Love Never Lies

by Rachel Donnelly

  “I suspected as much at the tournament, when he failed to make it one of the conditions.”

  “How curious.” Her tone turned wry. “Yet somehow you forgot to caution me?”

  “’Twas your decision to lose your maidenhead, not mine.”

  “So you just went along with my plan, forsaking all chivalry.”

  A hoot of incredulous laughter burst from his lips. “What man would not? You should know by now, I’m hardly a saint.”

  Her ire rose. “You deliberately misled me,” she said pointing the spoon at him.

  His tone turned soft. “‘Twas the only way you’d share my bed.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “’Twas your scheme, not mine.” He shrugged. “I but honored your request.”

  She set aside the half-eaten bowl of porridge, sending forth a loud huff. “A request I would never have uttered had you given me the least reason to suspect I was wrong in my assumption.” She came to her feet, meaning to sweep past him to the door.

  He captured her by the arm, saying smoothly, “But you did utter it, and the deed is done. ‘Twas neither by mischance or seduction you shared your body with me, Isabeau. But your choice. Remember that before you start pointing an accusing finger at me.”

  His cool blue stare set her heart racing, scattering her wits and leaving her tongue-tied.

  She turned again to leave.

  This time he did not attempt to stop her, but she felt the heat of his gaze on her with every step she trod to the door.

  How was it that one look from him could do so much—leave her empty-headed and quivering?

  No other man had made her feel thus.

  Why must her body betray her now—to an enemy—a man who had brought nothing but ruin to her name?

  Nay, that was not quite true. She had done that herself, by offering herself to him. And since then, nothing had been the same. She could not look upon him without thinking of it, without wondering at Hilda’s claims.

  But, if lovemaking was such bliss, why had she not experienced it?

  She gave herself a mental shake, pushing away such wanton thoughts. Lovemaking was meant for the sanctity of marriage. ‘Twas wrong to give into selfish desires of the flesh. It flew in the face of all she had been taught. But, so had what Father Clarence had done.

  What would Maddie say? If she knew that her charge had forsaken all, she would burn with shame.

  ***

  Riding before Fortin on Ram’s steed brought Isabeau fresh torment.

  Just her luck Fortin’s destrier had gone lame. Towing Mercury behind slowed their pace, lengthening the time spent with her back pressed against Fortin’s hard chest. Her nipples tightened with every bump, sending hot sparks licking over her until her flesh burned.

  By the time they stopped to make camp for the night in a glade beside a stream, her nerves were stretched so taunt she had begun to shake.

  When he helped her down, his hands lingered around her waist over long.

  She flinched and turned away, hastening to the stream, gurgling under a stand of alders, to wash away the dust that clung to her hands and face.

  The icy water numbed her flesh, but did little to quell the heat in her veins. She kept remembering that bubble—the warm feel of Fortin’s skilled hands touching her skin, making her writhe in ecstasy, turning her belly inside out.

  If fate forced her to a nunnery, the mysterious pleasure Hilda hinted at would be lost to her forever.

  She would never know what it meant.

  Isabeau returned from the stream to find Fortin had built a fire under an ancient oak.

  After seeing to the horses, he strode to the stream presumably to wash off the dust of their travels.

  Isabeau sighed as she watched him go. The sight of his finely formed profile did little to squelch her yearnings. What would it be like to wake to a face like that each morn—be married to a man so handsome one glance made your heart skip?

  But then, handsome is as handsome does.

  ‘Twould be a burden indeed to have to beat off other women with a stick.

  Darkness fell fast, bringing with it the first rustle of night things. Ordinarily the sound would send her sprinting in the opposite direction, but a hasty look over her shoulder, found Fortin still in sight and her fears eased.

  She huddled down on a rotten log, edging close to the fire.

  Fortin returned rubbing his surcoat over his wet head. Water trickled down his taunt belly to bead in tiny bubbles, dancing in the light cast from the fire against the glow of his tawny skin.

  Isabeau sucked in a short breath, averting her gaze, trying to forget the feel of his firm body—the soft hollows where her hands had once been—where she yearned to touch again.

  A loud flap tore a gasp from her lips and made her sit up straight.

  A bat flew from the canopy of the great oak above to the stand of alders by the stream.

  “Your cousin won’t find us,” Fortin said, raking the damp hair from his face with one hand before he pulled his surcoat on over his head. “The route we take is old and not well marked. Besides, he’ll be looking for one rider, not two. And, he doesn’t know I have you yet.”

  “He’ll know when he can’t find me.” She hugged her arms tighter. “Barak doesn’t give up easily.”

  “Then he must come with coin in hand,” Fortin said in a hard flat tone. “He’s cheated me once. I’ll not be fooled again.”

  Isabeau looked away, her throat constricting. So. She had been right. He did not care for her one atom. He planned to turn her over to Barak despite the fact he’d raped her sister, and tried to rape her.

  She came to her feet, to stride to the stream, needing to get away, unable to look at him.

  When she reached the water’s edge, she leaned her back against the thin trunk of an alder to watch the water bubble over the smooth rocks, picking up twigs and leaves as it rushed away.

  If only she might do the same.

  A tear rolled down her cheek, despite promising herself she would not weep. She lifted a hand to brush it away. To think she had almost let her desire rule her head, daring to look upon him with a lover’s eye, when he was no better than the rest—no better than Barak.

  The sound of leaves crunching turned her around.

  Fortin stood a few feet away, a closed expression on his face. “Come, it’s time to eat.”

  “I fear I’ve lost my appetite.” She made to stalk past him, not in the mood to break bread with anyone who would aid and abet her cousin.

  He put out a hand to still her progress. “I’ll see you delivered safely to Newbury,” he said in a quiet tone. “Barak won’t touch you again. You need not even see him when he comes with the ransom, if that is your wish.”

  ‘Twas a small concession—better than nothing, but hardly enough to lift her spirits or stir her appetite.

  She had no intention of marrying Newbury, not so long as there was breath left in her body. But she would not discuss that with Fortin. Better he thought her docile and accepting of her fate. ‘Twould cause him to let down his guard, and ease her escape.

  She gave a brief nod of her head as she turned to make her way back to the fire, the lump in her throat making it too painful to speak.

  They ate in silence.

  Isabeau picked at the cold mutton, though tender and succulent, more apple wine passed her lips than meat. ‘Twas perplexing, she felt no resentment towards Fortin, only an overpowering sense of loss.

  Apparently their joining had meant nothing to him. But then, why should it? She was not the only woman who’d shared his bed, and certainly would not be the last. While he, on the other hand, had left an indelible mark on her, since he was the first and only man she had ever shared her body with.

  Having finished his meal, Fortin leaned back on his elbows to regard her across the flames, his powerful legs stretched out before him in a relaxed pose. “Why is it, that you didn’t suspect your cousin before this? Before
he attacked you?”

  Was it her imagination or did she detect some hint of accusation in his tone, as if it was somehow her fault. “I assumed his obsession sprang from love not hate. He was forever wanting what he couldn’t have. I had no idea of his resentment for the time his mother spent with us. Although, ‘tis hardly surprising. Uncle Royce isn’t an easy man. Spending every waking minute with him could make a saint turn to hate.”

  “His mother was only doing her duty.”

  “Yea, but he didn’t see it that way. Barak was an only child. He had never shared his mother’s attention before we came. Mayhap he wouldn’t have felt her loss so keenly if Uncle Royce hadn’t been so hard on him. I don’t think Barak realized how much he resented our presence until his mother’s death. I suppose he wanted someone to blame and we were it.”

  “’Tis no excuse.” Fortin’s mouth turned down in an expression of distaste.

  “It’s strange, for all his chasing after me—all his lusty overtures, in my heart I never believed he’d act upon his desires.” She shivered, edging closer to the flames, remembering the cruel bite of Barak’s hands—the hatred in his eyes. “Or, at least I thought I could handle him if he did.”

  “And so you did.”

  “Yea.” She smiled, remembering Barak’s howls and moans after she had waited for the right moment to bring her knee up and incapacitate him. If she had learned anything from Fortin’s treachery, ‘twas to bide your time and plan—keep a cool head. “Luckily, Sir Guilford stood by Nicola and saved her from shame.”

  Fortin’s tone turned hard, as it inevitably did at the mention of her sister. “That doesn’t explain why she lied.”

  “Likely Barak threatened her. Or Uncle Royce, if she named his priest.” She met his gaze across the blue and orange flames. “I know no other explanation. She didn’t confide in me. No doubt she could not think clearly after being raped twice in one night.”

  “But why me, out of a garrison of men?”

  “Who better, than a knight who spread his favors from the tower to the scullery of the keep?” She shrugged, tired of defending her sister, tired of trying to make him see reason. “Mayhap ‘twas your handsome face.”

  He lifted a brow.

  Her cheeks grew hot, realizing what she had just said. “I mean, if she was forced to marry, she would not wish to shackle herself to an ugly man.”

  A wolfish smile spread over his lips. “Is that your way of telling me you’d not be opposed to sharing my bed again?”

  The heat in her cheeks crept lower to her extremities. “Of course I would. ‘Twould be a sin.”

  He laughed long and loud at this. “Not any more than the first time. Still,” he said, struggling to recover from his bout of mirth. “’Tis gratifying to know you didn’t choose me because I was the only stud available.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Oh no, once delivered a compliment cannot be taken back.”

  Neither could her virtue, but now that he knew her attraction, how long could she keep him at bay, especially with her own treacherous desires screaming for her to throw caution to the wind?

  ***

  The sight of Isabeau’s pale cheek and smooth lips as pink as the inside of a seashell, so close to his, made Alec’s pulse race. It was all he could do not to press his lips to hers to watch her dove colored eyes flutter open.

  She stirred feelings inside of him he had never experienced, or for that matter, even imagined were possible. The anger he once felt paled in comparison to the lightness in his heart whenever he heard her laugh.

  A face like that could inspire a man to great things. Or, make him forget himself—corrupt his will and cause him to lie abed all day, making love instead of seeing to his responsibilities.

  He edged away from her softness and heat, fighting the rush of desire threatening to consume him.

  A fief would not prosper tended by a lovesick fool.

  If only she had been pock-marked and ugly or, covered from head to foot with some unsightly rash. He’d never have touched her.

  But he had. By obliging her whim and giving into his own passions, a connection had been formed between them forever—a lasting memory his body could not forget.

  His blood boiled to think Barak had attempted to force himself on her—the villain. What sick infection brewed in his veins to defile his own cousin? Winsome or nay, there were borders an honorable man did not cross. Taking advantage of innocent maids in your care was one of them.

  Why had Nicola not exposed him—warned Isabeau of his treachery at least. Had shame held her silent? Whatever the reason, Barak’s assault and Nicola’s lie had put Isabeau in jeopardy and blackened his honor. A thousand dowries could never make up for that.

  He came to his feet, allowing the cool breeze of the morn, and the fresh smell of dew to cleanse his temper.

  Isabeau stirred as he did so, blinking against the golden rays of the sun, breaking through the canopy of the giant oak above their heads.

  “Time to leave,” he said, striding toward Mercury, away from the temptation of her soft curves and the grey-blue heaven of her eyes.

  He returned with a ration of oatcakes and cheese for each of them.

  “Have we far to go?”

  “Half a day’s ride.” He planted himself on a rotted log to eat, going over the terrain in his mind, a path of thick forest separated by the occasional opened meadow. Not the safest route, with plenty of cover for bandits to hide, but the one less trod and therefore less likely Barak would take if he chose to follow.

  Isabeau came to her feet and stretched.

  Alec groaned at the sight of her lithe grace.

  “Are you unwell, my lord?”

  “I’m weary of travel,” he lied, brushing away crumbs as he rose to his feet. “Nothing a night in my own bed won’t cure.” Though he’d be cured faster, if she would join him.

  “Then, let us be on our way,” she said, heading toward the horses with a light step, as though the decision was hers and he was some lackey left to follow in her wake.

  A smile tugged the corners of his lips as he lifted her up in the saddle. He should have taken her to task for her boldness, instead of being impressed by her pluck. But as usual her lighthearted mood got under his skin, lifting his spirits, so that he could do nothing but smile.

  Besides, ‘twas easier if she came meekly. He did not relish dragging her back to Highburn kicking and screaming.

  Unless that was her plan, to lull him into believing she did not resist, so he would let down his guard and she might escape again.

  With this thought in mind, he kept a firm arm around her waist as they set out.

  A furlong down the road, Isabeau turned in the saddle, wearing an indignant frown. “My Lord, I beg you lighten your grip? I assure you I’m quite well seated. There’s no danger of me slipping to the ground.”

  Alec obeyed, realizing how tight his arm had been after feeling her take two long, deep breathes.

  Ten furlongs down the road, a steady pounding in the distance made him rein in.

  A party approached on horseback.

  ‘Twould not be wise to be caught out in the open.

  He lifted Isabeau down, then yanked her behind him with one hand while leading the horses with the other to the cover of the trees.

  “What is it?” she whispered fiercely.

  He clamped his hand over her mouth, huddling close against her at the base of the stand of young elms.

  The earth vibrated beneath them, rustling the long dry grass.

  Alec’s heart beat faster, not from fear, but from the proximity of Isabeau’s velvety cheek. The warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, made his flesh quiver. He wanted to pull her tight against him, and run his hands over every part of her silky skin—bury his face in her sun-kissed hair.

  The rattle of spurs and mail mingled with hoof beats, rolling past them like low thunder, and then, slowly it disappeared.

  He slid his hand fro
m her mouth.

  She turned her head, gazing up at him questioningly.

  Before she could speak, before he even realized what he was doing, he bent his head and crushed his lips against hers, something he had wanted to do since he found her at the stable.

  He wasn’t disappointed.

  She responded to him eagerly.

  She tasted so good—so fresh and sweet, he could have went on kissing her forever, forgetting why they were there and who they were.

  He would have ripped her clothes off to enjoy more than her lips, if not for Mercury’s tail swishing against the back of his head, reminding him how dangerously close they were to his hooves. Were something to spook him, they would be cut to shreds.

  The thought of being kicked senseless made Alec end the kiss.

  “Flemish Mercenaries,” he said, coming to his feet, reining in his desire with great effort. “From the inn. Now that Stephen and Matilda have called a truce, there are many of them left prowling the countryside looking for trouble.”

  “You might have warned me,” she gasped.

  “If I did, I’d be lying dead with my throat cut right now and you’d be entertaining a score of men.” He reached down a hand to haul her to her feet. “Are you angry that I kissed you or that I saved your life?”

  “Forgive me.” She flushed, bending to brush the leaves and twigs from her skirt, avoiding his gaze. “I was startled ‘tis all.”

  She would be more than startled if she knew what he was thinking, that it would take many kisses to squelch the yearnings she churned up inside of him. He took a step away, gritting his teeth, trying to get a hold of himself. What he needed was a long dip in a cold river, before he succumbed to temptation and proved he was no better than Barak.

  ‘Twas humbling to realize the hold she had over him—the passions she could inspire with a mere glance, rattling his composure and muddling his brain, until there was no one left except her and him.