Love Never Lies (31 page)

“Yea,” his voice rose an octave, nearing a shout, “But a prisoner just the same.
My prisoner!”

 
“‘Tis a small matter compared to the freedom you grant her.” Abigail sent forth a disapproving sniff. “Besides, where would she go on foot, all alone? Unless…” Her eyes widened as though a thought just occurred to her, “She was rescued by her cousin. Ohhhh dear, I do hope not. We all know what store you put in that ransom.”

The note of triumph in her voice, if not relish, made Alec’s clench his jaw to the point of breaking. He pinned her with a hard glare, wishing she were a man so he might challenge her and put an end to her miserable existence—lance his family of her poison once and for all.

She did not shrink, instead a slow smile spread over her lips. “You’d better hurry. I mean, if Barak has snatched her from under your nose, ‘twill be difficult to catch them once night falls.”

The certainty in her tone gave him pause. Something told him she had more to do with Isabeau’s disappearance than she let on. How, he did not know, but when he found out he’d wring her scrawny neck. “If you know anything about this…”

“Me?” She forced a hard laugh, but there was no mistaking the spark of fear that flashed in her green eyes. “You seem to forget, I was with you all day at the hunt. Your neighbors, the beaters, everyone, even your hounds may attest to that.”

“Why indeed, except to free a path to my brother.”

Her tone turned coy. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Know this,” his voice dropped as low as a confession, dredged from the bottom of his gut, “If any harm comes to her—one hair on her head is touched, I will hold you responsible.”

“Have a care who you threaten, my lord,” Abigail spat, finally showing her teeth, “Lest I advise your father. He’ll not abide any ill treatment of his wife, even from his son.”

“Think you I care?” Alec’s voice grew louder, though he fought hard to rein in his temper. “I’m the youngest, and therefore will inherit naught. You, on the other hand, are dependent upon his goodwill.” Alec’s guts turned in disgust. “I wonder how long my father will stomach your presence after he learns how many men have shared your bed.”

“Darcy loves me.” Her gaze faltered with her voice. “He…he would never believe such lies.”

“He’ll believe me, especially with Dominic’s testimony to back me up.”

 
Abigail blanched. “You’d hurt your own father with such vicious slander—drag his name through the mud?”

“’Tis you who’ve made a fool of him, not I.
And as you’ve seen, the men in my family don’t bear dishonor well.” Alec turned his back on her, then stalked toward the stairs, jaw clenched—the muscles in his neck so tight he could barely draw spit.

‘Twas his own fault for putting Isabeau in Abigail’s way, and again, this morn, for not taking her on the hunt. He’d told himself ‘twas Dominic he wished to protect, but really it was his own pride.

It pricked his ire that Isabeau should form a friendship with his brother. After all, he had given her the first taste of passion. How was it that she felt no such attachment toward him?

The memory of her long silky legs, the glow of her skin against the furs, and most of all her uninhibited passion, plagued him night and day—in his dreams, whether his eyes were closed or not.

‘Twas the reason he’d returned early from the hunt. He could not think straight, wondering what mischief she was up to, imagining the sound of her laugh—the bright sparkle in her grey eyes.

She, on the other hand, appeared unconcerned, going about her duties as though nothing had transpired between them—as though their lips had never touched. How was it she could so easily forget, when his blood crackled like green wood at the very sight of her. Had the feeling melted so quickly away?

Or was it there, and she tried to ignore it, as he did?

The only way to
know,
was to find her and bring her back.

***

Isabeau huddled close to the snapping flames of the fire, watching the monster twins, Talbot and Ram, stuff brown bread into their faces between gulps of ale from their flasks. With no mantle for protection, her grey woolen kirtle soaked up the damp night air like a sponge.
When her head wasn’t swimming with self-recrimination, ‘twas as numb as her limbs.

She should have never gone to the river. She should have listened to Myrtle—taken her warning to heart. Had she learned nothing from Hesper’s prophecy?
Apparently not.
Mayhap, because it had not turned out to be as dire as she imagined. Fortin was not the terrible creature of her nightmares.

But, ‘twas too late for should haves.

Her only hope now was to escape.

Which might prove difficult, bound at the wrists and her body fast growing stiff with cold.

Her gaze shifted across the orange flames past her captors.

The ruin of an old lookout tower hovered above their black heads, a crumbling pile of rubble jutting up in short steeples toward the fading blue sky, too dilapidated to provide shelter from the rain, but stable enough to break the sharpness of the wind.

The twins were dull, ‘twas true, but agile on their feet. They grabbed her so quick, stuffing a dirty rag in her mouth and shoving a russet sack over her head, she had no time to scream.

Eda and Ludella were so caught up in their girlish chatter as they bent by the river’s edge scrubbing sheets, ‘twas unlikely they saw a thing. Even if they had, if their characters held true, they would have skulked back to the village without a word to anyone by now.

Yet, she dared not lose hope—lest fear overwhelm her. When its sharp teeth nipped at the back of her mind, she must shut it out. After all, had she not planned ahead for such an occurrence? If she could not escape before Barak arrived, which the twins assured her would occur in a very short time, she would apprise him of her loss of virtue, then demand he take her to her parents at once.

Home.

Right now it seemed more of a dream than a reality. Yet, she’d spent every waking moment since she was seven trying to return there. After each holiday, she began planning the next. As the years went by, she imagined contented evenings round a hearth of her own, watching her children play.

But Nicola’s lie and Fortin’s quest for revenge had changed all that. Since then, every day her goal seemed to slip further and further from her reach.

The distant, steady thrum of hooves brought Isabeau to her feet.

Her heart pounded fast.

Had Fortin found her?

Surely he would not sit back and allow Barak to cheat him out of his ransom. He was too greedy for that, or driven to prosper as he liked to put. Whatever the reason, Fortin would not give up without a fight.

A shiver ran through her as she peered into the dim light of dusk, straining to determine the identity of the approaching rider.

Nun or whore,
which
would it be?

What did the future hold?

When Barak materialized out of the gloom, his mail shirt glittering silver in the twilight against his emerald surcoat, her heart sank. Maddie had been right. She was a heathen. The thought of a cloistered existence paled next to the prospect of one more night in Fortin’s bed.

She should have felt shame, but instead her limbs hung heavy at her sides, her heart humming loud with regret.

Barak pulled his destrier to a halt. He paid little heed to the monster twins, who sprang to their feet to await orders, Talbot belching, Ram gulping down the last of his bread. Barak’s attention fixed on her. A satisfied smile split his face as he leaned across the pommel of his saddle.
“Good Eventide, Cousin. ‘Tis good to see you safe and well.”

“As well as can be expected, trussed up like a chicken.”
She thrust her arms forward to display the thick twine encircling her wrists, bruising her skin, cutting off the blood flow.

“Untie her!” Barak commanded as he swung down from his mount. “She’s no prisoner.”

Talbot rushed forward to obey, wearing a sly smile, as though party to some private jest.

When his grimy hands lingered overly long, Isabeau slapped them away,
then
turned to confront Barak. “No prisoner? I’m happy to hear it. Mayhap you should have informed these lack-wits ere they stuffed my head in a sack!”

“A precaution, to guard against any sudden panic during your rescue.”
Barak strode forward, flashing an insincere smile, the kind she’d witnessed many times, usually when he wanted something. “You understand, don’t you?” He crushed her against his chest in a firm embrace,
then
held her at arms length as though surveying the condition of a hare he’d just snared for supper.

 
She jerked away, taking a step back, attempting to read his features. “How is it that you knew where to find me?”

“Someone was kind enough to relay the information to me at the tournament.”

“Who.”

“’Twas a serf who delivered the message.
I know not who sent it.
Someone with something to gain, obviously.”
He shrugged. “What difference does it make?” His tone turned impatient, imagining, no doubt, she’d be falling all over him with gratitude. “You’re safe with your kin. That’s all that matters.”

Safe?

Ha!

In all the years she’d known him, she had never felt safe with him.

She passed her tongue over her dry lips. “What do you plan to do now?”

“Deliver you to your betrothed, of course.”

Her heart gave a low dull thump. “I have no betrothed.”

“You’re to marry Newbury,” he said with forced lightness. “‘Tis all arranged.”

“Then you won’t mind taking me to my parents. I’d like to receive their blessing—straight from their lips.”

“There’s no time for that.”

“You mean there’s no reason!” Her voice rose, despite all efforts to keep her head. If he thought she’d go meekly—with gratitude, he was much mistaken. “My parents haven’t given their consent, have they?”

“They will.”

His calm arrogance made her fists clench. “I demand…”

“Demand all you want, sweet coz, but ‘twill do you no good. ‘Tis what Royce wants and what’s best for the family.” Barak’s features hardened, his green eyes narrowing to slits below his chestnut brows. “What makes you think you’re any better than me? I have no choice of whom I shall marry, anymore than you do.”

A gust of wind whistled through the holes of the crumbling tower, as though to punctuate his words and give evidence to the knowledge that their lives lay at the mercy of greater powers than they.

Barak strode to the fire where Talbot crouched, laying out his eventide meal on a red flannel cloth.

Ram scurried off to see to his mount.

Barak planted his backside on a half rotted log to partake of the bread, cold venison and cheese, ignoring the frigid stare she directed at him across the blue sparks leaping from the flames.

“Why do you hate me?” The words came so unexpected, she hardly knew ‘twas she who spoke them.

Barak lifted his head from his meal to regard her steadily. ‘”Tis the freedom and privilege my father affords you I despise.”

“Freedom?”
She suppressed a hoot of laugher. “What freedom? To be bundled up and shuffled off on the heels of Fortin’s messenger like a piece of meat.”