Chapter 3
It was a curious ceremony. Isabella had not attended many weddings, but she had expected more from her own.
There was, in fact, no chapel, just the sky above and the ash underfoot.
There were no beeswax candles casting their warm glow, no benevolent priest overseeing the exchange of their vows.
There was no company of guests in their best attire, jostling for a better view, anticipating a fine meal.
There was no music. Even her father was not in attendance, and she could not find any pleasure in Denis’ watchful presence.
Worst of all, there was no sense of jubilation.
Amaury de Montvieux might have been buying a mare.
She supposed that, in a way, he was.
Her intended was a handsome knight, that much was true, but as he held her hands and made his vows, Isabella could not evade her awareness of his resolve.
Was he always so determined to achieve his goals?
Would he consider any price irrelevant if paying it would grant his desire?
She had no notion. Their acquaintance was too minimal for her to know such details of his nature.
In this moment, she was aware that she was a means to an end, and perhaps not an overly welcome change to his circumstance.
What would be her fate if Amaury de Montvieux decided she was not to be part of his future?
Isabella could guess readily enough. She came from a family of ruthless men who cared only for their own desires.
At best, she would hope to be dismissed from his side.
Sent to a convent, perhaps. But he was a knight experienced in war.
Would his solution be more final? Would she fail to awaken if it became clear that she could grant him no son?
Isabella shivered. She reminded herself that she had no cause to fear her new spouse. It was true that his father had been at odds with her own for as long as anyone could remember, and their families had been in dispute endlessly, but that did not necessarily cast a shadow upon the man before her.
She had been no more than a pawn to her father all of her life and she could not help but fear that, on this day, she became the pawn of her husband instead.
Isabella became aware in that moment of the silence around her. She had not been paying attention, so it was likely there was something required of her.
Amaury, so close before her, his eyes so very blue, lifted a dark brow. “Doubts?” he murmured. Even his mouth was gloriously shaped. So perfect that he might have been an angel, which was not a reassuring notion.
Even angels smote those of whom they disapproved.
“Must you be such a fool, Isabella?” Denis demanded. “Say your vows and be done with it! We must ride home before darkness falls. Father will be waiting.”
Isabella granted the barest glance in her brother’s direction, but she must have revealed her thoughts in her expression.
When she met Amaury’s gaze again, he looked to be amused.
Did all men have eyes that sparkled thus when they found humor in a situation?
Perhaps it was the hue. They were so very blue, a blue she would imagine was the shade of the deepest ocean.
It was brighter than the night sky but darker than the midday one.
Was she a fool to find him so alluring? Would her base impulses lead her astray?
She gave herself a little shake and uttered the familiar words, doing a reasonable job of sounding as if she meant them.
Amaury looked down suddenly, frowning as if he had lost something, then emitted a sound of satisfaction.
He removed a plain gold ring from the smallest finger of his right hand, then held it over her left.
Isabella understood that it was to be her wedding band.
She spread her fingers and he held the ring over each of them in turn.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” he intoned, sliding the warm band of gold onto her middle finger. Those lips curved into an alluring smile, a sight that fairly stopped her heart. “We are now man and wife, my lady.”
Isabella had little warning of his intent, for Amaury bent and kissed her with sudden speed.
It was a quick firm kiss, not unpleasant – save for its short duration.
His touch left her mouth tingling, as well as creating an awareness within her that put her in mind of having starlight in her veins.
Her heart, it seemed, was never going to settle to its usual pace, so long as this man held her hand within his.
Nor would the hot flush ever fade from her skin. The man would think her fevered!
“I suppose there is naught to eat?” Amaury asked as if a feast might be summoned at will.
Isabella suspected he asked because a wedding should be followed by a meal, not because he failed to understand the necessary preparations.
He seemed a most practical man, and to be fair, much had changed since his departure.
She might wager that a feast could be summoned in moments in the glory that had been Chateau Montvieux.
Amaury’s gaze lingered upon the two deer Denis had killed, almost in challenge.
A more gracious man than her brother might have offered one as a gift, considering the deer had been killed upon Montvieux’s lands. Isabella did not expect that offer to be made and she was not wrong.
“Montvieux has been picked clean of every trifle,” Denis said with some hauteur. He slapped his gloves against his palm. “And we must hasten home to Marnis that the evening meal can be prepared. Father dislikes when any detail is late.”
“Before you leave, you will raise a cup to my lady wife on the day of her nuptials.” Amaury spoke as if there was no other choice.
“But you cannot mean to linger here!” Denis protested. “There is no longer any abode.”
Amaury gestured silently to the red tent, which looked quite marvelous to Isabella.
“Plus, you must swear fealty to my father as soon as possible.”
“I would salute the bride first,” Amaury insisted, nodding to the wineskin on Denis’ belt. Denis’ hand dropped possessively to it and the men’s gazes locked. Despite herself, Isabella was intrigued. Few challenged Denis, and she was pleased to see that he did not know how to respond.
Amaury did not delay. He raised a hand and his squire hastened into the red tent, returning with a chalice of shining brass.
Amaury lifted the cup, so obviously inviting Denis to fill it that Isabella wondered how her brother would decline.
“One sip of wine for each of us, no more and no less.” Amaury’s voice was as sharp as steel when Denis did not move.
“Surely a knight of any merit would spare far more on his sister’s nuptial day. ”
Denis clearly would have liked nothing better than to decline. But he was shorter than Amaury and less broad. There was menace in the very stature of her new husband and more in his obvious expectation. ’Twas clear Denis disliked any implication that he was less of a knight than her new husband.
He feigned a laugh. “Of course, of course! I must wish my only sister the best.” He poured wine into the cup with a caution, as if he would reserve as much as possible.
When he halted, having poured only a small amount, Amaury cleared his throat pointedly.
Denis’ lips thinned, but he added more wine to the cup.
He then claimed it, lifting it high to salute her with his oily smile.
“Congratulations, Isabella. They said you would never snare a husband, but thanks to my intervention, we have proven them wrong. A knight, a crusader and perhaps even heir to Montvieux. I have done well for you, have I not?” Without waiting for a reply, he quaffed a large gulp of the wine, then leaned closer and kissed her cheeks in succession.
His mouth was wet and she strove to hide her revulsion.
How could he so insult her before her new husband?
Amaury claimed the cup then and held the cup for Isabella. His gaze bore down upon her, making her heart race anew. “And so, my lady, we join paths and begin our journey together. May the future bring us health, happiness…”
“And many sons,” Isabella concluded. Amaury laughed and lifted the cup for her. She could not trust another, even him, so cupped the chalice in her own hands, which meant that her fingers were over his own. He watched as she sipped of the wine.
He then placed his mouth at the same point on the rim, holding her gaze and her hand as he sipped of the wine as well.
“And so it is done,” he murmured, touching his lips to the back of her fingers.
His salute was not revolting in the least. In fact, it fed that curious tingle within her and did as much in a most enticing way.
“Done?” Denis said then laughed aloud. “No match is made fully until it is consummated.” He reached for the cup but Amaury passed it to Philip, smoothly evading him. Amaury’s grip was firm upon her hand and his eyes glittered as he watched Denis, his disapproval more than clear.
Philip claimed the cup and offered it to the other three knights, each of whom wished them well before sipping of the wine, then the empty vessel was retained by Philip. Denis looked to be annoyed that there had not been another sip for him, but in truth, his wineskin was not empty as yet.
“Well, that is a deed well done and behind us,” he said then gestured to the horses. “You will ride with us, that my father may offer his felicitations.”
“I will not leave Montvieux this night,” Amaury said with resolve. “And I would hope that my lady wife would be content to remain, even when our accommodations are so humble.”
“Of course, my lord.” Isabella said, her heart leaping at Amaury’s quick smile.
“Here?” Denis demanded. “You would spend the night here?”
“It is my legacy.”
“How fortunate for you, Isabella, that your new husband has no regard for bedchambers and mattresses. You will be bruised on the morrow, to be certain.”