Chapter 9
Isabella blinked. Edmund studied her, but there was cunning in his gaze. He knew what this was about, as she did not. Mallory’s thoughts could not be discerned. Her father’s fury was evident – and inexplicable. Isabella felt that a river swirled around her and stole her footing.
What was awry? Her father had talked incessantly of wedding her to Amaury since her last broken engagement.
She strove to make the situation clear. “I beg your pardon, Father, but I exchanged vows yesterday with Amaury de Montvieux, as you wished, for he has returned from Outremer. Surely Denis told you last evening that Amaury accepted your offer…”
“None of that matters now,” her father said, his manner imperious.
Perhaps her father was not listening.
“I am wed by your dictate, Father, and according to your plan. Edmund also witnessed the exchange of our vows.”
“And I tell you that it does not matter. You cannot be wed to the son of Montvieux if Denis is dead. You cannot!”
Mallory nodded. “You must abandon the match if it exists, Isabella.”
If it exists? Was her word doubted?
Isabella straightened. She had not been inclined to insist upon speaking to her father, but all had changed with her match – and it was not one she would deny.
“Regardless of the unfortunate fate of Denis, a marriage is a marriage. I have pledged myself to Amaury de Montvieux, and he has pledged to me, before witnesses and before God…”
“I tell you, Isabella, I do not care!” her father shouted. “Is it not sufficient that you are so poor a candidate for marriage? Must you be a fool and a deaf as well? You will not be wed to that man, not now, not ever.”
There was silence in the chamber as they stared at each other, Edmund looking between them with undisguised curiosity. Mallory appeared to be amused.
“But I am wed.”
“And I say that you are not. You stand in Marnis, my holding, where my will is done.”
“No doubt your father will write to the bishop to have this inappropriate match annulled,” Mallory suggested to Isabella’s outrage.
“Aye!” her father agreed with enthusiasm. “Aye, I will do this very thing, if Isabella must be so impulsive.”
The situation was not Isabella’s fault. She was not the one whose decision defied logic.
There was, however, one detail that could not be ignored. Isabella spoke clearly. “The match is consummated, Father.”
The Lord de Marnis caught his breath and Mallory averted his gaze, his expression becoming pained. Edmund grinned at her in a lecherous manner.
“Wretched girl,” her father said under his breath.
“No man of merit will take her hand now that she is soiled,” Mallory affirmed and her father nodded.
Soiled?
“I did as you commanded,” Isabella began, her temper rising. “I have been a biddable daughter...”
“And I have changed my mind.” Her father spoke to her as if she was a simpleton. “Everything changes with this situation. Do you not see the obvious, you foolish girl? You cannot be wed in this moment, and you can never be wed to that man.”
Once again, they glared at each other. Panic was rising within Isabella.
The match could only be annulled by the bishop if it was not consummated, and Isabella would not lie about a detail of such import. She could not deny what she had done. She had acted as her father desired, but now he would blame her for the choice.
What would become of her if she was neither maiden nor wife? What if Amaury’s seed took root? She saw more than a shadow in this moment. She saw a vale of darkness fit to consume her.
“Those who God has joined together, let no man put asunder,” she said and fury flashed in her father’s eyes.
She retreated a step as he erupted from his chair, certain he would strike her, and heard Mallory catch his breath.
There was a cry from the bailey in that moment. Her father shoved past Isabella with such vigor that she almost stumbled.
To her horror, Edmund seized her elbow, then grinned at her in a salacious way. “I could console you, my lady.”
It was all too clear what manner of consolation he meant.
“I have a husband!” Isabella snapped, tearing her sleeve from his grasp.
She marched after her father, refusing to look back when she heard Faydide snickering behind her.
Her step-mother appeared from some crevice and now whispered gleefully to Mallory as they followed the Lord de Marnis.
Isabella could not dispel her sense that they wrought a scheme that would benefit only themselves.
Oh, she had been a fool to imagine that all came aright in her life with her marriage.
She was shaking when she reached the bailey, but her anger redoubled when she saw Amaury on the far side of the portcullis.
He was barred from entry to the keep.
Her father did mean to deny her marriage and that truth made Isabella’s heart sink to her toes.
Amaury rode his destrier and led a familiar chestnut palfrey, one with a figure draped across the saddle.
The palfrey must have been the horse Denis had taken this morning to seek his own steed.
The white destrier followed behind. There was a trail of blood dripping from Denis and his posture left no doubt that he was dead.
Behind Amaury was his companion knight, Thierry, whose expression was grim, and that knight’s squire.
“Lord Gaultier, Lord de Marnis,” Amaury said, his voice carrying over all. “I regret that we should meet again in such circumstance. I bring your son, Denis, home.”
Isabella’s father gave a cry of anguish so potent that many in attendance winced. “Open the gates! Open the gates and bring my son inside! He cannot be dead!”
The portcullis was lifted and Amaury made to ride into the bailey. “I fear he is, sir.”
“Not you!” Isabella’s father cried, suddenly raising a hand before Amaury. “No spawn of Montvieux will cross my threshold, not before the killer of my own son is named and brought to justice.”
“Do you accuse me, sir?” Amaury asked coldly. “We encountered your son fallen on the road just moments ago. He was already cold, and no more could be done to aid him.”
Isabella shivered at the bluntness of such detail.
The palfrey, meanwhile, walked slowly into the bailey, reins trailing. The white destrier followed the mare, the scent of blood making him step high and flare his nostrils.
When they both were clear of the gates, Isabella’s father flicked his hand and the portcullis was dropped into place so heavily that the ground shook.
Amaury’s destrier snorted, as if insulted, but Amaury remained impassive.
He did not turn from the gates, but remained watching through the portcullis.
In the bailey, two men lifted Denis from the saddle and carried his corpse to Isabella’s father, who fell on his knees and clasped his dead son to his chest. He wept like a child, shaking Denis as if he could bring him back to life by will, and Isabella had to avert her gaze from the sight.
Faydide gave a high cry of anguish, proof she would not be overlooked, and appeared to collapse. Mallory caught her, his expression stern as he surveyed the scene. He then glared at Isabella as if the situation was her fault.
“You must have killed him!” the distraught lord bellowed at Amaury. “You took my son in vengeance for my rightful possession of Montvieux, and I will not let the matter pass!”
“I did no such deed, sir.”
“You lie!”
“Never,” Amaury said with heat.
Isabella’s father staggered to his feet, pointing at Amaury.
“It was you or those allied with you. No other could have desired the death of my son! You think you can simply take Marnis from me. You think you can destroy everything and everyone I love, just to see your own vengeance. You think that because you are young, your desire will conquer but you are wrong. By God’s own will, I claimed Montvieux and I owe you naught in return.
” His voice rose to a roar. “Get yourself from my gates, fiend, that I might mourn my son’s loss in peace! ”
There was silence then in the bailey, a silence broken only by an old man’s sobs.
“My lady?” Amaury said, his tone moderate, and Isabella felt the weight of his gaze upon her.
“Spurn him, Isabella!” her father ordered. “Do what is right by your kin. There can be no alliance between our houses, not now, not ever. Do as I command or I will ensure you regret your defiance.”
Fear flicked in Isabella’s heart. She knew well enough that her father should not be denied.
Did he know some detail she did not? Amaury could not have attacked Denis the night before or even this morning.
He had been with her both times. His brothers insisted they had taken only the deer and the destrier the night before, but what about this morning?
Where had Sebastian gone? Had he returned to Marnis, awaiting an opportunity to attack Denis for the sake of vengeance?
If Sebastian were responsible for Denis’ death, would Amaury condemn his brother for this act of vengeance? Isabella feared he would not.
Once again, she felt caught between the demands of two families long at odds. She did not believe she could unmake a marriage. She could not deny that she had sworn a vow to Amaury de Montvieux and she could not pretend that she had not lain with him. Her maidenhead was gone.
Nor could she insist that she had been forced to surrender to Amaury, or that he had been unchivalrous to her, for that was untrue.
Indeed, he had been a marvel.
She almost took a step toward Amaury before the realization struck her.
Her father’s denial of her marriage meant he would not keep his offer of returning Montvieux to Amaury once his three earlier conditions were met.
Amaury had wed her solely to regain his legacy and there was no longer any chance of its recovery through her.
Doubtless, he would cast her aside when she could bring him no advantage.
He would never abandon Montvieux.