by Amy Mullen
He rode west toward Renoir, urging Slash to move faster as he wanted to take a closer look at the crossing over the River Lea. It would be Isabel’s tie to her home. Turstin could not keep her from her home and her family. Thoughts of revenge had built up in his mind for years. All ideas of it had left his mind as he spent time with Isabel the day before. She had been young when the events of the past had occurred. To hurt her family would only hurt her. The pain of being alone in the world outweighed the pain of trying to understand where his family had truly stood and what had truly happened. It made no sense to wound her while trying to heal himself.
Turstin had been young, too. He had been in Normandy with his father four or five years before the news had reached them. The story of the de Veres and the Bigods had traveled to the far corners of King Henry’s empire. It was then his father had renounced the family name. They were only known as Hugh and Turstin. No one uttered the name Bigod.
His father shared the name of his father but loathed that he sprung from such a man. Hugh Bigod the second was the eldest son and was supposed to be loyal to his family. He had believed the stories and had disowned his father and youngest brother, Phillip. Turstin, with only vague memories of his family, had not known what to think, but as the years passed, he only knew the pain of belonging nowhere.
It was that pain which had carried him through his training and on to knighthood. Turstin and his father had owned a small manor but were never there. They served Henry in whatever capacity the king wished and stayed in Normandy. Not once did Turstin’s father Hugh ask to return to England. He refused to speak of the Bigod family to Turstin, and after a while, the stories died and they became used to being alone.
Turstin came upon the bridge over the river. Slash slid to a halt and Turstin sat there alone, staring across the placid waters toward the land that would soon be his. He felt best when alone and was glad he had insisted upon it. The soldier who had come to Blackstone with the girl Constance had begged to ride with him, but Turstin had turned him down. Nicholas had offered him men, but he had wanted to go alone. He wore light armor and had his sword, which was all he felt he needed.
He was a formidable knight. This was not an arrogant assumption. It was true. Turstin fought like a man with nothing to lose, because that was exactly what he was. In Normandy, he had become known as "the protector of the family." The irony had not been lost on him. There were always casualties of war, and often those were children. While he had a job to do, he always cleaned up his mess in the end. If a child was in need, he found a way to help that child, or he would not move on. His father had often scoffed at this but had always waited for him, or assisted him, so they might move on.
Before him, the water glistened in the early morning light. The river was wide and shallow, running well below the wooden bridge Nicholas had built over it. Rivers were temperamental, and if the crossing had been a problem, Turstin wanted to ensure it never was again. Though Isabel would be his wife, he wanted her to see her family whenever she wished. Pleasing her was becoming more important than hurting Gemma and Nicholas. He would have to find a way to live with them so close.
It would be worth it. Turstin let out a long breath and urged Slash to the edge of the river so he could inspect the construction of the bridge. He had much to learn about her, but he would not be disappointed. She was a beauty and showed no inclination toward using that beauty to get her way. Genuine. The woman was genuine.
Not only was she sweet and thoughtful, she moved him in ways he had yet to experience. After his father had learned he was a widow, he had known a few women. There were not many, but Turstin remembered them. He had known a few himself, but none had stirred him as Isabel did. She was tall for a woman, slender yet curved where she should be, and though she exhibited some clumsiness, she was graceful at the same time.
He had watched her walking the day before. The thin linen of her kirtle clung to her hip and flowed down to her ankles. It was fitted so he could admire the slight swing of her hips as she moved. Her form was undeniably a woman worthy of desire. When she had thrown her arms around him the day before, every inch of her lovely body had pressed against his. It had taken all of his self-control not to kiss her then and there. Turstin had let his hand linger on her back and did not press her, but that did not mean he had not wanted to.
There was no hurry. He dismounted and bent down to study the bottom of the bridge. It was well-built, he had to admit, but he would see to it that the bridge was reinforced. Isabel had told him it had been taken out once by surging flood waters, and he doubted Nicholas had improved the design. No one, she had said, went to Renoir.
After securing Slash to a nearby tree, Turstin strolled up onto the planks, kicking and tapping the wood with his toe as he went. The bridge was important for his relationship with Isabel, but there was so much more to do. He had to find men and families to fill his needs. Matthew was an option, with the bonus of a wife who could run his kitchen. His men could do some things, but he would need them for soldiers, as they were trained.
The wasted land was an issue. He would need families to farm this fallow land. The village below Renoir had been abandoned and sat in ruins, he had been told. How could he draw families in when the Bigod name had been destroyed? Ire began to rise in his belly, but he pushed it aside. Nothing mattered—nothing other than securing his new home and starting his own family, a family he would defend to the death and never let go.
Turstin’s senses heightened as a sound drew his attention to the woods on his right. He was not alone. "Show yourself!" he shouted, his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword.
A few moments of silence ensued before Ronan stepped from the trees, his horse trailing behind him. The boy held his chin up even as it quivered. "’Tis only me, milord, Ronan of Tenwick, protector of Lady Constance."
Turstin relaxed his grip on the sword as the boy’s shoulders relaxed, and his slow pace quickened as the sunlight fell upon his face. "What are you doing here? I told you this morn I wished to travel alone."
"I was curious, milord. Please allow me to speak with you. Lord Beret of Tenwick has entrusted his daughter’s safety to me, and I wish to know more about you. Any man spending time near her could be a threat to her virtue."
A small laugh bubbled in Turstin’s throat, but he managed to suppress it. "And you have decided I am a threat to Constance and her purity?"
"Aye," Ronan said as he came to a stop five paces from Turstin. "Any man, married or not, could succumb to her charms and take from her what should be a gift to her husband."
"How old are you?"
Ronan puffed his chest out and met Turstin’s gaze with his own. "I am of sixteen years, milord."
"From where do you come?"
"England."
"That is not an answer," Turstin said, slightly annoyed at the pert reply.
"I have no family. My mother was the only family I knew, and she passed three years ago. I was left a beggar on the streets of London until I found work with Lord Beret. Tenwick is the only real home I have ever known." There was an angry edge to his words, an anger Turstin related to immediately.
"So you know nothing of your family, young man? Who was your mother?" Turstin asked, now curious. "She must have taught you to be brave. Most soldiers dare not approach a knight as you have."
"My mother was once a laundress at a fortress near here. She left that life when I was a young boy and moved to London for work."
"She taught you to fend for yourself?"
"Aye, she was a strong woman."
"And your plans for the future?"
"I have none. Lord Beret has not always been a kind man, but ‘tis a lot better than many I knew on the streets as a child." Ronan’s eyes narrowed to slits as his eyes focused on something behind Turstin. "My life ‘tis like the River Lea, small and winding, yet I never know when it’ll swell and all will be lost."
"Indeed?" Turstin said. He studied Ronan for a moment. The boy’s hair was not un
like the color of his own. He was tall and lanky, yet seemed fit. His attire was worn but otherwise clean, and his boots were in remarkably good shape for a simple soldier.
"Indeed," Ronan shot back with heat behind his words. His face softened as Turstin stared him down, and the boy had enough sense to lower his head. "Forgive my tone, milord. ‘Tis not always easy to speak of my past."
"Then we won’t speak of it," Turstin said. "Let us speak of our future."
"Milord? Our future?"
"Aye, our future. There isn’t one. You can rest assured I have no interest in Lady Constance. I am quite pleased with the choice of Lady Isabel that the king has made for me. Not only do I like my future bride, I see no reason to think she does not like me. I am not a man to take women whenever the mood strikes. Constance is quite safe near me."
"You do not find her beautiful?" Ronan asked with a wistful tone to his voice.
"I had not thought much of it," Turstin said, "but she is not an ugly woman."
"So you might be tempted by her then?"
"You tread on dangerous ground," Turstin said, annoyed again. The boy was too forward. "Your place is not to question me. Be gone."
Ronan stood tall, his back rigid and his lips set in a taut line. "Of course, milord," he said tersely as he mounted his horse and rode in the direction of Blackstone.
"That was odd," Turstin said aloud as he readied to return to Blackstone himself.
****
Isabel woke as she felt a body sit upon her bed. Startled, she rolled over to find Constance staring at her.
"You are awake."
"I am now," Isabel said as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. "Whatever is the matter?"
"I was excited to see how your day went yesterday. We did not have much time to speak the night before, and you retired quite early."
"’Twas a tiring day," Isabel said. "’Twas not an easy thing, going to Renoir for the first time with Turstin."
"He’s quite handsome. Why, I don’t know how you are going to wait until your wedding night to bed him."
Isabel’s eyes widened. "Constance!"
"Sorry," the girl said, contrition in her voice. "I have no future yet, and so I am most interested in yours."
"That is a bit too interested," Isabel said and then chuckled. Constance was odd, and though her statement was a bit unexpected at first, Isabel was used to her friend saying rather unconventional things. "What did you do yesterday while we were gone?"
Constance let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Oh, well, not much, I fear. I woke from my nap when Gemma came to see how I was doing. Your sister insisted on showing me around. She showed me the rose garden and explained how ‘twas planted by your mother. Then she took me to see everyone. I can’t possibly remember them all."
"So, what do you think of Blackstone?" Isabel asked. She scooted to the edge of her bed and wrapped her coverlet around her shoulders.
"’Tis nice but so different from Tenwick."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Oh, nay," Constance said as she fiddled with her hair. "Blackstone is lovely. I think my stay here will be fun, so long as you are not trotting off to Renoir every day."
"I do not think so," Isabel said. "I just got back, and we are not going to be wed right away. Turstin has a lot of work he wants to do at Renoir, and that will take some time. I wish to spend some time with my nieces and nephew before I marry and start my own life. I won’t be going with him each day. I will treasure each day here before I wed. ‘Twill be a hard thing, leaving Blackstone, but I will be but a short ride away."
"So Renoir pleases you, then? Tell me about it," Constance said, her eyes shining. "Is it grander than here?"
"Nay," Isabel said. A chambermaid came in to add wood to the fire and deliver water. "Renoir is smaller than Blackstone and Tenwick, though Turstin is determined to expand it. There are many bad memories there for me, but he is considering some changes to ease my worries. He has been understanding, and for that I am grateful."
"Grateful?" Constance said. "'Grateful' is not a good word for a betrothed. Do you wish to kiss him? Does he make you feel as if you would faint each time he looks upon you? Can you picture his large hands touching you, leaving tickles upon your skin?"
"’Tis too early in the morning," Isabel said as her cheeks flushed. She did not want to admit it aloud, but all of those things were true.
"Oh, but you must tell me something!" Constance said, her lip protruding in an exaggerated pout. "Is he agreeable? Do you think he would ever strike a woman? Does he have wealth?"
"Why are you so curious about Turstin?" Isabel asked. "I have only spent but one day with him and met him only a day before that."
"I am only curious. Does he come from a good family?"
"He has not said much about his family other than he does not have one. He does, of course; he did not just appear from the air as if by some trick. He knows of brothers but has not seen them since he was a child. That was all he said, and I do not see any reason to press him."
"So he is just Turstin of Normandy, then?"
Isabel shrugged. "The king thinks us a match. That is all I need to know."
"You have been timid for as long as I have known you, Isabel, but never weak of mind. You just believe whatever the king wishes you to believe?"
"It has nothing to do with him being our king. He has been involved with my family for a long time. ‘Tis like an old trusted family friend making a smart match. I choose to see it that way."
Constance let out a sigh. "I shall leave so you may dress. Gemma already let me know there would be Mass today, so we must make haste. Apparently, your priest has been ill and has only been able to have Mass when he feels well. Today is one of those days. Did you know they are sending for a second priest to assist him when he is not well? My father would never do that. He would just dismiss the sick priest. Blackstone is much different in that way."
Isabel nodded as her friend stood and scampered out of the room. The day before Constance had been tired and listless, but today she seemed to be her old self.
****
Hours later, Isabel found herself eating outdoors with Constance, but her friend was not eating anything at all. Isabel had arranged an outdoor meal so she could spend time with Emme, Sydney, and Miles, but they had eaten and run off to play a game among the trees in the orchard.
Constance lay on her back, staring up into the blue sky above, and complaining about the food.
"I am most sorry," Isabel said as she frowned and picked through the basket. "I do not know why you are complaining. The food tastes fine to me."
"Mayhap I am used to the food of Tenwick," Constance said as she let out a sigh. "I have been unable to eat much of anything here."
"The fruit has yet to ripen, or I would offer you some," Isabel said. "I know fruit helps when I am feeling unwell. We do not have any as of yet."
Constance hoisted herself up into a sitting position and leaned back so her hands rested in the grass behind her. "’Tis no worry. I am sure I shall be fine."
"How are you sleeping? Are your quarters uncomfortable?"
"I sleep fine. ‘Tis quiet here, compared to Tenwick. It suits me."
Isabel was relieved. The quarters given to Constance were small when compared to the large chamber she occupied in her own home. ‘Twas obvious Lord Beret doted on his daughter, as there were many extravagant things within the girl’s rooms at Tenwick. Blackstone’s accommodations were not nearly as costly.
"I am happy you are pleased."
"Are you well, milady?" a deep voice said behind them.
Isabel twisted to see Ronan, the soldier from Tenwick, peering down at them.
"We are well," Constance said. Color returned to her cheeks as she gazed up at the soldier. "In fact, ‘tis a beautiful day."
Ronan nodded, pivoted on his heel, and left.
"How odd," Isabel said.
"Odd?" Constance replied, stifling a yawn.
"Aye, he appears to be
lieve you will come to some type of harm here. He hovers nearby, and he has more than once annoyed Nicholas with his pacing in the solar at night. Why, does he even sleep?"
"Ronan is just doing what my father asked of him. He watches over me. ‘Tis quite charming, if you ask me. I do not know much about his sleeping habits, but I am sure he rests when he needs to. Does he bother you, Isabel?"
"Nay," Isabel said slowly, not wanting to offend her friend. "You are safe here. ‘Tis almost as if his interest in you is more than just an obligation to his lord."
"Do not be silly." Constance waved her hand as if to wave away Isabel’s statement. "I have noticed Matthew is quite fond of you. He appears to keep you safe."
"He does not hover all day," Isabel said. "I am sorry. I did not mean to imply anything. I am glad you have someone watching over you."
Constance shrugged and picked at a blade of grass. "Speaking of watching over you, where is your betrothed?"
"He returned to Renoir."
"How dreary," Constance said. "How are you to know if you want to wed him if you are not spending any time with him?"
"’Tis not a question. We are to wed. The contract is signed. He has promised to return each night so we may spend time with one another."
"Does not seem enough," Constance said. "I fear he is hiding something from you. You should speak to Nicholas at once about getting you out of this marriage."
"Constance!" Isabel said. "What are you implying?"
"He holds secrets. You are too good for him. Imagine a man with no past and no family. Imagine a man who would rather spend time with stone and wood than with you. Imagine a man who can barely mask his distaste for your family. Imagine all of that, and you have your betrothed. I would be fearful if I were you. I do fear for you, Isabel, should you marry Turstin."
Isabel’s mouth fell open. Where had all of that come from, and what was Constance going on about? The girl was often outspoken, but even this was a bit more than Isabel would expect to hear from her.
"I think this conversation should be over," Isabel said. "Let us talk of other things. We could play a game with the girls while Miles has archery practice with Matthew."
