Love Never Lies (9 page)

Beaufort’s knowing
chuckle rumbled in the darkness.
“’Tis a shame.
I’d hoped to finally see the moths fly from your purse.”

Alec sent forth a grunt. “Every day we sit here, Agnew steals another coin from my coffer.”

“Highburn will soon see to that. There’s much to be gained in trade with the river to transport goods both north and south. The lady’s dowry should finance a vessel or two.” Beaufort sent him a sidelong glance, offering a mocking smile. “If you didn’t take such pleasure in tormenting the maid, you’d have the ransom as well by now.”

“Serving in the hall is hardly a torment. She’s fortunate I didn’t send her to the stables to muck out the stalls.”

“Yea, but the pleasure of her waiting on you, pleases you more than you can stand.”

“When Hilda allows me the pleasure. She fairly tramples over the lady to get to my cup.” Alec slashed Beaufort a dark look, knowing the situation amused him immensely. “Now I know why you were so eager to offer me the wench. Once she sinks her fangs in, they’re good and truly stuck.”

Beaufort feigned an innocent look, eyes as wide as a newborn fawn. “I cautioned you. Remember?
Nay, verily warned you away.”

“Ha!
A sly strategy on your part.
When truth
be
told, you couldn’t wait to escape her grips. And no wonder. She’d smother a man to death.” Worse still, whenever Hilda lavished attention on him, rubbing her bosom against his arm while pouring his ale or leering suggestively, the Lady Isabeau sent a curious smile his way. Apparently she shared Beaufort’s humor regarding the situation, which made it rankle all the more.

“’Tis your charm, not I, that keeps her panting at your heels,” Beaufort declared.

Alec sent forth a depreciative puff of air. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. I have it on good authority, ‘twas you she hounded before I came. Don’t bother to deny it.”

“But alas,” Beaufort said with a long, deep sigh.
“Your good looks have taken her from me and shown me up. ‘
Tis fortunate the Lady Isabeau doesn’t feel the same, or your head would grow fat. But there’s no danger there.” Beaufort grinned. “Her hate doth exceed Hilda’s lust.”

Alec’s gaze slid to the leaping blue flames of the fire. Beaufort was right. But try as he might, Alec could not gain much pleasure in it. This irked him as much as it baffled him. Why should he care what Isabeau of Dawney thought of him, after what her family did?

He should not.

But strangely enough, he did.

Despite everything—despite who she was, he could not help but hold a grudging respect for the lady. She never complained, no matter what the hardship. When he left her with a peasant in a crude hut, she had nary batted an eye. She was damned resourceful when she wanted to be. ‘Tis likely she would have escaped, if not for mistaking Kirkford for a safe haven.

She claimed the widow had nothing to do with it, but he did not for a moment believe it. The widow would never have gone to the market at Kirkford if Isabeau had not suggested it. Isabeau swore the widow was only there to sell bread, but the widow had to be suspicious. Even if she hadn’t, she should have sought permission before taking Isabeau with her. The lady’s loyalty was commendable—though entirely unbelievable. Something else he tried not to admire, but could not help.

But then, involving her had never been his goal. She had merely gotten in the way. And, since she had fallen into his lap, ‘twould be foolhardy to throw the ransom away. After all, this siege was costing him dearly. How else could he redeem his losses?

He would not allow Agnew to cheat him out of another piece of silver. Not if he could help it.

And for that, he must abide her reproachful looks while she smiled sweetly at other men, including Beaufort, who took great pleasure in throwing it up in his face.

If not for relinquishing his honor, he would forgo his pride and take her to bed.

That would shut Beaufort up.

And wipe the saucy smile from her lips.

***

“You laugh, my lady, but ‘tis true,” Hilda said with a conspirator’s wink of one slanted green eye. The riot of fiery curls on her head bobbed as she continued to scrub at the flags. “When he got up to dance, his braies let go and fell straight to his knees. ‘Twas not only the bride who viewed his making’s on their wedding day.”

Isabeau wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes. “Let’s hope your sister’s betrothed doesn’t meet with the same fate.” Though Hilda’s tales were bawdy, they certainly had the power to make Isabeau laugh and help her to forget her plight. The freedom of Hilda’s tongue as they knelt scrubbing the soot from the hearth lifted Isabeau’s spirits as it had on many a day as they worked together cleaning the hall.

But Isabeau’s smile soon faded when she spied Aldwin, the steward, lumbering toward them from the direction of the kitchen.

“Have you not finished yet?” A deep scowl furrowed his brow all the way to the top of his bald head. “The constable awaits fresh blankets for his men. They’ll not fly there of their own accord.”

“We’re on our way to the gatehouse next.” Hilda rose to her feet, fixing him with a stern glare. “We can only please one body at a time.”

“Then you best please mine,” Aldwin said with a snarl curling his lips. “You’ll not get a scrap ‘til it’s done. Lay a fresh cloth on the high table when you get back. Lord Fortin and his men will return anon.”

Isabeau barely noticed the comical faces Hilda made at Aldwin’s meaty back; her mind had turned to more important matters. She must speak to Fortin the moment he arrived. If he did not offer news of her ransom directly, then she would demand it—immediately, as soon as his arrogant presence graced the hall.

It wasn’t the work she minded, or Aldwin’s heavy handedness at withholding food whenever the mood struck him, but the waiting. The uncertainty of her future ate into her heart like a corrupted sore. The thought of her parents’ anguish and the possibility of her betrothed breaking his promise of marriage plagued her night and day.

But she held on to one thread of hope; as long as her virtue was intact, Lord Hogan would have no cause to end the match.

“Come along, my lady,” Hilda called over her shoulder, hustling across the hall toward the baskets of fresh blankets the laundress had left for them by the door, “Lest we give that old fart an excuse to be gobblin’ up our supper again. ‘Tis no wonder he’s as stout as a yew in a churchyard. He’ll soon need a tent as his tunic.”

“Oh! Edric’s tunic! I almost forgot.” Isabeau hastened for the stairs. “I’ll be right back.” Her feet flew over the flags, knowing Aldwin was as good as his word, not that a day’s labor guaranteed one’s supper. He had deprived them of supper twice before, not for any specific transgression, only because the mood struck him. Even if the work was done on time, he might make something up. But still, ‘twould be foolish to tempt fate.

“Well your stitching
be
better than mine.” Hilda said when Isabeau caught up with her. ‘Tis well you’re here or my fingers would bleed trying to make a few extra coins.”

Isabeau halted in the courtyard, struggling to adjust the heaping basket of blankets in her arms.
“My apologies, Hilda.
When I offered my help, I’d not thought I’d be taking work away from you.”

Hilda laughed. “Don’t give it another thought. I can think of more pleasant ways to put silver in my pocket.”

Isabeau didn’t ask her to elaborate, as she knew very well what Hilda meant, having been ousted from the small chamber they shared many times. But, with the village some distance away and the castle crowded with men, ‘twas only natural they would seek a willing maid to sate their lust. Apparently, Fortin had done so as well, judging from the knowing, come-hither glances Hilda forever sent his way.

On more than one occasion, Hilda had referred to Fortin as a wizard of the flesh. Isabeau ignored these unwelcome confidences, steering their conversation in a more wholesome direction. The less she knew the better.

Fortin could bed every whore in Northumbria as far as she was concerned, and likely had, but she had no desire to hear the details. His indiscretions were no concern of hers, nor would they ever be. He could riddle the countryside with bastards for all she cared.

“Keep your distance from those jackals.” Hilda sent Isabeau a warning look as they plodded toward the gatehouse. “Lest they forget you’re a lady and decide to take liberties.”

Isabeau didn’t take Hilda’s counsel lightly. On more than one occasion she had spied Beaufort’s men eying her with heated looks they quickly sought to conceal. She would never dare go to the gatehouse alone or to the bathhouse without Hilda to stand guard.

But with Hilda at her side, Isabeau held no fear and hastened her steps. Hopefully, after delivering the blankets they would have time for a quick scrub in the bathhouse before Fortin and his men arrived.

The scuff of their footsteps rang hollow on the stone stairs of the tower as they ascended to the dormitory on the second floor. Weapons were stored on the first floor—pikes, maces, all manner of deadly devices of warfare. The third and final floor was the constable’s solar and office. Luckily she would not need to tread that far, as Hilda always took charge of changing his pallet.

After Hilda had gone aloft, Isabeau hustled about sweeping the old blankets off of the straw pallets and into her basket. She did not wish to be caught alone, should any of the men happen to wander in.

She had just finished laying the fresh blankets on the ends of the pallets and was on her way to the door when Edric, the young man-at arms whose tunic she had mended, appeared in the doorway.

She smiled in relief.
“Ah, Edric ‘tis you.
You gave me a start. I left your tunic on your blanket.”

His handsome features flushed below his head of tossed golden curls.
“Many thanks. ‘
Tis the only extra one I own.”

“Tis nothing,” she said with a smile. “The evenings are long. I’m grateful to have something to pass the time.” She moved to brush past him, expecting him to stand aside as she could not pass carrying her basket with his great bulk blocking the door. When he failed to do so, she lifted an inquiring brow. “Is there something else you wish me to mend?”

His voice came husky and thick, as though his tongue had suddenly grown too fat for his mouth. “My heart if you could, but I’d settle for a kiss.”

Isabeau endeavored to keep her voice calm, though her knees trembled beneath her blue kirtle as she gazed up into his earnest young face. “That’s very kind, but I don’t think my betrothed would approve.”

He flashed
her a
brazen grin, his eyes aglow with more than friendship. “Yea, but your betrothed isn’t here, is he?”

She tried again in a firmer tone. “I don’t think Lord Fortin would approve of you accosting his prisoner.”

“He won’t care.” Edric grabbed her by the arms, pinning her against the opened door, a feverish gleam in his eyes. “Why else would he leave you here, so ill-disposed, to work as a serf in Lord Beaufort’s hall?”

“You forget yourself, Monsieur!” Her voice rose with indignation.
“Edric please!”
She twisted her head from side to side in an attempt to avoid his descending mouth. But with the basket between them and his hands biting into her arms, she could not escape.

“Edric!”
Hilda’s voice screeched like a wild song above the mad pounding in Isabeau’s ears. “Come aloft to the constable’s chamber and you’ll behold the biggest rat you’ve ever seen.”

At mention of the constable, Edric dropped his hands. He blinked,
then
stepped away. “’Twas only a kiss, my lady,” he said with a pained look, his face growing flushed. “I meant no harm.”

Isabeau sucked in a long grateful gulp of air as she watched him stride away,
then
hastened to follow Hilda down the stairs. She shivered, clutching the basket tight against her. How
was it
that lust could change a man’s nature in the blink of an eye? She would have vowed Edric wasn’t capable of hurting a flea, or she would never have offered to mend his tunic. But then, she had never been alone with him before.