Betrothed

by Lori Snow

  “She is of no use to you now either. Remember that.” Simon spread is lips to reveal his yellow teeth. His eyes glazed.

  “You took everything by your very existence. From the moment your slut of a mother spread her legs for the old earl, you took everything that by all that is right should have been mine; would have been mine. I should have ruled from the castle! Instead I bed down in this cave. I should have been Earl of Bennington.”

  What was in this mad man’s mind? Why should he be the earl?

  Suddenly, Simon gathered his rage and raced across the tufts of grass. He pounced with the dagger aimed at Donovan’s heart. “Mine!” he screamed as a battle-cry. “Your life should be mine!”

  Even momentarily distracted, Donovan, always battle ready, instinctively stepped forward. His raised sword arm met the on-coming madman, the blade sliding under Simon’s ribcage and into his heart. The onslaught was over in a second. One moment Simon was wild in his hopeless attack, the next he sank to his knees with a groan.

  And it happened too quickly for Donovan. Simon d’Olivet should suffer endless agonies for what he had done to Isabeau.

  The dying man stared at Donovan’s hand still gripping the sword’s hilt. He dropped his dagger to clutch at the steel protruding from his chest. He looked up into Donovan’s eyes and grimaced.

  “I expected it to be quicker. Still, quicker than Kirney.”

  The grimace turned to hatred. “All – your fault... Remember – that -- when you go -- to a -- lonely bed...”

  Simon slid to his side.

  “All… Your… Fault...” His last words came out in a bloody gurgle.

  Donovan braced his boot against Simon’s torso and pulled his blade from the dead man. Automatically, he cleaned the gore from his weapon on the thin grass growing in the clearing. With his blade lifted, he made his way towards the mouth of the cave.

  He had to find Isabeau. He had to hold her in his arms one last time. Give her one final kiss as he confessed his feelings—his love for her.

  Only the angled sun shining over Donovan’s shoulder lit the interior of the dark cave. His vision took a moment to adjust to the lack of light. He slowly became aware of the room. He took in all the details. What he did not see was Isabeau.

  “Isabeau?” Her name echoed eerily back to him, mocking him.

  He noticed a bit of green propped against a fire-stone. Even before he scooped it up he recognized Isabeau’s slipper, matching the other she had lost. Scuffed and carelessly discarded, the scrap of leather and cloth gave testament to Isabeau’s presence here at one time. It had not been here when he and Jaffey emerged from the tunnel.

  Where is she? Does she still live?? Hope and pain warred within him.

  Calling out her name, Donovan put his hand against the cave wall and paced the perimeter just to make sure the shadows hid no fissures.

  Nothing.

  Just the single room.

  He emerged from the cave and blinked against the blinding sunlight. Never had he felt so helpless. He stomped over to the prone body of Isabeau’s tormentor. With impotent rage, Donovan let out a roar and kicked Simon with the point of his boot.

  “Where is she, damn you? Where is Isabeau?”

  A snuffle from the bushes reminded Donovan of the dog – restless now from witnessing the violence. “Jaffey! A moi!”

  The black beast bounded from the brush and raced to Donovan’s side. Jaffey might not be the most experienced tracker in the pack but he had formed a strong bond with Isabeau. Donovan bent down, holding out the slipper. “Find Isabeau, Jaffey. A Lady Isabeau. Find Isabeau.”

  At the same time, Donovan made the hand motion, which released the silent hunt command. If Isabeau could hear the dog…

  Lifting his muzzle to the sky, Jaffey gave two sharps barks -- as if to say ‘about time.’ The dog began to sniff the clearing in widening circles. Then he raced off into the thicket, this time following a still different animal trail leading in the opposite direction from the main footpath. Donovan pushed a bramble bush aside and gave chase. He carried hope for her survival in his heart.

  What if Simon had an accomplice? Had the bastard had already passed Isabeau off to another’s captivity? Kirney, he’d said.

  A voice inside taunted him. Had he just signed Isabeau’s death warrant by loosing the hound? If she were with Kirney, what would happen? He had always known Kirney to be ambitious, unprincipled, covetous -- ruthless in gaining his ends. His sexual proclivities had been a surprise.

  Syllba had been Kirney’s ward, he remembered. Was Kirney like a giant spider spreading an ever expanding web? Perhaps Kirney needed Simon for more than his pleasure with Isabeau. Perhaps Simon was only a tool… But why?

  Donovan almost stopped at a sudden revelation. Without a child, Kirney was heir to Bennington! And Isabeau thought she carried a babe... Did Isabeau know this?

  A hopeful voice piped up. Isabeau was an intelligent woman—courageous to a dangerous fault. If she heard Jaffey, she would know help was near. Somehow she would aid her own escape. Had she not worked to slow Simon’s way? Had she not left a trail easy to follow?

  The path grew more crooked -- even more narrow -- as it snaked along the contour of the hill. Kirney must have been waiting nearby for his prize. If Simon had handed his sister over to Kirney, would he have come this way? There was evidence someone had recently passed this way – and not carefully.

  Donovan raced after the baying dog. Branches grabbed and snapped at his sides. He traveled with an uneven gait, jumping from rock to occasional root, attempting to avoid any hazards hidden by decaying leaves. Carefulness hampered Donovan’s speed but he could do Isabeau no good with a broken ankle. He caught a glimpse of the dog before it again slipped out of sight. Even the Beauceron was having problems keeping all four feet under him. Donovan listened for Jaffey, his bark guiding him.

  Suddenly, the sound changed, became more muffled, even a little panicked. Rustling leaves accompanied the canine cry. Donovan realized the dog had gone over the side of the trail. He strove to reach the dog. Where was Jaffey going? Had the dog fallen or was he still on the scent?

  Jaffey yapped in happy excitement. Not a sound to expect if Kirney was close by. Donovan prayed the beast had discovered Isabeau and he was not imagining the emotion in the animal’s yelps.

  “Please, God -- let her -- live.” Winded, Donovan spoke aloud, hoping to give his plea more credence. “I vow -- to take -- better care of her -- in the future… Do not -- take -- my joy – now -- that I – have -- found her.”

  C hapter 41

  Donovan raced towards the sound of the barking dog. He slipped on the damp leaves and grappled with a sapling to prevent himself from falling down the embankment. Regaining his balance, he paused a moment to orient his location in relation to the dog. The canine was near and no longer running.

  Pushing on with renewed hope, Donovan rounded a bend, circuiting an ancient three-trunked tree. He saw the disturbance in the leaves over the edge. Had the dog caused the shuffling of the forest debris or had he found Isabeau? A long bay directly to his right halted Donovan’s manic flight. Gut clenched in foreboding, he slid to a stop. The sound came from beyond the trees, where wide evidence of turned leaves blazed down the hill. The fresh scent of earth and decaying vegetation was strong.

  Had there been time for Simon to kill Isabeau and toss her body into this gully?

  Using trees and saplings hand over hand to keep afoot, he made his way down the slope, bounding downhill with all possible speed. In his tortured heart, he still was not fast enough.

  He saw the dog first. Jaffey leapt around a mound of green rags while he whined and pawed a clump of dark brown hair.

  Donovan let out a roar when he recognized the unmoving pile.

  His beloved Isabeau. He waved the dog back and dropped to his knees at her side.

  His sweet Isabeau.

  He brushed at the leaves and twigs tangled in her silken hair. He remembered teasing her about
the leaves and moss clinging to her after their tryst by the stream. He had never played with a woman before Isabeau.

  His heart was leaden in grief as he gently lifted her shoulders and rolled her limp body into his embrace. He nearly dropped his precious burden when he heard the low sob seep from her lips.

  She lived!

  Joy washed over Donovan as the realization sank into his being.

  Dirt and leaves clung to her ashen face. With a light hand, Donovan smoothed them away to reveal silver tears and angry scratches.

  “Isabeau?” he crooned softly. “Where do you hurt, mon coeur?”

  Her silent sobs did not abate. Her eyes remained tightly closed.

  “Look at me, Isabeau,” Donovan coaxed. The bruise on her jaw seemed to darken under his gaze. “You are safe now. I vow to never let violence touch you again.”

  Jaffey snuffled her hand and Donovan noticed how she clutched her side. He gave the command for silent vigil. Blessedly, the dog removed its curious nose and went silent, but not before giving Isabeau one last comforting lap of his huge tongue.

  “How badly are you hurt? Can you tell me?” Donovan took infinite care pealing off the apron she had worn to protect her wedding dress. As he did so, he noted that blood-stains marred the cream linen but not the gown beneath. His hand shaking, he brushed the damp tangles of her chestnut locks away from her white cheek.

  “You are so brave,” he crooned. “The way you left a trail. The way you fought. The chances you took frightened me.” He hoped his words soothed, but though her sobs grew deeper, they grew no louder. “Jesu!” Fear and frustration raised their ugly heads. “Tell me what he did. Tell me how badly he hurt you.”

  Isabeau opened her eyes and gulped air as she tried to regain control. Her hand lifted so her fingers could trace his jaw-line. He had thought never to feel her touch again. Turning his head, he laid a kiss in her palm. She yanked her hand away as if burned.

  “I -- am sorry.” Her crying added a raw broken quality to her words. “I -- failed.”

  “At what?” he asked as he rested her back on the ground. Quickly, he skimmed her body and limbs for broken bones and stab wounds. Finding none, he lifted her back into his arms and got to his feet. “You are safe. You live. You failed at nothing.”

  “I tried to kill him.” His shoulder muffled her confession.

  The warmth of her steadying breath against his throat reassured him. She lived. Beyond that—nothing mattered.

  “I tried to stab him but I could only draw a bit of blood.”

  He thought of the blood smeared on her apron and that on the blade Simon had held, then of the dark patch on Simon’s abdomen. “More than a bit, I would wager.”

  “I lost the blade.” She clutched his tunic and curled into the shelter of his embrace as if she tried to hide from him.

  “You escaped,” he reminded her. “You did well.”

  She twisted her head to peek up at him as she protested. “For what he has done, I will cut out his heart.”

  Donovan smiled at her voracity. “You have been avenged.”

  “’Tis not for me!” Her hand flew to the back of his head. She pulled him closer to hear the dark words. “Simon is a monster. What he has done—defies all that is holy.”

  Foreboding snaked down Donovan’s spine. He shifted her closer to his chest. Isabeau felt so small and fragile in his arms.

  What had d’Olivet done to Isabeau, his own sister? Had the bastard violated her? Would she ever again allow her husband’s touch without Simon’s ghost tainting her marriage bed?

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead and worried when she flinched. The dog’s stance lacked aggression and alerted Donovan to the approach of others -- friends. By the number of heavy footfalls, Donovan calculated a half-dozen men following their trail.

  “Ha-alloo-oo!”

  “Damned tree!”

  “Lord Donovan!”

  “My lord!”

  The deep curses rolled down the hillside mingling with thuds and the rush of sliding boots. The hails floated through the trees from the opposite direction.

  “Simon…” Isabeau whispered in a rush.

  “We shall speak once I have you safe in our chamber.” He cut off her confession. “…Once the healer has attended to your injuries.”

  Tears began to rain down her white cheeks in earnest. Anguish deepened the green of her eyes. “I tried to run but the pain in my side—the pain was so—I could not breathe. I tried to hold on to a tree but I lost my balance. I am so sorry. I tried but -- failed.”

  “Hush,” he tried to comfort her. He stroked his hand down her arm without loosening his hold. He received as much comfort as he hoped to give.

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I failed to protect your heir.”

  The hails drowned out his exclamation.

  “First Christian and now—surely, I have lost our babe. I hurt so much.” She turned her face into his chest again.

  “Halloo!”

  The calls were on top of them, surrounding them. He could no longer ignore the hails. With no choice but to answer, he raised his voice. “Down here!”

  In a few heartbeats, Donovan’s steward broke through the brush with two warriors closing in from the hill.

  “Jesu!” The steward stopped abruptly, his chest heaving from his flight into the forest. Felix, dragged by several barking hounds on leads, collided into his back.

  “Pray, does she yet live?” Felix’s rusty voice tentatively questioned.

  “Aye.” Donovan assured the growing circle of men.

  “Praise the saints,” said Eldred reverently. His sentiments were immediately echoed.

  “She will be fine.” Donovan spoke firmly. He allowed for no doubt, not even his own.

  He searched all the concerned faces of the growing crowd. Several women from the castle pushed their way into the throng. “How did you get here so quickly?” He could understand the speed of his trained men but how had the others found them—and coming from the opposite direction as well.

  Eldred spoke for the civilians. “When Felix and Maid Caitlin told my lady was missing, we all had our suspicions.”

  “We prayed it was not so,” Glenys interjected.

  Donovan stared at the group. “But you made exceptional time. How did you keep up with my warriors?”

  “We did not follow you or our warriors, my lord.” The smithy took up the tale. “We came directly here from the castle.”

  “Lady Marta was found not more than a few dozen strides from here.” Felix waved his hand towards the direction Donovan had followed Jaffey. “We feared that tragedy had struck the same tree.” The burly man took one step forward and peered intently at Isabeau.

  Donovan felt her slight shift as she tried to subdue her sobs, hide them from the crowd. She was not completely successful.

  “The countess is truly safe?” Eldred looked at Donovan questioningly. “You rescued her from the asp who stole her from our stronghold?”

  “Nay,” Donovan shook his head in denial. “My lady stabbed the bastard and damaged him enough to afford her escape. She left me only the task of finishing up and bringing her home.”

  For a moment, only the panting dogs could be heard in the silence of the wood. A twig snapped beneath a heavy foot. The sudden hurrahs nearly deafened Donovan. Seconds later, the dogs added their canine notes to the cacophony.

  Isabeau raised her head to face the cheering crowd. The uproar died away as everyone became aware of her attention. She looked at each of their faces and tried to form a smile of assurance. Lastly, she looked up into Donovan’s gaze, her hazel eyes shining with tears.

  “I wish to go home, my lord.”

  Even as he searched her face, the green in her eyes took on a depth in which he could easily drown. His arms tightened his hold for a heartbeat. She wanted to go home. Although letting her go would kill him, he could deny her nothing. If she wished to return to Olivet, he would take her. Just as soon as the healer
said she was able.

  “As you wish, dear heart.”

  C hapter 42

  Isabeau rested her head back against Donovan shoulder. He closed his eyes at her perfect fit in his arms. When he let her go, his heart would be as empty as his arms. Dried blood stained the white hand she lifted to caress his jaw.

  “Please. All I want is to go home -- to Bennington.”

  The hollowness in Donovan’s heart miraculous filled to bursting. All would be well. Isabeau’s wish was not to return to Olivet, but to stay with him.

  “Follow us, my lord,” the smithy bellowed enthusiastically as he started down the hill. “The way is easier and straight as a crow’s flight. No need even for a cart.”

  “Lead on,” Donovan commanded.

  Before he could take the first step, Isabeau tugged on his collar and lifted enough to whisper in his ear.

  “Lord Kirney might be in the vicinity.”

  “Yes, Simon revealed his part in this debacle.”

  Still keeping her voice low, she explained. “I do not think he was actually part of my kidnapping but Simon was at first anxious to—to place me in Kirney’s keeping.”

  “’Tis a good thing your bastard brother is already dead,” Donovan rumbled his disgust. He kissed her temple in apology when she tensed. “Think no more of it.”

  “What are you going to do? There is no proof of his involvement.”

  Donovan shrugged with a fabricated casualness. “I will weigh the matter in judgment… Carstairs!”

  “My lord!” The lieutenant answered promptly as he stepped into Donovan’s line of sight.

  “Dispatch an appropriate welcome for Sir Herzog Kirney. Make sure he understands any contract he made with Olivet was illegal and therefore void. Isabeau is wed to me. I would wager either he or his representative waits on the main road near where the footpath emerges.”

  “Aye, my lord.” A wry smile curved Carstairs’ mouth. “Any other messages to be delivered?”

  “He is to appear at the next Shire Court. In the meantime, we must look into Kirney’s dealings.”