Love Never Lies (35 page)

If fate forced her to a nunnery, the mysterious pleasure Hilda hinted at would be lost to her forever.

She would never know what it meant.

Isabeau returned from the stream to find Fortin had built a fire under an ancient oak.

After seeing to the horses, he strode to the stream presumably to wash off the dust of their travels.

Isabeau sighed as she watched him go. The sight of his finely formed profile did little to squelch her yearnings. What would it be like to wake to a face like that each morn—be married to a man so handsome one glance made your heart skip?

But then, handsome is as handsome does.

‘Twould be a burden indeed to have to beat off other women with a stick.

Darkness fell fast, bringing with it the first rustle of night things. Ordinarily the sound would send her sprinting in the opposite direction, but a hasty look over her shoulder, found Fortin still in sight and her fears eased.

She huddled down on a rotten log, edging close to the fire.

Fortin returned rubbing his surcoat over his wet head. Water trickled down his taunt belly to bead in tiny bubbles, dancing in the light cast from the fire against the glow of his tawny skin.

Isabeau sucked in a short breath, averting her gaze, trying to forget the feel of his firm body—the soft hollows where her hands had once been—where she yearned to touch again.

A loud flap tore a gasp from her lips and made her sit up straight.

A bat flew from the canopy of the great oak above to the stand of alders by the stream.

“Your cousin won’t find us,” Fortin said, raking the damp hair from his face with one hand before he pulled his surcoat on over his head. “The route we take is old and not well marked. Besides, he’ll be looking for one rider, not two. And, he doesn’t know I have you yet.”

“He’ll know when he can’t find me.” She hugged her arms tighter. “Barak doesn’t give up easily.”

“Then he must come with coin in hand,” Fortin said in a hard flat tone. “He’s cheated me once. I’ll not be fooled again.”

Isabeau looked away, her throat constricting.
So.
She had been right. He did not care for her one atom. He planned to turn her over to Barak despite the fact he’d raped her sister, and tried to rape her.

She came to her feet, to stride to the stream, needing to get away, unable to look at him.

When she reached the water’s edge, she leaned her back against the thin trunk of an alder to watch the water bubble over the smooth rocks, picking up twigs and leaves as it rushed away.

If only she might do the same.

A tear rolled down her cheek, despite promising herself she would not weep. She lifted a hand to brush it away. To think she had almost let her desire rule her head, daring to look upon him with a lover’s eye, when he was no better than the rest—no better than Barak.

The sound of leaves crunching turned her around.

Fortin stood a few feet away, a closed expression on his face. “Come, it’s time to eat.”

“I fear I’ve lost my appetite.” She made to stalk past him, not in the mood to break bread with anyone who would aid and abet her cousin.

He put out a hand to still her progress. “I’ll see you delivered safely to Newbury,” he said in a quiet tone. “Barak won’t touch you again. You need not even see him when he comes with the ransom, if that is your wish.”

‘Twas a small concession—better than nothing, but hardly enough to lift her spirits or stir her appetite.

She had no intention of marrying Newbury, not so long as there was breath left in her body. But she would not discuss that with Fortin. Better he thought her docile and accepting of her fate. ‘Twould cause him to let down his guard, and ease her escape.

She gave a brief nod of her head as she turned to make her way back to the fire, the lump in her throat making it too painful to speak.

They ate in silence.

Isabeau picked at the cold mutton, though tender and succulent, more apple wine passed her lips than meat. ‘Twas perplexing, she felt no resentment towards Fortin, only an overpowering sense of loss.

Apparently their joining had meant nothing to him. But then, why should it? She was not the only woman who’d shared his bed, and certainly would not be the last. While he, on the other hand, had left an indelible mark on her, since he was the first and only man she had ever shared her body with.

Having finished his meal, Fortin leaned back on his elbows to regard her across the flames, his powerful legs stretched out before him in a relaxed pose. “Why is it, that you didn’t suspect your cousin before this? Before he attacked you?”

Was it her imagination or did she detect some hint of accusation in his tone, as if it was somehow her fault. “I assumed his obsession sprang from love not hate. He
was forever wanting
what he couldn’t have. I had no idea of his resentment for the time his mother spent with us. Although, ‘tis hardly surprising. Uncle Royce isn’t an easy man. Spending every waking minute with him could make a saint turn to hate.”

“His mother was only doing her duty.”

“Yea, but he didn’t see it that way. Barak was an only child. He had never shared his mother’s attention before we came. Mayhap he wouldn’t have felt her loss so keenly if Uncle Royce hadn’t been so hard on him. I don’t think Barak realized how much he resented our presence until his mother’s death. I suppose he wanted someone to blame and we were it.”

“’Tis no excuse.”
Fortin’s mouth turned down in an expression of distaste.

“It’s strange, for all his chasing after me—all his lusty overtures, in my heart I never believed he’d act upon his desires.” She shivered, edging closer to the flames, remembering the cruel bite of Barak’s hands—the hatred in his eyes. “Or, at least I thought I could handle him if he did.”

“And so you did.”

“Yea.”
She smiled, remembering Barak’s howls and moans after she had waited for the right moment to bring her knee up and incapacitate him. If she had learned anything from Fortin’s treachery, ‘twas to bide your time and plan—keep a cool head. “Luckily, Sir Guilford stood by Nicola and saved her from shame.”

Fortin’s tone turned hard, as it inevitably did at the mention of her sister. “That doesn’t explain why she lied.”

“Likely Barak threatened her.
Or Uncle Royce, if she named his priest.”
She met his gaze across the blue and orange flames. “I know no other explanation. She didn’t confide in me. No doubt she could not think clearly after being raped twice in one night.”

“But why me, out of a garrison of men?”

“Who better, than a knight who spread his favors from the tower to the scullery of the keep?” She shrugged, tired of defending her sister, tired of trying to make him see reason. “Mayhap ‘twas your handsome face.”

He lifted a brow.

Her cheeks grew hot, realizing what she had just said. “I mean, if she was forced to marry, she would not wish to shackle herself to an ugly man.”

A wolfish smile spread over his lips. “Is that your way of telling me you’d not be opposed to sharing my bed again?”

The heat in her cheeks crept lower to her extremities. “Of course I would. ‘Twould be a sin.”

 
He laughed long and loud at this. “Not any more than the first time. Still,” he said, struggling to recover from his bout of mirth. “’Tis gratifying to know you didn’t choose me because I was the only stud available.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Oh no, once delivered a compliment cannot be taken back.”

Neither could her virtue, but now that he knew her attraction, how long could she keep him at bay, especially with her own treacherous desires screaming for her to throw caution to the wind?

***

The sight of Isabeau’s pale cheek and smooth lips as pink as the inside of a seashell, so close to his, made Alec’s pulse race. It was all he could do not to press his lips to hers to watch her dove colored eyes flutter open.

She stirred feelings inside of him he had never experienced, or for that matter, even imagined were possible. The anger he once felt paled in comparison to the lightness in his heart whenever he heard her laugh.

A face like that could inspire a man to great things. Or, make him forget himself—corrupt his will and cause him to lie abed all day, making love instead of seeing to his responsibilities.

He edged away from her softness and heat, fighting the rush of desire threatening to consume him.

A fief would not prosper tended by a lovesick fool.

If only she had been pock-marked and ugly or, covered from head to foot with some unsightly rash. He’d never have touched her.

But he had. By obliging her whim and giving into his own passions, a connection had been formed between them forever—a lasting memory his body could not forget.

His blood boiled to think Barak had attempted to force himself on her—the villain. What sick infection brewed in his veins to defile his own cousin? Winsome or nay, there were borders an honorable man did not cross. Taking advantage of innocent maids in your care was one of them.

Why had Nicola not exposed him—warned Isabeau of his treachery at least. Had shame held her silent? Whatever the reason, Barak’s assault and Nicola’s lie had put Isabeau in jeopardy and blackened his honor. A thousand dowries could never make up for that.

He came to his feet, allowing the cool breeze of the morn, and the fresh smell of dew to cleanse his temper.

Isabeau stirred as he did so, blinking against the golden rays of the sun, breaking through the canopy of the giant oak above their heads.

“Time to leave,” he said, striding toward Mercury, away from the temptation of her soft curves and the grey-blue heaven of her eyes.

 
He returned with a ration of oatcakes and cheese for each of them.

 
“Have we far to go?”

“Half a day’s ride.”
He planted himself on a rotted log to eat, going over the terrain in his mind, a path of thick forest separated by the occasional opened meadow. Not the safest route, with plenty of cover for bandits to hide, but the one less trod and therefore less likely Barak would take if he chose to follow.

 
Isabeau came to her feet and stretched.

 
Alec groaned at the sight of her lithe grace.

“Are you unwell, my lord?”

 
“I’m weary of travel,” he lied, brushing away crumbs as he rose to his feet. “Nothing a night in my own bed won’t cure.”
Though he’d be cured faster, if she would join him.

“Then, let us be on our way,” she said, heading toward the horses with a light step, as though the decision was hers and he was some lackey left to follow in her wake.

A smile tugged the corners of his lips as he lifted her up in the saddle. He should have taken her to task for her boldness, instead of being impressed by her pluck. But as usual her lighthearted mood got under his skin, lifting his spirits, so that he could do nothing but smile.

Besides, ‘twas easier if she came meekly.
He did not relish dragging her back to Highburn kicking and screaming.

Unless that was her plan, to lull him into believing she did not resist, so he would let down his guard and she might escape again.