by Amy Mullen
****
The next morning, Isabel held their son as Turstin poked his head into their chambers. He had not slept, and it showed. He came to the bed slowly and sank carefully down beside her.
"He is perfect," he said, his awe evident.
"What did you expect? He is like his father."
"And his mother," Turstin said in a whisper as he reached out to touch his son on the cheek.
"He shall be Blaise, named for your father," Turstin said.
"Nay, we do not have to do that," Isabel said. "We can name him for your father, Hugh, if you wish."
"There will be plenty of time for that, for we will have many children," Turstin said as he kissed her check. "For now, I wish our firstborn son to be named Blaise."
"Then it is so," Isabel said. "Thank you, Turstin."
"Do you think you can handle more? I nearly broke the door down last night when I heard you scream."
"’Twas painful but worth every moment. The love I feel right now is a love I never knew existed. I look forward to many more children."
"Good. I can definitely help you with that," Turstin said as he winked at her.
"We are really going to be fine, aren’t we?" Isabel asked, gazing down at her son.
"Do not ever doubt it, my love," he said. "Now, when should I expect your sister to barge in here?"
"You know us so well." Isabel laughed with glee. "And though I did not send word, I would imagine it will be at any moment. If I know Matthew well enough, he took it upon himself to ride to Blackstone with word on his own."
A light knock sounded. "Milord, I am sorry to bother you, but you have guests. They are quite anxious to see you both."
Turstin laughed. "See?"
"We will let them in soon, but first…" Turstin began as he smoothed Isabel’s hair from her face and laid a faint kiss upon her forehead, "…I wish to thank you for our son. Thank you for bringing love into my life."
Isabel sighed with contentment as he kissed her on the nose and then softly on the lips before sitting up. "Thank you for changing my life," she said. "I saw nothing good in my future, and then a handsome knight with the fairest of hair and darkest of moods rode into my life and left me breathless. I have not been the same since."
Turstin groaned. "Let us just say we are fortunate to have one another. But for now, your sister may be wearing a rut into our floor as she waits to see you. I shall let her in. Nicholas may have word of the king’s second raid on that horrible place where you were held. I am most anxious to hear how it went. And then, my dear, you will sleep, and I will watch over you. We will enjoy our new son and forget the world for a while."
Isabel gazed up at him, her heart nearly bursting. All the darkness was gone. The pain had disappeared, and a happiness she never dared wish for was finally hers.
About the Author
Amy Mullen is a freelance writer and romance author living in Corning, NY, with her husband, Patrick, her two children, and on not-so-ferocious feline named Liz. Amy is the author of A Stormy Knight, Her Darkest Knight, and Redefining Rayne.
Amy has been writing about love both lost and regained since she was old enough to have her first broken heart. Her love of history and her intermittent jaunts into amateur genealogy led her to a love affair with writing historical fiction. When not writing, she snaps pictures, enjoys the company of her children, and when time allows, loves to bury her nose in a good book.
Also by Amy Mullen
Prologue
England, Spring 1151
She dashed down the slope along the outer curtain wall, pulling her dark, heavy cloak snugly around her slender shoulders. It was late, and she worried the abnormally bright moon would give her away. Using care, she stepped lightly. The sounds of boot scuffles and a hoarse, bawdy laugh echoed off the stone walls around her. Her father's men were on watch atop the wall.
Cautiously, she darted among the trees in the orchard, each blessedly full with the new leaves of spring, until she came to the secret tunnel which ran under the curtain wall and out into a small, wooded spot outside the security of the castle. She prayed Nicholas was waiting for her. He never let her down.
Twelve year old Gemma entered the dark, dank passageway and took a deep breath. Mustering all the courage she could, she ran. She carried no candle or torch, so she counted the steps as she went. Her heart raced and her lungs threatened to burst. Each step brought her closer to fresh air and to his waiting arms.
She slowed down as she came out of the end of the tunnel, feeling a little shaken after going under the heavy, stone wall and then the moat. The moon again illuminated the night for her. The woods around her were bathed in magnificent streaks of silver that filtered through the leaves and landed softly on the landscape before her.
Stepping carefully once more, she inhaled the scents of spring and shook off the darkness. She moved with purpose toward the meeting spot, trembling in anticipation. Gemma lived for these moments and longed to declare her love for him yet again as he shyly held her hand and offered her quick, chaste kisses. Her father wanted her to marry someone powerful from the nearby Bigod family, but she only wanted Nicholas.
She picked a twig out of her long, brown hair after she climbed atop a large, mossy boulder and she waited. They met when his family came to a wedding hosted at her home and instantly became friends. That friendship had evolved into something much more exciting, something that made her heart beat as if it were coming out of her chest. It had to be love. Putting a graceful hand up over her heart, she waited for him to arrive.
The leaves fluttered about in the soft, cool breezes of the night as she waited. Her homeland of England had been in disarray for quite some time, and like the lands around her, things were beginning to calm down. At her young age, her only pressing problem was Phillip Bigod. He was the man her father pushed as a suitable husband. Not only was he ten years her senior, he left her feeling cold. Phillip was outwardly polite and docile, but she sensed something was wrong with him.
Nicholas was late, or he was not coming at all. Gemma twisted around to see if she had missed him, but the night remained still. It was late and most were abed. She was fairly certain her parents were sleeping soundly as well. They had yet to catch on to her nighttime adventures outside of the castle, but she feared her good fortune would not hold out forever.
Gemma's green eyes popped wide open, and her heart lurched as a twig snapped somewhere in the woods behind her. She stood up and whirled around hoping to see Nicholas, but instead she saw nothing. There was no answer when she called out to him. Fear swept through her slight frame, and her hands began to shake. Squinting in the dark, she searched for signs of him or perhaps a wayward animal. Another deliberate snap told her she was not alone.
A breeze kicked up and she pulled her cloak tightly around her body once more. Her heart sank. Nicholas wasn't coming. He was never late, and she had been waiting for quite a while now. Another noise jolted her. She quickly spun around toward her home and dashed through the woods.
As she neared the tunnel, she stopped to look around one last time. Another noise caught her attention, and she peered back, only to come face to face with enormous, glowing eyes. She suppressed a scream as an owl screeched in retreat with a fury of violently flapping wings. Her heart thumped and tears streamed down her cheeks. Scrambling, she went into the tunnel entrance running faster than she had ever run.
One panicked thought ran all the way to the safety of her bed with her. What had happened to Nicholas?
Chapter One
England, Spring of 1158
Gemma strolled through the great hall and out into the springtime air. The afternoon sun sat high in the cloudless sky. She shielded her eyes as they adjusted to the brilliant light and savored the feeling of the warmth on her shoulders. Her life was finally getting back to normal after the loss of her mother, Andrie de Vere, just one year ago.
Andrie was a sturdy yet beautiful woman, but her body could not take the strain of her final pregnan
cy at age forty. The stillborn son would have been her fourth child. Gavin was the eldest son, few years older than Gemma. Isabel was the youngest. She would be ten in the autumn.
Her father, Blaise de Vere, still mourned his wife. Their arranged marriage was one that grew into a deep and abiding love. The affection they portrayed in the presence of family and servant alike was inspiring. Gemma projected this image of love into her relationship with Nicholas, believing it would be as long and as enduring. That proved false. He disappeared seven years ago, and her heart still ached if she let her guard down.
The mystery behind his absence did not linger long. Gemma overheard her father speaking of his fate with his seneschal, Oliver de Toeni. From her hiding place, she learned Nicholas and his entire family hid a secret.
What she heard shook her to her core and crushed her innocence. Lord Blaise received a message that indicated the de Reymes family was in allegiance with the Empress Matilda, who believed she was the rightful ruler of the English. Her endless plotting to usurp Stephen from the throne was legendary, and the de Reymes paid the price for their involvement. They vanished in the night without a hint of where they had been taken.
Gemma came to her own conclusions when she heard the news. Her family was loyal to Stephen. Nicholas's parents were not. She no longer knew what to believe, but she had an unshakable feeling something was not right. Had Nicholas used her to give his family unfettered access to Blackstone and her family? The de Reymes' were never heard from again, leaving her question to linger and to then become her belief. She had been duped in the cruelest way.
She spent many nights thereafter crying for her young love and agonizing over her naivety. She kept her secret tucked away near her heart. No one close to her knew of her relationship with Nicholas. Her father never knew she left the castle to meet him, and she never let on he meant anything to her. He became an intriguing story but nothing more. The truth would die with her.
Her heart grew brittle and bitter over the years that followed. She vowed no man would ever use his seductive and treacherous heart to get close to her again. Never again would she be so gullible. Never again would she feel that kind of pain by her own folly. Matters of the heart belonged in the hopes of the foolish.
Seven years passed quickly. She was now nineteen and refused to marry and resisted with such venom her father ceased to bring up the possibility. Phillip Bigod still lingered and still pressed her father for marriage, but Blaise never pushed her. He wanted her for the same reasons as Nicholas. Blackstone was valued for strength and position. She refused to be the unpleasant detail in political games.
Blackstone stood proudly on the point where the River Lea merged with the River Thames. London was less than a day away by horse. Their home began as a motte-and-bailey castle. The de Vere family fortified the lands with gifts from the first King Henry. It grew into a stronghold not unlike the Norman-style castles that dotted England's landscape under the reign of William the Conqueror. Blaise shared stories from his childhood with his daughters of how the walls were erected and the hall constructed.
Gemma shook lingering thoughts of Nicholas from her mind as she carried a wooden bucket toward one of the wells. Leda, the cook, was waiting for water. She loved spending her time learning about how the castle functioned. Often, she helped Leda in the kitchen. Not only did she learn new things, her mind was always busy and fresh. That kept her from dwelling on the past.
As lady of the keep, she spent countless hours learning, and her undying curiosity about everything in her small world blossomed. She was often found in the gardens with Leda studying plants and learning of their uses for medicines and how to preserve whatever grew. Leda made sure she knew all of the types of fish that swam lazily in the stock pond and why bees were more than just pests.
The bucket in her hand dropped with a dull thump to the hard-packed ground near the well, as a shrill warning call from a guard on duty atop the outer curtain echoed off the walls. She stumbled as she ran down the gentle slope toward where her father and some of his troops were running. They raced out of the lesser gate that opened on the River Lea near the point.
Gemma's father glanced at her before he ran out. His voice boomed through the air, "Gemma! Stay within the walls!"
She slowed her pace, but she did not stop entirely. Her father's seneschal, Oliver, stepped in front of her before she could go out through the gate. "Please go find your sister and keep her within the walls with you. We do not yet know what is happening, and you must remain safe."
"Isabel is having lessons with Father Darius," Gemma said with an uncertain stutter. Her mind dredged up all types of horrors, though there was rarely a moment when she truly knew fear inside her home. It had always been relatively peaceful at Blackstone, even when the rest of England had been a mess under Stephen.
It would take a great army to breach the stout, protective stone walls of Blackstone. The de Vere's always felt safe because it was nearly impossible to get close along the outer curtain walls near the rivers, and her father's men were trained to defend their home.
"Do as your father asks," Oliver said. He moved his tall, lean frame from her and walked smartly to the gatehouse to join her father outside the walls. She remained, but that did not stop her from looking for clues. A few more men ran through the bailey to assist her father. Gemma decided there was nothing more she could learn in that moment, so she went back for the forgotten water bucket.
More men came rushing through the gate before she could retrieve her bucket. Panic flared on their weary faces. She kept her green eyes focused on the gatehouse as man after man disappeared behind the wall. As she knelt, she felt around near her feet for the dropped bucket. Finding it with her fingertips, she picked it up, and then dropped it again as her father's men started to file back into the bailey. Four of them came through the gate more slowly than the others, with a linen sheet stretched out between them. Something or someone was upon the blanket. The men struggled to carry it through the inner bailey past the well where she stood. Without thinking, she ran toward the sheet.
"Stop!" her father shouted. She skidded to a halt near the blanket as the men moved toward the stables and the outer bailey. A body with long, black hair twisted around the face and shoulders lay still. The skin was blue, the body was abnormally large and distorted, and the eyes stared at nothing. It was a vision straight out of a terrible nightmare.
"'Tis Minna!" she cried as she fell back from the bloated body upon the sheet. She recognized the ale-master's wife but could scarcely believe what she was seeing.
"I told you to stop," her father snapped. "Go see to your sister, and we will speak more on this later."
Stunned, Gemma did as he asked without argument or hesitation. She spun and ran toward the chapel in the inner bailey. Tears dropped from her eyes for the second time that day. The water bucket was forgotten.
****
Gemma joined her father at the dais for the last meal of the day. The sun set, splashing vivid reds and purples across the western sky. This time was most pleasant for both sisters, as they always had their father to themselves. The hall was never as full as it was for the noontime meal, and they rarely had company. Father Darius often sat at the dais with the family for dinner, but he fasted through supper. King Henry and his court came to stay when Gemma was younger, but she remembered little of it. The evening meals during his visit had been long, loud, and overwhelming. She preferred the quiet meals when she had her father to herself.
Isabel slid breathlessly into her seat next to her older sister. Her green eyes resembled those of both her mother and Gemma, but were rounder and larger. Tonight, they sparkled as if they were keeping a secret.
"Have you washed?" Gemma said, her tone light. Her nine-year-old sister consistently came to supper straight from catching insects and tadpoles down near the stock pond and the gardens.
"Oh of course, you silly," Isabel said with a giggle, "I always wash, right Papa?"
Blais
e de Vere shot his youngest a tight smile and returned his attention to the trencher placed before him. He remained silent.
Gemma forgot her table manners and picked at a hunk of cheese as she pondered what could have happened to Minna. The terror of seeing the grotesque form of her friend cost Gemma both her appetite and her peace of mind. She itched to ask her father for details but she knew such talk would upset Isabel.
Her head snapped up as her father finally spoke. "Eat up, children. Let us try to think of good things, like your brother arriving home soon to wed Helena. We shall have a great celebration and shake off the sadness from the year prior."
"Aye," she said. She watched her sister shove a piece of fruit into her mouth and squirm in her seat. "Eat up. Hesse is watching to see if you are finished. I think she probably knows from the stink you are in need of a good soaking."
Isabel wrinkled her nose at her sister and chose one last bite of bread to pop into her mouth. Hesse, the nursemaid who had once cared for Gemma, now watched from a trestle table to their left. Getting Isabel settled for the night was a challenge. The little imp was more like a boy than a girl. She spent her free time exploring and had the muddy hands and clothing to prove it, often collecting things like bugs, rocks, sticks, and leaves she left lying everywhere. Frequently, she presented Hesse with the worms and bugs she had dug up in the garden. Hesse, of course, always instructed her to release the poor creatures at once.
The nursemaid tugged and pulled at her skirt and wrung her hands as she waited for Isabel to finish. Hesse had been in the service of the de Vere's since the birth of Gavin, the eldest son. A rather plain looking woman, she only spoke when she felt the need to say something of importance, and though one might look at her tall, slightly hunched frame, graying hair, and severe nose and think her a shrew, she had a heart of gold. Gemma lost her mother, but she still had Hesse, even if most of the nursemaid's attention was now spent keeping Isabel focused on her studies and out of trouble.
