The Bride Hunt

by Margo Maguire

  The afternoon wore on, and when Tillie awoke, they stopped a while so that she could feed her bairn. Isabel sat beside her, and Anvrai walked some distance up the path. ’Twas too easy to imagine her holding her own child, feeding a bairn at her own breast.

  ’Twould not be a little blond-haired infant, either, not with Roger as its father. Isabel would have dark-haired children.

  “God’s eyeballs,” he muttered, disgusted by his useless musings. He’d been content with his life. Gentle Isabel had shattered that contentment, shown him all that he lacked.

  He walked on until he encountered Roger, coming toward him on the path. “Naught lies this way,” Roger said.

  “No southern branch of the footpath?”

  Roger gave a shake of his head. “But at least there were no cottages, no villages all along the way. We should be safe tonight, sleeping in the open.”

  “Stay with the women,” Anvrai said, “and escort them as far as you can go before dark.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll explore the territory south of the path,” Anvrai replied. Walking with Isabel had become torture…talking with her, thinking how it felt to kiss her, to slide into her. “We cannot continue east indefinitely.”

  Roger did not argue, and Anvrai headed into the woods to the south. He could leave Isabel’s presence, but he was afraid she would not leave him.

  “When will he return?” Isabel asked, unnerved by Anvrai’s absence.

  Roger worked at getting a fire started. “I would not know. He is scouting a southern path for us. Stop your pacing.”

  “’Tis nearly dark, Roger.”

  He glanced up at her accusingly. “Surely you, of all people, do not doubt Sir Anvrai can take care of himself.”

  No, she did not doubt it…but she did not feel safe without him. They were still deep in Scottish territory. Anything could happen.

  The sky remained clear, but it became colder as the sun touched the horizon. They made a modest meal and consumed it in silence, but for the occasional cry of Tillie’s bairn. Isabel and Tillie made an effort to keep Belle quiet, aware that her cries annoyed Roger and might attract unwanted attention to their camp.

  Fortunately, though, Belle slept most of the time, and once she was fed, was content to lie upon her mother’s lap and look out at her surroundings.

  “Roger, mayhap you should set some snares so we will have meat upon the morrow.”

  The quick glance he gave her was fraught with hostility.

  “We have only a small amount—”

  “I know naught of setting traps. When Sir Cyclops returns, he can go and hunt.”

  Isabel bristled at the crude reference to Anvrai’s damaged face and crossed her arms over her breasts. “I thought you…Did you not bring us those birds—”

  “’Twas Anvrai. He is your mighty hunter.”

  The fire caught, and Roger tossed some dried grass onto it, then a few twigs to keep it going. “Don’t let it go out,” he said as he took the ax and stalked away.

  Isabel stood motionless for a moment, but when she felt Tillie’s gaze upon her, she busied herself gathering brush and small timber for the fire. She kept an eye upon the path, expecting Anvrai to appear and wishing it would be soon.

  “Do you think he’ll come back?” Tillie asked.

  Tillie’s question shook Isabel, though she forced herself to remain expressionless. Why would Anvrai return? His chance of survival would be far greater if he continued alone. He had no need of them, not her, not Tillie, and certainly not Roger. He would be able to travel quickly and stealthily, going over whatever rough terrain he encountered.

  Isabel slid her arms ’round herself and hugged away the sudden chill. Unwilling to let Tillie see the worry caused by her question, she walked away from the site they’d chosen for their camp and headed in the opposite direction from the one Roger had taken.

  A cold fist tightened ’round Isabel’s heart. She took a shuddering breath and blinked away tears. As twilight fell, the path became darker, and the trees on each side seemed impenetrable.

  She and the others were a burden to Anvrai, but Isabel knew he would not forsake them. As much as he might resent having to take responsibility for them, he had done all that was humanly possible to keep them safe. ’Twas in his nature.

  Sniffling once, she brushed away her tears, refusing to believe the worst, certain that Anvrai had likely found himself too far from the path to make his way back to her before nightfall. Surely that was the only reason for his absence. It had naught to do with all that had passed between them.

  Yet it had. When she would have spoken of her feelings for him, he’d silenced her with a kiss, or with his mind-numbing touch. He had not wanted to hear her words.

  Isabel pressed her forehead to a tree and tried to take deep breaths to calm herself, but her tears fell freely. ’Twas ridiculous to weep, after all they’d been through. Surely one night—

  “Isabel.”

  She whirled ’round at the sound of Anvrai’s voice. He approached her, reaching one hand out, but she closed the distance between them and threw herself into his arms.

  “I was so worried!”

  His arms went ’round her, warming her, comforting her. She pressed her face against his chest and took a shuddering breath. His heart beat strong and steady against her cheek, his body was warm and musky against hers, and Isabel became incapable of thought.

  He slid his hands down her arms and started to pull away. Isabel looked up at him, barely able to discern his features in the fading light. “I thought you had left us,” she said shakily. “When you did not rejoin us, I was—”

  “I promised to take you to England, Isabel.”

  “Aye, but you have been angry with me all day.”

  “I am not angry,” he said, and she heard him sigh.

  “But you’ve been so…”

  “Isabel, there can be naught between us,” he said, taking a step back. “You know this. Roger…He is the one you chose, the man whom your father approved. Even if I wanted a wife, I could offer you naught.”

  Her heart sank as Anvrai walked away. She would never care for Roger or any other man the way she felt for Anvrai, but he did not want her. She lifted the edge of the old tunic she wore and wiped the tears from her face.

  Anvrai looked back just as Isabel lifted his ragged tunic and wiped her tears. He did not enjoy causing her pain and could do naught but regret taking her innocence. He should have been stronger, should have resisted her allure. He had to make her believe he was indifferent to her…when all he wanted was to take her to a soft bed of pine needles, lay her down, and explore the limits of their passion.

  It could never be, and the sooner they accepted that, the better it would be for both of them.

  He followed the smell of the campfire and soon came upon Roger and Tillie, sitting in silence on opposite sides of the fire. Neither of them seemed relaxed.

  Isabel joined them shortly and took a seat near Tillie. She did not look at him, but Anvrai could almost feel the distress in her body. She might hold herself stiffly, but he knew her body was softly curved. She folded her legs under her, and Anvrai’s mind filled with thoughts of how smooth they were, how sensitive they’d been under his hands, how she’d opened them, opened herself, to his attentions.

  Roger did not deserve her. Anvrai doubted the boy would ever grow into an admirable man. He could barely do what was necessary for his own survival, instead, expecting Isabel and Anvrai to serve him and resenting Tillie’s presence for slowing them down.

  He bore a red abrasion high upon his cheek from Anvrai’s blow, but no real damage had been done. At least now he held his tongue in regard to Tillie.

  When Isabel raised a hand to her mouth and yawned, Anvrai went to the cart and pulled the mattress out. He shook it to redistribute the straw inside, then replaced it on the cart and opened up the blankets they’d brought.

  “Isabel, you and Tillie will share the
bed. Roger and I will be nearby.”

  Roger grumbled under his breath, but said naught as Anvrai took the bags that held their food, tied ropes ’round them, and suspended them from a tree limb several paces from where they would sleep. He wanted to attract no scavengers.

  At the same time, Isabel and Tillie prepared for bed while Roger remained sitting by the fire. Anvrai found a blanket for himself, pulled it ’round his shoulders, and slid under the cart. He rolled onto his side and tried to sleep, but it was all wrong without Isabel in his arms.

  In two nights’ time, he’d become so accustomed to sleeping with her that her absence made slumber nearly impossible.

  Rain threatened all the following day. Anvrai constructed a canopy of furs to protect Tillie and Belle in case the rain began, but so far, they had been fortunate. Not only had the weather held, but they were able to cover many miles to the south. They’d had little difficulty covering the terrain Anvrai had scouted the day before, and even if they had to veer east or west, he did not doubt they would soon arrive in friendly Norman territory.

  “Look,” said Roger. “’Tis a path cutting eastward.”

  Anvrai had not seen it the day before. Either he’d missed it during his solitary travels, or they’d come farther than he’d gone the day before.

  “I’m tired of dragging this damnable cart over every rut and root in the forest. I say we take the path.”

  “I agree,” Anvrai replied. “’Twill not hurt to travel in this direction for a time.”

  “I can walk now, Sir Anvrai,” Tillie said. I’ll carry Belle and a satchel as well. If we all—”

  “No. You are barely four days from childbed. You will continue to ride.”

  Anvrai had little concern for Roger’s comfort, but the trek over uneven ground was hard on Isabel. She made no complaints, but she had started limping in the last hour, and he had no doubt that her borrowed shoes had given her a blister.

  He watched the ground for plants he might use in a poultice later, picking several as they traveled, tucking them into a corner of the cart.

  ’Twas near the end of the day when a light rain began to fall. Anvrai looked for a sheltered area in the woods on both sides of the path, but they suddenly came upon a small clearing where stood a church made of stone and timber. If it was deserted, ’twould make a perfect shelter for the night.

  “Wait here,” Anvrai said. He drew his sword and approached the building cautiously, circling through the woods, leaving the others on the path well behind him. All at once, Isabel was at his side and a regiment of liveried knights swarmed ’round them like bees, intent upon protecting their hive.

  Arrows flew, and before Anvrai could shove Isabel behind him, an arrow struck her.

  Chapter 18

  “Gesu!”

  “A priest stormed out of the church and called to the Scots warriors. The soldier in charge shouted, as Anvrai threw down his sword and dropped to his knees beside Isabel.

  The attack stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

  Speaking Latin, the priest told Anvrai to carry Isabel into the church. She was conscious, but her eyes were dull and unseeing. Her skin turned pale, and her breathing became much too rapid.

  Careful not to disturb the arrow in her thigh, Anvrai lifted her up and carried her into the church just as a group of soldiers escorted a well-dressed lady out of the building.

  “You are Norman,” the priest said, leading the way.

  “Aye. We came seeking refuge here,” Anvrai said to the priest.

  “You mean no harm to the queen?” asked the priest.

  “God’s eyes, man, how could I hurt the queen?”

  “You will be safe here,” the priest said, without answering Anvrai’s question.

  Anvrai looked for a place to lay Isabel, but there was naught besides the cold stone floor. He went to the altar and skirted past it, toward a stout, wooden door. Isabel moaned, and Anvrai kicked open the door. He walked into the adjoining rooms, the priest’s private quarters.

  He went through the first room and into the priest’s bedchamber, then placed Isabel upon the bed he found there. “Bandages,” he said, without looking away from Isabel. “Do you have anything—”

  The priest shoved a wad of linen into Anvrai’s hand.

  “Isabel,” Anvrai said. “I will try not to hurt you…”

  He pressed the cloth to the wound to stanch the bleeding, and her cry pierced him like an arrow in his heart. “The arrow must come out, Isabel.” He looked up at the priest. “Hold her arms.”

  He positioned himself to keep her legs steady. Taking hold of the arrow, he clenched his teeth and swallowed. He’d dealt with many a wound, but none in such tender flesh.

  “Isabel,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow, “brace yourself. Try not to move.”

  He took hold of the shaft and prepared himself for the grisly task ahead, muttering a quiet prayer. Isabel cried out as he pulled, but the arrow did not come out.

  Anvrai took a shaky breath. “I am sorry, Isabel. I’ll—”

  “Again,” she whispered. “Try it again.” She squeezed her eyes tightly and took a firm grip upon the priest’s hands. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes as she waited.

  If Anvrai had not loved her before, he surely did now.

  He put one hand upon her thigh and, with the other, used all his might to pull the arrow out in one swift motion. Isabel made a muffled sound of distress, then fainted.

  The wound bled profusely. Anvrai held the clean cloths to the gash as the priest released her hands and stepped away. He told himself ’twas better now that she was unconscious. Mayhap he would be able to clean and sew the wound before she awakened. He did not want her to see how his hands shook.

  He looked up at the priest. “I am Sir Anvrai d’Arques. This is Lady Isabel de St. Marie. Her father is one of King William’s trusted barons.”

  The priest crossed himself. “What ill fortune brought you here?”

  Anvrai told the man of their capture at Kettwyck and the ensuing events. “We came upon a Norman girl after our escape…She waits in a place hidden off the beaten path with Sir Roger de Neuville.”

  “I am Ingeld the Tall, although…” He glanced up at Anvrai and let their difference in height speak for itself. “I am Saxon, come north with Edgar the atheling and his sisters…Ahem. Shall I stay here with the lady while you fetch the others? I fear they will not react well to a stranger’s approach.”

  Anvrai did not wish to leave Isabel, but Ingeld was correct. Anvrai needed to be the one who went to Roger and Tillie.

  He gazed down at Isabel, lying insensible in the priest’s modest bed. He wrapped her leg tightly to slow the bleeding, then covered her with a blanket and bent down to press a kiss upon her brow.

  Reluctantly, he left the priest’s room and quickly made his way to the place where he’d left Roger and Tillie, but they were nowhere in sight. For once, he respected Roger’s instincts. The boy had hidden himself and the girl.

  “Roger!” he called. “’Tis safe.” Now.

  Roger soon emerged from the surrounding trees, with Tillie carrying Belle and following close behind him.

  “Isabel has been injured,” Anvrai said. “I took her to a nearby church where the priest is watching over her.”

  “What happened?” Roger demanded. “It sounded like a full battle! You led us into danger!”

  ’Twas not as though Anvrai was unaware of his failure to protect Isabel. Still, he had to quell the urge to lay the boy flat. “Roger, I thought you learned to curb your unruly tongue yesterday. Do you need another lesson?” He’d bruised him well for complaining that the cart was too unwieldy to pull and suggesting they leave Tillie behind. ’Twas only the fear in Tillie’s eyes that kept Anvrai from doing any more damage to the lad’s face.

  He went back to the cart and pulled it toward the church, leaving Tillie and Roger to follow as they would. Drawing the cart to the back near the priest’s quarters, Anvrai gathered the
ir belongings, along with the medicinal leaves he’d collected throughout the day, and took them inside.

  Isabel had not moved in his absence. The priest had built up the fire to warm the room, and he’d covered her with an additional woolen blanket. Anvrai heard Roger’s voice, calling to him from the church.

  “I’ll go to him,” said Ingeld. “Do what you can for your lady.”

  Anvrai castigated himself for taking Isabel into danger. ’Twas his fault that she lay so gravely wounded.

  He had precious little to work with. He’d found a few plants during the day’s walk…herbs he’d planned to use on the blister he suspected Isabel had developed on her heel. ’Twould not be enough. There was little he could do but watch and pray that she was strong enough to recover.

  He crouched beside her, and she moaned when he picked up her hand. “Isabel,” he whispered.

  She raised one hand to his face and caressed it. “Is it out?”

  He nodded. “You fainted.”

  “I can still feel it in—”

  “Isabel!” Roger came into the room and rushed to Isabel’s side. She dropped her hand from Anvrai’s face as Roger bent over her. “You’re alive!”

  “Aye, Roger.”

  He lowered himself to one knee at her side. “You shouldn’t have run off the way you did. I would have protected you.” He shot a resentful glance in Anvrai’s direction.

  “Tillie…Is she—”

  “Right here,” Anvrai said. “Safe.”

  Anvrai stepped back, giving Tillie room to get close to Isabel. “My lady…” she gasped. “Your leg!”

  Isabel’s injured leg lay exposed, and the dressing became bloodier as they all stood hovering ’round her.

  “She is still bleeding,” cried Tillie, visibly shaken by Isabel’s condition. “Can you help her?”

  Isabel moistened her lips. “Mayhap we should allow Sir Anvrai to…”