Love Never Lies (12 page)

“He thought you too small to ever become a knight, but swore you’d make a good and loyal squire.”

“Yea, he said as much to me, ere he left me with you.” Alec loved his father and knew his father loved him, but Alec held no delusions about his place in the pecking order. His elder brother, Christian, had always been the apple of his father’s eye. But then, he was the heir, and so, required more grooming than Alec and Dominic.

A chuckle rumbled deep and low in Beaufort’s chest. “But you grew taller and heartier than your two brothers. The look on your father’s face the day you beat Christian at the tournament in Le Mans will burn in my mind forever.”

“Yea, his chin sagged clear to his knees.” Alec sent forth a depreciative snort. “But his new wife found no pleasure in my victory.”

“A stepmother’s jealousy.
Why do you persist in allowing her to get under your skin?”

Alec’s gut twisted in disgust. “What my father doth see in her, I’ll never know.”

“A comely face and a passionate nature, not to mention the hefty dowry she brought.”

“A passionate nature?
Is that what you call it?” Anger built in Alec’s chest, thinking of the shame she had caused his family. Abigail was a whore, plain and simple. No dowry could make amends for that.

“Your father is happy.”

“Yea, ignorance keeps him so. ‘Tis well she’s barren or there would be many a bastard running about my father’s hall. On the other hand, it gives her leave to spread herself under all and any who dare, whether friend, kin, or foe.”

 
“Ahh!
You think she’ll try to wiggle her way into Christian’s bed, is that it?” Beaufort’s amber eyes lit before narrowing, “Being the eldest and heir?”

Alec gave a derisive grunt. “She’s too sly for that. She plays the angel for his benefit in the event my father dies and she’s dependent of his charity.”

“Why do you worry then? Christian has taken a wife and Dominic is growing rich fighting tourneys for De Rook in Normandy.”

Beaufort was right.

His brothers could take care of themselves. At least Christian could. He wasn’t so sure about Dominic, who, like a reckless youth, courted danger whenever he could. If he didn’t die in a tournament, a careless life of debauchery and drink would surely kill him.

And you,” Beaufort declared with a note of pride, slapping him on the back, “Are good and truly placed. Now all that remains is to find you a wife.”

“There’s much to be done ere I turn my attention in that direction.” Right now marriage was the furthest thing from Alec’s mind. But he accepted Beaufort’s hounding with good humor, as he always did. Since his wife died, Beaufort had been on a crusade to marry every eligible person he knew, while avoiding the altar like the pox himself.

“Your new neighbor, Langley, has two daughters—both of them fair.”

 
“You’re asking me to trust your taste in women?” Alec let go a loud hoot of laughter.

“’Tis the land he’s offering that should wet your appetite.” Beaufort lifted both brows without altering his tone, a look of caution Alec had grown accustomed to as his squire.

The last time he’d ignored Beaufort’s warning Alec had landed in a steaming pile of shit, having been thrown from the back of an ill-tempered steed that could not be rode.

“If I was at my leisure to woo the maid who comes with it, but I am not.” Now that Highburn was his, the task of restoring it loomed above him like a steep cliff. He had no time to play the eager swain.

 
“I didn’t say she needed wooing.” Beaufort’s tone grew impatient. “I said Langley was particular.
A few meetings mayhap.
They’re your neighbors. It’s not such a difficult task.”

 
“I have no time for a lengthy courtship.” Truthfully, he had no wish to involve himself in a courtship at all, but he knew Beaufort would not stop yapping about it unless he threw him a bone. “I’ll consider it, if you’ll cease preaching like a priest in hell.”

 
“Good. Now I must return to my own holdings, ere my serfs rise up in revolt under Aldwin’s tight fist.” Beaufort turned to go,
then
stopped, the hint of a smile twitching his lips. “Should I send your regards to Hilda ere I arrive home? She’ll be sorely vexed when you come for the Lady Isabeau and leave her behind.”

Alec gave an ill-tempered grunt. “If I could ransom Hilda, I’d happily take her in the lady’s stead.”

“Mayhap you’d consider a trade.” Beaufort rubbed his fingers across his chin and looked heavenward. The humor edging his words belayed the serious expression on his face. “I’ll keep the lady for her ransom, if you’ll take Hilda as your serf.”

“I think not.’

Beaufort laughed loud and long. “And you call yourself a knight, possessing such a faint heart.”

“’Tis not my heart, but my body that grows faint with Hilda panting at my sleeve.”

“Yet, you’d have your men grow weak, panting after the Lady Isabeau instead.” Beaufort’s laughter floated after him as he turned and strode toward the stairs.

Alec watched him disappear, his heart shadowed with discontent. Bringing Isabeau to Highburn did not sit well with him, but she was his responsibility. He could hardly leave her in Beaufort’s care. If he expected to collect the ransom, he would just have to grit his teeth and bear it.

‘Twould not be so easy to avoid her under the same roof—to ignore the sweet curve of her lips or the twist in his gut when she smiled at other men. But there was naught he could do, if he wanted the ransom.

If absence made the heart grow fonder, mayhap familiarity would cause the steady increasing lust he felt for the maid to retreat, and leave his soul be.

***

Isabeau kept her gaze fixed on Hilda’s back as they threaded their way through the crowded square. ‘Twould not be wise to lose Hilda—at least not until she got her bearings and came up with a plan of escape, especially with Beaufort and his men milling about.

When Beaufort announced that everyone at the castle would attend Hilda’s sister’s wedding, a ploy no doubt, to win the loyalty of his new flock and atone for his recent neglect, Isabeau could hardly believe her luck. Whatever his reasons, she was determined to put the opportunity to good use.

The merriment of the wedding celebration was the perfect distraction she’d been waiting for.

She shot a hasty glance over her shoulder in search of Edric. His feverish attention had dogged her every step the entire afternoon.
Strange, since he had had little or nothing to do with her for a sennight.
However, she’d felt the heat of his gaze from where he stood sentry at the gatehouse whenever she stepped out into the courtyard.

She suspected Fortin had something to do with it. No doubt he’d warned Edric off. According to Hilda, Fortin had had words with Aldwin as well before his leave-taking. They had not gone without a meal since. It seemed Fortin would go to any lengths to protect his precious ransom.

But today, with the ale flowing freely, she feared Fortin’s warning might have worn off.

In order to slip away unseen, she must first shake Edric off her scent.

They emerged from a mass of laughing faces to an open spot in the churchyard, where the villagers joined hands in a lighthearted dance, while three musicians played. The lively melody from the lute, horn and tambourine swirled over, under, and around them like smoke.

Isabeau’s heart clutched in the midst of their abandonment. She might have been dancing at her own wedding if not for Fortin, a crown of rosemary circling her head. Now, she could only pray Lord Hogan still wanted her.

One of the revellers, an acquaintance of Hilda’s ‘twould seem, caught Hilda by the arm, pulling her into the circle of dancers to join in the glee.

In a trice, Isabeau swung the other way.

‘Twas almost certain Edric lurked close by, but she dared not look over her shoulder, for fear of inciting suspicion.

The palfrey she and Hilda had ridden down the winding hill from the keep stood tethered to the wooden fence on the other side of churchyard.

If she could but reach it, she might make good her escape.

Isabeau’s heart thudded wildly as she hastened across the green.

By the time she rounded the other side of the stone church, her pulse pounded hard against her ears.

She hurried by the twenty odd war horses munching grass at the wooden fence to make her way to the chestnut palfrey tethered at the end of the group.

The steady stamp of footsteps behind her made her heart thump.

She hastened her steps.

“Wait!
My lady!”

Edric.

Rot!

She might have known it couldn’t be that easy. If anyone would find her, ‘twould be him. She closed her eyes and sucked in a long calming breath, then, seeing no other choice, turned around.

“Forgive me,” he said in slurred tones when he reached her, bending over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “But running has made my head spin.”

Her gaze darted past him toward the village, then back to the top of his curly blonde head. How on earth was she to get rid of him? She could not keep the exasperation from her tone. “You should not run after taking so much ale.”

He raised his head and grimaced, putting a hand to his belly. “I don’t feel so well.”

“You don’t look very well either, unless green is your new color.” She took him by the arm to lead him toward the fence. “Here, you’d better sit down.”

No sooner did he sit than he rose to his feet again to lean over the fence gagging.

Isabeau wasted no time.

She picked up her skirts and ran.

Edric was retching in earnest when she reached the palfrey. Guilt pricked her to leave him in such a way, but she could not wait. She might never get this chance again.

She swung up onto the palfrey’s back,
then
urged her into a trot.

A quick glance over her shoulder told her Edric was still busy spilling the contents of his belly. With any luck he would collapse after his exertions, buying her more of the precious time she needed. She prayed the rest of Beaufort’s men were half as drunk.

If so, she was as good as free.

After covering a goodly distance with no one following, her heart began to slow. Hopefully she could make her way to safe haven before dark. Asking for directions would certainly speed her on her way. Lara would surely help, but Isabeau dared not go near Gilling’s Cross for fear someone might recognize her.

 
She remembered passing a monastery on the way. Mayhap the good brothers would aid her in her plight.

 
She did not relish the thought of returning to her uncle. But what else could she do? She could not journey to her betrothed unescorted. Cornwall was too far away, even if she knew where Lord Hogan lived, which she did not.

‘Twas her own fault, of course.
Joy at the prospect of fleeing her uncle’s home had made her remiss in demanding many details. But she was not alone. Her parents had abandoned their trust to her uncle as well. Their disappointment would be great if the match failed.

Frustration built in her breast at the mere thought of facing Barak. An image of his taunting smirk swam in her head, making her grit her teeth. But there was nothing else she could do. She had no choice, but to return to her uncle in hopes he might recover her dowry.