Siege Of the Heart (10 page)

“Agreed.” Isabel walked toward the castle, her steps quick to melt the ice that had formed inside her.

Alexandre fell into step next to her. “My lady, how do you propose we proceed?”

She glanced sidelong at him, before staring ahead once more. Just looking at him made her stomach contort. “I suggest you accustom yourself to the fact I do not have to tell you any more than I deem necessary.”

Alexandre shrugged off his mantle and placed it about her shoulders without asking, his hands lingering. His male scent enveloped her, clouding her ability to think clearly. She inwardly cursed. This man threatened more than her independence—he threatened her sanity. Yet her desire to rip off the cloak warred with the warmth thawing her body.

“Then, may I suggest you take care to ensure you recover fully from your illness and injury? I would also ask you acquaint me with the workings of your home so I can better understand it and aid you in whatever capacity you may require during our stay in Ashdown.”

“
Très bien
.”

“Then we will start this afternoon, no?”

They reached the main hall. Isabel swiftly removed his cloak and handed it back to him. “Sadly, I must go over the week’s meals with the kitchen staff today,” Isabel said with what she hoped was an apologetic smile. She needed as much distance as possible from him while she developed a plan to turn the knights out of her home once and for all.

Alexandre pulled the mantle around himself. He smiled at her obvious desire to get away from him. “All pleasantries aside, you cannot hold me off forever, Isabel. You claimed I treated you like a child. Very well, I shall not dissemble anymore.” His eyes burned like ice in the sunshine. She could not look away. “You think if you put me off long enough my men and I will pack up and leave you alone,” he continued. “I can assure you that will not happen. I have an…interest in what goes on here.”

Isabel cursed to herself, and the hold he had over her was broken. This man…how could he see into her mind, know what she planned? Alexandre was not going to leave her alone. He had too much honor and mayhap too much insight. The knight had already determined she had no intention of being cooperative. He was subtly warning her she was no match for him. She would prove him wrong. There was only one thing to do…

“What are you implying, sir?” Before he could respond, she continued, “Be ready after the church service at lauds on the morrow. I will not tolerate tardiness.” Isabel swept into the castle as Alexandre chuckled softly behind her.

* * * *

The next morning Alex was waiting for her. He did not want to give her any excuse for not following through with their agreement, so he arrived to the hall early.

“My lady, you honor me,” he said when she entered. She gave him a nod and was about to make her way past him, but Alex would not be dismissed like one of her servants. He held up a hand to stop her. “I want to return these to you,” he said, producing the sword and seax he confiscated from her.

She looked at him in surprise before she snatched them out of his hands and unsheathed each blade to confirm they were hers. Always the warrior. She eyed the familiar scrollwork with relief and handled the smooth leather-wrapped grips of each weapon. “I am grateful to see my equipment returned to me,” Isabel finally said as she deftly strapped both to her belt.

“
Certainement
. Such craftsmanship is meant to be used, not collecting dust somewhere.”

Her head snapped up, an eyebrow arched in disgust. “Then you should have given them back sooner.”

He grinned and moved to take her arm. “Perhaps.” As he expected, she recoiled from his touch and pushed past him.

The battle of wills had begun. And a large part of him looked forward to it, he realized as he followed her outside. From those moments when he had first spoken with Isabel, he knew of her temper, despite her efforts to control it. Nor had he forgotten their quarrel the other night. At first he had been enraged by her outburst. No one—not even his foul-tempered father—had ever dared to speak to him in such a manner. Still, Isabel’s tirade gave him valuable insight into the woman he was to marry. She certainly did not like his methods of procuring information, and her fear for her future colored her thoughts and deeds.

He understood her sentiments up to a point, but she was not alone in this. Her father would soon return to help her shoulder such responsibility, and Alex was here in the meantime.

When they reached the stables, he was surprised to see her dismiss the stable boy and saddle the steed herself, her hands sure, moving swiftly over the straps. She behaved like no other woman of his acquaintance, noble or otherwise.

He had learned from Matilde she was not yet twenty. He had not expected to find such a woman, well-endowed with both beauty and lands, unattached. If she were in Normandy, she would have children clinging to her skirts by now. He did not pretend to understand how the English married off their daughters, but Matilde did say she had rejected every possible suitor over the years.

Was Isabel afraid marriage would steal away the freedom she so cherished? She wanted to be a man’s equal, and was, he admitted, in many capacities. She would be a prize for any man, but her uncompromising attitude… Until she warmed to him, she must remain ignorant of William’s intentions for her. It would be better to win her on merit. That way she would not feel manipulated when the truth was revealed.

He saw no other way to handle the situation.

They led the horses outside and mounted in silence. Isabel pulled up the hood of her cloak and spurred her horse forward, beyond the palisade walls and along a snow-covered road. One of her men-at-arms followed at a discreet distance. They held a moderate pace before she finally reined her horse to a stop.

“As you can see from here,” she began, her face seemingly devoid of emotion, “my father’s castle is but a few miles west of the village of Ashdown. The town of Gloucester is due south of here. A day’s ride.” He wondered what it cost her to hide her irritation with him.

The castle was well situated on a small hill with a good vantage in all directions. Even in the distance, Alex could make out the wooden palisade that enclosed the bailey and motte castle. “My lady, I confess I was surprised to find your father has begun renovating the castle with stone.”

“Yes, we have begun with the walls of the hall and the motte itself. Next summer, we plan to reinforce the palisade with stone. Someday, my father hopes to move the living quarters into the tower.”

“My father’s castle is designed in much the same manner.” He examined the castle in the distance once more. “Lord Dumont should be proud of what he has accomplished here. William was disappointed to find so few English lords built proper fortifications.” He thanked God Dumont had already brought Norman architecture and sensibilities to Ashdown for it would reduce the burden on Alex to improve the holding in order to meet William’s standards.

Isabel nodded in agreement. “Many English castles have been built on top of hillside forts and other sites dating back to the Romans. My father had different plans. He was convinced stone was necessary, given how close we are here to the Welsh border. It was also his idea to add a second story to the hall for our rooms and living spaces. An uncommon idea at the time.”

“But the added space provides much comfort and privacy.”

“Indeed. I enjoy retiring to my solar every night. I am able to escape members of the household and our guests for a few hours. Especially the unwanted ones,” she said with a sharp look at him.

He grinned at the barb. Eyes narrowing, she abruptly wheeled her mount and did not bother to see if he followed.

They spent the rest of the morning surveying the Dumont domain. While Alex had learned much about the holding from what he had been able to pry out of Matilde, it did not compare to the details and intimate knowledge Isabel was able to give him. She showed him the forest where her father’s men hunted, the network of streams off the Severn River irrigating the fields and the leagues of snow-covered tenant farms that paid tribute to Lord Dumont. The holding impressed him, but only once the snow melted would he have a true picture of the land.

Isabel had at first been terse in her description, but she eventually warmed to her task. Pride imbued her voice as she explained what each field produced and the innovative projects her father had undertaken. Whatever questions Alex asked, she had a well-informed answer, and he was forced to conclude Captain Thomas was not the only one Lord Dumont had confided in.

At last they arrived in the village of Ashdown. Alex had not paid much attention to the village when he and his men first came through it, as he had been eager to meet with the Dumonts. This time, he listened as Isabel pointed out the blacksmith, the bakery, the watermill and the church. The few villagers who were out-of-doors eyed him warily but brightened upon seeing Isabel, and it seemed she knew all of them fairly well, judging by her ease in striking up conversations with them. The garbled, incomprehensible English words meant nothing to him, but it was obvious they respected her and were pleased with her interest in their lives.

Isabel stopped her horse outside the local inn. The ride had turned her cheeks dusky rose, and at some point, the hood of her cloak had been forced back. Strands of her rich brown hair floated about her face. Again he was struck by her beauty. Her temper would be a small price to pay for such a woman who could capture the hearts and loyalty of her people. If he could just win her over, it would make his presence in Ashdown all the easier.

She dismounted, and Alex let her lead the way into the inn. The staunch, gray-haired innkeeper smiled toothily at Isabel in welcome. Their familiar exchange showed him she was no stranger to alehouses. He could not decide if that bothered him as the old man disappeared to prepare them a luncheon.

At that time of day, they were the only guests in the inn. Isabel headed for a table closest to the fireplace. A wolfhound sprawled across the hearth. Just the thump of his tail and the crackling of the fire filled the room as they sat down on opposite sides. Isabel avoided looking at Alex, her gaze roving everywhere but at him. No doubt they would dine in silence if she had her way.

He cleared his throat. “I could not help but observe some of your men were…surprised to find Norman knights in Ashdown,” he said, remembering the sting of Kendrick’s blade against his neck.

She finally faced him. “I think we all were,” she said. “After all, my father is no stranger to William.”

“No indeed, but even so, I thought we would find your household a little more welcoming.”

“You must remember, although my father is proud of his Norman heritage, we are still English and are respectful of the traditions of my mother and her countrymen. The witan proclaimed Harold king, not William, and for many Englishmen, the council’s decision is law despite pronouncements from Rome to the contrary.” Alex opened his mouth to argue with her, but she raised her hand. “I am not trying to debate the legitimacy of William’s claim, but you must be mindful the grisly accounts of the battle have spread through this country like wildfire. The reports have done nothing to recommend you or your people.”

She folded her hands and looked down at the table. “And you must know many of us are still grieving,” she said quietly.

“I understand.” The hurt in her voice was almost tangible. Was she thinking about her brother? Alex sighed. “War is a hard thing. I learned that the first time I raised my sword in defense of my father’s home in Évreux. I was barely sixteen. But at Hastings, I was surprised by the dishonorable actions of many of William’s men. He was forced to hire mercenaries from France to round out his ranks, and their ungodly actions have sullied our presence in England.”

Isabel raised her head, her eyes flinty in the dim room. “Not all the bloodshed can be laid at the feet of the mercenaries.”

He shifted in his seat. “No. The bloodlust was strong on both sides. And when it grabs hold of a man...” He gathered his thoughts. “Be glad your father sought to protect you from it.”

She turned away from him and warmed her hands in front of the fire. “Why are you a knight for William?” she asked over her shoulder. He could sense curiosity under her light tone. She sat back in her seat, waiting for an answer.

He would oblige her, as it was the first time she took interest in him as a man. “I have two older brothers,” he said. “I wanted much more than to sit in their shadow or dedicate myself to the church. Normandy is tearing itself apart with all the fighting between the baronies. I wanted the chance to start over.”

Isabel nodded. “And how has such a life found you?”

“Very well, thankfully. I have accomplished much for myself, considering I am not yet twenty-eight. I am a respected member of William’s army, and he knows he can depend on me for anything,” he said with pride.