Harlequin Historical February 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  Yet, the more he studied at her the more the fear of discovery gave way to annoyance. She knew she should keep her mouth shut and not allow this man to rile her, but eventually she couldn’t help herself. ‘You are staring at me, sir, in a wholly inappropriate manner.’

  ‘Apologies, I had not realised there was a more appropriate way to do so.’

  Isabel blinked at his outrageous response. She was trying to think of a rejoinder, but cautioned herself at being taken in by his brazen behaviour. If there was to be conversation, it would be better to keep it sedate, dripping with uninterest.

  ‘You are not from around here, messere?’ she said casually, hoping she sounded indifferent.

  ‘No, I am not.’ He swerved around her so they were back to back, rising on one foot and then lowering down again, taking a step back to his partner.

  Soon enough he passed Isabel again. ‘And you have come among us here in this village to improve your dance technique?’ She knew she was now being uncivil, but really, the stranger made her feel uneasy about things she would rather forget.

  ‘I don’t believe I have any need of improvement there.’

  ‘You’re very sure of yourself, messere.’

  And to prove her point, he switched partners with such an air of presumption and self-assured ease—standing beside her, holding one of her hands gently in his, as if she had always been his partner—that something inside her snapped.

  ‘You are very forward, messere! And I would ask you again to refrain from staring at me in that impertinent way.’ she hissed under her breath, as she moved past him with a fluid click-heel step.

  He raised a brow. ‘Apologies, I do not mean to make you feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Do you not?’

  He smirked. ‘No.’

  Isabel had to admit that there was something quite appealing about him when he smiled like that, with a sudden, unexpected spark of humour in his azure-blue eyes.

  ‘Well, what were you doing then, messere?’

  They moved past each other in the circle and looped around the other couples before pivoting around to stand side by side, the length of her arm against the solid warmth of his. She felt slightly breathless being in such close proximity to the man.

  ‘I’m trying to ascertain whether you are someone I met briefly a long time ago.’

  ‘Oh? But I have never seen you before in my life,’ she said too quickly as they parted again, thankfully, and danced a few steps with different partners before returning to face each other.

  ‘I’m not so sure. There is something about your eyes that looks familiar to me.’

  Dear God!

  Her hazel-green eyes would have to give her away. They had always plagued her for being so strange…so uncommon and different. One eye had a dark patch across it, which meant that people always believed her eyes to be of two separate colours, even going as far as to call her names. Even her own father believed she was cursed because of this affliction.

  ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

  He tilted his head as he watched her. ‘Pity, since I am starting to think differently.’ He took her hand and swung it up and above her head, allowing her to twirl around and under their joined hands.

  For goodness sake. ‘Pity, since you are mistaken.’

  ‘I don’t think so. The more I look at you, the more I believe that it is you.’

  They parted again and moved to the opposite side of one another, weaving around one couple and then coming together in a large connected circle.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, frowning.

  ‘William Geraint at your service, but my friends call me Will.’

  ‘You and I are not friends, messere.’

  ‘Cruel heart,’ he said, shaking his head and smiling. ‘You wound me.’

  ‘Do I?’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘How very thoughtless of me.’

  ‘Indeed, yet it begs another more puzzling question about you.’

  ‘Oh, and what might that be?’

  ‘Your apparent disinterest in why I might have come to your village.’

  They held hands in the air, far too close for Isabel’s comfort. ‘My disinterest is very real, believe me.’

  ‘Ah, well, I cannot account for your look of trepidation then.’

  ‘Since I know you to be mistaken about any previous acquaintance, however brief, there really isn’t any interest. Why would there be?’

  ‘Why indeed? Yet for my part, I would have to disagree again, I’m afraid.’

  His teasing tone was beginning to make her exasperated. It was as though he was purposely provoking her to reveal more. ‘You may do as you choose. It has really no effect on me.’

  ‘In that case, would you humour me?’ He raised a brow as she moved around him. ‘You see, twelve years ago I rescued a girl surrounded by horrific carnage.’ He paused to watch her a moment before continuing. ‘The girl was naturally frightened, but she was left in the security of a local convent… She gave me this,’ he said, pulling out the pendant from under his tunic. ‘In thanks, and in…friendship.’

  Isabel swallowed and licked her dry lips. ‘That was a kind thing to do, and I’m sure the girl, who must now be a woman, if she is alive, was incredibly grateful if she gave you something so precious. However, I fail to see what it has to do with me.’

  ‘Do you not?’ he whispered in her ear as they passed each other in a circular flourish. ‘You see, I believe that girl was you…my lady.’

  She almost faltered.

  ‘What?’ she scoffed. ‘I assure you, messere, I am no lady.’ She realised her mistake as a slow smile spread on his face. ‘I meant that I am just a miller’s daughter and not the kind of lady you’re looking for.’

  His smile deepened. ‘Oh, and what kind of lady would that be?’

  Isabel felt like stamping on his feet. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not the kind of woman who would inspire a man to traipse all the way to a remote village in Aquitaine in search of some long-lost lady, whom he saved when she was eight years old.’ She lifted her head as the music slowed.

  His eyes glittered with bemusement. ‘I don’t believe I mentioned how young the girl was.’

  ‘Didn’t you? How remiss of me to guess then,’ she ground out. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe this dance has finished.’

  Isabel yanked her hand from his and strode off in a different direction. Anywhere but near this man who had, in a matter of moments, managed to shake the foundations of her carefully constructed existence.

  He thought he knew who she really was.

  Well, he was wrong. That part of her life was gone and she did not want it back…did she?

  Isabel loved being Adela, the ordinary daughter of a miller, who toiled all day so she could have a moment or two to learn everything there was from Sibylla. Oh, God, how she loved her simple, uncomplicated existence. She chose it, she lived it and she cherished it.

  She liked the pretty peaceful village, enjoyed her adopted family—even Heloise—and appreciated her friends, especially Ralph, who would not always be here and would eventually move on, but still…

  Still…she did not want to go back to being Lady Isabel de Clancey and once again be a pawn. To be used for whatever gain her father sought. She didn’t want to be bartered and trussed as some proscribed paragon of deferential noblewoman.

  Yes, Isabel missed her family—she missed her real mother desperately and even her older brothers—but that family had sent her away, abandoned her and had all but forgotten her. She had had to learn to suppress those feelings.

  The hurt.

  The loss.

  She was obviously too inconsequential and unimportant because they had never come looking for her…until now.

  Isabel had cried herself to sleep night after night as a child, alone in t
he world and longing to be home, but determined to keep her promise to her father. And she had—she had never revealed her true identity to anyone, frightened by what would happen to her if she had. Fearing her father’s wrath and fearing the unknown entity that had threatened her life on that day so long ago. But gradually, those tears had dried up as she remembered pieces of her old life that made her feel uneasy. And eventually, with the passage of time, she had gained some peace.

  She had made a new home, with a new identity, and forgot about the old. She became stronger—and, yes, happier.

  Was it now going to be snatched from her?

  William Geraint had saved her a long time ago, gifting her the chance of the hard-fought-for freedom she now had. Now, after all these years, it seemed as though he was going to try to take it away.

  Well, she was not going to let that happen.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, are you even listening to me?’ Isabel expelled an irritated breath as she tried to catch her sister’s attention. ‘Heloise?’

  Her sister threw a dismissive look over her shoulder as they walked along the pathway. This was bad. This was very bad indeed, especially as Heloise was simply ignoring everything she was saying.

  Ever since the dance, Isabel’s sister was determined to make William Geraint believe that she was the Lady Isabel de Clancey. And Heloise was nothing if not single-minded when there was something she wanted.

  Isabel tried again. ‘This is nonsense. You cannot take the place of someone you are not.’

  Me…you can’t take the place of me, for the love of God.

  ‘Besides, you cannot even be sure that this man, this William Geraint, is who he says he is.’

  Isabel knew, however—she knew the moment he had started talking to her during the dance—that it was her long-lost hero. But Heloise didn’t need to know that.

  Isabel had been in a muddle since Will Geraint’s arrival at the feast, which was why she had avoided him since. She didn’t want this reminder of her past and had to try to get the man to leave their village. Either that, or be forced to leave herself, if only temporarily.

  ‘Being a noble lady isn’t all that you think it is, Heloise.’

  ‘And how would you know? You’re an orphan like me.’

  Isabel grabbed her sister’s arm. ‘Yes, exactly. What of the family who have raised us? Who have done everything for us? You are just going abandon them?’

  ‘They’ll get over it, especially with the coin that Sir William has offered them.’

  ‘What?’ Isabel whispered softly. ‘They would give you up so easily? For money?’

  Did everything in life have to always come down to that? Money and greed? Did her father want her to resume her former obligations so badly that he would go to such lengths? Naturally, he would. But why now after all this time? Oh, how she hated that everything had changed since William Geraint’s arrival in St Jean de Cole.

  ‘Of course. Everyone has a price. Besides, I want to leave.’ Heloise pursed her lips.

  ‘You’ll not be leaving if you cannot convince the man,’ Isabel said, turning to catch her sister up. ‘And I don’t know how you shall. You don’t know anything about the real Isabel de Clancey. And what about her family? They’ll know you are not her.’

  Heloise shrugged. ‘I’ll think of something by then. I don’t really care as long as I can get away from St Jean de Cole. As for William Geraint—there are other ways to persuade him.’

  Isabel exhaled slowly, hoping to regain some of her composure. At least they were alone in this secluded part of the village. Thank God, or else the whole village would be shocked by their discourse.

  ‘Oh, Lord, he’s coming!’

  Isabel swung around, frowning. ‘What? Who?’

  ‘The man himself, of course—William Geraint,’ Heloise said from the side of her mouth as she straightened her spine, smoothed her sheer veil and curled her lips into a ready smile. ‘How do I look?’

  This? This was what Heloise was prioritising, at a time like this?

  But for her sister, her appearance when a handsome, young knight was approaching was of utmost importance. Her confidence in herself was staggering.

  ‘Good morrow, ladies,’ he said in a pleasant tone as he halted in front of them.

  Isabel ignored him, but naturally her sister did not. ‘Oh, good morrow, Sir William. I hope you are well?’

  He scratched his head in a way that reminded Isabel of the boy she remembered.

  ‘As well as can be expected. My sojourn at the home of local farmers means I am woken with alarming regularity.’

  ‘How unfortunate for you, messere,’ Isabel said, raising a brow. ‘Although as a soldier I would have thought you would be used to erratic, broken sleep. I thought it would be deemed necessary training for you to be ready for any eventuality.’

  He smirked. ‘Oh, I’m always ready for that.’

  ‘What I meant was that if it was so bothersome, you could always leave.’

  He grinned. ‘True, but not until I have completed my task of facilitating the journey back to England…for Lady Isabel,’ he said, keeping his eyes locked on to hers.

  His facilitation of the journey back to her real family was more a coercion than anything else. Subtle, courteous, and well meaning, but resolutely and single-mindedly a coercion.

  Since the feast, wherever Isabel went, wherever she was going, he was there, waiting and watching her, letting her know in every way that he was not fooled by her. It was grinding her down slowly, this intrusion into her inner peace, and she felt weary of it and weary of him.

  Will Geraint’s presence in St Jean de Cole had dredged up long-forgotten recollections of what had happened that day. Distant memories of muffled voices, all merged together with the grisly events of the ambush all those years ago. They played repeatedly in her mind. It made Isabel feel restless and her sleep had been disturbed these past few nights but from more worrying reasons than a few noisy farm animals.

  Isabel had thought she had put the past behind her, she had thought she no longer needed to worry, but it was strange how the past could suddenly push itself back into the fore. Those distant memories of life in England might be fragmented, much of it overshadowed by what happened when she journeyed to France, but she could recall the reasons for that journey.

  Her father had sought to forge new alliances after his fall from grace with King John and the only way to do that was to bring forward Isabel’s arranged betrothal. Although she was a child at the time and too young to actually marry, she had been old enough to leave her family to live with her betrothed’s. But, of course, it never came to pass and Isabel had spent the last twelve years forgetting about it.

  That betrothal was most likely now broken, thank God, but it did not mean her father would not want to use her in another way once again. And this was what she wanted to know from the man stood in front of her.

  Why now?

  Why had her family not come for her before when she needed them, when she was a lost little girl in a strange land? Had she never mattered to them at all? Yet, she knew she couldn’t ask William Geraint any of this. There was a part of her that didn’t want to find out the truth, knowing it could hurt her again.

  She gave a small shiver and lifted her head. ‘Well, I’m sorry you have had a wasted journey to St Jean de Cole, messere.’

  ‘He has not, since he’s found me—Lady Isabel de Clancey,’ Heloise muttered through gritted teeth.

  ‘Indeed.’ William Geraint kept his eyes locked on to Isabel’s, with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

  Just as when they had danced together, his piercing gaze made her knees feel a little weak. Made her feel a little breathless. He was certainly handsome, but there was more to him than just that, some unknown quality behind that penetrating gaze. He intrigued her, even
though he really shouldn’t.

  Isabel wondered again whether he was really the same boy who had rescued her a lifetime ago. The memory of his kindness etched on to her mind had been replaced by this man’s mocking tone. For the first time since his appearance at the feast, Isabel wondered what had happened to him in the intervening years since boyhood. What had happened to that young, caring squire she remembered or had she made far too much of the boy-hero? She could not have. William Geraint had, without a thought for his own safety, saved her life.

  She gave herself a mental shake.

  ‘As I said before, I’m not sure why you remain here in our little village that sadly provides you with an inadequate place to rest and sleep, when your search had proved unsuccessful.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ he said, raising his brow.

  Again, that gaze of his was making her feel a little on edge. It conveyed that he didn’t believe a word she said.

  God, but every time Isabel encountered this man, she somehow reinforced and strengthened his belief that she was Lady Isabel de Clancey. And just as every other time, she had to get away. She couldn’t stay and be reminded of what she owed her real family, her duty to them. Oh, yes, the doubt and guilt were slowly gnawing at her.

  She took a step in an attempt to get away. Far away. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

  He caught her arm gently, the warmth of his fingers sending a shot of unexpected awareness through her.

  ‘I do not mean to cause you any distress. I am only here for one purpose and one purpose only.’

  ‘Ah, but consider, messere, that your purpose is the very thing that is the cause of my distress.’

  He raised a brow. ‘Why?’

  ‘Not everyone desires to be found, Sir William, or for that matter welcomes their old life back,’ she hissed under her breath.

  ‘Again, I must ask why?’

  She clenched her fists at her side. ‘I do not have to explain anything. I am not answerable to you, or anyone else, for that matter.’

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ He narrowed his gaze as Heloise looked from one to the other of them.