“They're beautiful children.” Isobel smiled at Robert, yet he thought he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I pray you and the Lady Joanna will be similarly blessed, my lord.”
Robert frowned. Fate was a cruel beast, indeed. “Do you wish to leave right away?” he asked, his tone sharpened by the direction of his thoughts.
Isobel blinked. “Is it inconvenient, my lord? I was concerned when I saw Elisabeth this morning and have thought of little else since. Perhaps, in hindsight, I'm taking advantage of your kindly nature.”
A wry smile lifted the corners of Robert's mouth. “Perhaps you are. How shameful.”
Isobel looked at him wide-eyed for a few seconds before her face relaxed into a smile. “You're teasing me.”
He chuckled. “Of course I am. It's not inconvenient at all. Besides, if I was unable to escort you, I'd ask one of my men to do so. As it is, I insist on doing it myself. ” He stepped closer and took her hands in his. “You're freezing, lass.”
A blush rose on Isobel's cheeks as Robert tucked her fingers between his palms and breathed warm air onto them.
“Better?” he asked, and she nodded. “Good. I'll have Lucas saddle the horses for us, then we can be on our way.”
“But, my lord, there's no need for horses. Angmar does not live far.”
“I know, but there's something else I want to show you and we'll need the horses to get there.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “We'll visit Angmar on the way back.”
At the sight of his master, Argyle tossed his big grey head, whinnied, and banged a hoof against the door. A grooming brush in his hand, Lucas stepped from behind the big horse. “My lord. My lady.”
Isobel nodded. “Good day, Lucas.”
“Saddle Argyle and the chestnut mare, lad,” Robert said. “Lady Isobel and I are taking an excursion.”
Lucas frowned. “With no escort, my lord? Is that wise? There might be mercenaries about. I've heard talk of raids to the north.”
“We're not going far. High Tarn and back is all. Saddle them.”
Chapter 7
“She's beautiful, my lord.” Isobel leaned forward and ran her hand down the mare's smooth neck.
“Aye, that she is.”
The inflection in Robert's response had Isobel twisting in the saddle to look at him. He raised an eyebrow and gave her a smile, wondering if she had any idea of the thoughts running through his mind. She smiled back and turned away, but not before he'd noticed the usual blush spreading over her face.
He chuckled quietly to himself at her discomfort. He realized she'd probably had little experience of flattery. In truth, she was not what most men would deem desirable. Yet Robert saw an indefinable beauty in Isobel, one that went deeper than her freckled skin and her unruly red hair. A unique and pure thing, Isobel's spirit had somehow reached in and touched his soul.
His smile faded as he looked to the future, for he knew she could never be his – at least not as his wife – and that truth wrenched at his heart. Perhaps he could seduce her, take her as a mistress. Most men, married or not, had mistresses. Tempting as it was, he pushed the thought aside. Isobel deserved better.
“What's her name?” Isobel's voice pulled Robert out of his reverie.
“Who?”
Isobel chuckled. “The mare. Does she have a name?”
“I don't believe so.”
“May I name her?”
“Certainly. Have you thought of one?”
“Not yet, my lord.” Isobel leaned forward to pat the horse's neck again. “But when I do, you'll the first to hear of it. Where are we going?”
Robert sighed. “Since we speak of names, I would ask something of you too.”
She looked at him. “Of course.”
“When we're alone as we are now, please call me Robert. Formal titles are not necessary.”
“Very well. If it pleases you.”
“It would please me very much.”
A twinkle came to her eye as she cocked her head at him. “Will you tell me where we're going, then, Robert?”
He laughed and gestured to the trail ahead of them. “Up there.”
Her eyes lifted to the hills. “All the way?”
“Aye. Does it daunt you?”
“Should it?”
Robert shook his head. “Not when you ride with me. I'll not let any harm come to you.”
“As I thought.” She eyed the slope. “It doesn't look too difficult. I'm tempted to race you to the top, but I fear my little mare would be no match for Argyle.”
Robert lifted a coil of leather from the pommel in front of him, leaned across, and attached it to the mare's bridle as a lead rein. “There'll be no racing,” he said, his voice firm. “You'll stay on the path behind me and keep the mare in Argyle's tracks at all times. The snow has buried the rocks on either side of the trail and I'll not have your horse stumbling and losing her fair rider. Do you understand?”
Her expression subdued, Isobel nodded. “Yes, I do.”
His gaze drifted to the soft lines of her mouth. “Good,” he said, wanting to lean in and taste her. Instead, he settled back in his saddle. “Then let's go.”
Surefooted and steady, Argyle led the way, the little mare following without mishap. With the focus on a safe ascent, conversation was light, although occasionally Robert looked back at Isobel with a reassuring smile. After climbing for a good while, the trail opened out onto a snow-covered plateau, where a small tarn nestled beneath the rugged peaks. Robert pulled Argyle to a halt, dismounted, and turned to Isobel. He helped her to the ground, his hands staying on her waist as he studied her, anticipating her reaction. This tiny part of England was his favourite place under Heaven. Isobel's opinion of it was, for some unfathomable reason, important to him.
“Look around,” he said, “and give me your thoughts.”
She stepped away from him, her eyes widening as they explored the vista. Far below in the valley lay Glendennan, cradled in a glistening white blanket. The stream snaked around it, shining like a black serpent against the snow. Not a cloud hung in the sky, nor did a breath of wind stir. The majesty of the fells surrounded them, each one cloaked in a brilliant shroud of snow drenched in winter sunshine.
He smiled at the expression of growing wonder on her face.
“I swear I've never seen anything quite so beautiful, my lord.”
“Robert. My name is Robert.” And I'm in love with you. God help me. “There's something else I want to show you.” He eyed the ground and, without warning, swept Isobel into his arms.
She let out a squeal and wriggled against him. “There's no need to carry me, Robert. I can walk.”
Robert laughed. “The snow is deep, and I don't want you to stumble.” Besides, she felt good nestled against him.
He carried her to the edge of the tarn and set her down. Like black glass, the water mirrored the surrounding hills to perfection. At the edge of the plateau, the lake fed into a waterfall that disappeared from sight.
“This is High Tarn.” Robert gestured to the small dark lake. “It's the source of Glendennan's water and of the stream that runs through the valley. The falls are called Glendennan's Tumble. I used to come up here every summer as a child to play and swim. The water is always cold, even on the warmest of days.”
Isobel shook her head as she gazed across the valley. “It's truly magnificent. A sight for God's eyes and mine.”
Her words washed over him like a wave, for had he not said the same thing at the sight of his beloved home? Overcome by a sudden need, he turned her to face him. “I can't help it. I must do this.”
He drew her close, burying his fingers in her hair as he bent and covered her mouth with his. For a moment she tensed, and then relaxed against him with a small whimper. His lips caressed hers, gentle at first, as if seeking permission. When his tongue touched the seam of her mouth she yielded, parting her lips to allow him entry.
His groin tightened.
Lost in a bitte
r-sweet tangle of feelings, Robert invaded Isobel's mouth with abandon, crushing her to him as if to absorb every part of her. The world around him disappeared. At that moment there was only her – only Isobel. Nothing else mattered. He wanted to kiss every part of her. He longed to be inside her. He groaned as his hand sought her breast, his thumb circling the small, hard nub beneath her robe.
“Nay!” Isobel tore her mouth from his and pushed her hands against his chest. “Stop it, please. I won't let you do this.”
Feverish with desire, Robert held her in place, his need thrust hard against her belly. “But I want you. Christ knows, I want you. Can you not feel it?”
“You said you would not force me.” Her voice wavered. “I know I'm beholden to you for my life and my home, but I can't let you use me this way. I might be poor and lacking in beauty, but I do have feelings. In truth, I find I have come to...to care for you of late, which makes this situation more unbearable. Have mercy, I beg you. Do not treat me so casually.”
A sob escaped her as she dropped her face into her hands. Stunned by her words – by what she thought of his advances – Robert's mind faltered. He struggled to voice a denial to her claims, yet a small whisper reminded him that he was soon to be married. How else, then, could his want of Isobel be construed as anything other than meaningless seduction? She had, he realized, good reason to believe as she did.
“Isobel, look at me.” He tried to tug her hands from her face and met resistance. “Nay, don't fight me. I want you to look at me as I speak to you.”
Anguish alight in her eyes, she challenged his gaze. “I have no wish to hear what you have to say, my lord. I just want to go ho...back to Glendennan.”
He sighed. “We'll go home as soon as you've heard me.”
Her chin lifted a notch. “Then say what you must. Speak your lies and offer up your denials. I'll listen, but I'll not take heed.”
Robert shook his head. “Lies? Nay, lady. As God is my witness, I'll not speak any lies. First of all, you're not beholden to me for anything. I thought I'd already made that clear, but in case you misunderstood, I shall say it again.” His hands cupped her face. “My home, my protection, and now my heart is given to you freely. Nor do I see you as poor, since I find you rich with life and love. You are beautiful to me, Isobel, beautiful in every way. I fear I am lost to you, heart and soul.”
From somewhere high above came the piercing cry of an eagle, its haunting call echoing across the frozen hills. The wind seemed to whistle a mournful reply as it freed a curl from Isobel's braids and blew it across her face – a face still full of doubt.
Robert stroked the errant curl away. “Don't you understand, Angel? I love you. I realized it the moment I saw you this morning, standing in the sun with your hair so full of light and that silly snowball in your hand.”
She trembled against him, her eyes searching his, her cheeks pale. “Oh, nay,” she said at last, her voice little more than a whisper. “You can't possibly love me, my lord. You hardly know me.”
Admitting his love for her felt like the warmth of spring sunshine on his skin. He smiled at his sweet insanity. “Aye, I can, my lady. And I do.”
“But...why?”
“Why?” He pulled her close. “I have no definitive answer, Isobel. When I'm with you I want for nothing else. I need nothing more. You're such a tiny thing, yet you fill the space around me with your presence. I've never felt this way before. Never. There's something magical about you that I cannot quite define. I love you. That is all I know.”
If, while in the midst of battle, he'd cast off his armour, laid down his sword and set aside his shield, Robert Montgomery would not have felt as vulnerable as he did at that moment. His soul lay exposed, as bare as the surrounding hills. He watched Isobel's face, wondering at her thoughts. She trembled still, her shaky breaths clouding in the cold air. After a few moments, she dropped her head against his chest and heaved a great sigh. He kissed her hair, allowing his lips to linger as he waited for her to speak..
“What are we to do?” she asked, at last.
“I don't know. I wish I did. What I feel is beyond reason.” He lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. “Tell me what you're thinking.”
Isobel shook her head. “That there is no clear path ahead. Nothing can come of this, for you are promised to another.”
“Yet I can't stay away from you.”
“You must.”
“I can't. Don't ask it of me, lass. I'd find it easier to stop breathing.”
“Then I shall stay away from you.”
Robert let out a soft laugh. “I'd find you. I can't resist you. In fact...”
He sought her mouth again, his tongue teasing her lips open. His arousal ached for release as she pressed against him, and a moment later he pulled away.
“Christ. No more, or I swear I shall take you right here with the snow at your back.”
With ease, he lifted her into his arms and strode through the snow to where Argyle stood. There, he settled her onto the stallion's back and swung up behind her, grabbing the reins of both horses.
“Robert.” Isobel shivered. “I'm quite able to ride.”
He wrapped his cloak around her, and pulled her close. “The snow is melting and the trail might be slippery. You're safer riding with me.” He nuzzled her hair. “Besides, I like the feel of your body next to mine.”
The colour rose in her cheeks and Robert chuckled softly in her ear. “How I love making you blush, my lady.”
“You're wicked beyond words,” she said, smiling. “Don't forget, we have to visit with Angmar before we return.”
“I haven't forgotten.” His mouth twitched at her obvious change of subject. “Perhaps she can give me something to cool my desire for you, although I doubt such a thing exists.”
Isobel laughed. “I'll be sure to ask her.”
He moved her hair aside to kiss her neck. “I think not, my angel. I like the way you make me feel. I intend to discuss it with you at length later.”
“There is much for us to discuss, Robert. You are betrothed to another.”
He sighed. “I have not forgotten that either.”
The truth circled around them like a vulture.
By the time Argyle set his hooves on the valley floor the sun had passed its apex and Glendennan's grey walls cast long shadows over the village. The melting snow dripped like rain off thatched roofs, playing a chaotic tune as it hit the ground. The horses' hooves splashed through the mess, kicking up splatters of cold mud.
Robert reined in outside Angmar's cottage and looked down at the slushy ground in some dismay.
“Cinnamon,” Isobel said.
Robert frowned. “What?”
“The mare. I shall call her Cinnamon. It's the colour of her coat.”
“It's the colour of your hair.” He fingered the rich red locks that tumbled over her shoulders. “Cinnamon. I like it.”
Isobel smiled and glanced over at the cottage door. “If you wish, you can leave me here. I can make my own way back.”
“Nay, my sweet, and it's not up for argument.” He continued to scrutinize the muddy ground that surrounded them. “Wait here.”
He dismounted, striding with ease over a large muddy puddle, only to come face to face with a waterfall of melting snow from the thatched roof. Unable to avoid it, he ducked under the cascade and rapped on the weather-worn door.
It swung open immediately, releasing a strong pungent odour from within. Robert resisted the urge to step back, and found himself trapped between odour and waterfall. A voice, diluted with the passing of the years, drifted out of the shadows.
“Do my old eyes deceive me? Or is that truly little Master Robert that stands upon my doorstep? He's returned home safe from the French battlefields?”
Angmar appeared on the threshold, a gnarled hand shielding milky blue eyes that squinted up at him from a face lined with age. A silver braid draped over one shoulder, swinging to her waist. A bright blue scarf had been woun
d around her head to match the simple linen dress that did little to flatter her thin frame.
Robert ignored Angmar's informal address. The woman had, after all, pulled him from his mother's womb. She was much a part of Glendennan as the stones themselves.
“Your eyes don't lie, Angmar. Aye, I'm returned home safe, as you knew I would be, no doubt.”
Angmar grunted and peered past him, her faded eyes softening at the sight of Isobel perched upon Argyle's back. “Praise be,” she said. “You've rescued this wee angel from your steward's evil grip. This is a good thing. Come in, then, and tell me of your needs.”
He ducked back under the drips and Isobel slid into his outstretched arms, laughing at the splash of icy water on their heads as they crossed the threshold.
Robert set her down, standing by in silence as the two women greeted and hugged. Curious, he glanced about. It had been many years since he'd last set foot inside the good witch's cottage.
Bunches of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, threatening to brush the top of his head. A peat fire glowed red in the corner, the smoke from it bringing tears to his eyes. Aware of a sudden silence, he turned to find Angmar's gaze upon him.
“I understand you're to be married, my lord,” she said. “God willing, Glendennan will soon echo with the voices of your bairns. I hope I live long enough to hear them.”
Robert exchanged glances with Isobel. “I'm sure you will, Angmar.”
“And what of this little lass, my lord?” Angmar glanced at Isobel. “What will become of her? Will she remain at Glendennan after your marriage?”
Robert frowned. “Glendennan is her home. Why would she not remain here?”
She shrugged. “I simply ask the question to soothe my concern. It pained me to see her recent suffering. I would see no more of it.”
“There will be no more of it,” he said, discomforted by the brief shadow he thought he'd seen in Angmar's eyes. Perhaps he'd imagined it.
“Good,” she muttered. “Good. So, what brings you to my home? Does someone sicken?”
“We seek a tonic for Lady Elisabeth,” said Isobel. “She is yet weak from the birth of her son.”
Beyond Reason Page 5
