Chapter 5 #2
Amaury might have laughed but she moved again, more quickly this time, and he whispered her name beneath his breath.
His voice was strained, as if he was experiencing the same delicious agony he had inflicted upon her, and Isabella moved again and again.
She rode him, feeling her own blood quicken, finding herself aroused that she was pleasing him.
They moved together in a rhythm as old as time, her heart leaping as she reached yet again for that summit of release, well aware that Amaury watched her.
The tide came more quickly this time and she felt it took her higher. She cried out, welcoming the sensation, even as Amaury rolled her to her back and thrust deeply one last time. He cried out in his own release, then collapsed atop her, still bracing his weight upon one elbow.
He was protective of her. Isabella smiled in contentment at that.
They were slick with perspiration and both breathing quickly from their efforts.
Isabella could feel the thunder of Amaury’s heartbeat beneath the hand she rested on his chest. She ran her fingers through the tangle of dark hair there, well aware of his perusal but avoiding his gaze, then caressed the strength of his shoulder.
When she risked a glance at his face, she found him smiling. “A noble start, my lady wife. Were you pleased?”
She nodded, feeling herself blush. “Aye. And you?”
“Aye!” he rose from the makeshift bed then, picking her up and swinging her around as if she weighed naught at all. He then granted her a most satisfactory kiss. “And now, I must insist that we bathe together.”
“In such a small bowl as this?”
“We will each attend the other. I wager you will enjoy it.”
Isabella had no doubt that he spoke aright. Instead of taking his offered hand, she impulsively leaned closer and kissed him full on the mouth.
To her satisfaction, Amaury interpreted that as the invitation it was meant to be.
The bath could wait.
Isabella awakened, knowing she had been startled by some sound.
Amaury lay beside her, his arm yet around her waist, his heat pressed against her side.
She liked that he remained in their nuptial bed, that he touched her so readily, that their union had been so very wonderful.
Never had she felt so allied to another.
No one had ever treated her with the consideration Amaury had shown her in just one night.
Isabella dared to hope that it was a taste of what was yet to come.
She heard her father’s bitter warning, though, as clearly as if he whispered in her ear. Never trust a man who desires something of you – for if and when he must choose between you and the prize, it will not be a choice at all.
Surely, Amaury did not deceive her?
In that moment, Isabella realized Amaury’s body was taut.
He was listening, his head raised slightly.
That was right: some uncommon sound had awakened her.
Amaury’s fingertip fell across her lips with surety, finding her mouth even in the dark.
Isabella nodded, understanding his message, and his hand slid away.
Now she could hear men’s voices, as if a party approached their camp. Who could it be so late as this?
Amaury rose smoothly, staying low as he eased toward the opening of the tent.
The candle had long been extinguished and Isabella could see the shine of moonlight through the roof of the tent.
The position of the moon had changed, indicating that they had slept several hours, and the night would have been still, if not for the approaching group.
The voices grew louder and she guessed that the party was not small.
Isabella saw Amaury shrug into his hauberk, and rose to lace the back of it for him.
She, too, moved in silence, keeping low as he had done, and she saw the flash of his approving smile in the darkness.
He indicated with a touch and a gesture that she should dress as well, then donned his tabard.
He silently fastened his belt, securing his sword and dagger, then aided her with her boots.
Meanwhile the sound of men grew louder. Their voices were drunken, as if they celebrated some triumph, and their horses moved at a walk. Isabella’s heart skipped for she feared they were the brigands who frequented the forests in these days.
“What ho!” cried one. “There are guests at Montvieux!”
Amaury stilled for a heartbeat. Isabella guessed that the tent had been spotted and he was wary.
She felt the weight of his hand upon her own girdle, as if he sought something.
She guided his hand to her own small eating knife, and felt him shake his head.
In a heartbeat, the hilt of a larger dagger was pressed into her hand.
The hilt was ornate and the weapon was heavy.
She had no doubt its blade was sharp and guessed it was the fine one Amaury would have been granted at his knighting.
All newly dubbed knights were given weapons by their patron, usually a sword and a dagger, as well as their spurs and a fine horse.
She tried to protest, for he should not surrender such a token to anyone, but Amaury closed her fingers around the hilt and touched his lips to her temple.
His chaste kiss heated Isabella to her toes, leaving her dazzled and feeling cherished in a new way.
She might have leaned against him, but Amaury caught her around the waist and led her to the back of the tent with purpose.
“Show yourself!” one of the new arrivals called in challenge. “Show yourself and prove your right to be on Montvieux’s lands!”
There was another opening at the back of the tent.
The shadows were deeper behind it, for the land cascaded down to the river’s edge.
Isabella was surprised to find Amaury’s squires there awaiting him in silence, crouched in the shadows.
Wordlessly, she was passed into their custody and Philip urged her into the darkness that flanked the river.
She had a last glimpse of Amaury, his expression grim, then he vanished around the tent.
Philip led her behind a shield of shrubbery and they moved down the river quietly, taking refuge behind a cluster of low trees that formed a hedge.
Isabella could see a crypt, its line of stone sharp against the sky, and hear the rush of the water.
The ground was soft underfoot. She could see silhouettes of the arriving company, and spotted two men striding toward Amaury’s tent.
The others hung back with their horses and she could not count their numbers.
Fear rose in her throat. She could not see any of Amaury’s companion knights or their squires and knew their horses were tethered further down the river. At least they would also be out of view of the bandits.
Where was Amaury? Philip touched her shoulder in warning and she ducked lower, gripping Amaury’s blade and hoping all would proceed well.
That voice.
Was Amaury mistaken, or did he recognize it?
He had been gone years, after all, and he dared not err when his lady’s safety hung in the balance.
He crept into the shadows, abandoning the tent which would be an obvious target.
He saw two familiar silhouettes far to his right, low against the ground, and a much larger one to his left.
He was not the only one of his companions who slept lightly.
Who dared to claim Montvieux, even for shelter, even at night? Who challenged him upon his family lands?
Amaury could see that the arrivals wore dark garb, without any insignia, and their beards had grown. Were these the vagabonds said to live in the woods?
There were six men, by his count, and perhaps two boys. He and his fellows were outnumbered then, even though he did not think these men so well equipped. He doubted they were as well trained as he. From the sounds, they were a bit drunk.
Even so, the odds were longer than Amaury might prefer.
Two men approached his tent, their daggers drawn. Amaury could see shadows of horses, held back by the others. One steed was white, fairly glowing in the moonlight, a most unusual choice for a brigand.
“Who dares to camp at Montvieux?” that first man demanded again, and this time Amaury was certain of his identity. Though the men were dressed roughly as mercenaries, he saw the glimmer of the chain mail hauberk of the one who spoke.
And the gleam of his boots. Amaury bit back a smile. His brother Roland has always been most fastidious about the care of his boots.
His brothers were not missing. They had not fled, but they evaded those who rode out from Marnis, as was only good sense.
Amaury did not doubt that his youngest brother Sebastian was also in the company, perhaps the second one approaching the tent. That man looked to be the right height.
Against every expectation, he had found his brothers – and they were precisely where they belonged.
“Speak!” Roland demanded, reaching for the opening of the tent. “Defend yourself!” he cried, then Amaury hooted like an owl, a signal to his fellows that friends came among them.
Both of his brothers spun to confront him, following the sound.
“Who dares to challenge the Lord de Montvieux?” Amaury bellowed and saw his brothers’ posture change in shock. When he stood, he saw Luc and Thierry close upon the party that hung back, even as Lothair was positioned behind Roland and Sebastian.
“Who speaks thus?” Roland asked, peering into the darkness. He spun, his own blade flashing in his hand. Amaury saw him assess whether to cast the knife, then decide against it.
He also admired how Sebastian moved behind Roland, swift in the shadows, that he might attack from darkness. Amaury gave his brother no time to load his bow. He bounded forward, flinging out his hands as he halted before Roland.
“I am Amaury de Montvieux,” he declared. “Brothers, I am returned from Outremer and beyond glad to find you hale.”
“Amaury!” Roland shouted with joy.