Love Never Lies (4 page)

“Your betrothed should have sent for you sooner.” Maddie firmed her lips.
“’Twas a mistake to leave you dangling so long, with wolves like Barak snapping at your skirts.
But then he hasn’t met you. If he had, he would never have left such a jewel in dangerous hands.”

“A jewel, a flower?”
Isabeau flipped her hand skyward in a depreciative wave. “Why are you forever naming me thus? Those titles didn’t help my sister. ‘Twas fortunate I blossomed so late or I’d have ended up just like Nicola—too young and innocent to realize the ways of men. I’m not an object to be possessed. I’m the same as I always was. I can take care of myself, as you well know. ‘Twas no accident I avoided Barak these past years and I mean to keep it thus.”

“He’ll be ranting that you marry Newbury now.”

“And that is why I must get my dowry back. I can’t marry Lord Hogan without it.”

 
“Don’t even think of it.” Maddie waggled a gnarled finger in the air. “Lord Agnew will get it back.”

Isabeau set her hands on her hips and gave Maddie a long look. “And how do you think he’ll find it? They’ll be well gone by the time the deed reaches his ears. Nay, I must follow them.
‘Tis the only hope of recovering it.”
Isabeau turned on her heel to stride for her palfrey before she lost her courage.

Maddie’s voice squeaked high in panic as she picked up her skirts to follow, “They’ll be furlongs away by now!”

“They couldn’t have traveled far, not with a heavy wagon in tow.” Isabeau braced her foot in the stirrup,
then
swung up into the saddle. “When I discover which road they took, I’ll turn back and catch up with you.”

“When?”
Maddie shouted, raising her hands in the air.

“As soon as I can!”
Isabeau called over her shoulder.

That is, if there weren’t too many forests to pass through between now and then.

***

The distant rumble of men’s voices and the odd guffaw of laughter fluttered through the trees. Isabeau pulled her palfrey to a halt and took a long grateful breath. Now that she could hear them up ahead, ‘twas time for a brief rest.

It had taken much longer than she expected to catch up with the thieves. Hopefully, ‘twould not take as long to reach the next main road, or she would never get back to Maddie before dark.

But, ‘twas not likely Maddie could get far with Barak in the cart. The wounded men-at-arms had gone for assistance, but who knew how long it would take them in their weakened state.

She need not be so careful on the way back. Once she knew where the thieves were bent, she would switch direction and give her palfrey her head.

Right now, she had more urgent needs to attend.

Isabeau tied the palfrey to a low branch of an oak,
then
strode some distance away into the bracken.

When she emerged the voices seemed no more distant than before.

Rot!

The sun sank lower in the sky, and here she sat amongst the pine needles and moldering leaves, waiting upon these lumbering oafs. If only she could conjure up a pack of wolves to burst from the woods, to snap at their heels to prod them down the path. But even the thought of such an apparition caused her to shiver.

A movement out of the corner of her eye made the breath hitch in her throat. She gazed about, searching betwixt the shadows of the trees.

Nothing—save a red squirrel, racing through the ferns toward a pine tree.

The air squeezed from her lungs in a long gush.

No matter how often she chided herself, she could not help but tremble whenever she heard a sound.
Even traveling on the edge of the woods made her heart thud.

‘Twas foolish.
Wolves did not hunt by day, and she was well behind the thieves for them to catch sight of her. But Hesper’s prediction hung in her memory like a blade over her neck.

She turned to stroke the length her palfrey’s silky nose, more to calm herself than the horse. Hopefully she would come across a stream soon. They were both in need of a cool drink.

A twig snapped.

Her heart picked up speed.

She ducked under the mare’s neck to peer through the dappled light in the direction it came—from a stand of young alders several paces away.

Nothing.

Isabeau untied the reins with shaking hands, chiding herself for being such a coward.

As she did so, she spied a tall figure dressed in black stalking toward her through the trees.

Her heart gave a leap.

She didn’t wait to see more, but stuck her foot in the stirrup to mount, her heart galloping madly in her chest.

But before she reached the saddle, she was hauled from the palfrey’s back. She flailed and kicked so hard, her captor staggered, throwing them both to the ground.

The fall must have knocked the wind out of him. Before his hands could reach her, Isabeau managed to scramble to her feet. She picked up her skirts and ran, but did not get far. Her foot snared on a vine, sending her toppling forward, into pinecones and twisted tree roots.

She barely had time to roll over and spit the pine needles out of her mouth before he was astride her, pinning both of her wrists into the musty ground.

Vivid blue eyes stared down at her while his lips twisted upward in a roguish grin.

Her heart did a flip.

‘Twas the one who had taken her dowry.
“Where do you go, with such haste, my sweet?”

She blinked, numbed by the sight of his smooth, perfectly bowed lips inches from her own. The heat of his hard thighs hugged her body, making her innards coil and retract. She had never felt a man’s body this close.

Her heart tapped so fast she could not think.

Seeing his smile widen, her confusion lifted.

Panic took hold.

“Let me up! Take your hands from me!” She struggled against him, attempting to rise.

As she did, the hood of her cloak slipped from her head.

He sucked in a sharp breath of air.

A spark lit in the depths of his eyes. “Nay, my beauty, I think not. I’ve caught you, and now you’re mine.”

The husky timbre of his voice went straight to her maidenhead.

Her heart thumped hard against her breast. She’d seen that look before, in Barak’s eyes. But strangely, this time, ‘twas not so displeasing. That was not to say she was not afraid, for she was, but another sensation mingled with her fear, one she could not name, making her voice come in a hoarse whisper. “Please! I can’t breathe.” Or think, but that was not something he should know.

“Very well,” he said with a smile, coming to his feet.

He reached down a hand to help her rise.

As she did, the cloak parted to reveal the fine linen fabric of her blue kirtle. With a quick movement, Isabeau snatched it shut.

His eyes narrowed.

His tone turned from playful to dangerous. “Mayhap you should tell me who you are and why you’re following us.”

She took a step back to regard him warily. He appeared taller and broader than she remembered. Her head barely reached his chin. But she had only caught a brief glimpse of him during the attack.
‘Twas difficult to judge a man’s size atop a horse.

But his eyes were the same—a startling deep blue. Intelligence shone in their depths. There was no sense in lying. He would soon discover the truth. “I am Isabeau of Dawney.” She gave a lift of her chin for good measure. “Who are you?”

He stiffened. A glitter of malice entered his eyes. “Alexander Fortin.”

Isabeau’s heart gave a thud.

She took a step back.

His tone turned harsh. “Ahhh, so you know who I am. That’s good. There’ll be no need for lengthy explanations.”

Her gaze flicked to where his legs met beneath his black surcoat, then slid away. In the heady aftermath of her sister’s rescue from dishonor, she had all but forgotten the young knight who had been falsely accused.

A cynical smile played about his lips. “Nay, they didn’t castrate me. I’m intact. ‘Tis fortunate for you and your lying sister I am, or your family would answer with more than a few coins for my trouble.”

Isabeau’s cheeks burned. To this day, she did not understand why Nicola would lie. Fear was the only answer Isabeau could come up with, but that was not a worthy excuse. One thing was certain; if Nicola could see the violence in Alexander Fortin’s eyes, she would not have done it.

Isabeau opened her mouth to issue an apology, but he cut her off. “Don’t speak. I have no need of your falsehoods.” His mouth twisted into a grim smile. “But your dowry and ransom are most welcome.” He grabbed her by the arm. “Come. The hour grows late. We have much ground to cover before dark.”

She attempted to jerk away, her voice rising in panic, “But why? Where are you taking me?”

His fingers gripped all the harder as he pulled her along. “You won’t be harmed.”

“Not harmed! You’ve taken my dowry,” she panted, attempting to pry his hand from her arm. “I can’t marry without it. Is this your justice—that I should pay for another’s sins?”

He stopped in mid-stride, his blue gaze boring into her. “You’re the means to an end—nothing more.”

 
“And you, Monsieur, are a dull-pated knave!” She swallowed hard under the close scrutiny of his cold stare, but continued to face him boldly. “What makes you think my uncle will pay your ransom?”

“He’ll pay it.” He jerked her forward, giving no heed to her cry of alarm.

 
“What if he doesn’t?” He didn’t know her uncle as she did.
‘Twas a magnanimous gesture that he had provided her with such a generous dowry in the first place—a miracle in fact.
Uncle Royce did not part easily with his coin. If not for the love of his only sister, Isabeau would have had a mere pittance to bring to a marriage contract, forcing her to marry much lower. ‘Twas unlikely his favor would extend to ransom for her as well.

 
Having reached the palfrey, Fortin released her. His gaze roved up and down her with familiar insolence. He could not have insulted her more if he had slapped her across the face. “Then you’ll work to pay off your family’s debt.”

Isabeau could feel the blood drain from her face. Ladies taken for ransom were generally well-treated, not forced into servitude. But she was not a normal prisoner. He had made that quite clear.

This was not about money, but revenge.

A shiver coursed through her.

But, she refused to let him see how he had penetrated her defenses. If she was to be his prisoner, she must not let him know her fear. She must not let him know what his look of hate did to her. She had to be strong—abide her situation with dignity.

 
She ignored his hand and stuck her foot in the stirrup to mount her palfrey without his aid. Once seated, she turned to look down at him with what she hoped was equal distain. “If you think I’ll ever lift a finger for you, you’re mistaken.”

He sliced
her a
hard look. “We shall see.”

She trembled, but would not look away. Instead, she lifted her chin and stared straight back at him.