Chapter 14 #3
“Then we must ensure she learns the truth of you, my lord.”
“Aye, Philip, we must.” He had not meant to share his uncertainty of Roland, but she had surprised him – and Isabella’s reassurances had been as beguiling as her conviction of his own innocence.
He had not realized how alone he felt in his endeavors, not until Isabella offered her support.
He glanced back toward distant Marnis, seeing now the alliance and solace that could be found in marriage –and fiercely desiring more of it.
“They say that winning the greatest challenge offers the most sublime reward, after all.”
“I dislike, my lord, that you left her there again. Surely she is surrounded by enemies?”
“I fear that is so, Philip.” But she had aided his escape instead of revealing him. The fact of that gave Amaury encouragement. “That is why I gave her the poison stone.”
The boy looked startled. “Sir!”
“It alone can convince my lady that I am worthy of her trust,” Amaury said. “Perhaps it holds a sorcery beyond what I know of it. I can only hope.”
“Aye, sir. When do we return to Marnis? Or do we?”
Amaury considered this. “I think I must pay my respects to my lady’s father when he is laid to rest.”
“Two more days,” Philip said. “If they will admit you.”
“If my lady does as I have suggested, she will ensure that they do.”
Was Amaury right?
It defied belief that a stone could detect poison, but Isabella had to cede that there were marvels in heaven and earth not yet understood.
She considered the matter for the remainder of the night – once she finally persuaded Mallory and the others to leave – and decided the sole course was to do as Amaury had suggested.
She would test the stone, and thus, the conviction of her husband.
In the morning, Isabella chose the red dress again and secreted the stone in her purse. She opened the portal to the solar only when she was fully dressed, and found most of the household awaiting her there.
Her days of solitude had clearly come to an end.
She was in command, Isabella reminded herself as she swept through the portal and passed them. Simon walked slightly behind her and she spoke to him. “I would see my father before I break my fast,” she said crisply. “I would sit vigil with him alone.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Her will was readily done, and no objections were made.
Isabella soon found herself alone in the chapel, where her father lay upon his back.
The morning sunlight touched his still figure, glinting off the gems in the pin at his shoulder.
His cloak flowed beneath him and around him, his boots were polished, his tabard was fine and his beard was combed – and yet he looked diminished.
He was vastly smaller than he had appeared, a mere shell of the forceful man she had known.
A frail older man. He could have simply died.
Or he might have been assisted over that threshold.
Whoever had dressed him for burial had eased away the signs of stress and he looked to be sleeping peacefully. With such a view, Isabella could almost forget his agony as he breathed his last. Almost, but not quite.
She had not been overly fond of her father, but no one had the right to take his life from him before God deemed it to be at an end.
She had to know.
Isabella stepped forward, kneeling beside her father’s shoulder as if to pray there.
She had her back to the doors that opened into the chapel.
From behind her, no one would be able to see what she did.
She quickly placed Amaury’s stone against her father’s motionless lips, halfway expecting his eyes to fly open and his voice to ring out, chastising her for her folly.
Instead, the stone changed hue. She stared in awe as a darkness spread over its surface like a black cloud, one that turned the stone’s mottled green hue to obsidian.
She lifted it away and a touch of green returned on the side furthest from her father’s corpse.
When she lowered it again, the entire stone was again suffused with black.
Her father had been poisoned.
By whom? It had to be either someone who sought to claim the seal of Marnis – in which case, Amaury might be right that she might be killed next – or someone who held a grudge against her father.
Faydide had been furious with him for his decision to put her aside.
Mallory might have believed that his own influence would fade in his sister’s absence.
Amaury or one of his brothers could have taken her father’s life in retaliation for the death of their own father.
She could not imagine that the party from Haniers were involved: they had been disappointed but not to the extent of engaging in such violence.
Who had had an opportunity to poison the swan or its sauce?
She would ask Simon. Had the same person killed Denis?
If so, she imagined the villain might be a man, given the extent of Denis’ wound.
Her thoughts returned repeatedly to Mallory, though she could not fathom how he would claim Marnis, even now that her father was dead.
If Faydide wished to wed again and claim Marnis as her own, she would have to be rid of the only person with a blood claim.
Isabella would definitely use the stone, as Amaury had advised.
She feared that her discomfiture showed when she left the chapel. She found Mallory at her elbow and Faydide fast against her other side.
“You look tired,” Faydide said sweetly. “But then, I suppose you did not sleep well.”
“I slept well enough,” Isabella lied. “Until people began to knock on the portal.”
“It has been a trying few days,” Mallory said.
“A cup of wine will restore the lady,” Raymond said, bowing his head to her with courtesy.
He, his brother, his sister – and the dog – fell into step behind Isabella and her companions.
She was escorted by this group as if they guarded her, and it was curious indeed to be the focus of so much attention.
At the board, there was bread and honey, wine and some stew reheated from the day before. She was guided to the great chair, the one that had fallen beneath her father, and she strove to hide her distaste. Someone offered her a chalice of wine, such a fine vessel that she was startled anew.
How could she get the stone into the wine before so many witnesses? They were all watching her, apparently concerned for her welfare. Was one of them planning to watch her die?
“What is wrong with Felix?” she asked, indicating the dog and all gazes turned to that animal.
“Naught. He is well, as ever,” Marguerite said.
“Are you certain? I thought he was limping,” Isabella said.
Marguerite immediately set down the creature, encouraging it to walk a few steps, and Isabella slipped the stone into the cup of wine as everyone turned their attention upon the dog. The stone had been green again, but she watched as it once more turned deepest black.
She was to be next.
“A toast to the new Lady de Marnis,” one of the men said, though Isabella was too startled to be certain which of them spoke.
“A toast!” Faydide repeated.
“I thank you,” Isabella said, then deliberately knocked over her chalice of wine. “Oh! I am so clumsy.”
“But what is that?” Faydide demanded. “It looks like an egg.”
“Perhaps the cup tipped of its own accord with such a weight within it,” Isabella said, and claimed the stone in one hand.
“What is it?” Mallory asked, leaning closer, but Isabella slipped the stone under her skirts and into the top of her boot.
“I do not know what it was,” she said.
“You have it in your hand.”
“Not I. I dropped it.” Isabella opened her empty hand and Mallory frowned.
“Most curious,” he said, his eyes narrowed as he studied her.
“Simon, the lady has need of another cup of wine,” Antoine said, as if he ruled the keep in which he stood.
“There is no need, Simon. I find I have no taste for it on this morning.” Isabella lifted a hand to her eyes. “It was so difficult to see Father thus.”
Mallory looked away, clearly doubting her response, but Raymond appeared at her side to offer his condolences and services.
“Perhaps I should return to the solar and try to sleep a little,” she said, wondering if anyone would believe her to be so feeble as that.
They did.
Raymond escorted her to the solar and she paused at the doorway to thank him.
Simon, she realized, was waiting behind, his expression watchful.
“It occurs to me, Simon, that my lord husband will wish to pay his respects to Father. Will you send a runner to Montvieux to tell him that the funeral will be tomorrow morning?”
If he was surprised, he hid it well. “Of course, my lady.”
“And perhaps you might bring me a bit of bread and wine at midday.”
“Of course, my lady.”
She would ask Simon about his suspicions then, in privacy.
Once alone in the solar, she stared in shock.
She had left the chamber tidy, the trunks closed and the linens smooth on the bed.
The shutters had been open to admit the morning breeze.
It was now a room transformed. The linens had been torn from the bed, and the mattress had been shredded.
The trunks had been opened and their contents flung to the floor.
Rugs had been cast aside and the draperies on the bed tugged wide.
Someone had searched the room in her absence.
Isabella bolted the door behind herself and hastened to the treasury. So far as she could see, it had not been disturbed. Perhaps the villain did not know where it was hidden. She unlocked the hidden door with shaking fingers and heaved a sigh of relief.
All was as she had left it. There was no mistaking the three fleur de lis of Montvieux on the lid of the trunk there, the one filled with gold coins.
How could she defend the coin that should be rightfully returned to Amaury?
She could remain in the solar on this day and night, but on the morrow, she would have to leave the chamber for the funeral and the door could not be secured from the corridor.
Someone, also, had to have her father’s keys.
Someone might learn in that interval where the treasury was hidden.
There was, though, one good way to both ensure the safety of that coin and fill the hours of her day of solitude.
Isabella lifted the blue dress from the trunk and considered it.
Surely, if she wore the colors of Montvieux, Amaury would know that she realized he was right and agreed with him.
She would wear his cloak, as well, to show her alliance with him in all matters.
And she would carry a surprise, one she imagined would be most welcome. Isabella fetched a thread and needle, then settled close to a light to secure the first coin in the garment’s hem. The garment was cut full, with a generous volume of cloth, which meant the hem was long.
It might even be long enough to hold the entire contents of the trunk.