Chapter 17
Isabella dreamed.
It was a clear summer’s day and she was following Denis along the road through the forest. Denis was perhaps seven summers of age, curious and active.
That there were no other children at Marnis meant that he often entreated Isabella to join him in some game or another.
Nine years his senior, she also lacked companions, and though Denis was inclined to cheat – or protest unfairness if he lost – he was better company than none at all.
Denis was fascinated by the river, though forbidden to approach it when the water was high in the spring.
This was the first day he had been permitted to explore it since the previous fall and Isabella could scarce keep up to him.
He ran ahead, shouting that she should hurry, then vanished from view.
Isabella stopped to watch a grouse gather her chicks, the entire family only discernible when they moved.
By the time she reached the point where Denis had disappeared, there was no sign of him. Another might have feared for his fate, but she knew he would go to his favored spot. She followed the course of the river, hearing his voice precisely as she had anticipated.
He was half hidden from view, flattened across the top of a great rock he admired. A tree grew atop this massive stone, its roots seeming to clutch the rock. Denis’ hand was plunged into the shadows beneath the trunk of the tree.
“It is still here, Isabella! My treasure has been safe all winter!” He removed his hand to examine his prize, the wind in his hair, and Isabella’s eyes flew open in the darkness.
Of course. How could she have forgotten her brother’s favorite hiding place, the one for his best treasures?
She did not remember what his prize had been that day, and it did not matter.
No one else had ever found that hiding spot or used it – except for a weasel one autumn, which had chosen it as a nest and taken exception to Denis’ visit.
The disgust had been mutual, as she recalled, though she did not know whether the weasel had left of its own accord or Denis had evicted it.
On this night, the moonlight shone through the silk of the tent, casting shadows across the interior.
She could hear the murmur of men’s voices, so calm that she knew the sentries exchanged tidings and that all was well.
She could hear the river of Montvieux, which perhaps had encouraged her memory.
Amaury breathed steadily beside her, radiating warmth and reassurance just by his presence.
The seal of Montvieux and the signet ring. That had to be what Denis had taken from the treasury and hidden in his favored spot. Perhaps it was in a box, one that could be opened with that third key.
If she was right, she knew the location of Amaury’s sole desire.
But what to do about it?
If she confided in Amaury, he would ride immediately for Marnis to claim the prize. She wondered if he would even manage to reach the hiding place, for someone at Marnis wanted him dead. Amaury was certain that she had been the intended victim of that bowsman, but Isabella believed otherwise.
She was only a woman. If she lived, she would be forced to enter a convent or otherwise cheated of her due. Amaury, though, Amaury had to die for his claims to both Marnis and Montvieux to be lost.
She shivered in the darkness and he rolled over in his sleep, gathering her into his arms and nestling closer. She raised a hand to him, thinking that his true nature could not be disguised: even in sleep, he was protective of her and concerned with her welfare.
She would be a wife equally concerned with his advantage.
It was entirely possible that Isabella might not be able to secure Denis’ prize herself.
It was entirely possible that she would be threatened to place Amaury in jeopardy.
It was also possible that she would succeed, surrender the seal to Amaury and he would decide that he had no need for her as his wife.
His objective always had been Montvieux, and he had made compromises only in pursuit of that goal.
A small doubt lingered in her heart, but she did not truly believe he would do as much.
She trusted him. Her own heart burned with a fierce love for this man, and she felt a protectiveness that surely must match his own.
She wanted him to have Montvieux, and she would take any risk to ensure his happiness.
“Cold?” he murmured, his lips against her ear.
She turned a little, then touched her lips to his. “Nay, sir.”
She saw his lashes flutter and his eyes opened, his expression turning to amusement when she ran her hand down his chest. “What might I do to ensure your comfort?” he murmured and she smiled.
“You may have an idea, my lord.” She kissed him again, emboldened by his manner and her own conviction. “I had a dream,” she whispered in his ear, then pressing a kiss to his earlobe. She felt him shiver with desire and flicked her tongue against his skin so that he growled.
“And what did you dream, my lady?”
“That the hall of Montvieux rose in stone around me, and it was filled with sons of the house, each and every one with dark hair and blue eyes.”
“Surely some of them had brown eyes?” He leaned over her, clearly pleased by the prospect, and granted her a satisfying kiss.
“Perhaps a few,” she whispered. “They were all tall.” Amaury chuckled and she lowered her lashes to hide the fullness of her heart. “Let us strive to make that dream come true.”
“My lady’s wish is my very command,” he said in a low rumble, his eyes glowing with intent. His kiss was triumphant, stirring all the passion within her, and Isabella could only wind her arms around his neck and kiss him back.
If she failed in her quest on this day, this might be the last time they were together, and she would make it a night to remember.
She would hope even now to conceive Amaury’s son.
When she dressed for this day, she would put the signet ring of Marnis upon her finger again, a mark of her resolve.
Amaury found himself inclined to whistle that morning. He awoke to find Isabella yet asleep and kissed her brow before he rose and washed. Philip had learned to assist him silently, as he was always awake sooner than his wife, but by the time he was armored, Isabella sat up with a yawn.
“Are you earlier than usual?” she asked, so adorably sleepy that he yearned to return to bed again. He loved when she was disheveled and when she smiled softly at him, for he felt that she showed him a vulnerability that was hidden from so many others.
He could not believe that he had ever thought her inscrutable, much less devoid of passion.
He found himself leaning over her, indulging in another sweet kiss. “We ride to meet the count,” he confessed.
“I remember, but I thought he would arrive later.” She pulled him down, offering a demanding kiss of her own, one that made his heart thunder. “You could linger a little.”
Amaury groaned beneath his breath, liking how mischievous her smile became. “I vowed to meet him and will be on time. He is our guest and my father’s friend.”
“Ride safely then, and hasten home.”
“I will return with the count and his party by nightfall,” he promised, kissing her once more. “I swear it to you.”
“And I will ensure that a welcome is prepared,” she said, stretching across the pillows again with contentment.
“You test my resolve, my Isabella,” he said, letting her see his admiration.
She laughed at him and shooed him away with her hand, so changed from the lady he had met at the altar that Amaury could scarce believe it.
He kissed her again, then followed Philip, knowing his contentment was evident.
Roland awaited him with some impatience, his destrier saddled and his squire waiting. Philip and Fraser had made all the preparations and stood waiting for Amaury beside the horses. “It seems you find contentment in your uncommon match,” his brother said, reaching for his reins.
“I do and you might take a lesson from that.”
“A lesson?”
“That satisfaction can be found when two people seek it together. Even an arranged match can become a happy one.”
“Even a match wrought of necessity?”
“Ours was not thus,” Amaury said. “It was a union between neighbors, and one that has created an alliance.”
Roland raised his brows but said no more.
The small company was gathered with speed.
Amaury conferred with Luc and Thierry who were remaining at Montvieux, confirming his plans for the day, then they rode out.
He set a good pace on the road toward Sant-André, and the company formed around him, Roland on his left hand.
They spoke of trivialities, then the circumstance at Marnis could be avoided no longer.
“Too many deaths,” Roland said with a grim shake of his head. “First Father, then Denis, then the Lord de Marnis, and now very nearly you. Who is the fiend responsible?”
“There could be more than one villain,” Amaury said. “The Lord de Marnis, for example, certainly earned the ire of the Lady de Marnis in choosing to put her aside for another.”
“Aye, and Lady Faydide is not one to keep her own counsel, much less to remain silent while she lost an advantage,” Roland acknowledged.
“It would not surprise me if she was behind his death.” He cleared his throat.
“Though it could also have been your lady responsible, for she was the one who claimed his signet ring, and with speed.”
“Nay, not Isabella,” Amaury said with resolve.
“Though she also was to be sent away against her will,” Roland noted.
Amaury had to make the obvious argument. “It could have been either of us, determined to avenge Father’s death.”
“Do you think Gaultier de Marnis responsible for that deed?”
“He had the treasury of Montvieux in his possession, and the very fact that he offered me the seal in exchange for wedding his daughter indicates that he held that, as well.”
“Does your wife have it? Does she know where it is?”