when this is done. Very well, then I’ll say it.” Placing his goblet on a low table, he lazily settled his long body into a comfortable chair. “You’re angry with me for meddling in your life.”
“Angry?” Justin repeated.
“Oh, all right.” The earl waved a hand about. “You’re furious. I don’t think we have to bicker about it. Despite your present feelings toward me, I am not a fool.”
Justin’s expression darkened. “I’m not in the mood for your careless manners, Hugh. If you’re going to be amusing, I’ll leave.”
“Oh, Justin,” Hugh said with a groan. “You make everything so difficult, and ever have. You were somber even as a boy, always skulking about the hallways at Gyer like a silent shadow. You haven’t changed overmuch since those days.”
“I had good reason to be as I was,” Justin told him, sitting in the chair opposite his brother’s. “I had Candis to protect from Father, and when he was gone, from Alexander’s lack of care and from your and Hugo’s dangerous ways. Before Lillis came, Castle Gyer was not a pleasant place for small children, certainly not for our young sister. Or have you forgotten?”
Hugh shifted uncomfortably beneath his brother’s steady gaze. “Nay, of course I’ve not. I realize full well what life was like for you and Candis then, and have long since accepted my own part in what you both suffered. Perhaps, in some misguided way, I’ve tried too much to take care of you now to make some sort of… recompense.”
“Recompense?” Justin repeated with disbelief. “You force me to wed as a way of making recompense?”
“As a way of keeping you from harm, aye,” Hugh admitted. “Alex wanted me to find you a bride in the hopes that a wife might settle you down and keep you out of trouble, and I thought—having heard of what transpired at Briarstone with the duke’s advisor—well, I thought, perhaps, that he might be right.”
“I’ve told you what happened at Briarstone,” Justin said tightly. “Chris told you what happened.”
“Yes, well. Ahem.” The earl cleared his throat. “How was I to know that the fellow had been trying to rape one of the women there? He said you’d taken a sword to him because he wouldn’t pay for his pleasures, not that you’d taken a sword to him because he deserved to be gelded. And before you tell me that I should have taken the trouble to ask you about the matter first, I’ll remind you that it wouldn’t have done any good. Alexander wanted you wed, and would have used any reason to accomplish the goal. You know what he is.”
“You’re an earl now, Hugh, and no longer a mere soldier for the king. You outrank Alexander.”
“Ha! As if that has anything to do with it.” Hugh took up his goblet and drank deeply. Wiping his mouth with his fingers, he said, “I should like to see you try to stand against anything that our eldest brother decided upon. It’s about as simple a thing as hacking a stone’ mountain to bits with a dull blade. And I’ll tell you truly that I thought the idea had merit.”
“Did you?” Justin asked in a low tone. “Because you think I needed to ‘settle’?”
“Because I don’t want you to keep on as you have been, aimless and solitary. You’ve nearly made yourself into a hermit at Talwar, save those few times when you visited Chris at Briarstone. I realize that what you went through with Lady Alicia was painful—”
“You,” Justin said as he abruptly stood, “of all people, should know better than to mention her name to me.” He stalked toward the fire, restless, angry. “God save me,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair. “Was ever a man so cursed as this in his family?” He fell still, staring at the flames in the hearth. “I was content with my life. It was not my intention to wed.”
“Justin,” Hugh said gently, standing to join his brother by the fire. “I would never bring you harm apurpose. If I have done so by my deeds, then I pray you will forgive me. I would undo matters if I could, but you are the only one who can do that.”
Justin lifted his head sharply. “Undo matters?”
Hugh nodded. “Sir Myles wants Lady Isabelle back. Indeed, he has gone to Duke Humphrey and demanded her return.”
“Sir Myles may rot in Hell.”
“And so he may,” Hugh agreed readily. “I believe you’ve made your feelings more than clear about that, but unless you mean to slay him and end up being tried for the crime, that doesn’t answer the problem. He wants your marriage to Lady Isabelle annulled, and has said that if she is returned to him, he will yet allow you to marry his daughter, Lady Evelyn.”
The face Justin made told Hugh everything that he needed to know about the desirability of marrying Lady Evelyn. “Ah,” he said. “I see. Ugly, is she?”
“Nay, she is quite beautiful. Extraordinarily beautiful.”
Hugh looked at him curiously. “But you did not want her?”
His gaze held upon the fire, Justin shook his head. “Not after I saw Isabelle.”
“So it wasn’t simply to punish Sir Myles? Or Alexander and me?”
Justin’s smile tightened with keen unpleasantness. “Oh, yes, it was that, too. I wish you could have seen the look on your face when I told you who I had taken for my bride. Not the wellborn beauty you’d so carefully chosen, but the ignoble daughter of traitors.” He laughed. “’Twas worth all the trouble you put me through in London, I vow. I only wish Alexander could have been here, so that I might have seen his horror, as well. A precious Baldwin wedded to such a one. S’truth, I would have given Talwar away to see his face.”
“Justin,” the earl of Siere said in a calm voice, “if you’re saying that you married that delightful creature simply to make a jest of her, I am going to beat you senseless. And then I’m going to personally return Lady Isabelle to her uncle.”
“You may beat me, or attempt to, if you like,” Justin said with equal calm. “I would verily enjoy breaking a few of your bones at just this moment. But you will not take Isabelle anywhere. Not unless you kill me, first.”
The two men stared at each other before Hugh finally pulled away, walking back to his goblet of wine, which he picked up. “I’m relieved, brother, to know that you’re not quite such a fool as you sounded for a moment. Although how any man who saw Lady Isabelle could be, I don’t understand. She’s stunning enough, by the rood. That hair. And those eyes…” His drifting voice finished the thought. “Hardly the sort of female one would want to get rid of. Which makes me wonder why you’ve not yet made certain of your rights to her.”
Justin stiffened. “She is my wife,” he said.
The earl uttered a short laugh. “She is your bride. She is not yet your wife. You are singularly unable to lie, Justin, so please don’t weary yourself with trying to make excuses. I know what it is to be married to the woman you desire above all others, and separate bedchambers aren’t part of such a relationship. But heed me well. Unless you make Lady Isabelle your wife soon, Sir Myles will have every reason he needs to take her back. There is nothing that Alexander or I will be able to do to legally stop him.”
“You must find a way,” Justin said. “I took Isabelle by force to make her my wife. I will not also force her to share my bed until she is ready to do so.”
Hugh turned to face him. “Then you chance losing her.”
Justin’s expression hardened. “I cannot make a woman accept me against her will. When Alicia did not wish to…wed me…I…” He was embarrassed by the pain he heard in his own voice, and fell silent.
“You let her run, God’s feet,” Hugh finished for him, fingering his goblet consideringly. “It was not well done, I vow. Of either of you.”
“I am not like you, Hugh. If Isabelle will come to me, it must be of her own accord.”
“Then for all your brave words, brother, you may lose her. I’m not ashamed to admit that I bedded Rosaleen while I had the chance, before she could think long enough to say me nay. After that she was mine, just as I wanted, and no man could take her from me. If you wish to keep your Isabelle, then I advise you do the same.”
“I’ll keep Isabelle,” Justin assured him. “Never doubt it. But if you want the matter to be legal, you must be the one to make certain of it. Unless you wish me to kill Sir Myles?”
“Stubborn lad,” Hugh said wearily. “Nay, I do not want you felling noblemen to keep your good lady. And, as Alexander and I are the ones who decided to meddle in your life, I suppose ‘tis only fair that we do what we can to lend you aid.”
“Now we are at last in complete agreement.”
“You needn’t beat me over the head about it. I’ve spent the past month sleeping, eating and breathing guilt. Rosaleen’s made certain of it.”
“I must thank her, then,” Justin said impassively. “Now that we have an understanding regarding Robert’s ‘important matters,’ I will tell you that Isabelle and I will leave on the morrow. I have been away from Talwar too long, already, and Chris must get back to Briarstone, as well.”
“I’ll do what I can regarding Sir Myles and the duke—” Hugh began.
“Nay, you do what you must,” Justin corrected bluntly.
“Aye, aye, whatever I must, whatever Alexander must. Don’t worry o’er the matter. Only tell me what you want me to say to Sir Myles. He wants to know what you intend.”
Justin smiled again, baring his teeth this time. “Tell him that I intend to have everything from him that is rightfully Isabelle’s and her brother’s, everything that belonged to their parents, save the lands and titles, for Isabelle must be content with what I can give her in that regard, and Senet must make his own way when the time comes. Tell him that I will have Senet beneath my care before another fortnight has passed, and that he will not interfere in my collecting the boy from Sir Howton, unless he wishes to play quintain for my next bout of jousting practice.”
“Justin, Justin,” the earl said chidingly. “Such violence.”
Placing his hands on the back of a chair, Justin leaned forward slightly, his eyes intent on his brother’s face. “Tell Sir Myles that he will not try to contact Isabelle for any reason. I shall keep her well and busy, and if he misses the use of her particular skills, he may bethink himself that I am the one who will rightfully enjoy the benefit of them, i’ faith, of all that Isabelle has to offer. Tell him that I wish him luck in finding a suitable husband for his lovely daughter, Lady Evelyn.”
The earl made a tsking sound. “’Tis clear that you do not even know what you want with the girl, whether she will be your wife or your revenge.”
“For now, she is both.”
“Don’t be a fool, Justin. You will only bring misery down upon your own head. Leave revenge aside. Forgive Alex and me for loving you well enough to meddle where we should not, and forgive Sir Myles for being a greedy fool. If you want happiness for yourself and your good lady, heed me.”
“You are my brother, Hugh, and for that I owe you love. You are the earl of Siere, and for that I owe you respect. But you are not my liege, and I do not owe you my obedience. Isabelle and I will be happy because I will make it so. As for the other…you need not fear. I’ve no desire to make a feast of revenge. Not a feast, nay. Only a delicacy, which I will enjoy until the moment it begins to make me weary.”
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Susan Spencer Paul
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uea508d4a-a2c6-5ae0-8afe-59e11b456019)
Excerpt (#ucfea13fb-270f-5270-9876-124fe3c0dc01)
Dear Reader (#uee5032d3-f7df-59f4-8e70-1f108e05d887)
Title Page (#u8eadc5a0-8933-581e-999b-e91a3cd29d07)
About the Author (#u40bbbbd5-2894-5764-803b-2408e132c4d7)
Dedciation (#ua9cc0011-3692-5805-ac6d-cc9525561b8b)
Prologue (#u1143f29c-03d0-58ca-91f5-aca2302d5653)
Chapter One (#u21561cb8-e034-5434-a319-62c20efdc566)
Chapter Two (#u541cc0b0-4a51-5d07-8857-262edefa5383)
Chapter Three (#ueea8a7e6-b237-5ee3-93fa-4c0f4d980b25)
Chapter Four (#u8012fd44-31cb-554d-a9fa-3eff6084ef64)
Chapter Five (#uadc336ba-8918-5b80-af91-ee60dd97bf77)
Chapter Six (#ueb4095fc-0b8e-5a71-bc11-a8c018ca4d0d)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
It was too late
Sir Justin’s hand closed over Isabelle’s mouth just as her eyes flew open to see him sitting beside her on the bed, and the scream that naturally followed was thoroughly muffled.
“Do not,” he warned, his voice low and firm as he placed a cloth over her mouth and quickly tied it behind her head. Isabelle tried to strike him, but found that her hands and feet were already tied. “I mean you no harm, and I do not wish to hurt you. If you will but trust me a little, I vow, on my honor, that all will be well.” Then, picking her up, he carried her to the chamber’s one window, out of which a rope dangled. “I’ve wanted to tell you this past month, but never found the chance. I find you very beautiful.”
Isabelle had always been rational. Always. But in the wake of Sir Justin calling her beautiful, rationality disappeared, and he had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her all the way down the length of her uncle’s grand manor house before it even occurred to her that she should put up a struggle…!
Dear Reader,
In the third book of her medieval BRIDE TRILOGY, The Bride Thief, Susan Paul, writing as Susan Spencer Paul, tells the story of the youngest Baldwin brother, Justin, a delightful rogue who is being forced by his brothers to marry or lose all he possesses. Justin, however, neatly sidesteps the marriage that has been arranged for him and falls for his intended’s cousin instead, a woman much more worthy of his love.
A young woman puts herself smack in the middle of the investigation of her father’s murder, despite opposition from the local sheriff, who would rather she butt out, in 1996 March Madness author Lynna Banning’s second book, Wildwood, a terrific new Western. And in Tempting Kate, longtime Harlequin Historicals author Deborah Simmons returns to the Regency era for her heartwarming tale of a haughty marquis who falls in love with the penniless daughter of a local earl, after she shoots him by mistake. We are also delighted with the chance this month to introduce our readers to a new Western series from awardwinning author Theresa Michaels. The trilogy opens with The Merry Widows—Mary, the tender story of a marriageshy widow who opens her heart to a lonely widower and his little girl.
Whatever your tastes in reading, we hope you’ll keep a lookout for all four books, wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Bride Thief
Susan Spencer Paul
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUSAN SPENCER PAUL
lives in Monrovia, California, with her husband and two young daughters. She started her first novel when she was in her early teens, but eventually put it aside, unfinished, in favor of more important interests…such as boys. Now happily married and— somewhat—settled down, she’s returned to her love of the written word, and finds it much easier to finish the books she starts.
Dedicated with love and gratitude to my wonderful mother-in-law,
Betty Joyce Liming.
Prologue (#ulink_f4e98ebc-90ce-5758-9834-319f725b5d4b)
England, May 1426
It had been exactly nine years and seven months since Sir Hugh Baldwin, the earl of Siere, married the lady whom he then, as now, loved deeply and completely. She was, in his admittedly biased opinion, the most beautiful, charming, intelligent, witty and desirable woman presently alive on God’s earth, and he counted himself the most fortunate of men to have made her his. It was understandable, then, having spent the past several weeks abstaining from his conjugal rights while this same woman recovered from the rigors of birthing their fourth child, that the earl had eagerly anticipated this particular night, when Lady Rosaleen would at last be able to rejoin him in their marriage bed, and more understandable, having embarked upon that pleasurable encounter, that he should fly into a furious rage upon being almost immediately interrupted by his steward. The steward, who steadfastly remained outside his master’s chamber door despite the dire threats hurled his way, insisted that the earl attend to the missive that had only just arrived from his eldest brother, the venerable lord of Gyer. Fortunately for the steward, the lady Rosaleen found the situation thoroughly amusing, and sent her irate husband down to his working chamber to see to his sudden and unwelcome task, promising that she would repay him tenfold for his attention to duty when he finally returned to her.
“I’m very sorry, my lord,” said Robert, the steward, as he followed his master into his working chamber, “but it cannot wait. The lord of Gyer requires an immediate reply.”
“The lord of Gyer is making a damned nuisance of himself!” Hugh informed his stoic minion as he paced the chamber, dressed in nothing more than a velvet robe. “It’s the middle of the godforsaken night! He probably had a spy here for weeks, just waiting for the moment when Rosaleen and I would shut our chamber door before he sprang. What a pestilential lot of relatives I’ve got.” Swinging about, he pinned his steward with an angry glare. “Couldn’t you have taken care of it, Robert? Forged my name or something? You know how much I hate this sort of thing.”
Spreading the parchment missive flat upon his master’s “ working table, Robert gave a calm, long-suffering sniff. “Please, my lord. The lord of Gyer’s servant must be on his way at once with your reply.”
“Damnation,” Hugh muttered, falling with a thump into the chair behind the table. “I’m going to kill Alex the next time I set sight on him. What in the Fiend’s name does he want, anywise? I hate being a nobleman.”
“That’s not what you said last week, when Lord Farron was christened.”
The earl of Siere made a face of disbelief. “Of course I wasn’t unhappy with it while Farron was being christened. What man is going to be unhappy when hundreds of people are cheering at his newborn son? Are you going to tell me what Alexander wants, or must I read this damned missive myself?”
Straightening, Robert folded his hands behind his back. “It regards your younger brother, Sir Justin. The lord of Gyer is displeased with his behavior of late and wants you to find him a wife.”
“F-find him a wife?” Hugh repeated, choking over the words. He gaped at his steward. “By the rood! Why in God’s name does he want me to do it? Alex is the eldest in this family. Let him find Justin a bride.”
“But you’re the highest-ranking, my lord. The lord of Gyer was right to put the matter in your hands.”
“Highest-ranking,” Hugh said with a snort. “That’s as good an excuse for shrugging trouble onto another man’s shoulders as I’ve ever heard.”
“My lord…”
“Oh, very well.” Hugh took the document up and began to read it. “I’ve got better things to do than sit down here arguing. What’s Alex’s complaint, then? I thought Justin was doing well at Talwar. And he and Christian Rowsenly have made Briarstone profitable, have they not?”
Robert cleared his throat discreetly. “The lord of Gyer seems to believe that they’ve turned Briarstone into a brothel, my lord. He’s not very pleased with the reports he’s had.”
Hugh lifted his head. “A brothel? Have they, now? Well, what’s wrong with that?” His voice took on a defensive tone. “It was very nearly a brothel when I had the managing of it, before I married Rosaleen and got forced into becoming the earl of Siere. Nothing wrong with brothels, though you may not be in the habit of visiting them. I spent some of the best years of my life running in and out of brothels while I was naught but a soldier for King Henry, may God rest his soul.”
“Aye, my lord,” said Robert, staring calmly down his nose at his increasingly irate master. “I’m certain that’s true. But one of the duke of Gloucester’s closest advisors stopped at Briarstone to spend the night and was displeased to be asked by the guards at the gate how much money he wished to spend for his pleasures. Sir Justin drove him off at sword point when the gentleman refused to pay anything. Needless to say, he returned to London and complained to the duke, who in turn complained to your brother, Sir Alexander, who—”
“Who decided to shove the matter into my lap,” finished Hugh, more thoughtfully. “I can scarce believe Justin would do such a thing. He’s ever been most sensible, very like Alex. Surely there’s a better way to calm the lad down than by shackling him with a wife. Ever since that Feltingad wench turned him down—”
“Lady Alicia Sherringham, my lord.”
“Yes, her,” said Hugh, waving a hand about. “Alicia Sherringham. Dim-witted wench if I ever saw one. Justin had a lucky escape when she ran off with that furrier from Carstairs. I hear she chattered the man into an asylum before twelve months were out. I’d hate to see Justin end with a similar fate.”
“But Sir Justin grieved for her, my lord,” Robert reminded him. “Remember the tournaments he attended that first year after she left him?”
“Aye,” Hugh said grimly. “And during the three years after that. It was as if he courted death. He was none too pleased when Alex and I finally arranged to have him disqualified from such events. ‘Twas another year before he spoke to either of us, and even then he was bitter. Perhaps…” He fell silent, thinking. “It may be, Robert, that Justin needs a wife. Who have we got available in the way of brides?”
Chapter One (#ulink_00628530-7192-5929-8103-36941683b523)
June 1426
Three days left. Only three. I wonder if she’ll ever forgive me?
The view from his chamber window did nothing to ease the tension that had shadowed Sir Justin Baldwin like a plague for the past month, since he received the missive sent by his brother, the earl of Siere. London, spread out before him like a crazily patterned tapestry, wasn’t the sort of inspiration that gave a man—any man—an overwhelming feeling of confidence. Of course, it didn’t help that he hated cities and towns. If he’d been home at Talwar, or even at Briarstone, everything would be different. With space to move and clean air to breathe, he might be able to think clearly enough to avoid his chosen course, but here, bound tight in London’s stench and madness, he could barely think at all.
She’ll forgive me. She must. If I had more time to woo her gently, I would. But with only three days left…
Pushing from the window out of which he had spent the past half hour gazing, Justin moved to stand before the polished steel mirror in his rented chamber. His dim reflection gave him little pleasure. His hair was overlong, he thought, frowning and running his fingers through the dark strands to smooth them. He should have had it cut—would have had it cut, if he’d had more notice. But with so little forewarning about the match that had been arranged for him, he’d been fortunate to achieve London as quickly as he had. Not that it mattered. The bride who’d been chosen for him had greeted him with less enthusiasm than Justin, himself, exhibited.
“I owe you for this, Hugh,” Justin said aloud, softly. “I most assuredly do. Could you not at least have chosen a willing lady for me?”
A knock fell on his chamber door, and at his spoken invitation, it opened.
“Good day, Chris,” he said in greeting as Sir Christian Rowsenly, the lord of Briarstone, made his way into the room, dressed in finery that equaled Justin’s.
“Almost time,” said Sir Christian. “Are you ready?”
Ready? Justin thought silently. Oh, yes, he was ready, whether he wished to be or not. If he failed in this final attempt, everything he had spent so many years working for would be taken away. Lost to him completely. All for the lack of a bride. Thus the duke of Gloucester had commanded, at the earl of Siere’s bidding, and thus it would be.
“Yes,” he said, bending to pick up his light dress sword. With a sure movement, he sheathed the beautiful weapon, which had been skillfully fashioned by his own hand. “I’m ready. ‘Twould not help our cause to keep Lady Evelyn waiting. My friend,” he said as he approached Sir Christian, setting a hand upon the other man’s shoulder, “I thank you for all you have offered to do to aid me in this matter. Only promise that you will take every care this day. If Lady Evelyn or her father should discover our intent before we have done, I will not want you sharing my rightful punishment.”
Sir Christian’s smile was fully amused. “You don’t think I’ll let myself be caught? Come, Justin, be serious, I pray.”
“I know you’ll be your excellent self, as you ever are,” Justin replied with a weary sigh, “but as everything that could have gone wrong with Lady Evelyn has, I fear I’m not optimistic about the rest of this unhappy venture.”
“Never fear,” Sir Christian said reassuringly, motioning for Justin to proceed him through the open door. “All will be well. You set your mind and skills toward charming the lovely, stubborn Lady Evelyn, and I’ll dedicate mine toward taking care of the rest. Depend upon it.”
An hour later found both men bowing, by turns, over the hand that Lady Evelyn smilingly offered.
“My lord, Sir Justin,” she said. “How kind of you to visit me again, so soon.”
The words had their intended effect, despite her gentle manner, and Justin inwardly cringed. He felt like a damned dog, sitting by her door night and day, and could only imagine how Lady Evelyn felt—probably like some prize calf at a fair being handed away to the highest bidder. She’d borne the matter admirably, and much more kindly than he would have done. Finding herself so suddenly betrothed to a complete stranger by the duke of Gloucester’s command must have been, for a beauty of her renown, quite an unpleasant shock. Until now she’d held court to an impressive assemblage of admirers, every one of them more suitable as a husband than Justin knew himself to be.
She was beautiful, educated, intelligent. At least Hugh had done that much in choosing a wife for him. And yet, Justin wondered if Lady Evelyn knew what she would lose if she married him. Talwar, with its simple comforts that appealed to Justin’s own nature perfectly, was like a stable compared to the grand wealth of this home where Lady Evelyn had been raised. Was that why she so firmly resisted the match? He was afraid it was only a small part of the reason.
“Thank you for receiving us, my lady,” he said, adding to her father, Baron Hersell, Sir Myles, “and thank you, my lord, for your long suffering in this unusual matter.”
Then, aware that the action would probably be viewed as extraordinarily rude, Justin walked past Lady Evelyn and Sir Myles, fully ignoring their surprise, and strode across the room to where another lady, dark-haired and plainly dressed, sat at a small table behind a stack of large leather-bound books. Seeing his approach, which she’d clearly expected even less than Lady Evelyn and Sir Myles, the girl flushed brightly and clumsily slammed shut the particular book in which she’d been making entries.
“Lady Isabelle.” Justin took the cold fingers she shakily proffered. Her heavy skirt caught beneath her chair as she awkwardly attempted to stand, causing her to stumble forward. Justin set a hand upon her waist to steady her, and the girl’s color became a fiery red.
“Sir Justin,” she murmured with what sounded like horror, her sapphire eyes wide.
Justin bowed over her hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again. I hope this day finds you well?”
“Oh, yes. Yes. Thank you.”
“Will you have a glass of wine, my lord?” Lady Evelyn asked behind him, displeasure clear in her tone.
Justin smiled into Lady Isabelle’s worried eyes. “Will we have the joy of your company, as well, this day, my lady?” he asked, holding fast the fingers that she attempted to tug free.
“Oh—I don’t think—”
“I fear that my niece is too occupied with her work to join us, Sir Justin,” Sir Myles stated over Justin’s shoulder. “Isn’t that so, Isabelle?”
“Isn’t she always?” Justin murmured, too low for anyone but Lady Isabelle to hear. He released her and stepped away, turning to Sir Myles with a pleasant smile.
“Have you received the satisfaction you sought from the duke?” he asked as they walked together toward the table where Lady Evelyn was filling golden goblets with wine.
“I regret to say, my lord, that I have not. I spoke with Duke Humphrey yesterday, as I promised you I would, but I remain unconvinced of the legality of his dictates. To that end, I’ve sent a missive to France for the duke’s brother, John of Lancaster.”
Justin’s brow furrowed. “John of Lancaster? How can he have any say in the matter? His concerns are only for France, as England’s regent there. Surely he would not gainsay the duke of Gloucester in any such domestic matter as this.”
“This may be true,” the baron admitted kindly, accepting the goblet his daughter handed him. “Nonetheless, I will await word from him until I make my final decision.”
“But that may be many weeks, my lord. I have been commanded to wed before this month finds its end, three days from now, else I lose all that I hold as my own.”
Sir Myles’s smile never wavered. “I understand, my lord, and I appreciate your concerns, but I cannot—will not—force my daughter to wed you or any man unless she freely consents to do so. It was her mother’s final wish that Evelyn be allowed to have a husband of her own choosing. ’Tis an oddity, s’truth, but I gave my oath of honor and cannot turn from it.”
Justin’s steady gaze moved to Lady Evelyn’s lovely face. “And you, my lady. Every day for the past month I have come, asking the same question. Has your heart experienced a change since yesterday? Do you have a different answer for me?”
The expression in her eyes told him that he was the most desirable man on God’s earth, while her lips said, “You must know how flattered I am by your declarations, my lord. I can think of no finer fate than to be wife to a man such as you are. And yet, if I only had a little more time to think on the matter… You could not wish me to come to you, to wed you, unless I can bring my whole heart?”
There it was, Justin thought. The same as every day. They must believe him to be a fool ten times over. He felt the trap being laid out as surely as if Lady Evelyn and Sir Myles were spreading a net on the floor beneath his feet. They were a cunning pair, he admitted, but come the morrow, they would know who it was had played their game the better.
“Nay. I would not.”
“Perhaps,” Sir Myles said lightly, “if Evelyn could be more certain of your regard for her, Sir Justin, such a step might become easier for her to take. After all, you were chosen for each other by the duke and your brother, the earl of Siere. It is understandable that any maid, under such like circumstances, would question the sincerity of her betrothed’s feelings.”
“I have come every day to ask Lady Evelyn to become my wife,” Justin told him. “If, after twenty-seven proposals, my desire to wed her is not evident, I cannot think that a hundred more would make the matter clearer.”
“But you would not be making such proposals if ‘twere not for the duke’s command,” Sir Myles argued, while Lady Evelyn blushed prettily. “If there were some way that you might make your own feelings in the matter more sincere, I’m certain Evelyn would feel secure in becoming your wife.”
Justin’s eyebrows rose. “More sincere?”
“Certainly,” Sir Myles said pleasantly, setting his wine goblet aside. “If you truly desire to make Evelyn your wife, could you not prove it by perhaps gifting her with some evidence of that desire? The dowry she brings to her marriage will be exceptional. A suitable marriage gift from you, in turn, would be proof of your consideration for her as a bride.”
“Father, please,” Lady Evelyn protested. “You make it sound like the veriest extortion. I’ll not be bought, nor bargained for. I want only to be certain of Sir Justin’s honest hope to wed with me, nothing more. Is it too much to ask, when we are to be bound together for life?”
“Nay, of course not,” Justin assured her, praying that he sounded fully sincere. He had never been good at plotting and deception, but if he failed in this, all would be lost.
“Perhaps,” Christian said gently, putting his own wine goblet down, “we should leave Lady Evelyn and Sir Justin to discuss the matter more privately.” He turned to Sir Myles. “I’ve been fascinated by the architecture of your fine home, my lord. Would you be so kind as to let me examine it more closely? There are a good many improvements here that I should like to have made at Briarstone, and I would very much appreciate it if you could explain the workings of some of them.”
With a bow, Sir Myles acquiesced. “A wise consideration, my lord. Indeed, perhaps Sir Justin and my daughter will be able to find their way more readily without company present. I will, of course, leave Isabelle.”
“Father, nay,” Lady Evelyn said quickly. “We have no need of an attendant.”
Sir Myles gave her a wry smile. “Haven’t you, my dear?” To Justin he said, “We will leave you for half an hour’s time. No more.”
“I am grateful,” Justin replied. “Thank you, my lord. You will have no cause for worry. I vow it on my honor as a knight of the realm.”
The baron was apparently reassured, and shortly left the chamber with Christian following behind. Justin waited until they had gone before turning his attention to Lady Evelyn, who, with a smile, had taken the liberty of refilling his wine goblet.
Chapter Two (#ulink_16e6795f-3e9e-5ff5-a7e9-6ac5f4b2ca5b)
Don’t trust her, my lord, Isabelle thought from her chair, keeping her eyes firmly on the page before her. Don’t trust either of them. ‘Tis only your land they want, only the power and influence they might gain by wedding themselves to your family.
With all the strength she possessed, Isabelle willed him to heed her silent plea.
“More wine, my lord?” Evelyn offered in the beguiling manner that never failed to charm.
“Nay, I thank you,” Sir Justin replied, and Isabelle whispered a sigh of thanks. Evelyn was captivating enough without the aid of wine, and Sir Justin would need every faculty undimmed if he was to avoid the neat trap that Sir Myles and his daughter had set for him.
He was different from the other men who courted her cousin. Entirely, wonderfully, different. Not only in his splendid physical frame, so tall and muscular, or in his face, which was by far the most handsome Isabelle had ever seen, but in his manner. Where other men praised Evelyn’s beauty with gallant words and poetry, Sir Justin spoke his admirations plainly, simply. Where other men hid behind masks of elegance and propriety, Sir Justin was open and honest, as clear as a bright day.
The next moment, she heard him add, “Will you not offer some to your cousin, who labors so greatly?” and, as Isabelle stiffened with panic and dread, he continued, even more gently, “Indeed, never once have I seen Lady Isabelle when she has not been busy with your father’s accounts. What wonderful diligence.”
Drawing in a breath through parted lips, Isabelle lifted her head, already knowing that he was looking at her. His kindness, though well-meant, was a torture for her. When her uncle and cousin had finally finished toying with him, when Evelyn at last agreed to be his wife, Isabelle knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it any longer—seeing him, suffering his gentle manners and kind ways, his pity. He was simply staring at her, she saw. Not smiling, not frowning. Simply looking into her eyes from across the room.
“Your father,” he said slowly, holding her gaze, “is most blessed to have such a considerate niece.”
“You speak truly,” Evelyn replied with the sweetness she generally reserved for such public displays. “I don’t know what we would do without cousin Isabelle. She’s an angel in every way. She knows very well that Father expects nothing from her in turn for his care of her and Senet, yet she insists upon relieving him of the most tedious duties.” She strolled toward Isabelle carrying a goblet, the tight smile on her lips giving full warning of what Isabelle had in store as soon as Sir Justin departed. “You’ve spoiled us terribly, Isabelle, dear,” she said, setting the goblet with slow care before the pile of books. “And you’ve been working so hard. Wouldn’t you enjoy a rest? Perhaps a walk in the gardens?”
Oh, no, Isabelle thought. She couldn’t save Sir Justin Baldwin entirely from her uncle and cousin, but one thing she could do was not leave him alone to battle Evelyn’s deft machinations. A few minutes alone under the heat of Evelyn’s seductive persuasions and his marriage to her would be as good as done.
“Thank you, Cousin,” she said, dipping her quill in the inkpot and bending over her work again, “but I’ll just finish this first.”
Isabelle didn’t need to see Evelyn’s fury. She could feel the heat of it where she sat.
“Leave your cousin to her work,” Sir Justin suggested in a voice filled with surprising tenderness. It was the first time Isabelle had heard him use a lover’s tone on Evelyn. “Come and sit with me, my lady. We have much to discuss.”
From the corner of her eye, Isabelle could see him touch Evelyn’s elbow, could see Evelyn turn, smiling, toward him.
“You speak truly, my lord,” Evelyn agreed with open pleasure. “There is nothing I should like more.”
Tucking her hand beneath his arm, he led her a distance away, to a couch at the opposite side of the chamber, so that Isabelle heard very little of their conversation. Making the best pretense she could of concentrating on the figures before her, Isabelle watched them—him—fleetingly, moment to moment, as she dared. She had never seen Sir Justin behave in such a way before, with such deference and charm, and the sight made her heart sink. He had fallen under Evelyn’s spell, just as every other man who courted her had. Evelyn, for her part, was masterful; shy, smiling, daintily colored with maidenly blushes.
At last, after what seemed an eternity, Sir Justin stood and pulled Evelyn to her feet. “I’m grateful for your candor, my lady, although I realize how difficult it must have been for you to speak of such matters. But have no care for that, I beg you. Now that I fully understand what you require to be made comfortable regarding the question of our marriage, I shall be able to proceed accordingly.”
“You have gladdened me beyond words, my lord,” Evelyn murmured, her eyes shining. “If I can believe that the man who would be my husband truly cares for me, then my decision to wed will be willingly and, aye, joyfully made.”
She lifted her face to receive his kiss—an invitation that just as well as sealed their betrothal—and Isabelle, her heart twisting painfully in her chest, lifted her head, to watch, as well.
Sir Justin smiled sweetly at the upturned face and closed eyes before stepping back and bending low to kiss Evelyn’s hands. Straightening, he met her bewildered expression and said, “It is past time that I take my leave, for I would never bring you harm in any measure, nor make your father worry. You have made me the happiest of men, my lady. Indeed, you have given me a gift beyond price, for which I shall ever be thankful. By this time tomorrow, I will have proven the depths of my feelings for you. I vow this by all I hold dear.”
Isabelle began to slowly release the breath she’d been holding, but when Sir Justin suddenly turned on his heel and strode toward her, the air came whooshing out in an embarrassingly loud rush. Horrified, she was hardly able to make sense of his words when he at last stopped before her and asked, “May I ask a great favor of you, Lady Isabelle?”
Dumbly, she nodded, unable to form even the simple word “Yes,” on her lips.
He smiled. “Will you do all that you can to finish your work here very soon? There will be cause for celebration shortly, and I’d not wish you to miss a moment of it. For any reason.” With a bow, he added, “I look forward to our next meeting. Good day, my lady.”
He bade Evelyn a similar farewell, and took his leave. The moment the door shut behind him, Evelyn turned to Isabelle with a triumphant laugh.
“Perfect!” she declared, her richly ornamented skirts whirling as she made her way toward Isabelle. “Just as Father said it would be. Absolutely perfect Do you not agree, Isabelle?” Setting her beautifully feminine hands on the tabletop, she leaned forward. “What? No congratulations, Cousin? Come. Wish me happy. Let me hear the words from your lips. Say them, Isabelle! I want to hear you wishing me happy.”
It was unfortunate, in Isabelle’s opinion, that she had not yet learned how to master her temper. Since her parents’ deaths four years before, she’d learned many things—how to beg for help, how to plead and crawl— but her temper, unhappily, had remained untouched by every misery that either her cousin or her uncle had visited upon her. Very French, her father had often said of her temper, approvingly. A thing to be conquered, her mother had always added with despair.
Her stony silence enraged Evelyn, as it always did, and the stinging slap that followed seemed, to Isabelle, just what she deserved for being so stubborn.
“You stupid little mouse,” Evelyn said with seething anger. “I’ve seen you looking at him, watching him. Sir Justin is handsome, is he not? Handsome, and well-favored in every way. And he’s mine. If you think a man like that would ever look at a repugnant mouse like you, then you’re stupider than I ever imagined. Now say it!” Another slap, harder this time, knocking Isabelle back slightly. “Tell me you’re happy for me, Isabelle!”
Evelyn was one of the most beautiful women in London. In all of England, so it was said. Isabelle recited the fact calmly in her mind, while her eyes registered, with deep satisfaction, that in this moment, mottled and enraged, Lady Evelyn was as ugly as the heart she hid.
“Bitch!” Evelyn cried furiously, childishly. “How can you smile? I hate you! I hate looking at your unsightly face every day, sitting here as if you had a right to such comfort, as if you were a queen, instead of naught but a beggar!”
She raised her hand again, and Isabelle straightened, preparing to receive the coming blow.
“Evelyn! Leave Isabelle be. Will you never learn to leave her in peace?” Sir Myles closed the chamber door behind him as he entered the room. “She has work to do, and I want it finished by day’s end. Leave her be.”
“She’s making me crazed, as she ever does,” Evelyn said angrily. “Why can’t you make her behave as she should?”
“Isabelle’s behavior doesn’t concern me at the moment,” Sir Myles told her curtly. “Our guests have just taken their leave. Tell me what happened with Sir Justin.”
Evelyn seemed not to hear his words. Still holding Isabelle’s gaze, she said, “It’s only pity, Isabelle. ‘Tis why he’s so kind, why he deigns to speak with you. Only pity…for a small, unsightly, insignificant mouse. You know it’s true.” She laughed when Isabelle closed her eyes against the pain the words wrought. “Aye,” Evelyn said, more softly. “’Tis worse than death, is it not? You’ve too much pride, mouse.”
Sir Myles grabbed his daughter’s arm, turning her about. “Sir Justin?” he prompted.
Evelyn’s smile was wide, brilliant. “He’s ready to give me anything I want to make me his wife. Tomorrow, he promised, he’ll prove the depths of his devotion to me. He said that he understands perfectly what needs to be done to make me comfortable in our marriage.”
“God be praised,” Sir Myles murmured fervently. “Well done, my daughter. Well done. I had thought he would surely run away when you made him wait so long for your answer. It’s been a near thing, I vow.”
“I would have made him wait until the last day, if you’d not been so insistent in the matter,” she said haughtily, pushing free and returning to the table where her wine goblet sat. “’Tis an insult to be given to a man—any man—in such a coarse manner. Sir Justin is fortunate that I find him so favorable, else I’d never have agreed to the match.”
“Oh, no, my dear,” her father countered, accepting the goblet she handed him. “I’d not have allowed you to let such a prize as Sir Justin Baldwin get away, no matter if you’d found him wholly unacceptable. An alliance with one of England’s wealthiest and most powerful families is naught to be trifled with. I gave you your moment of revenge, my sweet, but never should I have let you throw away such a boon.” He lifted his cup to her in tribute. “Wedded to a Baldwin! Who could have foreseen such a miracle befalling us? You’ll have everything your heart desires.”
“And you,” said Lady Evelyn, “will have the influence you have long craved. I expect you to remember what I’ve brought you, Father, and to be ready to repay me in the future.”
“Repay you? What nonsense is this? You’re soon to become one of the most envied women in all of Britain.”
“Being the wife of Sir Justin Baldwin will have its certain pleasures,” Evelyn admitted, “for he is well-favored in face and form, as well as in his relations. Howbeit, a duller man I’ve yet to meet. Lady Alicia told me what she suffered at his hands years past, before she found the courage to break their betrothal. He constantly wearied her with his dull manners and vexing conversation, and, despite his skills as a lover, she could not bear the thought of spending her life with such a tedious husband. I’m of no such mind to suffer the same.”
Sir Myles gave a careless shrug. “I care not how you amuse yourself in your marriage, Evelyn, nor with whom you do so. I only ask that you keep your name, and reputation, unsullied.”
“And I only ask, dear Father, that you stand ready to lend me aid as I require it. I’ll guard your interests, my lord, if you’ll help me to guard mine.”
With a smile, Sir Myles put his cup forward to lightly tap the one in Evelyn’s hand. “Agreed,” he said, and, laughing, they both drank.
“He is not dull!” Isabelle was on her feet, one fisted hand crushing her writing quill. She was as furious as she’d ever been in her life—more furious than she’d realized she could be—and when her cousin and uncle turned to her, shock on their faces, she repeated, “Sir Justin is not dull!”
After a moment of stunned silence, Evelyn began to laugh, while the baron’s face darkened with anger.
“You’ve no say in the matter, my lady,” he said sharply. “Indeed, you’ve no say in any matter. Be silent and finish your work, before I’m led to punish you for such intemperate speech.”
“I’ll not be silent!” she said hotly. “You sicken me. Both of you.” Her gaze moved over them with unveiled disgust. “Sir Justin Baldwin came here in truth, speaking honestly, in every word and deed a gentle man. Can you think it any better for him to be forced into an unwanted marriage? Yet he has behaved toward Evelyn, and yourself, i’faith, with naught but kindness and good intentions. How can you speak so ill of such a man?”
“By the rood!” the baron swore angrily, setting his goblet down with such crushing force that red wine spilled over the table and onto the floor. “You’ll not speak to me, or to your cousin, in such a froward manner!”
“Oh, Father,” Evelyn said between gasps of laughter. “’Tis too funny! Can you not see? She’s in love with him! Isabelle—” more laughter, gusting harder “—Isabelle’s in love with Sir Justin! Would he not be horrified to know of it? Can you not envision his face if he knew that such a—such an ugly mouse was in love with him?”
Sir Myles was too occupied in scowling at Isabelle to pay his daughter notice. “You’re wrong,” he said to Isabelle, “if you think I’ll ever let you wed. Save yourself trouble, my girl, and heed me well. Keep your thoughts on money and numbers, not on men. If you value your brother’s life, and your own, then understand what I say.”
But Isabelle couldn’t. Her unfortunate temper had taken control, and she was furious. For days now, as they played their game with Sir Justin, it had been simmering. Each afternoon, when he arrived and so urgently pleaded his cause, only to be turned aside by their cruel lies, it had grown hotter. Isabelle had spent four long years suffering and laboring as nothing better than a slave in her uncle’s house. Now, every insult, every unkindness, seemed to well up and burn. Holding her uncle’s gaze, raising her fist, she crushed the writing quill in her hand, mangling the instrument with labor-strengthened fingers until it was beyond use. Without expression, she dropped the broken quill on the open ledger.
Even Evelyn stopped laughing.
The silence that ensued was complete, until at last Sir Myles said, “That was unwise, Isabelle. I shall have to punish you. You shall abide in the cellar without food or drink until that account is finished. If it is not done by morning, when the banker arrives to meet with me, I shall write Sir Howton a missive regarding Senet—”
“He has naught to do with this!” Isabelle cried furiously, taking one step toward her uncle.
“You’re wrong, my dear,” Sir Myles replied calmly. “He has everything to do with it. You will go to the cellar and finish with that account before the sun rises in tomorrow’s sky—” he pointed at the book with a hard finger “—else Senet will return here to London, where he shall be made to rightfully labor for his care, in the lowliest manner I can arrange. I make you my promise on it.”
“Send him to White Tower, Father,” Evelyn suggested with purring satisfaction. “Have them put him to work cleaning out the garderobes. Or, better yet, offer him as a suitable gong farmer.”
The image of her beloved younger brother slaving daily at such a horrible, filthy task—emptying latrine pits—rapidly cooled Isabelle’s fury. She could just imagine her uncle doing such a thing to bend her to his will. He was a cruel man, as wicked as sin in most of his dealings. She’d been too closely involved in his world for too long to take the threat lightly.
Swallowing the angry words she longed to say, Isabelle stepped back and slowly sat in her chair. Her uncle’s soft chuckle told her that he understood her surrender, and she bowed her head.
“Most wise, my child. Most temperate. I shall have a new writing quill brought to you in the cellar, and plenty of candles and ink to work by. When you have dutifully finished your task,” he said, savoring the words, “and when I have approved it, you will be released.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_e9fce563-87a3-569e-a6ca-1404ad8d6549)
It was late before Isabelle was finally let out of the cellar and led, by a lone servant bearing a candle, through nightdarkened halls to the small room that was her bedchamber. Exhausted, hungry and cold, her bones aching from long hours spent crouched over her uncle’s accounts in the cellar’s dampness, she wearily prepared for sleep. In a few short minutes she had removed her clothes and put on the one nightdress she owned, unbraided her hair and brushed it, and washed her face and hands. Gratefully lying down beneath her covers, she muttered a few words of prayer, crossed herself once and, pushing all troubling thoughts of Senet aside, fell asleep.
So deeply did she slumber that at first she mistook the voice for a dream—the same dream she’d had nearly every night since she first met Sir Justin Baldwin. But in the dream, Sir Justin, being a creature of her own making, never actually said anything, and this time, his fourth whispered invocation of “Lady Isabelle” at last pierced the fog of her sleep-ridden brain with realization. By then it was too late. Sir Justin’s hand closed over her mouth just as her eyes flew open to see him sitting beside her on the bed, and the scream that naturally followed was thoroughly muffled.
“Do not,” he warned, his voice low and firm. “I mean you no harm, and I do not wish to hurt you. Be quiet and all will be well.”
“What—?” she cried when he lifted his hand.
“Hush,” he commanded. The next moment, he placed a cloth over her mouth, ignoring her struggles while he quickly tied it behind her head. Isabelle tried to strike him, but found, to her increasing dismay, that her hands were already tied, as were her feet. She screamed again, this time into the cloth, and Sir Justin took her head in his hands, holding her still as he bent over her, eye-to-eye.
“My lady,” he said patiently, “I wish you would not. There is no cause for such distress, and if you do not cease, I will have to make you insensible, which I profess I am loath to do. Already I regret the necessity that made me bind you. If you will but trust me a little, I vow, on my honor, that all will be well.” Then, picking her up, he carried her to the chamber’s one window, out of which a rope dangled. Stopping suddenly, he looked down at her, the thoughtful expression on his face fully at odds with the rampant fear that possessed Isabelle. “I meant to say this before,” he told her, “but forgot. Chris says my mind is ever scattering.” Sitting on the sill, balancing her on his lap, he swung one leg out the window. “I’ve wanted to tell you this past month, but never found the chance. I find you very beautiful.”
Isabelle had always been rational. Always. Even during those unfortunate moments when her temper got the better of her. Very English, her father had said disapprovingly. May God be praised, her mother had said with thanks. But rationality, in the wake of Sir Justin’s calling her beautiful, disappeared as if Isabelle had never known it, and the stupefying result was that he had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her all the way down the length of her uncle’s grand manor house before it even occurred to her that she should put up a struggle.
Sir Christian Rowsenly—a man she would never have thought capable of such a heinous crime as kidnapping— was waiting for them on the ground.
“It took long enough,” Sir Christian whispered tightly, bringing forward two saddled horses. “I was afraid you’d been discovered.”
“She wasn’t there,” Sir Justin replied, handing her over to his friend while he, himself, mounted one steed. “I thought perhaps you’d mistaken which chamber was hers, or that Sir Myles, being rightfully ashamed at keeping his own niece in such a mean place, had lied about it when he took you through the dwelling. I was going to search her out when she at last arrived, and then I had to hide and wait until she had prepared for bed and fallen asleep.”
“I don’t want an explanation now,” Sir Christian told him, lifting Isabelle into Sir Justin’s waiting arms. “God’s feet. If the ward sergeant catches us we’ll be drawn and quartered. Let’s get us out of London, right quick.”
“Aye, and so we will,” Sir Justin agreed, ignoring Isabelle’s squirming as he tightly tucked her up against his body and wrapped her within his cloak. With one strong arm he held her captive, with the other he guided his horse to the cobbled street that faced her uncle’s home.
“Go to sleep,” he advised her quietly as they set out toward what Isabelle knew to be the direction of Bishopsgate. “The guards at the gate have been paid to let us pass without notice, and ‘twill do you no good to make a disturbance. You are full weary.” The fingers that held the reins skimmed lightly over her cold cheek in a reassuring caress. “Sleep, if you can, Lady Isabelle. Our travel this night will be long, but I shall hold you safe. No harm will befall you, I vow.”
He must have heard the groan she gave, for even as the horses began to move more quickly he smiled down at her, so that she saw the whiteness of his teeth in the darkness. “Sleep,” he repeated. “There’s naught else you can do for yourself at the moment.”
Which was true, Isabelle thought an hour later as she fought, and failed, to keep her eyes open. True to his word, they had passed through Bishopsgate and out of the city without being questioned, and had been riding north since. There was nothing she could do to help herself until they arrived at whatever their destination was, save to let her body claim the rest it begged for. Soon enough she would discover why she had been taken, and what Sir Justin wanted her for. Better to be rested and fully aware when that time came than too weary to think.
It was easier than she thought to relax and let herself slide into slumber. Sir Justin’s body was warm, his grip strong and sure. The horses were moving at a steady pace, neither too fast nor jarring. She was more than half-asleep when she felt the cloth around her mouth being loosened and pulled free. Bare fingers and a thumb gently vised her cheeks, rubbing for a few moments to soothe the numbness away, and then her head was tucked more firmly against Sir Justin’s shoulder.
“Is she asleep, then?” she heard Sir Christian ask.
“Aye,” Sir Justin replied just as Isabelle, with a yawn, willingly gave truth to the word. “She’s asleep.”
Isabelle awoke the moment she was pulled from the saddle on which she’d been riding. The sensation she experienced, at first, was similar to drowning, and she flailed as if to save her life.
“I have you,” Sir Justin said soothingly, somewhere near her ear. “Hush, now, my lady. I have you.”
His arms cradled her and she subsided, groggy and bewildered. Her head fell against his shoulder as he carried her from the cold damp of dark night into the warmth and dryness of some dimly lit place.
“Where are we?” she murmured sleepily.
“A monastery in Cambridge,” he answered. “I’m taking you to a chamber where you may rest peacefully and in comfort. There is naught to fear.”
“I do not wish to sleep,” she told him, blinking to clear her eyes. “I wish to know what you mean to do to me.”
“Do to you?” he repeated with what sounded to Isabelle like bewilderment. He glanced at her before giving his attention to a man in dark robes, who approached them holding a candle.
“You are Sir Justin Baldwin?” the monk asked, his face unseen beneath the folds of his hood.
“Aye.”
“All has been made ready. Come with me.”
“Father!” Isabelle cried.
The monk turned. “Yes, daughter?”
“This man has taken me from my home, without my consent! Help me, I beg you.”
There was a sympathetic nod. “Aye, and so we shall, daughter, if that is your wish. You will be free to leave this place in the morn as it pleases you, either with Sir Justin or without. No harm shall come to you while you bide here. I give you this promise on the holy vows I have taken before God.” He turned and walked away.
Sir Justin followed, carrying Isabelle down a long hall and up a number of stairs before at last reaching their destination: a large, clean, well-furnished chamber, warmed and lit by both fire and candle. Placing her in a chair by the fire, Sir Justin knelt and, producing a small knife, cut away the bindings at her hands and feet.
“I regret…” he began as he tried to take her wrists in his hands to chafe them, but stopped when Isabelle yanked free of his touch.
“Leave me be, I pray you, Sir Justin.” Her tone cast harsh aspersions on his claims to the honorable state of knighthood. To the monk, who stood by the door, she demanded, “Why have I been brought here? My uncle, the Baron Hersell, will be more than displeased to know of the treatment I have received this night.”
The monk gave another nod and put his hand on the door. “There is wine on the table, and I will have food brought at once. Father Hugo has been praying in the chapel, and will arrive to greet you shortly.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.
Isabelle turned her angry gaze on Justin, who still knelt before her. “What is this about? Do not touch me!” She tried to pull her feet away, but the warm grip on her ankles held her fast.
“My lady,” he said with what Isabelle felt was unmerited calm, “be pleased to put your mind at rest. I have not brought you this long distance, to a monastery, i’ faith, to rape or harm you. If that had been my goal, I would have managed it at some other, more advantageous spot.” When she continued to attempt to pull her feet free, he said, “I am sorry for having tied you. I thought it the best way to keep you from harming yourself unnecessarily. But look—” his gaze fell to where his fingers gently rubbed her raw flesh “—the rope has done its own damage. If I could take the pain from you, I vow that I would.”
Weary, unwanted tears filled Isabelle’s eyes. She hated crying. Worse, she hated feeling out at sea, as if she were clawing at a slippery rock to gain any sort of hold.
Having long been treated as one without value, Isabelle believed that she was, in truth, without value, and so she said, “Sir Justin, I cannot think I will make a very good hostage. My uncle will not make Evelyn wed you simply to secure my return. He will probably be glad to be rid of me.”
He pulled his fingers from her feet and took hold of her wrists, rubbing them as he had her ankles. “I do not want you for a hostage,” he told her, “and I do not want Lady Evelyn for my wife.”
Despite her every effort not to let them, Isabelle’s eyebrows rose.
Sir Justin smiled. “I never thought I would ask for a woman’s hand in the accepted manner, but as I’m already kneeling at your feet, I suppose I should. Lady Isabelle, will you do me the honor of wedding with me?”
She stared at him as if he’d stunned her with a blow to the head.
He waited a full minute before prodding, “My lady?”
“W-w-wed?” she sputtered. “With you?”
“I’ve surprised you,” he said. “I understand fully how it must seem. But give me a moment to explain, I pray, and all will be made clear.”
Standing, he crossed the room and filled a goblet with wine, then returned, pressing the cup into her hands.
“Drink this,” he said, and bent to tuck his cloak more tightly about her. “Are you warm enough? I threw some of your clothes down to Chris after you’d fallen asleep, and he put them in one of his bags. I’m sure he’ll bring them as soon as he’s finished stabling the horses, and then you may clothe yourself more warmly.”
“You—” she began, then faltered. Just how often did Sir Justin Baldwin deal in kidnapping? He was apparently very well organized at it. “You seem to have thought of everything.” And then she remembered that he had stood in her chamber’s shadows and watched her prepare for bed. Heat warmed her face at the realization that he had seen her—all of her. With shaking hands, Isabelle lifted the goblet and drank deeply, praying for any measure of sustenance. She’d rather be dead than make a muddled idiot of herself in front of this man.
“I hope I have,” he replied thoughtfully. “There was no way to keep you from being distressed in some measure, but Chris and I tried to plan for your comfort, as best we could. I didn’t wish to give you greater reason to turn me—my request—aside.” There was a chair on the other side of the fire, and he settled into it, wearily closing his eyes. “You are aware, I think, that if I am not wed within three—nay, two days, now, I will lose all that I possess? My lands, my holdings, everything.” Opening his eyes, he gazed at her. “Even my horses and livestock. I must have a wife, my lady, else all that I have labored for will be lost to me. I do not care so much for myself, but there are others involved whom I do not wish to see brought low because of my misfortunes.”
“But I can do naught to help you,” Isabelle told him, lifting one hand in a placating gesture. “It is my cousin, Evelyn, whom you are to wed.”
“Not so. She was the bride chosen for me by my brother and the duke of Gloucester, but in the missive I received regarding the matter, it was only stated that I must be married by the first day of July, not that I must be married to her.”
“But Evelyn is ready to wed you. I know it has not seemed so, but she, and my uncle, always intended that it should be thus.”
“Did they?” His smile was suddenly unpleasant. “I am glad they kept from agreeing to the marriage too soon, for I do not wish to wed your cousin, lovely though she may be.”
“But, my lord,” Isabelle protested, “neither can you wish to marry me! You know nothing of me, of my family. I have no dowry, indeed nothing to call my own save what my uncle has chosen to give me. It is impossible for me to marry any man.”
“’Tis not impossible for you to wed me,” he said, sitting on the edge of his chair and leaning toward her. “I have no care for who your parents were, and I do not require a dowry. If you will take me as I am, I will take you, and gladly. I am no great lord, but my home is sufficient, and we could live well and comfortably.”
Isabelle’s head was spinning. He couldn’t mean the things he was saying. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible.
“My lord, I pray you will be serious, and cease speaking such foolishness. Surely there is another, or many others, whom you would more readily choose.”
“Nay,” he said bluntly. “Only you. Let us speak the truth with each other. Do you wish to continue living under your uncle’s hand?”
The question set her off balance, and Isabelle stared at him in silence.
He held her gaze unwaveringly. “He treats you like a servant. He dresses you in servant’s clothes. His own niece. I have never heard him speak a kind or gentle word to you. The chamber that was yours—” he hesitated when she lowered her eyes, and when he continued, his tone was more gentle “—it was in the servants’ quarters. Small and spare. And cold. I cannot fathom why he should treat you so ill, when he is blessed with more than enough wealth to easily treat you better. Especially when you continuously labor on his behalf.”
It’s only pity, Isabelle. ‘Tis why he’s so kind, why he deigns to speak with you. Only pity…for a small, unsightly, insignificant mouse.
Evelyn’s words came back full force, with stunning pain, and Isabelle murmured, “You pity me. You wish to marry me out of pity.”
He moved so silently that Isabelle hadn’t realized it until he was kneeling before her, lifting her chin in his hand so that her eyes met his.
“God’s truth, nay. It is so that I did not want a wife, but if I must have one, I would have her come to our marriage with cause of her own, wanting as much as I to make what we can of it. Lady Evelyn has no need of me, no reason to build a life with a man forced upon her against her wishes. But you might. Would you not like to have your own household to manage? Would you not like to be free of your uncle’s hand? To wed, to have children of your own? If you marry me, Lady Isabelle, I vow that I shall do all I can to make your life happy and content. We can be partners in all things, and can build a good life together. My home, Talwar, is a small estate, not grand, as your uncle’s palace is, but it is sturdy and comfortable, and the surrounding land is a goodly place for raising children. I am not an esteemed lord, as I have told you, but I have enough that you, and any children we give life to, shall never know hunger or discomfort.”
He was a stunningly beautiful man, and the knowledge struck Isabelle even more firmly as he gazed at her. His face was perfect, save for a scar above his brow and a smaller one on his cheek, but neither detracted from the wide set and alluring darkness of his ale-brown eyes, or the aristocratic line of his nose, or the tilt and fullness of his lips. His hair, as richly dark as his eyes, hung thick and waving to his shoulders, which in themselves were amazing to behold. She had never seen a nobleman with such a large, muscular form as Sir Justin Baldwin possessed. He looked more like a hard-laboring smithy than a knight of the realm.
“But why me?” Isabelle shook her head in disbelief. “There must be so many others—”
“Nay,” he said once more. “There are not. And if there were, I’ve no time to find and woo them.” Taking the goblet from her unsteady clasp and setting it aside, he gathered her hands up in his. “We would do well together, my lady. I admit that ‘tis a strange way to start a marriage, but if we are good and truthful to each other and strive to make what we can of our union, there is no reason why it cannot be as happy and fruitful as other marriages are.”
It wasn’t right, she thought. Here he was, so handsome and fine that he could have any woman in the world, asking her to be his wife.
“There are things about me that you do not know,” she said with open misery. “My family has long been loyal to France. Four years ago, my father was convicted as a traitor.” She searched his face for the revulsion she had thought would appear, but his dark-eyed gaze neither faltered nor changed. “He was executed, and all of his lands and possessions were taken from my family. My mother died soon after. Of shame.”
A frown settled on his handsome face, and after a moment he ventured, “Gaillard? Isabelle Gaillard? Your father was the Comte Gaillard?”
“The comte was my uncle in France. His titles and properties have since been reclaimed by the crown. My father lived in England, for my mother’s sake. He oversaw the Gaillard lands here.”
Understanding lit his features. “Ignace Gaillard. Was that your father? Lord Lomas?”
She nodded.
“And your mother was Baron Hersell’s sister? Is that how you come to be beneath his hand?”
“Aye. She was his half sister, through her mother.” Lowering her eyes to their joined hands, marveling on how strange it was to have any physical contact at all with this man, she said, “And so you understand, my lord, that it is impossible for us to wed.”
“Nay, my lady, I do not. I would be honored to have such a wellborn woman for a wife. Will our children not be blessed to receive such a noble heritage?”
Children, she thought. How beautiful his children would be, especially if they took after him, with hair and eyes the color of dark, rich earth.
“But your family would be distressed to have you wedded with the daughter of a traitor.”
“My family has no say. After what they have done to me in this matter, I have no care for their sensibilities. I have said that I would be honored to wed one so nobly born, and so do I mean it. I will never speak lies to you, Isabelle.” He pressed her hands more firmly. “Will you marry me?”
“It is so sudden. I…I must think on it.”
“I fear there is little time for such. Your uncle will be after us soon, if he is not already. ’Twill not be difficult for him to follow after and find us. The men who let us pass through Bishopsgate will readily tell in which direction we rode, especially if Sir Myles pays them well. After that he need only stop at each village on the road to ask whether we passed through, and that will lead him directly here. We must be wed very shortly, before he arrives. Within the hour, i’ faith.”
“But I do not have his permission to wed. I cannot marry without it.”
“What I lack in personal esteem,” he told her, “I possess in family influence. One of my brothers is a priest, and he is here and will marry us. Once the marriage is consummated, your uncle would not be able to remove you from my care, unless he went to the duke of Gloucester to have the union annulled.” He smiled. “The duke will shortly receive missives from my brothers, the lord of Gyer and the earl of Siere, both of whom will request that the marriage stand as legal. I cannot think even the king’s regent will wish to anger two such powerful men as they are.”
“C-consummated?” she repeated with a gulp. “Here? Now?”
His soft laughter seemed to shiver all the way through Isabelle.
“You needn’t worry about that until after you’ve agreed to wed with me.” With a gentle, reassuring squeeze of her hands, he added, “In truth, you needn’t worry about it at all. I will never hurt you, Isabelle.”
“My brother,” she said, thinking suddenly of Senet. “I cannot leave him alone in my uncle’s authority. He is but ten-and-six, and Sir Myles has no care for him, except as a way of keeping me from being disobedient.”
“Ah,” Justin said. “I begin to understand the reason for your devoted service to your uncle. Your brother will come to us, then. He has been fostered with Sir Howton, has he not?” When Isabelle nodded, he said, “I will continue to train him for knighthood, just as Sir Howton has done, and he will have all that we can give him to make his way.”
Isabelle leaned forward. “My lord, do you mean this?”
“On my honor, before God, I vow it.”
The door to the chamber opened, and both Isabelle and Justin turned. A tall blond man, dressed in brown robes and bearing a large steaming bowl, entered.
“God’s mercy,” he said, having contemplated them for a silent moment. “I never in my life expected to see you on your knees before any woman, Justin. You’re clearly more desperate than I understood. Have you convinced Lady Isabelle to become your willing wife, or are you yet trying to persuade her?” Walking farther into the chamber, he set the bowl on a low table. “I’ve brought food,” he stated, and stood to his full height, smiling down at Isabelle. “My dear, you are the most welcome sight I’ve had in many a year.”
“Hugo,” Justin said warmly, standing and hugging the other man. “’Tis good and better to see you again.”
“Aye, and so it is,” the priest replied, returning the embrace. “Be pleased to introduce me to Lady Isabelle, brother.”
“My lady, this is my brother, Father Hugo. He is going to wed us.”
“If Lady Isabelle is willing,” Father Hugo added, moving forward to take Isabelle’s hand. With a warm smile, he bent and kissed her fingers. “My lady,” he murmured, “I am honored. Justin sent me an urgent missive regarding you, and it is with great pleasure that I meet the woman who has finally captured my youngest brother’s heart.”
He was too handsome to be a priest, Isabelle thought. And far too admiring. She could feel herself turning red all the way up to the roots of her hair. “Oh, no, Father, I fear you misunderstand. ‘Tis only that he must wed to keep his lands. I’ve not captured Sir Justin’s heart, or any part of him.”
The look that possessed the handsome priest’s face reminded Isabelle of nothing so much as the pleased way her uncle looked when he saw the profits mounting up in his account books. Beneath his interested scrutiny she felt, for a moment, like a vastly valuable treasure. “That, my very dear lady,” said Father Hugo, “remains to be seen. And so—” he again stood full height “—have you decided which road you’ll take? Are you going to marry this knave and go with him to Talwar, or shall I send for your uncle to come and escort you back to London? For me, I should advise trying the first. From what Justin’s written me, you’ve already tried the latter without much satisfaction. Or is he mistaken?”
“Nay,” she admitted softly, drawing Justin’s warm cloak more firmly about her. “’Twas not pleasant to live beneath my uncle’s hand.”
“Then you may as well try marrying my brother,” Father Hugo suggested cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. “He’s not perfect, i’ faith, but I can promise he’s better than most. If he’s not good to you, you need only send word and I’ll come and make him behave.” He grinned at his younger brother. “I give my vow on that. Now, what say you? Shall I lend my blessing to a wedding this night?”
Justin’s gaze held Isabelle’s, questioning. She drew in a long breath and released it shakily. With a nod, she committed herself to a new, unknown life. “Aye. You shall.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_e6476a94-be17-5076-bf82-78a04da12748)
The marriage took place as soon as Isabelle had been given a chance to eat and clothe herself. Surrounded by men—Sir Christian and several silent, solemn monks—she stood beside Sir Justin Baldwin in the monastery’s small chapel and agreed to be his wife. It should have been, she thought afterward, a moment that carried a certain amount of weight, joy or fear or some life-changing impact. But it had been nothing more than a very simple matter. Sir Justin repeated his vows, put a plain gold ring on her finger and, having received it from his brother, passed the kiss of peace along to her by setting his lips briefly against her cheek. And so, in a matter of a few minutes, they were married. At least in the eyes of the Church. What her uncle would think about it, Isabelle wasn’t able to imagine.
Father Hugo heartily hugged and kissed her when it was over, as did Sir Christian, who said, “You are a kind and beautiful lady, Isabelle Baldwin. Justin is a fortunate man, indeed. I pray God I will be as blessed someday.”
Congratulatory cups of wine were passed and drunk, and then, too soon, Justin was taking hold of her elbow and saying, “There is not much time before daylight. We will bid you all good-night”
Isabelle had never felt so embarrassed in all her life, standing before a roomful of holy men who surely realized Sir Justin’s intent to consummate the marriage.
Father Hugo, setting a reassuring hand on Isabelle’s shoulder, said, “Go and tend to this final matter, then, knowing that God has blessed your union. We will send no witnesses with you, for Lady Isabelle should not suffer further distress this night, when she has already so generously done all that has been asked of her.” He must have heard the breath of relief that she released, for he smiled warmly and kissed her cheek. “God be with you, daughter. Go now with your husband.” To Justin, he added, “I trust you will take every care with your good lady, brother.”
“Aye,” Justin replied simply, pulling Isabelle toward the door and not seeming to notice how stiffly she went.
“Well,” she said as they walked side by side down the darkened hall. “Well.”
He chuckled and said, “Indeed.”
When he suddenly put his hand on her waist, she nearly jumped into a wall.
“Forgive me,” she murmured. “I fear that I’m a little… unused to this.” Which was, she thought, a rather weak way of saying that she’d never so much as kissed a man.
His hand pressed against her with light warmth. “There is no need to ask forgiveness, Isabelle. You have never known a man and are afraid. ‘Tis understandable, i’ faith.”
He stopped before the chamber door, which he opened, stepping back to allow her to enter. A simple room had never looked so awful to Isabelle before. She cast a glance at the bed and imagined herself there, beneath this man, her husband, as he made her his wife.
“Come, Isabelle.” He took her hand and drew her farther in, closing the door. “Let us have an understanding.” Turning her unresisting body by the shoulders as if she were a powerless puppet, he drew her near. “We are all but strangers, you and I, and yet we are also man and wife. I would have you strive to trust me in all things, just as I will strive to trust you.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, gently. “But such as that will take time, and I would not repay the kindness you have done me this night by forcing you to lie with me before you are willing. When I make you my wife complete, ‘twill be because you wish it, and because you have come to trust me. Is this as you would have it, Isabelle?”
“Oh, aye,” she said with open relief, thankful for a reprieve. “You are kind, Sir Justin, and I am more than grateful.”
He nodded. “We will wait until we have achieved Talwar, then, and when you are ready to become my wife in every way, you will let me know. Only promise that it will not be long, for make no mistake—I mean us to be man and wife in every way, and for that I will suffer impatience.”
Isabelle swallowed loudly. “’Twill not be long,” she promised.
“Then we must now make an agreement between us. I abhor falseness in any form, but even more would I abhor forcing you to an intimacy you do not yet desire. Your uncle will demand proof of our union. You understand this, do you not?”
“Aye.”
“Then, if you wish to have time to know your husband better before you share his bed, you must be prepared to answer accordingly. This thing will be between the two of us only.”
Stepping back, he rolled up the long sleeve of his tunic, uncovering his muscular forearm, then strode to the bed and pulled the covers away to expose the stark whiteness of the sheets beneath.
He paused a moment and looked at Isabelle, who stared at him in incomprehension until he pulled a small dagger from a sheath at his belt.
“My lord…” she said, as if she would stop him.
“’Tis the only way,” he said. “Unless you wish to pursue the matter in the more usual manner?”
Without waiting for an answer, he drew the blade across his skin, on the inner arm, beneath his elbow. Red blood welled bright, and when he held his arm over the bed, a few drops fell. He smeared them with his fingers, then stood back and viewed the stain he’d made.
“I’ve no experience with virgins,” he admitted. “I pray that will be sufficient to satisfy your uncle, and any others who may challenge our marriage.”
Isabelle was searching the chamber for a cloth, and at last found a linen napkin. “Here,” she said, taking his bleeding arm. “Let me bind the wound. I pray it will heal readily.”
“It will,” he murmured, smiling as she bent over her work to tie the cloth tightly. “You are a good wife, already,” he said. “Taking care of me so. I like it very much. Isabelle?” She lifted her head, and he took her chin in his free hand. “If you will let me, I shall kiss you as a husband should properly do.” He didn’t wait for permission, but placed his mouth gently over hers and tenderly kissed her, meaning only to give her pleasure and affection. When he lifted his head, he saw, with delight, that she looked dazed.
“Did you like it?” he asked.
She nodded and closed her eyes, and he willingly accepted the offer, lowering his mouth to hers once more, kissing her as chastely as he could, until he felt his body begin to catch fire.
“If we do not stop,” he murmured against her lips, “we will be adding proof to the bedsheet.” With regret, he stepped away from her warmth and softness. “’Tis verily most promising.” He bent and pulled the bedcovers over the stained sheet. “You are full weary, I vow. Lie down and sleep, my lady, and in the morn, if your uncle has not arrived, we will leave for Siere.”
“For Siere?” Isabelle repeated, gratefully sinking down upon the bed.
“Aye.” He rolled the sleeve of his tunic over the binding she’d put on his wound. “I must present you to my brother, the earl, and make certain that my lands are safe.”
She sat up again. “Your brother…when he knows the truth about my father…”
“He will have naught to say on the matter,” Justin replied calmly. He sat on the bed and pushed her down on the pillows. “You are my wife now, Isabelle, and I will not give you up. No man will take you from me, be he your uncle or mine own brother or the duke of Gloucester. In time, you will learn to trust me. It is all that I ask of you.” With his fingertips, he stroked the hair from her brow. “You have been through much this night. Sleep, if you can. All will be well.”
“What of you, my lord? You must be very weary, also.”
“In truth, I am. I will sleep there, by the fire, for a time.”
“If my uncle comes, will you tell him about Senet?”
“Aye. Is there anything you want from your uncle’s home? Any possessions of your own that you value and would have?”
Sadness touched her features, and Justin’s hand, yet stroking the hair at her forehead, fell still.
“What is it?” he asked.
“He will never let me have them. And, in truth, all that once belonged to my parents was made forfeit by the crown. Baron Hersell has more right to them than I.”
His hand began stroking again. “We shall see.”
Weariness made her close her eyes. “I do not wish to cause you trouble.” She yawned. “It is enough to be away from him.”
“’Twill be no trouble. You should have all that is rightfully yours, and though it may be many months in coming, one day you shall.”
But she had already fallen asleep beneath the soothing rhythm of his hand, and didn’t hear his vow. Justin sat beside her for a long while, contemplating his new wife and stroking her silky black hair, which was, he thought, extraordinarily long and beautiful. Her blue eyes, which he also thought beautiful, ever stood out starkly against the frame of her hair. When they first met, he had found it difficult to pull his gaze away from her entrancing face. He was not a man to take anything for granted, and he did not do so now with Isabelle. He had done very well in choosing himself a wife, he thought with pleasure. Far better than his brother Hugh had done. Of a certainty, Hugh would be furious when he discovered the truth, as would Alexander, and Hugo would equally fall victim to their wrath for his part in lending his aid in the marriage. But, although he regretted bringing Hugo grief, Justin didn’t really care. He had the wife he wanted now—a good, fine wife, for whom other men would envy him— and they would make a life together whether his exalted family bade them well or no.
Chapter Five (#ulink_85812c04-c7c9-52f1-be59-979b640ce720)
She was dreaming that her dreams were real. The man she loved was her husband, and they had the most beautiful children—two boys and a sweet tiny girl—and he loved her. They were walking beside a wide, slow-moving river, their children running before, playing and laughing, and he took her hand. She turned her head and smiled, and he, so handsome and fine, smiled back. She could read his love for her in his eyes. It was there, as clear and constant as the river. She knew the feel of his mouth on hers, the warm, sweet pressure. He loved her, and her heart was full of the knowledge.
“You’ll not keep me from searching the place! Get out of my way, holy man, else I’ll strike you down.”
The sound of her uncle’s voice seared through her dreams like a blistering heat, and Isabelle sat bolt upright.
“Justin!” she cried, and the next moment his hands found her in the darkness.
“I’m here. Whisper. Take off your clothes and get under the covers. Hurry.”
He began to tug at her lacings, and she pushed his hands away. “I’ll do it,” she insisted shakily and, with trembling fingers performed the task herself.
He stood and moved about the room; she could hear him throwing his boots off and putting on his sword.
“I wish I could remove my tunic,” he murmured distractedly in the darkness.
“Where is the slut?” Her uncle’s voice boomed louder. “Isabelle! Attend me!”
“Hurry,” Justin said, sitting beside her again. “Nay, remove everything, Isabelle. Do not be afraid.”
“But—”
Without warning, he took hold of her chemise and dragged it over her head, throwing the garment on the floor beside her other clothes.
“Now, under the covers. Nay, do not lie down yet. Help me, Isabelle.” The warmth of his hands fell on her bare shoulders. “Kiss me,” he murmured, already pressing hard, hot kisses rapidly against her face and neck. “We must look as if we’ve been loving. Put your arms around me, sweet. Your hands in my hair.”
His mouth came down on hers then, open and moist, and his tongue pushed between her teeth to invade the depths of her mouth. Shocked, she tried to push him away, but he was solid and heavy, as if made of stone, and her distress went ignored. Pressing her down on the bed, he kissed her harder, until Isabelle felt tears of pain stinging her eyes. When he at last pulled away, she gasped for air, and tried to turn away, but he held her face between his palms and ran his tongue over her lips.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, placing more stinging kisses on her face and neck.
Finally, as Sir Myles’s angry voice neared their door, he thrust his hands into her thick, unbound hair, rapidly disordering it.
“Keep yourself covered,” he commanded as he stood. “And trust me, Isabelle.”
The next moment he had flung the chamber door open, and in the candlelight from the hallway Isabelle could see that he held his dagger in his hand. Her uncle appeared, his face first angry, and then, as Justin grabbed him by the collar, surprised. He began to say a word, but only air whooshed out of him as he was shoved up against the far wall with the dagger held against his throat.
“Now,” Justin said into the other man’s face, “did I hear you insult my good lady wife a moment ago, sir?”
“Aye!” Sir Myles sputtered wrathfully. “I’ll name her. slut and more, i’ faith!” Craning his neck, he looked past Justin’s broad shoulder until he saw Isabelle sitting in the bed, thoroughly disheveled and covered all the way up to her neck with bed linens. “Harlot!” he shouted furiously. “Jezebel! Ungrateful who—”
The last word died unfinished as Sir Myles choked.
“I will kill you for speaking thusly of my lady,” Justin told him, seething, pressing the blade closer.
Suffocating, Sir Myles flapped his arms like a helpless bird. “Off,” he managed, his bulging eyes pleading desperately with Father Hugo, who stood nearby. “Off!”
“That’s enough, Justin,” his elder brother said calmly. “I do not say he doesn’t deserve death, but I’ll not suffer murder within these sacred walls.”
“Then I shall take him outside,” Justin replied evenly.
“Where his men will kill you after you’ve finished with him. Nay.” Father Hugo set a hand on his shoulder, attempting to pull him back. “I’ll not let you be killed this night for such a one as this. Leave him be.” When Justin gave no proof of hearing his words, he added, “Do you wish to make Lady Isabelle a widow so soon after she became a wife?”
“Nay,” Justin admitted. He released Sir Myles and stepped back, warning, “Guard your tongue, and do not speak thus again, else I swear by heaven I will indeed kill you.”
Sir Myles put a hand to his throat and breathed with loud relief. A moment passed before he was able to say, “You—you stole her. You insulted my daughter, and me.”
“I stole the wife I wanted,” Justin said, “to this I admit. As to your daughter and yourself, I cannot think that any insult I may have given compared to that which was given me.”
Sir Myles looked at him with renewed fury. “We gave you no insult! I was willing that my only daughter should become your wife. Evelyn has fully expected to wed you two days from this. How could you mar her name and reputation so? ’Tis worse than mere insult! And to steal my niece from my own home, while I slumbered. With the help of your bastard friend, Sir Christian Rowsenly.” He said the name with sour disdain. “I never should have been so generous as to allow that illegitimate whoreson into my ho—”
The dagger went up again, and Sir Myles was once more thrown against the wall. This time Father Hugo had to use both arms around Justin’s shoulders to pull him away.
“He’s cut me!” Sir Myles cried with horror, pulling bloodied fingers from his throat. “He’s—he’s nearly killed me! My knights! Attend me!”
“Aye!” Justin snarled, amid a loud clattering in the hall. “And but for my brother, I should have done.” He powerfully shoved Hugo away. “Call every man in your service, Sir Myles.” Justin pulled his sword from its sheath, holding it skillfully in his other hand even as the blooded dagger twirled like a butterfly in the other. “’Twill do you no good. I will yet kill you, and happily.” Raising his voice, he called, “Christian Rowsenly! Attend me!”
“I am here, my friend,” Sir Christian said with placid calm as he strode through the crowd made by Sir Myles’s men. “Unharmed and well, and wishing you would be less ready to take insults that belong to me.” Turning to smile at Isabelle, who was trembling with the awareness that she was starkly naked beneath the bed linens, he said with more gentle reassurance, “My lady, you would do as well to return to your slumbers. This is an interesting display, i’faith, but naught shall come to harm you.”
“I want no fight,” Sir Myles said. “My niece has proved her ingratitude this night for the years of care that she and her brother have received at my hand, yet I am willing to take her back. Whatever ceremony took place here this night will be annulled, and you may consider your betrothal to my daughter forever broken, Sir Justin.”
At this, Justin laughed. “I considered it well broken many days ago, when I realized the game that you and your daughter played upon me. I came to you with honor, and you treated me with naught but contempt. Worse, you sought to steal my lands for yourself by making them a payment for your daughter’s hand. But now, my lord, you will suffer the game I have chosen. I have done the stealing, and your niece is my wife. Mine, Sir Myles. You will not have her back.”
Sir Myles turned nearly white. “I must have Isabelle back.”
“So that she may continue to increase your wealth?” Justin asked pointedly, laughing again when Sir Myles’s mouth fell open. “Oh, aye, I’ve learned much about you these past many days, my lord. All that you have has come to you through Isabelle’s efforts. You have made her like a slave to gain riches. Now I am the one who shall enjoy her talents, who will have the benefit of the skills she possesses. She will make me rich in ways you’ve not yet begun to fathom.”
“Nay! You’ll not!” Sir Myles sputtered. “I’ll go to the duke and demand her return. I am her legal guardian, and she did not have my permission to wed. ‘Tis all illegal!”
“Is it?” Justin asked, sheathing both his sword and dagger with equally fluid movements. “We shall see.” He turned and strode back into the chamber, not stopping until he had reached Isabelle and scooped her, bed linens and all, into his arms and out of the bed. “Look!” he said, his tone daring. “Look and see. I have taken Isabelle as my wife before the Church, and in the way of men. The proof is here, my lord. Can you think the duke will deny it? The law requires nothing more than Isabelle’s unforced consent in the matter, and every man who attended our marriage— and Isabelle herself—will attest that she was willing.”
Sir Myles stepped into the chamber, staring at the blood-stained sheet as if it were a horror. “You stole her,” he repeated weakly. “It cannot stand as legal.” He lifted wide eyes to gaze at his niece. “Isabelle, you must come back. Have you no care for Senet?” His meaning was clear.
“You threaten my wife at your peril, my lord,” Justin warned in a low voice. “I have never asked my brother, Alexander of Gyer, for anything in my life, but on the morrow I will send him a missive, asking him to use every power he possesses to have Senet Gaillard put into my guardianship. You will know that the lord of Gyer is a man who is not denied what he asks for by either crown or regent. Until Senet is under my hand, you will treat him well, or suffer facing the king’s regent with my complaints regarding your care of him.”
Sir Myles began to shake. He clamped his trembling hands together in an effort to still them, but when he took another step toward Isabelle, he only appeared to be pleading. “Isabelle, you must come back with me! I’ll give you anything. Do anything. Evelyn will be kind. I swear it. You can’t want to go with this man. He doesn’t care for you. ‘Tis only your ways with money that he wants. Can’t you see that?”
Isabelle saw it. She’d heard Sir Justin openly proclaim the fact before everyone present, while she sat in the bed and felt as if someone had speared her with a jousting lance. She’d been more than a fool to dream that he might want her for herself, that he might care for her, to let herself believe that he’d spoken the truth when he called her beautiful. Now, held in his arms—not with the value of a person, but only as a prize to be fought for—she was filled with pain. She knew what she must look like, naked beneath the covers, marked and reddened from Sir Justin’s kisses, with that deceitful stain on the bed. Mortified at what all who saw her would think, shamed by her foolishness, she wished she could crawl into a hole and hide. But there wasn’t a hole anywhere nearby, and so Isabelle took the only refuge she had at hand, closing her eyes and burying her face against her husband’s hard shoulder.
Justin’s arms tightened about her. “You’ve had your answer, my lord. Now go.”
“Think, Isabelle!” Sir Myles persisted desperately. “Only think. You’re no better with him than you were with me. Do you think he’ll make anything but a slave of you? Evelyn and I offer you the ties of blood, of family. And matters will change, I vow it! I’ll give you a house, and servants of your own. Senet will live with you, as it pleases you. I’ll hire tutors for the lad, and buy his knighthood when the time comes. Isabelle,” he pleaded. “Please come back with me!”
It was true, she thought, pressing a fist against her eyes to keep the tears from spilling out. She was only exchanging one master for another, going from one place of labor to another. But Sir Justin, at least, had shown her kindnesses that had not been necessary. He’d done everything he could not to distress her. And he had told Sir Myles that Senet would come to them at Talwar—if he had lied about other things, at least he’d not lied about that.
“I’ll not go back,” she managed, weeping. “I will go with Sir Justin.”
“Isabelle!”
“Nay!” Justin cut him off. “No more. You will not torment her further. Leave now. I do not merely ask it of you. Go.”
An angry silence filled the room.
“Very well,” Sir Myles said at last. “I will take my men and leave. But heed me, Sir Justin Baldwin. I’ll have Isabelle back. I swear it by all that is holy. And you’ll come to regret this night and your vile deeds. You will, sir. You will.”
When he had left, Justin sat on the bed, cradling a silent Isabelle in his arms.
“A dangerous man,” Father Hugo commented. “Beware him, Justin, and keep control of your temper. As God’s holy word tells us, ‘Be slow to wrath, for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”’
“But it does get rid of Sir Myles,” Justin replied wearily.
“What do we do now?” Christian asked. “Would it not be wise to make for Siere?”
“Aye.” Justin turned his gaze upon Isabelle, who still had her eyes closed against his shoulder, although he knew she did not sleep. “Would that we could rest longer,” he murmured. “But we cannot.” To Christian he said, “We will clothe ourselves and make the horses ready, and then we will ride full haste for Siere, where I will have much to say to my brother the earl.”
Chapter Six (#ulink_7d0be7c0-8cb2-595b-a355-95cb9c1b13e4)
Siere was, for Isabelle, a daunting place. Everything about it was grand, as well as on a grand scale. The castle was enormous, with so many stairs and hallways and chambers that Isabelle commonly got lost. The land surrounding the castle was vast, stretching so far that, even when Justin took her to the castle’s highest tower and pointed out the direction of the borders, she’d not been able to see the end of it. The town of Siere was really a bustling city and, from the personal wealth of the earl and his lady, Isabelle realized that local commerce must be quite healthy.
Isabelle knew the signs of prosperity when she saw them, just as she knew and understood bankers, moneylenders, traders and businessmen. It took a calm, sure hand to manipulate all of those involved to bring about a city’s financial success, and Isabelle was filled with admiration for the one who’d guided Siere along just such a path. Sir Hugh, the earl of Siere, had smiled at Isabelle’s shy compliments on the matter and revealed that it was his wife, Lady Rosaleen, who managed Siere and made every major decision. “I’m only here to make speeches,” he told her, “and to keep the children occupied when their mother wants some rest. Otherwise, I’m nothing more than the official bedfellow.” This he accompanied with a smile so meaningful that even the memory made Isabelle’s cheeks burn. Of course, it wasn’t all true. Lady Rosaleen might be the one who actually had the managing of Siere, and did it very capably, but it was Sir Hugh who ruled. He was an estimable lord, seeming to know everything without being told, heading off trouble before it occurred, always saying the right word at the right moment. Isabelle had only been at Siere for a week, but in that time she’d seen Sir Hugh deftly handle a number of his citizen’s complaints with the ease and wisdom of a Solomon, and she had yet to see one person leave the castle whose anger hadn’t been transposed into calm.
The earl had a gift for putting people at ease, which Isabelle had experienced firsthand when she arrived at Siere and Justin introduced her to Sir Hugh and his wife. Exhausted from the long ride, and weary from the rapid experiences of being kidnapped and married in only a matter of hours, Isabelle had only stared when the earl of Siere sauntered toward her with a welcoming smile on his lips. It had taken several long moments before she was able to mumble some kind of reply, and then, as he stood holding her cold fingers in his engulfing hand, he’d chuckled with warm amusement and said, to Justin, “I gather that you’ve not yet explained about Hugo and me being twins. The poor girl probably thinks that her wits have wandered away.” Which was exactly what Isabelle had thought, at least until Justin explained why it was that the priest who had married them and the earl of Siere looked to be the same man.
Sir Hugh had seemingly received the news of Justin’s bringing a different bride to Siere from the one that had been chosen for him with ease, giving no more evidence of surprise than the slight lifting of one eyebrow, and yet Isabelle was wary. He had been all that was kind this past week, but she had seen him contemplating her often, with a silent, seeking regard, and it was clear that very little escaped those piercing green eyes. A silent tension existed between himself and Justin, as well, and if the earl wondered why his brother and his brother’s new wife didn’t share a bedchamber, he never voiced the question aloud. At least, not in Isabelle’s hearing.
Lady Rosaleen, fortunately, was a much less bewildering presence. Beautiful, forthright and kind, she had immediately accepted Isabelle as her sister-by-marriage, and had done everything possible to make her comfortable.
“Don’t let Hugh rattle you, my dear,” she’d said when she took Isabelle to her chamber. “Baldwins tend to be rather intense, and my husband has the added difficulty of being a dreadful meddler. If there’s any trouble to be gotten into, Hugh will be the first to get into it. He’s not quite as serious-minded as Sir Alexander and Justin are, however, so perhaps that makes up for some of it. Not,” she’d added quickly, glancing at Isabelle with a smile, “that there’s anything wrong with being serious-minded. Justin is a marvelous man in every way, including his sober nature. But I don’t need to tell you that, do I, my dear? Do you love him very much?”
She did, and, sitting before her chamber fire, she’d admitted it, and everything else, to a sympathetic Lady Rosaleen.
“I don’t know how it came to be,” she said miserably, setting her weary head into her hands. “All the time he was courting Evelyn I loved him, and even now, when I know he only wed me to save his lands and to…to further his own gains, I love him. Evelyn spoke truly when she said that he would be horrified to know of my regard. I am a fool.”
“Oh, nay, never,” Lady Rosaleen assured her gently, setting a comforting hand on Isabelle’s shoulder. “You are weary and distressed, and upset at being taken forcibly from your home and married so shortly after, just as any woman should be, but you are not a fool. I cannot say why Justin has done what he has, but you may believe that he would not have taken you unless he held you in some regard. It may be, my dear, that he cares for you more than you think.”
But Isabelle found that hard to believe, despite Justin’s continually courteous and gentle manner toward her. She had only to look in her mirror to see that her face, so plain and common, couldn’t compare to her cousin’s, or Lady Rosaleen’s, or those of most other women. It certainly wasn’t the sort of face to inspire love. And as to the rest of her…well, Isabelle supposed that the most generous thing that could be said about her was that she was kindhearted. But that, matched with her temper, was probably far from sufficient to cause any man to want her. And there was always her unfortunate love of mathematics to consider. Although her skill with numbers was considered well enough in the way of increasing fortunes, it was seldom a topic that men cared to discuss, especially with a woman. Only her uncle’s bankers and financial associates had found discussions with Isabelle enthralling, and they were hardly the sort of men Isabelle wanted to enthrall. Her husband, now…her husband, she wanted to enthrall, to entice, somehow…to make him desire her the way he had probably desired Evelyn. But how? she wondered, setting aside the needlework on which she’d spent the past hour laboring.
The castle was quiet during the afternoons, when the midday meal had been finished and cleared away. In the great hall, where the castle ladies gathered to gossip and ply their needles while the sun yet shone through the tall, clear windows, servants moved with quiet ease, performing their tasks with the same efficiency that was to be found everywhere in Castle Siere. Indeed, not just the castle, but Siere as a whole, seemed to work with all the elegant beauty of a carillon bell clock.
She was waiting for Justin, just as he had asked her to, just as she did every afternoon. Each day at this time he took her for a walk in the gardens, or sometimes along the river, because, he had said, “We must come to know each other better.”
These had been wonderful times for Isabelle, partly because it had been so many years since she had not had to spend her every waking hour inside her uncle’s house, laboring over his accounts, and partly because her husband was such an amiable companion. He had not insisted upon any of his husbandly rights during the week that they’d been at Siere, but he was affectionate nonetheless. Surprisingly enough, he liked to walk with her in the same manner that Isabelle’s parents had done, which was to link his hand and fingers with hers, rather than to simply offer her his arm to hold. The first time he took her hand in such a manner, Isabelle had been so nervous that she felt her palm growing distressingly damp, and her fingers had been so stiff that they ached, but he had not seemed to notice, although he had loosened his grip slightly, and after a few minutes she’d begun to accept the intimate clasp and relaxed. Sometimes he would embrace her lightly, briefly, and kiss her cheek, doing it without warning and so suddenly that it was over before Isabelle had any chance to respond. Afterward, he would gaze at her in an oddly warm manner before taking her hand in his again and resuming their walk.
Leaning her head back in her chair, Isabelle contemplated the great hall’s ceiling. It might be another hour or more before Justin returned from the village, where he had gone with Sir Christian and the earl, and she was weary of needlework. The truth of the matter was, she missed her account books. Oh, she knew they were really her uncle’s, but in four years they had come to seem like hers. She knew each one intimately, from the first entry to the last, from every mistaken inkblot she’d made to every crease in the leather bindings. She had filled each page with meticulous care, had tallied every column twice, had… God’s mercy! Isabelle sat upright, with a hand to her forehead. She must be mad! If Evelyn could only hear her thoughts now, she would laugh long and loud. And with good cause, Isabelle thought with a groan. If anyone could be charged as dull, it was she, Isabelle, and not Justin. She would probably bore her handsome husband into weariness before a year’s time was out, God help her.
“Have you an ache, my lady?”
Isabelle dropped her hand to gaze at Lady Rosaleen, who stood before her with her young son, Lord Farron, tucked firmly in one arm.
“Oh, nay,” Isabelle replied foolishly. “I was only… thinking.”
“Ah,” said Lady Rosaleen, seating herself in the chair beside Isabelle’s. “I must have looked very similar whenever I used to think of Hugh, before we were wed. We had an exhausting courtship. But that seems to be the way the Baldwin men carry out such things. Sir Alexander held his wife prisoner for many weeks before marrying her to gain her dowered lands, Hugh forced me to labor as a servant at his estate for three months before we were wed, and Justin kidnapped you.” Lady Rosaleen laughed. “Poor Willem is the only brother among them who managed to be a gentleman, and he was finally ensnared in marriage to a lady who decided she wanted him for a husband. And a good thing it was, else he’d never have married at all.”
Isabelle laughed, too. “Justin has told me some of these stories before. I think I have been the lucky one, after all that you and Lady Lillis went through.”
“Aye, s’truth,” Lady Rosaleen agreed. “Justin has ever been the most considerate of the men, certainly when it comes to women.”
“Father Hugo seemed very kind,” Isabelle noted.
At this, Rosaleen shook her head. “Hugo, like his twin brother, loves women. All women, regardless of age or condition. I’ve seen those two charm young girls and elderly grandmothers with but a smile, the rogues. I’ll never understand how Hugo has managed to stay in the Church all these years. He’s worse than Hugh, at times.”
Remembering the warm, appreciative gaze that Father Hugo had eyed her with at the monastery, Isabelle had to agree.
“Are you still worrying, my dear, over why Justin wed you?” Lady Rosaleen asked.
Isabelle’s smile died, and she lowered her eyes. “Aye,” she whispered. “I know I should not care so much, for I can give him what he wants of me. I have just been thinking of how I miss working with my uncle’s accounts. ‘Twill be good to have some to work on again soon.”
“You have not known Justin long, as I have,” Lady Rosaleen said gently, “but if you had, you would be reassured, and would know that it is not wealth he wants you for. I have never seen him look at another woman the way he looks at you, with such tenderness and affection. And I have never seen him so content, either, despite his current anger with my husband.”
Isabelle lifted her head. “He has seemed angered with Sir Hugh. Is it because of me that they quarrel?”
“Not you, nay, but with matters that may have concerned you at one time. I do not think any man would like to be commanded to wed, do you?”
With a thoughtful frown, Isabelle replied, “He did not seem displeased to wed Evelyn until she and my uncle were so foolish as to give him insult. But for that, he would have married her.”
“Would he?” Lady Rosaleen asked. “I do not know if that is true. But let us speak of the matter no more, for I’ve no desire to test how red you can go.” She laughed lightly when Isabelle reddened even further. “My dear, if you have missed working with numbers, would you like to entertain yourself with some of my accounts? I should be exceedingly glad to let you work with any or all of them, I vow, for although I enjoy working them, as well, I’ve not much time to do so since this little one was born.” She smiled lovingly at her sleeping son. “Robert, the steward, once suggested that I give Farron over to the care of a nurse, and Hugh nearly took a whip to him, but he spoke the truth. With Kathryn and Harry just babies yet, and Galen so active—” at this, she uttered a long sigh “—I’ve not much time left for Siere, as I used to. ’Tis a blessing Hugh is so willing to lend me aid.”
“Robert does not care to take over the task?”
“Oh, aye, he does, just as he wishes to take over every task, God bless his efficient soul, but he has enough to do in keeping Hugh out of trouble, I fear. ‘Twould be unjust to make him do the accounting, as well. I suppose I should let him hire a treasurer, but I’ve always had the keeping of my own accounts and have never desired assistance until now. Any help that you might be ready to give, dear Isabelle…”
“Oh, aye, my lady,” Isabelle said at once. “I should be most glad to repay your kindness to me in any way that I can.”
The countess of Siere smiled warmly. “Then go to the working chamber that I share with my husband, and see what may be done with the accounts. Stay for as long as you are happy, and when the work grows tiresome, put it away. You have my permission to work there as often as it pleases you, save when my husband is there. I know he would welcome your company, i’ faith, but his language is so unchristian at times that I’d never expose you, or any gentlelady, to it.”
It was, for Isabelle, a boon too good to believe. She nearly dropped her needlework as she quickly stood.
“Thank you, my lady,” she said gratefully. “Is there anything urgent that needs tending, in particular?”
“The rents are far behind,” Lady Rosaleen said thoughtfully, “as are the livestock accounts. Don’t touch the household books, however, for Robert does keep those, and most jealously.”
“Will you please tell Justin where I am if he should come looking for me?”
Lady Rosaleen nodded and smiled. “I’ll tell him. Do not worry on it.”
“Robert,” said Sir Hugh as he walked into his working chamber, carrying his sleeping daughter in his arms. “Well met. Lady Kate had the audacity to fall asleep while being admired in the village. Can you imagine such a thing?”
Setting down the pen with which he’d been writing, the steward rose from his table. “Good day, my lord,” he said, adding, when Justin, holding one of his nephews by the hand, followed his brother into the room, “And also to you, my lord, Sir Justin. May I hope you have at last come to discuss important matters?”
“No, you may not,” the earl said affably. “We’ve come to have a friendly, brotherly chat—”
“Oh, have we?” Justin asked with bemusement.
“We have,” his brother assured him. “And we won’t require a legate, as I’m certain we’ll not resort to violence. If we do, we won’t need witnesses, either. Be pleased to take Katy and Harry to their nurses, Robert.”
Gazing at the small bundle in his master’s arms, Robert gave a disdainful sniff. “Really, my lord. You cannot mean it. And we must discuss these matters.” He picked up several pieces of parchment from the table. “The duke demands a reply, as does Sir Alexander, and Sir Myles is threatening to be very disagreeable if he doesn’t have some satisfaction soon.”
“Sir Myles,” said Justin, “may take himself to Hades. I would be happy to aid him in the task.”
“Justin…” Hugh said in a warning tone. Then, with a sigh, went on, “Very well. We’ll discuss matters. Now please take Katy and Harry to their nurses.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but set his sleeping child in his steward’s unready hands.
“But, my lord!” Robert sputtered indignantly.
“She’s only a babe,” the earl chided, carefully arranging his daughter’s head against Robert’s shoulder. “What grave harm could she visit upon you?” With tender affection, he bent to kiss the child’s forehead, then straightened and looked his steward directly in the eye. “Never say you’re ashamed to be seen carrying my children, Robert?”
The insult hit its intended course, and Robert’s nose lifted sharply. “I will never understand your strange sense of humor, my lord,” he said, “and I was not aware that my duties included being a children’s maid.” He gave an imperious humph and took young Harry’s hand. “Come along, Lord Harold.” As he walked out the door, he called back, “If you don’t have replies ready for me to send this evening, I’ll stand outside your bedchamber door all night.”
Justin shook his head as Hugh closed the door.
“Alexander would never put up with such familiarity in a servant, you know.”
Hugh chuckled and went to pour wine from a nearby decanter. “Alexander can afford to be stiff-necked. If it weren’t for Robert, I’d have been committed to an asylum long ago. Will you have wine?”
Justin gave his brother a considering look. “Perhaps. How long is our ‘friendly, brotherly chat’ to last?”
The earl of Siere filled a goblet for his brother and handed it to him.
“That all depends on you, I think. You might as well say what you’ve been wanting to these past many days. I’ve considered beating it out of you, but somehow the idea of trying to explain that to Rosaleen doesn’t appeal.”
Justin, smiling grimly, only shook his head again.
“God save me,” Sir Hugh said. “I suppose I’ll have the headache when this is done. Very well, then I’ll say it.” Placing his goblet on a low table, he lazily settled his long body into a comfortable chair. “You’re angry with me for meddling in your life.”
“Angry?” Justin repeated.
“Oh, all right.” The earl waved a hand about. “You’re furious. I don’t think we have to bicker about it. Despite your present feelings toward me, I am not a fool.”
Justin’s expression darkened. “I’m not in the mood for your careless manners, Hugh. If you’re going to be amusing, I’ll leave.”
“Oh, Justin,” Hugh said with a groan. “You make everything so difficult, and ever have. You were somber even as a boy, always skulking about the hallways at Gyer like a silent shadow. You haven’t changed overmuch since those days.”
“I had good reason to be as I was,” Justin told him, sitting in the chair opposite his brother’s. “I had Candis to protect from Father, and when he was gone, from Alexander’s lack of care and from your and Hugo’s dangerous ways. Before Lillis came, Castle Gyer was not a pleasant place for small children, certainly not for our young sister. Or have you forgotten?”
Hugh shifted uncomfortably beneath his brother’s steady gaze. “Nay, of course I’ve not. I realize full well what life was like for you and Candis then, and have long since accepted my own part in what you both suffered. Perhaps, in some misguided way, I’ve tried too much to take care of you now to make some sort of… recompense.”
“Recompense?” Justin repeated with disbelief. “You force me to wed as a way of making recompense?”
“As a way of keeping you from harm, aye,” Hugh admitted. “Alex wanted me to find you a bride in the hopes that a wife might settle you down and keep you out of trouble, and I thought—having heard of what transpired at Briarstone with the duke’s advisor—well, I thought, perhaps, that he might be right.”
“I’ve told you what happened at Briarstone,” Justin said tightly. “Chris told you what happened.”
“Yes, well. Ahem.” The earl cleared his throat. “How was I to know that the fellow had been trying to rape one of the women there? He said you’d taken a sword to him because he wouldn’t pay for his pleasures, not that you’d taken a sword to him because he deserved to be gelded. And before you tell me that I should have taken the trouble to ask you about the matter first, I’ll remind you that it wouldn’t have done any good. Alexander wanted you wed, and would have used any reason to accomplish the goal. You know what he is.”
“You’re an earl now, Hugh, and no longer a mere soldier for the king. You outrank Alexander.”
“Ha! As if that has anything to do with it.” Hugh took up his goblet and drank deeply. Wiping his mouth with his fingers, he said, “I should like to see you try to stand against anything that our eldest brother decided upon. It’s about as simple a thing as hacking a stone’ mountain to bits with a dull blade. And I’ll tell you truly that I thought the idea had merit.”
“Did you?” Justin asked in a low tone. “Because you think I needed to ‘settle’?”
“Because I don’t want you to keep on as you have been, aimless and solitary. You’ve nearly made yourself into a hermit at Talwar, save those few times when you visited Chris at Briarstone. I realize that what you went through with Lady Alicia was painful—”
“You,” Justin said as he abruptly stood, “of all people, should know better than to mention her name to me.” He stalked toward the fire, restless, angry. “God save me,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair. “Was ever a man so cursed as this in his family?” He fell still, staring at the flames in the hearth. “I was content with my life. It was not my intention to wed.”
“Justin,” Hugh said gently, standing to join his brother by the fire. “I would never bring you harm apurpose. If I have done so by my deeds, then I pray you will forgive me. I would undo matters if I could, but you are the only one who can do that.”
Justin lifted his head sharply. “Undo matters?”
Hugh nodded. “Sir Myles wants Lady Isabelle back. Indeed, he has gone to Duke Humphrey and demanded her return.”
“Sir Myles may rot in Hell.”
“And so he may,” Hugh agreed readily. “I believe you’ve made your feelings more than clear about that, but unless you mean to slay him and end up being tried for the crime, that doesn’t answer the problem. He wants your marriage to Lady Isabelle annulled, and has said that if she is returned to him, he will yet allow you to marry his daughter, Lady Evelyn.”
The face Justin made told Hugh everything that he needed to know about the desirability of marrying Lady Evelyn. “Ah,” he said. “I see. Ugly, is she?”
“Nay, she is quite beautiful. Extraordinarily beautiful.”
Hugh looked at him curiously. “But you did not want her?”
His gaze held upon the fire, Justin shook his head. “Not after I saw Isabelle.”
“So it wasn’t simply to punish Sir Myles? Or Alexander and me?”
Justin’s smile tightened with keen unpleasantness. “Oh, yes, it was that, too. I wish you could have seen the look on your face when I told you who I had taken for my bride. Not the wellborn beauty you’d so carefully chosen, but the ignoble daughter of traitors.” He laughed. “’Twas worth all the trouble you put me through in London, I vow. I only wish Alexander could have been here, so that I might have seen his horror, as well. A precious Baldwin wedded to such a one. S’truth, I would have given Talwar away to see his face.”
“Justin,” the earl of Siere said in a calm voice, “if you’re saying that you married that delightful creature simply to make a jest of her, I am going to beat you senseless. And then I’m going to personally return Lady Isabelle to her uncle.”
“You may beat me, or attempt to, if you like,” Justin said with equal calm. “I would verily enjoy breaking a few of your bones at just this moment. But you will not take Isabelle anywhere. Not unless you kill me, first.”
The two men stared at each other before Hugh finally pulled away, walking back to his goblet of wine, which he picked up. “I’m relieved, brother, to know that you’re not quite such a fool as you sounded for a moment. Although how any man who saw Lady Isabelle could be, I don’t understand. She’s stunning enough, by the rood. That hair. And those eyes…” His drifting voice finished the thought. “Hardly the sort of female one would want to get rid of. Which makes me wonder why you’ve not yet made certain of your rights to her.”
Justin stiffened. “She is my wife,” he said.
The earl uttered a short laugh. “She is your bride. She is not yet your wife. You are singularly unable to lie, Justin, so please don’t weary yourself with trying to make excuses. I know what it is to be married to the woman you desire above all others, and separate bedchambers aren’t part of such a relationship. But heed me well. Unless you make Lady Isabelle your wife soon, Sir Myles will have every reason he needs to take her back. There is nothing that Alexander or I will be able to do to legally stop him.”
“You must find a way,” Justin said. “I took Isabelle by force to make her my wife. I will not also force her to share my bed until she is ready to do so.”
Hugh turned to face him. “Then you chance losing her.”
Justin’s expression hardened. “I cannot make a woman accept me against her will. When Alicia did not wish to…wed me…I…” He was embarrassed by the pain he heard in his own voice, and fell silent.
“You let her run, God’s feet,” Hugh finished for him, fingering his goblet consideringly. “It was not well done, I vow. Of either of you.”
“I am not like you, Hugh. If Isabelle will come to me, it must be of her own accord.”
“Then for all your brave words, brother, you may lose her. I’m not ashamed to admit that I bedded Rosaleen while I had the chance, before she could think long enough to say me nay. After that she was mine, just as I wanted, and no man could take her from me. If you wish to keep your Isabelle, then I advise you do the same.”
“I’ll keep Isabelle,” Justin assured him. “Never doubt it. But if you want the matter to be legal, you must be the one to make certain of it. Unless you wish me to kill Sir Myles?”
“Stubborn lad,” Hugh said wearily. “Nay, I do not want you felling noblemen to keep your good lady. And, as Alexander and I are the ones who decided to meddle in your life, I suppose ‘tis only fair that we do what we can to lend you aid.”
“Now we are at last in complete agreement.”
“You needn’t beat me over the head about it. I’ve spent the past month sleeping, eating and breathing guilt. Rosaleen’s made certain of it.”
“I must thank her, then,” Justin said impassively. “Now that we have an understanding regarding Robert’s ‘important matters,’ I will tell you that Isabelle and I will leave on the morrow. I have been away from Talwar too long, already, and Chris must get back to Briarstone, as well.”
“I’ll do what I can regarding Sir Myles and the duke—” Hugh began.
“Nay, you do what you must,” Justin corrected bluntly.
“Aye, aye, whatever I must, whatever Alexander must. Don’t worry o’er the matter. Only tell me what you want me to say to Sir Myles. He wants to know what you intend.”
Justin smiled again, baring his teeth this time. “Tell him that I intend to have everything from him that is rightfully Isabelle’s and her brother’s, everything that belonged to their parents, save the lands and titles, for Isabelle must be content with what I can give her in that regard, and Senet must make his own way when the time comes. Tell him that I will have Senet beneath my care before another fortnight has passed, and that he will not interfere in my collecting the boy from Sir Howton, unless he wishes to play quintain for my next bout of jousting practice.”
“Justin, Justin,” the earl said chidingly. “Such violence.”
Placing his hands on the back of a chair, Justin leaned forward slightly, his eyes intent on his brother’s face. “Tell Sir Myles that he will not try to contact Isabelle for any reason. I shall keep her well and busy, and if he misses the use of her particular skills, he may bethink himself that I am the one who will rightfully enjoy the benefit of them, i’ faith, of all that Isabelle has to offer. Tell him that I wish him luck in finding a suitable husband for his lovely daughter, Lady Evelyn.”
The earl made a tsking sound. “’Tis clear that you do not even know what you want with the girl, whether she will be your wife or your revenge.”
“For now, she is both.”
“Don’t be a fool, Justin. You will only bring misery down upon your own head. Leave revenge aside. Forgive Alex and me for loving you well enough to meddle where we should not, and forgive Sir Myles for being a greedy fool. If you want happiness for yourself and your good lady, heed me.”
“You are my brother, Hugh, and for that I owe you love. You are the earl of Siere, and for that I owe you respect. But you are not my liege, and I do not owe you my obedience. Isabelle and I will be happy because I will make it so. As for the other…you need not fear. I’ve no desire to make a feast of revenge. Not a feast, nay. Only a delicacy, which I will enjoy until the moment it begins to make me weary.”
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Susan Paul
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The Bride Thief, электронная книга автора Susan Paul на английском языке, в жанре современная зарубежная литература