Song of Isabel

by Ida Curtis

  Ingram rode down the long line from time to time, checking on everyone. He treated Isabel no differently from anyone else, but there seemed to be a kindness in his expression when he nodded at her. She thought he must know about the “arrangement.”

  Jerome, her attentive companion of the first day, was nowhere in sight. It occurred to her that Chetwynd might have ordered him to stay away from her. She missed his cheery company.

  As the scenery changed drastically, Isabel was distracted from her stormy thoughts. The caravan had reached the Rhone River, and it was soothing to travel along the wide, steady flow of water. When they came to some rapids, the roar drowned out the sound of the horses. The sun flickered through the trees, reflecting off the water.

  It was an enchanting ride, and Isabel thought of the early caravans that had traveled the same route. The Romans, when their empire was first expanding, used this river to transport goods to the north. She wondered if they had been as captivated by the beauty of the river as she was.

  Isabel searched the landscape for any evidence of the period when the Romans inhabited the area. Father Ivo had told her they’d built roads, bridges, and even dwellings that lasted to the present day. When she saw a limestone fortress perched on a hill in the distance, she could hardly contain her excitement. Isabel looked around, wanting to share her discovery. She caught Ingram’s eye as he rode near.

  Isabel pointed to the fortress. “Ingram, look there. Is that an ancient building?”

  “It is, my lady. Are you interested in Roman architecture?”

  “Oh yes. Our parish priest knew a great deal about Roman buildings. I have been hoping to see such a sight.”

  “We are due for a rest. I’ll ask Lord Chetwynd if we can explore the fortress.”

  Ingram rode away before Isabel could discourage the idea. She wanted very much to see the fortress, but she didn’t want to ask anything of Lord Chetwynd. He already thought her a spoiled child, and she feared he would not look kindly upon such a request.

  When the caravan came to a halt, Isabel was surprised to see both Jerome and Ingram walking toward her. Ingram helped her dismount before speaking. “Ancient buildings are sometimes used by wandering bandits who prey on travelers, my lady. Jerome and I will accompany you up the hill. But if we see any signs of inhabitants, we must return to the caravan immediately.”

  Isabel thought she could detect Chetwynd’s voice giving these orders. Nodding her consent, she exchanged grins with Jerome, who seemed to share her enthusiasm for the adventure. He took the lead, scrambling up the steep path that led to the old building. The ground was dry, and the rocks rolled under her feet as Isabel struggled to ignore her sore muscles and keep up with Jerome.

  On the steepest section, Isabel’s long gown repeatedly became tangled under her feet, and she had trouble maintaining her balance. When she started to slip backwards, Jerome was quick to reach her side. Although he was no taller than she was, he supported her easily.

  “You need a stick, my lady. Stay still.”

  Within a minute he had found a branch that was a suitable size. “Lean on it with one hand; hold your gown with the other,” the squire instructed.

  As Jerome became aware of how bold his words must sound, his boyish face flushed red. But Isabel smiled her appreciation, and his embarrassment was quickly forgotten.

  Ingram had caught up to them and watched the exchange. “Jerome, why don’t you find me a stick?” When Jerome reluctantly left Isabel’s side to search for another walking stick, Ingram turned to Isabel. “I think you have an admirer, my lady.”

  Isabel knew it was true, and it gave her comfort. “I knew squires were young, Ingram, but it’s still hard for me to imagine them serving on the battlefield. Jerome can’t be more than twelve years old.”

  “Just turned twelve, my lady, but he has been training since he was ten. He’s a good lad, if a little overzealous from time to time. Lord Chetwynd is careful to keep him at a safe distance during a battle. Jerome is devoted to his master.”

  As Ingram spoke, Isabel noticed that his eyes were scanning the area. It was clear he was alert to his responsibility for her safety. Lord Chetwynd had two fine men devoted to serving him. She was impressed that her husband could inspire such loyalty.

  When they reached the ancient fortress, Isabel saw that the limestone structure was still sturdy. Ingram signaled her to wait and went ahead through the large, curved entrance. Then he called, “Come ahead, my lady.”

  The door was missing, and Isabel peeked into the roomy interior that was empty of furnishings. The building had two stories, and there were stairs at the back. Ingram inspected the signs of a campfire in the middle of the room. He poked the ashes to assure himself that they were not recent.

  Although there was rubble all around, Isabel imagined what it must have been like when it was first built. The ceilings were high, and she pictured the walls covered with tapestries. From the small windows, there was an excellent view of the valley below, which afforded an opportunity to keep watch over the only approach. It certainly would have been a useful defense against enemy barbarians.

  As Isabel sat resting on the stone stairs, conjuring up past residents, Ingram came to join her. “It’s a sturdy structure. Why do you suppose it isn’t being used?” she asked.

  “It’s a little out of the way. Too isolated to be a safe dwelling.” He glanced about as he spoke. “I imagine Roman soldiers were stationed here to act as guards along the trade route. Perhaps a few families lived here as well.”

  While they were talking, neither Isabel nor Ingram noticed that Jerome had disappeared. Ingram seemed surprised when the young squire suddenly burst into the room. “There are men approaching from the back. Strangers.”

  Jerome had spoken quickly, but Ingram was on his feet and grasping Isabel’s arm before the lad had finished his words. Forgetting her aching muscles, Isabel worked hard not to stumble as she kept pace with Ingram. She knew that strangers on the road could mean trouble. Neither of her companions spoke again, and even as they hurried down the hill, they were careful to be as quiet as possible.

  Ingram didn’t release his hold on Isabel’s arm until they reached the caravan. “You did well, my lady. It was probably nothing to be concerned about, but it’s always best to be careful. Bandits are unlikely to attack a caravan of soldiers, but they prey on travelers who separate from the group.”

  Isabel’s heart was still pounding from the rush downhill, and she couldn’t speak. She nodded her head, not doubting for a minute that the caution was necessary. She remembered the day eight years ago when she hadn’t run away when she should have. The result would have been disastrous if Chetwynd hadn’t come to her rescue.

  Among the other travelers, there was mild curiosity at the speed with which the trio had returned to the caravan, but the incident was not considered extraordinary, and it was soon forgotten. Only Isabel seemed affected. She looked around her with renewed appreciation for the danger that might be lurking in the beautiful countryside.

  That evening the travelers set up camp on the banks of the Rhone River. Fortunately, the weather was mild for Isabel’s first night under the stars, and everyone seemed in good humor as they set about their tasks. The men tended the horses while the women built a fire to cook the evening meal. Marianna was already on easy terms with the other women. When Isabel made it clear she intended to do her part, the women accepted her offer of help in preparing the meal.

  From the time Isabel was seven years old, her grandmother had insisted on giving her instructions in various household skills. Now she wished she had paid more attention. But she had preferred wandering about with Justin or Emma, and her skills were such that when her grandmother was not around, the women in the manor kitchen were happy to let her escape her duties. As she cut up the vegetables for the stew, she nicked her finger with the sharp knife. Marianna noticed and suggested she stir the stew, explaining that it was important that the bottom not burn on the hot flame.


  Lord Chetwynd and Ingram had disappeared soon after the caravan stopped for the night. Isabel understood from what the women said that they were scouting the area, and she wondered if they were looking for signs of the men Jerome had seen earlier. They didn’t return to camp until the evening meal was already being served. Isabel was surprised when Chetwynd carried his bowl to sit on a log beside her.

  Eager to ease the tension that had begun their day, Isabel said, “Thank you for allowing me to explore the fortress with Ingram and Jerome, my lord.”

  “I’m sorry your excursion was interrupted. We found no sign that anyone is following us,” he assured her. “But we all need to be cautious.”

  Chetwynd had spent the day feeling guilty for losing his control the night before and his temper in the morning. Isabel had both tempted and provoked him. The frustration of the physical attraction he felt and could not act upon had caused him to lose sleep. Even after leaving her bed, he had lain awake a long time, listening to Ingram and his wife snoring.

  If Ingram was correct, Isabel now believed he left her bed for that of another. In fact, there was no chance he could be tempted by another woman after caressing Isabel’s soft, shapely limbs and tasting her delicious mouth.

  When he returned to camp and saw Isabel sitting by the fire, she looked like she’d been sitting on logs all her life. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him, since he knew she could sleep on the ground and swim like a water nymph. Perhaps he expected her to behave as the women at court did, expecting people to wait upon them and doing little for themselves.

  Isabel stole a glance at the silent man at her side and caught him grinning to himself. “Your humor seems much improved, my lord,” she couldn’t help remarking.

  Aware they were being watched by others around the fire, Chetwynd stood up and offered Isabel his hand. “Let’s go for a walk, my lady.”

  Isabel nodded agreement. Because her muscles were still tender, she came slowly to her feet. Chetwynd moved his hand to her arm to give her support and led her away from camp. The ground was uneven and she bumped against him, then quickly found her footing without making a complaint.

  “I notice you’re walking a little stiffly today, Isabel,” Chetwynd said with a trace of amusement in his tone. He remembered that she had boasted that she would have no trouble keeping up with the caravan. “Did riding astride help at all?”

  Surprised that he noticed, she answered brusquely, “I’m fine.”

  Chetwynd didn’t reply, but he recalled the remarks Ingram had made about Isabel as they were scouting the area. His usually reticent comrade had a lot to say. When he related the incident at the fortress, he praised the quickness with which Lady Isabel followed his lead. He also commented on her ability to ride and withstand hardship, as he too had noticed the stiffness in her movements. He even spoke of her appreciation of her surroundings and her sense of adventure. All this from a man who by his facial expression, rather than his words, had made it clear he disapproved of the match when it was announced.

  It was dark once they were away from the campfire. When they stopped at the edge of the river, Isabel had the fleeting thought that it was the perfect place to bring someone you planned to toss into the water.

  “I hope you didn’t bring me here to drown me, my lord.”

  His sudden burst of laughter startled Isabel. “You have an active imagination, my lady. It’s no wonder you and Jerome get along so well.”

  Thinking about how seldom people surprised him, Chetwynd leaned his shoulder against a tree before adding, “No, I have no intention of drowning you. Although you’re fortunate we weren’t on the edge of the river this morning.”

  It was Isabel’s turn to smile. “Yes, that was fortunate.”

  “Come to think of it, drowning is not a method I would consider. I remember all too well how skillfully you move in the water.”

  Isabel bit her lip at his reference to the first time he had seen her and pretended to be interested in the weeds that grew along the bank. She knelt down to pick a few of the white flowers that she could see in the dark.

  Chetwynd stared at the top of her head. “I’m sorry about this morning. I should have handled things better. The only excuse I have is that I did not have a restful night.”

  Isabel stood up to face him. “You need not be concerned about tonight, my lord. Marianna has set my bedroll in a tent with her and the other women. You can sleep where you wish tonight.”

  Her tone was haughty, and he suspected she was thinking of seeing him with another woman. “Thank you for seeing to the sleeping arrangement,” he said.

  Isabel did not want to talk about sleeping arrangements. The subject brought back unnerving memories of the few hours they had shared a bed. That he left to satisfy his desire with another woman still hurt. According to their agreement, he had every right to do as he pleased, but that didn’t make her feel any better about it. She sought to return to a less painful subject.

  “Traveling through this area reminds me of the tales Father Ivo told me about the Greeks and Romans. Jerome says there are other sights to see along the way. I look forward to seeing more evidence of the building talents of the ancients.”

  As she spoke, all Chetwynd could think about was his desire to reach out, pull her against him, and seek to discover if her mouth was as intoxicating as he remembered.

  Ignoring the impulse, he said, “There is an aqueduct ahead you might find interesting. The Romans built it to carry water from the river to one of their settlements. It’s an impressive structure and is often mentioned by people who write about the period.”

  “I think I know the one you mean. Father Ivo showed me some drawings he made of an aqueduct. I understand the Romans built baths. Will there be a Roman bath on our route?”

  Engrossed in the topic, Isabel unconsciously hugged herself. Away from the comfort of the fire, the cool air from the river started her shivering.

  “You’re cold.” Chetwynd was glad for an excuse to wrap his arms around her and rub her back with his hands. Pretending he was doing nothing unusual, he rested his chin on her head and answered her question.

  “There are a few Roman baths along the way. An especially grand one is located near Aachen. According to legend, Charlemagne was fond of taking the waters there. I think there may also be a bath near Mainz, which is on our route. I will ask Ingram. He shares your enthusiasm for Roman architecture.”

  “It would be wonderful to see a bath, my lord.” Isabel was speaking into the shoulder of his doublet, as she struggled to resist the urge to wrap her arms around his waist. “I’m also enjoying the countryside. It’s more beautiful than I had imagined.”

  “Are you feeling warmer?” Chetwynd whispered in her ear.

  His breath tickled her, and Isabel almost gasped her pleasure. Instead she pulled herself out of his arms. “Yes, thank you.” She realized how hoarse her voice sounded and grimaced.

  Chetwynd resented the separation and cursed himself for asking the question. He leaned forward and brushed her lips with his own.

  Isabel turned away, afraid he might be able to tell how much she wanted to be back in his arms. She didn’t think she could bear a repeat of the previous night. “I’m very tired, my lord.”

  Chetwynd was tempted to toss caution to the wind and have one deep, satisfying kiss. But he suspected one kiss would not be enough. There were too many obstacles in the way of doing more. He still hadn’t explained about Lady Pacilla and the complications facing them once they reached the king’s palace. He had no desire to open that topic.

  “Of course. It’s been a long day,” he said.

  Chetwynd led the way back to camp, going slowly so Isabel wouldn’t stumble. He was careful not to touch her again until they were about to part. Only then did he dare put his hand to her face for a brief caress.

  When Isabel closed her eyes at his touch, he leaned forward and whispered, “I should sleep better tonight. I spent last night on the floor be
side Ingram and his wife. They both snore.”

  Isabel’s eyes and mouth flew open. Chetwynd grinned and said, “Sleep well.” He moved away quickly.

  As Isabel settled into her bedroll, she thought about Chetwynd’s last words to her. He seemed to be telling her that he had not left her bed for that of another. She wondered if he was telling the truth. He had no reason to lie, and the surprising fact was that he even bothered to explain himself.

  Chetwynd might be in love with someone else, but he also had feelings for her, she was sure of it. She remembered Marianna’s words about how she looked at Chetwynd, and she suspected it was similar to the longing she saw in his eyes.

  Stretching her limbs, Isabel remembered how she had lain beside Chetwynd the night before. She missed him. But if she was correct and Chetwynd did desire her, there was a chance that he would one day again find his way to her bed.

  “My lady,” Marianna whispered from behind her.

  Isabel willed herself to be silent and pretend to be asleep. She was not ready to confide her feelings to anyone, and even if she had wanted to, there were others nearby. The women did not need more to gossip about. She was sure there would be speculation about the fact that she wasn’t sleeping with her husband.

  But Marianna was not to be put off. “I know you’re not asleep, my lady. I learned something today I think I should tell you.”

  Isabel still did not answer, and Marianna continued. “Don’t worry about the other women. They’re fast asleep.”

  The snores and deep breathing around the tent confirmed her words. Isabel gave in to her curiosity and turned to face her companion. “I’m listening, Marianna. What did you learn?”

  “Well, it’s something I think you should know,” Marianna repeated, hesitating now that she had Isabel’s attention.

  Isabel could just make out Marianna’s face in the firelight that came through the opening in the tent. She could see her anxious expression and knew she was stalling.

  “You have my attention now. What is it, Marianna?”