Carol Townend

by Lady Isobel's Champion

  He reached for his wine, drank, and gave an eloquent shudder. ‘Mon Dieu, Isobel.’ He prised her cup out of her grasp and dragged her to her feet. ‘Don’t touch that pi—er, swill, else you’ll be joining your maid in the infirmary. We’re leaving.’

  As they squeezed past the tables, the thief looked up. His lip curled and he reached for his dagger.

  Isobel made a small sound of distress.

  Shielding her with his body, Lucien urged her past the fire. ‘As I feared, he noticed you giving chase.’ He pushed a coin into the potboy’s waiting hands. ‘I shall escort you back to the Abbey.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  Outside, Isobel heaved in a lungful of fresh air. Lucien took possession of her hand. He didn’t tuck it into his arm in the more formal manner; instead, he held it at his side, as though they were sweethearts. As he wove his fingers with hers, something knotted up inside her. It was very painful. Rather like longing for something one could never have. She was not this man’s sweetheart—he was marrying her to honour the arrangement his father had made. He wanted Turenne. He wanted an heir.

  ‘My lord?’ Blue eyes glanced her way, as they plunged into a side street. ‘Where is the Field of the Birds?’ The device on Lucien’s shield was a black raven, and the Counts of Aveyron had long been allies with the Counts of Champagne. It struck her that the tourney field must lie on Lucien’s land.

  A pulse throbbed near his scar. ‘I hoped you hadn’t heard that.’

  They were walking between two rows of houses, and the gutter at the side was full of turnip peelings. Isobel lifted her skirts clear before speaking again. ‘My lord, in the Abbey, you mentioned a tournament on the day after our wedding, I realise this must be the same one. Is the Field of the Birds part of your holding?’

  ‘Yes.’ His voice was dismissive. ‘In his day, my father was patron of tournaments held at the Field of the Birds. I have had little to do with them.’

  It was a puzzling response given Lucien’s enthusiasm for tournaments and his success in the tourney field. And was it her imagination or was he avoiding her gaze? ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Some years ago, I put my Champagne holding in the hands of a steward. He was running Ravenshold well enough. Until recently, I had no reason to visit.’

  ‘There were other tournaments, I suppose.’ She looked hopefully at him, but his face was closed. Unreceptive. ‘I have never been to a tournament, my lord. At Turenne, my father’s minstrel—’

  His expression hardened. ‘Isobel, a tournament is more than pretty ladies handing out favours to handsome knights. A tournament is a war-game.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I should like to see one.’

  ‘I don’t advise you start at the Field of the Birds. I’ve heard it’s badly regulated these days.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Since my father’s time it has, so I hear, become...unruly. It will be messy, perhaps bloody. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table it is not.’

  Isobel looked uncertainly at him. There was a darkness in this man’s soul she could not account for. ‘My lord?’

  ‘Well, that is what you are expecting from a tournament, is it not? Deeds of valour. Quests.’ He spoke abruptly. ‘The tournament at the Field of the Birds is—well, it’s war. If you want to play at being Queen Guinevere, you should wait for the Twelfth Night joust at Troyes Castle. That should be more to your taste.’

  Lucien’s tone disturbed her. He was trying to put her off going to the All Hallows Tourney, but he would not succeed. It was well known that the Kings of France and England had voiced their disapproval of tournaments, but a champion of Lucien’s status would not balk at the toughest of competitions. Was it possible that he was worried about her?

  In truth, the Twelfth Night joust in Troyes sounded as though it would be much more to her taste. Unfortunately, the man who had stolen the relic was going to the All Hallows Tourney, Isobel would have to go too...

  ‘If you are concerned for me,’ she said softly, ‘you need not be. I can look after myself. My lord, are the tournaments held in the Field of the Birds very dangerous?’

  ‘So Sir Arthur—my steward—tells me. As I said, I have not attended one there in years.’

  ‘Will you be competing? I would really like to go.’

  Lucien dropped her hand. ‘Isobel, I advise you to consider this discussion closed.’

  ‘You are taking part!’ She tipped her head back and met his gaze. ‘No champion worth his mettle could fail to relish the challenge of a real tournament. If the competition is fierce, the prize money will be good. Where is the Field of the Birds?’

  Blue eyes seemed to bore right through her. ‘My lady, I see where you are heading and I will not have it. The wretch who took that relic will be looking out for you.’

  ‘He won’t see me. I will be discreet.’

  Lucien snorted. ‘I doubt you know the meaning of the word. Isobel, I forbid you to attend. I won’t have time to watch out for you.’

  ‘But, my lord—’

  ‘Isobel, I do not wish you to attend. Do I make myself clear?’

  Isobel heard obduracy in his voice, but she had met male obduracy before and knew what to do. She dealt with it in the way that she dealt with it when encountering it in her father. ‘Yes, my lord,’ she said, giving him a limpid look. ‘Perfectly clear.’

  * * *

  Sister Christine met her at the convent gate. ‘Lady Isobel, what were you thinking, tearing out into the town like that?’

  With a bow and a thin smile, Lucien turned on his heel. The gate clanged shut and he was lost to sight. I hope he sends for me soon. Isobel had seen enough of the inside of a convent for one lifetime, and even the company of an obdurate man was preferable to a life lived behind convent walls.

  The nun’s silver cross was bright against her dark habit. ‘My lady, I should warn you, the Abbess is most displeased.’

  Isobel bit her lip—she liked Sister Christine, and it wasn’t pleasant to realise that she had caused her trouble. ‘Sister, please don’t tell me you have been waiting here all this time?’

  ‘Of course—I had to miss Office.’

  ‘Oh, Sister, I am truly sorry.’

  Sister Christine tucked her hands into the sleeves of her habit. ‘You were out a long time; I cannot think what you were doing.’

  Isobel opened her mouth to explain that Lucien had been with her every moment, but the nun shook her head. ‘Don’t tell me, tell Reverend Mother.’ She gestured towards the Abbey church. ‘You will find her in the Lady Chapel.’

  Swallowing down a sigh, Isobel went into the church, pausing by the wooden screen that separated the Lady Chapel from the nave. The Abbess was sweeping up damaged fragments of stone, along with Elise and a couple of novices, and when she noticed Isobel, she thrust her broom at a novice.

  ‘Lady Isobel, I realise you were shocked at the loss of the relic, but you went into the town without your cloak. Without a maid. What were you thinking?’

  ‘I am sorry, Reverend Mother, there was no time to fetch my cloak. And Count Lucien did act as my escort.’

  ‘Apparently, you ran off at such a pace, you did not wait to see whether the Count had followed you or not. It is your good fortune that he did, although I am sure he must have been appalled by such unseemliness. Lady Isobel, you must learn to curb these impulses, and comport yourself with decorum. You cannot forget your status for a moment. Soon you will be the Countess d’Aveyron—you should not be running about Troyes like an unruly child. And most certainly you should not rely on Lord d’Aveyron to chase after you and see you safe.’ Her nostrils flared. ‘I trust you are unharmed.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Praise be. You are fortunate that Count Lucien is an honourable man. A less scrupulous one might have seized the opportunity to take advantage of you.’

  Isobel stared at the cross on the Abbess’s breast. What would she say if she knew we followed the thief into a brothel? What would she say
if she knew that Lucien—this honourable man—had seized on the chance to kiss me? In public. In the Black Boar.

  Isobel caught Elise’s sympathetic gaze on her and resisted sending her a smile. Abbess Ursula was treating her like a naughty child, but she refused to be cowed. As the Abbess had said, she would soon be the Countess d’Aveyron.

  ‘Reverend Mother, I ran from church because I saw the thief. I hoped to catch him.’ The words tumbled out. ‘He was lurking by the north door—stuffing something into his pouch. I swear it was the Limoges reliquary—I saw blue enamel, gold—’

  ‘Be that as it may, it is not your concern. You should not have run out in so unladylike a manner.’ Abbess Ursula turned to Elise. ‘And as for you, you should have known better. Why did you not stop her?’

  ‘My actions are my own, please do not blame Elise,’ Isobel said. ‘Reverend Mother, I am sorry if you think my behaviour was wrong.’

  ‘You thought to catch the thief yourself.’ The Abbess raised an eyebrow in so supercilious a manner that Isobel recalled her royal ancestry. She looked very regal. ‘What if Count Lucien had not followed you? What if you had met with violence?’

  ‘I was trying to help. Your Order has been good to me, I am especially grateful for the care I received at St Foye’s.’

  ‘You do not repay us by placing yourself in harm’s way. Viscount Gautier sent you here so we could keep you safe until your marriage. If anything should happen to you in the meantime, the reputation of our Order would be tarnished, perhaps irreparably. Who would send their daughters to us, if they came to harm?’

  ‘My apologies, Reverend Mother.’

  ‘And there are other concerns that in your haste you did not take account of...’

  Isobel clenched her teeth. ‘Yes?’

  ‘By running off in so wild a manner you risked alienating Count Lucien. Did you see any sign that he was put off by your recklessness?’

  Isobel did not know how it was, but Abbess Ursula’s question evoked a vivid memory of a sensuous mouth pressing against hers, of a masculine arm winding possessively about her waist...

  ‘Count Lucien gave no sign that he was alienated,’ she murmured. We crossed swords a little, but I do not think I alienated him.

  ‘You are blessed.’ The Abbess made a sound of intense disapproval. ‘The town fills with felons every year because of the fair. Which is why the Guardian Knights have been established. It is their duty to deal with miscreants, not yours.’

  ‘Yes, Reverend Mother, I know. Count Lucien has explained this to me.’

  ‘Has he? That is all to the good. We shall leave this folly behind us. In future, I trust you will think twice before indulging in such impulses. If God wills it, the relics will be returned. I have faith that He will also deal with the man who committed this sacrilege.’ Abbess Ursula frowned at the ruined altar frontal, and turned for the nave. ‘Sisters, follow me. Lady Isobel and Elise can finish the sweeping. And after that there is a yard or so of border on the altar cloth to be worked.’ She held Isobel’s gaze. ‘I should like it as much as possible to be finished before you leave the Abbey.’

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, with no word from Lucien about moving out of the convent, Isobel had to assume the palace was fully occupied. While she waited to hear from him, she used the embroidering of the altar cloth to distract herself from worrying that, once again, Lucien had abandoned her.

  The wind had changed overnight, and a brisk easterly was gusting over Troyes. Instead of sewing in the stronger light of the courtyard, she and Elise took refuge half in and half out of a small storage room in a quiet corner of the cloisters. There was no window, so they sat by the doorway with their cloaks about their shoulders and the blue altar cloth stretched between them. If she leaned forwards, Isobel could see the sky. Clouds scudded past like flocks of sheep.

  Isobel was glad of the chance to talk quietly to Elise—she had much to learn and she sensed that Elise could help her. However, a barrage of questions would not be welcome. She must tread carefully.

  Elise, what brings you to this Abbey?

  No, she could not ask that, that was far too probing.

  As for the subject Isobel most burned to discuss—Elise, what is it like to bed with a man? It wouldn’t be easy working that into conversation—she had only met Elise a couple of days ago. Even Lady Anna, whom Isobel had known for years, had shown reluctance to discuss her discomfort at what happened when a man bedded his wife.

  Details had been scant. Isobel needed to know more. What is it like? Does it hurt every time? She had no idea why she supposed Elise might know the answer to that last question, save instinct. Elise was no innocent.

  The nuns at St Foye’s Convent, while elaborating on the wifely duties, had been silent on the more carnal aspects of marriage. It was not surprising. How could nuns who lived chastely know of such things? Carnal experiences were forbidden to them. The sisters had made up for their lack of experience in that area by speaking most eloquently on the importance of a wife denying herself. A wife must—they insisted—put her husband first in all things. Denial was their watchword.

  When Isobel had asked her mother, Lady Maude, about what happened in the marriage bed, her mother had simply reiterated what the nuns had said. Lady Maude had gone out of her way to place a strong emphasis on duty. Duty.

  Her mother spoke of duty; the nuns of denial. But being lectured on duty and denial didn’t answer Isobel’s questions. She must know everything. She had no wish to die in childbirth as her mother had done. More knowledge was essential.

  Particularly since, having kissed Lucien, it was clear that she and her betrothed were attracted to each other. His touch made her weak. It made her think most unladylike thoughts. Before seeing him again in the Abbey lodge, Isobel had assumed it would be easy to keep him at bay. The kiss in the Black Boar had proved her wrong. It wouldn’t be easy to deny him. That kiss... Surreptitiously, she fingered her mouth. The feelings Lucien had evoked—the thoughts...

  Duty had been the last thing on her mind. And as for denial...

  Was it possible that Anna’s experience in the marriage bed would not be hers?

  Smothering a sigh, Isobel glanced at Elise. Never mind that she was unused to broaching such matters, she would open on neutral ground...

  ‘Elise, have you lived long in Troyes?’

  ‘Only a few months, my lady.’

  Isobel formed a couple of stitches and waited, hoping Elise would enlarge. When it became clear that Elise was not in a talkative mood, she tried again. ‘What is it like when the Winter Fair begins in earnest?’

  Elise’s needle flashed as she worked the border. ‘This is the first time I have been in Troyes at the close of the year, my lady. I imagine it becomes as busy as it does during the Summer Fair.’ Briefly, she lifted her head. ‘In the summer, the town is a bear garden.’

  ‘It is hard to imagine it busier than it was yesterday.’

  ‘It will be. At times the streets are almost impassable.’

  Isobel made an encouraging noise, and watched Elise set a few more stitches. Then she said, ‘When we have finished this section of cloth, I should like to go out again. There are quarters of the town I have yet to explore.’

  That got her attention. Elise looked up, frowning. ‘Is that wise, my lady? It is probably best to follow Abbess Ursula’s advice and remain here, particularly with your father’s escort at the barracks. It’s not long until Winter’s Eve. Once you are married I am sure Lord d’Aveyron will give you all the escorts you need.’

  Isobel rethreaded her needle with gold thread. ‘I confess...’ she spoke slowly, feeling her way ‘...to feeling apprehensive about my forthcoming marriage.’

  Elise shot her a look and returned her attention to the altar cloth. ‘You have been betrothed to the Count for some years. He is very personable, and far more reasonable than I had expected—’

  Isobel went still. ‘You have heard Count Lucien is unreasonable
?’

  Elise’s cheeks went as bright as poppies. ‘I... My apologies, my lady, I spoke out of turn.’

  ‘If you have heard something, I should be grateful if you would tell me...’

  Vehemently, Elise shook her head. ‘I am sorry, my lady. I have heard nothing.’

  The clouds shifted across the sky. Elise squirmed and finally met Isobel’s gaze. ‘About your marriage, my lady. I pray that all will be well. I have seen no sign of cruelty in Count Lucien.’

  Isobel’s eyes widened. ‘No sign of cruelty?’

  ‘Men can be cruel, my lady, and noblemen more than most,’ Elise said, shrugging. ‘They have power, and power breeds cruelty. All I am saying is that I have observed no sign of cruelty in Count Lucien.’

  ‘I am relieved to hear it,’ Isobel said frankly. Elise’s remarks had knocked her back, strengthening her suspicion that Elise was no innocent. ‘Until today, I hadn’t seen Count Lucien in years. It has long been my fear that he mislikes me.’

  ‘He mislikes you?’ Elise’s needle stopped pushing through the altar cloth, her voice sharpened. ‘My lady, I doubt that is true. And even if it is, it has no relevance, since your marriage is a dynastic one. You should be pleased that your father, Viscount Gautier, was able to arrange such an advantageous match.’

  ‘Naturally, I am very grateful.’ Isobel forced out the words, though now she was actually talking about the fear that had been haunting her for months, inside she felt anything but grateful. She felt ignorant. How was she to learn about the physical aspects of marriage, when open discussion was frowned upon? Anna’s dark hints had piled fear on fear. Isobel wanted reassurance, not only because she was afraid of what happened in the marriage bed, but also because of the consequences. Women died in childbirth every day.

  ‘I should like to get to know Count Lucien before we are married.’

  Elise gave her a tight smile. ‘God willing, you will have years to get to know each other. In any case, Count Lucien is not a complete stranger. You met him at your betrothal. Surely you have seen him many times since then?’