by Amy Mullen
Turstin led his horse toward Blackstone’s well-kept stables, acid rising in his throat. He steeled his resolve to make the best of things, but his stay in this keep would try his patience. Once inside, he was reluctantly handing the reins to a stable hand when he heard raised voices coming from outside. The voices were getting lighter as if the speakers were moving away, but he caught a small bit of the conversation.
"Who is he then? Why are you so unhappy?"
"The king is a fool! He seems to think I need…assistance."
"I understand your anger, Nicholas, but there is more to this. He is not just a guest, is he? I know you. You are hiding something from me."
"Nonsense, woman! ‘Tis out of my hands for now, but do not doubt for one moment…"
That was all Turstin could hear as the pair moved away. A small victory was his. They were already arguing. This might be more fun than he had realized.
****
Turstin rose before dawn. His eyes popped open just as a slight form streaked past his door. It was open a crack, enough for him to keep an eye on things. He thought nothing of it until the form flew past again, and then again. Someone was pacing outside of his chambers. More intrigued than annoyed, he quickly rose, dressed hastily, and marched out into the passageway.
The pacer turned out to be Gemma de Vere. His appearance startled her, and she squeaked as he put out a hand.
"Oh!" she said, stopping in her tracks, facing him. "You are up."
"You seem agitated, milady," he said. A chuckle bubbled in his throat as her green eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip. She was utterly enchanting. If the stories were true, this slight woman was the reason for the fall of a great family. Gemma resembled the temptress he envisioned her to be, yet she had yet to show her wicked side. The younger sister was just as lovely but much less forward. He frowned.
As her skirts settled around her legs, Gemma took a deep breath and spoke. "You are to marry Isabel."
Turstin struggled with the urge to smirk at her discomfort. He raked his hair back with his long fingers and glanced at the floor before meeting her gaze.
"Aye, I am."
"You must understand something. I do not like it," she said rather bluntly. "I know ‘tis the way of things how this match was made—but we thought we had more time to secure a match on our own."
"That’s fair," he said. "I am no happier about this than you. The de Vere name is not unknown to me, and I am not pleased with the match either. However, the king offered me the lands meant to go to her husband, and I want them."
"I fear for Isabel. She was a strong, outgoing young girl at one time. What happened all those years go—events that occurred in my life—caused her great grief and, as a result, she is timid. I do not want her married to just anyone," Gemma said, her hands now bunched into fists at her sides. Her voice was low and even, but there was a tremble in her otherwise strong stance.
"You know as well I as I do that what the king says is law. Take this up with him. You’ll fair no better than your husband. You do not have to trust me. I have my orders, and I will see them through. I do not care for the stories I have heard of your family. Isabel is past when she should have married. Is she so timid no man would want her, or has she been coddled by your family?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
Nicholas had obviously kept part of the story to himself when he told his wife of the marriage. Turstin had been clear about how much he hated the de Vere name, though he had not said why. As much as it would delight him to explain, he decided to let it rest. She was a small woman, but he was averse to having his eyes scratched out.
Her eyes studied his face, but she did not speak. He just wanted to go. "It matters not. I would like to eat and be on my way, that is, should you allow it. I may not be what you envisioned for your sainted sister, and there may be no love between us, but I am under the king’s command and I do not take that lightly."
"I do not know how to trust you."
"I cannot help you with that. Mayhap you should ask your husband for assistance."
"I have never seen a man with hair as fair as yours. Your eyes are golden brown. You are not unpleasing to the eye. She could do worse, I suppose," Gemma said. Her eyes opened wide as her cheeks reddened. A dainty hand flew up to cover her mouth. After a few moments, she spoke again. "I am sorry. That was rude."
Turstin laughed. "’Tis not a worry. I get my blond hair and brown eyes from my mum."
"Do you favor her completely?" Gemma asked.
"I do not know. My father died recently, and I have not seen my mum since I was young. I have no family and only wish to start anew. I do not know if I look like my ancestors."
"I am sorry."
"No need for you to worry over it. ‘Tis done and past. I wish to break my fast and be gone as soon as your husband is ready."
"You do not wish to attend Mass?"
"Nay. I shall have my time with God as I travel to Tenwick."
Gemma tapped her lips with her finger for a moment and then skipped down the steps. He followed, but not without looking around him at the grandeur that was Blackstone Castle. There was much more to see in the morning light, and the stronghold was impressive. His anger grew again as he thought of what he did not have and why he did not have it.
Nicholas greeted his wife as she walked softly into the great hall. "Miles and the girls will break their fast with Hesse and Helena this morn. I will take Turstin with me to retrieve Isabel from Tenwick. I’ll not be gone long."
With a stiff nod, Gemma walked away, leaving Turstin standing with Nicholas.
"I have arranged food for us," Nicholas said. "We can eat as we ride. I hope you will do your best to be kind to Isabel. A scowl and a sharp word from you will frighten her until she knows you better."
"I see," Turstin said, irritation rising at the brisk tone Nicholas was using. He wanted to storm out, but he remembered that Renoir Castle was to belong to him. "Let us be off then."
Chapter Four
The gate creaked open, and the drawbridge hit the earth with a muffled thud as Isabel sat at the dais, undecided as to what to do next. She had awoken well after dawn and missed part of Mass. It was the nightmare that had kept her up late again.
Isabel had entered the chapel, hoping to draw little attention, but that was not to be. She had tripped and fallen, landing painfully on her knees. The priest had waited patiently for her to stand and seat herself. Her cheeks burned as the priest reminded her that timeliness was a virtue.
Now she was finishing her morning meal. Her host and protector for the last two years, Lord Beret, had excused himself early and briefly wished her well. He had always treated her with kindness, yet she had been weary of his presence. It was as if he could see right into her soul when he narrowed his eyes and peered at her. Thankfully, her chores had been many, and she was always busy, with Constance around to fill up the spare time she had. Irving Beret had kept his distance, and for that she was grateful.
"Do you suppose Nicholas is here?" Constance asked as she stood and flicked crumbs from the skirt of her kirtle. "I am most anxious to leave."
"He said he would be here this morn," Isabel said after swallowing the last of her wine. "’Tis time to say goodbye to Tenwick. Are you sure you still wish to come stay at Blackstone with me?"
"Oh, aye!" Constance said, the tone of her voice rising with excitement. "I cannot wait to see life from somewhere other than behind the walls of Tenwick. Fostering is hard work, yet, in a way, I am angry with my father for not sending me somewhere so I could learn as you have. I have rarely been away and am ready to see more of the world, even if only a part that is just a short ride away."
"Let us go, then," Isabel said. As she spoke, a young soldier approached. "Milady, Nicholas de Reymes has arrived from Blackstone to escort you home. I have sent men to retrieve your belongings."
"Thanks to you," Isabel said, trying to remember the soldier’s name. "Ronan?"
"Aye," he said with a
clipped bow. "Do you require any more assistance, milady? I shall be accompanying you to Blackstone and staying on while Constance is in residence. Please let me assist you at any time."
"Thank you," Isabel said. Ronan had always been near Constance, so it made sense he would go with them to Blackstone. Irving Beret had wanted his daughter to be free of unwanted attentions, and having a soldier nearby was how he did it. It was odd to Isabel at first, but she had quickly grown used to it. "I need to get Rose ready. I’ll be going to the stables. Do not worry for me. Assist Constance, should she need it."
Isabel walked with a quick pace as she left the hall and went to find her horse in the stables. Rose had been with her for a long time, a gift from Nicholas shortly after he had come to Blackstone to marry her sister. She was anxious to get back home, to see her sister and her nieces and nephew. They had visited a few times, and Isabel had been happy to see them, but now she knew she had little time to spend with them before she married.
"Wait, please!" Constance said as she ran down a small knoll toward Isabel. "They are readying our horses. Nicholas waits near the gate. I believe your betrothed is with him."
"He is?" Isabel said. That was unexpected. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Would they be married so soon? What was she to make of the strange feelings he awakened in her when he was near? It was like being unable to breathe or to think clearly. His presence had been all-encompassing, and it unsettled her.
Constance did not answer as she strode ahead of Isabel. Their horses were being led out into the early morning sunshine. A sense of peace washed over Isabel as she saw Rose. Her horse had been one constant from Blackstone that had stayed with her at Tenwick. She was not the fastest horse, but she was reliable and true.
They mounted and with a slow, steady pace rode toward the gates. There indeed was Nicholas. Beside him, sporting a sullen expression, was Turstin. Isabel’s throat constricted when her intended’s gaze rested on her. He sat straight in his saddle, and his foot tapped out an impatient rhythm.
"Isabel, my dearest, you look well," Nicholas said. He held out a hand in greeting. Isabel approached slowly, as she had always been a bit wary of his destrier. A new horse, strong and powerful, had replaced his old one. She gave Nicholas a nod and then put her head down, nervous about making eye contact with Turstin. His agitation made her uneasy. Was it she who set him on edge?
"Let us go," Nicholas said in a commanding voice. "You are well, Isabel?"
"Aye, I am well."
"And of Constance?"
"She is most excited to come stay with us at Blackstone as our guest."
Turstin and Nicholas both stared past Isabel to Constance.
"She looks ill," Turstin said, speaking for the first time since his arrival. Isabel glanced toward Constance and indeed, her friend seemed pale.
"I am fine, honestly," Constance said with a forced smile. "I am just tired. I have been so excited to see Blackstone, I fear I did not sleep a wink."
Nicholas nodded, and they were off. Isabel followed Nicholas. She stayed close enough so he could be near as they left the safety of the stout walls of Tenwick, yet far enough back so his horse would not be bothered. As they traveled, Turstin stayed behind her as he rode with Nicholas’ men. Constance chattered on as she tried to keep up with Turstin, but only received grunts in return.
****
The sounds were unmistakable. They were about to encounter trouble. Turstin held a hand out to silence the ceaseless prattle coming from the girl riding next to him. Constance did not take the hint, so he issued a loud "shh" in her direction.
Nicholas appeared to be alarmed as well. The man was smart, Turstin had to admit. He must have heard the same warning sounds.
They had entered the thick woods just moments before. Sunlight filtered through the heavy forest as the morning chill clung to each rider. The area was beautiful, yet woods such as these could hide many things. Morning dew, still fresh and lingering, muted the sounds of horses’ hooves in the trees beyond, yet he heard them.
The zing of Nicholas’s weapon being drawn prompted him to do the same.
"What? What?" Constance asked, her voice rising to a squeak.
"Quiet!" Turstin commanded. He had already had enough of her. Isabel remained quiet ahead of him. She sat upon her horse, her back straight, looking into the woods. There was no mistaking the look of fear on her face as she struggled to stay in step with Nicholas.
It was her brother-in-law whom she sought for protection. Turstin vowed to change that. She was not yet his wife, but she was to be his. He and he alone would be her protector.
A lone horse broke through the bushes to their left, erasing any lingering questions in Turstin’s mind. One more came, ahead of Nicholas. Behind him, he heard more, breaking through the tree line, coming up behind the men-at-arms that traveled with them.
Someone shrieked. As Turstin pulled back on Slash’s reins, Constance’s hands flailed in the air. He swung with measured accuracy, almost unseating one of the men coming toward them. They were typical thieves, lying in wait for those unfortunate enough to ride through.
Before Turstin could turn, the thieves turned tail quickly and took off through the woods. They had come and retreated so fast it was almost as if they had never appeared.
"They must have realized they were sorely outnumbered," Nicholas said as he sheathed his sword and drew out his dagger. The thieves had scattered, and no more sounds could be heard from the woods. "I do not know why they bothered."
"Aye," Turstin said, eyeing his betrothed. "And Lady Isabel, how do you fair?"
"I am fine, milord," she said.
"Let us finish our journey. Quickly, to Blackstone. Pick up the pace!" he ordered.
Constance was breathing hard. The soldier Ronan had ridden up to her side, his horse nudging hers forward. "I shall ride with Isabel," she said as her voice shook. She glanced at Ronan, who offered a nod.
"Good idea," Turstin said as Constance urged her mount forward and came up beside Isabel, who did not acknowledge her friend. Ronan dutifully rode on the other side of her.
"Nothing to worry about," Nicholas said loudly. "There have been tales of thieves in the woods nearby for more than a fortnight now. They are not high in number. So long as we travel in packs this large, they will not worry us."
"Tales? What tales?" Constance asked.
"Stories of weary travelers who were less fortunate than us," Nicholas said. "’Tis not unheard of and should not worry you. You are safe with me."
They finished the journey in silence. Isabel had not said a word, but she could not hide her state of mind. She had paled considerably. The short encounter with the thieves had left her motionless, frozen in her saddle. Her lips settled into a straight, taut line on her face, her eyes relentlessly searching the woods around them as they neared her home.
Turstin let out a long sigh. She had not panicked. He had to give her credit for that. No man could assume a woman like Isabel knew how to wield a sword, but her inability to do anything in her own defense was worrisome. Her sister had called her timid, and Turstin wondered from where that quality had come. Had what happened to her sister been so traumatic that Isabel was still stuck in that time? Was she frozen and so much lost in what had happened that she never got over it?
He pulled up beside her. "Isabel. Are you well?"
Isabel nodded but did not make eye contact with him. Her eyes were trained on Nicholas as he led the party toward the gates of Blackstone. She jumped as the horn sounded, announcing their arrival. It was meant as a sound of celebration at the return of Isabel de Vere, but she did not smile.
"Do not fear the thieves lurking in the woods. You will not travel without me or Nicholas any time soon. They will never best one of the king’s knights, do you hear?"
"I hear," she said in a soft whisper. She glanced at him. A tiny smile appeared on her lips. It did not erase the fear he saw in her eyes, but it was something.
Chapter Five
Isabel kept reminding herself to breathe. The panic had risen like a physical sensation throughout her body until it landed in her throat. It was the same sensation she felt each time she had an episode. She had never told anyone but Hesse and had learned to get through them, but they always came at the worst possible times. Her breathing would become irregular, and her head felt as if it would float away. The dizziness came in waves. That time had been no exception.
Vague memories of being bold and adventurous often flooded her mind. She was neither after her sister, Gemma, had been taken. The Bigod family, who once resided in Renoir Castle, and her brother, Gavin, had conspired against the rest of her family. Gemma had been taken and held at Renoir. Isabel would never forget it for as long as she lived. That event had changed her dramatically. The memories melted together, some moments more vivid than others, but all equally painful and confusing for a girl of eight years.
It had taken over her life, and she hated it. Isabel wanted to be free from her worries, but at the same time, she felt those worries kept her safe. Quite often she became nervous when stressed. She felt dizzy, and her breaths came short and stiff, as if she could not take in enough air. As a girl, she had started to control them the only way she knew how, running to hide when she felt them coming on. Now that she was older, she had learned to control her breathing and shorten each episode, but she still could not stop them.
These events scared her, and she often wondered if she was ill and did not tell anyone about it. They might think her mad and lock her away. It was better to keep quiet and keep her episodes to herself.
She had been happy to stay on her horse as the thieves had crashed through the woods toward them. Her eyes had locked onto the sight of Nicholas before her, and she did not take her eyes off him—other than to scan the woods for more riders—until he declared the danger had passed. It had been a matter of minutes, yet to Isabel, it had felt like forever.
