Love Never Lies (15 page)

One thing was certain. ‘Twould be wise to avoid Fortin as much as she could. Who knew what lurked in the heart of such a vengeful man.

***

The crisp fall air breezed past Fortin’s men as they shuffled out to begin their day’s labor, slicing through the musty air in the hall to vanquish the last remnants of sleep from Isabeau’s brain.

Her thoughts flew home as she collected the trenchers that would be taken to the village to be distributed amongst the poor. A week had passed since Fortin had brought her here, with no word from her uncle or betrothed, but she refused to allow her fading spirits to show.

‘Twas not easy.
The atmosphere at Highburn grew oppressive without Hilda’s contagious mischief to lighten the time. Not to mention the fact that no one ever spoke to her. Word must have circulated of Edric’s punishment. Fortin’s men had turned skittish, avoiding her gaze, giving her a wide berth.

But, better a leper than a sheep amongst wolves. She didn’t miss their predatory looks, any more than she missed Barak hunting her in her uncle’s hall.

Myrtle avoided her as well, except for brief instructions to keep her hands busy throughout the hall. Not that any guidance was necessary. There was no shortage of chores to be done. Every inch of the place was in need of a good scrubbing.

‘Twas just as well. Ridding the hall of cobwebs and mouse turds might distract her from wanting to strangle Fortin. And if she was not mistaken, she was not the only one.

Though she had not said so, Isabeau suspected Myrtle was not pleased with her new master. Her narrow glances in Fortin’s direction shouted disapproval. Mayhap she did not approve of him imprisoning a lady in his hall. Mayhap that was why ‘twas easy for Isabeau to forgive her.

After all, ‘twas Fortin who infringed on her modesty, by forcing the older woman to examine her.
Myrtle was just another pawn in his game.
‘Twas his greedy, black heart leading them all to hell.

When the trestles were cleared, Isabeau set about gathering the old rushes so that fresh could be laid. Myrtle worked alongside her in silence, sending hesitant glances her way. When she mumbled something beneath her breath, Isabeau’s ears perked in eagerness.
‘Twas lonely enough, without being at odds with the only other woman in the hall.

Isabeau stopped in mid stride, releasing the fresh rushes in her hand. “I beg your pardon, Myrtle? I couldn’t hear what you said.”

“’Tis a bad omen, him bringing you here. Better he left you in Lord Beaufort’s care.”

“I fear you’re right,” Isabeau said with a confidence she did not feel. “In delaying to pay my ransom, ‘tis likely my uncle plans to wage war on this place. Other interests may have kept him away and made it too late for him to come to his vassal’s aid, but he will come for me.”

Myrtle cocked a brow beneath the gray braids crowning her head. “’Tis you I speak of, not him.”

Isabeau quivered. Little fingers chased up the back of her neck. If Myrtle had the second sight, she didn’t wish to hear it. Hesper’s prediction had tortured her long enough. Her voice turned brisk in an attempt to hide her disquiet. “’Tis more than a bad omen, but I can do naught about that.” She marched to the bundle of rushes by the door to begin spreading more. “Fortin hates me, but I don’t think he’s a cruel man.”

“’Tis not hate in his gaze when he looks upon you. Hate brings a different light to men’s eyes.”

Isabeau
straightened,
a flutter of unease settling in her belly as she brushed the chafe from her hands.

Could Myrtle be right?

Did Fortin desire her?

Had their kiss affected him the same way it had affected her?

Though she hated to admit it, she felt a certain glow of pleasure whenever she saw him. But, what woman wouldn’t when confronted with such a man? His wide shoulders and great height commanded notice. There was a stillness about him—an aura of confidence that demanded attention. The depths of his blue eyes held you transfixed.

Her animosity melted away, or any clear thought for that matter. He stole her wits. She could think of only him—how firm and smooth his lips felt—how she longed to feel them pressed against hers once again.

She blinked.

What on earth was wrong with her?

He was her captor for heaven’s sake.

She had no right to feel thus.

She was betrothed.

Hopefully Myrtle was mistaken. Hopefully Isabeau had imagined Fortin’s interest from the high table as she moved about the hall last eventide—the way his eyes followed as she trod from trestle to trestle, refilling horns and tumblers with ale.

‘Twas verily suspicion that sparked his interest.

He could not desire her.

Nay.

Fortin’s greed was too great. He wouldn’t touch her. Why else would he have gone to the trouble of checking to see if her virtue was intact? Clearly he was intent on preserving her virtue, not taking it.

This pleased her more than a little.
‘Twas sweet justice that his greed stood in the way of his lust.
One sin would protect her from the other. If he only knew what a favor he was doing her—taking on the task of guarding her virtue. Though a prisoner, she felt strangely free, not having to look over her shoulder for a change. Like a watchman after a long night of sentry, there was only relief.

Isabeau followed Myrtle up the stairs to tidy the upstairs chambers with a light and nimble step, pleased that in some small way her presence might cause Fortin some torment that day.

‘Twas less than he deserved.

***

A brisk wind snapped against Isabeau’s cheeks. The muddy scent of the river beyond the confines of the courtyard smelled of freedom, bringing the desperation in her heart to a fevered pitch. Fortin had slipped out of the hall that morn before she could question him, but as soon as the palisade gates opened and he and his men trotted in, she planned to force an answer from his lips. She could not abide another moment of waiting, without knowing when her captivity would end.

It shouldn’t be long now. She’d spotted them from the battlements, returning after helping the villagers with the harvest. From the talk she’d heard in the hall, Fortin was anxious to get in what remained of the crops so that he could begin building his ships.

The river gave him the advantage of trading north and south. He planned to be ready come spring to peddle everything Highburn could offer—mainly timber and wool, as a dense forest surrounded the plowed fields and meadows dotted with grazing sheep. ‘Twas a shame he only saw the bounty and not the beauty of this place.

If Highburn were her home she’d explore every forest path, every glade by the shimmering river, and wander up and down every green rolling meadow, picking daisies and marsh flowers as she went.

It galled her to think Fortin went about his merry way, planning his future—his life moving forward, growing brighter like a windblown flame while hers slowly sputtered out. And there was naught she could do about it. It set her to grinding her teeth.

If her uncle had been detained fighting in the north, why had he not sent her betrothed? Surely if Lord Hogan knew where she was he’d come for her. Mayhap he didn’t know. If he thought her uncle had not upheld his end of the bargain, he might have married another by now.

The more Isabeau pondered it, the more desperate her thoughts grew.

She paced the flags in the courtyard, cursing under her breath. Was it so much to ask for—a little happiness—a place where love and laughter lived, like her parents’ home.

Only this time ‘twould not be snatched away after a brief holiday.
‘Twould be her home, where she would settle in and raise a family—her own, cozy, familiar nest.

To think Fortin might have ruined her dreams—
all that
she had planned and hoped for, made anger build inside her, until the heat pricked her ears.

By the time the gates swung opened and Fortin and his men cantered in amongst shouts and laughter, hot ire burned her from head to toe.

The moment Fortin leapt down from his destrier before the stables Isabeau was there to confront him. “What news? Tell me? Have you heard from my uncle?”

His smile faded, and his tanned features darkened beneath his straight black brows. “‘Tis the same as every day you ask me. I have no reply. When I do, I’ll tell you.”

His impatient tone set her blood to roiling. “Mayhap you haven’t told me because there’s nothing to tell!” She braced her hands on her hips. “I would know the truth. Have you sent word to my uncle or not?”

“A messenger is on his way.”

A gasp tore from her lips. “What? More than a month has passed and you have only just sent word now! Sweet mother of God! Do you know what you’ve done?”

 
“Your uncle was fighting in the north,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “There was no need to send word until now. He would not have received it.”

“No need? There was every need!” So, all this time he’d been stringing her along, just to keep her happy and shut her up.
“What of my family—my betrothed?
They’ll be sick with worry. Did you not think of them? Or is your greed so great, you can only think of yourself?”

His thick-lashed gaze changed from sky-blue to midnight. “Your sister should have thought of that before she named me as the father of her child.”

“Nicola was young and afraid. Can’t you understand that?”

“I understand how a maid who gives her favors to many men knows not which to blame.”

Her hands clinched into fists. How dare he call her sister a whore! He knew nothing about her. “You shouldn’t say such evil things, especially when you have no proof.”

His lips twisted in a wry smile. “You’re right, Cheri. Who should know that better than me? But under the circumstances, it’s the most reasonable conclusion.” He threw his reins to William to lead his steed away,
then
turned on his heel to stride for the hall.

“Nicola was raped.”

He stopped, then, very slowly turning around, as though he did not wish to hear, but couldn’t help himself. “Is that what she told you?” He arched one dark brow, apparently not believing her claim. “Then why didn’t she name her attacker?”

“I…I don’t know?” The intensity of his gaze sent her stumbling over her words, making it sound more like a lie than the truth. “As I said, she was afraid. He must have threatened her. She…she would not say.”

His lips curled in an almost smile.
“A stirring tale, but not enough to change my opinion.
Look to your sister, if you wish to place blame. I refuse to shoulder the burden of her mistakes again.”

 
“What burden? A brief moment of shame you cannot shake? You lost nothing in the end, while Nicola lost her reputation and eventually the child she was carrying. I may have lost my marriage—the greatest happiness of my life.” Isabeau sucked in a quavering breath, her hand going instinctively to the amulet, which for once she had not bothered to tuck inside her kirtle.
“For what?
Wealth?
It won’t preserve your manhood, but mayhap forgiveness will.” With that, she strode past him toward the door.

His hand closed around her arm to stop her, while his glittering gaze bore into hers. “What makes you think marriage is such a happy state?”

Isabeau blinked up at him, her thoughts scattered by the unexpected contact of his hand, sending a frenzy of tingles straight through the linen of her kirtle to her flesh. “What makes you think it’s not?”

“’Tis only a contract.”