Chapter 13
Isabella was magnificent.
A goddess daring to tread the earth. A queen to reign over all Amaury possessed. A siren fit to claim his admiration forevermore. She might have been a warrior princess from an old tale, seizing her birthright and ensuring that justice triumphed.
Amaury was so proud of her. She had made the most of opportunity, claiming her legacy before another could snatch it away. There was proof of her quick wits and audacity.
It would have taken a more foolish man than he to miss the signs of discontent in the great hall of her father’s keep, however. There had been a heartbeat when he had thought to step forward and offer his felicitations to her, but the sense of discontent made him reconsider.
The Lord de Marnis had not died a natural death, Amaury would have wagered his soul upon that. How he wished he could stride forward and place the poison stone upon the lips of the fallen man! But that would reveal his presence, and he sensed that this was a moment to remain hidden.
Isabella’s adversaries would muster. They might surround her, even target her. He might gather tidings of them from the corners of the hall when he was unobserved.
He could serve his lady in ensuring her survival.
Aye, because if someone wished to claim Marnis, regardless of the cost, she would be the next victim.
The very prospect filled him with dread.
What did Edmund know? Would he be convinced to surrender the tale now?
Amaury nodded to Roland and they made their way out of the hall.
The company was agitated, some preparing to leave, others gathering in groups to whisper about what they had witnessed and speculate upon the future.
It took the brothers precious time to reach the cart, and they arrived there ahead of the driver.
The third cask was open, and Edmund was gone.
The driver arrived in that moment and shrugged his innocence of that deed. Amaury spun in place, unable to catch a glimpse of Edmund.
“We should go while we can,” the driver said. “They will question those who linger. It is their way.”
“Come, Amaury. We will settle upon a plan at home.”
“But Isabella,” Amaury protested, looking back toward the hall.
“She spurned you,” Roland reminded him.
“She is my lady wife,” Amaury replied. “And she needs me.” He ducked from beneath the weight of his brother’s hand when Roland might have argued.
Amaury slipped into the crowd, making his way back toward the hall. He heard Roland swear but did not look back until he was on the threshold of the hall. He turned then, relieved to see the cart, with both the driver and Roland, already passing beneath the portcullis.
His first destination was the kitchen, which was in a state of sufficient confusion that he was not noticed at all.
The space was filled with dirty vessels and platters of food returned from the hall, as well as many servants and peasants.
Hounds wove through the crowd, occasionally seizing some morsel of food from a table.
Some of those present strove to complete their tasks, scrubbing pots and gathering trenchers, while others availed themselves of the wine.
There was a hum of gossip and speculation, and in the midst of the noisy, smoky space, the seneschal strove to learn details of events.
He alone seemed to be possessed of good sense and Amaury hovered close to him, listening as he established who had been in the kitchens when the swan was prepared.
He held the sauceboat determinedly and ensured that no one snatched it from him as he demanded answers.
Amaury learned that both Faydide and Mallory had visited the kitchens, one to protest her ill use to any who would listen, and the other to hasten the presentation of the swan.
Mallory, it was said, had insisted upon tasting the sauce then bearing it to the board himself.
That man came into the kitchen in that moment, Edmund fast behind him, and Amaury bent lower to avoid being seen.
It became clear the pair sought someone and he could guess who that might be.
He managed to circle the perimeter of the room and be assigned to carry trenchers from the hall to the village.
He feigned a fall when the company stepped into the bailey and was surrounded immediately by hungry dogs.
In the confusion, Amaury escaped into the hall.
He hid in the shadows to watch Isabella climbing the stairs, wishing he could be certain which chamber she would occupy.
At least he heard a latch dropped and a door secured. She was safe for the moment, but he had to speak to her. Servants moved up and down the stairs, some women carrying old wolf pelts out to the bailey.
Somehow, he would have to hide himself within Marnis until all retired to sleep, then he could seek out his lady.
The madness began before Isabella’s father was cold. Every soul in the hall seemed compelled to speak to her or make an appeal. She evaded Faydide with an effort, and both of the brothers from Haniers.
She managed to retreat to the solar and secure herself there.
If she had thought she might have a moment’s peace in that chamber, she was to find herself mistaken.
No sooner had she dropped the latch than someone began to knock upon the portal.
She heard a guard strive to send the person away, then Faydide wailed in anguish.
“But I must see my dear, dear Isabella! I must confer with her about our future.”
“There is naught to discuss, Faydide,” Isabella said without opening the door. “You may stay or you may go to the convent as Father wished, but you will not enter this chamber again and we will not confer. Our future is not shared.”
There was a moment of silence. “But I must retrieve my belongings.”
“They are mostly in the other chamber and the rest can be moved there on the morrow.”
“But Isabella! I would console you in this moment of grievous loss.”
“And I would be alone. Good day, Faydide.”
The solar was empty, but Isabella could still feel her father’s presence. First, the Lord de Montvieux murdered, if Amaury was to be believed, then Denis cut down almost within sight of Marnis’ gates, then her father dead at his own board.
Had he simply died as old men were wont to do? Isabella wished to believe as much but the timing was curious. There had been something violent about her father’s death. An attack surely, perhaps of the heart. He had not been well for some time.
Still, she shivered.
Would Amaury come? If he did not, Isabella did not know what she would do. She could not remain awake forever, on her guard against treachery alone, or defend this holding as her possession with an army of dubious loyalty. If only she had been born male!
Her father’s frequent lament made so much more sense in this moment.
Isabella paced the width of the chamber repeatedly, her thoughts spinning, then strove to force a measure of order upon herself.
First, she would remove her father’s possessions.
The bed should be stripped of linens. The mouldering furs could go.
His cloaks and boots could be moved closer to the door and the floor could be swept clean of rushes.
Her mother’s trunk could be opened and the garments therein examined. She could not dress so plainly if she was Lady de Marnis.
She heard the chaos of the hall below and strove to ignore it. Someone wept. Someone shouted. Dogs barked in the stables and she heard voices raised in argument. Marnis had never been a tranquil holding but it was less so on this day.
She gathered all that had to be removed and piled it at the door, barricading the entryway.
She called for servants to remove it all, and not a one of them could gain admission to the solar given the obstacle.
Faydide, mercifully, had no notion of what she did, at least not in time to make another appeal, and soon, Isabella was again alone with the door secured against all.
The chamber smelled better already.
She opened her mother’s trunk and removed a gown she remembered very well.
It was the hue of the night sky, neither black nor blue, the hems thick with gold embroidery.
There were even gems sewn into the decorative work, stones that glimmered when she held the garment up to herself.
It was a little short, though it would fit her otherwise.
She frowned at the hem, thinking her mother had not been much shorter than she was now, then remembered.
The chemise that matched was longer and intended to show.
Ah, she found it in the trunk and lifted it with a smile.
It was fine linen, pleated and embroidered, the hem again heavy with embroidery, so that it was fit for a queen.
She saw the golden girdle in the trunk then, and the fine red leather slippers.
There was a veil of finest gold cloth, a sheer confection that must be silk, and a thick gold circlet that must have been hidden here from her father.
He had sold all the gems he could find, so insatiable was his desire for funds. There was no doubt that the circlet was gold, not with that beautiful hue. Brass never looked so rich as this.
She jumped when another knocked at the door. This summons was crisp, three distinct raps delivered with precision. Not Faydide and certainly not Mallory, who would pound upon the door and demand admission.
“My lady Isabella?” a man asked softly. “It is Raymond de Haniers, the brother of Marguerite, and I would confer with you.”
What could he desire of her? Perhaps he and his siblings meant to leave on the morrow. Perhaps they intended to leave early and miss the funeral, thus would offer their regrets.
Isabella went to the door but did not open it. “You must know, sir, that I cannot confer with you in private. It would not be seemly.”
“I wagered as much, my lady, which is why I have asked your seneschal to join us.”
“I am here, my lady,” Simon said. “And awaiting your instruction.”