Chapter 11 #3
Marguerite was at Gaultier’s left, and her older brother on Gaultier’s right.
The younger brother sat on his sister’s left, while Isabella was seated beside the older brother.
They were to share a trencher, which was less than ideal, but at least she did not have to share with Mallory.
When that man returned, he was waved to the place beside the younger brother.
“Why does she blame you?” the older brother asked Isabella softly.
Isabella shrugged. “It is a habit well established,” she said.
“Is she not your mother?”
“Nay, my mother died in the birthing of me.”
“Then you never knew her.”
“I did not.” Isabella forced a polite smile. “There has only been Faydide.”
“Ah!” the brother’s tone was understanding, and they spoke no more of Faydide.
Instead, they exchanged pleasantries as if naught untoward had occurred.
The dog climbed into his mistress’s lap and sniffed the edge of the trencher with interest. The music soared as the soup was carried from the kitchens, followed by an array of egg and fish dishes.
“You eat with enthusiasm,” the brother said some moments later, his tone disparaging.
“I apologize if you are offended,” Isabella replied. “I have not eaten these two days.”
“I thought you savored as much as possible before joining the convent,” he said.
“Though such gluttony will have to be put aside in such a place.” He very deliberately chose the finest morsel of meat from their trencher and consumed it with satisfaction.
He then took another and another, as if he would save her from her own hunger by eating more than his share.
He finally met her gaze. “It is not seemly for a lady to appear overly fond of food or drink,” he said primly. “She should be temperate in her appetites, the better to leave more for others, and also to ensure the merit of her own figure.”
“I see,” Isabella said, pointedly claiming the last morsel of meat. He looked affronted by this, but truly, he was the one who had abandoned courtesy first.
He dabbed his lips fastidiously with his napkin, managing yet to glower at her. “And further, it is the duty of every lady to smile and offer pleasant conversation at the board, to better ensure her chances of a speedy match.”
“How fortunate that I already have a husband,” Isabella said sweetly. She watched his expression sour, then gestured that her cup of wine should be filled again. He caught his breath in disapproval, but she did not grant him another glance.
His sister, meanwhile, fed her dog from the trencher she shared with the Lord de Marnis.
They dined in silence after that, leaving Isabella ample opportunity to wonder how Amaury fared on this night.
Amaury and his company rode hard, the count’s entourage following behind them.
The count, to Amaury’s delight, brought not only a large retinue to ensure his own comfort but had made arrangements for an army to be mustered and follow with all haste.
He would be later in departing from Sant-André, ensuring that his expectations were made clear, and bade Amaury ride ahead.
The villagers from Montvieux were making their own way back to the holding, reassured by Amaury’s return, and would arrive over the following fortnight or so.
Amaury was glad that there would be sufficient time to patch roofs and secure their abodes before the foul weather of winter began.
He could only be encouraged by the count’s support and the enthusiasm of Montvieux’s villagers. The future was not without challenges, but progress was made.
The journey homeward seemed shorter, the weather so fair that they made excellent time.
Amaury and Philip were greeted with a cheer, then surrounded by Roland and the others who had remained behind.
There was a chatter of news, demanded and offered, but Amaury saw only the concern in Roland’s expression.
His brother did not speak a word, but stepped to one side to reveal the one man Amaury had never expected to see again.
Edmund.
Long his father’s trusted confidante, of late in favor with the Lord de Marnis, and now returned to Montvieux, his manner so cringing that Amaury yearned to cast him out forever.
Edmund fell to his knees before Amaury. “I came to you, my lord, for I could do naught else.”
Amaury refrained from offering the older man a list of alternative choices, each and every one of which required his departure from Montvieux. “Aye? Why?”
“You are harsh, my lord, so very harsh. Your time in Palestine has made you forget the loyalty of those who have long served you and your family.”
“I have not forgotten, Edmund, but last I encountered you, you were in the service of the Lord de Marnis. If you are still thus, I doubt you have council for me that will be pleasing.”
“I am not, sir. I am not! I was compelled to go to Marnis after your father’s demise, for they seized me and dragged me there. Otherwise, you would have found me beside my true lord’s grave, patiently awaiting his heir.”
“You would have died, Edmund,” Roland noted. “No man survives months without water or sustenance, no matter the depth of his devotion.”
“Not if you showed me the kindness your father would have expected of you,” Edmund insisted. Roland sighed and averted his gaze, his patience clearly thin.
“Why are you here, Edmund?” Amaury asked.
“To bring you tidings, my lord, tidings and a warning that you might better confound your enemies.”
“My enemies who yet command your services?”
“Oh, my lord, you are unkind, to be sure! I have always served the family of Montvieux with utmost dedication. Your father would be appalled to hear even your tone when you speak with me. Indeed, he must roll within his very grave…”
“What tidings, Edmund?” Amaury asked tersely.
“Oh, my lord has ridden hard this day. You must come to the fire and refresh yourself while I share with you all I know.” Edmund tried to seize Amaury’s hand, but Amaury evaded his touch.
The older man cast him a sly glance. “And where have you been these days, my lord? Your brother would not confide in me, due to his unjustified suspicions.”
“Perhaps Roland did not tell you because he did not know,” Amaury said mildly. “My choices are not for all to know.”
“Of course not, my lord, Of course not! But you can trust old Edmund, surely?”
Amaury settled by the fire, smiling with gratitude at the cup of wine he was granted and the bowl of stew.
He watched as one of the men led away both Ténébreux and Philip’s horse, gesturing to the boy that he would see them tended.
Amaury caught Philip’s eye and beckoned to him, indicating the place beside himself.
When his squire, too, had been served, Amaury looked up to find Edmund watching him.
“I come to wonder if you have any tidings to share, Edmund,” he said easily.
“Oh, so much news to share, my lord. Shall we confer in private?”
“No, Edmund. You may speak freely here.”
The older man hesitated, casting a slow glance over the company who could not entirely hide their interest in whatever he might say, then sat at Amaury’s knee, his manner confidential. “I have seen the Lady Isabella,” he began.
“I imagine most at Marnis have done as much.”
Edmund cackled. “Nay, nay, sir, that is not so, for she was ordered to tend the corpse of her brother for burial, and locked into a chamber to do as much.”
Amaury looked up, unable to hide his outrage at this.
“Aye, my lord. Secured with only a dead man for company, with neither food nor wine, and still barricaded there when I left.”
“And when was that?”
“Two nights ago, my lord. They must have released her on this day, for the funeral of Lord Denis is to be on the morrow, at noon.”
“I thank you for these tidings,” Amaury said, already determined to attend the rites and see Isabella.
“But there is more, sir,” Edmund crowed. “So much more.”
“Aye?”
The older man nestled closer and lowered his voice. “On the night you left that keep, the Lord de Marnis dispatched his wife’s brother on an errand of great secrecy.”
“His wife’s brother?”
“Faydide, his second wife, is the daughter of the Duke de Sancerre and the mother of Lord Denis. Her older brother – well, a half-brother, truly, for they shared a father but not a mother – is Mallory de Sancerre. He is in the closest confidante of the Lord de Marnis.”
“I see.”
“I suppose no one knows his destination or errand?” Roland said, his tone filled with skepticism.
“No one but the lord himself,” Edmund said. Roland had time to roll his eyes before Edmund spoke again. “And me!” He cackled again to have regained Roland’s interest. “I was there. I read the missive. I know where he went and why.”
There was a long pause.
“Then perhaps you might tell us,” Amaury suggested quietly.
“He went to Haniers,” Edmund said, speaking with defiance as if he might not be believed.
Amaury exchanged a glance with Roland, who shrugged. The location was not known to him, or at least he did not recognize its importance. “Where is that?” he asked Edmund. “And why is it of import?”
Edmund’s eyes shone. “Because the sole daughter of Haniers was to wed Denis. The arrangements were a great secret. Even Lady Faydide did not know of it, but the king recommended the match to the Lord de Marnis for he thought it a good one. And the Lord de Marnis agreed most heartily. There was a considerable sum to be paid as the lady’s dowry, plus she is young and lovely.
” He nodded with authority. “They say she is guaranteed to bear.”
“And so he sent this Mallory to tell them of Denis’ death?”
“Not only that!” Edmund said with glee. “To propose himself as the bridegroom instead!”
“Mallory de Sancerre?”
“Nay, sir, the Lord de Marnis.” Edmund was triumphant, though Amaury still could not make sense of it.
He set his empty bowl of stew aside. “But the Lord de Marnis has a wife already, in Lady Faydide.”
“But he means to put her aside. She is to go to the convent with Lady Isabella and there to remain forever. The Lord de Marnis intends to wed Lady Marguerite instead.”
Amaury seized upon the only detail of import to him. “Lady Isabella is being sent to a convent? You are certain of this?”
“She will not deny that she willingly wed you, and she confessed that the match was consummated.” Edmund’s smile was sly once more.
“If she would not lie to the bishop, then there can be no annulment. And truly, why seek one, as I said to the Lord de Marnis? The lady is unmarriageable. It makes sense to see her dispatched.”
Amaury rose to his feet and heard the anger thrumming in his own voice. “You proposed this solution to the Lord de Marnis?”
“Oh, he had already contrived it, my lord. It is my duty to offer reassurance for notions already conceived by my lord and master.”
“What convent?”
“The Lord de Marnis had yet to decide.”
Edmund lied and Amaury was certain of it. “Why are you here, Edmund?”
The older man smirked. “I wished you to know that the ladies will depart for the convent after the funeral rites are completed on the morrow. And once they are gone, the Lord de Marnis will celebrate his engagement to Marguerite de Haniers. If you wish to save your wife from her fate, you will have to intervene on the morrow.” He smiled at Amaury, clearly pleased with himself.
“And you will need my aid, sir, to enter the gates of Marnis.”
“I would wager that you desire something in exchange, Edmund.”
“I would return to your service, my lord, in your father’s memory, and abide at Montvieux once again.”
Doubtless to spy upon events in the holding and report regularly to Marnis.
Amaury sipped his wine and weighed the possibilities.
He did not believe anyone would open the gates of Marnis to him, given his recent experience, even to pay his respects to the son of the house.
He suspected that Edmund had a means of ensuring his entry to the keep.
And was the price so high? Even if Edmund meant to spy upon Montvieux on behalf of the Lord de Marnis, Amaury thought that might be managed.
All he had to do was ensure that Edmund had no access to a horse.
If he were compelled to walk to Marnis from Montvieux, he could be missed and intercepted long before he arrived at that holding.
Amaury did not have to trust him. If Edmund intended to use him, he had no compunction in accepting what the other man offered.
The sole concern was whether Edmund intended to deliver him to the Lord de Marnis, by whatever his means might be to get Amaury through the gates.
But Isabella’s welfare was at stake. There could be no choice.
“I accept your offer, Edmund,” he said, aware that Roland threw up his hands and turned away. “And I thank you for taking the initiative to make it.”
“You will not regret your choice, my lord,” Edmund gushed, kissing Amaury’s hands in a fawning manner.
In a way, Amaury already did.
But on the morrow, he would see Isabella again – and if Edmund’s aid meant that he could bring her home to Montvieux as his lady wife, Amaury was prepared to accept the terms.