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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!”
