by Amy Mullen
On she rode. The area was the same as where she had gone with Turstin a few days past, but she still had no idea how to get home or if she should attempt to. Her breath caught in her throat, and she started to feel dizzy. She could not have an episode now. Isabel leaned forward again and clung to her horse, allowing the mare to lead the way while she tried to steady her erratic breathing. Rose was a great horse, but she would not go on forever. The mount’s chest heaved as they went. They would have to rest soon.
Once her panic passed, she sat up again so she could draw in deep gulps of air. Isabel heard nothing more behind her, and in a flash, Constance came to mind. In her hasty flight, she had forgotten about her. There was nothing she could do for her now. Slowing her breath, she did everything she could to avoid another episode.
As the sun rose, Isabel rode north at a slower pace. She was moving away from Blackstone but could not risk going back. Her throat hurt, and her head ached from the constant pummel of branches and twigs as she rode. The trees thinned even more as she skirted a small village, staying out of sight as much as she could. Isabel’s back was starting to stiffen, and her bottom was sore from the jostling ride. Still, she continued, terrified that men on horses would come flying from the woods to claim her once and for all.
She tired quickly as the sun rose to its zenith in the sky. Squinting, she studied the sky, trying to determine the hour. It was time to stop. Rose could no longer muster anything faster than a weak trot. She must get the horse to water soon, so she veered off further into the woods, looking for a stream.
She found one within minutes and led her horse to the edge, though she did not let her guard down for a second. Gingerly she hopped from Rose’s back. Isabel’s entire body was stiff and sore, and she needed a rest. Rose took to the water quickly and then nosed around for the fresh grass growing nearby. The sun was warm, but Isabel did not remove her cloak.
As the peace surrounded her, her entire body shook as the gravity of what had happened to her sunk in. After allowing herself a short cry, she curled up on the ground, clutching the reins of her horse as if they were her link to safety.
Isabel was not hungry, but she had to eat. Once she had dried her eyes, she sat up and tried to make sense of her situation. Irrationally, she giggled at the madness of it all. Had those men been trained by someone like Nicholas, they never would have lost her. She would be locked up somewhere right now, or worse. Whoever those men were, they were ill-trained, which was a blessing to her, not that she considered herself particularly blessed at the moment.
They might still be out there, so she had to keep moving. Rose was still eating. Isabel’s breathing was becoming regular again. The horse was in dire needed of a long rest and a thorough brushing, but there was nothing she could do about it now. They would have to keep moving.
Isabel stood, brushed herself off, and pulled a few twigs from her knotted brown hair. Her braid was all but ruined, and there were cuts on her forearms. She stepped to the side of the stream where the water was pooled and calm and stared at her reflection. The cuts on her face ached, and her eyes were red and swollen. Cupping her hands, she dipped them into the water and drank in gulps, trying to abate her thirst.
She searched for berries as her stomach growled in protest. At home, she had her pick of berries and fruit when the season was right, but now she found nothing she could consider safe to eat.
It was time to move on. She was alone in the woods, which was what she wanted, but it was the worst feeling in the world to her in that moment. At Blackstone and Tenwick, she had felt safe. Here she was on her own. Had Nicholas and Gemma been expecting her? Constance had said a message had been sent, but it may not have been delivered. If it had, were they now out looking for her? How would they know where to look?
Even more thought-provoking was the circumstances she now found herself in. Isabel thought she had heard the Tenwick soldiers mention her as if they knew someone was after her. How would they know, unless they were in on it? That could not be right, could it? Did Constance know? Or was it simply thieves looking for easy prey as before, looking for those foolish enough to travel in the night? The latter would have been ideal, because they would have stopped looking for her by now. Something told her it was the former, and she was in a lot of trouble. She remembered the soldiers’ whispers behind her as she rode: "it be the de Vere girl they want."
Briefly, her mind went to Turstin. If Nicholas knew she was missing, would he send word to Turstin at Renoir? Now that everyone knew he was a Bigod, Nicholas might not bother, but instead would search by himself. Even worse, she did not know if Turstin would care.
If she was gone, would he simply ask for a new bride, or would it mean he would lose Renoir? What meant more to him? He might come for her, but she would not know if it were her he sought or if it would be about keeping Renoir. In her mind, she hoped he would come to her rescue because he cared. It was a silly worry. She had only herself now.
She must keep moving.
Chapter Sixteen
With food in his hands, Turstin marched toward the stables. Blackstone’s cook, Leda, had handed him a piece of early fall fruit and a slab of bread, telling him he might need it as he searched. It was mid-morning. He had received a garbled message near dawn from an upset Matthew who had rode to the gates of Renoir, claiming Isabel was missing and had not returned to Blackstone. Turstin had mounted Slash without question and had ridden hard to get there.
Nicholas had said little to him when he arrived, only telling him Isabel had gone to Tenwick. As Nicholas had readied to leave at dawn, one of his scouts came back, telling of an ambush of Tenwick men in the woods. The same scout was sent back to Tenwick, only to be told Isabel was missing.
Turstin saddled his horse, waving off the stable boy who had scurried over to assist him. He stuffed the food given into a saddle bag and led his destrier out onto the grass where Nicholas was waiting.
"Are you always so slow, Turstin?" Nicholas asked, tapping his fingers against the hilt of his sword with great impatience.
"Are you always rude?" Turstin asked in return without blinking an eye. He mounted Slash with ease and set his eyes upon Nicholas with a slow, easy smirk.
"Just to the ones who have shown great disrespect and have lied about their identity."
Turstin did not reply. The angry retort from Nicholas should have felt victorious. Instead, he was just tired of it all. He had thought he would relish their outrage when finding out a Bigod was to marry Isabel, but instead he felt empty.
Nicholas whistled shrilly. His men lined up with them, and they left Blackstone, heading east toward Tenwick. Turstin rode in the rear, searching the fields and the woods with his eyes, not knowing what he was looking for. He fought the feeling of dread that had entrenched itself in the pit of his stomach. All he knew was that Isabel was missing.
They did not get far when a horse came barreling in their direction, with a young man holding on for dear life.
"Lord Nicholas!" the young man shouted, trying to slow his horse.
"Aye, what is it?" Nicholas said. Turstin stopped his destrier and pulled hard left so the horse would block the path, forcing the other mount to slow to a stop.
"Milord," the soldier said, "I have more to report. There is indeed trouble."
"Trouble?" Turstin asked.
"Aye, the party traveling from Tenwick scattered through the woods. No one remains but a young girl near Isabel’s age. I believe her name is Constance, the one who had been staying with your family. She and just one of her men were hiding behind a tree. They refuse to leave the area, and the girl is sobbing."
"Take us," Turstin said, ignoring Nicholas. "Take us now."
They took off without hesitation, horse hooves pounding the earth. Turstin could think of no enemies, but the de Vere’s could have enemies of which he did not know. He sensed this was not a pack of thieves, such as they had encountered before. This was something more.
When they came upon the gir
l, she trembled visibly, jumping behind the solider who remained with her. It was indeed Constance. Turstin’s blood ran cold, and his fingers went numb. The soldier stood in front of the girl. It was not the ever-present Ronan, but another of Lord Beret’s men.
"Where is the rest of your party?" Nicholas asked. "Where is Isabel, and why did you travel early?"
The girl put her head down and continued to sob. Her shoulders heaved as she stood. The soldier standing with Constance stepped to the side and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Someone speak!" Turstin said, slowly maneuvering his destrier around them, searching the area with his eyes.
"Milord," the young soldier said, bowing before Nicholas, "I am Walbert. We have lost the rest of our party. We were escorting Lady Isabel and Lady Constance from Tenwick to Blackstone when we were ambushed. Men came from the woods. All in dark clothing, riding upon black horses."
"To be clear, Isabel de Vere?" Turstin said, turning his horse back toward them.
"Aye, milord."
"Walbert, who gave these orders?" Nicholas asked.
"’Twas Ronan. I was told to bring Isabel home and that Constance wished to return to Blackstone, with her father’s blessing. We set out long before dawn. As there was only a bit of moon, there was not much light. We had but a few torches. Though we entered the woods without trouble, we only made it half the distance to Blackstone ‘afore men came upon us."
"Where is Isabel now? Did they take her?" Turstin asked.
"That I could not say." The young man took off his hat and fingered the brim with shaking fingers. "She took off through the woods, and a few of the men rode after her. I fear much confusion occurred. A few of our lord’s men took to chase, yet many are unaccounted for. We are here alone and have been since dawn broke, afraid to walk in the sunlight lest we become targets as well." Constance let out a wail and began crying in earnest again as the soldier finished speaking.
Nicholas motioned toward one of his knights. "Return to Blackstone. Bring fifty men back quickly. We have to search for Isabel. Do not alarm Gemma, if at all possible. I shall return to speak with her when I can do so. Go!"
The man did as instructed. As Nicholas gave his orders, Turstin studied Constance. She sobbed still but was now eyeing him intently.
"Why do you remain here?" Turstin asked, demanding she speak.
"I feared those men would find us again. We hid in the woods, behind the tree," she said as she gulped and wiped the tears from her face with her fingers. "I recognized the Blackstone soldier, and I stepped out so we might be helped."
"Why did she leave with you so early and without proper escort? ‘Tis unlike Isabel to agree to such an arrangement."
"I was in a hurry to return," the girl said, lifting her eyes to stare at Nicholas. "My father said I could. I only hoped you would allow me to stay."
"Just answer the question, girl," Nicholas said. His eyes narrowed as he stared her down. "We sent you home, and we were to come for Isabel. You were well aware of that."
"My father gave the orders. He said I could come back and stay until the wedding of Isabel and Turstin, but he wanted his men back before dawn. I do not know why he did not allow us to wait for you."
"Lord Beret knew I would be prompt," Nicholas replied. Turstin saw the man tense, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "This is not right."
"I agree," Turstin said, forgetting his discord with Nicholas for a moment. Someone had ambushed his betrothed. She was his, and he cared for her more deeply than he would admit aloud. He was not going to let anyone take what was his again. "I will go searching for Isabel. Nicholas, if it pleases you, I shall take ten of your men with me."
"You will return immediately should you find her?" Nicholas asked, his voice flat.
"I assure you, I will."
"Oh, milord, she will be found, aye?" Constance asked, sniffing as if she were going to cry again.
"That is all that matters right now," Turstin said.
"She is a beautiful young lady," Nicholas said. "This means but one thing. Depending on who is after her, or who may already have her, she may be in more danger than we know."
Turstin sighed. "I’m afraid I do not understand the relevance of that at this moment."
Nicholas met this comment with a scowl. "It puts her at risk for things of which we will not speak of in front of the lady."
The significance of it all hit Turstin like a punch in the gut. Slave trade! Attractive women were often targets.
"Constance," Nicholas said.
The girl jumped. "Aye, milord?"
"Was she wearing her green kirtle? And her horse. Does she have Rose with her?"
"Aye, she was riding Rose and wearing green."
Turstin stared at the girl, waiting for more information. "Describe the horse. Refresh my memory."
"Oh," she said as she blushed, "Rose is a brown mare. She is typical but with a streak that looks like lightning running down her forehead."
"Thank you," Turstin said. He heard men coming behind them. They must have ridden at breakneck speed to appear so quickly.
"My men are almost here," Nicholas said. "We must make haste."
"I will go search for Isabel. Would you escort Constance and this soldier to Blackstone before you commence your own search?" Turstin asked.
"I wish to return home," Constance said. Her lovely lower lip protruded slightly.
"Nay, until I know why Isabel disappeared, you will remain at Blackstone. Do you not agree, Nicholas?" Turstin asked.
"Aye, agreed." Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. "I have learned to trust few and question many. Until I know what happened, I request your presence at Blackstone. Nay, I order it. Should I have more questions for you, I want to know where to find you. Your father may come for you if he wishes, but for now, consider yourself our guest. Do you understand, milady?"
"You cannot treat me as such!" Constance stomped her foot on the earth and jutted her chin up in defiance. "I no longer wish to be at Blackstone. ‘Twas a bad idea. I am frightened and wish to be home."
"I assure you, milady, you will be well cared for and in good company. Gemma will see to your needs, and we will contact your father. So long as you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear."
The Blackstone men came to a halt behind him. Nicholas nodded in their direction. "The first ten of you, go with Turstin. You are to obey him as you would me. I need three of you to ride to Tenwick to tell Lord Beret his daughter is safe. I will see to him as soon as I can. The rest will help me escort Constance to Blackstone, and then we too will search."
Turstin watched his men obey, impressed with their ability to flawlessly do as their lord bid. "Wait," he said, "which way, Constance?"
"Pardon, milord?"
"Which way did she flee?"
"I cannot say. ‘Twas dark, and there was much confusion."
"Guess," he said, the word sharp and short. He was running out of patience with the girl.
"North, sir, I believe," she said, lifting her eyes to meet his.
"You believe, or you know? Which is it?" Turstin demanded, jumping from his horse.
Constance gasped as he stepped near her. "Milord, please, ‘twas dark, but I am sure ‘twas north she rode out into the woods."
Turstin stood closer. He reached out with his gloved hand and touched her cheek with one finger. "You understand, girl, should something happen to my betrothed and I find out you lied to me about her direction, I will take great pleasure in exacting revenge, do you not?"
Constance gulped. Some of her bluster seemed to fade. "I understand. So far as I can tell, she went north, away from the Thames."
"Be sure," he said. "We waste time."
"I am sure," she said, hanging her head.
Turstin walked toward the edge of the road. "Is this the spot? How far have you walked? There are many broken branches here."
"’Twas here," Walbert said. "We hid in the trees until the sun rose, and your man told us to wai
t here. We only walked a few steps."
"There is no telling which are from her flight," Turstin said.
Nicholas spoke. "Do you need anything before you go?"
"Nay. I will go now." He nodded toward the men Nicholas had singled out to go with him.
"Send a man back should you have news. I shall join in searching soon. I will go to the villages in hopes of finding her. I know where the less desirable seek refuge."
"I have hunted men in the swamps and wood alike in both Normandy and here. I shall take the most obvious path."
"Be gone then," Nicholas said. His voice was low and steady. "Bring her home."
Turstin again mounted his horse, nodded to the men, and took off through the woods, leaving Nicholas to watch him go.
****
Turstin rode as hard as he could. There were no clear clues to her direction, yet he could see where people had recently ridden or walked through the dense woods. As the trees thinned, he spotted fresh hoof prints in the soft, mossy earth and only hoped it was Isabel’s path he followed. Nicholas’ men kept up and did not complain about the pace. They too seemed eager to return Isabel to her home.
It was another matter for him entirely. He had spent his entire life bitter over the loss of his family and his inheritance. All of it was stolen out from under him through no fault of his own. Now someone was again taking something that was his—but why? Who was it? A simple thief would not trail her long, but someone else with other motives might already have taken her or would not give up until they captured the prize.
By noon, he had passed several villages, each smaller than the last, and less interesting. He had long lost track of the marks in the woods indicating someone had passed. Now it was just a guessing game. Where would she go? A young woman, scared on the run, and fearing for her life, could easily get lost in the vast forests of England.
Another idea tugged at his mind. Could this be a trick by Isabel’s family? It did not seem possible, as Nicholas had only learned of Turstin’s family lineage the day before. Someone else could be behind this, but who? What value did Isabel de Vere have to others? She was the second daughter of the old earl, Blaise, and she held Renoir, but the lands lay in waste.
