Her Darkest Knight

by Amy Mullen

  Each day, Turstin became more unsettled. He was a Bigod, and he wanted that to be an honorable thing, no matter what, which meant he was duty-bound to hate the de Vere name. His father had told him to drop the matter and live his own life, but he did not know how. The family he longed for was gone, but he would have a new one with Isabel. He shook his head. The conversation he had had with her earlier in the day was at cross purposes with that goal. Why had he spoken so foolishly?

  It was not revenge he sought, but rather it was Renoir he wanted. Turstin would rebuild the Bigod name. Revenge had gnawed at his mind for years as he grew and fought for the king, but the idea washed away when he had seen Isabel’s face. From the moment his eyes had met hers, everything else faded away into nothingness. No, it was not revenge he sought. He simply wanted a life.

  An approaching soldier cleared his throat. It was Nicholas, not a soldier, and he walked straight to Turstin and stopped rather than passing as if on patrol.

  "I have been looking for you," Nicholas said. "I want you to know I have arranged for all of the things you have asked for."

  Turstin tapped his fingers on the stone. "Thank you."

  "Do you need something now? Why are you up here?"

  "I just wished to be alone, ‘tis all," Turstin replied, feeling anxious. "There is always someone about down in the bailey, and ‘tis stuffy in my quarters."

  "’Tis that time of year," Nicholas said. "I would also like to ask you a question, if you are not in a hurry."

  Turstin nodded and met Nicholas’ gaze. "What is it?"

  "I have just come from tucking my children in. My wife and I have come to the conclusion that we must send Constance home. Would you be willing to accompany me when I take her? I ask, because Isabel will insist on going to see her friend off. She may even fight it as she is so determined Constance stay."

  "Why are you sending her home? Is this about her digging endeavors earlier today?"

  Nicholas rested his tall, lean frame against the stone wall behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. "’Tis that and other things. Gemma says the girl wanders at night and breaks into the kitchens after dark to eat. She is at each meal during the day but does not do much but push the food upon her trencher around in pretense. The soldier Ronan, who came with her cannot possibly be enough to keep her safe. I do not know what game she plays or what ails her mind, but we all fear harm will come to her and we will be responsible. ‘Tis best she goes back to Tenwick."

  "Aye," Turstin said, "Ronan is not enough, or may be part of the problem. He approached me and warned me away from Constance."

  "What?" Nicholas said, his hands falling to his sides.

  "Aye, he did. Do not seek to punish him. He thought he was doing as Lord Beret of Tenwick would wish him to do. I have no interest in Constance. I am pleased with my match with Isabel. Ronan is a young man yet."

  "I would not punish him unless he made a threat."

  "He did not."

  "He should be spoken to. Some lords would have him whipped for speaking to a knight in such a manner."

  "Let it go. He will be gone soon enough. I do not pretend to tell you how to handle those within Blackstone, but do not do it for me. To answer your question, I would be happy to accompany Isabel, should she wish to see Constance home."

  "Good enough," Nicholas said. He stood straight, nodded, and left abruptly.

  Turstin let out a long sigh. There was far too much going on at Blackstone. He yearned for the days ahead, when he and Isabel would be at Renoir where they could leave the likes of Constance behind.

  Chapter Twelve

  Isabel was up before the sun. She had not slept well and saw no reason to delay the long day before her. As she stretched, she made a mental list of what she must accomplish. First, she would ready for Mass, break her fast, and then see what she could do to help Gemma with the children. Helena, who had become the second nursemaid, was due to give birth any day and could no longer keep up. Gemma insisted she rest until birth, and that meant Hesse was left with the children. Isabel would do everything she could to help, not that spending time with her nieces was anything like a chore.

  One thing had come from her sleepless night. Gemma’s words conflicted with what Turstin had said. In the end, Gemma’s words had won. He could say he would not love her, but she chose to believe he had no say in it. Her feelings for him were rapidly building, and she could not stop them. Was he so much stronger that he could stop such a thing? She did not think so.

  Isabel held her breath as she splashed cold water upon her face. She dried off and set to braiding her hair. A chambermaid arrived to help her prepare for the day, but Isabel dismissed her after the girl added wood to her low-burning fire. Though she had all the help she could ever ask for, Isabel preferred to take care of herself. Mornings were peaceful, and she loved the solitude early in the morning as the sun struggled to rise.

  With a skip, she left her room and walked quietly to the great hall.

  "There you are. Are you ready for Mass?" Turstin said. He was sitting before the fire, but stood to face her when she came down the steps. The tables were being set for the morning meal, so Isabel simply nodded and kept walking until she was outside in the bailey.

  Soft dew glistened from the grass as the sun finally shed its first weak, shimmering beams upon the earth. Silently, she stood where she was and took a deep, refreshing breath.

  "You look content," Turstin said from behind her. She twirled to face him.

  "Indeed I am," Isabel said. She could not help but smile at him. In the early morning light, he was even more handsome to her, something she had not thought possible.

  "About what transpired between us yesterday…"

  "Nay," Isabel said as she put a finger up to her lips. "’Tis forgotten. I cannot dwell on it. Feel what you will for me—I still believe we will have a wonderful life no matter what."

  Turstin’s mouth fell open for a moment before he snapped it shut. "You are not upset with me? You did not speak to me after we returned yesterday."

  "I was worried about Constance, ‘tis all," she said. It was a lie, but she wanted to shrug off the terrible time she had had yesterday and to have this day be better.

  "She will be leaving soon."

  "What?" Isabel said, her expression growing dark.

  "Nicholas has decided to send her back."

  "That is not fair!" Isabel’s mind whirled. Despite the rude treatment Isabel had received the night before, she did not want her friend to leave.

  "Is she so important to you, Isabel? You will soon be a wife. Friends are for children. You are a woman now and should look forward to your life with me."

  "I see. You mean the life you promised to be devoid of love? The life in which I must look from my window each day to lay my eyes upon the tower in which my sister almost died? You tell me I cannot have friends because this life will be enough for me? I am trying to accept this and find peace, but you are not helping. You are making this too hard."

  "She is not a good influence on you, Isabel."

  "A good influence? You are not my father, Turstin. You are not yet even my husband. Who are you to say? I know when we wed I am duty-bound to obey, but will you tell me to live in a tower without friend or family? I was upset with Constance last night because she feels you will not be good to me. Mayhap she is right."

  "I cannot change Renoir, and I cannot change who I am," Turstin said, his voice low and controlled.

  "Cannot or will not?" Isabel asked. Her green eyes locked with his brown ones. "You care so little for me that you ask me what I might like, only to dismiss my fears because you want to keep Renoir as it is?"

  "I have my reasons. They have nothing to do with you." Turstin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He stopped speaking as a few soldiers filed past. Once they were gone, he repeated his words. "I have my reasons."

  "What are they, then?" Isabel stepped close to him and whispered so only he could hear. "Make me understand
."

  "I cannot. Not yet. I will tell you soon, and you will understand."

  "Turstin, I cannot bear this. All you say is I will understand. Make me understand. Now. Tell me."

  Turstin’s brown eyes were mere inches from hers as he uttered the words she least expected. "I am a Bigod, Isabel. Phillip Bigod was my uncle. I am the eldest son of Hugh the Second. My family is in tatters. Mayhap you can understand why I am so conflicted."

  Stunned, Isabel tried to digest what he had said. Her knees started to wobble, and her breaths came more quickly. Anguish flooded her mind as she took it in.

  Bigod.

  "I do not understand. Why did you not tell me before?" she said, her voice raspy.

  "You want me to change Renoir. You want me to love you. What you do not understand, Isabel, is I am not sure I know how to love. Or, more honestly, I do not know if I dare to love. I do not want you to wait for something that might never be. All I know is the pain I feel when I think of my family home. You wish me to remove the tower because it reminds you of when your sister was held there, yet you do not see what happened next. Renoir is all I have left. To move the tower would be like moving around the only memories of a home I lost so long ago."

  "Are your memories so strong you would let them tarnish the future?" she asked. The irony of calling him out on something she herself was doing was not lost on her, but she did not care. She was no longer able to stand so close to him, so she backed away a step as her eyes focused on his face again. "You said you left England when you were but seven."

  "And I carried Renoir with me. Imagine how I felt when I heard what had happened. I was fourteen. A boy still, struggling to become a man in a land far away from all I had known. The only thing I had was my father and the belief I would return to Renoir one day. My uncle’s lust for your sister ruined it all. I no longer know who is to blame. All I know is it happened. I had lost Renoir, and the only thing I could do was work to get it back."

  "And that has come true. ‘Tis yours now." Isabel silently prayed she would not have one of her episodes in front of him, yet she could feel it coming. She had to get away from him before he saw it.

  Isabel held her breath, counted to ten in her mind, and then let it out. She did it again as he stared at her. "Isabel, what is wrong?"

  "I am fine," she said weakly.

  "You do not care I am of Bigod blood? That you are going to marry a man closely related to Phillip Bigod?"

  "I do not know how to feel yet. I know I like you, Turstin. I have seen no reason for your name to change that."

  "Nicholas and Gemma may feel differently."

  Isabel bent to put her hands on her knees. She breathed as slowly as she could, fearing the rapid gulps of air she might soon need, as her episode exploded in front of him. He would know she was weak, and he would hate her for it.

  "Are you sure you are well?" he asked. He bent down on one knee so he could see her again. "Please tell me if you are unwell so I might help you."

  "Just tell me you will give love a chance." She stood straight again, ready to flee.

  "I do not know how."

  Isabel met his gaze for a brief moment. Holding eye contact with him was too much. "How can you dismiss it if you do not know what it is?"

  "I cannot answer that."

  "I need to be alone." Panic was rising rapidly. Isabel’s vision began to darken, and her fingers shook. "Please, leave me be."

  "I think I shall stay at Renoir until we are wed. This will be for the best. Father Darius can send word once the banns have been cried, and we can wed. Until then, mayhap I should concentrate on restoring Renoir. I seem to do nothing but upset you."

  "The horse. The one we found in the chest. Was it yours?"

  "Aye."

  Isabel said nothing more because she could no longer speak. Her mind froze. She had tried to pretend she was not angry with him and what had happened did not bother her, but her outburst had been honest. Why were things suddenly going so wrong? Constance may be wiser than she thought, for right now he was hurting her.

  She would never let on. "I understand," she said, bending down to rest her hands on her knees once more.

  "Isabel! Do you need help?" a voice with an edge of panic spoke behind them. It was Hesse.

  "Please take me to my chambers, Hesse. I do not feel well."

  They left Turstin standing where he was, ankle-deep in the dewy morning grass, staring at them as Isabel and Hesse went into the great hall. Once in her room, Isabel let the episode take her, and she sobbed in Hesse’s arms when it was done. She did not want to tell Hesse what had happened or admit she had hoped her episodes were over. Sadly, they were not.

  Even worse, an ache she could not explain grew within her chest like a block of ice she could not dislodge. Once Hesse left her side, she went to the small window out in the passageway so she might see below. Half of her wanted to see Turstin, and half of her hoped she did not.

  Turstin skipped Mass. He rode out after breaking his fast in the kitchens, and she did not expect to see him come back until he had to. She watched him go and held her arms tightly across her chest, hugging herself. A small breeze kicked up, and she could do nothing but let it wash over her. All of it. The pain, the anger, and the shock. The gate fell behind him as he left, and she felt alone.

  Isabel would admit it to no one, but her heart broke as he rode away.

  ****

  Turstin didn’t bother to pack anything other than his clothes. In his hurry to be gone, he struggled as he put on his armor and got his horse ready on his own. He did not tell Nicholas or Gemma he was leaving, nor did he care if they knew or not. It would be up to Isabel to tell them what was going on, if she chose to do so. Now that he had told Isabel the true story of his past, who he was, and his real reasons for wanting Renoir, there was no reason for any more communication. It was all out now, and in a way, it was a relief. What was not a relief was how much he had just hurt her. She had tried to hide it, but he saw the pain. First she had nearly fallen before him, then she had fled his presence.

  It did not matter now, for the wedding contract was signed and the king would not let them out of it. Henry knew who he was, so no amount of pleading for release from the contract based on that reason would change anything. They would be wed, and Renoir was his. The family home would be restored, and all would be right again.

  Or would it? As he urged Slash into a gallop, he could not push the image of her bent and gasping from his mind. Did she already feel love for him? It suddenly mattered more than Renoir. She mattered more than Renoir. The realization shook him to his core. What had he done?

  Renoir loomed in the distance, and he pushed Slash harder. He would work hard and keep his mind and body busy. That would push her from his mind until they wed. Turstin would have to live with what he had done, but for now, he would focus on getting the castle ready for the family they would have together if she would ever forgive him.

  He had often imagined her coming to him on their wedding night, and he would finally have her and would know the reality of her was better than any fantasy. Isabel’s long, slender limbs would wrap around him, and he would make her his wife. Her soft skin would no longer taunt him; her secrets would be his. That dream might die now because he had hurt her.

  What if she never forgave him? Life would be most difficult. He would never force a woman, even one who was his wife. Turstin cursed under his breath as the gate rose for him, and he entered Renoir.

  The progress was remarkable. People were working on something everywhere he looked. A boy came to take his horse.

  "Who are you, boy?" Turstin asked.

  "I am the new stable boy, milord."

  "From where did you come?"

  "Oswin asked us to stay on. My father is a carpenter and my mum a seamstress. I hope you are pleased, milord."

  "Aye, be gone then. Brush Slash with care, for he can be grumpy and has been ridden hard."

  Turstin found his seneschal, Oswin,
seated at the dais alone with an ale mug in his hand.

  "Milord, good to see you this fine morn."

  "Who is the new family? The boy came for my horse."

  "Ah, well, remember the families we drove from here? We found them, all but one. They were the missing family. Word spread and they returned. They have all accepted work in exchange for shelter here. One family wishes to move to the village next spring, and the rest wish to work in Renoir, should they please you."

  "And how are my plans going otherwise? Did the fabric arrive?"

  "Aye, last morn. It came in a wagon, along with three girls and a few soldiers from Blackstone. They have agreed to come each day to work on what you need. They were sent by Lord Nicholas."

  "Have you found a cook yet?"

  "Nay, but we are managing. The food stores run low, but I have sent another order to London, as you have asked."

  Turstin ran his fingers through his hair and accepted the ale mug a servant brought him. So many faces he did not know. "It will be hard to maintain our food stores until we can have a full growing season so we can stock up. Please see to the food as one of your more important duties, Oswin, and continue with my wishes."

  "As you wish."

  "I will see to everything else. There are a few changes in plans, however, of which I need to speak to you."

  "Milord, what can I do for you?"

  "I will be staying on here. I need something to sleep on until my bed is finished. Can something be arranged?"

  "Of course," Oswin said. He opened his mouth to speak more but stopped.

  "There is something else. It will take up more time than we have, but I forgot one thing which must be done before the wedding."

  "Anything you need, milord."

  "You calling me ‘milord’ sounds so foreign to me."

  "But that is what you are now."

  "I do not know if I deserve such respect. Now, walk with me, and we will discuss the new plans. Help me remove my armor first, and then we shall begin. There is much to do and so little time."