Joanna Fulford

by His Lady of Castlemora

  ‘Lady Isabelle. Pray come and sit down.’

  She crossed the room aware of the curious stares directed her way. What must they think of her? By now the whole of Dark Mount would know who she was and how she came to be there. Furthermore they knew Lord Ban had been grievously hurt in her cause.

  Sensing her nervousness Ashlynn smiled. ‘You look a little better, though you are still too pale.’

  ‘I am quite well,’ replied Isabelle, ‘but what of Lord Ban?’

  ‘Meg has drawn the arrow and stanched the wound. His other hurts are not so deep but he has lost a lot of blood one way and another. What he needs now is rest and time to heal.’

  ‘He will be all right, won’t he?’

  ‘I pray God he will.’

  Isabelle drew in a ragged breath. ‘He has been so kind, done so much to help me.’ Tears welled in the hazel eyes. ‘Now he may die and if he does it will be my fault.’

  ‘I am sure it cannot be your fault,’ replied Ashlynn.

  ‘But it is. If it weren’t for me he would have returned home unscathed. By rights he should have.’

  ‘Won’t you tell me what happened?’

  Tactfully she led Isabelle aside and sat her down on the other side of the hearth before drawing up a chair for herself.

  ‘Now you may speak freely.’

  She listened with close attention as Isabelle spoke of her father’s death, and offered her condolences. When her companion went on to speak of Hugh’s murder and the events following, Ashlynn was shocked and horrified.

  ‘Truly this Murdo is a most evil man.’

  ‘I think him capable of any outrage,’ replied Isabelle.

  Of the origins of her relationship with Ban, she said nothing, being too ashamed to confess it. Nor did she mention their subsequent betrothal. Ban had wished the matter kept secret and she would not break faith with him, no matter how hard it was to remain silent. If Ashlynn guessed she was not being told the whole, she evidently knew better than to try to force a confidence. Isabelle was grateful for it, and for the kind attempt to offer what reassurance she could.

  ‘My brother has a strong constitution and an even stronger will. Once before, when first we came to Dark Mount, he was nigh unto death but he fought it and won.’

  ‘He mentioned that he had been injured at that time.’

  ‘He has a taste for dangerous odds.’

  Isabelle’s heart swelled. ‘I never saw a braver man, or a more skilful fighter.’

  ‘I know of only one man who could best him.’

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘My husband.’

  Glancing across the room at Lord Iain, Isabelle could not doubt the words. Despite his courtesy towards her she held him in considerable awe. A more powerful and charismatic figure would be hard to find, except for Ban of course. Thinking of how much she owed him, owed to both of them, only intensified her guilt. Somehow she had to try to make amends or, if not, to make herself useful at least.

  ‘Ban is going to need careful nursing for a while,’ she said. ‘I would be glad to help in any way that I can.’

  Ashlynn smiled at her. ‘That is a kind offer and I am grateful. Meg and her assistants have several patients to look after at present and another pair of hands would certainly ease their load.’

  ‘I’d be glad to do it.’

  ‘Being so near my time makes me feel of limited use. I tire much more quickly than I did.’

  Isabelle managed a wan smile. Her companion’s swollen belly was a mocking reminder of failure and humiliation. ‘That’s quite understandable. Just let me know what you need me to do.’

  ‘Bless you. Your help will be much appreciated.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do after all that Glengarron has done for me.’

  It was a partial truth only. The real reason for her offer was not just about gratitude, though she certainly felt that. Rather it was the need to be with Ban, even if he was unaware of the fact.

  * * *

  After the arrow was drawn Ban had remained unconscious for some time, being weakened by loss of blood. Meg came daily to check the dressings and look at the wound which, mercifully, remained free of infection, and to administer draughts of poppy and wine to take the edge off pain.

  ‘Sleep is the best thing for him just now,’ she said. ‘Rest will help the wounds to knit.’

  ‘How long will it take do you think?’ asked Isabelle.

  ‘Two weeks, maybe three. Several more after that until he’s fully fit again. All the same he was lucky. Another inch and the arrow would have pierced his lung.’

  Isabelle shivered inwardly. ‘Yes, he was lucky.’

  ‘If there’s any change in his condition call me.’

  ‘I will.’

  Meg left the room, closing the door behind her. Isabelle surveyed the sleeping figure with misgivings. His flesh was still pale beneath the stubble of his beard, his eyes sunken and shadowed, cheek bones jutting in sharp relief. Bandages swathed his shoulder and torso.

  ‘Don’t die,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t die.’

  She no longer felt afraid for herself, only of a future where he was not.

  * * *

  It was another week before he came to full consciousness. Rising slowly from a well of darkness he looked about in surprise. The room was vaguely familiar yet how he came to be there he could not imagine. In his memory was a confused mass of images: a hill and sky and fighting men. He stirred and then winced as pain lanced through his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t try to move yet. You will tear the wound afresh.’

  With an effort he turned towards the voice and saw Ashlynn. He managed a faint smile and received an answering smile in return.

  ‘God be thanked,’ she said then. ‘You have frightened us all, Brother.’

  ‘How long have I been here?’

  When she told him his brows drew together as tried to make sense of the information.

  ‘You were unconscious most of that time.’

  ‘How did I—?’ He broke off aware of the dull throbbing in his shoulder, and glanced down at the bandages round it. Other bits of memory began to come back. He frowned and his hand clenched on the coverlet.

  ‘Isabelle! Where is she? What happened to her?’

  Ashlynn, fearing to see him agitated, was swift to give reassurance. ‘She is here, Brother, safe within these walls.’

  ‘Is she well?’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘I’m glad. There were moments when I feared—’ He broke off as other recollections stirred. ‘Jock is dead.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

  ‘What of his family?’

  ‘Iain has already been to see his wife. She will be taken care of and the children too.’

  ‘Even so they will miss Jock sorely. So will I. He was a loyal friend and a brave warrior.’

  ‘Yes, he was.’

  Ban’s jaw tightened. ‘His death will be avenged, I swear it.’ He frowned as another unpleasant thought occurred to him. ‘Davy and Ewan? Are they...?’

  ‘They are both well.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that.’ He paused. ‘What of the traitor, Murdo?’

  ‘Iain had his men conduct a thorough search, but they have found no trace of him.’

  ‘Damnation. As long as the swine’s alive he’ll remain a threat.’

  ‘His force is decimated and he is injured,’ said Ashlynn. ‘Surely he can pose little danger now.’

  ‘You don’t know him, Ash. He’s single-minded in following his purpose, and cares not how he achieves it. He wants Isabelle, and she may yet be in danger.’

  There were many questions she would have liked to ask him about that, but knew it was too soon. Already he looked exhausted.

  ‘Isabelle is safe for the present,’ she said. ‘No harm shall come to her here. Meanwhile, you should try to sleep a little.’

  It was testimony to his fragile state that he did not argue. ‘Will you come back later?’

/>   ‘Try keeping me away.’

  The door closed softly behind her. Ban shut his eyes. Unbidden Isabelle’s image drifted into his mind. She was safe. That was something at least. She is here...within these walls. The knowledge filled him with conflicting emotions: relief, hope, pain. For her he had risked and lost the life of a friend. Or rather he had risked and lost a friend for the sake of his own ambition, his own desires. Ashlynn hadn’t mentioned his betrothal and he felt sure she would have done so if she had known of it. Therefore it seemed Isabelle had kept silent. That gave him pause since it would have been very much in her interest to declare it. Why hadn’t she? Most other women would. He knew she hadn’t enjoyed the clandestine aspect of their relationship yet he had followed his inclination regardless. Looking back he experienced a twinge of guilt and shame.

  He could well imagine Ashlynn’s reaction to his behaviour; she would take him roundly to task over it and demand he acknowledge Isabelle properly. Continuing the relationship in the same covert manner would not be something his sister would ever sanction, not even, he suspected, for the sake of an heir. After her experiences during the Harrying, Ashlynn was nothing if not protective of those she considered vulnerable. And Isabelle was desperately vulnerable. Nothing has changed. The arrangement still stands. How glib those words seemed now. Suddenly a great deal had changed and made everything far more complex than even he had imagined. Even his feelings were complicated: emotions that were unaccustomed and disquieting. He had no experience to call on, nothing that might help him find his way. The knowledge did little to raise his spirits.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next time he woke he felt rather better, his mind sharper. Turning his head he saw a woman standing by the window. She had her back to him, her form silhouetted against the late afternoon light. However, her gown was familiar.

  ‘Ashlynn? Could I have some water?’

  At the sound of his voice the woman turned quickly and his heart performed a painful manoeuvre as he recognised her.

  ‘Isabelle. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Lady Ashlynn is resting so I’ve been sitting with you awhile.’

  ‘I see.’

  For a moment or two they surveyed each other in silence. He realised she was wearing one of his sister’s gowns. The forest-green one. Ashlynn must have lent it to her. He thought the colour suited her well.

  She looked away. ‘I’ll fetch you that drink.’

  He watched her cross to the table and pour water from the jug into a horn cup. Then she returned. Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed she leaned towards him. As she did so he caught a subtle trace of lavender scent from her gown. It was as unexpected and disconcerting as her presence. She held the cup to his lips. To cover his inner confusion he drank some of the water. It gave him a little space in which to gather his thoughts.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She straightened and moved away, replacing the cup on the table. ‘You look a little better today.’

  He frowned. ‘Today? Have you been here before then?’

  ‘Several times.’

  The thought that she had been with him, watching him sleep, was strangely unsettling though not displeasing.

  ‘I wanted to help,’ she went on, ‘and it seemed little enough to do—in the circumstances.’

  ‘I thank you for your care.’

  ‘It is I who should be thanking you,’ she replied.

  ‘I don’t want your gratitude, Isabelle.’

  The tone was unintentionally abrasive and she looked away. Ban mentally cursed his tactlessness.

  ‘What I meant was you owe me nothing.’

  ‘That isn’t true and we both know it. But for me none of this would have happened.’

  ‘You have no reason to feel guilt. The responsibility lies with Murdo.’

  The name fell between them, bitter and unsavoury, evoking unpleasant memories. Isabelle grimaced.

  ‘I hope to heaven that he has died of his wound by now. If so my brother is justly avenged.’

  ‘Aye, he is, although I’d hoped to kill Murdo myself.’

  ‘The sooner he’s dead the better. Otherwise you would have a blood feud on your hands into the bargain.’

  ‘A blood feud?’

  ‘He intended to get my dowry back from the Neils.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Since they would rather die than yield up a penny of it there would have been slaughter on a grand scale.’

  ‘That there would.’

  She shook her head. ‘I would not have anyone die for such a reason, not even Alistair Neil.’

  He frowned, uncertain he’d heard aright. ‘Forgive me, but I’m not sure I follow.’

  ‘The truth is that there was no love lost between us.’

  It wasn’t in the least what he’d expected to hear and it caused a rapid revision of some earlier assumptions. ‘That might have changed, with time.’

  ‘No amount of time would have made any difference. My late husband was a brute. So, while I would not have sought his death, I cannot wish him back either.’

  He was silent for a moment or two, letting the implications sink in. Then he recalled another conversation. There is no pleasure for a woman in the marriage bed. Suddenly a whole lot of other ramifications occurred to him. Was that part of her reluctance for their betrothal? Had she been afraid he would hurt her? The idea was abhorrent. He needed to find out more.

  ‘But your father couldn’t have known that when he agreed to the marriage?’

  ‘No, I truly believe he did not.’ She sighed. ‘It seemed to be a glittering match in every way. I must take my share of the blame since I also took it on face value.’

  ‘You are not the first to have made that mistake and I imagine you won’t be the last.’

  ‘Are you speaking in general or specific terms?’

  He hesitated. ‘I once fell for a beautiful face, but it didn’t take me long to discover the shallowness behind.’ He smiled in self-mockery. ‘I was a lot younger then.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Beatrice.’

  He shifted position a little and winced at the answering stab of pain in his shoulder. It carried him back four years to a patch of muddy ground and four men whose fists and feet hammered home the penalty for presumption.

  Isabelle surveyed him steadily. ‘She hurt you, didn’t she?’

  It was not the pain he remembered. Flesh healed after a while; humiliation never did. At best it could be buried.

  ‘It was many years ago and it has long since ceased to matter.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  He averted his gaze. ‘If you don’t mind I’d like to sleep awhile.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You need not stay. I’m sure you have better things to do than play nursemaid to me.’

  With that he shut his eyes, bringing the conversation to a definitive end. Isabelle made no attempt to alter that. He heard her move away and then the door opened and closed. He was alone. It should have come as a relief but what he felt just then was bereft.

  * * *

  Isabelle didn’t return to her room but took the stairs to the top of the tower instead. At the end of the passageway a small door led out on to a terrace which overlooked the glen and the hills beyond. It was a private place, found by accident not long after her arrival at Dark Mount, and just now the solitude was welcome. She leaned disconsolately against the warm stone trying not to think about Ban. After all he’d just made it very clear that he didn’t want her company. Considering what she knew of marital relationships she ought to have been better prepared for rejection. As it was, it hurt more than any beating in her experience.

  She sighed. How was it that some women seemed to possess an innate understanding of how to please a man, while she had none? Her mirror told her that she was not ill-looking, but physical beauty wasn’t enough. Alistair Neil had found her attractive but she had never been able to please him in any of the ways that mattered.
Ban had found her attractive enough to seek a betrothal, and to bed her of course, even to rescue her, but he didn’t love her. She was a possession, like his horse and his sword. No man takes what is mine. He’d been injured and lost a friend on her account. Small wonder if he blamed her. Far from pleasing him as she had hoped, this alliance had left an indelible memory for all the wrong reasons. The one consolation in this sorry mess was that he was on the road to recovery, and if she’d helped towards that the effort had been worthwhile. He was out of danger so he wouldn’t need the intensive nursing he’d had hitherto. There was no point in her returning to the sick room again. For both their sakes it was better to stay away.

  * * *

  For the next three days Ban’s heart leapt every time the door opened, and each time it sank when he saw that the visitor wasn’t Isabelle. He realised then that she had taken his words to heart and wouldn’t be coming back. Ashlynn, who visited regularly, watched him in concern. His injuries were healing well and he was able to sit up and take nourishment again, but his spirits seemed low. His temper was uncharacteristically short too. At first she attributed it to pain but when she asked if his wounds were hurting he denied it.

  ‘I hate to see you like this, Ban. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong.’

  ‘Then why are you behaving like a bear with a sore head?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘I’m just tired of lying abed, that’s all.’

  ‘It won’t be long before you’re up and about again.’

  ‘It can’t come too soon as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘It can’t come too soon for the rest of us either,’ she replied.

  It drew a self-deprecating sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Ash. I don’t mean to be ungrateful—or bearish. It’s just having too much time on my hands and not enough to do.’

  ‘Good try, Brother. If I didn’t know you better that might have convinced me.’

  ‘All right, I’ve had things on my mind as well.’

  ‘Would one of them be Lady Isabelle by any chance?’

  He looked up sharply. ‘Why should you think that?’

  ‘Well, let me see... She no longer comes to this room. You’re in a foul humour and she looks utterly despondent.’ She paused. ‘Am I getting close?’