There were no guards within, and Ranulf ushered their group to the road beyond the king’s tower. They rode as fast as they dared in the dark, and daybreak had not yet dawned when they reached the church.
They did not stop when Anvrai joined them, but continued on the road until they reached the firth. Isabel longed to speak to him, to ask why he’d abandoned her for Symonne, but there was no time. Soon the Dunfermline guards would learn of their disappearance and pursue them.
Why, she still did not know.
Isabel remained ominously quiet. Anvrai kept to the rear of their company, riding directly behind her, noting her stiff posture. Feeling hollow inside, he knew she believed the rumors that he and Symonne were lovers.
Symonne was familiar with the path, and she led them unfailingly to the firth. They dismounted when they arrived at a long wharf, and Anvrai thought of their last flight from peril. He’d had little hope of survival then, but Isabel’s intrepid spirit had inspired him. Now she stood stiffly, apart from him, gazing toward the dark waters.
“There is a ferry that will take us across, and with enough coin, the ferryman will not speak of our passage,” said Symonne.
“Until he is offered better,” Anvrai remarked, tearing his gaze from Isabel.
Symonne disagreed. “A year ago, I kept the man’s little son from falling into the firth during a crossing. He owes me for the boy’s life.”
They summoned the ferryman, who refused Symonne’s coin, saying that their passage to the southern shore, along with his silence, was payment for his son’s life.
Isabel took Belle into her arms and waited silently on solid ground while the men led the horses onto the ferry. Anvrai wondered if she was also thinking of their harrowing escape in the stolen currach. She gave no indication of it, standing poised, keeping her silence, and holding the infant close to her breast.
Anvrai turned his attention to the horses, securing them for the voyage to the southern side of the firth, then saw that Ranulf had already gone back to assist the women. The ferryman took Tillie’s arm while Ranulf helped his cousin, Lady Symonne.
He approached Isabel. “I’ll carry Belle,” he said, taking the bairn in one arm and Isabel’s hand in the other. Her skin was cold, and when he felt her shiver, he had to force himself to keep from closing her into his embrace. ’Twould do neither of them any good. Yet he could not stop himself from thinking how ’twould be to carry his own child in one arm and encircle Isabel’s shoulders with the other.
They boarded the ferry and set off as Anvrai returned Belle to Isabel, aware that his idle musings were just that: idle. His future did not include a wife and children, not when such attachments were so fragile, so easy to lose.
Dawn brought crisp, cool weather. They landed on the southern side, and Isabel bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Anvrai had said little to her, but at least he also kept his distance from Symonne.
“Isabel,” Anvrai said, “we must make haste. Tillie is unaccustomed to riding, so I’ll carry her with me if you will take Belle.”
Isabel felt his voice as much as heard it, rumbling through her body like a caress. But he did not touch her, not until he unfastened her cloak and slid the woolen sling over her shoulder and ’round her waist. She closed her eyes tightly and forced back her tears as his movements made a mockery of the embraces they’d shared.
His actions were efficient but brusque as he placed Belle in the pouch he’d made and finished the task quickly.
“Anvrai,” said Symonne, “we must explain ourselves before we go any further.”
“Say what you will, Symonne,” Anvrai replied as he helped Isabel mount her horse. He climbed up behind Tillie, then turned to the bridle path and rode away, leaving Symonne beside Isabel.
“I told you that appearances can be deceiving, Lady Isabel,” Symonne said. “And we intended to deceive all at Dunfermline these last few days.”
“No one was deceived, my lady,” Isabel replied coldly. “Everyone was aware of your tryst with Sir Anvrai. The least he could have done—”
“You mistake my words, Isabel. Anvrai left Dunfermline altogether. We did not meet for a tryst or for any other reason. Listen to me.” Isabel would have bolted at the first lie, but Symonne reached for the bridle of Isabel’s horse and held her in place. “King William is on the verge of battle with King Malcolm. Anvrai went to William with information about Malcolm’s armies, then he rode on to King Malcolm’s encampment.”
Isabel held still.
“He did not intend to hurt you by his absence.”
Isabel looked sharply at Symonne. Why hadn’t he told her what he intended to do?
“He put himself in grave danger by going to the Scottish camp, and no one knows yet whether his ploy was successful.”
“What ploy?”
“He gave Malcolm reason to believe that his Scots are vastly outnumbered by William’s armies and that Queen Margaret especially desires that he come to an amicable settlement with England.”
Isabel looked toward Anvrai’s retreating form. She should have known his behavior had naught to do with a sordid affair of the heart.
He had no heart.
“When the queen learns of his actions, I will come under suspicion…you would have become a hostage but for our hasty departure from Malcolm’s fortress.”
Isabel had enough food for thought until dark, when they reached a homely inn on the bank of a wide, swift river. Riding with Anvrai, Tillie tolerated the day’s journey better than Isabel, whose legs wobbled and barely held her up when she finally dismounted.
The innkeeper came out and took charge of the horses while the traveling party went inside. Rooms were found for them, and a meal started. Isabel looked for Anvrai, but he disappeared until the meal was set upon the table.
Avoiding her, she did not doubt.
Supper was a quiet affair, though the innkeeper’s wife took interest in Belle, cooing and speaking nonsense to the bairn throughout the meal. The woman’s actions distracted all the travelers from their weariness, except for Isabel, who was determined to speak to Anvrai. She wanted to know why he had left her…why he’d allowed her to draw the same conclusions as everyone else at Dunfermline.
And if he cared naught for her, why had he hurried back to Dunfermline to expedite her escape? He could very well have ridden on to Belmere.
Tillie was first to retire to her room, and Anvrai would have made his exit, too, but Isabel stopped him. “Tell me of your journey to—”
“Not here, Isabel.” He gave a pointed glance to the serving woman.
“Will you walk with me, then?”
He accompanied Isabel to the inn yard, where they strolled to the river’s edge.
“Tell me what happened,” she said, wanting to hear it from his lips. “Where did you go?”
His expression was inscrutable, but his body was tense, as though he was struggling with some inner quandary. Isabel wanted to ask why, after facing all manner of danger together, he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her of his mission. Why had he shared his confidences with Symonne?
“I went to the king’s encampment near Stirling,” he said. “Sir Ranulf had already collected information useful to William. I merely took it to him.”
“And King Malcolm?”
Anvrai told Isabel that he’d used a brooch belonging to Queen Margaret to gain entrance to the Scottish king.
“Lady Symonne acquired the brooch for you?”
“Aye,” he replied, his answer making Isabel feel even more an outsider.
“Y-you let me think badly of you, Anvrai.”
“Think what you will, Isabel.”
She hadn’t thought he could wrench any more pain from her heart, but his words cut her to the core.
“Our time together has nearly ended,” he said. “Once I deliver you to Durham—”
“Durham?”
He nodded. “I have orders from King William to take you there.”
“We are not t
raveling to Kettwyck?”
He clasped his hands behind his back and looked away.
“Anvrai?”
“The situation at Kettwyck is unknown, Isabel. King William—”
“The king doesn’t know what happened to my family.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “King William sent men to Kettwyck to ascertain the situation there. They will come to Durham, with…or without…your father. ’Tis possible that you are now the king’s ward.”
Isabel swallowed. “Only if my father is dead.”
Anvrai nodded, almost imperceptibly. “If that is true, then the king’s intention is to see you suitably wed and safely situated.”
Isabel’s eyes burned with tears. She bit down hard to keep her chin from quivering as Anvrai stood fast and crossed his arms against his chest. ’Twas almost as though he was intentionally barring his heart from her.
“Do not look upon me as if I were some kind of hero from one of your tales, Isabel,” he said, his voice coarse and deep. “I am no one’s champion.”
Chapter 23
Anvrai forced himself to stand as solid and still as a rock. He had become far too attached to Isabel for his peace of mind. There could be no doubt of that after he’d nearly lost her to the fever.
The days of her illness had been torture, watching her suffer and able to do naught for her. ’Twas so much better to let her walk away, to withdraw before his heart was irreversibly damaged.
He forced himself to look away as she retreated toward the back of the inn, her head down and her shoulders slumped in misery. He’d seen the sheen of tears in her eyes and known he’d hurt her, but any comfort he gave would be empty. He had naught to offer her but the warmth of his arms, the heat of his embrace. Isabel deserved far more than his meager solace.
She deserved a home and a husband who could protect her adequately. She was entitled to a man who had a heart and soul to commit to her.
The next two days of their journey continued as before. On the third night, they found no inn in which to pass the night, but Anvrai discovered an abandoned barn where they would be sheltered from the cold. The travelers laid out a simple meal with the meat and bread purchased from the previous night’s landlord.
There was little discussion as they made a rough camp and ate their modest supper. The days on horseback were grueling, especially for the women, who were unaccustomed to it. But they had put many miles between themselves and Dunfermline, and Anvrai doubted anyone had pursued them this far.
Isabel rarely spoke as they traveled, and Anvrai feared her withdrawal was as much due to his callous words as to her worry about her family. She helped Tillie with the bairn, though her usual vibrancy was gone. Her eyes had lost their sparkle and her cheeks grew more hollow by the day.
Anvrai stalked out into the chilly night and cooled the frustrations that ate at him. The very urgency with which he wanted Isabel made it imperative that he keep his distance. He clenched his hands into fists and regretted treating her so badly.
“You are restless tonight, Sir Anvrai,” said Symonne, startling him.
“Go back inside.”
Anvrai moved away when the woman did not obey him, but she followed. “What ails you? ’Tis Lady Isabel, is it not? Why do you shun her?”
“The subject is not open to discussion.”
“Come now, Anvrai. It is clear that you love her.”
He laughed without mirth. “I am no mush-hearted swain, Symonne. I have no pretty words or rich gifts for her. I can offer her naught.”
“Don’t be a fool. Give her your heart.”
“My heart,” he muttered, as Symonne left him. ’Twas one more thing he could not give.
Anvrai was not indifferent to her. He cared much more than he was willing to admit, but Isabel had only the vaguest inkling of his reason for denying the bond between them. Though it seemed impossible, he clearly questioned his ability to make her a good spouse.
He’d told her he was no hero, yet he’d risked his life time and again to protect her. How could he possibly think he was inadequate? Mayhap he feared losing her.
He’d tried to distance himself from her as they’d traveled to Durham, but he’d taken care to see to her comfort on the road, and had even carried her down a steep escarpment when she’d been too frightened by the height to go on.
His were not the actions of a man who did not care.
’Twas well past noon when they reached Durham’s city gates. “Oh, my heaven!” Tillie murmured at the sight of the castle, surrounded by high battlements. The building was not complete, nor was the high stone wall, and Isabel felt a shiver of dread when she looked at it. She could not help but think of Kettwyck’s unfinished walls and how they’d failed to protect her family from invaders.
“Will we see King William?” Tillie asked.
Isabel looked to Anvrai for an answer, but he had none. He merely shrugged, as remote as ever.
Isabel did not know the lay of the land. She had no sense of where Anvrai had gone when he’d met with the king and no idea in what direction Kettwyck lay. She was lost. For the first time since her capture, she could not figure what direction to take in order to get home.
She did not know how to show Anvrai that he need not fear losing her.
“Do you suppose King William’s men have arrived at Kettwyck yet?” she asked, wondering if her parents knew she awaited them in Durham. Isabel refused to think they’d perished. She had overcome too many obstacles to lose them now.
Nor would she lose Anvrai.
“Aye,” said Symonne. “Your father’s holding is not very far from Dunfermline, and they had only to ride from Stirling.”
The clop of their horses’ hooves echoed in the cobbled street as Anvrai took them to an inn, where they stopped and dismounted.
“Anvrai?” Isabel asked. “Why do we not stop at the castle?”
He did not answer her, but she noted a tightening of his jaw as he lifted her from the saddle, lowering her to the ground. She allowed her hands to linger at the back of his neck as she descended and felt him shudder at her touch.
“Isabel.”
His voice was a mere rasp in her ear, and Isabel knew then that his resolve to keep himself removed from her had slipped.
Anvrai ordered food and baths for the women before he made his escape. He knew better than to take Isabel in his arms to help her dismount. He’d nearly been undone by her touch. And worse, he’d deposited her at an inn rather than taking her to Earl Waltheof at Durham Castle.
Neither the castle nor its walls were complete, calling to Anvrai’s mind the condition of Kettwyck when they’d been attacked there. At least the Durham soldiers appeared armed and prepared to fight if necessary.
Anvrai rode through the gatehouse and approached the great hall of the castle. He dismounted at the main staircase and gave his horse to a young squire to hold until he returned. He did not intend to stay long. His last night near Isabel was drawing near.
Earl Waltheof’s guards met him in the hall, and one of them escorted him to a small, private chamber. On one side of the room was a heavy wooden desk. Long oaken shelves lined two of the walls, and on them were valuable artifacts, including a number of books.
Waltheof stood before the windows of the chamber, well garbed in rich clothes and valuable jewels. Anvrai gave a bow in greeting.
“Anvrai d’Arques, is it?”
“My lord.”
“I’ve been expecting you. Why did you not come to me upon your arrival?”
Anvrai shrugged. He could not tell the earl he’d wanted to keep Isabel close to him if only for one more night.
“Lady Symonne and Lady Isabel are comfortably situated for the night, my lord,” he said. “I’ll bring them to you in the morn. Have you had any news of King William?”
“Only that His Majesty is in Scotland,” said Waltheof. He poured ale into two mugs and handed one to Anvrai. “Beyond that, I have heard naught.”
“My lord, men w
ere sent from King William to Kettwyck. Has there been any word—”
“Aye. Two of William’s knights arrived yesterday in Durham, in advance of Lord Kettwyck and his party.”
So Isabel’s father had survived the attack. ’Twas good news, but not complete. “What of Lady Kettwyck? Does she travel with her husband?”
Waltheof shook his head. “No. I only know that Lord Henri and a number of Kettwyck knights are en route to Durham. His lady wife remains behind to await word of the other daughter.”
“So she was abducted, too.”
“Aye.”
The earl appeared regretful, but he could not know how devastating this news would be to Isabel. The two men drank their ale and had another while Anvrai told Waltheof of his meeting with King William.
“Then there’s no telling how long before the king arrives here,” said the earl.
“No, my lord,” Anvrai replied. “If my mission was successful, I would expect the king within a few days. With a hostage or two.”
’Twas late when Anvrai returned to the inn, and he was relieved to see that there were no lights in the windows of the bedchambers upstairs. Feeling the effects of Waltheof’s strong ale, he staggered to the door, grateful that Isabel was already abed. She would be safely ensconced in her bedchamber, sleeping peacefully, unaware that her worst fears for her sister were true.
A young boy let Anvrai into the inn and showed him to the second-floor chamber assigned to him. Anvrai went inside and sat on the bed, gazing into the fire for a moment before kicking off his shoes and removing his tunic. He froze when the door opened and Isabel stepped in. She shut the door behind her and turned the key in the lock.
Anvrai needed to tell her to go back to her room, but his throat would not work when she approached him, wearing a filmy gown that slipped down one shoulder, leaving the upper swells of her breasts exposed.
“You have avoided me long enough, Anvrai.”
He swallowed. “Not quite.”
She came closer. “You’ve been drinking.”
The Bride Hunt Page 21