Knight of Pleasure

by Margaret Mallory

  Where was Stephen? If he wished to claim her, surely he would be here. Perhaps he had already spoken to the king, and it was all settled.

  “I hope you have recovered sufficiently to discuss your future,” the king said, kindly enough.

  Isobel flushed, recalling how she had flung herself at his feet, begging. She as much as told the king he owed her a debt of service—and how he should repay it. She never would have done it if she had not been utterly exhausted.

  “I leave Caen at dawn and want to settle this matter before I leave,” the king said, unrolling a parchment in his hands.

  She turned her head to see if Stephen had come in.

  “I have a letter from my uncle, Bishop Beaufort.”

  Bishop Beaufort! Had he not caused her enough grief?

  “He spoke to your father about increasing your dowry.”

  Why? What were they planning now? How many times must she suffer the choices of men who held power over her? She was sick to death of the decisions they made on her behalf.

  “The bishop prevailed upon your father to increase your dowry to a handsome sum.”

  She could imagine Bishop Beaufort “prevailing upon” her recalcitrant father. If she were not so tense, she might be amused.

  “Your Highness, if I may?” her brother said. When the king nodded, Geoffrey said, “Our father will increase her dowry further when he learns I am joining the Cistercian order.”

  Isobel tried to smile at her brother. Though it was an unlikely choice for an only son, she was happy for him.

  “I admire the Cistercians’ devotion to poverty, prayer, and arduous labor,” the king said. “Your father should be proud.”

  Ha! The king might hear their father’s shouts all the way from Northumberland when he heard the news.

  “ ’Tis a shame the dowry won’t be needed now,” the king said, shaking his head. “I am releasing you from your promise to marry a man of my choosing.”

  “Your Highness?” Isobel was too stunned to be sure she heard him correctly.

  “If you will not take a husband, you must have an income,” the king said. “So I’m granting you the Hume property, as well.”

  She blinked at him. “But the Hume lands belong to Bartholomew Graham now.”

  “Graham was caught consorting with Scottish rebels,” the king said. “So the bishop confiscated the lands for the crown.”

  She stared at him. Was it possible?

  “I intended to give the property to your new husband as a wedding gift,” the king said, frowning.

  Isobel felt dizzy. The Hume lands were hers, at long last. It was what she’d waited for all these years. Never again would she suffer the humiliation of being sold like cattle for land or political need. She could run her own household, dependent on no man.

  Quite suddenly, she was struck by the loneliness of the life before her. The life she had prayed for since she was a girl of thirteen.

  “Surely this is the best of news,” Geoffrey said as he led her out of the hall.

  “Aye, the best,” she murmured.

  She could not remember if she thanked the king. Or made the proper curtsy before leaving his presence.

  “You look pale,” Robert said on her other side. “Are you unwell?”

  She turned to look at him. “Do you think the twins would go to England with me?”

  Robert made a face and shook his head. “ ’Tis best they stay here. Sooner or later, a relative is bound to turn up and claim them. Until then, I’ll look after them.”

  She was unaware they had left the castle grounds until they stood before the door to FitzAlan’s house.

  “I would like to be alone now,” she said.

  “But the FitzAlans are waiting to hear your news,” Robert said.

  “They have been so kind,” Geoffrey added, “surely you can visit with them for a little while?”

  She nodded, knowing her brother was right.

  “The family is expecting you,” the servant at the door told them. “They are in the solar.”

  “Thank you,” Robert said. “We can find our own way.”

  “The king has released me to escort you home to Northumberland,” Geoffrey said as they went up the stairs. “You will need to say your good-byes to the Fitz-Alans soon.”

  Isobel felt the prick of tears at the back of her eyes. She’d become fond of the FitzAlans, especially Jamie.

  “You’ve visitors!” Robert called out as they reached the top of the stairs. He stepped aside to let Isobel enter the solar first.

  She stopped dead at the threshold. Leaning against the wall opposite, arms folded across his chest, was Stephen Carleton. Long and lean and perfect. When he turned and met her eyes, the breath went out of her.

  The sad, sweet smile he gave her as he came to greet her made her insides go soft. When he touched his lips to the back of her hand, she had to close her eyes against the wave of emotion that washed through her.

  “We must let Robert and Geoffrey come in,” he said in a soft voice.

  She moved on stiff legs as he drew her away from the doorway. The warmth of his hand on her arm was so comforting, she longed to rest her head against his shoulder.

  She stood mute as Robert and Geoffrey told the others of her good fortune. No one showed surprise at the news.

  “So, you shall be a wealthy landowner in your own right,” Lord FitzAlan said with false heartiness. Despite his words of congratulation, the look he gave her was full of sympathy.

  “You will return to England soon?” Lady Catherine’s voice, unlike her husband’s, was cold, and her eyes were angry.

  “Aye, we will,” Geoffrey answered for her.

  “We go home ourselves,” FitzAlan said. “Perhaps we can travel together as far as London.”

  “I am leaving, as well,” Stephen said beside her.

  The tightness that had been around Isobel’s heart like a vise eased a bit. She would not have to say good-bye to Stephen until they reached London, and that would take at least a week.

  “You travel to England?” Robert’s tone was casual, as if this were a matter of little concern. “To Northumberland to claim the Carleton lands?”

  Northumberland! Why, they would journey together for two or three weeks. If Stephen remained in Northumberland, she might even see him at gatherings from time to time.

  “I stay to fight with the king,” Stephen said. “I am taking command of William’s men.”

  Isobel’s stomach gave a lurch.

  “I must bid you all adieu now,” Stephen said. “We march at dawn.”

  March? At dawn? Isobel felt herself sway on her feet.

  As Stephen left her side, she felt a rush of cold where his hand had rested on her arm.

  Stephen and FitzAlan slapped each other’s backs.

  “I know you will watch over Jamie for us,” FitzAlan said and pulled Stephen into a fierce bear hug.

  Jamie was leaving, as well? Would she have no chance to bid him good-bye?

  Lady Catherine fell into Stephen’s arms, weeping openly. “Promise me you will come back. Promise.”

  “Give my love to the children,” Stephen said and kissed her cheek.

  After saying his farewells to Robert and Geoffrey, Stephen returned to stand in front of Isobel. His eyes were soft as he took her hands.

  “Isobel, I wish you every happiness.”

  “You have a command, as you wanted,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “I told you what I want.” He attempted a smile, but his heart was not in it.

  He gave her hands a final squeeze and was gone.

  Isobel flung the water jug against the wall. It bounced instead of smashing to bits, giving her no satisfaction at all.

  Now that she finally had what she wanted, why was she not happy?

  She paced the small bedchamber until her legs ached. Finally, she crawled onto the bed and lay on her back. The bed curtains encased her like a tomb. Tears of frustration slid down the sides of her
face and into her hair, making her head itch.

  If not for Stephen, she would be content. Nay, she would be overjoyed! He had taken that away from her.

  What did he mean, telling her he wanted her and then leaving? She pounded her fists against the bed. And then she cried in earnest until her head ached and her throat was parched.

  The door opened with no warning knock. A moment later, someone jerked the bed curtain back with a snap and thrust a candle in her face.

  “How can you be so foolish!”

  Lady Catherine. Could the woman not leave her to her misery? Isobel locked her arms over her eyes.

  The mattress sank as Lady Catherine sat on the bed.

  “Please go,” Isobel groaned.

  “If it were only you who suffered, I might.” Catherine’s voice was sharp. “Have you no sense of what you are doing to Stephen? I fear he will not survive the first battle.”

  Isobel sat up. “But he is a skilled fighter.”

  Ridiculous as it was, her confidence in Stephen’s abilities was such it did not occur to her until now he might be killed.

  “ ’Tis a dangerous thing,” Catherine said, “to send a man off to war when he does not care if he lives or dies.”

  Isobel felt as though a fist squeezed her heart. “You do not truly think—”

  “I do,” Catherine said.

  “Then he must not go,” Isobel said, wriggling out from under the bedclothes.

  When she tried to squeeze past, Catherine caught her arm and held it. “Stephen will not take you if you only wish to save him. He told me he tried to force your hand before, and he will not do it again.”

  “Then you know he only wanted to wed me because he thought I might carry his child.”

  Catherine blew out a long breath. “Of course, Stephen would do the honorable thing. But are you such an idiot you cannot see he loves you?”

  Isobel shook her head violently from side to side, though she did believe Stephen loved her now.

  “Stephen is such a good man, kindhearted and thoughtful,” Catherine said, her voice growing softer. “You could not ask for a better father for your children. ’Tis a rare man who is so good with little ones.”

  Isobel’s heart ached, because all that Catherine said was true.

  “I can see you love him, too,” Catherine said.

  “Of course I love him! He could not make me so very wretched if I did not.” Isobel looked hard at Catherine, willing her to understand. “I promised myself I would never let another man have the power to hurt me as much as my father did.”

  “It is too late for that.” Catherine brushed the hair back from Isobel’s face. “Come, tell me what it is you fear.”

  “That he will fail me when I need him most,” Isobel blurted out. She drew in a shaky breath and then added in a whisper, “That he will abandon me, as both my parents did.”

  “I see I shall have to tell you,” Catherine said, shaking her head, “though Stephen made me swear not to.”

  Isobel leaned forward. “Tell me what?”

  “You know Stephen has been spying for the king?”

  Spying? Stephen spied for the king?

  “The king is exceedingly grateful for the service,” Catherine said. “He offered the Hume lands to Stephen—and he wanted Stephen to take them.”

  How naive she was! Hume Castle was a border castle; of course, the king would want a strong man to hold it.

  “The king decided to throw you into the bargain, as men will do, when we told him Stephen wished to wed you.”

  “The king chose Stephen for my husband?”

  Catherine nodded. “But Stephen asked the king to free you from your promise and to give the Hume lands to you.”

  “Why? Why would Stephen do this? He said he wants to marry me.”

  “Because he wants your happiness more,” Catherine said, gripping Isobel’s arms. “Stephen wants you to choose him freely—or not at all.”

  Stephen sacrificed his own gain, his own happiness, so that she might have hers.

  He had the heart of Galahad, strong and true. Time and again, he proved it. In his devotion to his family, his kindness toward the twin orphans, his willingness to risk his life for those he loved… including her.

  Honor would always mean more to him than position or power. His loyalty ran deep. It did not waver.

  He would not fail her.

  “How near dawn is it?” Alarm had Isobel leaping from the bed. With impatient hands, she jerked at her gown. Thank heaven she had not bothered to take it off!

  “I waited as long as I dared,” Catherine said as she knelt to help Isobel into her slippers. “ ’Tis yet an hour before dawn. Robert is waiting downstairs to take you to the castle.”

  “Robert is waiting?”

  “Robert always had faith in you,” Catherine said. “Now give me your other foot so we can get you on your way.”

  As Isobel raced down the stairs, she called back, “The angels should sing your praises, Lady Catherine!”

  Robert caught her in his arms. “I knew you would choose happiness in the end, but did you have to take so long?”

  Horses were saddled and ready outside the door. Robert flung her on one, and they rode hard through the empty streets. When they reached the castle gates, the guards waved them through.

  Isobel slid off her horse at the steps of the Old Palace.

  “Stephen is in his old chamber,” Robert said, taking her hand as they ran down the corridor.

  They skidded to a stop before Stephen’s door.

  “Tell Stephen not to worry about the men,” Robert said, gasping for breath. “William is sending orders to put someone else in command.”

  After the headlong rush to get here, Isobel stood staring at the closed door. What would she say to Stephen? Would he still want her after what she put him through? Could he forgive her?

  “Don’t make the poor man wait any longer!” Robert opened the door and pushed her inside.

  The door closed behind her with a loud thump.

  Stephen sat at the small table beneath the arrow-slit window. From the state of his clothes, he had not been to bed. A single candle glowed on the table, its holder resting in a pool of melted wax.

  With a rush of regret, she realized it was an hours candle. Stephen must have used it to count the hours until his departure—and the hours remaining for her to come to him. Only a stub remained.

  He rose to his feet and put his hand on the back of the chair, as if to steady himself. Though he did not take his eyes from her, neither did he come to her. His handsome face was etched with lines of tension and fatigue.

  “Why are you here, Isobel?”

  To think she might never have heard this voice she loved so well again. A sob caught in her throat when she attempted to speak. Still, he waited.

  She swallowed and tried again. “I’ve loved you for a long time, but I was afraid to trust your love for me. I feared you would betray and abandon me.”

  “I would never do that,” Stephen said. Still, he made no move toward her.

  “I understand that now.”

  “Isobel, tell me why you are here.”

  She took a single step forward. “I come because I choose you, Stephen Carleton, to be my husband.” She took another step. “I choose you because you brought joy and love back into my life, and I do not want to lose them again.”

  With each step she took, her voice grew stronger.

  “I want to sleep beside you each night and wake to see your face each morning. I want to meet your mother.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “I want to know the nieces and nephews you speak of with such fondness. I want to go home with you to Northumberland. I want us to raise our children there.”

  She took the last step and stood before him. “I do not want to waste more time or spend another day apart.”

  “I love my mother, but I think we should wed before you meet her,” Stephen said, his face lit by t
he smile she loved so well. “I can’t risk having her scare you off.”

  In the next instant, she was in his arms.

  “I tried to keep my hope,” he said into her hair, holding her tightly. “But it was hard.”

  He lifted her off her feet and twirled her in his arms. With his eyes warm on hers he said, “Every day of my life, I will thank God you chose me.”

  He kissed her then. A soft, warm kiss that made the world swirl around her. She pressed against him, glorying in the joy and comfort of having his arms around her again.

  Stephen was hers. Always and forever.

  She leaned back and fiddled with the collar of his tunic. “ ’Tis hard to see why we should wait for the ceremony, since we’ve already…” She let her voice trail off, having no doubt he understood what she was proposing.

  “I’ll take no chances with you,” Stephen said, laughing. “We shall make our pledges before witnesses tomorrow, but I shall hear your pledge to me now—before we do aught else.”

  Stephen had attended numerous betrothals over the years, but he’d never paid the slightest attention. Still, he was fairly certain all he had to get right was the essential promise to make it binding.

  “Lady Isobel Hume, I pledge you my troth and take you as my wife.”

  Isobel raised an eyebrow—in appreciation, he believed, of his admirable simplicity.

  “Sir Stephen Carleton,” she said in turn, “I pledge you my troth and take you as my husband.”

  “Now I have you!” With immense satisfaction, he pulled her into his arms.

  He felt awash in his love for her. He smiled, thinking of hardheaded little girls with bouncy dark curls and serious green eyes. And, God forbid, wooden swords in their pudgy little hands. Girls like that would need brothers to keep them out of trouble.

  Isobel pursed her lips and tapped her finger against her cheek. “Is there not something more we must do to make the promise binding? Something that makes it… irrevocable?”

  Irrevocable.

  “I believe,” he said, his voice turning husky as he leaned down to touch his lips to hers, “ ’tis consummation after the promise that does it.”

  They kissed for a long, tender moment. When she opened her mouth to him and pressed against him, his desire grew into an urgent, pulsing need. He lifted her in his arms to carry her to the bed.