Susan Spencer Paul

by The Bride Thief

  “You will do no such thing!” Isabelle said angrily, lifting a hand to try and rub the throbbing away. The worst part was, Evelyn spoke the truth. If Justin knew how often she suffered such aches, he would most certainly forbid her to continue her work, and she couldn’t put it aside now. Not when so much was at stake in the London markets. “Very well, then,” she said, defeated, feeling wretchedly miserable. “Take it out to him, if you must.” She sat in her chair and turned away, not looking at Evelyn’s satisfied expression, and felt like weeping.

  “I’ll bid him a good day for you, Cousin,” she heard Evelyn say, and then the door closed.

  “God’s mercy,” Isabelle murmured, bending forward as the pain grew worse. With an effort, she made herself stand again, and went to the window, looking out just in time to see Evelyn merrily tromping through the snow, a basket tucked in one hand and a tankard held in the other.

  This was what she hated the most, this was what ate away at her, more and more as each day came and went. Evelyn and Justin, too often together, laughing and smiling at each other, sitting by the fire and talking as if they alone existed. Isabelle had known before just how well and how easily Evelyn could charm a man when she determined to do so, but she had never thought that Justin would fall prey to such as that. He’d seen through everything Evelyn gave him in London, but now—now he readily accepted all of it. He thought her fully wonderful, and spoke of her often with admiration. Wasn’t Evelyn witty? And charming? And talented? The very memory of his praises made Isabelle start rubbing her forehead again. Evelyn’s perfection even followed them into their bed at night, when Justin would suddenly laugh out loud, recalling something humorous that Evelyn had done or said earlier in the day.

  Isabelle groaned and went back to her chair, falling into it with a thump. She couldn’t compare to Evelyn. Evelyn was beautiful, and skilled in all the feminine arts, while Isabelle was plain and only good at mathematics. Evelyn could sing beautifully, ply a needle perfectly and manage a household with ease, while Isabelle’s singing made people cover their ears, her needlework was always a disaster, and managing even a small household like Talwar seemed beyond her grasp. In truth, if not for Gytha and Meg and Odelyn, Isabelle knew very well that she never would have managed at all. This was the only place where she was of any value to Justin. Here, in her working chamber, where she could at least make him a wealthier man than he already was.

  “So.” The unexpected sound of Senet’s voice made Isabelle jump. “You let her get Sir Justin to herself again.”

  He stood just inside the door, an expression of displeasure on his handsome face.

  “Senet, I did not hear you come in.”

  “That’s evident,” he said with a snort, and closed the door. “Are you ill, Isabelle? You’re as pale as death.”

  “Nay,” she said, rubbing her head. “It is just this ache. ‘Twill not go away.”

  With a frown of concern, he moved nearer, setting his hand upon her shoulder. “You should be in your bed.”

  “I cannot.” Her hand dropped to rest upon the account book. “There is too much work to do, and Sir Alexander’s messenger will be here on the morrow. I must have instructions for the London bankers written out.”

  “Justin would not allow you to weary yourself with such work if he knew that you were not well. You have not told him about the headaches, have you, Isabelle?”

  She shook her head.

  He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “And you let our cousin make her way with him, as freely as she pleases. Can you not see what she’s about, Isabelle? She means to lull him from you, always putting herself in his company while you lock yourself away with your books in this damned chamber.”

  “Is that how it seems to you?” she asked tightly, while angry tears stung her eyes.

  “It is how it seems to all of us, save you, I vow. How can you let her get away with it? Why did you let her go out to him just now?”

  “My lord seems to want her company,” Isabelle replied shakily. “And so he may have it. He is the master of this place, and should do as he likes. He did not bring me here out of love, but only to be his wife. I’ll not keep him from doing whatever pleases him best.”

  With an irate gesture, Senet paced away from her. “You’re a fool ten times over, Isabelle. Is it any wonder that he should enjoy the company of a woman who so diligently seeks him out, when his own wife will not stir herself to as much as take him a basket of cakes?”

  “That is not the way of it!” she insisted. “I wanted to take them to him, but Evelyn would not let me.”

  “Wouldn’t let you?” he repeated. “Isabelle, ‘tis you who are mistress here, and not her! Do you think Justin knows how she bends you to her will with her clouded threats? Indeed, I know very well that he does not. And Evelyn fills his head with the same manner of speech, not quite the truth, not quite a lie, until he begins to think you do not care for his company at all.”

  Furious, Isabelle stood, pressing one fisted hand against her rounded belly. “I care for his company! I love him!”

  “Then prove it!” Senet flung back. “Don’t let Evelyn so easily take what is yours. It is not Evelyn he wants, but if Evelyn is all he sees, he will soon begin to believe that she is all he can grasp. Has Sir Justin not proved to you over and again how deeply he cares for you, Isabelle? But no man will keep throwing his heart into the hands of a woman who does not seem to want him in turn.”

  “And what would you know of such things?” Isabelle demanded.

  Senet’s expression hardened. “I know what it is to lose all that you hold dear. I know what it is to be alone.”

  Isabelle clamped her mouth shut, knowing full well that she had no right to compare what she had suffered at Sir Myles’s hands to the hell that Senet had lived at Sir Howton’s.

  Wordlessly, she walked to the door and opened it.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To fetch my cloak,” she replied. “It is too cold to go out of doors without it.”

  With one last blow, Justin finished hammering flat the metal for the new sword he was making, and then, wiping his sweat-soaked brow with the back of his hand, he lifted the piece high to inspect it.

  “A little more, I think,” he murmured, just as the door to the smithy scraped open, bringing in a fresh, cold gust of wind.

  “Good day, my lord,” Evelyn called gaily, smiling as she pushed her way farther in.

  Setting the blade on the anvil and putting aside his hammer, Justin moved to help her. “Good day, my lady.” He opened the door with one hand and relieved her of the tankard she carried with the other. “I have just been in want of some of Meg’s hot cider, and here you come to bring it, like an answer to prayer. I thank you.”

  She smiled and made an elegant curtsy, just as if she were dressed in all her London finery, rather than the simple clothes she had worn since coming to Talwar. “It is my great pleasure, Sir Justin, to serve you. And look, here are some burrebrede cakes, still warm.” She lifted the basket up until he could smell the delicious treats. “Howbeit,” she teased, pulling the basket away when he would have taken it, “you must dress before I let you eat them.” Her gaze fell pointedly on his bare chest, which glistened with sweat. “I could not in good conscience let the lord of Talwar eat unclothed. And you must be cold.”

  He shut the smithy door with the flat of his hand. “In truth, ‘tis hot as the Fiend’s own fires in here, no matter how cold it may be outside. But you are probably chilled from your walk. Come in and be warmed, Cousin.” He moved back to his work area and snatched up his tunic, wiping himself dry before slipping it over his head. “Sit.” Justin motioned her over to a stool near the fire. He didn’t get company too often in the smithy, and it was always pleasant to take a few moments from work to rest with a good companion. The boys usually only came when he was teaching them the craft of making weapons, and Isabelle came only when there was some urgent matter to speak to him about. Like Alicia, who h
ad found his favorite pastime laughable and dull, Isabelle didn’t seem to want much to do with his sword making. He had given up hoping that she would ask him about it or, better still, spend time with him in the smithy. She was ever too busy with her books and numbers. If he wanted to see her during the day, he had to seek her out in her working chamber.

  “How does the day find you, my lady?” he asked as he sat down on his working bench, drinking deeply from the still warm cider.

  “Very well, I thank you, my lord,” Evelyn replied happily. “Meg and I have been busy in the kitchen, as you can see.”

  When she smiled in just such a way, Justin thought, he had a difficult time remembering the sort of woman he had once believed her to be. If she had been scheming and cruel in London, then it must have been because of her father’s wicked influence, for since she was at Talwar, Lady Evelyn had proven to be only kind and well behaved. She was a delightful companion in every way. A delightful woman. And she possessed a rare interest in matters that most women found lacking. She liked to sit with him in the smithy, learning about how swords and daggers were made. Indeed, her interest was so great that he oftentimes had difficulty answering all of her many questions. And she never seemed to grow weary of asking him about Talwar’s history, of how it was run and what his plans for it were, or of exclaiming over how perfect his home was. It sometimes left Justin feeling rather amazed that he had once assumed she would never be happy living in such a simple place. In all truth, she seemed to love Talwar better than Isabelle did.

  “And there will be a fine feast for the evening meal, which I vow you will enjoy,” she said, tilting her face up in a charming, childlike manner. “Lamb, roasted with herbs, and pheasant with currant sauce. I shall be hungry all day, only thinking of it!”

  She laughed, and Justin couldn’t seem to help but laugh, too. She was truly an enchanting companion.

  “You must take care not to weary yourself so early on while you carry the child,” he told Evelyn, pulling one of the small, flat sweet cakes out of the basket. “You do too much now, as it is. Why did you not have Meg or Odelyn bring the basket out to me? Or Isabelle, even? She would have been glad to do so, being past the time of worry with our babe.”

  Evelyn’s smile died away, and she began to look embarrassed. Her gaze skittered away toward the door. “I am feeling well, my lord. You must not worry for me or the child. And Isabelle was…too busy to come to you herself.”

  Justin swallowed the bite he’d taken and looked at her with surprise. “You asked her?”

  Evelyn nodded. “Aye, my lord. But she said that she was too busy to stop her work for something so foolish as to take cakes and cider to her husband. She bade me bring them to you, and indeed—” she lifted shining eyes to him, filled with affection “—I am more than pleased to do so. You have been wonderfully kind to me, my lord, and I am glad to serve you in any way that I can.”

  Justin stared at her. “Isabelle said that?”

  “She did seem most busy,” Evelyn assured him softly, leaning forward. “My lord, you know how hard she labors to help your brothers….”

  “Aye!” Justin spat out, tossing the unfinished cake into the basket and shoving it away. “My brothers! God save me.”

  Standing, he ran his fingers through his hair in agitation and paced a few steps back and forth, at last kicking over an empty water bucket. “Damnation!” he swore.

  Evelyn jumped to her feet and went to him, putting her hands on his arms. “My lord, I beg you, do not distress yourself. Please don’t be angered with cousin Isabelle. She is only doing what she knows best, and what she enjoys most.”

  “She is my wife,” he said. “Am I to ever be lesser to her than her damned numbers? How much longer must I wait before I mean anything to her at all?” He put Evelyn away from him and went back to his working bench, sitting down and bowing his head into his hands. After a moment he said, miserably, “Nay, that is unjust. I should not have spoken thusly. Isabelle has been everything that I could crave in a wife, and more. She did not deserve that. I know that her desire is to be helpful to me, even though I cannot seem to make her understand that I do not care for wealth. But it makes her happy.” He sat up, rubbing at the dull throbbing that had begun at the place between his eyes. “And I brought her to Talwar so that she might be happy.”

  “Indeed, and so she is,” Evelyn assured him, placing her hands upon his taut shoulders and rubbing in a soothing manner. “She was never so content at my father’s house as she is here with you. Will you not drink more of the cider, my lord? ‘Twill help to calm you, I vow.”

  He didn’t really want more, but drank it to please her. Her hands on his shoulders felt good; no woman had ever done something like this for him before. Bowing his head, he relaxed beneath her coaxing hands.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You are very kind, Cousin.”

  “If I am, ‘tis only because I wish to repay your goodness in letting me stay here, and for keeping my secret so well. I am more grateful than I can ever speak.” She tugged at his tunic. “Here, take this off, if you think you will be warm enough, and I shall be able to help you better. You are very tight here.” She patted his shoulders.

  Obediently, glad to be relieved of it in the heat of the smithy, Justin pulled the tunic over his head and tossed it on the working bench. Evelyn’s hands did feel more effective on his bare skin. She dug her fingers into his muscles, rubbing and kneading until he began to wince.

  “It will not be much longer before the secret is made known,” he said. “I wish you would agree to let me tell Isabelle the truth.”

  “Oh, nay!”

  “She will understand. Why will you not believe me? Isabelle will never turn you away. You cannot help what has happened. Can you think her so coldhearted?”

  “I think Isabelle the most understanding creature on God’s earth,” Evelyn replied. “But my shame is so great. After all she suffered at my hands, how can I put such a burden upon her?”

  The smithy door creaked, suddenly, and then flew wide open. Both Evelyn and Justin turned to find Isabelle standing in the doorway, holding her cloak wrapped tightly about herself in defense of the cold.

  Justin’s heart filled with gladness at the sight of her, and he stood, saying, “Isabelle!”

  Evelyn stepped back, away from him, repeating, in a more horrified tone, “Isabelle!”

  Justin glanced at Evelyn, wondering why she made it sound as if they’d been caught doing something wrong, but she was too busy gathering up the basket and tankard to meet his gaze.

  “I’m sorry, Isabelle,” Evelyn murmured guiltily, confusing Justin even more. “I’d best go.”

  “Evelyn,” he began, but she had already lifted her skirts and scurried past Isabelle and out the door.

  The early months of childbearing, he thought with a shake of his head, could certainly cause women to behave strangely. Isabelle had suffered several distressing moments, he recalled, but, thankfully, all of that had passed. Although she looked as if she felt badly at the moment. She stood in the open door, her face white as the snow outside and her eyes half circled with darkness.

  “Beloved,” he murmured, striding toward her. “Are you not well?”

  She moved away from him as if he carried the plague, holding even her cloak free of his touch. “Do not,” she said in a tight voice. “I’ll not be the cure for what troubles you now.”

  “For what troubles me?”

  “If ‘tis ease you want, then chase after Evelyn! I’m sure she’d be more than pleased to put out the fire she’s begun.”

  “The fire she’s—?” He stopped, suddenly realizing what she meant. “Isabelle, by the rood! You cannot think that your cousin and I … that Evelyn and I were … trysting.” The idea was so foolish that he nearly began to laugh, fully expecting Isabelle to laugh, too. But she did not, and only stood where she was, damning him with her eyes. It struck him, like a sharp blow to the side of the head, leaving him almost dizzy from the
force, that she truly believed it. And of him. That he had plotted unfaithfulness, or perhaps even carried it out already. The cold air seeping in through the still-open door made him shiver, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or weep.

  “After all we have shared together,” he said at last, unable to keep the hurt from his tone, “and after all I have done to prove myself to you, can you think this of me, Isabelle?”

  A spark of something passed through her eyes, and he realized that she was striving to keep her own tears at bay.

  “I cannot think otherwise when I come upon my husband nearly unclothed—” she nodded toward his bare chest “—and my cousin’s hands upon him. But I vow, I should have expected such as this. “

  Releasing an angry breath, he turned to retrieve his tunic. “You do not know what you speak. My shoulders are weary from my labors this day, and Evelyn did no more than offer comfort.”

  “Indeed?” Isabelle countered, moving to stand in front of him. “Is comfort all she offered?”

  Justin had run across Isabelle’s temper before this, and had always done what he could to assuage her. But now, knowing how callously she had refused to do so small a thing as to bring him a basket of cakes and some ale, he was ready to meet her fury head-on.

  “Nay, not all,” he returned. “She offered companionship, and brought me food and drink. ’Tis more than another in this household has ever done—my own wife!”

  “I would have brought the food and drink to you!” Isabelle told him. “But I’m glad now that I did not! You’ve made your preference for Evelyn more than clear these past many days, and if ‘tis Evelyn you want, ‘tis Evelyn you may have!”

  “God’s mercy!” Justin raged wrathfully. “I don’t want Evelyn!”

  He tried to turn away, but Isabelle rounded on him. “Only think, my lord, how great a mistake you made in taking me from my uncle’s house, when you might have had the woman you truly want, if you had been more patient!”