Love Never Lies (7 page)

His voice stopped her. “You’re settling into your new life very well.”

The dissatisfaction in his tone spun her around. Or was it surprise? He wore a quizzical look. She sensed no malice there. Apparently, he thought she would crumble at the first sign of adversity.

She looked up at him with what she hoped was an expression of unconcern. “Lara is very kind to me. I have no complaints.”

“Good.” His tone grew soft, almost gentle. “Do what the widow bids you and I’ll have no reason to regret my leniency at leaving you in her care.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

Leniency indeed!

He’d left her in a hut with no clothes but the ones on her back. His arrogance set her teeth on edge. But with great effort, she managed to answer in a calm tone. “Your regrets will be many, but I don’t think this will be the worst of them.” She turned on her heel to head for the cottage, all too aware of his gaze boring into her back. But she dared not turn around, for fear he asked her where Lara had gone and somehow put an end to their leave-taking on the morrow.

***

Kirkford’s village green bustled under the cloud ridden sky. ‘Twas market day and many peasants’ carts and stalls crowded the square in hopes of selling their wares. Barrels of ale, pottery, belts, purses, produce,
all
manner of goods were laid out for the town-folk’s inspection.

Isabeau paced some distance away, under a sprawling yew with little Hamish cradled against her breast. Their journey from Gilling’s Cross had proved uneventful, but luck was a fickle thing and she was anxious to be on her way.

She stroked her finger down Hamish’s rosy cheek. “You are the dearest man I know save my father. I’m sorry to leave you. But your mother comes hither from selling her bread, and I must go if I’m to find my betrothed.”

Lara hastened toward them, beaming from ear to ear, the cord at her waist swinging in front of her brown kirtle like a church bell.
“Tis all gone!
Every single loaf! A true blessing it was the day you were dropped at my door, my lady. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Isabeau brushed her lips against the babe’s velvet forehead,
then
handed him ever so gently over to his mother. “You may not think so for long,” she said with a rueful smile. “I fear what I’m about to tell you may vex you sorely.”

“You’re leaving.” Lara did not seem surprised. In fact, a note of pride crept into her voice. “You mean to flee. I knew ‘twas so!”

“Yea.
I’m sorry. I wish you no trouble. You’ve been so kind to me. But I must leave while I have the chance.”

Lara nodded. “I’d do the same if I were in your place.”

No doubt she would. Lara was of sturdy stock. Life would never get the better of her. “I’ll not forget your kindness. You’ve been a true friend.” Isabeau clasped her arms around Lara in a brief hug. “But, I must go.”

“Can I not at least take you to the castle gate?”

“Nay!”
Isabeau gasped, then seeing the attention she was drawing lowered her voice. “You must not be seen with me.”

“Never fear, I’ll make up a good lie.”

“Nay!”
Sweet Mary! A lie was what had gotten her into this mess. “Don’t do that. Just say that I took my leave, and you couldn’t stop me.”

 
Lara reached out to squeeze her hand. “Good tidings, my lady. My prayers go with you.”

“And you,” Isabeau called over her shoulder. “If you find a right and worthy man, send me his brother.” Once in motion, she did not look back, but hurried up the dirt road toward the fortress on the hill.

Her hand roamed upward to the ruby amulet around her neck. The smooth cool feel of it under her thumb gave her courage. Having rubbed it for good luck, she dropped it back beneath her kirtle.

From what she could see of it in the distance, Kirkford Castle appeared smaller than her uncle’s stronghold, but sizably larger than Gilling’s Cross, which according to Lara was not a castle at all, but rather a fortified manor like Isabeau’s parents’ home. Fortunately now, she would never have the pleasure of finding out.

Poor fool.

Fortin thinks me as meek as my sister. He thinks I’d never attempt to flee. She wished she could see his face when he came to Lara’s cottage to gloat and found her missing.

***

The hall burst to overflowing with Lord Beaufort and Alec’s men crammed within. Even removed at the high table, the noise battered Alec’s ears, threatening to breach his good sense. ‘Twas time to quit dicing and seek his pallet. They rode in the morn to take Highburn. Much strength would be needed to carry him through the upcoming siege.

“God’s breath!
You are the luckiest knave that ever walked.” Beaufort stared agog at the dice Alec tossed on the table. “I’ll rub your helm on the morrow.”

 
Alec chuckled. “Don’t rub it too hard, I pray. It’s likely to split.”

“’Tis not the ale I wager, but Hilda’s shrill cries still ringing in your head.” Laughter clung to Beaufort’s words. “I warned you not to bed the wench.”

“Yea, but you failed to tell me she would howl like a cat and scrape her nails down my back.” Alec winced, remembering the sharp weapons. The scars had not yet healed. “That’ll teach me to listen to you the next time I need sate my lust.”

“Listen to me? That’s rich!” Beaufort threw back his head and laughed. “I warned you away.”

“Yea, in a tone that implied you were trying to keep some precious treasure for yourself.”

“I can’t be blamed for your strange tastes,” Beaufort said, his lips twitching as he struggled to keep the smile from his face. “You’d hump a gong farmer’s daughter if she but threw up her skirts.”

Alec flung him a look of mock reproach. “My tastes are liberal, but I’ve never sunk that low. I’ve bedded a milkmaid or two, but none that scratched my back raw or screeched their pleasure so loud they left me deaf.”

Beaufort leaned forward in his chair. “Then ‘tis best you left the Lady Isabeau in your baker’s care. After stealing her dowry, ‘tis likely she’d tear up more than your back.”

“Better there, than lounging at my hearth.”

“Ohhhh?”
Beaufort lifted one golden brow. “According to William she’s wondrously fair. He speaks her name with reverence. Once started on the subject, you can’t shut him up.”

 
“Yea, she’s changed so much, I wouldn’t have known her for the leggy sapling I met flitting about Agnew’s hall.” His tone turned harsh despite all efforts to control his rancor. “But her blood’s the same. The mere sight of her twists my guts.”

“And stirs your blood.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Hmm, but that’s really what’s eating at you isn’t it,” Beaufort prodded.

“No!!!”

“Then ‘tis well you’ve put her from you.” Beaufort sent him a considering look. “Though I’m not certain leaving her with the widow was such a wise choice. ‘Tis a hard existence for one not accustomed to heavy work. You can’t collect the ransom if she’s dead.”

 
Alec gave a derisive snort. “When I rode by the widow’s cottage ere I left, she didn’t appear overly taxed.” A hint of annoyance crept into his voice, remembering how happy she looked until she spotted him. How she flicked him a heated look, then strode back inside the cottage, shielding Lara’s babe against her body as though he might eat the lad. By the time he rode away, he felt more a trespasser than lord of the land. “’Twill take more than a little hard work to kill that one.”

A young page appeared on the other side of the high table scuffling his feet.
“Beggin’ your pardon, my lord.
But Aldwin bade me fetch you on a matter of importance.”

“That paunchy loafer doth try my patience to the core.” Beaufort let forth a low growl. “He acts more lord than servant of this keep.”

Alec rose to his feet. “I’ll leave you to confer with your steward then.” The hour grew late. He had no patience for domestic affairs. There would be plenty of that to contend with when Highburn fell into his hands. For now, he was thankful to seek his pallet and lose himself in sleep.

He crossed the hall to the stone stairs, waving off raucous calls from his men.

Once aloft he wasted no time finding the bedchamber allotted to him. He pushed opened the door to find a candle burning and a fire crackling in the grate.
At last—blissful solitude.
His eyes began to droop before he drew back the pelts on the bed.

But it seemed as though his head had barely hit the pillow when he heard a pounding at the door.

What now?

He muttered an oath and reached for his braies at the end of the bed.

Likely Will was scrapping again.

God’s teeth! When would he learn, he was not skilled enough to take on someone twice his size? If he had to sit up with Will all night again, when the lad recovered, by the Lord, he’d beat some sense into him once and for all.

***

Isabeau hugged her arms around her waist, wishing she hadn’t relinquished her mantle to the rotund steward. She did her best to keep her teeth from chattering as she followed Lord Beaufort from the dampness of the entrance alcove, but she could not control the tremor rattling through her limbs.

Something about him seemed oddly familiar, but then many noblemen visited her uncle’s hall. Her mind was likely playing tricks on her. She was dead tired—all but asleep on her feet.

He gave no sign that he knew her, and seemed very sympathetic to her plight.

Isabeau kept her thoughts focused on the promise of a nice warm bed. But ‘twas difficult to maintain one’s dignity with a wet crown of braids weighing down her head and her blue kirtle clinging to her like a second skin.

As it turned out, Kirkford Castle was much further from the village than she thought. ‘Twas well past dark by the time she trudged up the long winding road to the gates. But not before the heavens opened to slash cold rain down upon her. All she yearned for now was a soft pallet and a cup of sweet wine to warm her blood again.

A staggering hush fell over the hall as they entered.

Isabeau kept her eyes on Lord Beaufort’s back, praying he would lead her directly to the stairs.

A string of low whispers followed her steps.

But at that moment, she was too relieved to find sanctuary and too weary to care. Her feet hurt—nay, they did not just hurt, they were on fire, and the linen of her chemise chafed against her skin like wet sand.

When Beaufort came to an unexpected stop, she lifted her gaze to look past him. What she beheld made her breath catch in her throat.

Her blood froze.

There, on the last step of the stone stairs, stood her captor, Fortin.

Her mind went blank.

Then, self-preservation took hold. Her heart began to beat at a furious rate. She turned on her heel to run, only to find Lord Beaufort blocking her path. At twice her size and only an arm’s length away, there was no getting past him. With nowhere to flee, she stood her ground, flashing him an accusing glare. “You tricked me!”

“And for that I’m truly sorry.” His grave tone was at odds with the twinkle in his hazel eyes. “But as you can see, my friend would not have been very happy if I’d let you leave.”

 
She muttered an oath then spun back around. But her anger soon fled.