Chapter 4
The stew was delicious and the company amiable, but that could not fully explain Isabella’s lightness of heart.
She felt at ease amongst the men, who clearly knew each other well, and gave credit for that to her new husband.
The knights jested with each other in the manner of old friends, and the boys were quick to perform their duties.
There was discipline in this small company and a mutual respect that she could only admire.
She could find no fault with her spouse.
Amaury was as gallant as she could hope, which was of greater import than how fine his appearance might be.
She dared to believe that they began as they would continue, that he would always treat her with such courtesy, that she might be happier wed than she had been all her life thus far.
Isabella willfully silenced the doubting voice in her thoughts.
If faith made the result, she would believe – and she might well have the happy match she desired.
Amaury laughed at some jest made by one of the knights and she watched him, her heart fluttering that he should be her lord husband.
He had conjured a magical night from little at all and she felt fortunate, as she rarely did.
That he had done as much to please her, to give her a memory to savor, made her heart glow.
When the sun vanished behind the distant trees, Amaury sent Philip to the tent. The boy returned with a cloak of heavy wool, one of deepest blue with a line of fleur de lis embroidered around the hem. It was lined with pale fur that shone in the light of the fire as Amaury swirled it around.
She thought he meant to don it but he ordered her to stand up, then swept the cloak around her, winking at her as he fastened the clasp at the neck.
She could smell his skin upon it and was immediately surrounded by welcome warmth.
She parted her lips to protest and found his fingertip across them.
“Remember: my lady wife is queen at Montvieux,” he whispered, a glow in his eyes, and her heart leapt for her throat yet again.
Isabella heartily wished that she knew better what she might expect later this night.
The uncertainty left her unable to think of anything to say.
The boys cleaned up after the meal, then went to ensure that the horses had enough water.
Luc carried pots to the river, followed by two of the boys, and Thierry kicked the embers of the fire to life again.
She was alone with Amaury, which should not have been so troubling. It seemed to Isabella though that the silence between them was awkward, and she wanted nothing to mar this evening.
“I am sorry that your father died,” she said finally. She watched as Amaury glanced toward her, his expression turning rueful.
“As am I, my lady,” he said softly, tossing another stick onto the fire. There was a resignation in his move, one that made her realize how much his words were true. His tone was bleak when he continued. “I would have given much to have spoken to him again.”
Just because Isabella shared no such bond with her own father did not mean she failed to appreciate the merit of such affection. Indeed, her heart ached for her new spouse and his loss.
“You missed him.”
“I did.” Amaury almost smiled. “He had such a lively curiosity about the world. I often thought of him when confronted with some new scene, and wondered what he would say of it.”
“And you looked forward to sharing those moments with him.”
Amaury nodded once, frowning at the fire. She saw his throat work.
“He was a most courteous knight.”
“He was,” her husband agreed, his words thick.
“And it was always his way to teach by example. There was never a harsh word from him for any of us, much less a chastisement. Yet the lesson was always there, waiting for us to heed it.” He shrugged and his voice was softer when he continued.
“I can only hope that I will have such patience, when you and I are blessed with children.”
Isabella felt her skin heat at the prospect of creating those children.
Even as she sat beside Amaury with his ring on her finger, it was hard to believe that this marriage was real, that it would continue, that she would live her life by his side.
She was astonished to feel how fiercely she wished for that, mere hours after their vows had been exchanged.
Such was the power of this man to grant her a newfound optimism and a hope she had never possessed before. Goodness, but she might surrender everything to him!
And it might well be worth it.
“And I wish Chateau Montvieux had not burned. It was a most gracious hall.”
“My father’s pride.”
“And rightly so.”
“I remember when you came,” Amaury said, turning his gaze upon her.
His manner was intent, his eyes so very blue, and Isabella could not look away.
“It was when I earned my spurs. My father was so proud of me that my uncle’s celebration would not suffice.
He had to host another fête here, at Montvieux, when I returned home. ”
“And my father invited us.” Even now, Isabella was embarrassed by her father’s audacity.
He had not come to wish the heir of Montvieux well or to put his ancient feud with the Lord de Montvieux at rest. He had seized upon the excuse to see inside his enemy’s hall, the better that he might discern its weaknesses.
They had not been invited, but her father had presented himself and his family at the gates of Montvieux, with clear expectations.
That they had been welcomed was a measure of the grace of Amaury’s father.
There had been a kind of justice that her father had spied no weakness within his enemy’s hall, that Lucien de Montvieux had shown himself a gracious host to all and sundry, that Faydide had only added to her list of desired and expensive additions required at Marnis.
She was still embarrassed by her father’s actions, even years later.
Isabella became aware that Amaury was studying her. “Your father danced very well.”
“As did you that night,” Amaury said to her surprise.
As Isabella watched, he winced. “And in my father’s choice, there was a lesson for me.
I should have invited you to join the dance.
I should have risen above the conflict between our fathers and made you welcome as a guest in my father’s hall.
We were of an age: the offer should have come from me. ”
“We should not have even been in attendance,” Isabella began.
“But you were and I did not follow my father’s example, to my shame.
” He reached up and took her hand. His own was warm and his grip gentle, though she was aware of his strength.
She met his gaze and might have lost herself in their blue depths when his voice dropped low.
“And if I had done as much, Isabella, we might have known more of each other. I might have known what you like, what makes you laugh, and how to ensure that this night between us is a good beginning instead of an interval that might be recalled with regret.”
He seemed so sincere, and Isabella wanted to believe him with all her heart. She wished that he had not been so handsome, for she had learned to distrust men of pleasing countenance.
“I think you blame yourself overmuch,” she said, pulling her hand from his. “We were so young.”
“All the more reason to dance with abandon!”
“I like to dance but I do not very often,” she confessed without thinking and his smile flashed.
“So, this should be one of the occasions. It is only fair that a bride dance upon her wedding night, even if the celebration is a simple one.” He rose to his feet. “Though we have no hall and no company of musicians, we have the stars.”
Isabella could find no fault with the clear sky overhead. It was as dark as velvet and scattered with stars, glittering as brilliantly as gemstones. The night was fine, not too cool, and there was only a light breeze. “It is a fine evening,” she acknowledged.
Amaury’s smile broadened. “Better yet, the moon rises to smile upon us.”
She turned to look at the full moon rising over the distant trees. It looked overly large when it was so low and was as brilliant as if it had been wrought of silver. “It does,” she agreed, then Amaury straightened with purpose.
“And so, we shall dance,” he said with resolve.
He leaned close to her and whispered a warning she could not understand.
“Watch Lothair,” he advised, his eyes sparkling at a jest she did not yet understand.
He then turned and clapped his hands, commanding the attention of his fellows.
“Hoy there, is this not a wedding? Let us have a dance!” he cried and she watched the reactions of the knights.
Luc and Thierry glanced at each other before either spoke, as seemed to be their frequent inclination. She supposed it was natural for twins to confer on all matters. They nodded as one and stood, their intention clear.
Lothair’s gaze flicked and his features set, his unwillingness to participate more than clear.
“We have need of four couples for a ring dance,” Luc said, giving the tall knight a nudge. “That includes you, Lothair.”
“I do not dance.”
“You should dance,” Thierry argued. “Out of deference to the bride.”
“I could not ask it of him,” Isabella protested.
“I know you could not refuse such a small action that might give a lady pleasure,” Amaury said to Lothair.
That knight sighed mightily. “We need three more ladies,” he protested.
“I can dance the lady’s part,” Philip contributed.
“As will I,” agreed another, nudging the boy who sat beside him. “As will Thorne.” That boy seemed to share Lothair’s reluctance, but he rose to his feet as well.
“There is no music,” Lothair noted, as if that were sufficient excuse to forget the notion.