Isolated Hearts (Legends of Love Book 2)

by Avril Borthiry

  A private man, Luc squirmed inwardly at Henri’s demand. “With respect, my lord, I don’t—”

  Henri groaned and glanced up at the ceiling. “Do you consider yourself to be an honorable man, de Warenne?”

  Luc frowned. “Unquestionably.”

  “Fearless?”

  He shook his head. “There is no such thing as a fearless man, my lord. ’Tis the ability to handle fear that defines courage.”

  Henri smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Are you honest?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pious?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “What about women?”

  “I am not blind to their allure.” Luc gave a half-smile. “But I generally find women to be irrational creatures.”

  Henri’s eyes narrowed. “Have you ever raped a woman?”

  He tensed. “Certainly not.”

  “Beaten a woman?”

  “Never.”

  “Used the services of a prostitute?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fathered a bastard?”

  Luc’s eyes narrowed. “I have never been thusly accused. With respect, might I ask where all this is leading?”

  “Ambitions,” Henri said. “What of your ambitions? You do have some, I presume.”

  “To serve my liege lord, my king, and my country—”

  “God’s balls.” Henri sighed. “You were doing well till now.”

  “My lord?”

  “King and country!” Henri huffed. “Yes, yes. A commendable aspiration, and nauseatingly predictable. Tell me what you want for yourself, de Warenne. More than anything else in this world. Two wenches in your bed at the same time? To die honorably in battle? To be king? What?”

  Luc didn’t hesitate. “Land,” he said, straightening his spine. “A profitable estate. Servants. A fine stable.”

  “Aha!” Henri sat back, a satisfied expression on his face. “You aim high, then. You reach for the unreachable.”

  “I do not believe these things to be unreachable.” Luc scratched at his stubbled jaw. “May I know why you are subjecting me to this interrogation?”

  “Yes, you may.” Henri’s expression hardened. “I have been assessing your suitability for a special mission.”

  A mission? The hair on Luc’s neck lifted. “And have I met your requirements?”

  “So far.” Henri linked his fingers, prayer like, across his belly. “You’re about to be taken into my confidence, de Warenne, and I expect your utmost discretion.”

  “You have it.”

  Henri grunted. “I have a package of great import to be delivered to Scotland,” he said. “Such is the value of it, that I’ve spent a good amount of time considering who might be best suited to complete this delivery. The journey is not without uncertainties, neither will it be without risk.”

  For years, Luc had waited for a chance to prove his worth. To perform a duty beyond the usual regimen of a landless knight. It seemed the opportunity had come, and he leapt on it.

  “I accept the assignment, and willingly, my lord.”

  Henri raised a brow. “I have yet to explain the details of it, Sir Luc. Methinks you might not be so enthusiastic once you hear them. You will, of course, be well compensated, providing you fulfill your orders to my satisfaction.”

  “I’ll not let you down, my lord.” Luc frowned. “There will be some risk navigating England’s heart, but I’m fluent in their guttural tongue. I should blend in easily enough.”

  Henri’s expression sobered. “You won’t be travelling through England. The value of the package is too great and, with no disrespect to your fighting skills, I cannot take the chance of it falling into enemy hands.” He winced as he pushed himself to his feet. In obvious discomfort, he shuffled over to a desk that stood beside his bed and pulled a small key from a pouch on his belt.

  Luc fidgeted. “I don’t understand, my lord. What route, then, will I take?”

  “One over water.” Henri unlocked a small drawer in the front of the desk and took something from it. “You’ll be travelling to Scotland by ship.”

  “Ship?” A genuine surprise, one that added to Luc’s growing curiosity. A fresh tingle of anticipation stirred beneath his ribs. “Such a voyage also presents risks, my lord, but I am not without some naval experience.”

  “I’m fully aware of that.” Henri turned to him with a knowledgeable smile. ’Tis one of the reasons you were chosen. I’ve already secured the services of a reputable ship’s master, one who is familiar with the coastal waters of our northern neighbors, and particularly those of western Scotland. Other than a possibility of unpleasant weather, of which I have no control, I don’t foresee any apparent problems.”

  Luc’s gaze flicked to the item in Henri’s grasp. “The package?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “Not precisely.” Henri approached and pressed a small leather pouch into Luc’s hand. “It is, however, crucial to a successful outcome, since it serves to prove that what you carry is authentic. This object must, therefore, be safeguarded with equal passion. Do you understand?”

  “I do, my lord,” Luc replied, his curiosity growing. “May I know what the object is?”

  Henri inclined his head. “See for yourself.”

  Luc loosened the leather lace and tipped the contents of the pouch into his palm. Between finger and thumb, he held up a ring, turning it toward the glow of the fire to better study its detail. Fashioned from pitted gold, the jewel had obviously been intended for a man’s hand. A circle of stones crowned its flattened head. Small, square gems, blacker than pitch and roughly hewn. At their center, the depiction of a star had been etched into the gold. The piece, while not lacking appeal, had a crude appearance and bore an air of antiquity. Luc cast a questioning glance at Henri, who shrugged.

  “I’ve been told its monetary value is of little consequence,” he said. “Its true worth, apparently, lies in what it represents.”

  “Which is?” Luc returned the ring to its pouch, fastened it, and tucked it safely into the deep, inner pocket of his braies.

  “I have no idea.” Grimacing, Henri flopped down in his chair. “Curse this afflicted knee of mine. The recipient’s name is MacRoth. Hamish MacRoth. He’s a little-known Scottish noble who presides over a desolate valley known as Glenross, which lies near that country’s western coast. The location is remote, access to it apparently difficult, which is another reason I decided upon a sea voyage. The nearest port is small, but less than a day’s ride from Castle MacRoth, which is the ancestral home. The ring will guarantee you safe passage. MacRoth will, I’m assured, recognize the message it imparts and, consequently, accept the package.”

  “A day’s ride.” Luc pondered. “I trust this ship can take horses, then?”

  “It can, and will be equipped to do so, since I’m not certain transport will be available at the other end.”

  Luc frowned. “Is MacRoth at least expecting my arrival?”

  “No, and I have no way of advising him of it in a timely fashion. ’Tis of no matter, though, or so I’m told. He’ll not refuse you once he sees the ring.”

  Evasion. Henri’s answers seemed to be laden with it. For the first time, Luc felt an instinctive twinge of suspicion. What was Henri hiding?

  “I’m curious to know the nature of this package, my lord. Given our alliance with Scotland, I must assume it is of a political nature?”

  “Everything will be made clear shortly.” Henri drew a slow breath and turned his gaze to the hearth. “For now, I’ll have your word, de Warenne – a sworn oath that you will protect and safeguard this package until such time as MacRoth relieves you of it.”

  “I do so swear, my lord.”

  “On your life.”

  Another twinge of apprehension twisted Luc’s gut. What, under Heaven, could merit such profound assurances? A treasure of great value? Or something of a more sinister nature? “On my life,” he said, and placed a hand atop his heart.

  “Good. T
here’s a guard outside the door. Let him know we’re ready, will you?”

  Luc blinked. “Ready, my lord?”

  Henri grunted “He’ll know what to do.”

  Luc obeyed, trying to shrug off his doubts. Whatever the assignment, he’d been promised generous compensation. As a landless knight, he’d long dreamed of acquiring some measure of wealth. Perhaps, at last, this was to be his chance. Not an estate, surely. But perhaps enough coin to invest in one.

  Over the years, Luc had cultivated the principles of knighthood with fervor. He’d worked hard. Trained hard. He considered himself worthy of the silver spurs on his heels and the fine sword resting at his side. All men looked at him with respect, some with fear. The answers he’d given Henri de Courtenay had been truthful. When his body demanded release, he sought the services of discreet women, those who wanted nothing more than to take and give pleasure. He had no real desire to marry, unless his bride came with a reasonable dowry. No yearning to produce an heir. An heir to what, after all?

  Although he admitted to lacking in piety, he honored his faith to an acceptable degree. But, other than his liege lord, discipline was Luc de Warenne’s master. Despite a mild sense of misgiving, to be chosen for this mysterious mission seemed to indicate his dedication and loyalty had, finally, been recognized.

  A rap on the door interrupted Luc’s musing.

  “Enter,” Henri said, once again rising to his feet with a pained expression. The door swung open to reveal two women on the threshold. One, clad in a simple, belted kirtle of gray wool, hair hidden beneath a white wimple, showed the burden of years in her lined face. A servant, without doubt.

  The other, obviously of noble blood, wore a gown of rich forest green and a brightly embroidered girdle that hugged her hips. Slender, with a thick, brown braid hanging over one shoulder, she was a young woman of pleasant, yet not extraordinary appearance. Little more than a girl, in truth, and although she held her chin up, she appeared somewhat nervous, Luc thought. Apprehensive.

  A lady and her maid, he surmised, as they stepped into the room and closed the door.

  “Sir Luc de Warenne, may I present my niece, Lady Giselle de Courtenay.” Henri cleared his throat. “Giselle, this is the knight I spoke of. I have deemed him worthy, and he has agreed to serve as your escort and protector on your journey to Scotland.”

  The young woman inclined her head, although her solemn gaze never left Luc’s face. “Sir Luc,” she said, her tone void of reticence. “I trust my uncle’s opinion above all others. I submit, therefore, to your guardianship without any misgivings.”

  Henri’s niece? Escort and protector? Guardianship?

  Luc felt like he’d been kicked by a horse. This girl was the package? Surely not. He clenched his jaw and glanced at Henri, who met his questioning gaze with a complacent expression.

  Aware of the stretched silence, Luc turned his attention back to the girl, whose face now wore a slight frown. “My lady,” he said, forcing cordiality into his voice, “I am honored to be given charge of your safety.”

  “And that of my maid,” the girl replied, her frown clearing. She granted a brief smile to the older woman beside her. “Anna will be travelling to Scotland with me.”

  “And that of your maid,” Luc said, bile burning the back of his throat. What, in Hell’s blighted name, is going on?

  “Very good.” Henri sniffed. “This is but a brief and formal introduction, and sufficient for now. Other details will be discussed tomorrow. You are excused, Giselle. Be ready to leave for Boulogne in two days. Plenty of time to prepare.”

  Giselle gave a respectful nod. “My thanks, Uncle Henri. We’ll be ready.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as they regarded Luc. “It has been an honor to meet you, Sir Luc. I look forward to sharing your company.”

  He managed a smile. “My lady.”

  Luc waited till the door closed before shifting his gaze back to Henri. It gave him a few precious moments in which to control his chaotic thoughts. Perhaps, he reasoned, he’d simply misunderstood. Perhaps this girl and her elderly maid were of some great import, their transport essential to some bigger and significant plot. A basic question arose from the turmoil in his brain and thrust itself forward.

  “I didn’t know you had a brother, my lord.” With a rein on his emotions, he turned to face Henri, who had already settled himself back in his chair.

  “I don’t,” Henri replied. “Giselle is my sister’s child.”

  Luc raised a brow. He had not been aware of a sister, either. “But Lady Giselle’s family name—”

  “My niece is illegitimate.” Henri gestured to the chair opposite. “Sit down, will you? My neck aches from looking up at you, and my knee aches when I stand.”

  “I confess,” Luc said, taking his seat, “to being somewhat confused by all this, my lord.”

  “Confused?” Henri grunted and leaned forward. “You look like you’ve been kicked in the balls, de Warenne. I’ve no doubt you desire an explanation. Understand, of course, I don’t owe you one. You have received your orders and I expect them to be carried out.”

  Heat crept up Luc’s neck. “You have already secured my word, my lord, an oath more solid than the foundations of this bastion. But I’m a seasoned knight. A warrior. Well prepared to give my life for king and country. Forgive me, then, if I consider your command to act as nursemaid to a couple of women to be equal to a kick in the balls. To speak plainly, my Lord de Courtenay, I am somewhat insulted.”

  A spark of apparent fury flared in Henri’s eyes. “As am I, by your reaction. Nay, not insulted. Worse than that. I’m disappointed. You, who is known for spouting the principles of knighthood like a fountain. Is your conviction all piss in the wind, then? Tell me nay. Tell me I haven’t misjudged you, de Warenne, for if that is so, you are of no further use to me.”

  Henri’s words landed like a fist in Luc’s gut. Regret replaced anger and soured his stomach. Christ, Luc. You damn fool.

  “Your judgement is sound, my lord. I should not have spoken thus. You have my oath and I stand by it.” Luc gave a wry smile. “You did not ask me if I was a humble man. The answer would have been no.”

  Henri’s lip twitched and he sank back, his expression softening.

  “My father adored my sister,” he said. “In truth, everyone adored my sister. Isabeau was a delight. While passably pretty, her true beauty lay within. She had a knack of chasing shadows from people’s lives.” He drew a slow breath. “Eighteen years ago, when Isabeau was not yet sixteen, my father played host to a Scottish noble and his entourage. It was an unplanned visit. The men had attended a tournament and were heading home when one of their horses went lame. Their leader was a handsome young laird – a brave warrior from an ancient line. The stuff of legend, you might say. The allure of his presence in a room equaled Isabeau’s. Their attraction to each other was quite plain to all and sundry. By the time her delicate condition became known, the Scot was long gone.”

  “Hamish MacRoth?”

  Henri nodded. “The same.”

  Luc frowned and shifted in his chair. “He dishonored her?”

  Henri shrugged. “’Tis what we suspected, but Isabeau refused to name him as the culprit, or any other man for that matter. Our father, both furious and broken-hearted, shipped her off to one of his remote manors south of Paris. She gave birth to Giselle several months later and remained at the manor thereafter, raising her daughter in relative seclusion. My parents went to their grave never knowing the truth. In all that time, my sister refused to name my niece’s sire. Until a month ago.”

  “What happened a month ago?”

  “Isabeau died.” Henri’s jaw clenched and he looked down at his lap. “I received an urgent missive from Giselle. Her mother had been unwell for some time, but had taken a turn for the worse and was asking for me. So, I went and listened to my poor sister’s story. Not that it took long to tell. In short, Isabeau’s dying wish was for Giselle to be returned to her sire.”

  “
MacRoth.”

  Henri nodded. “I asked why she’d hadn’t named him before. Why she had protected him. Why she hadn’t demanded honor for her and his child and forced his hand in marriage.”

  A gust of wind rattled the shutters and the flames in the hearth danced. Henri started visibly, winced, and rubbed his knee.

  “And her answer?” Luc asked.

  “She loved him.”

  Luc gave a derisive laugh. “Forgive me, my lord, but there speaks the irrationality I mentioned. I oft find a woman’s logic to be sadly flawed.”

  Henri shrugged. “I said much the same to her. ’Tis true she was burning with fever, but not babbling. Indeed, she spoke with complete clarity, although much of what she said made little sense. Some of it even bordered on blasphemy. She said she hadn’t wanted to trap MacRoth into marriage. That his spirit was an old one and would never have tolerated being fettered to a mere mortal. She declared she gave herself to him willingly, that Giselle was the result of an unearthly union.”

  Henri paused before continuing. “Then she gave me the ring MacRoth had given her and made me promise to send Giselle to Scotland, but without flourish or fanfare. She assured me that MacRoth would accept her as his own once he saw it.” Henri frowned and gazed into the fire. “Despite many misgivings, most of which still trouble me, I gave my word to my sister and intend to make good on it. Giselle, too, seems quite willing to go. Excited, even. Probably because her mother told her all kinds of fairy tales about her absent father. That said, I’m concerned about what awaits my niece in that savage northern land. God’s teeth, I’m not even certain MacRoth still lives, though Isabeau assured me he does.”

  “But how could she know that?”

  The chair creaked as Henri shifted his weight. “She said his kind live longer than most.”

  Luc raised a brow. “His kind?”