Chapter 8
Iwill avenge you.
It was not the most reassuring claim to have overheard from her new husband.
Even though Amaury was a knight, returned from years of crusade in Outremer, Isabella did not like the implication that he would choose bloodshed over peace.
His father had died, it was true, but that did not mean any person was guilty of causing that man’s demise. Old men died as God’s will.
How could Amaury be certain that his father had been poisoned?
He could only mean to blame her family for his father’s death. Without proof, though, he would be accused of slander and the king’s wrath might be invoked. That could not end well for the son of Montvieux.
What game did Amaury play?
And why?
The simple truth was that Isabella wanted to help him.
She wanted to locate the seal and signet ring of Montvieux, to verify that her father had the ability to fulfill his wager.
She wanted to be by Amaury’s side as he rebuilt his family holding in stone –and she wished to ensure that the resulting structure would not be stolen from him by some sleight of hand.
She knew her father to be capable of such treachery.
Could she manage to look within the treasury while they were at Marnis?
Would Amaury trust her more if she gathered such information for him?
Because on this morning after her nuptials, Isabella found herself not just wanting all from their union but prepared to contribute to that result.
She had thought the consummation would be physical, no more and no less, but in that moment of release, she had felt as if she glimpsed Amaury’s truth.
She loved his suggestion of how they might confer together and forge a marriage upon trust – indeed, she had never heard a more alluring offer.
His vow to his father was chilling, given that he spoke with such resolve. She did not doubt that he would do as he pledged. She had to help in unveiling the truth, regardless of the cost to herself.
What had her family’s involvement been, if any?
It was all too easy to believe that her father would choose some expedient means to gain his objective, which had always been possession of Montvieux – and the elimination of his old rival, Lucien de Montvieux.
But murder?
Surely, if so, someone else would have been dispatched to perform the deed itself. Who? Denis? Did she dare to ask Denis for the truth? Would he answer her?
If the truth was unpalatable, would she tell Amaury? Surely if his worst fears were realized, Amaury would cast her aside and forget her.
The curious thing was that Isabella did not wish Amaury de Montvieux to forget her.
She wanted his undivided attention, again and again.
She wanted his trust – and she would be content to strive to fill Montvieux’s halls with sons.
They had been together only a matter of hours, yet she was already greedy for more time in his presence.
More nights together.
More of what they had done only once.
And yet on this morning, Isabella felt a pronounced sense of dread, one that she could neither ignore nor dispel.
They ate in silence, Roland looking between Amaury and Isabella as if he sought to solve a riddle.
Isabella discovered that all had been prepared for their departure without Amaury granting a single command.
Even Denis’ white destrier was brushed and saddled, stamping with impatience to return home.
If only their errand had been more likely to end merrily.
When Amaury strode toward her, Isabella’s unruly heart leapt in anticipation of his touch. He smiled at her, then lifted her to her saddle with ease, his hands locking around her waist with reassuring strength. Their gazes locked for a potent moment, and Isabella felt herself flush with awareness.
This man. Had she ever met anyone more alluring? When he turned his attention upon her, Isabella could deny him naught at all.
“We did not parlay this morn,” he noted instead of relinquishing his grip upon her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“We had agreed to confer this morning, but we did not.”
“You were gone.”
“Because you slept, and that is fair, but still I would consult with you, Isabella.”
“I have naught to confide.”
Amaury smiled. “I suspect you always have a view or a truth that you could share.”
Isabella felt herself blush, feeling suddenly aware of the attention of the others.
“Promise me this, my lady, that whenever I err, you will tell me my offense, that I might see it repaired. Tell me what you know whenever you know a detail I do not, that I might act upon it.” Amaury lifted a dark brow, his gaze clinging to hers.
“Parlay with me, Isabella, as kings and emperors do, that we might find accord and agreement.”
His entreaty sent a jolt of pleasure through her.
The grip of his hands upon her waist ensured that she was oblivious to every other detail of her surroundings.
There was only Amaury, the weight of his expectation, the memory of his caress, and a yearning for more that shook Isabella to her toes.
As beguiling as his presence was his request: when had anyone asked for her thoughts and views?
When had anyone believed she had aught of merit to share?
Only this man.
Even if he deceived her apurpose, she feared he could convince her of whatever he desired. She stared into the blue of his eyes and wanted only to do as he requested, to grant him what he desired, to act as his helpmate and partner.
And therein was the peril of Amaury de Montvieux. She knew he desired only his family holding, at any cost, but he could convince Isabella to forget as much. Indeed, snared beneath Amaury’s spell, she was tempted to discard her father’s warnings, even to believe that her new husband desired her.
Her. She had been taught her entire life that she had no merit at all.
She was many things, but not witless.
Amaury was watching her closely, fairly bending his will upon her, but Isabella shook her head and averted her gaze.
“I fear our match is doomed,” she said with quiet surety. “I fear that there can be no accord between our families, not so long as either of us have kin.”
“And I believe otherwise.”
His conviction irked her into speaking her mind. “Do you? Why? All began well, then your brothers arrived. Your loyalties are with them, just as mine must be with Marnis. It will happen again and again.”
Amaury looked so startled that her resolve melted a little. “It need not do so.”
“I fear it will. What if I bear a daughter instead of a son? What if I bear no children at all?” Isabella knew she revealed too many of her doubts, but she could not help herself.
Amaury studied her for a long moment, then set her in the saddle and graciously handed her the reins. “I will win your agreement, Isabella. I will persuade you to believe.” He spoke with thrilling resolve then turned away from her, moving with purpose toward his own steed.
Isabella shook her head, then gathered the reins, shivering at the prospect of returning to Marnis, even for a short interval.
“You are cold, my lady,” Amaury said.
It was startling that he was so perceptive, and so fixed upon her. “It is of no import.” She shrugged, expecting naught, but Amaury lifted his own cloak from his belongings.
In daylight, she saw that it was a full wool cloak of deepest blue, trimmed with silver fur, like that from a wolf.
He returned to her and cast it over her shoulders, smiling that his first two attempts fell short, given the height of her in the saddle.
His companions teased him when the cloak tumbled back into his arms and Amaury grinned, then was successful on the third attempt.
Isabella realized she had never seen a knight laugh at himself and she marvelled again at this man.
The garment was heavy and as before, she could smell his skin snared within it. She found herself taking a deep breath. It was too easy to recall the satisfaction of sleeping in his bed and once again, Isabella felt her color rise that she had been so wanton.
Amaury watched her, his eyes glowing, and she could have sworn their thoughts were as one.
“I thank you for your courtesy, my lord.”
“And to who else should I show courtesy but my lady wife?” he asked with a surprising measure of annoyance.
He clearly did not anticipate a reply. He swung into his own saddle and gestured to the boys, his mood one of resolve and optimism both.
The company moved as one, taking to the road as quickly and silently as the wind.
Their company was small, comprising Amaury and herself, his companion knight Thierry, and three squires: Philip and Fraser, and Thierry’s lanky boy, Baird. Roland, Luc and Amaury’s third squire, Guillaume, remained at Montvieux, along with the rest of Roland’s ragged company.
Amaury clicked his tongue, accustomed to being in command, his focus on the task at hand. The reins of Denis’ horse were firmly in his grip. All of his steeds quickened their pace as one, clearly attuned to his leadership. Even her own mare matched their speed without encouragement.
In moments, they crossed the bridge where their fathers should have met to parlay, the horses’ hooves clattering on the stone. The river was low, as was oft the case at midsummer, but still it sparkled in the sunlight. Isabella was keenly aware that they had left Montvieux and now rode in Marnis.
Again, she felt the urge to shiver. She could see the shadow of forest ahead that closed over the road.
She thought it a desolate section of the road, for the darkness was complete even at midday and the air uncommonly cool.
It seemed to Isabella that menace could be felt in the very air on that stretch of road and she always wished to avoid it, if possible.
Denis liked to tease her when she asked if they might take another route home.
“What is amiss?” Amaury asked, urging his destrier to canter beside Caprice.