Love Never Lies

by Rachel Donnelly

  “So, she comes with the ransom. No wonder the pair of you look so grim.”

  “‘Tis the bargain we agreed upon.”

  Beaufort raised one brow, a wry smile twisting his lips. “And you’d like me to believe this sits well with you?”

  Alec shrugged. “’Tis for the best.”

  “For who? The Lady Isabeau, or you?”

  “Both of us,” he said, returning his gaze to the flames leaping blue and orange before him in the hearth.

  Beaufort sent forth a loud snort. “Or, so you’ve convinced yourself.”

  “I gave my word to turn her over if they produced the ransom, which she assures me she will. What would you have me do? Relinquish my honor when my purpose was to avenge it in the first place?”

  Beaufort gazed into the depths of his goblet of ale, a frown marring his brow. “A perplexing condition.”

  “Had Isabeau not sent word to her sister, I’d never have been forced to choose. But now that she’s here, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Ahhh.” A knowing look lit Beaufort’s gold eyes. “So that’s what’s eating at you.”

  “Of course not,” he lied, but not very well, judging by the smile creasing Beaufort’s face.

  “So you don’t blame the Lady Isabeau?”

  “Nay, ‘tis natural for a prisoner to wish to be rescued.”

  “Next you’ll tell me you haven’t formed an attachment to the wench and that you weren’t insulted by her eagerness to go?” Beaufort had the audacity to laugh. Not a chuckle mind you, but a rumble that shook his whole chest. “When your feelings for her are as clear as the river your boats are floating on. Which, if I remember correctly, her dowry paid for.”

  Alec glared back at him. There was no use in denying it. ‘Twould only serve to increase Beaufort’s mirth, making him look a bigger fool than he already was.

  Beaufort sobered, apparently taking pity on him. “So, she’s paid the ransom and you’re prepared to hand the lady over?”

  “Nay. ‘Tis hidden somewhere beyond Highburn’s gates, or so she swears. She’ll send her man to fetch it when they wish to depart.” That said, Alec leveled a fierce scowl on him in hopes of shutting him up.

  But Beaufort continued, oblivious to his censuring look, “If its still there, when they’re ready.”

  “She’s not likely to have left it out in the open for some thief to stumble across.”

  “Yea, but someone who knows the lay of the land might easily discover it, with a little luck and a good hound. Her scent must be all over it.”

  “What are you suggesting? I should steal it? Why should I want to do that? Twould be as dishonorable as going back on my word.”

  “Hmm, true enough.” Beaufort rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Unless her hiding place is not as good as she thinks. Someone may have already saved you the trouble.”

  A slim hope, Alec thought, staring into the flames.

  But, what did it matter?

  The ransom meant naught to him compared to losing Isabeau.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isabeau took a deep breath, steeling herself against another barrage of complaints before striding into Nicola’s bedchamber. With any luck, when Nicola’s grumbling subsided she could steer the conversation in the direction of the ransom. Wheedling the location of it out of her sister had proved fruitless thus far. But, hopefully this morn Nicola would slip and finally give up some valuable clue to its whereabouts.

  Isabeau closed the door then whirled about only to discover Nicola bent over poker in hand, jabbing viciously at the coals in the hearth.

  “What are you doing?” She hustled forward to relieve the poker from Nicola’s hand. “Let me do that. Get back into bed this instant.”

  Nicola straightened, pressing her hand to the small of her back. “It’s freezing in here. I can’t rest when I’m as stiff as a board.”

  “Freezing? It’s hotter than Hades.” In fact the room was sweltering, but Isabeau had learned not to argue. Sparring with Nicola in her state was a fruitless endeavor. She was as prickly as a bag a nettles. “I’ll go and fetch more wood and then bring you your breakfast. You’ll feel much better after you’ve eaten something.”

  “My back is killing me.” Nicola arched her shoulders, sending her pendulous belly protruding forward until it was clearly outlined beneath her blue night gown. “It’s been aching all night. I’ve hardly slept a wink.”

  “You’re tired. You need your rest, that’s all. Now, back into bed before Myrtle sees you and chews us both out. I have no wish to greet the day at the end of her sharp tongue.” Myrtle took her duties as nursemaid mighty seriously, fussing over every detail concerning Nicola’s health. And Isabeau was grateful for her help, as Nicola leapt to obey Myrtle, while baulking at having her young sister issue orders.

  “Easy for you to say,” Nicola’s huffed. “You haven’t been locked up in here for two whole days, flat on your back, with aught to do, swelling like a corpse in the river.”

  Isabeau stood the poker beside the hearth then turned, cocking her head to one side. “Nay, but I have been held prisoner of late, so I do have some small idea of how it feels.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nicola’s expression turned contrite, almost tearful. “I didn’t mean to whine. I’m just not very good at waiting. If only Curran would get here. I’d feel so much better.”

  “I’m sure he’s on his way.” Isabeau took Nicola by the arm to urge her toward the bed, dearly hoping Curran was on his way and arrived before the babe was born, or Nicola would never let her forget it. “In the meantime I’m here,” Isabeau soothed. “I shan’t leave you in strangers’ hands.”

  “I know you won’t.” Nicola ceased her ponderous progress and turned round to face her. “I only wished I’d gotten here sooner. I can’t bear to think of you going through what I did—shamed because that Cornish, plague to womankind couldn’t keep his braises up.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” Isabeau heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’ve already explained all of that. Haven’t you been listening?”

  “Of course it’s his fault. He’s been seducing maids since before you were born.”

  “I doubt that. He would have only been a boy of eight.”

  “You know what I mean,” Nicola said, impatience edging her words. “But not to worry, if you’re with child, I’ll have you married before anyone knows a thing.”

  Isabeau gritted her teeth. Where was a large stick when you needed it? Apparently that was what it would take to beat the truth into Nicola’s head and make her finally understand. She couldn’t seem to get it through her thick skull that Isabeau loved Alec and had no wish to marry anyone else.

  But there was no sense in arguing when she was in such a flap. “Come,” Isabeau said, heading her toward the bed with a firm hand. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now you need your rest.”

  Nicola doubled over, sending forth a half squeak, half groan.

  “What is it?”

  “The babe,” Nicola gasped. “It’s coming! Heaven be praised! Finally ‘twill be over with. I can send for the ransom, and get you both home safe and sound.”

  “Don’t talk.” Isabeau hastened Nicola forward, her heart pounding fast, as she supported Nicola under the arm. “Try and conserve your strength.”

  But Nicola continued to rattle on, “If the ransom’s still there, under the ahhhh!” She doubled over again. “Sweet mother in heaven!!!” She exclaimed when she caught her breath. “You’d better get Myrtle. The pains are coming quicker and harder now.”

  “Now?” Isabeau swept back the bedcovers. “How long have you been having them?”

  “Not long,” Nicola said between pants. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  Worry her?

  It was a little late for that.

  All this time she’d assumed Nicola was simply restless when in truth the babe was on its way. Myrtle would need fresh sheets and hot water and who knew what else. She had much to do. “Th
ere.” Isabeau tucked the covers around Nicola after settling her into bed. “Is that better?”

  “Ask me again when I can see my feet!” she wailed.

  “Don’t fret. I’ll fetch Myrtle.” Isabeau headed for the door, giving a quick look over her shoulder as she did to assure herself that Nicola stayed put. Fears concerning Nicola’s health kept her frustration at bay.

  She’d come so close to discovering the whereabouts of the ransom.

  Rot!

  This babe had much to answer for when it arrived.

  When he or she was old enough, Isabeau planned to give it a strict talking to.

  In the meantime her thoughts remained focused on the babe’s safe arrival and the welfare of her sister. There would be time enough to worry about her own future.

  The sight of Myrtle at the top of the landing made Isabeau’s heart slow. “The babe is coming. I’ll fetch hot water, and you’ll need a sharp knife, will you not? And clean linens. Is there anything else I should do?”

  Myrtle’s eyes widened, but apparently she was able to decipher Isabeau’s scatterbrained babble as she responded in a blink. “That’ll do for now, but there’s a fire needs putting out below stairs first, my lady.”

  “A fire?”

  “’Twill be clear when you reach the hall,” Myrtle called over her shoulder, lifting her brown skirts as she scurried off down the corridor.

  Isabeau hastened her steps, so infected with anticipation and pride of becoming an aunt, she felt certain she could handle anything. The babe had yet to arrive and already her mind vaulted ahead to the joyous prospect of cradling her new niece or nephew in her arms.

  Halfway down the stairs the sound of shouts met her ears, jerking her from her pleasant musings.

  “If anything has happened to Nicola or my child, Fortin, I’ll have your head.” Curran stood by the door of the hall, sandy hair wild about his head, gold eyes flashing thunderbolts, looking as though he would rip Alec in twain.

  Alec faced him with an air of restraint, but anyone who knew him could see he was anything but calm. The firm line of his mouth and the tense set of his shoulders showed his distinct displeasure at another member of the Agnew clan invading his lair. “Your wife is here by her own design. Believe me, I issued no invitation.”

  “Yea, but you stole her sister—the dearest creature to her heart, or she would never have come. And for that I hold you responsible.”

  “I sent for her, Curran,” Isabeau said, hastening toward them, hoping to end their quarrel before it turned violent. “Tis my fault she’s here.”

  “Isabeau!” Curran spun round to face her, his high cheekbones more prominent in the flush of his distress. “Where is she? Is she well? Take me to her at once.”

  “She’s in good health and so is the babe.” Isabeau smiled in reassurance. “Come.” She motioned with her hand for him to follow, bemused that a man as powerful and proud as Curran would display such panic. “But you can only see her for a short time. The babe is on the way.”

  “On the way?” He squawked. “Right now?”

  “At this very moment, as we speak.”

  Curran took the stairs two at a time, passing Isabeau, which caused her some amusement, since he had no idea whatsoever where he was headed.

  Having reached the landing, Isabeau dashed ahead of him to still his quest, positioning herself in front of him and the door, both hands held high. “Calm yourself. She’s fine. But she won’t be for long if you charge into her bedchamber and startle her half to death.” Nicola had never been a good patient. The least sniffle and she thought she was dying. There was no telling what the sight of her own blood would do. Too much excitement might send her into a screaming fit. “Take a deep breath,” Isabeau commanded. “Nicola needs your strength.”

  Curran nodded, sucking in a long draught of air.

  “Whatever you do, don’t upset her. Soothe her fears and assure her you’ll be close by, waiting in the hall.”

  An agonizing scream beyond the door turned Curran as pale as communion bread.

  Isabeau reached out to squeeze his hand before his knees could buckle. “Remember, strength and calm. That’s what she needs right now. Whatever you do, don’t upset her.”

  He nodded as she opened the door.

  She closed it behind him, hoping he wouldn’t swoon before Myrtle shooed him out again. She had enough to worry about, trying to keep Nicola calm, not to mention running errands, and assisting Myrtle in anyway she could. There would be no time to hold Curran’s hand.

  Which left Alec.

  But there was no sense in attempting to enlist his help, after the way Curran had unbraided him.

  Mayhap William would act as Curran’s keeper, if Alec would spare him.

  Well, he would just have to.

  ‘Twas the least he could do after sending her life in a whirl, or so she told herself as she set about tracking him down.

  But when she eventually spied him striding across the courtyard from the stables toward the hall her resolve began to waver.

  He did not appear to be in the best of tempers.

  She took a deep breath and strode toward him despite the mad pounding of her heart. “Have you seen William? I’m in need of his help, if you might spare him.”

  “I’ve sent him to fetch the cradle.” Alec’s face wore a closed look, as though he spoke to a stranger, as though by offering any hint of expression he might disclose his true feelings, as though the wall he’d built between them might crumble and he’d be corrupted by her affection somehow.

  A painful lump rose in her throat at his coldness. “Cradle?” she repeated stupidly, astonished that he would think of such a necessity, much less bother to scrounge one up.

  “Ilar has just finished making it.”

  Isabeau blinked in disbelief. Ilar was one of Alec’s precious carpenters, a man of special skills. Beaufort had sent for him on Alec’s behalf to help build his ships. Her heart squeezed at his generosity.

  He shrugged. “The babe needs somewhere to sleep, does it not?”

  “Yea.” She stared back at him in amazement.

  He cocked a half smile. “You needn’t look so surprised. My motives were purely selfish. I’ll not be kept awake all night by a squalling babe, or have the hall fall to ruin while you play the nursemaid.”

  She lifted on the tip of her toes to place a kiss against his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, knowing he had not done it for Nicola, or the babe, but for her.

  He cleared his throat. A shadow passed over his face. “I know we’ve hardly spoken since your sister arrived, but ‘tis better this way. The less time we’re together, the easier ‘twill be when we part.”

  Easier?

  Mayhap for him, but not for her.

  Nothing would ease her wretchedness when she must eventually bid farewell.

  But pride would not allow her to tell him that. “Very well.” She inclined her head, anxious to go before the tears welling up in her eyes spilled forth.

  “Isabeau.” He captured her by the hand, turning her back around. “Don’t look at me that way. Please. Try to understand. ‘Tis what’s best for both of us—for our families.”

  “If you believe that, than it must be so,” she said in a faint whisper, her throat constricting painfully. She would not beg. Either he loved her or he did not. There was nothing she could do about it.

  A look of pain flitted over his features, so fleeting, after, she wondered if she had imagined it. “You’d never be happy without your family. I can’t be so cruel as to keep them from you.”

  So, it wasn’t about his honor or the ransom. It was about his pride. After all that had passed between them, he still couldn’t forgive and forget, not even for her. He remained a prisoner of his own bitterness to the end. If love could not free him, then there was little hope of changing his mind. Or mayhap, he did not love her after all. She withdrew her hand from his, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “I must go. My sister needs me.”<
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  As Isabeau strode toward the hall, the tears she had been holding back broke free to trickle down her cheeks. She brushed them away, never slowing her pace. He was right. She could never forsake her family. They were hers long before she knew of his existence. Love could not alter blood.

  If he would not accept her kin, at least her parents and her sister, then a match between them could never work.

  Isabeau hustled to the kitchen then the storeroom to gather the supplies Myrtle needed, then hurried aloft.

  She found William standing, cradle in hand, outside the bedchamber door. “Thank you, William. Ilar does fine work, does he not?” she said, running her hand along the curved edge of the pine cradle, so sturdy yet so beautiful in its simplicity.

  “Yea, my lady.” William’s gaze shifted to the door then back to her again, clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of entering. “Where should I leave it?”

  “Right here. I’ll bring it in when it’s needed.” If aught went amiss as it had with her last child, the last thing she wanted was for Nicola to end up staring at an empty cradle. But Isabeau prayed all would be well with the babe. Nicola had been through enough.

  As it turned out, Isabeau had no time to think about whether Alec and Curran were battling it out below or not.

  She entered the bedchamber to discover Nicola sitting half upright in the bed, bearing down with her elbows braced behind her and her face creased with pain.

  “There’s the top of the head,” Myrtle announced.

  Isabeau rushed to Nicola’s side, intent on keeping her calm.

  Myrtle took charge, instructing Nicola to breathe between contractions and then to push again.

  Nicola squeezed Isabeau’s hand mercilessly, until she thought it would break. “I was wrong!” She said through gritted teeth. “It was wrong of me to blame Fortin. I allowed bitterness to engulf me. I should have been more forgiving. Does that make me an evil person? Mayhap, I’ll make a bad mother.”

  “Of course not. You’ll make a wonderful mother.” Isabeau said in a firm voice. “There’s the head. It’s almost out. You can do it!”