Love Never Lies (43 page)

She folded her arms under her breasts. “
Yea,
and some are simply thick-pated and stubborn, fearing trouble where there is none.”

“You open the door to your heart and assume sunshine will flood in.” His features closed again. “But you can’t fix everything. No matter how much you want to.”

“You’re right, my lord,” she said, unable to keep the sadness from her tone. “People must want to change.”

But he did not. He had made that quite clear. Her heart ached because of it. It ached for the children she would never have—his children. All this time, she had longed for a place to call her own—a real home where she could build a future. Instead, she found him, an echo from the past that shattered her dreams. Now, no place could bring her such happiness, or truly be a home, because he would not be in it.

She took a step back, turning to nudge Curran’s shoulder.

“What?” Curran said, jerking awake and rising to his feet all in the same breath. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nicola is well.” Isabeau placed a hand on his arm to steady him. “All is well. You have a son!”

Curran’s eyes widened.

His jaw went slack.

His lips moved but no words came forth.

Then, he seemed to collect himself. He jumped up to crush Isabeau against his chest in a bone wrenching bear hug and laughed.
“A son!
I can not believe it! I’m truly blessed!”

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Isabeau laughed at the look of awe, if not disbelief, gracing his face. “Go aloft and see him. Nicola is bursting with pride and eager to show him off.”

Isabeau followed in Curran’s wake to see if Mildred needed her before she claimed her bed.

She could feel Alec’s eyes on her as she hastened toward the stairs, but she did not turn round.

He had given up all claims to her heart and she must do the same.

Though a lump burned in her throat.

As much as she felt her heart might break.

 
She knew that she must move forward with her life.

If he did not love her,

Then she must let him go.

Barak prowled from the trunk of the ancient willow to the mossy edge of the riverbank. He would get his hands on Isabeau before the day was through. He would have her come hell or high water.

He hurled a stone at the tail feathers of an unsuspecting teal bobbing for minnows a few feet from the rocky riverbank.

The small duck squawked, flapping and paddling madly to join the rest of its flock on the other side of the river.

Barak turned to peer through the damp mist where the yellow-orange sun rose like a halo above the two round towers of Highburn in the distance. Time was of the essence. In order to meet Newbury on the morrow as planned he must pluck Isabeau without
so
much as a cry or hue.

There was no time to do battle. Newbury’s patience ran thin. If Isabeau was not delivered to him as promised, ‘twould shatter their agreement and he would be forced to marry Newbury’s witch of a sister.

Barak resumed his pacing.

Besides, he had few men. To bring more would have alerted his father.

Royce wouldn’t rest until they’d secured a strong alliance to the North, and he didn’t care who forged the alliance, Isabeau or Barak. Royce would demand Barak pledge his troth to Newbury’s sister if Isabeau wasn’t forced to the altar first. And he wasn’t about to let that happen.

Barak gnashed his teeth.

His guts tightened.

This was all Isabeau’s doing.

If she had not been so stubborn—so selfish, he’d be off the hook by now. Her quest for a happy match had put them both in peril. Her idle-headed wheedling had stirred a wicked brew—one he was not willing to choke down.

He’d remind her of that when he next
laid
hands on her, in a way she’d not soon forget.

Barak stopped again, gazing up at Highburn’s two round turrets in the distance, rising through puffs of white mist, marking the entrance of the cylindrical fortress that housed his prey.

Nicola must have whelped by now. She and Isabeau were likely both hovering over the brat, cooing like deranged pigeons. What was it about women and infants? They seemed to lose all good sense when cradling a new babe against their bosom.

He remembered his mother holding Nicola as a babe. His parents had taken him to visit his aunt and uncle a few weeks after Nicola’s birth. His mother had stroked Nicola’s cheek saying, ‘I’ve been hoping for a little maid like you, to keep me company some day.’

Nicola was a winsome babe. He remembered thinking so. He’d even been prepared to give her a chance—to let her into his heart from the first moment he saw her.

But he was only seven at the time.

A week later he was sent to Normandy to become a page, in the house of an uncle he did not know.

He returned six years later to serve as squire to his father’s neighbor and vassal. He journeyed to his parents on feast days, but his duties as a squire were demanding and did not allow for long visits.

But the years of exile were worth it. He returned to his father’s household a knight—fast, strong, and a superior swordsman.

Nicola had blossomed to become the most comely maid he had ever beheld. The sight of her calmed him, sweeping the burdens of the day’s rigor away. Her delicate features and serene nature were like a balm, soothing his rough edges, melting the coldness from the battles he fought.

But she had no time for him.

Though living off the charity of his mother and father—plunder that would one day be his, she barely managed a smile or a greeting. He began to think she despised him. His suspicions were confirmed one eventide in the alcove outside the chapel. He’d sent Guilford on a fool’s errand as a jest and took his place. He’d never forget the shock he felt to discover she’d lain with the priest.

Nicola finally showed her claws
that night—as well as her teeth, biting his lip
so viciously when he tried to kiss her it left a scar. It felt so good throwing her to the floor, pounding into her—teaching her a lesson she would never forget. He felt twice the satisfaction to discover she was breeding.

A shame the babe didn’t live.

Nicola’s womb turned out to be as poisoned as her heart.

The sight of Talbot and Ram tromping toward him along the river’s edge ended Barak’s musing.

He’d sent them ahead on foot to learn the lay of the land. Fortin was building two small ships for the purpose of trade ‘twould seem, as they were deep bellied crafts—too cumbersome for battle. Fresh logs sat by the river’s edge at the ready. If Fortin’s men were near by, ‘twas wise to know of their whereabouts at all times.

As Talbot and Ram trudged closer he could see they were dragging something. As they drew nearer still it became clear they weren’t dragging something, but someone.

Fortin’s squire to be precise.

Barak chuckled.

It seemed the fates were smiling on him this day.

***

You could see your breath in the bath house, though the sun had risen several hours past. Isabeau yanked her kirtle over her head with haste. Bathing in frigid water was an invigorating way to start the day, but ‘twas a relief to be enfolded in her blue woolen kirtle, cozy and warm once again.

Myrtle stood sentry outside the door, still Isabeau did not wish to cross paths with Alec or Beaufort. They had just sat down at the high table to break their fast when she and Myrtle slipped from the hall, leaving her time for a quick scrub, but still, she didn’t want to take any chances. With any luck she’d be aloft assisting Nicola with the babe before Alec and Beaufort’s feet hit the courtyard.

‘Twas cowardly she knew, but her heart could not abide Alec’s coldness. If she spoke to him, she feared she might say things she’d later regret, or worse, break down and beg him to change his mind.

‘Twas torture to see him from afar—hear the deep timber of his voice, and yet not speak with him. But ‘twas best to distance
herself
from him now. They would be leaving for Lowglen in two days time, if all went well and Nicola continued to regain her strength.

Helping Nicola with the babe was a blessing. It prevented Isabeau from dwelling on her own troubles. There would be time enough to bemoan her fate. As it was she tossed and turned each night, dreaming of him, longing to feel his breath against her ear, wishing he would appear and relieve her of the restless ache of her heart.

In the morn she’d awake grateful that he did not come to witness her shame—to know how desperately she longed for him, even though he had rejected her.

A sharp knock came to the bathhouse door.

Isabeau grabbed her grey, woolen mantle, swung it around her shoulders then went to open the door. She stepped out into the courtyard to find Myrtle with Ludella, one of the laundry maids from the village, at her side.

“Ludella wishes to speak with you, my Lady.” Myrtle pursed her lips, leveling a glare on the maid as caustic as a tongue lashing. “I told her you were taking your bath and she must wait, but she’s as bold as a hound and would have none of it.”

“No matter.
I’m finished.” Isabeau smiled at Ludella, grateful that it was her and not Alec or Beaufort banging at the bathhouse door. “Come walk with me,” Isabeau said, taking Ludella by the arm. “And give me your news.”

“I have a message for you, my Lady,” Ludella said in a gush as though she’d been holding her breath, which might account for the look of anguish pinching her face.

“A message?”
Isabeau stopped in her tracks.
“From who?”

“From your cousin, Barak.”

Isabeau felt the color drain from her cheeks as a shiver ran up her spine. She barely noticed Myrtle colliding into her back with a fleshy
bump,
apparently following too close as she tried to listen. “Yes?”

“Your cousin, my lady.”
Ludella spoke slowly as though speaking to a half-wit.

“Barak?
Where did you see him?” Isabeau’s mind raced ahead, conjuring all manner of possibilities.
None that she liked.
Whatever Barak was up to, it could not be good.

“Down by the river, of course.”
Ludella looked back at her as though she was one peck short of a bushel. “We don’t go no where’s else.”

“Yes, yes!” Isabeau attempted to contain her impatience. “What did he say?”

Ludella pulled away, her features turning grim, her eyes wide, as though fearing some reprisal. “He said you were to meet him alone down by the river or he would feed his Lordship’s squire, William, to the fishes.” Ludella’s lip quivered. “If I don’t take you there, he’s going to kill Eda too.” She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

“Well!” Myrtle sputtered. “We’ll see what his lordship has to say about that!” Myrtle turned to stalk toward the hall.

“Nay!”
Isabeau grabbed Myrtle by the arm to stall her. “Do not think of it. I know Barak. He’ll kill William and Eda if I don’t go.” Isabeau kept her voice low not wishing to alarm Ludella any more than she already was, though Isabeau heart thumped so hard in her chest, she could hardly think. “No one must know of this. Do you hear me?”