Chapter 6
The sons of Montvieux were the villains in the woods. Isabella was not truly surprised by this revelation, though she hoped that they would cease to be brigands now that Amaury had returned. Perhaps they had needed only direction and she was glad that they willingly pledged to Amaury’s command.
Even with the caveat that she did not command their loyalty. That detail stung. Isabella could not blame them for resenting her family, though she might have wished that matters might have been otherwise.
But then there was that destrier. Amaury’s brothers seemed to think that taking Denis’ horse was a playful jest, but she feared a harsh retaliation from her half-brother. Denis was not inclined to find amusement at any prank played at his expense.
She watched and listened as Amaury introduced his companions and his brothers introduced the men who followed them. Some of these warriors Amaury clearly recalled. There was much hearty shaking of hands and some laughter, all of which excluded her.
Once she had noticed her isolation, she could not overlook it – though the realization made her feel a shrew. Amaury had been away for years. How could she begrudge his reunion with his brothers?
She might not have done as much if it had not felt like a portent of her future by his side.
Even in that, she saw the shadow of her father’s lessons and she felt impatient with herself.
What did she expect? That her new husband would defy expectation in every regard?
That he would treat her as a partner and a lover both?
Truly she had savored too many romantic tales.
Marriage was an alliance and in this case, a reluctant one.
Her merit to Amaury lay in bringing him sons and thus the seal of Montvieux.
Not even one night as his wife and she was already desirous of his every attention.
Isabella might be many things, but she would not be a fool.
“I would ride for Provins on the morrow,” Lothair said when the conversation slowed and Isabella looked up at this. “For the harvest will soon begin and I would learn of the preparations that are made afterward.”
Amaury was clearly unsurprised by this choice, and he explained the knight’s choice to his brothers. “Lothair rides to Provins to study under the apprenticeship of a great apothecary and thus increase his skills.”
“The roses,” Roland said, even as Isabella had the same thought.
Lothair nodded agreement. “They are used to heal so many conditions. I am most interested in learning more.”
“But I would not have you ride alone, given these tidings of bandits upon the roads of Montvieux,” Amaury said.
“We will not attack him,” Sebastian, the youngest brother, said. Though both favored Amaury, having the same striking coloring, and both wore spurs, an indication that they were knights, this one seemed more impulsive. He could not have been much older than Denis.
“Nay, I would have you escort him,” Amaury said firmly.
His tone made sense when Isabella saw Sebastian’s inclination to refuse.
“Consider that Lothair does not know the roads here so well as you do, which makes it more difficult for him to anticipate where best to halt for the night.” The youngest son of the house still appeared unconvinced.
“I would ask you to do this, as a favor to me and a courtesy to my comrade. I also would ask you to seek out a mason, for we will need one to rebuild the keep.”
“In stone?” the two younger brothers asked in unison.
Amaury nodded. “I had plans to make improvements on my return, but now we shall start anew. You will be more likely to find good masons closer to Paris and do not send me inferior ones.”
Sebastian looked between Amaury and Lothair and his resistance visibly melted with the addition of this responsibility. He nodded once. “As you will,” he said to Amaury.
“I thank you, Sebastian,” Amaury said. “You might ask Lothair on your journey for advice on the traits of good masons, for he, too, has seen much in our travels.”
The conversation continued after that, ebbing and flowing with the exchange of tidings and laughter.
Amaury appeared inclined to linger all night with his brothers, and he began to recount a tale of his adventures in Outremer.
Isabella felt that she might not have been present at all.
She sat in the chair that Philip had fetched for her again, Amaury’s heavy cloak over her shoulders and the stars overhead.
She watched as the deer was skinned and the roasting began, listened as the men teased each other, aware that she might have been a thousand leagues away.
Unable to hear the tale clearly, Isabella’s thoughts wandered. She blamed the cooling in Amaury’s manner upon a reasonable desire to confer with his brothers. His loyalty lay with them first, above her, and though she could not blame him for the choice, she did not like it.
To her thinking, Amaury made a poor choice, for he failed to realize the true nature of her kin.
His new vassals would all be dead before the Yule, if his brothers continued their disruptive activities.
Would even Amaury be lost? He might be, if he failed to restrain his brothers.
Her father would blame him fully for the actions of any man beneath his command.
She caught her breath at the prospect of widowhood – no less of raising Amaury’s child at Marnis. What a life that child was likely to have!
Frowning, she stood, too agitated to sit at leisure.
To her surprise, she found Amaury immediately before her. Was he attentive or glad of the prospect of her absence?
“Doubtless you find our reunion dull,” he said with a slight bow to her.
“And I apologize for being so fulsome with my brothers on our wedding night. You might prefer to retire, for I would ask them for more news of what has transpired.” Though there was consideration in his manner, she heard that steel in his tone.
Isabella understood that her presence, even in silence, was not desired at this time.
He wanted to ask about the destruction of Montvieux and the death of his father, and he did not wish for her present to hear whatever his brothers confided – or to encourage their silence.
Stung, Isabella offered his dagger. He slipped it into the scabbard on his belt, then she turned away, not expecting that he would escort her to the tent. When he matched his steps to hers, she was startled by his courtesy, then felt compelled to grant a warning.
“Your brothers play a trick that may have a high price,” she said quietly. “Denis is not inclined to overlook a jest made at his expense.”
“Fear not,” he replied with confidence. “We will take his destrier back to Marnis on the morrow, and I will apologize for their deed.”
Amaury’s surety was undeserved and she spared him a glance of frustration. He was sufficiently perceptive to notice, which she had not expected.
“What is amiss?” he asked. “What have I done?”
“You have erred,” she said, unable to hold her tongue. “You treat their provocation as a diversion, not as the threat it poses to all of us. Denis will not forget such a slight. He will insist upon vengeance.”
Now Amaury frowned. “Why? The deer was from Montvieux. It is not such a heavy price to reclaim it. And his horse is unhurt, his harness intact. As I said, I will return both on the morrow and all will be right.”
“Nay, it will not be. Denis has been insulted,” Isabella countered.
“Plus, he has been made to look weak before others. There will be gossip in the hall at Marnis this night about his failure to defend what is his own, and he will resent it mightily. He will be teased about walking home, if indeed he did, and he will be livid as a result of that indignity. Someone will have to pay the price.”
“You worry overmuch,” Amaury said, his tone soothing – as if she were the fool.
“I know him,” she countered, her voice rising. “I understand him and I grant you warning that this incident will never be forgotten. I am not the fool in this instance, for I do not ignore good advice freely given.”
Still Amaury looked unconvinced, and she flung out a hand.
“What more would you lose? Already, your legacy is no more than ash and wind. Your servants, guards and villeins are gone, your treasury is empty, your opportunities to rebuild the holding are nigh none at all. Do you savor the challenge of insurmountable obstacles before yourself? Or were the sons of Montvieux all born witless?”
Amaury’s eyes flashed blue fire then and he folded his arms across his chest. “It seems you find your tongue, my lady.”
“It seems you have lost any sense you possessed!” she replied with heat.
She gestured to his brothers, who listened openly.
“Denis will hunt them to the ground, and if you defend them, you will be lost along with them. You will all join your father in the crypt of Montvieux, likely before the Yule, perhaps even before the harvest, and then what?”
“I have no doubt you will tell me.”
Isabella could not halt her tirade now that it had begun.
“I will be widowed, perhaps with your seed taken root in my womb. If you do not care for your own survival or my welfare, then think of that child, the grandson of my father’s avowed enemy, being raised in my father’s abode.
If you think that Montvieux will rise again, tall and proud, beneath that child’s administration, you, sir, should think again.
He or she will be crushed, and truly will become a minion of Marnis.
My father will take great pleasure in that exercise, I promise you.
Is that the dream for which you would surrender your own life? ”
Amaury’s manner was forbidding. “I ask again, my lady, what you know of my father’s death.”
“He died in his sleep, as old men are wont to do.”
“He was poisoned,” Amaury said with conviction.
Isabella stared at him. “You cannot know this. It has been three months.”