“If you are unwell, mayhap you should retire,” said Margaret, her expression full of concern. Though she was merely a few years older than Isabel, her demeanor was almost motherly. “’Twas too soon to bring you into our society. I should have waited.”
“No, I…” She lost her train of thought when Anvrai entered the hall with Lady Symonne. They would have taken seats at the farthest end of the dais, but Queen Margaret beckoned to them. Anvrai and the Norman woman approached, but he avoided Isabel’s gaze.
They bowed before the queen. “Your Majesty,” Anvrai said, “I beg your leave to ride to Kettwyck. I would inform Lord Henri of his daughter’s well-being and request an escort to take her home.”
He was that anxious to leave her. He could not even wait until she was well enough to make the journey with him.
“Hold, Sir Anvrai,” said Roger. “As Lady Isabel’s betrothed…”
“Roger, you are not my—”
“Her Majesty has already given me her permission to go to Kettwyck, then to my own family estates. Lord Henri is not the only grieving father.”
“You might go together and leave Lady Isabel here, with us,” said the queen.
“No.” Both men spoke at once.
Isabel stood, hardly able to contain her anger. To be so dismissed by both men was intolerable. Neither one would choose to remain at Dunfermline with her. Not that she cared what Roger did. She would be happy to be rid of him. But Anvrai…“I beg your leave, Your Majesty. My thanks for the fine meal and the lively entertainment.”
She escaped the crowded room, expecting neither man to follow her. Although she took the stairs slowly, her leg ached nearly as much as her heart.
Roger was an idiot. The plan Anvrai and Symonne had concocted was in shambles, thanks to him. Riding south to England was the only legitimate reason for leaving Dunfermline, the only reason the queen would give him leave to go.
Anvrai had intended to ride away openly, ostensibly on his way to Kettwyck. When he was out of sight, he would turn north, toward Abernethy, where William’s fleet of ships was located. He could make quick work of his mission to William, then ride home to Belmere. No one at Dunfermline would know.
Not even Isabel.
“We’ll have to send Roger to King William,” Symonne said as she strolled outside beside Anvrai.
“No,” he replied. The boy would never be able to find his way to William’s army, then circle ’round Dunfermline and ride to Kettwyck. He glanced up at Isabel’s chamber window. ’Twas dark inside. He knew she’d been upset when she’d left the queen, and it had taken all his willpower to keep from going after her.
“You have little confidence in Roger’s abilities,” said Symonne.
He turned his gaze to the ground. ’Twas not his place to give comfort to Isabel, though every pore in his body ached to do so. “We were together under difficult circumstances,” he said to Symonne. “I know him well.”
“Somehow, we must get word to William that King Malcolm’s son travels with him.”
Anvrai nodded, turning his full attention to the matter at hand. Duncan—Malcolm’s son by his first consort—would be a valuable hostage. Knowledge of the boy’s presence, along with information of Malcolm’s army, would tip the advantage to William. Many lives might be saved, both Norman and Scottish, if they could avoid heavy battle.
“Mayhap we can think of a reason for you to be away from Dunfermline for a few days.”
“Symonne, either Roger or I need to stay with Isabel. Dunfermline is enemy territory, and Isabel is Queen Mathilda’s godchild—she would be a valuable counterhostage.”
“Take her with you.”
“No.”
Symonne raised a brow at his abrupt reply.
“’Tis too dangerous,” he said.
“It might be worse for her if she stays.”
Anvrai could not take her from Dunfermline’s walls, putting her in danger again. She was better off here, even if ’twas Roger looking after her. No one was likely to abduct her; nor would she fall victim to any stray arrows.
“I will return before I am missed.”
“I would not be so certain. Queen Margaret is quite astute. ’Tis not easy to fool her.”
’Twas all becoming too complicated, but more important, too dangerous for Isabel. Anvrai knew he could not keep Isabel safe. With war at hand, they were all in peril, and Anvrai had proved himself an unlikely hero.
Isabel’s eyes haunted him. She believed he’d discarded her callously, when that was far from the truth. He wanted her, every minute of every day. Yet he was haunted, too, by the loss of those he’d loved so many years before. Far better to lose Isabel now than risk losing his heart and soul in grief later.
“Mayhap Queen Margaret will reconsider sending Roger to Kettwyck,” he said. “If she knew of Roger’s—”
“She will not change her mind, Anvrai,” said Symonne. “The queen is resolute in her decisions.”
Anvrai disliked subterfuge. If ’twas up to him, he would ride openly to Abernethy or Stirling, wherever the king’s armies were located.
“I have a thought,” said Symonne, slipping her hand into the crook of Anvrai’s arm. “We will leave Dunfermline together. My husband has a fishing lodge on the beach not far from here. I will let it be known that we are going there for…an assignation.”
Leaving Isabel to think the worst. She would have no choice but to assume his interest in her was no different from what he felt for Symonne.
He disentangled himself from Symonne’s grasp and dragged his fingers through his hair. “There must be some other way—”
“Can you think of any other reason to disappear from Dunfermline?”
He thought. “I could feign illness and keep to my room.”
“What about the servants? And Desmond? The queen would surely command the old sorcerer to look at you. Margaret wants no vassals of King William to meet their demise at Dunfermline. With Malcolm away, Her Majesty is particularly cautious.”
They stopped at the house where Symonne lived.
“And if you disappear with me for days…What will your husband say?”
“Richard? He has little interest in me, but spends many an hour in a drunken stupor. ’Tis the story of my nights. But you, Sir Anvrai…” She stepped closer to him, until her chest met his, and looked up at him. He had only to lean down a few inches and their mouths would meet. “When you return from Abernethy, mayhap we could truly make use of the fishing lodge.”
Anvrai withdrew, uninterested in Symonne’s advances. “’Tis a tempting offer, my lady, but I…” After all he’d shared with Isabel, he would always know the hollowness of such a liaison. “You are wed.” He thought of Isabel’s reaction when she heard tales of him and Symonne and felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest.
He changed the subject. “Can you get me a token, something that belongs to Queen Margaret?”
“For what purpose?”
“I plan to go to Malcolm, too.” He was no mere errand boy.
Symonne arched her brow.
“Find me an article belonging to the queen. Something personal…mayhap her prayer beads…’Twould give me entrance to the Scots king.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll say I was sent to tell him of King William’s superior forces: his Norman ships in the Tay, his army closing in from Stirling.”
Symonne tipped her head and looked at him in a new light. “Aye. Malcolm would be a fool to engage his army against William’s might. And he is no fool.”
“If I do this,” Anvrai said, “you must promise to see to Isabel’s safety.”
“Aye. We’ll get her away from Dunfermline as soon as she is able to ride.”
“The young maid…” Anvrai said. “Isabel will not leave without Tillie and her child.”
“’Twill make it more complicated, but I will see to that, as well.”
They made plans to meet early the next morn, and Anvrai took his leave. He ret
urned to the tower and climbed the stairs, wishing he could explain all to Isabel, but that would only make things worse. ’Twas far better for her to think the worst of him, and break all connection with him.
Anvrai rode north. The gelding was sure-footed, following the bridle paths at a gallop. He had to trust that Symonne and her cousin would get Isabel safely away from Dunfermline before Queen Margaret learned of his mission and realized Isabel would make a useful counterhostage.
’Twas dark when he reached the king’s army, encamped just east of Stirling.
A number of field tents had been erected in a clearing, and a large canvas structure, one that looked more like a small building than a tent, stood in the center of a camp, guarded by sentries. Anvrai dismounted and led his horse toward the main tent.
“Halt!” called out one of the guards. Several men drew their swords, and Anvrai raised his hands, palms out, to show he wielded no weapon.
“Sir Anvrai!” shouted one who recognized him. “Lower your swords,” he said to the other guards.
The tent flap whipped open and Robert du Bec emerged. “Anvrai,” he said, extending his hand. “’Tis a surprise to see you here. You are far from Belmere.”
“You have no idea,” Anvrai replied. “I bring tidings for King William.”
“Come inside,” Robert said. “We will talk.”
The king sat at a table in the center of the tent, looking over his maps, but glanced up and met Robert and Anvrai with stern curiosity.
“I bring news from Dunfermline, Your Majesty.”
William was nearly as tall as Anvrai, but he carried more bulk upon his bones. His features were hardened by his iron will and his determination to secure England as his kingdom. It had not been a simple or easy quest.
He placed a weight upon the charts to keep them open and came to his feet to face Anvrai. “What news, Anvrai? Speak.”
“Malcolm’s son, Duncan, rides with him to Abernethy.”
William clasped his hands behind his back. While the king paced, Anvrai told him what he knew of Malcolm’s armies and where the Scottish king planned to position them. He took out the map Symonne had given him and described the terrain and what he knew of Malcolm’s strategy.
The king sent Robert to fetch two of his commanders, and when they returned, they studied the maps in their possession and engaged in a discussion of their tactics to win Malcolm’s submission.
“Where is your armor, Anvrai?” William asked at length. “I would have you command my northern flank.”
“Sire, I have no armor. I came to be at Dunfermline only through misadventure.” He gave William a brief summary of his plight, telling him of Isabel’s abduction and her presence in King Malcolm’s tower.
“You speak of the daughter of Henri Louvet?”
“Aye, Your Majesty. The plan is for Sir Ranulf de Montbray to take her away from Dunfermline before Margaret receives word of Malcolm’s defeat.”
King William rubbed a hand over his face. “’Twould not do for any further harm to come to Lady Isabel. My queen would take it amiss.”
As would Anvrai. But he resolved to be out of it. Once he left the king, he would be free to go to Belmere…back to his barracks and the men he commanded. Back to his stark and cheerless existence.
“Roger de Neuville will guarantee Isabel’s safety, will he not?”
“Roger has already ridden to Kettwyck.”
The king frowned. “With Queen Margaret’s leave?”
Anvrai nodded. “He planned to send a Norman escort back to Dunfermline to take Lady Isabel to Kettwyck, but Lady Isabel must be far from Dunfermline before then.”
“There is much you have not told me, Anvrai.”
“Sire, naught is pertinent to the day’s issues. I only hope Lady Isabel is capable of travel before the queen learns of my actions.”
He reached into a leather pouch at his belt and removed the etched-gold and jeweled brooch Symonne had obtained for him. “With your permission, sire, I will take this brooch of Queen Margaret’s and go to Malcolm—as if sent with a message from the queen.”
William took the brooch into his thick hands and turned it over in his palm. “You say this belongs to the Queen Margaret?”
“Aye, sire.”
He closed the jewelry into his fist and resumed pacing. “And when you gain entrance to Malcolm?”
“I plan to address him as though Queen Margaret sent me…I’ll give him a vast overestimation of your forces and beg him—on the queen’s behalf—to capitulate.”
William considered Anvrai’s proposal. “Aye. If he feels intimidated, he will be less likely to engage in battle. I would vastly prefer to negotiate peacefully with him at this juncture.” He handed the brooch back to Anvrai. “Your plan is sound. But make it believable, Anvrai. When you are finished, return to Dunfermline and collect Lady Isabel. Take her to Durham,” the king commanded. “I will treat with you there.”
“Durham, sire?” The king’s command lifted a weight from Anvrai’s shoulders when he realized he would not have to rely upon anyone else to get Isabel safely from Dunfermline. A few more days’ absence from Belmere would not be amiss.
“News of the attack upon Kettwyck greatly disturbs me. What of Henri Louvet? Did he survive?”
“I do not know, sire.”
King William resumed pacing. “Henri Louvet is not among our men here. If he perished in the attack…Lady Isabel and her sister will have become my wards.”
Then Isabel’s future would be decided by King William.
“Robert,” said the king, “dispatch two riders to Kettwyck. I wish to know the situation there and the condition of Henri Louvet. Have the men return to Durham and await me there. Anvrai, I will not risk sending Lady Isabel to Kettwyck if the estate is overrun by Scots.”
“Aye, Your Majesty.”
Robert bowed and left while King William scrutinized Anvrai openly. “Accomplish your mission to Malcolm and be forever known as the One-Eyed Norman who deceived the Scottish king.”
Anvrai shook his head. “’Tis not the kind of thing a monarch would wish to make known, is it, sire?”
William laughed, allowing this one short moment of levity. “I suppose not.” His expression became serious again, and he clasped Anvrai’s hand in dismissal. “God be with you, Anvrai. I will see you at Durham.”
Anvrai wasted no time but immediately headed toward Abernethy. He considered the maps he’d studied so carefully and concluded he could reach Malcolm well before dawn. He would sleep a few hours, then meet with Malcolm and be well on his way back to Dunfermline before nightfall.
Chapter 22
“Isabel, awaken.”
Startled from sleep, Isabel opened her eyes and saw Lady Symonne de Montbray’s face in the flickering light of a candle.
“What is it? What is amiss?” Had something happened to Anvrai? He’d been missing three days—
“Time to get you away from here.”
“’Tis still night,” Isabel said, suspicious of this lady who had taken Anvrai from her.
“Aye. There will soon be a diversion for the guards at the gate. We must hurry, or we’ll lose our opportunity to escape.”
Isabel slid her legs from the bed as Symonne started to gather her belongings into a sack.
“Quickly. Get dressed, and we’ll meet your maid and her bairn outside.”
“Tillie? Where will we—?”
“My cousin awaits with horses near the stable. I hope you can ride.”
“Aye.” Her leg was sore, but nearly healed. “But what of Anvrai? Where is he? Does he know—”
“He is in hiding at the Culdee Church. We will meet him there.”
’Twas all too much for Isabel to absorb. She wasn’t even sure she was awake, nor did she know if she could face Anvrai. ’Twas bad enough seeing Symonne, who treated Isabel as though all of Dunfermline was not awash in gossip about this Norman lady and her new, rugged lover. As though Anvrai’s betrayal had not caused her
more pain than any wound in her leg.
“You hesitate,” said Symonne.
“Is there any reason why I should trust you?”
The woman sighed and took Isabel’s hands. “Appearances are deceiving, Lady Isabel.”
“What do you mean?”
“’Twas necessary for me to absent myself while Sir Anvrai was gone. We were not together these past days.”
“I do not understand,” she said, with bile so thick in her throat she could barely speak. If Anvrai had sent his paramour to make excuses—
“Nor is this the time or place for explanations,” Symonne said. “We must make haste.”
“I care naught for explanations,” Isabel said, rubbing her knuckles against the ache in her chest. If he had not been with Symonne…Whatever Anvrai had done, he’d not seen fit to confide in her. He’d gone without leave, without accounting for his absence, allowing her to think the worst of him.
“He is not at fault,” Symonne said. “He acted in haste, as was necessary.”
“Sir Anvrai’s actions are of no concern to me,” Isabel said, even more confused and upset. He’d gone away with Symonne, yet the woman wanted her to believe they had not been together. Symonne must think her a fool.
Everyone at Dunfermline had known of Anvrai’s affair with Symonne at her husband’s fishing cottage. Isabel had been the last to learn of it, but she should have guessed. He’d wanted naught to do with her since their arrival at Dunfermline, and she’d seen him doting upon the lovely Symonne.
“We can clear up your misconceptions once we’re away. For now, you must trust me.” The urgency in Symonne’s voice convinced Isabel to go with her. They left the hall and met Sir Ranulf near a storage building. He helped Isabel to mount her horse, then did the same for Tillie, who carried Belle in a pouch of heavy wool that she wore as a sling across her chest.
Once mounted, they rode just inside the inner wall of the fortress and stopped on Ranulf’s signal. Suddenly, a number of galloping horses came into the courtyard, trampling the lawns and any small objects within. Confusion abounded. Men’s shouts followed, and as they tried to separate the stallions from the mares, Ranulf led their small party to the gate.
The Bride Hunt Page 20
