Because Isabelle knew exactly what she had to do. It would mean leaving behind her family. It would mean beginning a new life of poverty and uncertainty, no longer a lady destined to marry a nobleman and be the chatelaine of a castle. She would have to give up that life forever.
She didn’t care. If she did not do as her heart commanded, it would shrivel and die, destroyed, not merely broken, and her body might as well be dead along with it.
Strong in resolve, certain in her love, she said, “I’m going with you.”
As Connor made a sound of protest and Caradoc stared, Alexander’s gaze searched her resolute face. “You can’t,” he declared, once more the imperious warrior. “You cannot leave your home, your family. I won’t let you.”
“Surely you do not think you can order me in this, as well? Have you not learned the folly of that?” she queried with a little smile, unfazed by his words, her voice level, because she saw a different truth in his blue eyes. “Besides, if you don’t let me go with you, I will follow you anyway. I love you, Alexander, and you love me. I will never love another as I do you, and I will be miserable without you. You would not condemn me to that, would you?”
She saw the moment he believed that she loved him. Happiness blossomed in his face and then he laughed—a great, joyous burst of delight that made her laugh, too.
“I have learned the folly of trying to command you,” he said as he pulled her into his arms. He still smiled with joy, but she saw the deeper emotion in his blue eyes as he murmured, “And my heart would be dead without you, too.”
Connor loudly—and fiercely—cleared his throat. “I didn’t anticipate this when I agreed to set him free.”
“Nor I,” Caradoc rumbled, planting his feet and crossing his arms, and looking so like Alexander in his ire that despite Isabelle’s shock at the revelation of their relationship, she knew they must be brothers. “It’s one thing to be merciful, but we never thought—”
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” she said gently, knowing their objections were based on their concern for her. “I have decided. It is what I want to do.”
“Allis will object,” Connor protested. “She’ll be upset, too.”
“I think Allis will understand. There was much she was willing to do for love.”
Connor flushed, and he wisely didn’t try to deny it. “Then there is no more to be said,” he conceded, albeit with obvious reluctance. “As we followed our hearts, I cannot tell you not to follow yours.”
“I can,” Caradoc said. “What’s to become of her if she goes off with him?” he demanded of Connor, as if Alexander weren’t there. “He has no trade, no skills, no home.”
“He has a trade and skills,” Isabelle retorted, not pleased that Caradoc was interfering. “He can be a soldier. Or a mason. Or a carpenter. He has worked all his life and I have no qualms. We will manage.”
“But you’re a noblewoman and he’s … he’s…”
“A knight’s bastard. I know, and I don’t care. What good is a title if it means you must marry without love? I would rather be the poor wife of a knight’s bastard than married to a wealthy man I didn’t love. And it seems to me, Caradoc, that you are in no position to preach to me, since you married the daughter of a wool merchant.”
“A rich one,” he shot back.
“Yet you love her dearly, or so Allis says. Is that a lie?”
Caradoc colored. “No.”
“And if she were a poor wool merchant’s daughter, would you love her the less?”
“Well, no.”
“There then!” Isabelle cried triumphantly, her hands on her hips.
“I told you there’s no arguing with her,” Connor noted as he regarded his brother with manly sympathy. “She’ll outtalk you every time. And she’s right. Neither one of us was practical when we fell in love.”
Caradoc looked as if he wasn’t willing to yield, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the sound of pounding feet and shouts of alarm sounded on the stairs. The door burst open, and Denis dashed into the chamber, brandishing a rusty sword in his right hand and his dagger in his left, a coil of rope slung around his chest.
“Stand back, all of you!” he cried, waving his weapons around like some sort of mad knight. “Alexander, I have come to rescue you!”
Charlie and Burt came charging in after him, swords drawn. “He give us the slip, my lord,” Burt panted apologetically as they halted, their eyes on the Gascon.
“Denis, what the devil are you doing?” Alexander demanded.
“I told you!” Denis cried with great bravado, although his face was as pale as a sheep’s clean fleece. “I have come to rescue you!”
“Denis,” Alexander began in a more moderate tone. “There is no need to rescue me, although I appreciate the effort.”
“But I heard you were captured and … and…”
“I was, but all is well now.”
“Or it will be soon,” Connor said to Charlie and Burt as he shooed them out the door like a mother hen with her chicks. “You two can go now. Leave this matter with me.”
“But he run up here and—”
“So I gather. There’s been a misunderstanding all ’round. It seems the despicable DeFrouchette who abducted Lady Isabelle has a twin, and he discovered what his brother had done and took it upon himself to rescue Isabelle. Amazing, isn’t it? Like some kind of troubadour’s tale, really, but strange things do happen in families. Now get back to your posts.”
Still holding his weapons defensively, Denis sidled toward Alexander. “What is going on? Who is he talking about? You have no twin brother, have you?”
“Not a twin, but there is a half brother,” Caradoc announced.
Denis really looked at Caradoc for the first time since bursting into the room like a bantam rooster who sees a hawk in the coop. He was so shocked that he dropped his sword. Before he could pick it up again, Caradoc grabbed it.
“By God, DeFrouchette,” he remarked, “you seem to be a popular fellow. Isabelle in love with you, this skinny fellow trying to rescue you. Next thing I know, you’ll tell me there’s some band of Norsemen about to—”
They all froze as the cry arose from the battlements like a call to battle. “Viiiiikings!”
Isabelle and Alexander exchanged shocked looks while Connor and Caradoc made for the door. Unfortunately, they both tried to get through it at the same time. After a brief struggle, Connor got out first, but Caradoc was right behind him.
“Denis,” Alexander growled, “what’s going on?”
Isabelle realized Denis looked as surprised as they did. “I do not know. All I know is, when I heard in the tavern that you had been captured, I had to help you. I thought we could climb down the wall as we did before, and Kiera has horses waiting and…”
“Please tell me you haven’t stolen any horses.”
“Not exactly. Kiera stole some jewels from Osburn and we traded one for them.”
“Thank God for that,” Alexander said, sounding stern, but his eyes were gentle. “You loyal fool, you could have been killed, rushing in here like that!”
“Well, I am not dead, and you are free, so let us go and—”
“And find out what’s going on,” Alexander finished.
“But we can go—”
“Not if Bellevoire is under attack,” Alexander declared as he headed toward the door, Isabelle right behind.
As they all, including Denis, entered the courtyard, they discovered that most of the other inhabitants of Bellevoire were already there.
So were Ingar and twenty of his men. Ingar had a grip on Bartholomew’s tunic and a knife at his throat. In the center of the band of Norsemen was a group of people, obviously hostages: a thin, grizzled farmer, a plump woman and what looked to be their five children, another man and a gaunt woman, and three young men. Ingar and his men must have captured them on the way to Bellevoire.
Bellevoire guards milled about, their weapons ready, but they were clearly afraid t
o attack the Norsemen lest the Norsemen kill their hostages.
Connor and Caradoc stood facing Ingar, fierce but also not willing to do anything that would put Bartholomew and the others at risk.
Isabelle realized that poor Bartholomew looked about to faint. The other captives were terrified, as she had been that first day when Alexander had abducted her, and her heart went out to them.
Then she noticed that Alexander had his sword drawn.
“Go to your sister,” he muttered, nodding at Allis, who was standing, pale and tight-lipped, with Edmond in the crowd. “I will deal with Ingar.”
She didn’t want to leave him, but she had no wish to be taken captive by Ingar, either. She could not help fearing that his arrival here had something to do with her, so she sidled away into the crowd.
“Alexander!” Ingar cried happily when he saw Alexander striding toward him. Then his pleasure dissipated, to be replaced with a frown. “You are not dead.”
“Obviously not,” Alexander replied. “I was imprisoned, though, until a short time ago, which is why I did not meet you.”
“Ah. I thought perhaps you had decided to stay with the lady, after all.”
“I would have kept my word. But if you thought me dead, what are you doing here?”
Ingar grinned. “Perhaps I thought to see your lady one last time. Where is—ah!”
Ingar spotted her in the crowd. Then he saw Allis, and his eyes widened. “By Woden’s beard,” he declared, “there are two of them!”
Connor’s face went as red as an apple, and Caradoc’s grim visage grew even grimmer.
Afraid they would draw their swords and start a melee, Isabelle stepped forward. “You must have been drinking too much wine, Ingar, to come to Bellevoire like this, threatening to kill people—”
Bartholomew’s eyes widened, and he made a strangled sound.
“Have I said anything about killing anybody?” Ingar demanded, offended. He waved his dagger to make his point, but he did not loose his hold on the poor reeve, either.
“I come in peace, my lord,” he said, addressing Caradoc, “and if I have the lord of Bellevoire’s guarantee that I may leave in peace, I have some information to sell. These others are only to guarantee the safety of me and my men until I strike a bargain with you.”
“I am the lord of Bellevoire,” Connor said, “and I don’t negotiate with brigands who hold knives at my peoples’ throats.”
“And I would not risk coming here if I didn’t think I had something of great value to sell to you.”
“What is that?”
“Information. I can tell you where the lady was held. I’m sure DeFrouchette and his friend cannot—they know nothing of the sea and how to set a course. I can tell you where those Brabancons have fled.” Ingar grinned with savage glee. “Of course, if you think this information worth nothing, we can kill your people and fight our way back to the ship.”
The crowd began to whisper and murmur and mutter, and Bartholomew moaned piteously.
“I will allow you safe passage,” Connor said brusquely. “You have my word. Now let them go.”
With a bow and a smile, Ingar did. Bartholomew fell to his knees, gasping for breath. He was quickly surrounded by Gleda and the other servants, who helped him to his feet.
“Inside,” Connor snapped, turning and heading toward the hall.
Ingar and his men followed him, and so did Isabelle, Allis, Alexander, Caradoc and Edmond, leaving the others milling about uncertainly. Connor went to the dais and sat, but he made no move to invite anybody else to do so. Isabelle and the rest stood to the side.
“What do you want in exchange for this information?” Connor demanded of Ingar and his men.
“One thousand marks.”
“Agreed.”
Ingar slid a sly glance at Isabelle, his gray eyes twinkling. “I would ask for the lady, too, but she does not like me, and although she is a beauty, I prefer my horses spirited and my women placid.”
Appalled, Allis sucked in her breath, while Isabelle sighed with relief.
Then Ingar looked at Alexander. “And what of your promise to me, DeFrouchette? Since you are free to go from here, will you keep your word?”
Before anybody else could speak, Isabelle hurried forward and addressed the Norseman. “You may have my dowry if you release him from his pledge.”
“Isabelle!” Alexander gasped.
“Well, if it’s that or you,” she smiled at him, then turned to face the Norseman, “I intend to marry him, and I do not want to be married to a brigand, so I will gladly give you the dowry to release him from his promise.” She tilted her head and gave Ingar her coy and innocent look. “You yourself told me how much he cares for me. Surely you will not take him away, especially when I am willing to pay you to keep him.”
After a moment’s dumbfounded silence, Ingar threw back his head and laughed until the rafters rang with it. Then he shook his head. “By Thor’s hammer, what a woman! I wish you joy of her, DeFrouchette, and many fine sons. I think it will take a pack of you to get the better of her, and for that, I don’t envy you. But your nights … well, for that, I do. But now, my lady, as to your bargain—I agree.”
He turned back to Connor. “There may be other bargains struck, lord of Bellevoire, of trade and alliance. Are you willing to discuss such matters with me?”
Connor, having likewise recovered from his surprise, inclined his head. “Since I would rather make treaties than battle, I am willing.”
“Good—but I would speak of such matters with you alone,” Ingar replied. “Otherwise, I’m afraid that woman will bargain me out of my ship.”
Later that night, after Ingar and his men had taken their money and departed, a treaty for trade negotiated—without Isabelle’s help—and Denis had entertained the company in the great hall with his tumbling before going back to sit with his devoted Kiera, Isabelle slipped into Allis’s garden. Roses climbed upon the walls, and poppies, primroses and other flowers filled the beds, their scent light on the evening breeze. The moon rose bright and full, its silvery light illuminating the path, but leaving other areas deep in shadow.
“Alexander?”
A strong hand reached out and drew her into one such shadow, and then her lover’s lips found hers. Happy to be alone with him at last, she relaxed into his embrace. His hands meandered over her body, stroking and caressing and exciting her as only he could.
Raucous laughter burst through the silence from the direction of the barracks, and a door banged. Bartholomew wandered past the gate, regaling somebody with the tale of his near death at a fierce Norseman’s hands.
“This is not as private as I had hoped when I suggested it,” Isabelle murmured, disappointed.
“No,” Alexander agreed with both remorse and laughter in his voice. “But perhaps that is for the best. After all, if we are found making love in the garden, it would be a great scandal.”
“As if I care anything for gossip,” she chided with a smile, inching closer. She found the thought of making love with him then and there incredibly exciting.
“No, it’s clear to me that you don’t,” he whispered as he pressed light kisses over her cheeks and lips. “I daresay many tongues are going to wag as it is, and there will always be those here who will hate me for what I have done.”
“They will hate your evil twin.”
Alexander pulled back, and she could tell he had that little wrinkle of concern between his brows. “Ah, yes, my evil twin. Did you put that idea in your brother-in-law’s head?”
“Not at all,” she answered honestly. “I don’t know where it came from, but if it means people won’t set upon you like those two guards did, I don’t care.”
He chuckled softly. “Nor do I.” He embraced her tenderly. “And it’s very good of Connor to offer to send a message to his friend about being his garrison commander. I hope Sir Ralph de Valmont will agree.”
“I don’t think you have to fear that he will refuse C
onnor’s request,” she replied. “Connor is a friend of the king, and Sir Ralph wishes to be, so he will probably be glad to accept Connor’s recommendation—as well he should. I also understand he’s terrified of Caradoc. There was some kind of misunderstanding, and he seems to think Caradoc is always on the verge of going off on some kind of rampage, so he does not want to be considered my family’s enemy.” She toyed with a strand of Alexander’s hair. “I can understand why he would wish to avoid that. Caradoc is very like you, and you’re frightening when you’re angry.”
Alexander ran his fingertip down her cheek, making her shiver in a very pleasant way. “I never seemed to frighten you.”
“Oh, I was very afraid at first, but I didn’t want to show it.”
“You certainly succeeded.” He sighed, his lips against her hair. “I cannot believe all that you are willing to give up to be with me.”
“I gain far more than I lose.” She relaxed against him, then raised her head to look up at his angular face. “We’ve already made love and we are not married yet,” she noted as she caressed him boldly. “How much of a scandal do you think it will be if, by chance, we are found here?”
His breathing quickening, he closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Shall we risk it?”
“I think I have just realized something about you, my love. You like danger.”
“It does lend a certain spice to things, I suppose—as long as this is as dangerous as we get. I have had enough of true danger to last me a lifetime. And I think you like women who stand up to you.”
“I admire women who stand up for themselves,” he amended, “although I must say, I don’t think I’ve met any other woman so capable in that regard. Which is one reason I love you so much.”
“Perhaps one reason I found you so seductive was your dark and brooding temperament.”
“You think I brood?” he asked, as if genuinely surprised.
She undid the buckle of his sword belt, and it fell to the ground. “You used to. I shall simply have to keep you too busy to think deep, dark thoughts.”
He gasped as she put her hand under his tunic, then sighed as she ran her fingers over his chest. “I don’t think I’ll ever be unhappy or discontented again,” he murmured as he gathered her into his arms. “Everything I shall ever want is here in my arms.”
Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] Page 28
