It had taken much longer than she expected to catch up with the thieves. Hopefully, ‘twould not take as long to reach the next main road, or she would never get back to Maddie before dark.
But, ‘twas not likely Maddie could get far with Barak in the cart. The wounded men-at-arms had gone for assistance, but who knew how long it would take them in their weakened state.
She need not be so careful on the way back. Once she knew where the thieves were bent, she would switch direction and give her palfrey her head.
Right now, she had more urgent needs to attend.
Isabeau tied the palfrey to a low branch of an oak, then strode some distance away into the bracken.
When she emerged the voices seemed no more distant than before.
Rot!
The sun sank lower in the sky, and here she sat amongst the pine needles and moldering leaves, waiting upon these lumbering oafs. If only she could conjure up a pack of wolves to burst from the woods, to snap at their heels to prod them down the path. But even the thought of such an apparition caused her to shiver.
A movement out of the corner of her eye made the breath hitch in her throat. She gazed about, searching betwixt the shadows of the trees.
Nothing—save a red squirrel, racing through the ferns toward a pine tree.
The air squeezed from her lungs in a long gush.
No matter how often she chided herself, she could not help but tremble whenever she heard a sound. Even traveling on the edge of the woods made her heart thud.
‘Twas foolish. Wolves did not hunt by day, and she was well behind the thieves for them to catch sight of her. But Hesper’s prediction hung in her memory like a blade over her neck.
She turned to stroke the length her palfrey’s silky nose, more to calm herself than the horse. Hopefully she would come across a stream soon. They were both in need of a cool drink.
A twig snapped.
Her heart picked up speed.
She ducked under the mare’s neck to peer through the dappled light in the direction it came—from a stand of young alders several paces away.
Nothing.
Isabeau untied the reins with shaking hands, chiding herself for being such a coward.
As she did so, she spied a tall figure dressed in black stalking toward her through the trees.
Her heart gave a leap.
She didn’t wait to see more, but stuck her foot in the stirrup to mount, her heart galloping madly in her chest.
But before she reached the saddle, she was hauled from the palfrey’s back. She flailed and kicked so hard, her captor staggered, throwing them both to the ground.
The fall must have knocked the wind out of him. Before his hands could reach her, Isabeau managed to scramble to her feet. She picked up her skirts and ran, but did not get far. Her foot snared on a vine, sending her toppling forward, into pinecones and twisted tree roots.
She barely had time to roll over and spit the pine needles out of her mouth before he was astride her, pinning both of her wrists into the musty ground.
Vivid blue eyes stared down at her while his lips twisted upward in a roguish grin.
Her heart did a flip.
‘Twas the one who had taken her dowry. “Where do you go, with such haste, my sweet?”
She blinked, numbed by the sight of his smooth, perfectly bowed lips inches from her own. The heat of his hard thighs hugged her body, making her innards coil and retract. She had never felt a man’s body this close.
Her heart tapped so fast she could not think.
Seeing his smile widen, her confusion lifted.
Panic took hold.
“Let me up! Take your hands from me!” She struggled against him, attempting to rise.
As she did, the hood of her cloak slipped from her head.
He sucked in a sharp breath of air.
A spark lit in the depths of his eyes. “Nay, my beauty, I think not. I’ve caught you, and now you’re mine.”
The husky timbre of his voice went straight to her maidenhead.
Her heart thumped hard against her breast. She’d seen that look before, in Barak’s eyes. But strangely, this time, ‘twas not so displeasing. That was not to say she was not afraid, for she was, but another sensation mingled with her fear, one she could not name, making her voice come in a hoarse whisper. “Please! I can’t breathe.” Or think, but that was not something he should know.
“Very well,” he said with a smile, coming to his feet.
He reached down a hand to help her rise.
As she did, the cloak parted to reveal the fine linen fabric of her blue kirtle. With a quick movement, Isabeau snatched it shut.
His eyes narrowed.
His tone turned from playful to dangerous. “Mayhap you should tell me who you are and why you’re following us.”
She took a step back to regard him warily. He appeared taller and broader than she remembered. Her head barely reached his chin. But she had only caught a brief glimpse of him during the attack. ‘Twas difficult to judge a man’s size atop a horse.
But his eyes were the same—a startling deep blue. Intelligence shone in their depths. There was no sense in lying. He would soon discover the truth. “I am Isabeau of Dawney.” She gave a lift of her chin for good measure. “Who are you?”
He stiffened. A glitter of malice entered his eyes. “Alexander Fortin.”
Isabeau’s heart gave a thud.
She took a step back.
His tone turned harsh. “Ahhh, so you know who I am. That’s good. There’ll be no need for lengthy explanations.”
Her gaze flicked to where his legs met beneath his black surcoat, then slid away. In the heady aftermath of her sister’s rescue from dishonor, she had all but forgotten the young knight who had been falsely accused.
A cynical smile played about his lips. “Nay, they didn’t castrate me. I’m intact. ‘Tis fortunate for you and your lying sister I am, or your family would answer with more than a few coins for my trouble.”
Isabeau’s cheeks burned. To this day, she did not understand why Nicola would lie. Fear was the only answer Isabeau could come up with, but that was not a worthy excuse. One thing was certain; if Nicola could see the violence in Alexander Fortin’s eyes, she would not have done it.
Isabeau opened her mouth to issue an apology, but he cut her off. “Don’t speak. I have no need of your falsehoods.” His mouth twisted into a grim smile. “But your dowry and ransom are most welcome.” He grabbed her by the arm. “Come. The hour grows late. We have much ground to cover before dark.”
She attempted to jerk away, her voice rising in panic, “But why? Where are you taking me?”
His fingers gripped all the harder as he pulled her along. “You won’t be harmed.”
“Not harmed! You’ve taken my dowry,” she panted, attempting to pry his hand from her arm. “I can’t marry without it. Is this your justice—that I should pay for another’s sins?”
He stopped in mid-stride, his blue gaze boring into her. “You’re the means to an end—nothing more.”
“And you, Monsieur, are a dull-pated knave!” She swallowed hard under the close scrutiny of his cold stare, but continued to face him boldly. “What makes you think my uncle will pay your ransom?”
“He’ll pay it.” He jerked her forward, giving no heed to her cry of alarm.
“What if he doesn’t?” He didn’t know her uncle as she did. ‘Twas a magnanimous gesture that he had provided her with such a generous dowry in the first place—a miracle in fact. Uncle Royce did not part easily with his coin. If not for the love of his only sister, Isabeau would have had a mere pittance to bring to a marriage contract, forcing her to marry much lower. ‘Twas unlikely his favor would extend to ransom for her as well.
Having reached the palfrey, Fortin released her. His gaze roved up and down her with familiar insolence. He could not have insulted her more if he had slapped her across the face. “Then you’ll work to pay off your family’s debt.”
>
Isabeau could feel the blood drain from her face. Ladies taken for ransom were generally well-treated, not forced into servitude. But she was not a normal prisoner. He had made that quite clear.
This was not about money, but revenge.
A shiver coursed through her.
But, she refused to let him see how he had penetrated her defenses. If she was to be his prisoner, she must not let him know her fear. She must not let him know what his look of hate did to her. She had to be strong—abide her situation with dignity.
She ignored his hand and stuck her foot in the stirrup to mount her palfrey without his aid. Once seated, she turned to look down at him with what she hoped was equal distain. “If you think I’ll ever lift a finger for you, you’re mistaken.”
He sliced her a hard look. “We shall see.”
She trembled, but would not look away. Instead, she lifted her chin and stared straight back at him.
But as he led the palfrey forward through the trees, her heart sang a different tune. She had never seen such violence in a man’s eyes. Her flesh quivered, remembering the hard bite of his hands, which seemed even crueler after the tender way he had looked at her moments ago.
Better to be set upon by a pack of wolves than left in this man’s care.
She had hoped she was journeying toward love, or at the very least, protection and security. Instead, she had found hate.
And who could blame him. A hysterical bubble of laughter rose in her throat. Any man would be outraged and demand compensation for such an insult, which apparently Uncle Royce had not offered at the time, or she would not be paying for it now.
Damn his arrogance and tight-fisted ways.
After six years, he probably never imagined it would come back to haunt him—that Fortin would return to take what should have been offered in the first place—compensation for his near castration.
Obviously, Fortin had gotten wind of her recent betrothal and seized upon the opportunity. But, how had he known of their travel plans? ‘Twas a mystery. The time of departure and the route they would take were well-kept secrets.
Or so they thought.
Of course, information could be bought—spies hired. A man as determined as Fortin would find a way.
Was he the danger Hesper had spoke of so many years ago?
If so, her nightmares had not done him justice. The fear he inspired in her heart, far surpassed the faceless ghosts.
Chapter Two
A thousand stars glittered like snow crystals against the black sky. Isabeau huddled deeper within her grey mantle in the back of the goat-hide covered wagon and tried not to think about her fate. They had ridden well into dusk, finally stopping on the ridge of a low-lying hill to make camp.
Fortin had been as good as his word, turning her over to his squire, William, with all haste, not glancing her way since.
Even now, he caroused with his men by the fire with his broad back to the wagon as though she did not exist. Mayhap that was his plan. She had had naught to drink or eat since he’d taken her. But then, he considered her less than human; mayhap he thought toads were her meat and she would pluck them from the ground as they went.
Best he didn’t know how terrified she was of anything that hopped or crawled—or that she was terrified at all.
As far as she was concerned, he was the slimiest creature she had ever encountered, but she would never let him know it, lest he gain some satisfaction in her fear. Oh, he was handsome in a dark devilish way, if you looked beyond the cruel set of his mouth. ‘Twas easy to see why so many maids in her uncle’s hall had fallen victim to his charms. The startling contrast of his night black hair and deep red lips, set against golden skin would turn any maid’s head.
But the eyes never lied—he possessed a black and bitter heart. Thanks to her uncle Royce, ‘twould seem.
Fortin did not appear to be miserable by nature. She had noticed him laughing and jesting with his men. Only when his gaze turned her way could she see the hard glitter of hate. It made the breath catch in her throat. She had never been hated before, at least, if she had, she had not known it.
Except the time she had spilled wine on the altar cloth Nicola had sewn as a present for Father Clarence on his birthday. When Isabeau picked it up to shake it off, one of the wolfhounds in the hall, thinking she was playing a game, grabbed it with his teeth and tore it in half. ‘Isabeau!’ Nicola had wailed, while the other ladies in the hall stared agog in disbelief. ‘Oh! Sometimes I hate you!’ Nicola screamed. But she hadn’t meant it. Nicola was too good to hate anyone. She would never knowingly harm, or even wish to harm another soul.
So why had she accused Fortin? There had to be some reasonable explanation. Nicola would never lie. Unless… she was protecting someone, like the real father of her child.
The sound of someone clearing their throat made Isabeau blink. She peered through the gloom, clenching her teeth to keep her chin from trembling with the cold.
Fortin’s squire, William, stood before her, holding out a piece of dried venison and a hunk of dark bread.
She accepted the offering with a brief nod of thanks, resisting the urge to snatch it from his hand. “Tell me, William, how far have we to travel?”
He shuffled in the darkness, glancing toward the fire. “I’m not to speak to you, only to see to your needs.”
“How will you know my needs, if you don’t speak to me?” When he failed to answer she said, “My apologies, I don’t wish to cause you trouble. I only wish to know how many nights I must sleep out in the cold.”
He turned on his heel without a word and strode off into the darkness, returning shortly after carrying a wool blanket. “‘Tis not much, but it will keep you warm.”
“My thanks, but I don’t wish to take your only blanket.”
“I have my mantle.” He shrugged. “I have no need of it.”
As he turned to go she said with haste, “Might I ask one more favor?”
He shifted in the darkness from side to side, clearly uncomfortable with loitering near her too long.
“Could you escort me to the edge of the woods? I’d go myself, but I would not wish your liege to think I’m running away, only to find myself ill-disposed and surrounded by a score of men.”
His face lit like a torch, but nevertheless he said, “Come, I’ll take you.” He reached up a hand to help her down. They walked in silence to the spot he had led her to when they first arrived.
When she emerged from the small copse of elms, William was there, standing in wait with his back to the trees.
The eerie hoot of an owl made her start, bouncing up her spine, making her heart clutch along the way. She made a grab for William’s sleeve. When she realized what she had done, her cheeks went hot and her hand fell away.
As they made their way back to the wagon, she cursed her superstitious mind for turning her into a coward. If she was to maintain her dignity during this unwelcome confinement, she must master her fears, and not let these villainous rogues see her weakness—especially, their leader.
Her gaze strayed to where Fortin lounged by the fire. ‘Twas likely he was pleased with his days work, the brazen-faced lout. Would that her smoldering gaze could smite him where he sat.
As though sensing her malice, Fortin turned his head in her direction. His cold gaze touched her like an icy hand.
Isabeau shivered. With a tilt of her chin she turned, then lifted her skirts to climb back into the wagon.
But even with the added warmth of William’s blanket she could not sleep. The low rumble of strange men’s voices by the fire kept her awake long into the night, as did many ominous thoughts concerning her fate.
It reminded her of arriving at her uncle’s hall as a child—the uncertainty—the same desolate ache. But she had had Nicola and Maddie then, and the promise of holidays home. As a child she could trick her mind to sleep by conjuring an image of her mother’s smile, remembering her father’s voice booming with triumph when he returned fro
m the hunt, the smell of apple-wood burning in the grate.
Then, like an angel her betrothed appeared, riding toward her with his golden hair blown back from his handsome face. She ran to meet him. They laughed as he swung her high in the air. She felt so safe, so loved—as if no evil could touch her. Her heart grew light. “I knew you would come,” she whispered against his smooth cheek.
“I’ve come to tell you ‘tis time to depart, my lady.”
The squire’s voice ripped through her dreams, washing her mind clean as she blinked up into William’s flushed face. ‘Twas morn. She must have slept, though it seemed as though she had just closed her eyes.
She stumbled to her feet feeling blurry and drained, but took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
Somehow, she would get through this.
All was not lost.
Her happiness was simply delayed.
It was there in the distance, dangling like and apple on a string. All she had to do was to reach out and grab it. ‘Twas unlikely Uncle Royce would pay the ransom and swallow down the loss of her dowry as well.
So it was up to her.
There was nothing else to do.
She must escape.
***
Alec ground his teeth in annoyance, as he watched Will assist the Lady Isabeau down from her palfrey with tender care.
God’s teeth!
He had instructed him to see to her needs, not coddle her like some honored guest.
‘Twas time he set William straight.
Though, likely his head was already turned by her winsome face, not to mention that magnificent hair, streaming in a glorious cloud down her back. And who could blame him, Alec admitted. He had succumbed to the same shock when the hood fell from her head to reveal an abundance of silky blonde hair, shot through with strands of golden light. Wide, blue-grey eyes, the color of a dove’s, stared back at him, above a delicate straight nose and a pair of perfectly bowed lips as red as crab apples.
The sweetest piece of flesh he had ever seen and he could not have her. Would that he had never heard her name.
At the sound of it, all of the dark memories had come flooding back—the blinding pain, from the beating he had endured at the hands of Agnew’s henchmen, the salty taste of his own blood as they leered down at him, their twisted laughter battering his ears. But worst of all, shouting his innocence and not being heard. The frustration and anger he felt, could not be described.
Love Never Lies Page 3