Chapter 8 #3
The portcullis, she noted, was closed again. Though she strained her ears, she could not hear the sound of any party approaching. Isabella bowed her head and prayed that Denis’ attackers would not threaten Amaury, then continued to her father’s chambers.
That man was hale enough. She could hear him berating someone, perhaps Edmund.
She guessed that she would be next.
Some details did not change.
Where was Sebastian?
Amaury would have given a great deal to know.
He knelt beside Denis, unable to evade the truth that Isabella’s brother had been surprised by his assailant.
The dead man’s eyes were wide with dismay and perhaps astonishment.
Blood pooled beneath his corpse, gleaming wetly on the road.
Amaury did not have to part the other man’s garments to know that he had been sliced from gullet to groin, a blow of uncommon savagery.
He had never expected to see the like of such an injury again, not now that he was home.
Thierry was beating the bushes around the fallen man, riding a circle in the forest to ensure that the attackers had not lingered. He returned to Amaury and dismounted, shaking his head that he had found naught, then studied the fallen man.
“He has not been dead long,” Thierry noted.
“Long enough for his skin to cool.”
“But not for his blood to dry.” The other knight scanned the forest, apparently listening. “Is that a single horse?” Amaury listened and nodded agreement. Thierry pointed and Baird pursued the sound.
In the meantime, Amaury lifted Denis’ cloak, then grimaced. “He did not even have time to draw his dagger.”
“Aye, he was surprised, even in this copse that your lady says is rife with brigands. Why was he not on his guard? Was he such a fool as that?” Thierry looked around them, his silence so pointed that Amaury had to speak.
“This copse is where my brothers stole his destrier last night.”
“And yet he was here, alone, and unprepared to defend himself. Why?”
“Seeking the horse, perhaps?”
“Seeking to avenge himself without witnesses perhaps.”
Amaury had to cede the possibility.
Baird returned then, leading a bay palfrey. The mare was a fine one, her coat glossy with good health, but she was startled. She would not approach the fallen man. “Would that she could tell us what she had seen,” Thierry mused, soothing the horse with a stroke.
“The attackers did not take the horse,” Amaury noted. “This cannot have been a robbery gone awry.”
“The mare could have evaded them. She is young and healthy.”
Amaury stared down at the fallen man. “Or Denis could have been deliberately murdered.”
“But why? And by whom?”
Amaury gestured to the man’s sheathed dagger. “His attacker drew close enough to inflict that blow, yet Denis did not attempt to defend himself.”
“Someone he knew,” Thierry said and Amaury nodded.
“And trusted.”
Thierry continued. “He has no younger sibling to claim his legacy. Who would benefit from his demise?”
“Someone with a secret he wished to be kept, one that Denis knew, perhaps.”
“Someone who avenged a deed done by Denis,” Thierry suggested.
The two knights looked down at the fallen man, and Amaury wished again that he could be certain that Sebastian was far to the north. He lifted Denis to the back of the palfrey and secured him there, relieved that Isabella had retreated to safety.
“You look reluctant to continue,” Thierry noted when Amaury hesitated before swinging into his own saddle.
“I go to meet my bride’s father,” Amaury admitted. “A man who despised my father and threatened him.”
Thierry grinned. “And you arrive with his murdered son. I do not envy you this first family meal.”
“His sole son,” Amaury corrected. “And it is not folly to suspect this encounter may not proceed well.”
“At least the lady will be on your side. She is your wife, after all.”
“Aye,” Amaury agreed, reassured. “There is that.” For Isabella was neither witless nor whimsical. They would stand together and see their future assured.
He might have wished that the first test of their union had not come so soon, but he could scarce change the situation.
“Ride on,” he said and waved his small company onward.
The solar of Marnis occupied the middle of the top floor of the wooden tower of the keep.
The tower was narrower than Montvieux’s had been but it was taller, and the chamber had a view of the forests to the south.
In its midst was a great pillared bed, hung with the deep red curtains of Marnis’ colors and piled with wolf pelts.
It had been years since there had been many wolves in the holding, though in the occasional winter, one might appear on the borders.
These pelts were old and Isabella always thought them mouldering.
She would have been rid of them in a moment if this chamber ever fell to her hand, though that was unlikely to ever occur.
Her father was in his great chair, braziers lit and smoking on either side of him.
He had once been a large man of many appetites but in his sunset years had lost his zeal for many of life’s pleasures.
He was now almost gaunt, his head bald, though he still possessed a small paunch.
He was as tall as Isabella always recalled him to be, but he stooped in these days, which diminished his once-imposing presence.
He made up for any lack with the volume of his voice.
His robe was samite edged in embroidery, though the fabric was worn in these times.
The garment remained a favorite, however.
The Lord de Marnis wore jewelled rings on every finger, though they spun now that his hands were thinner: most in the household had learned to duck if the lord spoke with vehemence, for if he flung out a hand, a ring might slip free and be cast across the chamber.
A page had lost an eye several years before to a particularly large carved agate set in silver.
Her father was agitated in this moment, though that was not sufficient cause of late for him to rise and be garbed. Isabella suspected the presence of her uncle, Mallory de Sancerre, who hovered nearby, was the reason her father had stirred from his bed.
Mallory was the older brother of Faydide, the lord’s current wife and Isabella’s step-mother, a man who reminded Isabella even more of a snake than his sister.
Mallory was one whose appearance belied his nature – he was devastatingly handsome and charming beyond all but Isabella feared his heart was dark.
He was not always in residence at Marnis but a frequent visitor, particularly in recent months.
On this day, he was dressed with his customary flair, gold embroidery rich upon the hem and neck of the deep green tabard that fell to his knees, a black velvet cloak cast over his shoulder so the silk embroidery on the lining could be admired by all, and a large gold clasp thick with gems at his neck.
His hose were deep gold, his leather shoes tooled and dyed deep red, his auburn hair curled at the lower edge to better frame his face.
He was shaved clean but his green eyes glinted like emeralds as he assessed her.
His splendor made her father look more aged and worn in contrast.
The tale upon Mallory’s arrival earlier this week was that he came to visit his beloved sister, but Isabella had wondered from the outset if there was more detail than had been shared.
Her father, if naught else, seemed most pleased to have Mallory at his side: the older man clutched the hand of the younger, as if drawing strength from his very presence.
Edmund was at her father’s feet, kneeling with his head bowed, but Isabella’s father ignored that man at her appearance. “Isabella! Is it true that Denis is dead? Where is he?”
She knew better than to expect any greeting or enquiry after her own welfare. “We found him fallen on the road. He has been killed.”
Her father caught his breath in horror. “My son!” he gasped, clutching at Mallory’s arm.
“My lord Amaury vowed to bring him home.”
Her father’s features darkened to purple. “You left him there? You abandoned your only brother, dead on the road? You are no better than this faithless wretch who left him to the mercy of the thieves who took his steed last night!” He gestured to Edmund.
“My lord! I must protest! Lord Denis bade me ride for Marnis…”
“You have need of more reliable people in your household, Gaultier,” Mallory advised in his deep voice but his comment was ignored.
“Isabella!” Her father rose to his feet unsteadily, his voice booming. “Answer me!”
“I did not abandon Denis, Father. I was ordered by my lord husband to ride to safety. Doubtless he feared the attackers were yet in the area.”
“What nonsense is this? You have no lord husband!”