Chapter 3 #3
He felt a fierce desire to make her circumstance happier than it had been, to coax her smile, even to see her eyes sparkle with delight.
Yet Amaury was keenly aware that he possessed few assets to so court a lady.
He had no access to delightful gifts, here in the ruins of his home.
He had no family treasures to lavish upon her, for all the riches of Montvieux were gone.
He could not even offer her great comforts.
What coin he possessed would be spent in rebuilding Montvieux, and that task would take years if not decades.
He occupied himself in cleaning the first hares that Luc and Thierry brought and strained his ears to hear whatever Philip said.
He smiled that the boy was describing the journey to Outremer. Philip had not liked ships any better than the horses had, so his tale was filled with the horrors of waves and winds, the peril of monsters and the inadequacy of the food.
Isabella looked to be enthralled.
“We will mount a watch this night,” he told his fellows as they worked. “Two men.”
“Aye. I wager the tent will draw those bandits,” Luc noted.
“Luc and I will take tonight’s watch,” Thierry said with a nod. “You will have another task to fulfill.” The twins grinned at Amaury who nodded agreement.
“I could relieve the watch before dawn.”
“You will spend all the night with your bride,” Luc said firmly. “And none of us will sleep in the tent either.”
Amaury might have protested, for it was their custom to take shelter in the tent together when they camped, but all three of his fellows shook their heads with resolve.
“It would not be courteous,” Lothair concluded simply.
“Given how Lothair snores,” Thierry teased and they laughed together.
Even Lothair smiled thinly. “I am not the one who snores,” was all he said.
“There is no rain in the wind,” Thierry said, scanning the sky.
The sun was sinking toward the western horizon, the fire blazed and the pot of stew already began to smell tempting.
Lothair rummaged in his gear, adding the occasional pinch of one spice or another to the pot.
Luc and Thierry returned to their snares again as the stew simmered, leaving Amaury and Lothair together.
“You must know that I would ride on,” Lothair said long moments later.
Amaury nodded. “You would begin your studies in Provins.”
“You will not leave here soon,” Lothair noted.
“Nay, I will not. But with bandits at large, I would not have you ride north alone.”
Lothair made a dismissive gesture, then stood to pack his spices away again. “Let them come and taste my blade,” he said.
“They may not fight honorably.”
Lothair granted him a steady glance. “Of all the men in Christendom, Amaury, you are the sole one who always fights honorably. I will not be at such a disadvantage.”
Amaury chuckled, as much at the lecture as his friend’s accusation. “We will miss you.”
Lothair glanced toward the lady and lifted a brow. “Will you?”
“And you must visit, whenever you pass nearby.”
“I ride north after Provins, home to Sutherland.”
“And no man knows which way the wind will turn his path. You are welcome here, always, and do not forget as much.” Amaury offered his hand and the taller man shook it warmly.
And so their party would disband, after so long together. Amaury was not the sole one who embarked on a new path.
The boys arranged cushions and rugs on the side of the fire where the wind did not blow the smoke and Luc pronounced the stew to be done. There were orange streaks in the sky and the first of the stars were appearing in the east.
Amaury glanced up, feeling the weight of another’s gaze, and found Isabella watching him. Philip finished his tale with a flourish and a bow, and she smiled as she applauded his efforts. The boy grinned outright, then invited her toward the fire.
“The stew is ready,” Amaury said, striding to her side. He caught her elbow in his hand when she stood.
“I am steady on my feet,” she said quickly.
“Yet I like to take the arm of my lady. Unless you would prefer to take mine.” Amaury offered his elbow and she slid her hand into it. “We proceed to the great hall to dine, after all.”
“I think, sir, that the great hall will need some improvement before winter,” she said.
“And I agree. Perhaps Lothair will find a team of masons on his travels and dispatch them to me here.”
Lothair nodded agreement as Isabella looked between them. “Masons?”
“Aye, it is time that Montvieux was built of stone,” Amaury said. “We saw many marvels in the east and I yearn to put such notions to use here.”
“In stone,” Isabella murmured. Philip brought the chair closer to the fire and she sank into it, looking up at Amaury. “Like a cathedral.”
“Just so. Perhaps a little smaller.”
“It will be a marvel,” she said softly and he nodded agreement.
“I hope so.”
They settled around the fire, the mood most companionable. Fraser came from tending the horses, some prize cradled in his hands.
“For the bride,” the boy said gruffly, his ears fiery red.
Amaury did not realize immediately what it was, but Isabella caught her breath in delight when Fraser presented it to her.
It was a crown woven of daisies. Isabella bent her head and Fraser colored furiously as he placed it atop her dark hair.
Amaury stretched out a finger to straighten it, losing himself in the unexpected sparkle of Isabella’s eyes.
There she was again, the beguiling maiden at the dance, and he was charmed by the sight.
He smiled at her and she flushed crimson.
“I thank you, sir,” she said to Fraser, who could not manage to make a sound in reply.
“This is Fraser,” Amaury said quietly and Isabella thanked the boy again. This was too much for Fraser, who stammered, bowed, and fled to the company of the palfreys.
“All hail the bride,” called Luc and the rest of the company cheered.
Isabella protested when she realized she occupied the only chair.
“And who better to be queen of the company this night?” Amaury asked.
Philip came with a bowl of hot water and a napkin to wash the lady’s hands, and he had even located a measure of rose water to sprinkle over her fingers.
“I feel like a queen,” she said.
“And so should the Lady of Montvieux,” Amaury declared.
Thierry presented a bowl of stew to her. Isabella seemed to realize immediately how few bowls they possessed, but Amaury crouched down to sit at her feet.
“We eat in turns,” he informed her easily. “For there is no rush and on this night, no one will go hungry. My lady, let us honor you.”
She seemed to be at a loss for words. He watched her blink quickly, as if dismissing tears and he hoped they were joyous ones.
Then she plucked a piece of meat from the stew and presented it to him between her finger and thumb, as if they were sharing a trencher at the king’s own table.
Amaury smiled and ate the meat from her hand with undisguised pleasure.
Philip offered the water and cloth to wash his own hands, and Amaury did as much, then reciprocated, offering Isabella the finest piece of meat he could see.
His fellows cheered and his ring shone on her hand.
Her coronet of daisies made her look both innocent and alluring.
Unable to look away, he watched her catch her breath.
“And so we are wed,” she murmured for his ears alone, as if she could not believe as much.
“And so we are wed,” he replied with satisfaction.
He smiled, realizing that his contentment grew with every moment in this lady’s company, and he could imagine no better portent for their shared future.
Isabella lowered her gaze demurely, then offered him another bite of stew.
Truly, Amaury de Montvieux had no complaints with his circumstance on this night.
He would ensure that his lady did not either.