Sword for His Lady

by Mary Wine

  Ramon grinned and reached out to slap the man on the shoulder. His armor clanked as he did so.

  “Richard wants this land secure. I cannot leave it in this condition and keep my word to the king.” Ramon drew in a deep breath. “It will not be long before the Welsh hear Richard has departed with all his knights.”

  “And the lady?” Ambrose insisted. “What will she do to earn our men’s labor?”

  Ramon heard his man grumble, but his squire ran forward and took the helmet away from Ambrose. The distraction gave Ramon the opportunity to consider the lady in question. She was slender, which indicated Isabel did not take more for herself than she gave to others. Her honey blond hair, a color that suited her blue eyes, was braided in a long plait that hung down her back, but several locks had worked their way loose around her face to confirm she had not been sitting idle while her people toiled.

  Both were sound reasons to consider wedding her. He scanned the keep and storerooms, frowning at the way they stood wide open to attack. There weren’t even wooden walls to help fend off invaders by closing a gate. Only the keep and the outer buildings. Her father had clearly been a trusting fool, for the Welsh had a king who would happily take whatever he might while Richard was off on the Crusade. They were fortunate Richard was intent on crusading, or the Welsh would find themselves conquered in short order.

  Much like Isabel of Camoys. It had taken only a ride up to the steps of her keep to secure her. She had looked back at him, her eyes narrowing. Something stirred in him, tightening inside him as he contemplated the stance she’d taken up on the steps of her keep. She’d taken the high ground, and the look on her face told him she intended to try and hold it.

  He liked that trait. It spoke of courage.

  Heat stirred in his loins.

  A very unexpected reaction. She was no great beauty and wore no gown worthy of a poet’s quill. Yet there was fire in her gaze; in truth, he would have sworn he felt the heat radiating off those flames. No meekly lowered lashes for Isabel of Camoys. She fully intended to hold her ground.

  Yet she had no hope of evicting his men without his agreement. She was defeated, yet stubbornly standing in the doorway to bar the way.

  The facts should have put him in a better humor. But he found himself dissatisfied and on edge. The source of his discontent was simple to identify. Isabel of Camoys challenged him, and he found her a worthy opponent.

  His fatal weakness…

  * * *

  London

  Jacques Raeburn was irritated.

  It wasn’t the fact that his king wouldn’t grant him a private audience that agitated him. It was the smirks on the lips of the other men surrounding Richard the Lionhearted, because they knew what Richard was doing.

  Jacques took a drinking bowl from his squire and drew off a slow sip before handing it back.

  Patience.

  It would not be the first time he needed persistence to gain what he wanted. Jacques remained with the king, making sure his monarch noticed him watching, because there was one thing that Richard truly was at heart, and that was arrogant. Richard believed himself worthy of Divine approval and, therefore, the devotion of men. The truth was, he enjoyed power as much as the next man. Stroking his ego would win Jacques what he wanted in the end. Finally, Richard lifted his hand and waved him forward, past the other knights and nobles trying to gain the king’s attention.

  “I wish to speak of Isabel of Camoys, Sire.”

  “I did not expect you to be pleased by the elevation of Ramon de Segrave, but I will not placate you by giving you the same reward,” Richard informed him the moment they were closed behind thick oak doors.

  “You mistake the cause of my reason for seeking you out, Your Majesty.”

  Richard looked unsure. “Then tell me what put that frown on your face.”

  Jacques hooked his hands into his belt. “Isabel of Camoys was wed to my kin.”

  The king frowned. “I did not know such.”

  “Her late husband was a bastard son of my father’s, but blood nonetheless.” Jacques watched the king absorb the implications of his statement. “My father has charged me with wedding her and recovering the land she gained through her marriage. I seek your permission to do such.”

  Richard grunted. “You’ve explained your dark brooding, Raeburn, but I will not take back what I have given to Ramon.”

  “Did you order the lady to wed him?”

  The king took a long swallow from his drinking vessel before answering. “No, I did not. As a widow, she has the right to choose.”

  Jacques felt his mood lightening. “May I offer Ramon competition for the lady?”

  The king chuckled and sat back in his chair. “So long as it is fairly done and without bloodshed. I need Ramon to keep this country loyal while I am in the Holy Land.”

  “I would need to be on equal footing to make it an even match.”

  The king pressed his lips together. “An agreement could be reached.”

  There was a glint in the king’s eyes Jacques recognized too well. Richard was focused on his Crusade and England was a poor country. The king was determined to wring every piece of gold out of its inhabitants. If Jacques wanted to please his father, he’d have to buy his noble title from his king, since Richard knew he wanted it now.

  He resented that.

  Jacques felt anger burn through him for the slight Richard was dealing him. Ramon wasn’t the only one who had ridden beside his king for years, yet Richard denied Jacques the same reward.

  But did it truly matter? Jacques lowered himself in submission to his king, shifting his focus onto what mattered.

  A knight owed his allegiance to his blood kin. He’d please his father, as a son was bound to do by God’s command. Isabel of Camoys, by the will of fate, had land that belonged to his family.

  He vowed to gain it back.

  * * *

  “My lady, they are making camp.”

  Alyse ran into the keep with her eyes wide. She pointed toward the doorway behind her. “Wagons have come, an entire line that is still arriving, and they are putting up tents.”

  The other women gasped, several of them muttering prayers. But Isabel knew it was going to take more than heaven’s mercy to be rid of Ramon de Segrave. Men rarely changed their agendas to please a woman. But the tension in her shoulders was eased by the fact that the army in front of her keep would surely be a deterrent to any invaders eyeing her storerooms.

  Marriage to the baron was too heavy a price to keep the security his men might provide. Let him stay. The Welsh wouldn’t need to know his reason, only see that his army was present.

  There. She had found the blessing in the day at last. But she felt less than satisfied.

  “The baron claims he is planning to remain.” There was no hiding her irritation and Alyse drew her hands up in front of her mouth.

  Isabel pressed too hard on the herbs she was grinding and they scattered across the tabletop, some of them even rolling onto the floor. She made a soft sound beneath her breath that wasn’t very polite. The others stared at her and she felt guilt color her cheeks for her lack of discipline. Allowing her temper to ruin anything was unacceptable.

  She drew in a stiff breath. “He claims the king has recommended me to him for marriage.”

  Just saying the words enraged her further. With a huff, she left the table. That gained her more shocked looks from her maids, but she couldn’t seem to remain still. Her blood felt as though it were rushing through her body too quickly, and her heart was beating as though she had been running.

  Such was all she needed. A man who unsettled her.

  “You cannot refuse the king’s will, my lamb.”

  Isabel turned on Mildred so quickly her robes flared away from her ankles. “The man wants to wed me because the king gave him the land on our so
uthern border. He is only looking to increase the size of his holding and secure it with my keep,” she muttered with a wave of her hand. “He’ll soon tire of waiting on me to accept him. A baron will want a biddable wife.”

  “Maybe you should be the one getting tired of being alone. You’re young enough yet to have children of your own.”

  Isabel felt her eyes widen.

  Children.

  Fate had truly dealt her an unkind blow in making it so none of her husband’s efforts in their bed resulted in children. A babe would have made his callous touch far easier to bear.

  “Aye, young enough…still,” Mildred tempted her.

  “Shall I simply trust Ramon de Segrave’s word about what the king has said? It’s possible he is naught more than another rogue baron intent on pillaging us while the king is focused on his Crusade. I have only his word that he owns the estate south of us.” She would be wise to doubt the man. Many an heiress discovered herself wed to a man who wanted her property and had nothing of his own. “For all we know, his men have not been paid and he’ll be wanting my silver too.”

  “The baron has an army with him to enforce his will upon us.” Mildred reached out and stroked Isabel’s arm. “There is naught to do but bend to his demands. Better to bend than to be broken.”

  Isabel scoffed at the woman who had raised her. “I detest marriage.”

  Mildred made a low sound of warning. “Methinks you shall like being the man’s leman even less, and with his men here, there is no one to force him to wed you, should he decide to take anything he desires.” There was a note of harsh reality in Mildred’s tone.

  But experience had left a bitter taste in Isabel’s mouth. Loathe was too kind a word for how she felt about being beneath a man. “He shall not have my inheritance if he does not make me his wife.”

  Mildred laughed but it was not a cheerful sound. “He occupies Thistle Hill, and with the king leaving for the Crusade, no one shall be here to force him to relinquish it, except perhaps invaders from Wales. I believe we will fare no better under their rule.” Mildred’s expression turned solemn. “You are still young enough to conceive. He can breed a bastard on you and inherit through his child when he acknowledges it. You know it happens, just as I do. There is no king to run to for mercy, only the barons’ council.”

  “Which he sits on.” Her mouth went dry.

  Isabel discovered her attention drifting toward the doorway. The double doors were open, to let the fresh spring air into the keep. She moved forward and scanned the activity filling the yard. The baron’s men weren’t wasting time. Wagons pulled up and were immediately emptied. Large canvas pavilions were being raised, and she could see the blacksmith setting up a makeshift shop.

  All of it was done with an ease that spoke of numerous repetitions. She stared at the anvil the blacksmith was leveling on top of thick wooden blocks. Ramon de Segrave had come to stay, bringing everything his army needed to sustain it. A blacksmith was as essential as water to knights.

  She spotted the baron and felt a shiver go down her back. A page removed Ramon’s chest armor and he stood up, rotating his arms in large motions once he was free of the protective breast plate. He was a full head taller than most of his men, and his shoulders were packed with thick muscle.

  She contemplated him, debating the sensation swirling through her belly. Did she find him pleasing?

  “You cannot go your entire life dreading a man’s touch simply because your husband was a harsh man,” Mildred said.

  “He was a brutal man, Mildred, and speaking kindly of him only makes me distrust your words, for you knew it full well.” Mildred inhaled sharply. Isabel felt a stab of guilt for her harshness; life was difficult enough without bitter words. Still, she could not lie. “I am no longer a child who needs to be sheltered from life’s unpleasant realities. Ramon de Segrave is a man of war. I have no reason to be happy to wed him. Besides, shunning men works very well for nuns. And every married man who has left for the king’s Crusade has left a wife alone.”

  Mildred made a low sound of disapproval that drew Isabel’s gaze to her. “Forgive me, Mildred, I speak harshly today.” Or at least in a tone that wasn’t respectful. That was shameful and stoked her temper. She didn’t want any man to needle her so greatly that she forgot how to be kind to those she considered family.

  “Your husband was a harsh man, but I’ve warned you time and again not to let that make you bitter.” Mildred shook her head. “Some men are mean-hearted, but you have been blessed by his passing, so do not dwell on it.”

  “You speak wisely.” It was a polite, polished response. One that left her feeling hollow.

  Mildred grunted. “Don’t be thinking I am impressed by that meek response.”

  Isabel couldn’t resist the urge to smile. “Why? Because you were the one who taught me how to use such bland courtesies?”

  “Precisely.”

  Isabel’s smile grew larger. Mildred shook her head.

  “I warned your father that Bechard was a poor choice of groom for you and that you were too young for the marriage celebration. You fear the duties of a wife now, as I warned your father would happen.”

  Isabel pressed her lips back into a hard line. Even the memory of her husband was enough to sour her disposition. “As you said, let us not dwell on him. My father wanted the alliance and it was a good one.” She looked at Mildred. “That is not the reason I will refuse to wed Lord de Segrave.”

  “Then what is, Lady Isabel?” Ramon said.

  Isabel gasped and jerked her attention toward the baron. He was still ten paces from her and yet his expression told her he had heard her very clearly. “For I am most curious to discover the root of your discontent.”

  The gravel beneath his feet crunched with every step he took. He lifted one hand and pointed at Mildred. “Leave us.”

  There was solid authority in his voice, and Mildred lowered herself immediately and left. Isabel had to fight the urge to offer the man the same courtesy because such manners had been drilled into her since childhood.

  Indeed, her husband had enjoyed every meek and humble display she had offered him. Mean-hearted was not a harsh enough term for the man who had so often taken delight in humiliating her.

  Ramon de Segrave stopped in front of her, his gaze sharp and seeking the answer to his question. Isabel raised her chin. Honesty was something men valued. She would be direct.

  “I do not care for the marriage bed,” Isabel said.

  Her words shocked him. She saw it in his eyes. She watched the dark orbs, feeling the weight lift from her shoulders until something new flickered in the dark depths of his eyes.

  Something unmistakably sinful, yet strangely enticing.

  “Your husband’s failing. I promise to prove more attentive to your…desires.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut and felt her cheeks burn. “Stop your boasting.”

  No man had ever spoken so brazenly to her. She gave him a reprimanding glare but only received a soft smirk in response. Or was it a smirk? She peered more intently at his mouth, trying to decipher his expression.

  Why had she never noticed how soft a man’s lips seemed? Her own tingled with anticipation.

  Enough!

  “It would be best for you to take the feathers to the king and ask him for another bride. I am not a virgin.”

  “Neither am I.” There was a hint of arrogance in his tone.

  Her pride finally flared. “Obviously you are not, since you boast so brazenly about your skills in the bedchamber.” Her eyes widened when she realized what she was discussing so calmly, but Ramon de Segrave chuckled at her audacity. “Go and find your amusement elsewhere. I have no liking for your company.” She could never admit she found him enticing.

  He lifted a hand to silence her. “But we have spent so little time in each other’s com
pany. Your judgment is rash.”

  “It is sound.” She knew she was being impolite. She blushed at the thought, but if it sent the man away from the idea of wedding her, it was worth the guilt. Let him think her a shrew.

  He lifted one foot and set it on the bottom step.

  “What are you doing?”

  One of his dark eyebrows, and his entire body, rose as he climbed another step. Something new was flickering in his eyes. Hard, male determination.

  Her belly twisted.

  “I am entering the keep.” His tone made it clear he knew he was invading her home.

  “No.” She fought back her breathlessness. “You shall not.”

  She backed up, but forced herself to stop in the doorway.

  “Why not, my lady?”

  He climbed another step and she felt her knees quiver. It was an insane reaction, one that shocked her with its intensity.

  “You do not belong in the keep. This is my home.”

  He frowned but climbed another step to stand on even ground with her. Isabel lifted her chin trying to maintain eye contact.

  “I need to fully assess this structure, and I plan to begin doing it now. You may stand aside or I shall remove you from my path. The choice is yours. Yet lifting you might speed along our introduction, so perhaps it is best.”

  “I said nay.” She stamped her foot because she didn’t know what else to do. Her temper flared with a need to argue. She didn’t want him to think she was impressed by his size.

  She should have lowered herself and gracefully glided out of the doorway. It was the only response the code of chivalry afforded her, but she couldn’t force herself to do it. She didn’t feel in control of her emotions; they were scattering like autumn leaves. Her heart accelerated. He was pressing closer, watching her, gauging her reactions to him. She’d never felt so exposed. Never felt like any man took so much notice of her. He reached for her, his expression full of promise.

  “No one enters this keep without bathing.” She spat the words out in a rush and had to pull in a deep breath because her lungs burned. Relief flowed through her, for she had found a valid argument to use.