Chapter 16
Isabella awakened surrounded by warmth. Her shoulder was sore, but she felt so comfortable otherwise that she strove to ignore it.
There was linen beneath her fingertips and the muscled strength of another person pressed against her side, from shoulder to toe.
Even better, she smelled the musk of a man’s skin, a scent that she already knew she would never forget.
Amaury.
She opened her eyes and he sighed contentment. “At last,” he murmured, touching his lips tenderly to her brow. She felt flustered that he had been watching her sleep and more so when he pulled back to study her intently. “How bad is the pain?”
With that, Isabella began to sit up and Amaury supported her, advising her to move more slowly. She wore only her chemise, the garment torn, and there was linen wrapped around her aching shoulder. “My mother’s gown,” she whispered in fear, thinking of the fortune secured in its hem.
“Safe in that trunk,” Amaury said, his tone reassuring. “You were most worried about it. I did not even let Philip try to remove the blood.”
“Good,” she exhaled. Fearing the worst, she looked about herself and realized they were in the tent at Montvieux.
Alone.
Truly, there was no place she would rather be.
Amaury, too, wore only his chemise and there was a night’s growth in his whiskers. The morning sunlight shone through the red silk and he was watching her closely, his eyes that vivid blue. She swallowed and averted her gaze.
Her stockings and shoes were gone, though the cord with its three keys was yet around her waist. Only Amaury’s ring remained upon her left hand. She lifted her hand in consternation that she had lost the signet ring, but he led her hand to the cord with the keys.
“I placed the signet ring here,” he said softly. “For it was loose upon your finger.”
She dared to look up and meet his gaze. “You found the poison stone.”
“It is back in my purse, for safekeeping.” His eyes darkened and he bent to brush his lips across hers again. “I feared you lost, my Isabella,” he whispered, his voice so husky that Isabella’s breath caught.
“They meant to kill you,” she replied just as quietly. “I summoned you and it might have been to your death. I am sorry I erred…”
Amaury kissed her resolutely to silence.
“I thank you for the stone,” she confessed unsteadily.
“You were right that my father had been poisoned, for the stone turned dark when touched to his lips. I should never have been certain otherwise. And later, nigh every morsel prepared for me also changed the hue of the stone. I am sorry, Amaury, that I feared you responsible for my father’s demise. ”
“It was only reasonable of you. You heard my vow, after all.” That he was prepared to excuse her so readily made her feel even more guilty for doubting him. “Did you learn who was responsible?”
Isabella shook her head. “I cannot say. It might have been any of them, for my father could be vexing.” Amaury snorted beneath his breath. “I meant to ask Simon, the seneschal, what he had learned, but he brought me food that had been tainted.”
“Simon might not have been the one to tamper with it. I see no gain for him in your death or even that of your father.”
“Nor I, but I was afraid.”
“And always alone,” he mused, then kissed her again. “Has no one ever taken your cause, my lady?”
“Not until now,” she admitted readily. “I find the change both disconcerting and most appealing.”
Amaury chuckled and stretched out beside her again.
He leaned on his elbow, looking down at her, lying on her back, then placed his hand upon her waist to urge her closer.
She felt the solid strength of his chest against her arm, the power of his thigh against her own, and the heat of him from shoulder to knee.
She liked the weight of his hand upon her and smiled up at him, losing herself in his steady gaze.
“Who would hold Marnis in your absence?”
Isabella liked when they conferred thus: while their lovemaking was potent, in a way, this exchange of confidences, done abed, was even more so.
“You, by right of marriage.” She had to say it and he winced in acknowledgement of that truth.
“And who by any other right?”
“Faydide, I suppose, could claim the holding and wed again.”
“But she was to be dispatched to the convent, and she could not have dealt that blow to Denis.”
Isabella shivered. “Her brother might have taken her cause.”
“To what end?” Amaury shrugged. “We all would wish for the good fortune of our siblings, but I see no specific gain for him.” He traced circles on her stomach, his brow furrowed, for a long moment.
“Who was absent from Marnis in December last?” he asked finally then met her gaze anew.
“Who could have ridden to Beaune to send that gift to my father?”
It was another way to consider the riddle and a good one.
“Not Faydide. Not Edmund.” Isabella pursed her lips. “Mallory was not in residence at Marnis then. He could have been anywhere, even at home in Sancerre.”
“And the villain could have sent written instruction, by a trusted messenger.” He grimaced again. “Someone has been clever, my lady, but we must be more so.” He met her gaze again. “Tell me precisely what occurred before your father died.”
“The night before Denis’ funeral, guests were welcomed at the board. Do you know Marguerite de Haniers, or her brothers?”
Amaury shook his head. “I have heard of the holding. It is to the southwest of Marnis, is it not?”
Isabella nodded. “There was an argument between my father and Faydide. He informed her that he intended to wed Marguerite, since Denis could not do as much, and that the engagement would be formalized after Denis’ funeral.
He declared that he would put aside Faydide and that she would be sent to the convent along with me. ”
“He had need of an heir,” Amaury said and Isabella nodded. “Still, I doubt his lady wife was pleased to hear this plan.”
“She was not. She was fairly dragged from the hall by her brother, Mallory, then my father insisted that the feast continue, as if naught were amiss at all.” Isabella frowned. “I am not certain what the lady Marguerite’s brothers thought of it. The lady herself was more concerned with her dog.”
“Marguerite was to wed Denis,” Amaury mused.
“And I wager her dowry had been paid and spent. I wondered at the time if my father made his choice because he could not repay the sum.” Isabella recalled a detail.
“And Faydide said that Mallory had been absent on some mission for my father. He might have ridden to Haniers, to encourage the lady to arrive sooner than planned.”
“I myself witnessed the formalization of the engagement and your father’s demise.” Amaury cast her a sparkling glance. “And your claiming of the ring.”
“I am the last of his lineage. Marnis should be mine.”
“And I admire that you were sufficiently intrepid to ensure that it was so.” He kissed her again. “Where was Mallory when Denis died?”
“He must have been in the hall. Everyone said Denis rode out alone.”
“He might have left by another portal.”
Isabella shook her head. “There is only the one. My father and his Captain of the Guard used to argue about it. There is the one gate in the wall, which my father insisted was most secure. The Captain of the Guard argued that there should be another smaller passageway, in case we were besieged, for example, but my father was unconvinced.”
“Then if he did ride out that morning, the gatekeeper would have to have seen him.”
“Aye. I do not think that man would confess as much, though.”
“Do you recall any other detail that might be of import?”
“I had visitors after Father’s death. The younger of the brothers of Marguerite, one Raymond, came to offer an alliance between himself and I. It seems his father was more desirous of the connection with Marnis, but I told him I was wed already.”
Amaury nodded approval of this.
“Someone else tried to enter, but I did not see who.”
Amaury grimaced at that, then his eyes twinkled. “All that before a valet dared to knock upon your door.”
Isabella smiled at him. “My most welcome visitor of all.” They kissed again, and she knew she had one more revelation to share. “Where did your father keep the treasury of Montvieux?”
“Locked in a treasury in the solar. He had several wooden chests, each embellished with the fleur-de-lis of Montvieux, and secured with heavy locks.” He frowned anew.
“You never found them,” Isabella guessed.
“No one did.” He shook his head with skepticism. “My father is said to have died alone in his sleep, yet managed to disperse all his effects without the influence of another. It is a curious business. Of course, his treasury might have been barren by this time. I suppose we will never know.”
“Would you fetch my dress for me?”
“Are you cold?”
“Nay, I would show you something.”
Clearly puzzled, Amaury rose and retrieved the blue kirtle from the trunk.
“Who would have guessed that even such an abundance of embroidery could be so heavy,” he said, laying the garment down beside her.
The bodice was stained dark and had been torn by both the bolt and the hasty removal of the garment.
Amaury offered the torn shoulder to her, undoubtedly thinking she wished to assess the damage.
“Surely a skilled seamstress might manage a repair? I know little of such details, but there seems to be a great deal of cloth.”
Isabella did not reply but reached for the hem. “In the treasury, there are three wooden chests with the insignia of Montvieux upon them,” she confessed, feeling Amaury’s surprise.
“Truly? Then your father must have at least seized the prizes of Montvieux immediately after my father’s death. Perhaps Edmund took them to him.” He sighed. “I suppose they were empty.”