Chapter 3 #2
Was Denis right? Isabella had little notion of what to expect upon her wedding night and felt an increment of fear. She would be alone here, in the ruins of Montvieux, with her new husband and his companions, all of them strangers to her.
And yet, she felt safer beside Amaury than she had ever felt at Marnis.
Perhaps she already lost her wits.
“I shall tell Father to anticipate your arrival.” Denis spun, snapping his fingers to summon his party, including Edmund.
Isabella watched as they mounted their steeds and the boys hefted the burden of the game.
Her stomach rumbled in that moment, for she had not eaten since breaking her fast that morning.
“He could have left us one,” she said without meaning to utter her thoughts aloud.
“The venison would take too long to roast, for I am fair famished,” Amaury murmured, tucking her hand into his elbow as if she was a queen he was honored to accompany.
“We will set some snares and have a rabbit stew instead. It will not be two hours before we dine.” He smiled down at her.
“There is yet some bread, if you cannot wait, though it is several days old.”
“I am fine.” In truth, Isabella had never had another show such concern for her comforts. “Montvieux’s lands are bountiful.”
“Aye, that is the gain of the village being abandoned. No doubt the hares run wild now. We could eat for a month and doubtless make little difference to their numbers.”
He seemed saddened and rightly so. His homecoming had not been very merry and now he had a wife he likely did not desire.
Isabella found herself wishing to encourage her new husband’s smile.
“The merit of Denis’ lack of generosity is that we do not have to endure his company any longer this evening. ”
Amaury laughed. “I admire your blunt assessment, lady mine, and find myself in hearty agreement.” He met her gaze. “Let us always strive for such honesty between us.”
“Of course.” She looked away from Amaury’s satisfaction and finally he, too, turned his attention elsewhere.
She listened as he discussed the lack of meat with the others, with the result that Luc and Thierry headed into the unplowed fields.
Luc whistled as he went, an unfamiliar and surprisingly merry sound.
Lothair and the others continued to establish the camp, some of the boys gathering firewood in a pile.
“You have done this before,” Isabella said, wondering how it felt to travel wherever one desired and sleep wherever one chose. It spoke of a freedom she had never known. Even remaining at Montvieux this night seemed an uncommon adventure.
“Many times,” Amaury said. “It is a long journey to Outremer and back again.”
“That is why you have the tent.”
He shook his head. “Nay. I bought it in Jerusalem from a knight who had lost his funds in gambling. He had no coin to see his horses fed and housed, and we each bought some item from him to be of assistance.”
“That was kindly.”
“It was foolhardy. A man who gambles never learns to cease. But a fortnight later, he had the same malady, but less to sell.” He pointed to the horses.
“The palfrey, Nutmeg, was his, as well. I did not truly need her before I bought the tent, but then, she became a welcome addition to my party and is too fine a horse for stew.”
Isabella grimaced but he nodded. She supposed she was innocent of many ways of the world. She noted then that Amaury had three squires and five horses, far more than his companions. How did it feel to have been the wealthy one, then return home to ruin?
“Will we ride to Marnis on the morrow?”
He raised his gaze to hers. “If you desire as much. And now I shall measure our honesty. Do you think it wrong for me to be reluctant to swear my blade to your father?”
Isabella shook her head silently, her gaze locked with his. “I think it would be most unusual if a knight showed haste in swearing to his father’s enemy, especially given this circumstance.” She raised a hand, gesturing to the absence of the hall and the dark ash upon the ground.
His gaze sharpened. “Was anyone at Marnis responsible?”
“Oh! I do not think so. I merely thought you came home to many surprises.”
Amaury’s brow darkened. “What do you know of the chateau’s destruction?”
“Only that the keep burned for two days and two nights. It was after we learned of your father’s passing, and though you cannot see Montvieux clearly from Marnis, we saw the flames and the smoke.
Denis led a party to discover what had happened, and he returned with the news that the entire keep would burn to the ground.
The fire raged with such force that he said it could not be halted.
My father said the brigands that plague the forest and prey upon travellers must have set the blaze, perhaps even inadvertently. ”
Amaury nodded slowly, his gaze trailing over what little remained of his family home, his manner thoughtful.
“Father will be glad to hear the tidings Denis brings.”
“Will he?” Amaury said softly, then turned to study Isabella so intently that she felt her discomfiture rise anew. “Tell me of your family, for I do not recall all the details. Am I correct in recalling that your mother died when you were young?”
“Very young,” Isabella ceded. “She died in the delivery of me.”
“And your father wed again shortly thereafter?”
Isabella nodded. “Indeed, to Faydide de Sancerre.”
“She is the mother of Denis?” There was no real question in his voice. His gaze clung briefly to the departing silhouette of Denis and his party.
“He is almost ten years my junior. My father relies upon him a great deal.”
“As any man would rely upon his heir. And Lady Faydide?”
“She reigns from her chamber at Marnis.”
Again Amaury almost smiled, as if he understood her feelings all too well. “Were they not blessed with other children?”
“There are four boys in the churchyard at Marnis, all of whom died at birth or shortly thereafter. When they said my step-mother was cursed, she took to her chamber and seldom has left it since.”
“How tragic.” His attention fixed upon her again. “Are you close to her?”
Isabella could not lie, nor could she utter her thoughts aloud. She shook her head.
“Ah.” Amaury bowed to her. “I thank you for confiding in me. Welcome to Montvieux, my lady, such as it is in these times. If you will excuse me, I will see what can be done to improve our comfort this night.”
Isabella could only incline her head and watch him go.
It was a kind of madness.
Here Amaury was, returned home but hours ago, and already wed. Here he was, after eight years of celibacy, with an innocent bride unaware of what to expect. Isabella’s uncertainties were so great that she could not disguise them.
He doubted she knew anything at all about coupling or the marital debt.
Worse, they scarce knew each other. Amaury feared to frighten her or to hurt her, though it was not his intention to do either. If only they had shared a few days together that he might better know how to begin.
If he had danced with her just once on that long-ago evening, all might have been simpler now.
So much rode on this night. It was that Amaury believed the beginning would set their course, but that opportunity could be inadvertently destroyed before given a chance.
He glanced toward her, struck again by the agitation of her manner.
She strove to hide it – how interesting that she was accustomed to hiding her thoughts and reactions – but already he managed to discern the truth.
He wished he had a month to court her, to gradually win her affection, to woo her and convince her of his good intentions.
Instead, the match must be consummated before they rode to Marnis the next day.
She was favoring her leg so he beckoned to Philip, instructing the boy to take his lady wife a seat. There was a folding chair in the tent that she might appreciate.
“And recount a tale to her, if you please,” he instructed.
“One of your valor and merit, my lord?” the boy asked pertly and Amaury chuckled.
“She may be curious about Outremer,” he said. “Many are. You might share some of your observations, but do not continue too long. A taste, not a feast.”
Philip grinned. “Aye, my lord.”
Fraser was already brushing down the lady’s mare, who seemed to be savoring the attention. Amaury watched as Philip fulfilled his errand, noting how Isabella smiled for the boy. She sank into the chair with what might have been relief, and perhaps a measure of surprise.
Her gaze flew to him and he smiled approval, noting how she flushed anew. Did no one give a care for this lady and her comfort at Marnis? The notion irritated Amaury. If her brother’s manner was any indication, she must suffer many indignities in her father’s hall.
On the other hand, Denis might be jealous because their father doted upon her. Perhaps she was not wed because her father could not bear to be without her.
Amaury suspected otherwise, but soon enough, he would know for certain.
And what of her feelings about their match.
Was there joy? Anger? Nay, it was complacency that Amaury saw in his new wife’s manner.
He had noticed similar attitudes in men in Outremer, men who were granted no authority or command over their own circumstances, men who endured insults and discourtesies in silence day after day.
He could not forget that girl whose face had been alight with the simple pleasure of being asked to dance, and that fed his suspicions that life had not been so merry for her at Marnis.