Love Never Lies (11 page)

“God’s teeth!”
His blue gaze widened in comical disbelief. “Is that your belly growling?”

She folded her arms in front of her middle, feeling her cheeks go hot. “Yea, my Lord.”

 
He narrowed his gaze on her, then turned and strode from the chamber without a word.

He returned in no time with a heaping bowl of stew. “Eat it,” he said, shoving it into her hands, which she had been warming over the fire. “If you think to cheat me out of my ransom by starving yourself, it won’t work. I’ll feed you myself if I have to.”

 
Isabeau glared up at him with indignation. “If I had been given any supper, I assure you I would have eaten it.” With that, she turned her back on him to plunk down on the bench and eat her stew.

A moment later she heard him stalk from the chamber.

When he returned, some time later, he appeared to be seething with anger, features grim,
his
body as stiff as a corpse.

Isabeau rose from her perch on the bench, her heart clutching in her breast, having no idea what to make of his behavior.

His lips twisted in a wry smile. “Have no fear. I’m too weary to beat you tonight.” He scooped up two pelts from the bed,
then
tossed them her way. “Trust
me,
I have no wish to touch you at all.”

The asperity with which this was said made her blink. Why should she fear violence at his hands when his words and his looks cut so deep? “You say I should trust you, yet the only thing greater than your hate is your mistrust of me, else you would not have dragged me in here in the first place.”

He pulled his black tunic off over his head then turned, presenting a full view of his sleek muscular chest. The light from the hearth set aglow every hard bulge and hollow, from his neck to the dark curls which spread below his navel then disappeared beneath his braises.

The sight of so much skin sent delicious tingles rushing up and down Isabeau’s limbs to converge at her thighs. The shock made her take an instinctive step back. The thought that he could make her shiver from head to toe was unsettling to say the least.

She had no wish to desire him.

If only she was as immune to him as he was to her.

Realizing she was staring, she adjusted her gaze upward to his chin.

“You’re right,” he said in dispassionate tones. “I don’t trust you. Nor do I hate you. In truth, I have no feelings for you at all.”

 
She stiffened. “How strange,” she said, turning her back on him to spread one of the pelts by the hearth, “Because I don’t like you at all.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she lay down to gather the other pelt around her. Let him stare all he wants, she thought, cradling her head in the crook of her arm. I’ll be dreaming of better things.

Soon she would be reunited with her family, finally meet her betrothed, and Fortin, would become just another unpleasant memory—another one of life’s little lessons.

Don’t chase after thieves, or at least if you do, don’t get caught.

Even if Lord Hogan was not as finely made as the image in her dreams. What did she care? What good was a handsome face with no heart to match?

Isabeau reached for the ruby amulet under her kirtle.

But her hand could not find it.

‘Twas gone.

Something sank in her belly like a stone.

Where could it be?

Had she lost it in Hilda’s bedchamber during the struggle?

Nay, now she remembered. She had removed it in the bathhouse ere she got into the tub.

Rot!

And now she could not leave to retrieve it. Fortin would suspect her of sneaking out for a tryst with one of his men. And yet, she felt bare without it—vulnerable. It acted like a warm hand resting against her heart. She felt alone without it. Had she not been so distracted, she would have noticed it missing long before this—another grievance to lie at Fortin’s door.

But why should she need that?

There was no shortage of reasons to hate him.

His handsome dark looks.

Hard muscled body.

Sky blue eyes.

***

A damp mist hung over the courtyard. Isabeau’s footsteps echoed loud in her ears in the hollow silence of the early morn. The pungent smell of manure sailed past her nostrils from the stables nearby.

The bathhouse appeared deserted as she cautiously pushed opened the door. She propped it opened with a block of wood to let in the light, then hastened to the bench in search of the amulet.

As luck would have it, when she reached down, ‘twas the very first thing her fingers touched.

She scooped it up, a surge of joy rushing through her as she pressed it to her lips. Her heart beat a little slower after she slipped it around her neck. She could not face her betrothed without it.

She had barely stepped out the door when William came rushing toward her from the direction of the hall. He stopped before her, chest heaving for breath. “There you are, my lady. My lord bade me come and fetch you. You’d best return to the hall at once. He’s not in a very good temper this morn.”

Isabeau did not care what temper Fortin was in, only that he should break his fast and be gone, hopefully never to return. But the distress on William’s face was such that she felt compelled to offer some explanation. “Forgive me. I left something behind in the bathhouse last eventide and had to retrieve it.”

He slanted
her a
skeptical look, most likely wondering what in God’s creation she had left behind, since she only possessed the clothes on her back. “Very well, but in the future when you leave the hall you must tell someone where you go.”

“You don’t believe me?” It pained her to think William, who had been so kind to her, might distrust her as much as his master. She pulled the amulet from beneath her kirtle to offer proof.
“’Twas a gift from my betrothed.
I couldn’t bear to lose it.”

An expression akin to guilt passed over William’s face. Or mayhap ‘twas regret. It came so fleeting, she could not tell. His voice rasped deep and gruff when he spoke again. “Come. I best get you back inside before there’s hell to pay.”

Isabeau dropped the amulet beneath her kirtle,
then
followed William at a leisurely pace, in no way as anxious to ease his master’s mind as he was. In fact, the thought of pricking Fortin’s ire gave her great satisfaction. She smiled imagining his irritation to have awoke and found her missing.

Just the same, she avoided the high table while serving in the hall that morn, leaving Hilda to see to his needs.

In her haste to speed Fortin and his men on their way Isabeau carried two platters of bread and porridge at a time to the trestle tables instead of one. This proved a mistake, when hurrying from the kitchen with an especially heavy load the top tray began to slip.

Edric, who was sitting nearby, leapt to his feet to grab it before it toppled to the flags. “Now do I deserve a kiss?” he said, close to her ear.

When he smiled at her like that, with such boyish candor, she could not stay angry with him. But she kept her tone firm, not wishing to encourage him. “Nay, but you have my everlasting thanks.”

His continued attention drew nudges and chuckles from the men sitting at the trestles nearby.

Heat rushed to Isabeau’s cheeks.

Fortin rose from his chair at the high table, cutting short their exchange—a signal that it was time for him and his men to depart.

Isabeau watched with relief as his men rose to file out behind him.

Then, she remembered.

She had failed to gain the information she most wished.

She picked up her skirts and raced across the hall, fearing Fortin would have reached the stables before she could catch him.

But as luck would have it, he was conversing with Edric in the courtyard.

Edric did not look happy when he strode for the gatehouse a few moments later.

“My lord!”
Isabeau called, close on Fortin’s heels as he turned to go. “I would speak with you ere you depart.”

He turned, slaying her with his sharp blue gaze. “Well?” Impatience edged his voice. “What is it?”

“Have you word from my uncle?”

“Nay, I have not.”

Her heart sank. Disappointment crept into her voice, though she wished it had not. “But it’s been many weeks. Surely he’d have answered by now.”

“Strange as it may seem, the world does not move for only you,” he said in a mocking tone. “‘Tis likely it has something to do with one of his more important strongholds being under siege in the North.”

She ignored his jibe, searching his face for answers. But his tanned features remained inscrutable under the slash of his dark brows. “What of my betrothed? Have you not heard from him?”

Something flickered in his blue eyes before his features closed. “If I were you, I’d not count on it.” He turned to go,
then
halted. “Don’t worry. Your uncle will pay the ransom.”

She watched him stride away, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. Had she imagined the softening in his tone? He spoke with such certainty.

But what if her uncle did not pay?

What if her betrothed cast her aside?

What would he do with her then?

Their exchange in the courtyard played over and over in her mind throughout the remainder of the day. Each time it did, it struck her that something was amiss. Fortin had not told her the whole truth.

And if she were wise, she would not wait upon his return to discover which part he was leaving out.

A sharp wind lashed against Alec’s unshaven cheeks, whipping his surcoat like the sail of a ship. But, from where he stood on the wall-walk overlooking the ramparts of Highburn Castle, the world looked uncommonly fair.

For once in his life, it felt as though he was sailing with the tide rather than against it. After many long years of fighting, he finally had a place to call home.

His gaze shifted past the village to the river, meandering through the green meadows below, imagining the ships he would one day have moored there and the prosperity they would bring. But first, he must see to the harvest. Stores needed to be replenished if he were to feed his men. Ships were not built on empty stomachs.

The thump of familiar footfalls turned him around.

“‘Tis a pity your father isn’t here to see it,” Beaufort said, coming up beside him, a smile as bright as a sunbeam lighting his face.

Alec expelled a huff. “’Twill take more than this crumbling pile of stones to impress him.” Highburn’s shell keep with its high curtain wall provided adequate protection, but it lacked the grandeur of his father’s fortress in Cornwall. The buildings within were sadly neglected and in desperate need of repair. The two wall towers built close together on either side of the entrance afforded little defense. There was much work to be done before he would invite his father here.

Beaufort slapped him on the back. “Do you remember the day he left you in my care?”

“’Tis something I’ve tried hard to forget.”