Love Never Lies (42 page)

“Yea, but you stole her sister—the dearest creature to her heart, or she would never have come. And for that I hold you responsible.”

“I sent for her, Curran,” Isabeau said, hastening toward them, hoping to end their quarrel before it turned violent. “Tis my fault she’s here.”

 
“Isabeau!”
Curran spun round to face her, his high cheekbones more prominent in the flush of his distress. “Where is she? Is she well? Take me to her at once.”

 
“She’s in good health and so is the babe.” Isabeau smiled in reassurance. “Come.” She motioned with her hand for him to follow, bemused that a man as powerful and proud as Curran would display such panic. “But you can only see her for a short time. The babe is on the way.”

“On the way?”
He squawked.
“Right now?”

“At this very moment, as we speak.”

Curran took the stairs two at a time, passing Isabeau, which caused her some amusement, since he had no idea whatsoever where he was headed.

Having reached the landing, Isabeau dashed ahead of him to still his quest, positioning
herself
in front of him and the door, both hands held high. “Calm yourself. She’s fine. But she won’t be for long if you charge into her bedchamber and startle her half to death.” Nicola had never been a good patient. The least sniffle and she thought she was dying. There was no telling what the sight of
her own
blood would do. Too much excitement might send her into a screaming fit. “Take a deep breath,” Isabeau commanded. “Nicola needs your strength.”

Curran nodded, sucking in a long draught of air.

“Whatever you do, don’t upset her. Soothe her fears and assure her you’ll be close by, waiting in the hall.”

An agonizing scream beyond the door turned Curran as pale as communion bread.

Isabeau reached out to squeeze his hand before his knees could buckle. “Remember, strength and calm. That’s what she needs right now. Whatever you do, don’t upset her.”

He nodded as she opened the door.

She closed it behind him, hoping he wouldn’t swoon before Myrtle shooed him out again. She had enough to worry about, trying to keep Nicola calm, not to mention running errands, and assisting Myrtle in anyway she could. There would be no time to hold Curran’s hand.

Which left Alec.

But there was no sense in attempting to enlist his help, after the way Curran had unbraided him.

Mayhap William would act as Curran’s keeper, if Alec would spare him.

Well, he would just have to.

‘Twas the least he could do after sending her life in a whirl, or so she told herself as she set about tracking him down.

 
But when she eventually spied him striding across the courtyard from the stables toward the hall her resolve began to waver.

He did not appear to be in the best of tempers.

She took a deep breath and strode toward him despite the mad pounding of her heart. “Have you seen William? I’m in need of his help, if you might spare him.”

“I’ve sent him to fetch the cradle.” Alec’s face wore a closed look, as though he spoke to a stranger, as though by offering any hint of expression he might disclose his true feelings, as though the wall he’d built between them might crumble and he’d be corrupted by her affection somehow.

A painful lump rose in her throat at his coldness. “Cradle?” she repeated stupidly, astonished that he would think of such a necessity, much less bother to scrounge one up.

“Ilar has just finished making it.”

 
Isabeau blinked in disbelief. Ilar was one of Alec’s precious carpenters, a man of special skills. Beaufort had sent for him on Alec’s behalf to help build his ships. Her heart squeezed at his generosity.

He shrugged. “The babe needs somewhere to sleep, does it not?”

“Yea.”
She stared back at him in amazement.

He cocked a half smile. “You needn’t look so surprised. My motives were purely selfish. I’ll not be kept awake all night by a squalling babe, or have the hall fall to ruin while you play the nursemaid.”

She lifted on the tip of her toes to place a kiss against his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, knowing he had not done it for Nicola, or the babe, but for her.

He cleared his throat. A shadow passed over his face. “I know we’ve hardly spoken since your sister arrived, but ‘tis better this way. The less time we’re together, the easier ‘twill be when we part.”

Easier?

Mayhap for him, but not for her.

Nothing would ease her wretchedness when she must eventually bid farewell.

But pride would not allow her to tell him that.
“Very well.”
She inclined her head, anxious to go before the tears welling up in her eyes spilled forth.

“Isabeau.”
He captured her by the hand, turning her back around. “Don’t look at me that way. Please. Try to understand. ‘Tis what’s best for both of us—for our families.”

“If you believe that, than it must be so,” she said in a faint whisper, her throat constricting painfully. She would not beg. Either he loved her or he did not. There was nothing she could do about it.

A look of pain flitted over his features, so fleeting, after, she wondered if she had imagined it. “You’d never be happy without your family. I can’t be so cruel as to keep them from you.”

So, it wasn’t about his honor or the ransom. It was about his pride. After all that had passed between them, he still couldn’t forgive and forget, not even for her. He remained a prisoner of his own bitterness to the end. If love could not free him, then there was little hope of changing his mind. Or mayhap, he did not love her after all. She withdrew her hand from his, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “I must go. My sister needs me.”

As Isabeau strode toward the hall, the tears she had been holding back broke free to trickle down her cheeks. She brushed them away, never slowing her pace. He was right. She could never forsake her family. They were hers long before she knew of his existence. Love could not alter blood.

If he would not accept her kin, at least her parents and her sister, then a match between them could never work.

Isabeau hustled to the kitchen then the storeroom to gather the supplies Myrtle needed, then hurried aloft.

She found William standing, cradle in hand, outside the bedchamber door. “Thank you, William. Ilar does fine work, does he not?” she said, running her hand along the curved edge of the pine cradle, so sturdy yet so beautiful in its simplicity.

“Yea, my lady.”
William’s gaze shifted to the door then back to her again, clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of entering. “Where should I leave it?”

“Right here.
I’ll bring it in when it’s needed.” If aught went amiss as it had with her last child, the last thing she wanted was for Nicola to end up staring at an empty cradle. But Isabeau prayed all would be well with the babe. Nicola had been through enough.

As it turned out, Isabeau had no time to think about whether Alec and Curran were battling it out below or not.

She entered the bedchamber to discover Nicola sitting half upright in the bed, bearing down with her elbows braced behind her and her face creased with pain.

“There’s the top of the head,” Myrtle announced.

Isabeau rushed to Nicola’s side, intent on keeping her calm.

Myrtle took charge, instructing Nicola to breathe between contractions and then to push again.

Nicola squeezed Isabeau’s hand mercilessly, until she thought it would break. “I was wrong!” She said through gritted teeth. “It was wrong of me to blame Fortin. I allowed bitterness to engulf me. I should have been more forgiving. Does that make me an evil person? Mayhap, I’ll make a bad mother.”

“Of course not.
You’ll make a wonderful mother.” Isabeau said in a firm voice. “There’s the head. It’s almost out. You can do it!”

“Let’s hope he carries great wisdom betwixt those ears,” Nicola gritted out between pants, “Or I’ve labored for naught.”

“There it
be
!” Myrtle declared with satisfaction. “The head is out.”

“Saints be praised!” Nicola collapsed against the pillow, gasping for air. “With a melon like that, he’ll surely rule England.”

“He wouldn’t want to I fear,” Isabeau said. “After the damage Stephen has wrought.”

“One more
push
,” Myrtle instructed, ending the conversation.

Isabeau supported Nicola’s back as she bore down again, her face turning a deep
rose,
sweat beading on her brow as thick as morning dew.

The babe flew into Myrtle’s welcoming arms like a perch from a net.

“It’s a boy!” Isabeau squeezed Nicola’s hand, her heart contracting with relief and joy.

The babe gave a loud, lusty cry and Nicola collapsed on the pillow, tears streaming down her cheeks. “A fine healthy boy,” she breathed. “Thank God! Saints be praised!”

“Yea.”
Isabeau agreed. He was fine, though bald as an egg, with a noggin that dwarfed the rest of his tiny body.

Nicola examined him thoroughly after Myrtle laid him in her arms, kissing his dimpled fingers and toes before putting him to her breast. He was suckling greedily by the time Isabeau left to venture below and deliver the good tidings.

Isabeau reached the hall, to find Curran sprawled in a chair by the hearth, his head cocked back at an unnatural angle. Her heart beat faster, as her gaze flew to Alec, pacing to the right of the fire.

Something tightened in her belly.

He stopped and turned to face her, smiling wryly. “You needn’t worry. I haven’t killed him. He’s sleeping.”

A snore erupted from Curran, as if to prove Alec’s claim.

“’Tis good you haven’t.
My new nephew is in need of a father, and the good ones are hard to replace.”

Alec’s stance relaxed at the news. “Time will tell whether that proves true. At any rate, the lad will persevere if he’s of able body and spirit. No amount of coddling will change that.”

“I disagree.” Isabeau straightened her shoulders. “The love and encouragement of my parents kept me going and helped me to endure the time spent at my uncle’s hall. Had they not continually told me how proud they were of my accomplishments, I wouldn’t have had the courage to return after each visit home.”

 
He shrugged. “A young maid’s needs are verily different.”

“How so?
Every child has a heart. Had Barak’s not been broken with neglect and rough treatment, things might have turned out differently.”

“And what of the good Father?”

“I don’t know his story.” And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. “God must deal with him.”

“We all make choices, good or bad. Some rise under the weight of adversity—some fall. My father did naught to encourage me, yet I set forth to make a place for myself in this world, if only to prove him wrong.”

She could not contradict his argument. “I only wish—

“That you could fix it?”
He chuckled ruefully.
“That you could fix Barak?
Some people are beyond redemption.”