His words had the desired effect of causing a murmur of uncertainty among the castle guards.
Isabel stepped to his side, addressing the assembled group. ‘I swear to those of you who return your loyalty to me that you’ll receive a full pardon. Please do this. There is no need for fighting.’
Isabel’s heartfelt speech gave Will ample time to motion silently to Hugh. He gave him a sign by flexing his thumb and forefinger, receiving a small nod of acknowledgment in return. Good. He understood that the most strategic way to get Fitzwalter to concede defeat was to surround him and his men. They would also have to allow them to strike first.
‘Any turncoat would do well to remember that you, your family and anyone associated with you shall be wiped off the face of this earth should you decide to take that course of action,’ Fitzwalter jeered. ‘Is that not right, Rolleston? Le Jeniquens? Canerue?’
‘You’ve lost, Fitzwalter. Yield and surrender.’ They were outflanked and the blasted man knew it, meaning he could pose more danger than even before. Will skirted around the edge of the chapel, his sword at the ready.
‘Never!’ Fitzwalter lunged, engaging him with his sword. Will turned on his heel as he made a defensive swipe, using his superior height and strength to his advantage. ‘I’ve come too far, and for too long, to yield now.’
Will knew from the clatter of movement and clashing of swords that Hugh and his men were also now immersed in the fray. He just hoped that Isabel was safe and tucked out of harm’s way. ‘Then on your head be it, Fitzwalter.’ He scowled before stepping forward and pushing the man back with a quick succession of attacking strikes. He deflected the man’s attempts, countering them with potent thrusts that Fitzwalter had difficulty matching.
Without even turning, he knew Hugh was now beside him, engaged in his own personal combat with Rolleston, who was hardly a match for his friend.
‘You took your time.’ Will’s lips curled faintly.
‘Is this the thanks I get for rushing to your aid the moment you get back to England?’
This felt a little like old times when they would fight side by side, looking out for one another in combat.
Will smirked as he lunged forward, striking Fitzwalter’s sword again and again. ‘I’ve missed you, old friend.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Hugh leant back against the bench and kicked Rolleston in the stomach, winding him. ‘And less of the old, if you please.’
‘Well, you seem a little out of practice. I thought it may have something to do with your happy situation, which reminds me...how is Eleanor?’
Hugh grimaced as he pushed back against Rolleston’s sword. ‘She is with child again and plagued with the sickness curse.’
‘I cannot imagine your formidable lady being cowed by any affliction.’
‘Ah, but she is. Especially as your godson, William, is a handful.’ Hugh shrugged. ‘The little mite takes after his namesake.’
Will grinned as he swiped at Fitzwalter’s sword. ‘Good to know.’
Their two opponents were sweating profusely at their exertion, getting more and more fatigued during this exchange. Good. This was exactly how to wear the bastards down.
Fitzwalter stood on a step in an attempt to allow himself more leverage. The man had gumption, Will would give him that, but then he was also desperate—which made Fitzwalter all the more dangerous. He had nothing left to lose.
Will flicked his gaze around to find Isabel also doing her bit to help with the situation. Her plucky dog was valiantly defending his mistress by growling and yapping relentlessly if anyone dared come too close. Thankfully, she had sensibly stood on the sidelines and was seemingly acting only when threatened. He noticed her smack the metal hilt of the dagger he’d given her on the skull of a man who had ventured too close.
She was nothing if not brave, but Will had to get to her—she wasn’t adequately protected as she continued to fend off assailants on her own—but he had to subdue Fitzwalter first. Will lunged forward, attacking him with sharp blows of the sword, but the older man managed to defend himself, even as his sword licked the side of the man’s face and again his arm.
‘Give in, Fitzwalter, you’re not going to thwart me.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
Fitzwalter grabbed a small youth and pushed him out in front to act as shield before hurling the lad towards him. Will checked that he was unharmed before he pursued Fitzwalter, but it was too late. The man had taken Isabel by surprise and now held her from behind. The point of the dagger—his dagger—pressed into the delicate skin at her neck.
Will tried not to betray a flicker of emotion. He could not show this man how enraged he felt as his heart roared in his chest, threatening to erupt. He vowed to himself if anything happened to her... No, he couldn’t think in that way. He had to keep a clear head and appear outwardly composed when what he actually wanted to do, was to tear Fitzwalter limb from limb.
‘Lay down your arms!’ the man screamed. ‘Do it, now.’
Will turned and nodded to Hugh, his jaw rigid with tension. Only Rolleston, the pock-faced assailant and one other were left standing—the rest were either restrained by Hugh’s men or had fled the scene. That meant nothing, though, as Fitzwalter had Isabel.
‘We surrender.’
One by one, they slowly threw down their weaponry, the sudden silence broken by the noise of the metal hitting the hard stone floor. ‘Now, don’t do anything rash. Just let the lady go.’
‘All I wanted was that,’ Fitzwalter said between breaths as he motioned with a tilt of the head towards the casket tucked under his arm. The other was closed tight around Isabel’s neck. He stepped back, dragging Isabel with him. ‘I want your word that I can leave here with a mount. My men and I should be allowed to leave the castle. Only then can you have your whore back.’
Will noticed Isabel visibly flinch at the words, but she didn’t say anything, knowing as he did that it was best to hold her tongue.
‘Give me your solemn word as a man of honour, Sir William.’
‘You have it,’ Will said quietly. ‘Now, let the lady go.’
The chapel was deathly still except for Isabel’s dog. It was jumping and yapping furiously, sensing that the man meant his mistress harm.
‘If that dog does not shut up, I swear I shall run it through with this,’ the older man hissed. ‘Now get me a horse and we’ll be away.’
Perdu bared his teeth, growling, and then it happened. Perdu’s teeth sunk into Fitzwalter’s ankle just as Isabel leant to the side and punched him in his unmentionables, the way Will had shown her. As Fitzwalter lost his grip on her she elbowed him hard in the stomach for good measure.
Will quickly pulled Isabel into his arms as Hugh and his men retrieved their blades from the ground and pointed them at Fitzwalter, Rolleston and the handful who were left.
It was over, thank God.
‘Well played, my lady.’ Hugh grinned at Isabel before addressing Will. ‘It seems your lady is as formidable as mine, old friend.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Isabel watched in bemusement as Will glared at his friend. They certainly seemed as close as brothers. And after all his difficulties of the last few years, it was good to see Will esteemed by his friend, and accepted for who he was.
Hugh inclined his head, his grin still pasted on his face, before leaving the chapel, followed by his men dragging the prisoners out.
Isabel was now once again alone with Will.
Without their quest and the mystery of the pendants to unravel, she suddenly felt shy, not knowing what to do or where to look. So she stared at her hands, instead.
Will curled a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her jaw and down the side of her neck. ‘He didn’t harm you, did he?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘My throat feels a little sore, but otherwi
se I am well.’
He hissed an oath under his breath. ‘A small mercy because if anything had happened to you, I swear I would have—’
Isabel’s hand reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘I’m perfectly well.’
He exhaled, shaking his head as the tension faded from his eyes, replaced by humour. ‘I’m glad, but, in truth, you were perfectly wonderful.’ He leant forward. ‘I believe you have now mastered that move, but promise me that you’ll only ever use it when absolutely necessary.’
Her lips twitched. ‘I promise.’
‘And never reveal who taught you how to do that.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
He returned her smile and for a moment they stood facing each other at the side of the aisle. After a moment Isabel broke the silence. ‘Shall we go?’
‘After you, my lady.’ He motioned with an outstretched arm.
He took a step towards the front entrance, but she stopped him. ‘The side entrance...well, it can open now.’
‘Of course it can,’ he said wryly, holding the door open for her and Perdu. ‘Come.’
They walked out to the side of the building, to be welcomed by the glow of the morning sunrise. Isabel blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. She breathed in the heady scent of the herbs in the garden, enhanced by the morning dew. There was sage, mint, dill, comfrey and blueish-purple-topped, spiky-stemmed, hyssop—the herb that she’d used when tending to Will’s wound all those weeks ago with its blue petals that she had later scattered in the chamber after their night of intimacy in La Rochelle. She swallowed uncomfortably at the memory.
‘With your permission, I’d be honoured to do your bidding, Isabel,’ Will said, picking off the top of the flowering purple herb. ‘I’ll accompany Hugh, taking the casket, Fitzwalter and the rest of the prisoners to the Earl of Pembroke. It shall be his decision on what is to be done with them, including consigning this to the Templars.’
‘Thank you.’ She nodded in agreement before lifting her head. ‘You have my gratitude, Will. When...’ She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘When would you depart?’
‘As soon as may be, my lady.’
‘I see.’ There seemed little more to say, yet so much more she wanted to.
They walked through the garden, along the path around the corner of the chapel. ‘You’re not coming back, are you?’
‘Isabel...’ He left her name hanging in the air, imbued with something akin to painful longing.
Dear lord, this was difficult.
‘Come back, Will.’ She exhaled a shaky breath. ‘When this is all over, come back to me.’
He stilled her, grasping her elbow. ‘I would want for nothing more, but you know that can’t happen.’
‘I begin to understand it less and less.’ She lifted her head up to meet his gaze. ‘Why should we not be together if we both wish it?’
‘Do not ask this of me.’ Her back was against the stone wall with his hands placed either side, enclosing her. ‘Christ, Isabel. I’m no different to all the poor bastards, apparently, sired by your father and many men like him. I’m not fit to stand by you.’
‘Would you listen to yourself!’ she hissed in frustration. ‘I don’t care which side of the coverlet you were sired on, Will. Can you not see your own worth? Because from where I stand, it’s far more than my father’s, who cared little about anyone other than himself.’
‘Oh, Isabel.’ He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin. ‘I would do anything for you, but this...us... Much as I want it, with all my heart, it cannot be.’
‘Does my love not count for anything?’
‘It counts for more than you’ll ever know and it shall stay with me until I breathe my last. But it is not enough,’ he whispered softly, tilting her head up. ‘Matters of the heart cannot supersede matters to do with duty and obligation. This is the world we dwell in.’
‘We can change that.’
‘No, sweetheart.’ He kissed her fingers. ‘I wish... I wish I could be the man to deserve you, but I’m not.’
An ache formed in her throat, making it impossible to say anything.
How dare he!
How dare he believe he was not good enough for her, as though he was beneath her.
‘You are a noble lady, Isabel. The chatelaine of this castle,’ he continued. ‘When I see you, I see someone strong, resilient, capable and, above all, kind-hearted. It has been my privilege to know you...to love you. And it’s precisely because of my love for you that I must let you go. My honour demands it.’
Well...what could she say to that?
Beg him to stay? Her conscience would never permit her to do that. Yet she felt like shaking him out of this narrow mindset. After everything they had both been through, they deserved happiness, did they not? Despite the difference in rank between them? Isabel didn’t care about that anyway. She had grown up among ordinary people—she understood them and the problems they faced better than most noble ladies. But Will did not see it that way and mayhap he never would. She realised something then...something she had overlooked until now.
She did not need William Geraint to survive. She had proven that she was more than capable to do that on her own. Isabel had survived the ambush when she had been all but a little girl. She had survived her family’s abandonment, survived living in a convent and in St Jean de Cole. She had survived the journey back to England and would learn to survive this...losing Will. She would survive it even though it would take time. Even though she’d be heartsick. She knew all about difficulties in enduring and overcoming hurt. It seemed that she would have to do it again.
‘Well then’ she said finally, her head held high. ‘There’s nothing left to say.’
* * *
‘You have been quiet for hours, Will. Is there something that you wish to confer with me about?’ Hugh threw his friend a worried gaze as he rode alongside him.
It had been a long while since they had left Castle de Clancey. A long while since Isabel had stood on the steps of the castle keep beside her mother, looking dignified and gracious with her back straight and her gaze passive as she bid him farewell. Will knew he would never see her again and that image of her would be etched in his head for all time, along with many others that were all too painful to ponder on.
‘No. It has been a tiring few weeks. That’s all.’
‘Either you’re a good liar Will, or you’re getting too old for such campaigns.’
‘Perhaps I am.’
‘Come now, you and I always shared everything, even our woes.’
‘Did we?’ Will’s jaw was set so hard, it almost hurt. ‘Forgive me, but I seem to have forgotten.’
He knew he was being churlish, especially as Hugh had come out of his way to help with the matter of Fitzwalter, but Will felt like lashing out at someone. Someone close at hand.
‘Haven’t you punished yourself enough, my friend?’ Hugh muttered softly.
That got his attention.
He whipped his head around. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know precisely what I mean, Will. You have not only punished yourself for what happened at Portchester, but everyone around you. Me, your family... Tell me, is it now the turn of Lady Isabel?’
‘You know nothing about it.’
‘Do I not? I believe I have eyes and ears and from what I saw at Castle de Clancey, I could see how deeply you both care about one another.’
‘You do not understand.’
‘Believe me, I do.’ Hugh’s voice was low, but filled with barely concealed bitterness. ‘Or rather, I have been trying to for the past few years.’
‘What happened at Portchester...’
‘Always befalls men like us, Will. It’s something we all have to live with. You were betrayed by another and yet you’re the one riddled with guilt. You do your men
a disservice by shouldering all the blame. Those men died in honour, protecting their King, as was their duty.’
‘Yet King John believed so vehemently that the fault lay with me that he had me banished, for heaven’s sake.’
Hugh shook his head. ‘God rest his soul, but John was always quick to cast blame on others, rather than look closer to his circle of mercenaries. You know this and, even if it were true, which it never was, you exonerated yourself with the information you provided Marshal at the battle in Lincoln, without which we could have lost to the Barons and Prince Louis.’ He threw him a glance. ‘This isn’t about that anyway and you know it.’
Hell’s teeth!
‘What I know is that this is not a welcome topic of conversation.’
‘That may be so. But if this is about wanting something—or rather, someone—whom you believe you should not have... It’s not true.’
‘You don’t comprehend. My mother—’
‘She has told me everything, Will.’
‘Apologies, then you do understand.’ Will focused his attention putting his horse through its paces as he galloped ahead. Hugh soon caught up with him. ‘We cannot belong to one another, Isabel and I. You must see that.’
‘What I see is someone who is, and has been, unhappy for some years now.’ Hugh sighed. ‘Besides, if you’ve given her your heart in exchange for hers, then it seems to me that some part of her does belong to you.’
‘It is not as simple as that.’
Hugh pulled the reins, bringing his horse to a halt, forcing Will to do the same. ‘Life is perilous as it is, with danger and hardship at every turn. You know as well as I—as well as any soldier—how precarious life can be. One moment we’re here and the next...’ He clicked his fingers. ‘It’s extinguished. If you have a chance at happiness, even fleetingly, then grasp it with both hands, my friend.’
‘I would not dishonour Isabel. I’d be no better than Geoffrey Fitzwalter in his greed—taking something that cannot belong to me.’
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