Dreams of Lilacs

by Lynn Kurland

  The stillness in the hall was palpable. Isabelle inclined her head and moved off. No sense in giving the lady Margaret the opportunity to filch a blade and use it. She glanced over her shoulder as she left and paused. Perhaps it was the closeness of that immediate circle by the fire that afforded her such a fine view of Gervase drawing his hand over his face, or perhaps ’twas a bit of happy fortune. He shot her a look that she couldn’t quite decipher, then shook his head, looking as if he might be fighting a smile. Isabelle shrugged and started for the kitchens.

  Somehow, that seemed particularly appropriate.

  “Well played,” Miles managed under his breath.

  Isabelle said nothing until she had her brother all the way to the kitchens. Once she was certain they were out of sight of anyone who might have been loitering at the top of the passageway, she whirled on him.

  “Is he betrothed?” she demanded.

  “Ah—” Miles said.

  “Is that all you can say?” she exclaimed. “Tell me what you know and tell me now before I cause you a great amount of pain.”

  “Um—”

  That was as far as he got because he was suddenly shoved out of the way by the lord of the hall who had apparently wasted no time in coming after her so he could make a full confession of his hedging. Isabelle put her hands on her hips and glared at him instead.

  “Is it true?” she demanded. “Are you betrothed to someone? And who in the bloody hell might that be?”

  His eyes were rather wide. “Is that language ladylike?”

  She looked around for something sharp to use on him but realized that all she had to hand was her tongue. Unfortunately, the unpleasant amount of surprise she was laboring under seemed to be robbing her of anything useful to say. “I don’t give a damn,” she said finally, “what my language is at the moment.”

  He looked as if he might be fighting a smile. “Would I be courting you if I were engaged to Evelyne of Coucy?”

  “Courting?” she echoed. “Is that what you call it? This bossing of me, chasing me—”

  “Luring you into semi-darkened corners and kissing you?”

  “You haven’t lured me anywhere,” she said shortly. “And if you think I have any intention of ever again kiss—”

  Well, apparently, that was indeed what he was thinking. She found herself in his arms in the middle of his kitchens being thoroughly kissed. She closed her eyes because she decided that there was no sense in not giving her full attentions to a man who obviously knew how to kiss a maid so she thought she might like him to keep on with his labors.

  He finally allowed her to breathe and instead kissed her once on the end of her nose. “Does that answer your question?”

  She managed to pry her eyes open. “What question?”

  He smiled. “Isabelle, I love you.”

  “I’m not sure that is a decent answer to the question I can’t remember at the moment, but so be it. When did you decide this?”

  He bent his head and kissed her again, softly. “I think I knew it when I first looked at you and fell off my horse.”

  She was eventually going to have to tell him to leave off with that or she wasn’t going to be able to attend to the task of poisoning him by degrees, but perhaps later when she could think clearly again. “Did it hurt, that falling?” she managed.

  “I landed on you.”

  “No wonder I lost my memories,” she said, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “And I think you’re avoiding my question.”

  “Do you remember your question?” he asked politely.

  She scowled at him. “Details, Gervase. Don’t make me draw my blade on you.”

  “You don’t have a blade,” he said, sounding far more relaxed about that than he should have. “And aye, I was betrothed. The woman in question’s sire came through the hall several se’nnights ago and made it quite clear she had no more interest in wedding me.”

  “Then she’s daft,” she said.

  He smiled and bent his head to kiss her again. “I love you,” he whispered against her mouth. “And before you shower me with all manner of sentiments in return, I will commend you to your brother’s care and return to the viper’s nest in the great hall. Please stay out of her way.”

  “I tried to improve her character,” Isabelle pointed out. “Did she not appreciate that?”

  He laughed uneasily. “She may not have, but you have earned the undying loyalty of her sons. But because she does not offend well, please stay behind your brother and leave her to me.”

  “And just what are you going to do with her?”

  “I’m going to try to have her come to court with us—”

  “We’re going where?” she asked in utter surprise. “And when did you decide this?”

  “Robin and I discussed the possibility on the way here,” he said with a shrug, “but seeing our guests half an hour ago made the decision for me.” He smiled. “I thought you might like to meet the king and his mother.”

  She knew she was gaping at him, but she couldn’t do anything else. “Court?” she wheezed.

  He kissed her cheek, then smiled. “If we don’t remove Margaret from the hall, we won’t have a hall to return to because I’m quite sure she’ll burn it to the ground out of spite. Besides, there is safety in a crowd.” He looked over her head. “Watch over her well, Miles. I’ll try to find her later.”

  “Oh, I think not,” Miles said, pulling her over to stand next to him. “She’s fair to swooning now as it is.”

  “That’s because I haven’t anything to wear to court,” Isabelle said through gritted teeth, “and that makes me nervous.”

  Gervase only smiled pleasantly, then turned and strode from the kitchens. She watched him go, then looked at her brother.

  “What is he thinking?”

  “That his stepmother won’t kill you if the queen mother is watching?”

  Isabelle shivered. “I don’t suppose I made a friend in her today, did I?”

  “Even Amanda would have hesitated to speak to her so bluntly,” Miles said hesitantly. “I believe you have surpassed even her cheekiest comments. If I were you, however, I would take your love’s advice quite seriously. Don’t let her catch you alone.”

  She nodded slowly, though it occurred to her that that sage piece of advice could apply to more souls than the dowager countess of Monsaert.

  • • •

  Evening shadows had fallen when Isabelle stood in the great hall, taking up space against the wall next to Miles. She was leaning against his shoulder partly because he made a handy pillar and partly because she had the strangest feeling that they wouldn’t have all that many more opportunities to do the like. She looked at him finally.

  “I have the feeling our days of lingering on the edge of the hall are almost over.”

  He bumped her companionably with his shoulder. “It depends upon how often your future husband allows me inside here, I suppose.”

  She couldn’t smile. “You’re assuming he’ll want to have anything to do with me once he’s seen what’s available at court.”

  “Iz, he’s already seen what’s available at court,” Miles said dryly. “Repeatedly. Unclad, if rumor has it aright.”

  She scowled at him. “That is rumor only.”

  “I’m not saying he partook of what was offered,” Miles said with a shrug, “just that he’s seen more of what’s available than might be considered polite. He’s had his choice of women, which I believe we’ve discussed before. He knows what he wants and apparently what he wants is you.”

  She sighed. “Is Evelyne of Coucy beautiful?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure that word does her justice,” Miles said, with more reverence in his voice than perhaps was necessary. “She’s almost too beautiful to look at.”

  “Are you being helpful?”

  He winked at her. “I’m trying to help you see how useless it is to discuss her. She’s beautiful, true, but no man with sense could possibly endure
her longer than a handful of minutes without looking for other company. I’ve only met her once and I wanted to run the other way.”

  Isabelle took a deep breath, then nodded, because she could do nothing else. She wasn’t anticipating a journey to the French court with any relish at all. One, she was English and she had the feeling that no matter whom she arrived with, she would not be a popular addition to the company. Two, she did not care at all for the niceties that were required to move successfully in court circles. Her mother didn’t care for it either, though she was willing to do what was required of her. Amanda enjoyed the game, but she was also in the enviable position of not giving a damn what anyone thought of her.

  The one who had turned out to be the most deft hand with things of a political nature had been Robin’s wife, Anne. Her shyness was taken as a proper and appropriate amount of reserve and her words, always chosen with utmost care, were looked upon as gifts when offered.

  Isabelle had to admit that there had been times when she’d been with Anne that she’d felt as if she were tromping about in boots better suited to working in the stables.

  She sighed as she looked out over the company, then she froze as she realized she was being watched. It wasn’t by Margaret the viper, nor by any of Gervase’s brothers. Not even the servants or guardsmen were paying her any heed. But that man, the lord of the hall sitting in his great chair in front of the fire, was watching her as if the sight of her pleased him.

  “Evelyne is not your worry,” Miles murmured.

  “What is?” she asked.

  “Having that man ever let you out of his arms.”

  She looked up at her brother, then smiled. “He’s kind.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Miles said, “but he does love you. As do his brothers, apparently.” He smiled. “Are you prepared to be a mother to them?”

  “I think Guy and Joscelin are past needing mothering,” she said. “But as for the others, aye, I think I can manage them.”

  “Well, ’tis for damned sure they want nothing to do with their dam. I’ve never seen a collection of lads beg for more time in the chapel the way these have today, righteous souls that they are.”

  Isabelle nodded because he had it aright. Gervase’s brothers seemed to want to have nothing to do with their mother. Then again, Margaret obviously had no interest in her sons. Surely the lads had to have felt that. She smiled very briefly at Gervase, then watched him turn away and put on a polite face for his stepmother.

  Poor man.

  At least he was alive to pretend to be polite. She rubbed her arms, then looked casually about the hall to see if there might be anything out of place. Robin was leaning against the opposite wall, obviously enjoying his anonymity greatly. Gervase’s brothers were sitting as far away from their mother as possible—well, except for Guy, but perhaps he had a stronger stomach than the rest of them. Then again, he was Margaret’s eldest son, so perhaps she had favored him with a regard she hadn’t been willing to offer the others. Isabelle supposed that was her right, but she couldn’t understand it. Guy certainly had the appearance of a useful sort of lad, but obviously he couldn’t be trusted with anything of import.

  “You’re thinking hard,” Miles remarked.

  She shrugged. “Something troubles me.”

  “It sounds like a secret,” he said with a faint smile. “My favorite sort of trouble.”

  She looked out over the hall and wished there weren’t so many souls there. So many possibilities for things to happen she couldn’t control. She didn’t look at her brother because she didn’t want to give anything away, but she leaned closer and spoke behind a smile that she knew from long experience wouldn’t alert anyone to what she was saying.

  “Remember the seeds Guy gifted me?”

  “Aye.”

  “And that I told you I’d sent a missive to Grandmère?”

  “That, too.”

  She glanced at him. “She told me last night that she never received it. I asked her specifically about it, but she had seen nothing, not even a messenger claiming to have been robbed of it.”

  “Perhaps she was distracted with all the goings-on,” Miles said. “You know, us finding out that our grandfather lived and suppressing the urge we both felt to kill Robin for never having told us.”

  “We owe him for several things,” she conceded, “but about the other? You can’t believe that she simply overlooked my telling her I was alive. Besides, that was almost a se’nnight ago. We hadn’t yet been to the abbey to distract her.”

  He sighed. “Have you asked Guy what he did with your missive? For all you know, he sent it with an unreliable messenger and is too embarrassed to admit it.”

  She shot him a look. “Do you think so?”

  He turned toward her, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “A better question is, why would he purposely waylay your message?”

  “So he could read it himself.”

  “But why?” Miles asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

  “Because I hadn’t revealed my identity at the time,” she said, “and I was writing to the abbess of Caours. Perhaps he was curious.”

  “Perhaps he thought you were lovely and hoped that reading your correspondence might help him divine a way to make you look on him with favor.”

  She blew a stray hair out of her eyes. “He fails to deliver my message, then he fails to deliver Gervase’s. Doesn’t that seem slightly suspicious to you?”

  “It seems annoying,” Miles said, “but not suspicious. And haven’t we had this conversation before?”

  She sighed lightly. “Aye, but I wasn’t satisfied with it.”

  “Because you don’t care for the man is no reason to suspect him of nefarious doings,” Miles said carefully. “But, if you like, I’ll keep him in my sights.”

  “Or perhaps we’ll run afoul of a decent piece of good fortune and he’ll remain behind whilst we’re about our business at court, then you won’t need to keep him in your sights.”

  “I wouldn’t hold out much hope for that,” Miles said, watching the commotion near the fire that seemed to consist of Lady Margaret requiring attention. “He seems particularly attached to his mother, so I imagine if she comes, he’ll come as well. But perhaps that’s for the best. We won’t need to worry about his filching Gervase’s chair and thereafter refusing to relinquish it.”

  There was that, she supposed. She watched as Margeret left the hall, obviously off to seek her bed. The woman ignored everyone but Guy, but perhaps that was the usual sort of business. The hall door banged shut behind her and stillness descended.

  And then everyone in the place seemed to take a decent breath.

  Isabelle found herself encircled suddenly by Gervase’s brothers. She dispensed embraces, pats, compliments, and spent a good half an hour listening to them tumble over themselves to tell her of the hell they had passed through that afternoon. She did her best to remind them that the lady Margaret was their mother and deserved respect. It was to their credit that they at least listened politely to her admonition before they inundated her again with their adventures.

  “All right, lads, that’s enough,” Gervase said, coming up behind their little group. “Off to bed. The lady Isabelle and I have plans to make for the morrow.”

  Yves seemed less-than-eager to release her hand he was holding. “Where are you going now?”

  “A brief journey to court,” Gervase said, reaching out to ruffle Yves’s hair.

  “Are you bringing her back home?”

  “If she’ll agree to come.”

  Isabelle found herself the subject of scrutiny by several of Gervase’s brothers. She felt herself beginning to blush a little.

  “I believe he needs to propose first,” she said, “if that’s his intention.”

  “Come on, lads,” Joscelin said wryly. “Let’s leave Gervase to his wooing and you to your beds. Yves, let her go before you crush her fingers.”

  Isabelle braced for Yves throwing himself in
to her arms, hugged him tightly, then set him down and sent him on his way. He put his hand in Joscelin’s.

  “Who is that fierce lad over younder?” Yves whispered loudly. “Never seen him before, but he looks a great deal like Lord Miles, doesn’t he? Much fiercer, of course, but that’s all to the good.”

  “We’ll find out in the morning,” Joscelin promised. “But aye, he does look as if he might have some idea how to use a sword. If he needs aid in the morning, I’ll see what I can do for him. Lucien, see these little ones to bed. I’ll remain with Lord Miles and roam the passageways.”

  Isabelle smiled at the look of promise Robin was sending Joscelin, then smiled a bit more as Gervase took her hand.

  “He doesn’t have to do this,” Gervase said quietly, “which I’m sure he realizes.”

  “Don’t be too quick to credit Robin with altruism,” Isabelle said. “He loves nothing more than to pretend he’s an ordinary guardsman, then dazzle and befuddle those foolish enough to think so.” She shrugged. “He’s complicated.”

  “But he loves his sister, obviously,” Gervase said, “which I understand.” He drew her into his arms and held her close. “You’ll take my chamber for the night. I’ll stand guard and make certain you’re safe.”

  “Nay,” Miles said, “Robin and I can see to it. I think you would be wise to rest.” He smiled briefly. “Perhaps you should feign a bit of sour stomach, just to move things along.”

  “And speaking of that,” Isabelle said, pulling back to frown at him, “what is this new scheme you and my brother have discussed?”

  Gervase looked at her seriously. “It occurred to me last night that while I might feel more comfortable at home, being at home wasn’t going to help me discover anything new.” He glanced about himself, then lowered his voice. “If you’re being followed and I’m being followed, I thought that perhaps it might help us flush out those unsavoury types if we were all to be on unfamiliar ground. As it were.”