Chapter 17 #3
Isabella walked to her mother’s grave, leading the palfrey behind her, her heart thundering in her chest. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head to pray.
Aware that she was observed, she reached beneath the stone that marked the place, as if this was the secret repository of Denis.
She did not have to wait long to feel the weight of a hand upon her shoulder.
“What have you found, my lady?” Mallory demanded, his tone low and dangerous.
“Naught,” Isabella confessed, opening her hand to reveal that it was empty.
Fury flared in his eyes but she did not give him time to respond.
“The prize I hid here is gone. My brother must have seen my deed and claimed it.”
“Then where is it now?”
“There are so many places my brother favored for his secrets. I must begin at the beginning to find what he has hidden.”
“What did you hide here?”
“The seal for Marnis, of course, and the seal to Montvieux. No one can claim possession of either holding without them.” She smiled. “That must be why Denis took them into his care.”
She caught her breath at his stinging blow across her cheek.
“You will tell me every hiding place,” Mallory muttered, seizing a fistful of her hair. “You will tell me or I will kill you.”
“You will not kill me before you have the seals in hand, and I must consider which place to search next. I was Denis’ confidante and no other.”
“Let me encourage your willingness to be of aid, my lady,” Mallory snarled, then struck her so hard that she fell. Her head hit the ground and darkness descended.
But Amaury was safe, as safe as the hidden seals. Isabella could be confident of that at least.
Something was amiss.
Amaury rode into a quiet camp, noting that Thierry’s gaze was downcast and Luc looked grim. “Where is my lady wife?” he asked, assuming that she rested in the tent. “I would have her meet the count.”
Thierry sighed, his expression grim.
“What is this?” Amaury asked softly, looking between the brothers.
“She is gone,” Luc said tightly. “Gone on some fool quest with my foolhardy brother.”
“But you are here and she, I think, is not,” Amaury said to Thierry. He felt the count come to stand beside him and Roland as well.
“I am instructed to give you this,” Thierry said. “The lady believed its contents were yours by right.”
It was a small plain box, carved of wood, its lid secured with a lock. It rested easily on Amaury’s gloved palm. It could not contain much, given its size, and it was not particularly heavy.
“Perhaps it is empty,” he said and Thierry’s expression turned skeptical.
“Then she has given all for naught, and I believe, Amaury, that your lady wife is not so witless as that.”
“All for naught?” the count echoed softly as ice claimed Amaury’s innards.
Thierry offered a cord to Amaury, a familiar one with three keys strung upon it. The very sight sent a pang through Amaury for he recognized it well. “I last saw this in my lady wife’s care,” he managed to say. Aye, against her bare skin.
All for naught.
“Aye,” Thierry acknowledged. “She entrusted it to me.”
“Where is she?”
“I cannot say. I suspect she is within Chateau Marnis.”
Roland swore and spun away.
Amaury strove to command his temper. “You left her?”
“I did as she instructed, Amaury. She insisted it had to be thus, for your sake.”
“You did not see her fate?”
“I did not fully do her bidding,” Thierry admitted. “I saw her struck but I do not think she was killed.”
Struck? Some villain had struck Isabella?
“As soon as she was injured, I hastened back here.” Thierry frowned, his dislike of that choice more than clear.
“She bade me ride, Amaury. She said the prize had to be defended. No matter her fate, I could not make her choice a worthless one.” He flung out his hands.
“He rode with four warriors. I could not have saved her alone.”
“Who?” Amaury demanded, his voice as cold as ice.
“Mallory de Sancerre,” Thierry said heavily and the count caught his breath. “She said they would not kill her so long as they thought she was the sole one who knew the location of the prize.”
“God in Heaven,” the count murmured.
Amaury could only hope that Isabella had been right. He thought of Rosalie’s suspicions about Isabella’s leg and feared she was in jeopardy again. He felt ill she was in danger and without his aid.
Thierry lifted the cord of keys. “The smallest one, she thought.”
And yet again, Isabella was right. That key fit smoothly into the lock and turned with the smallest of efforts.
The lid sprang open of its own accord and Amaury stared at two brass seals nestled into the velvet inside.
The box had been made to hold one, the seal of Marnis, which was nestled in the base of the box.
But the seal of Montvieux had been placed into the box as well, its size ensuring that the box only closed with an effort.
There was the reason the lid had opened so readily: it was too full and the hinges strained.
Amaury lifted the seal of Montvieux, turning it so all could see the insignia cast upon its face. ’Twas only then that he saw his father’s signet ring secured beneath the seals.
“She bade me remind you that you held your heart’s desire,” Thierry said quietly.
His father had been killed for this prize, and Amaury now held it again, thanks to Isabella. The treasure he had sought was in his possession, but he would not permit it to be at the cost of the true prize, his lady wife.
The seal he had desired above all else was meaningless if holding it meant the loss of Isabella.
It was late to recognize that his dawning love was but a pale shadow of the full truth. He understood his father now as never he had before, and realized that no risk could ever be too great if Isabella’s welfare hung in the balance.
Thierry must have guessed his thoughts. “She is certain you will be killed if you pursue her, Amaury. She had not a single doubt that you could not leave Marnis alive. She entreated me to persuade you to be content with this.”
Amaury believed Thierry, though he could not endure that Isabella might pay any price to ensure his survival, much less the achievement of his goal.
He would go to Marnis, knowing full well the risk.
“And what now, Amaury de Montvieux?” the count asked quietly.
“We ride to Marnis, of course,” Amaury said. “To retrieve my lady wife, at any price.”
The count nodded. “And to claim the second holding that is rightfully your own.” He lifted the ring of Montvieux and offered it to Amaury, who took a breath then slid it onto his own finger.
His legacy and birthright.
He would readily surrender his all for Isabella.
“Naught will be readily won,” Thierry noted as Roland returned to listen again.
“Nay,” Amaury said, holding the count’s gaze. “We ride to war.”
“For a woman?” Roland asked. “Father almost did as much once, it was said…”
“And now I understand his choice all too well,” Amaury said. “It will be war.”
The Count nodded approval. “I am glad to be at Montvieux on this day. You will see that I anticipated such a situation, though I hoped I might be wrong.” He slapped his gloves against his palm, before raising his voice to his men and ordering the preparations to be made.
Isabella awakened to the steady beat of drums.
She raised a hand to her throbbing head and found a tender bump on the back of it. That was not the source of the sound, though. The beating was so loud that the walls and floor vibrated with it.
It was growing louder.
Isabella sat up, feeling less than her best. She was in her old chamber and alone.
She wore the same garb as she had chosen to ride to Marnis with Thierry, and her kirtle was mired where she had fallen.
Her veil and circlet were cast down beside her, and she had been lying on the floor, as if someone had flung her bodily through the door.
The chamber was filled with shadows, as if evening was falling. Had she been here one day or two?
She guessed the portal would be locked against her, but rose slowly to confirm as much. All spun around her when she stood up, but she steadied after a moment and crossed the chamber. The portal was secured. She leaned back against it for a moment, listening.
Drums. Why should there be drums?
She took a breath and ventured to the window, opening the shutters and looking out. There was naught to be seen from this vantage point, just the land stretching away to the south. She turned toward the door again, just as it was flung open.
“This is your fault,” Faydide snarled. “Come and see what you have wrought.”
Isabella crossed the chamber unsteadily, hating that she had to approach her step-mother at all.
She eased past her to find a company gathered in the corridor, staring out over the gates of Marnis.
When she joined them and looked, she could not believe her eyes.
A dark line emerged from the road that passed through the forest, a seemingly endless number of men and horses.
They spilled forth from the forest, moving off the road so that their forces spread in a large arc between the copse of trees and Marnis’ gates.
Pennants flew above the company, and her heart leapt at the insignia of Montvieux.
Aye, the lead knight rode a dark horse and her heart fluttered in surety of his identity. Of course, he had come for her, but she hoped he did not pay the price for his loyalty.
Where had Amaury found such forces, though? There was another insignia flying over the company, one she knew she had seen before but could not name. The sky was dark over the company, the last light of the setting sun glinting on their armor.
They halted beyond the range of any bow, and she saw tents being raised.
They meant to make camp on the edge of the forest and within moments, a bonfire was lit on the road between the company and the keep.
They must have brought the wood with them.
Isabella was fascinated but also fearful. The drums neither slowed nor halted.
Amaury rode alone toward the gates, halting a distance away.
“Lady Faydide and those within Chateau Marnis,” he roared, his voice carrying to Isabella’s ears.
“I am Amaury de Montvieux. I hold the seals of both Marnis and Montvieux. I come to retrieve my lady wife and I demand safe admission to the keep.”
Someone loosed an arrow from the walls, one that had been set afire. It landed in the ground before Amaury but his destrier did not move, despite the flame so close before it.
“I will cede naught to you!” a man shouted and Isabella knew it was Mallory. “Marnis is mine, my rightful due through my sister, and possession is more potent than any claim.”
“And so we are disagreed,” Amaury said, no surprise in his manner. “For you do not hold the seal of Marnis. You have until dawn to surrender what is mine.”
“Never!” Mallory roared and another burning arrow was loosed.
“Injure my lady wife,” Amaury shouted. “And you will beg me to dispatch you to Hell.”
“We will not surrender to fiends from Montvieux!” Mallory replied, and a volley of arrows were loosed upon Amaury. None came within a dozen footfalls of him and he sat calmly until the assault was done.
“Fear not, my lady,” he called, then turned the destrier and returned to camp.
The drums continued, and the sun sank below the horizon in that moment, as if to punctuate Amaury’s promise. The bonfire blazed brightly against the shadows, an orange orb against the night.
“How much will he risk for you?” Faydide sneered. “Naught at all, I wager. He desires Marnis, no more and no less. He will have neither the holding nor his wife.” She leaned closer to leer at Isabella. “And I can tell you which one he will regret more.”
She seized Isabella by the shoulder then and hauled her toward the stairs so hard that Isabella stumbled and fell to her knees.
Realizing how she could obstruct her step-mother, she let herself go limp, as if she had fainted again.
Faydide tugged at her with rising frustration, then kicked her hard and shouted for Mallory.
Isabella wondered what this night would bring, hoping that she was yet alive and hale when Amaury charged the gates.
She could only pray that he did not risk all for naught.