Love Never Lies

by Rachel Donnelly

  Isabeau shivered. Hopefully, for Gwen’s cousin’s sake, he never did, though she wasn’t surprised by his reaction. In these perilous times, traitors could not be tolerated. The right information in the wrong hands could mean the loss of everything you held dear—your home, your loved ones, even your life. The ransom would go a long way to securing his future and that of his people. Helping Abigail was a strike against all of Highburn.

  “Come,” He held out his hand. “Our food grows cold.”

  How could she refuse such an invitation—precious time spent with him? All too soon she’d be gone from here—never to see him again.

  She nodded, but ignored his hand, hastening past him toward the door. After all she was hungry. She had to eat, didn’t she?

  Gliding ahead of him down the corridor, she continued to waver between self-recrimination and resignation. If only she could tell her heart not to care, but her mind was no match for her heart. It felt what it wished—paying little heed to the danger it placed her in—the certain disappointment ahead.

  Seated at the high table partaking of the delicious feast, all trepidation fled. She had had nothing to eat all day, save a bowl of porridge that morn. Her belly rumbled and groaned like an echo down an empty well. The succulent partridge on her trencher and roasted apples dripping thick honey in a bowl by her elbow seemed well worth the risk.

  Though, trying her best to savor her meal, whenever she raised her head from her food, to her consternation, she encountered a knowing look or a sly smile from one of Fortin’s men. The silly grin on Gwen’s face whenever she passed the high table certainly didn’t help. Even Myrtle wore the hint of a smile as she shuffled throughout the hall, delivering ewers of ale to the trestle tables.

  The ominous cloud hovering around Myrtle had lifted of late, still, the smile gracing her lips appeared—well, strange, like an involuntary reflex run amuck. ‘Twas unsettling, to say the least.

  Fortin gave no sign that he noticed the attention they received, or if he did, he deliberately ignored it, attacking the food on his trencher with gusto. Not surprising after several days of travel, surviving on cold fare with only a flagon of ale between them.

  Isabeau set down her knife to regard him with growing vexation. “Your men are in high spirits, my lord.”

  “They celebrate my safe return.” He lifted a brow, the hint of a smile teasing the edge of his lips. “Does that surprise you?”

  “Nay, they’re a devoted lot.” And no doubt he’d earned their loyalty. He treated his men fairly from what she’d observed, enjoying an uncommon camaraderie. Their respect for him was clear. “I can’t help wondering if it’s for some other reason.”

  “When I’m happy, they’re happy.” He grinned, causing her heart to skip a beat. “And getting you back has made me very happy.”

  Their eyes locked.

  Isabeau’s cheeks grew hot.

  The air crackled between them.

  If only his happiness sprang from her, rather than the silver he saw shining in her eyes. Not that she blamed him. He had a right to recoup his losses. ‘Twas a shame her freedom was the cost.

  And yet, God help her, she could not help her heart filling with joy each time she looked at him.

  She needed to get away—escape, before he turned her over to Newbury.

  Or worse.

  Discovered the bent of her heart.

  ***

  The sound of Isabeau humming drew Alec to the doorway of the storeroom off the kitchen. She stood balanced on a stool, her blue kirtle and golden hair bringing blue sky and sunshine to the dull browns of the room.

  He’d been waiting for just such an opportunity—a moment alone with her when they would not be disturbed.

  Not an easy accomplishment, now that the three women under his roof had joined forces. There seemed to be an understanding between them that once one finished their chores, they sought out another to complete their tasks. More often than not, he returned from the river to hear the echo of laughter before he entered the hall.

  Ordering an inventory of the storeroom off of the kitchen was the best excuse he could come up. He had no steward at Highburn as of yet, and since Isabeau was the only one of the three women who could read and write, the chore naturally fell in her lap, leaving Myrtle and Gwen to clean both the hall and the chambers aloft—enough to keep them busy for most of the day.

  Just to be safe, he’d ordered the bathhouse scrubbed from top to bottom, the kitchen garden weeded, and the weaving room put to rights, to which Myrtle raised one grey brow, but nodded in compliance as she always did. However the tight set of her thin lips told him she was not pleased with his sudden interest in the running of the hall. No doubt Myrtle considered it a criticism, as the duties of chatelaine had fallen on her shoulders since he came.

  But that was about to change.

  He sucked in a long, slow breath.

  Now that he had Isabeau alone and the moment was upon him, he hardly knew what to say.

  His heart thumped so loud, ‘twas a wonder she’d not heard it and turned around.

  So much had passed between them. He’d made so many mistakes. He only hoped, in time, she’d forgive him. When Barak took her, his heart had clutched with fear, not at the thought of losing the ransom, he had been startled to discover, but her.

  It had taken the entire journey back to Highburn to realize it, and when he finally had, he knew what he must do. He could not keep her as his prisoner forever, and Isabeau would never agree to be his mistress. She was too proud for that, and even if she wasn’t, he would not dishonor her in such a way.

  In breaking their agreement, Barak had actually done him a favor. It didn’t matter how much silver Barak offered him now. Isabeau was his. He could never give her back.

  When Isabeau turned round, the soft light in her grey eyes and thoughts that she might reject his offer chased his words away. He could force her to marry him of course, but that wasn’t what he wanted. After discovering her warmth and passion, he didn’t relish her fighting him tooth and nail whenever he took her to bed. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her—to feel what he felt.

  He nodded at the small wooden casket in her hands. “Open it.”

  She lifted the lid, then her mouth went slack. “What is it?”

  “Sugar.”

  Her features held amazement at the costly treasure. “Where did you get it?”

  “In Alecandria, during the crusade. A gift from her highness, Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

  “She must have held you in very high esteem to bestow such a gift on you.” Her features remained neutral, but her tone left no doubt as to what she was thinking.

  “She was grateful for my service, and before you say anything else, not the kind of service you’re imagining. If you wish to satisfy your curiosity about the rumors concerning her infidelity, you’ll have to ask Beaufort. He was in far closer company with the King and Queen than I on the crusade.”

  “Mayhap I shall,” she said, then returned her attention to the small casket in her hand. “Is it as sweet as they say?”

  “So sweet it melts on your tongue. That one is flavored with roses, the other,” he pointed to the matching casket behind her on the shelf, “With violets. Go ahead, taste it.”

  She closed her eyes as she licked the sugar from her fingers. “Mmmm, it must have cost the earth.” She gave a delicate shiver. “I can see why you lock it away.”

  “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion—a wedding feast mayhap.”

  “Ohh…” Her voice held disappointment. The smile faded from her lips as she snapped the lid shut, then turned to replace it on the shelf. “You’d better hide it in a safe place then. I might be tempted to sneak down here in the middle of the night and eat it. Then you’d be forced to demand compensation, and we’d be right back where we started again.”

  He reached up a hand to help her down from the chair. “I have my compensation.”

  “And what is that.”


  “You.”

  “Good. If my family is no longer indebted to you, then forfeiting my virtue was not in vain.” She smiled up at him. “Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?”

  “I never held any malice toward you in the first place.”

  “Nay” she said, tilting her head, “But you held me accountable for what they did.”

  When she made to step around him, he captured her hand to draw her back. “It was wrong of me to do that.”

  She returned his gaze with a searching look. “I’ve never lied to you,” she said softly.

  “Nay, you have not,” he said, drawing her into the circle of his arms.

  “But I’ll always be part of that family. I’m Isabeau of Dawney. I will always be Royce Agnew’s niece, the man who dishonored you. Can you ever forgive me for that?”

  “There’s naught to forgive. You had no part in it.”

  “But you’ll never forgive my family.”

  He pulled her closer, wishing he could ease her mind—tell her otherwise, but the truth was the best he could do. “When I’m with you, I want to. Nothing else matters. Does that count?”

  She smiled up at him, raising her arms to encircle his neck. She tilted her head to one side “I suppose, that’s a start.”

  His limbs turned liquid under the warmth of her smile and the silver light of her soft gaze. “If I were a saint, you’d have nothing to hold over my head.”

  “Are you giving me license to reform your stubborn ways?”

  “Only a priest can give permission for that. But I warn you, before I call one, ‘twill not happen overnight.”

  The scuffle of footsteps drew them apart.

  William appeared in the doorway, looking from one of them to the other, guarding the beginnings of a smile, though he was clearly out of breath. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but you have a visitor.”

  “Make him welcome then.” Alec didn’t bother to disguise his impatience. “I’ll join them anon.”

  “Tis not a he, my lord, but a she.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’ve come for my sister.” Nicola Dawney stood in the courtyard with her back to the sun, her silver blonde hair alight like a halo above a cherub.

  Alec remembered her face all too well—had contemplated it, relishing the thought of slapping it many times. But, somehow the sight of her standing in the courtyard before him, didn’t inspire the same wrath—disgust mayhap, but not the violent urge to throttle her at first sight, as it would have in the past.

  Mayhap, ‘twas her swelling middle that squashed it.

  She looked the same, other than the imminent signs of motherhood beneath her red woolen mantle—sky blue eyes, delicate features, the same shimmering blonde hair. She was a beauty, but her winsome face paled compared to Isabeau’s. Her lips were not as lush, her eyes, though bright and clear, lacked that mysterious sparkle, nor did her hair shine with the same rich streaks of gold.

  “Barak stoops low to send you in his stead.”

  “He didn’t send me.” She spoke with quiet assurance, blue eyes narrowed, observing him closely. “I came of my own accord, as soon as word reached me. I would have come sooner, but the babe prevents me from traveling with haste.” She opened one hand to reveal the ruby pendent. “I believe this is yours.”

  So that was how she knew. Obviously Isabeau had enlisted one of the servants’ help to smuggle it out and send word to her sister, which meant he’d been harboring a traitor in his hall. “Twas a gift.”

  “Well, now you may have it back.” She dropped it into his hand, then retreated a step away as though his proximity revolted her. “Where is she?”

  Alec stiffened.

  Her boldness chafed.

  After the lies she’d told—the humiliation she’d put him through, how dare she demand anything. He didn’t know what he expected—an apology mayhap, an inkling of remorse—something! Yet here she stood, stiff with outrage, as though she’d been the one wronged. “Your sister is safe.”

  “I wish to see her. Now.”

  His hands clinched into fists at the cold arrogance in her voice. He may not have wanted to throttle her before, but he bloody well did now. “Your cousin broke our bargain. The deal is off.”

  “If Barak tried to cheat you, he did so of his own accord. I’m here on behalf of my parents, not my uncle. You made a bargain, to hand over Isabeau for an agreed price. Are you telling me, ‘twas a lie? Not that I’d be surprised.” She curled her lip, looking down her delicate nose at him with distain. “Men like you don’t change.”

  “Men like me?” Alec lifted a brow, leveling a censuring look of his own. If her injured attitude wasn’t so ridiculous he’d have laughed.

  “Men who take what they want with no regard for who they harm along the way—spreading bastards from Northumbria to Cornwall.” Her voice echoed in the courtyard, turning heads from the mews to the stables. “Had I not accused you, ‘twas only a matter of time before some other maid did.”

  Anger welled in Alec’s chest. “My character is not in question, Madam. ‘Twas your family who wronged me.”

  “And the ransom will be your compensation,” she said, biting out each word distinctly. “But don’t look for an apology from me, because you’ll never get it.”

  Alec’s hands clenched and unclenched. It was all he could do not to shake her. How he had imagined he could marry into such a family, he did not know. ‘Twould be a colossal mistake. Isabeau deserved to be happy. She’d never be so with such rancor existing between her husband and sister.

  ‘Twas clear a match between them could never work.

  His gut twisted at the thought of giving Isabeau up, but he could not go back on his word—not with Nicola Dawney standing before him, calling him a liar. ‘Twould make a mockery of everything he stood for. “If you come in good faith, as you say, where is the ransom?”

  “You’ll get it, when I know my sister’s safe. Do you think I’m so foolhardy as to ride in here, purse in hand.” A mirthless smile curved her lips. “Nay. When and only when I have my sister, will I send my man to fetch it.”

  Alec’s gaze sliced past her to the burly auburn-haired knight, leading their mounts toward the stable with William, then back to the hard blue of Nicola’s eyes. The ransom meant nothing to him compared to Isabeau, but ‘twould serve as a good lesson to her sister. Mayhap in the future she’d not be so eager to accuse an innocent man. “You don’t trust me?”

  “Nay, I do not.” Her mouth flattened. “But then, there are very few men that I trust.”

  “You’re wise to be wary of your enemies.” Anger built in his chest under her cold appraisal, but he kept his voice smooth. “However, in this case, you’re mistaken. My word is good. I see only one liar, standing here.”

  She flushed to the roots of her hair, swaying visibly under the heat of his stare.

  He relished the effect of his accusation, until she bent forward, sending forth a groan of pain.

  “Will!” Alec shouted as he rushed forward to lend his arm as support, to prevent her from crumpling to the ground.

  Will came running from the direction of stables. Each taking an arm, together they managed to assist her over the threshold and into the hall.

  “Where is my sister?” She gritted through clinched teeth after they’d deposited her safely on a bench. “I demand to see her at once.”

  “Demand?” A short, bitter laugh escaped him. “You’ll see her, when you’ve rested,” he told her firmly, leaving no room for doubt that he was in charge of what transpired in his own hall.

  He turned to Will, swallowing down his bitterness. Isabeau would never forgive him if anything happened to her sister. “Fetch Myrtle to attend the lady at once. Tell her to make haste, that she is ailing and with child.”

  ***

  “I can’t believe this is happening!” Isabeau paced the length of the bed, then stopped, fixing her gaze on Nicola, who sat propped up amongst the furs. Nicola appeared flushed, but th
ankfully had had no more contractions since Myrtle examined her then ordered her to bed. “What on earth did you say to him?”

  “I demanded to see you, of course.” Nicola struggled to come to a more upright position in the bed. “He demanded the ransom, and then I collapsed. There’s nothing more to tell.”

  Isabeau laid a comforting hand on Nicola’s shoulder, easing her back on the bed. Nicola had risked her babe to rescue her, and Isabeau did not wish to seem ungrateful, but truth be told, Nicola could not have arrived at a worse time. Isabeau drew in a long slow breath, not wishing to upset her sister, but at the same time determined to know what had transpired between Alec and Nicola to turn him so cold toward her. “Nothing else was said?”

  “He told me Barak had tried to cheat him and the bargain was off. I, in turn, reminded him that he had given his word to hand you over in exchange for the ransom, and I didn’t give a fig what Barak had done, as he held no authority concerning you and never had.”

  Isabeau shook her head and sighed. That certainly explained why Alec had stalked straight past her in the hall, offering nothing save a curt nod and barely a glance.

  Her burst of bright joy at the news of Nicola’s arrival had dimmed to a pin prick in the face of his rebuff, her heart squeezing in her breast so tight she could hardly draw breath.

  “Curran is going to kill me.” Nicola threw back her head on the pillow and groaned, raising her azure eyes to the ceiling. “He’s likely returned from London by now spitting blood, or if he isn’t, soon will be when he discovers a good portion of the silver missing from the casket at the end of our bed.”

  “Then, he’ll be happy to know ‘tis no longer necessary.” At least, it wouldn’t be, after she convinced Alec not to be so thick-pated, though ‘twould not be easy for him to relinquish his pride. After what Nicola had done to him—the lies she had told, he would feel compelled to prove to her that he was as good as his word.