Love Never Lies (19 page)

His lips curved in a cynical smile. “But not a wise one I think.
Nay.
My dispute is with your family, not his. He is burdened enough.”

Her hands clinched into fists. ‘Twas all she could do not to run after him and pound them against his retreating back.

Burdened indeed!

He did not know the meaning of the word.

Yet.

Sitting by the hearth in her solar sewing all night allowed Isabeau much time to think. When she finally drew the last stitch through the black linen of Fortin’s new braies, her mind saw clearly what her blurry eyes could not—a way to seek revenge.

What Fortin wished for most was wealth, by way of her ransom and marriage to his buxom neighbor. But, ‘twas a heavy burden indeed to guard her virtue while attempting to woo Lady Anna. The question was, how
could she
ruin his plans without compromising herself.

Of course, the best way would be to escape—cheat him out of his precious ransom. Mayhap his pursuit of the Lady Anna would prove the perfect distraction, giving Isabeau the chance she’d been waiting for.

Tossing his valuable possessions in the moat had given her great satisfaction, but ‘twas not enough to appease her outrage, especially after getting caught.

Nay, ‘twas his peace of mind she wished to shake—that cool control of his.
‘Twas high time he realized he could not play with people’s lives and emerge unscathed.

 
Isabeau blinked, her eyes growing blurry against the strain of the dim candlelight. Why had she been so rash, allowing her anger to goad her to such an impulsive act? ‘Twould have been better to follow his lead—wait and plan for just the right moment. But, she had never been as calculating as that.

 
The creak of the door put an end to Isabeau’s vengeful musings.

Gwen, the maid from the village, poked her curly brown head around the door. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I understand you’re in need of assistance.”

Myrtle had come aloft earlier to check on her after the commotion in the hall. When Isabeau told her what she must do, and the short time she must do it in, the older woman shook her grey head and clucked her tongue, muttering all the way out the door.

Still, she could not believe Myrtle would send the only pair of extra hands she had on such a night, with the hall bursting to overflowing with Fortin’s guests.
“’Tis very kind of you.”
Isabeau smiled in thanks. “But I fear Myrtle needs you more than I.”

“’Tis not me what’s come to help, but my sister.” Gwen scurried around the door, dragging another young maid behind her. “Lord Fortin sent to the village for her. She has a talent with a needle, our Biddie does.”

Isabeau blinked.

Surely Gwen was mistaken.

Why should Fortin send her help? He was the one punishing her in the first place.
‘Twas likely Myrtle who sent for the maid.
Unless, the greedy devil feared she would not finish in time and he would have to follow through with his threat of ravishment, cutting his ransom in half. No doubt, that was closer to the truth.

Her sister delivered, Gwen scurried out as fast as she came, closing the door behind her.

Biddy colored, flashing an abashed smile as she hustled forward. Though she held a strong resemblance to Gwen, possessing the same luxurious chestnut curls, she appeared younger—her features finer. Her eyes sparkled more like large emeralds than dull moss in her oval face.

For all her shy glances, Biddy’s tongue proved as fast and as nimble as her fingers as she bent her head over the sleeve of Fortin’s tunic. In no time Isabeau learned more about the maid and every recent scandal in the village than she had from her sister Gwen the entire fortnight she’d been at Highburn.

Though ‘twas difficult to follow Biddy’s incessant chatter in her weary state, one particular piece of information caused Isabeau to jab her thumb with the needle and sit up straight.

She shifted in her chair by the fire to regard the maid with interest. “Did you say Guilford?”

“Yea, my lady.
My betrothed lives in the North. He
be
the blacksmith at Lowglen, for Lord Guilford. We’d have never met if my Aunt hadn’t served in the hall when Lord Guilford passed through on his way to London. But my father would not let me marry then as my mother was expecting her sixth child—a boy, my brother, Harry. And it’s verily good that I didn’t. Harry howled from morn ‘til sundown, from the moment he was born.
‘Twas two months afore his squalling ceased.”

Isabeau’s heart pounded faster.

Prickles dashed over her skin.

Highburn had belonged to one of her Uncle Royce’s retainers, so it was very likely Lord Guilford had stopped here on his way to London.

Isabeau drew her tongue across the dry surface of her lips. “And you’re traveling there to be married?”

“He can’t come here, my lady. Lowglen is a very large place and he’s the only blacksmith there. That’s why my brother’s to go with me—to find work. My father’s a blacksmith ya’ see. He’s passed on the trade to both of my brothers. But there’s not enough work here for the three of them, at least there won’t be after his lordship is finished building his ships.”

“When do you leave?”

“In two days time, if all goes well and my father is caught up on his work.”

Isabeau’s mind raced with the steady thump of her heart. The sweet Lord had sent her a messenger. Unfortunately, she possessed the loosest tongue in all of Highburn. Still, she could not pass up this opportunity. “It seems we have much in common,” she said carefully. “My sister is the lady of Lowglen.”

Biddy’s eyes widened.

Isabeau paused for a moment to allow the implications of her revelation to sink in. “Yea, and if you were to bring news of where I’m being held for ransom, she’d be most grateful.”

Biddy stared back at her, brow furrowed, needle poised in midair.

“But you must not breathe a word of what I’ve told you until you reach Lowglen. Can you do that?”

Biddy nodded, her mouth gone slack.

Isabeau jumped to her feet,
then
hastened to the casket at the end of her bed. When she returned, the ruby amulet dangled from its gold chain in her hand. She hadn’t worn it since the day Fortin had revealed his deception, nor did she ever intend to wear it again. But it might be of some use to ensure Biddy’s cooperation and convince Nicola the young maid spoke the truth when she reached Lowglen. A serf would never possess such a fine piece of jewelry.

If only Biddy could keep her lips shut until then.

***

A bark of uproarious laughter echoed throughout the hall.

Isabeau’s gaze strayed to the high table over the pile of linens she carried with her toward the stairs. When Myrtle informed her Fortin’s brother had arrived and she must prepare the third bedchamber, she had been sorely vexed. The prospect of living under the same roof with another dark cloud such as him set her teeth on edge.

But she needn’t have worried. Fortin’s brother, Dominic, was spun from a different cloth.

Their features were similar enough to distinguish them as brothers, except Dominic’s hair was brown, flecked with gold. Though he possessed the same blue eyes, they held the reckless gleam of a boy, rather than a fully grown man. Unlike Fortin, he was merry to a fault, swilling back ale as fast as it was set down before him. A devilish smile forever played about his lips.

She wished she knew what they were saying, but they conversed in their Cornish tongue.

Noticing her staring, Dominic cocked a broad wink her way and grinned.

Isabeau sucked in a sharp breath, thrust her chin in the air, and marched toward the stairs, willing the fire to leave her cheeks. Fortin’s glowering looks were bad enough, without having to fend off his brother’s bold stares. The sooner the tournament was over and he was on his way, the better.

Such events were banned by the church, but as they were so far from London, by the time word reached authorities, the tourney would be long over and anyone that might speak out well bribed.

It seemed Beaufort had hired Dominic to fight under his banner, which had come as a surprise to Fortin—a pleasant one by the look of their boisterous reveling.

It made her homesick to watch them. Their brotherly affection reminded her of how far she was from home. Her thoughts flew to Nicola. She was expecting another child in a few months time. Isabeau had hoped to journey to Lowglen to attend the birth, but as each day passed, she despaired at even gaining news of the happy event.

There was naught she could do but listen with envy to Fortin and his brother. The tourney was a fortnight away. Until then, she was stuck with the pair of them.

In the meantime, she’d continue to pray Biddy made it safely to Lowglen. She had sweated blood after giving Biddy the amulet for fear Fortin might get wind of it and guess what she was up to. But Gwen had assured her Biddy and her brother had departed without incident.

Now, all Isabeau could do was wait.

 
She hastened down the cavernous interior of the upstairs hall with the armload of linens, anxious to see the job done and seek her pallet. The room had been thoroughly cleaned after Beaufort had vacated it. It didn’t take long to spread fresh linens and light a taper beside the bed.

Having accomplished what she set out to do, she headed for the door.

The sound of male laughter greeted her as she reached the corridor.

She hastened her steps.

But before she could reach her bedchamber door Fortin and his brother were upon her, blocking her path.

“Saints be praised!” Dominic expelled. “Is this the one?”

“Yea.”
The smile faded from Fortin’s lips. “The one I’ve been telling you about.”

Isabeau stiffened.

“You’re becoming generous in your old age. When I saw her in the hall, I assumed you’d keep her to yourself. Make haste,” Dominic said, grabbing Isabeau by the hand, “Before my brother comes to his senses and changes his mind.”

Isabeau’s mouth flapped wide—too shocked to speak. After assuring himself of her virtue, guarding it so closely, Fortin was giving her to his brother? This could not be happening. But, they had been drinking all eventide and the strong smell of the ale on their breath told her it could.

“Nay, you ass.”
Fortin pulled her away from Dominic. “This is the other one, Lord Agnew’s niece.”

Disappointment chased across Dominic’s tanned features, before he gave a short awkward bow.
“’Tis a pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Isabeau dropped in a curtsey, controlling the urge to sigh in relief, but she could not stop her knees from trembling beneath her skirts.

Upon rising, Dominic captured her hand and drew it to his lips. “I never thought to find an angel in this place. My brother was very fortunate to come by a prisoner such as you.” He grinned, causing a dimple to crease the side of his cheek. “Mayhap he’ll sell you to me.”

Isabeau snatched her hands away, taking a step back from the wicked gleam in his eye, only to come up against Fortin’s hard chest. The heat of his body sent tremors shuddering through her limbs all over again.

She would have turned and fled had he not grabbed her by the arms to keep her there. “’Tis not the coin I crave, but the satisfaction in obtaining it.”