She should have never gone to the river. She should have listened to Myrtle—taken her warning to heart. Had she learned nothing from Hesper’s prophecy? Apparently not. Mayhap, because it had not turned out to be as dire as she imagined. Fortin was not the terrible creature of her nightmares.
But, ‘twas too late for should haves.
Her only hope now was to escape.
Which might prove difficult, bound at the wrists and her body fast growing stiff with cold.
Her gaze shifted across the orange flames past her captors.
The ruin of an old lookout tower hovered above their black heads, a crumbling pile of rubble jutting up in short steeples toward the fading blue sky, too dilapidated to provide shelter from the rain, but stable enough to break the sharpness of the wind.
The twins were dull, ‘twas true, but agile on their feet. They grabbed her so quick, stuffing a dirty rag in her mouth and shoving a russet sack over her head, she had no time to scream.
Eda and Ludella were so caught up in their girlish chatter as they bent by the river’s edge scrubbing sheets, ‘twas unlikely they saw a thing. Even if they had, if their characters held true, they would have skulked back to the village without a word to anyone by now.
Yet, she dared not lose hope—lest fear overwhelm her. When its sharp teeth nipped at the back of her mind, she must shut it out. After all, had she not planned ahead for such an occurrence? If she could not escape before Barak arrived, which the twins assured her would occur in a very short time, she would apprise him of her loss of virtue, then demand he take her to her parents at once.
Home.
Right now it seemed more of a dream than a reality. Yet, she’d spent every waking moment since she was seven trying to return there. After each holiday, she began planning the next. As the years went by, she imagined contented evenings round a hearth of her own, watching her children play.
But Nicola’s lie and Fortin’s quest for revenge had changed all that. Since then, every day her goal seemed to slip further and further from her reach.
The distant, steady thrum of hooves brought Isabeau to her feet.
Her heart pounded fast.
Had Fortin found her?
Surely he would not sit back and allow Barak to cheat him out of his ransom. He was too greedy for that, or driven to prosper as he liked to put. Whatever the reason, Fortin would not give up without a fight.
A shiver ran through her as she peered into the dim light of dusk, straining to determine the identity of the approaching rider.
Nun or whore, which would it be?
What did the future hold?
When Barak materialized out of the gloom, his mail shirt glittering silver in the twilight against his emerald surcoat, her heart sank. Maddie had been right. She was a heathen. The thought of a cloistered existence paled next to the prospect of one more night in Fortin’s bed.
She should have felt shame, but instead her limbs hung heavy at her sides, her heart humming loud with regret.
Barak pulled his destrier to a halt. He paid little heed to the monster twins, who sprang to their feet to await orders, Talbot belching, Ram gulping down the last of his bread. Barak’s attention fixed on her. A satisfied smile split his face as he leaned across the pommel of his saddle. “Good Eventide, Cousin. ‘Tis good to see you safe and well.”
“As well as can be expected, trussed up like a chicken.” She thrust her arms forward to display the thick twine encircling her wrists, bruising her skin, cutting off the blood flow.
“Untie her!” Barak commanded as he swung down from his mount. “She’s no prisoner.”
Talbot rushed forward to obey, wearing a sly smile, as though party to some private jest.
When his grimy hands lingered overly long, Isabeau slapped them away, then turned to confront Barak. “No prisoner? I’m happy to hear it. Mayhap you should have informed these lack-wits ere they stuffed my head in a sack!”
“A precaution, to guard against any sudden panic during your rescue.” Barak strode forward, flashing an insincere smile, the kind she’d witnessed many times, usually when he wanted something. “You understand, don’t you?” He crushed her against his chest in a firm embrace, then held her at arms length as though surveying the condition of a hare he’d just snared for supper.
She jerked away, taking a step back, attempting to read his features. “How is it that you knew where to find me?”
“Someone was kind enough to relay the information to me at the tournament.”
“Who.”
“’Twas a serf who delivered the message. I know not who sent it. Someone with something to gain, obviously.” He shrugged. “What difference does it make?” His tone turned impatient, imagining, no doubt, she’d be falling all over him with gratitude. “You’re safe with your kin. That’s all that matters.”
Safe?
Ha!
In all the years she’d known him, she had never felt safe with him.
She passed her tongue over her dry lips. “What do you plan to do now?”
“Deliver you to your betrothed, of course.”
Her heart gave a low dull thump. “I have no betrothed.”
“You’re to marry Newbury,” he said with forced lightness. “‘Tis all arranged.”
“Then you won’t mind taking me to my parents. I’d like to receive their blessing—straight from their lips.”
“There’s no time for that.”
“You mean there’s no reason!” Her voice rose, despite all efforts to keep her head. If he thought she’d go meekly—with gratitude, he was much mistaken. “My parents haven’t given their consent, have they?”
“They will.”
His calm arrogance made her fists clench. “I demand…”
“Demand all you want, sweet coz, but ‘twill do you no good. ‘Tis what Royce wants and what’s best for the family.” Barak’s features hardened, his green eyes narrowing to slits below his chestnut brows. “What makes you think you’re any better than me? I have no choice of whom I shall marry, anymore than you do.”
A gust of wind whistled through the holes of the crumbling tower, as though to punctuate his words and give evidence to the knowledge that their lives lay at the mercy of greater powers than they.
Barak strode to the fire where Talbot crouched, laying out his eventide meal on a red flannel cloth.
Ram scurried off to see to his mount.
Barak planted his backside on a half rotted log to partake of the bread, cold venison and cheese, ignoring the frigid stare she directed at him across the blue sparks leaping from the flames.
“Why do you hate me?” The words came so unexpected, she hardly knew ‘twas she who spoke them.
Barak lifted his head from his meal to regard her steadily. ‘”Tis the freedom and privilege my father affords you I despise.”
“Freedom?” She suppressed a hoot of laugher. “What freedom? To be bundled up and shuffled off on the heels of Fortin’s messenger like a piece of meat.”
Barak let go a humorless laugh. “’Twas no hardship. You went skipping, if I remember right, all too pleased to have gotten your way, escaping responsibility, leaving me holding the bag.”
“What bag?”
“Marriage.” His face turned grave under the crown of his chestnut hair, as though the very word conjured demons in his head. “An alliance must be made to the north, if not through you, than me. Did you think I’d sit back and let that happen?”
“Let what happen?”
“Newbury has a sister, or did you forget?”
Yea, she had forgotten. She was a widow, if Isabeau remembered correctly, who unlike her brother had produced three children. “But, surely her childbearing years are nearing an end.”
“Not according to my father. Being of the age of two score and seven, he believes at ten years her senior she’s ripe for the picking.”
So that was why Barak was so bent on her marrying Newbury—to save his own skin.
The selfish jackal.
‘Twas likely his anger would have no end when he discovered her virtue missing.
Yet, ‘twas pointless to delay.
The sooner she confessed, the sooner she could return to her parents and be rid of him.
She sucked in a deep breath in preparation of her speech, but Barak cut her off. “If you want someone to blame, blame your sister for being so fertile. She’d be married to Newbury right now, if she weren’t so quick to breed. But then, it’s taken her much longer to do so again, hasn’t it. Mayhap ‘twas the superiority of the seed.”
He said this with such unmistakable pride, a shiver prickled over Isabeau’s skin. “’Twas you,” she breathed, saying aloud what she had suspected, but loathed to believe. “You were the one who raped her.”
“‘Twas hardly rape. I wasn’t the first. She got what she deserved—lusty piece of baggage.” He flashed a smug smile, brushing the crumbs of his meal from his hands as he came to his feet. “What did she think would happen, sneaking out to meet Guilford so late at night.”
Isabeau blinked, attempting to take in all that he said. So, ‘twas no accident Lord Guilford came to Nicola’s rescue and married her.
“Ahhh, so you didn’t know that.”
She assumed Lord Guilford had loved Nicola, and that was why he had come to her rescue, but she had no idea his affections were returned. But then, she’d been very young at the time and Nicola was always tight-lipped concerning her personal affairs. “If Nicola had met him, ‘twould have been perfectly innocent.”
“Not for long, I’ll wager.” Barak gave a wicked chuckle. “A man doesn’t meet a maid alone at night without carnal pleasures in mind.”
“A man such as you mayhap, but Guilford isn’t like that. He hadn’t touched her, had he?”
“Only because he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. How was I to know that?” Barak’s voice took on a defensive whine. “I thought I’d grab a taste of what he’d been getting—teach her a lesson. I only meant to steal a kiss.” He looked aggrieved. “But, Father Clarence got to her first”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Barak snarled. “He had his way with her.”
Isabeau gasped. “I don’t believe you!”
“Nor could I, had I not seen it with my own two eyes.” Barak’s scowl deepened. “At least I saw the result, when I found her after in the courtyard. She admitted it was him, but then swore after that it wasn’t. Why do you think Royce sent him on a pilgrimage to France so soon after? He couldn’t be certain. But, I passed him that night, right before I found Nicola. I know it was him.” A shadowed past over Barak’s features. “I only meant to comfort her, but my passions got the better of me. Something seized me—a terrible rage. I had to wipe all memory of him from her.”
“Comfort!” Isabeau could not believe what she was hearing. No wonder Nicola never spoke of it. She had been raped by two men she trusted in one night. “This is your comfort? You defile your own cousin—ruin her life! You rotten swine!” She sucked in a long breath in outrage, turning away. Her whole body shook with suppressed fury as she flung over her shoulder, “May God forgive you for what you’ve done, for I never shall!”
He was in front of her in two strides, before she could take one step, pointing an accusing finger at her chest. “Always the saint! But if I wasn’t so bad, you wouldn’t look half as good. Would you! Remember that. The scopes would have no reason to sing your praises.”
She made to go again.
But before she could, he grabbed her by the wrists. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t feel so pleased with yourself, would you, cousin?”
“I could never feel good, having kin such as you!” She twisted away, revolted by his touch. “I rue the day my parents sent us to be raised alongside a devil like you!”
He gave a harsh laugh. “But then, what reason would you have to go to the chapel each morn? For whom would you pray?”
“Not you, that’s certain.” Any prayers she uttered on his behalf would be wasted.
But right now she needed more than prayers.
She needed a miracle.
God knew what Barak would do when she told him she was no longer fit to wed Newbury.
***
Abigail tip-toed down the hall, her bare skin aquiver with delicious spasms of anticipation beneath the fur mantle she hugged for warmth. With Darcy out cold, spent from the rigors of the hunt and Alec off searching for his precious prisoner, this was her chance—the moment she’d been waiting for, to catch Dominic alone and ease their mutual torment.
Better still, he was drunk.
Why else would he retire so early?
Bribing Lady Anna’s maid at the tourney, to inform Lady Isabeau’s cousin where to find her was the best coin she’d ever spent. With no keeper, Dominic had swilled ale and played the swain to that serving wench all night long.
What was her name?
Gertrude?
Nay, Gwen.
No matter. She was as plain as porridge, with a complexion as dull as marsh water, and the wit of a jester who passed wind.
Dominic had to be aching for a woman with refinement, someone with soft skin and gentle hands, gifted in the ways of pleasing men.
And ohhh, how she had dreamed of pleasing him!
Abigail eased opened the bedchamber door with nary a sound.
A candle sputtered beside the bed, sending a soft throbbing glow over the uneven surface of the flags.
A chuckle of pleasure, if not triumph, rose in her throat like a burbling cauldron, as she tripped lightly to the side of the bed, imagining Dominic’s hard body stretched beneath the pelts. A flash of heat shot through her veins, converging between her thighs in sweet stabs of pleasure.
She pushed the fur mantle off her shoulders, savoring the light tickles it made as it slid down her back to the floor.
Hail Mary and call down the saints! She was riding a stallion tonight.
“Dominic,” she whispered in the sultriest voice she could conjure. “’Tis me, Abigail.”
No answer.
Only a low groan.
He must be asleep.
Not for long. Once she climbed in beside him and pressed her body against his, nature would do the rest.
She pulled back the pelts, but to her consternation, discovered two heads instead of one.
Gwen’s mossy green eyes stared back at her, wide with shock.
With a gasp she made to roll off of Dominic.
But he wrapped his arms around her to keep her there, seemingly undaunted. “Are you sleepwalking Abigail?” He stared up at her without bating an eye, but there was a challenge in his voice—a suspiciously sober voice. “Or has some frightful catastrophe sent you fleeing naked from your bed?”
Abigail gasped at the sound of his clear-headed tone.
She could have sworn he was drunk as a jester when he left the hall.
Yet his cynical tone bore proof of a clear head. Had he been drinking naught but cider after all? How could that be? His spirits had been so high. She could have sworn he was drunk.
Her ire rose, gazing down at his mocking face.
How dare he speak to her in such a scathing tone, before a servant no less! Every muscle in her body contracted with outrage.
Every pore seethed.
How dare he choose a mere serf over her when she had risked so much! Didn’t he realize how fortunate he was to be desired by a woman like her?
She opened her mouth to say as much, then, remembered herself. Should word reach Darcy through any of the servants about her nocturnal wanderings, she would be in serious jeopardy. She clapped both hands to her cheeks. “Is this not my bedchamber?”
“Nay, ‘tis not.” Sarcasm dripped from Dominic’s tongue.
“I fear you’re right.” She gave another gasp for good measure. “I must have been sleepwalking again.”
She snatched up her mantle, tossing her head haughtily as she swept it over her shoulders. Then, wit
h as much dignity as she could conjure, hastened from his chamber.
Damn him!
Well!
This was not the end of it.
He could not spend the rest of his life prancing around Normandy.
He had to come home some time.
And when he did, she’d be ready.
***
Dawn came, sneaking over the horizon in a soft pink haze. ‘Twas time to depart. Isabeau squared her shoulders. She had put off informing Barak of her loss of virtue long enough. ‘Twas better to face his anger now than wait and suffer Newbury’s wrath, a man notorious for his cruelty.
She strode toward Barak, as he emerged from a stand of pines east of the tower. ‘Twas the perfect time, while the monster twins were occupied, readying their mounts. Her confession would be difficult enough without others witnessing her shame.
Barak froze in his tracks, an expression of annoyance riddling his brow. “If you’ve come to tell me you’re joining the cloister, you’re wasting your time. You’re marrying Newbury. And that’s the end of it. The mold is cast so cease your moaning and pleas.”
“’Tis you who are wasting your time.”
His eyes narrowed. “And why is that?”
“It pains me to tell you this, but I can’t marry anyone.” Her cheeks turned hot. “I’m no longer fit to do so.” There, she’d said it. Slowly she allowed the air to ease past her lips. That wasn’t so bad. Better to have it out in the open and done with.
Barak’s mouth thinned. “’Tis disappointing to hear. I had hoped Fortin’s honorable reputation would stand up. But, apparently the temptation was too great for him.”
Isabeau observed Barak closely, but saw no sign of anger. Her heart slowed to a normal pace. Not that she cared what he thought. She had done what she had to. There could be no gain without sacrifice.
“I’ll have to give back Newbury’s portion of the ransom of course.” A tight smile stretched his lips. “But, other than that, nothing has changed.”
Love Never Lies Page 20