Beyond Reason

by Avril Borthiry

  “Aye, 'twas not an easy delivery.” Angmar wandered over to a cupboard in the corner. “I have something that will help.”

  Stifled by the thick air, Robert cleared his throat. “I'll wait outside. Please don't be too long, my lady.”

  The door banged behind him. He took a slow breath and leant against the cottage wall, watching the cascade of drips splashing into the mud.

  It pained me to see her recent suffering. I would see no more of it.

  The old woman was indeed a witch. Although she practised none of the black arts, Robert knew Angmar had the gift of foresight. In truth, though, he didn't need her to tell him the future. He suspected that nothing but suffering could come of this love. Spurred by the shadow he'd seen in Angmar's eyes, he confronted a sudden onslaught of guilt.

  I'll ask Isobel to leave, find her a place at court, send her away somewhere. For her sake and mine, I will. I must.

  Resolve settled like a stone in his heart.

  The door creaked open and a small cold hand, chapped and roughened by harsh work, slid into his. “Robert,” Isobel whispered. “Please take me home.”

  The stone in his heart shattered.

  Chapter 8

  Robert leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out before the fireplace. The flames curled lazy fingers around the logs and painted a sleepy glow onto the office walls.

  “We'll leave at first light, ” he said. “Is the escort organized?”

  “Aye, my lord,” Bernard replied. “Eight knights including us, plus Lucas. Harry will drive the wagon.”

  “Anymore news on the raids?”

  Bernard shook his head.“They've had problems to the north, but no sign of any trouble down here.”

  “Good.” Robert clasped his tankard of ale over his stomach. “I don't want the women put at risk.”

  Bernard looked down at his own tankard, swirling the ale around the bottom of the cup in apparent contemplation. “I hear you went off on an excursion this morning, Rob.”

  Robert raised a brow. “Aye. What of it?”

  “No reason. Heard the servants talking.”

  “Hmm.” He shifted his gaze to the flames. “Let them talk.”

  “Isobel is a sweet lady,” Bernard said. “Spent most of the afternoon helping Elisabeth and playing with the boys.”

  “Aye.” Robert took a gulp of ale. “She has a good heart.”

  “Would hate to see such a fine lady hurt again. She's been through enough already.”

  Robert gave a half smile. “Careful, my friend. You're stepping over the line.”

  Bernard shrugged. “'Only doing my job.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I suspect there's a chink in your armour, Sir Knight. I'll have to watch your back.”

  The half smile became a grin. “You're a sly bastard.”

  Bernard stood, chugging what ale remained in his tankard. “True.” He smacked his lips. “And a hungry bastard these days. Until my dear Elisabeth is well enough to slake my manly needs, I shall console myself with food. Dinner should be ready. I'm off in search of a roasted chicken or maybe an entire leg of mutton.”

  Robert laughed and rose to his feet. “Aye. I'm hungry myself.”

  Bernard pulled the office door open. “For food, or a certain red-haired lady?”

  ~ ~ ~

  Later that evening, Isobel sat back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face. “I believe I have you, my lord.”

  “There's no doubt of it.” Robert reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, enjoying her delight. “You have me heart and soul, my love.”

  Isobel laughed. “I was referring to the game, Robert. Checkmate.”

  Robert scrutinized the board with a sigh of resignation. “You battle well, Angel. But in my defense, I must declare an impediment.”

  “Which is?” Isobel cocked her head, her lips curling into a smile.

  “I find myself sorely distracted,” he said, with exaggerated glumness. “My mind is not on the game.”

  “What could be so distracting as to allow a knight of the realm to be defeated by a mere woman?”

  “It's a mere woman who distracts me.” Robert stood and held out a hand. “Come with me.”

  “Where to?”

  “Bed.”

  Isobel rose to her feet, her cheeks flooding red. “Robert! You shouldn't say such things.”

  Robert's lips twitched. “You misunderstand. We have an early start tomorrow and you must rest.”

  “Ah, forgive me.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I'm sure I can find my own way to my chamber.”

  “Doubtless, but I insist on seeing you there safely. No arguments.” He tucked her arm into his, steered her out into the corridor, and up the stairs. They stopped at her door and Robert gazed down at her. Candlelight had turned her hair to burnished gold. Several curls had escaped their bindings and softened the sweet lines of her face.

  “Delivered safely, my lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  Becoming aroused, Robert cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing the satin skin of her cheek,.

  “May I have a kiss before I bid you goodnight?”

  In response, she raised up on her toes and brushed her lips across his.

  He drew her close, returning her kiss her with a gentleness that disguised the intensity of his desire.

  Moments later, she pulled away and looked up at him.

  “Stay with me,” she whispered. “I want you to stay with me, Robert.”

  His groin throbbed at her words, yet he paused. For a brief instant he acknowledged a future where Joanna would be standing in Isobel's place. In a few short weeks, he'd be making love to his wife beneath Glendennan's roof. Where would Isobel be then? Alone in her room, awaiting a clandestine moment with the lord of the castle?

  Things, he knew, had happened quickly. In a matter of days and in complete innocence, Isobel had stolen his heart and touched his soul. This would be no casual bedding of a willing wench. He loved the lass beyond selfishness. Could he make love to her in good heart, knowing that she would likely never be anything more than his mistress?

  He studied her. Her lips were swollen and slightly parted, her breaths slow and deep. Passion darkened her eyes and her subtle female scent stirred him. Isobel had all the signs of a woman ready for love.

  Look at her. She wants me. And God knows I want her. So why do I hesitate? Am I mad?

  Desire, instinctual and inherent, thrust his selfless thoughts aside. He swung Isobel into his arms, and carried her into the chamber.

  There he set her down, his mouth finding hers, biting off whatever comment she had been about to make. Her mumble turned into a whimper and Robert responded with a growl.

  The laces on Isobel's robe submitted without a fight. A crush of blue damask fell to the floor in silent surrender, leaving Isobel standing in her shift. Stunned by the intensity of his feelings, Robert lifted his head and studied the precious object of his desire. Isobel's slender shape formed a graceful silhouette through the pale fabric. Her chest rose and fell, the outline of her breasts evident. Her nipples were raised, begging his touch, his kiss. Her waist, beautifully tapered, accentuated the gentle curve of her hips, and the dark triangle, visible at the apex of her thighs, tempted him like nothing ever had.

  Indeed, no woman had ever had such an effect on him. Intoxicated with want, he trailed his fingertips across her collarbone and pushed the flimsy shift from her shoulders. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, waves of copper hair tumbling behind her like a cape.

  “Nay, my love,” he said, watching as the shift slid from her body. “Don't close your eyes. I want you to look at me as I touch you.”

  Naked before him, Isobel trembled visibly, uncertainty flaring in her eyes. Robert smiled and caressed the soft, delicate skin of her neck. Then he bent and kissed the small hollow at the base of her throat. At the same time, his hands sought out her breasts, each one fitting perfectly in his palms. She gave a s
mall gasp as his thumbs circle the hardened buds. Robert sensed her pleasure, but he also sensed her lingering uncertainty. Had her husband never praised her beauty, even in the bedroom?

  “You're exquisite, Isobel,” he said, his voice hoarse with desire. “I want you as I've never wanted any woman.”

  Her eyes appeared to soften at his words and he kissed her again, holding the contact with her mouth as he carried her to the bed. She watched him remove his clothes, her expression one of desire and admiration that aroused him further. It was almost his undoing when he settled at her side and gathered her in his arms. He trembled with the anticipation of touching her, feeling every part of her, loving her. He wanted it to be perfect, for Isobel was perfection to him.

  “Robert,” she muttered, her hands roaming the muscled contours of his chest and back. Passion burned through him, guiding his touch. Her nipples thrust hard against his palms. He moved to kiss the sensitive nubs, nipping and suckling as Isobel whimpered and squirmed beneath him.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, his tongue circling the sweet pink tip of a breast. How he wanted her. Craved her. His hand slid over the flat of her stomach, pausing at the edge of the soft curls that sheltered her core.

  With a hungry growl, he slid a finger into her crease and teased the hard little bud that nestled there. Isobel made a sound that pushed him to the brink. Robert groaned, rubbing his erection against her thigh as he sought out the damp entrance that awaited his pleasure. He sank a finger into her, then another. She moaned and thrust against his hand.

  “Aye, that's it. Ah, you're so wet, lass, so ready for me.” Restraint failing, he covered her body and positioned himself at her centre. “I need to be inside you, Isobel. Tell me you want me. I need to hear you say it.”

  “I want you.” It sounded like a sob. “Oh, God. Now, Robert. Please. I can't –”

  She cried out as he sheathed himself to the hilt with a single thrust, a bolt of pleasure firing through very muscle in his body. Oh, Christ. Oh, sweet Heaven.

  Delirious with desire, Robert drew back and buried himself again, hard and deep. Crying out, Isobel bucked against him and he met each thrust, the tip of his shaft nudging her womb.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Oh, yes.”

  He ground against her, his mouth on hers, his hands teasing her breasts. The way she looked, writhing beneath him, drove him to the crumbling edge of climax. Sensing Isobel's imminent peak, he reached between them to caress her swollen bud. Her spine arched.

  “Robert. Oh, God. I love... I love...” With a cry, she tipped her head back and found her pleasure. Her tight, orgasmic ripples shattered what remained of Robert's control. With a guttural cry of his own, he surrendered to an intense and blessed release.

  Robert had never known such peace, nor had he ever known such turmoil. He had feared nothing until now. Now, he feared losing Isobel. Small and intensely beautiful to him, she slept, cradled in his arms. He watched her, fascinated by this pale earthly spirit who had abducted his heart. Occasionally a smile would drift across her face and he'd smile with her, wondering at her dreams.

  Yet, in the deepest abyss of night, despair scavenged on his mind. The previous doubt and guilt had returned to taunt him. In less than a month, he would be married to Joanna Willoughby.

  What then?

  He shifted slightly, drawing Isobel even closer, wanting her so badly it hurt. How could he turn from her and swear allegiance, before God, to another woman?

  It will be a mockery. There's only one for me and she's here, sleeping in my arms. I cannot lose her. God, I beg of you, please.

  But, despite his silent prayer, a unbidden vision formed in his mind. In it, he saw an angel with bright copper hair. As he watched, she closed her eyes, folded her golden wings, and crumpled to the earth.

  Robert made love to Isobel again in that darkest hour before the dawn. This time, he slowed his touch, hands and mouth exploring her body with gentle deliberation until she pleaded for release. All his despair vanished as he sank once again into her warmth and tasted the sweetness on her lips.

  In the ebbing tide of passion, as he held her close, an impossible thought wandered into his mind and settled there.

  Chapter 9

  Dawn made an obtuse arrival in the valley, throwing a cold grey light over Glendennan's bailey. Isobel gathered her cloak around her and drew the hood over her head. She looked about for Robert as Mary trotted along at her side, all bustle and chat. “Now then, m' lady. Are you sure you want to ride? 'Tis a three hour journey over them fells. You'd be comfier sittin' with me in the wagon.”

  “No, Mary. I like to ride, and the little mare suits me well. If I get tired, I can tether her to the wagon and sit with you awhile.” Isobel's eyes swept over the courtyard, absorbing the surprising amount of activity.

  “As you wish, m'lady.” Mary pointed, enthusiasm bubbling from her. “Look, there's the wagon. Oh, an' look at all them fine knights. 'Tis an escort fit for a king, I swear. No sign of the master, though. Felix was lookin' for 'im last night. Couldn't find 'im anywhere. Did you see 'im at all, my lady?”

  Aware of Mary's questioning eyes upon her, Isobel flushed. “Mary, look. Harry is waving at you. Perhaps you should get yourself settled into the wagon? I'm sure we'll be leaving soon.”

  Mary followed Isobel's gaze. “Aye, I see 'im. Daft bugger, 'e is. Now, don't you be gettin' tired or chilled, my lovely.” She scurried over to the wagon.

  Isobel let out a sigh of relief and again looked about for any sign of Robert. He'd left her bed before Glendennan stirred. She'd lain awake in the dark for a while, the scent of his love on her body, her skin still tingling from his touch. Never had she experienced such intense feelings. Despite the cold air, memories of the night caused her face to heat and her heart to race. She blinked, bringing her mind back to the moment.

  The courtyard rang with the sounds of horses and the voices of men as the escort readied for the journey to Kirbie. Isobel counted seven knights including Bernard, who caught her gaze and sent her a friendly wink. Each wore partial mail, covered by the yellow and black surcoats of Glendennan. Broadswords rested at their sides and shields on their backs. Clouds of mist swirled around the horses' heads as their warm breath met the chilly air. Isobel wondered at the need for such an escort.

  A movement to her left snagged her attention. She turned to see Lucas leaving the stables, leading his own gelding and the chestnut mare. Moments later, Robert followed, leading Argyle. Isobel's stomach fluttered at the sight of him, for in the steely light of the dawn he looked every inch a lord and a knight. Also clad in partial mail, he strode across the bailey with purpose, careless dark curls tumbling to his shoulders, left hand lazing on the hilt of his sword. He met her eyes and the hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. He said something to Lucas and then beckoned Isobel over.

  Aware of Robert's possessive scrutiny, Isobel felt a flutter of excitement as she approached. Only a few short days before, her life had rested in his hands. Now, it seemed, her heart rested there.

  But what of the future...?

  “Ready, Angel?”

  “Yes, my lord.” She glanced about. “But why such an escort? Do you anticipate trouble?”

  “No, but I prefer to be prepared. They've had a few skirmishes farther north.” He lifted her onto the mare and smiled up at her. “Have no fear, lass. I'll not leave your side.”

  Robert climbed into Argyle's saddle and Lucas clambered up onto the gelding. The three horses threaded their way to the head of the group, to be joined by Bernard. Isobel found herself surrounded by a wall of knighthood, her chestnut mare dwarfed by the larger horses at her side.

  Robert raised a hand and the portcullis clanked a noisy ascent. Then the group moved forward as one, heading out into the valley as the first rays of sunlight burst over the tops of the fells.

  The sun's rays did not stay with them for long. By the time they arrived on the outskirts of Kirbie, a cold grey drizzle blanketed the countryside. Damp
ness seeped into Isobel's bones and she suppressed shiver after shiver. Sensing Robert's eyes upon her, she glanced over to see him watching her with a frown. He steered Argyle closer.

  “We'll take a detour to Highgate Tavern,” he said. “You can rest there a while and have something warm to drink before we continue.”

  “Nay, please. Don't delay on my account. It's only the damp that chills me a little.”

  “Aye, and I have no wish to see you sicken from it. We'll stop.” A smile curved his lips as he leaned over. “Were we alone, Angel, I would warm you myself.”

  A shiver of a different kind travelled over her skin. Robert's words excited her and the thought of a hot drink while seated beside a blazing hearth lifted her spirits.

  Just as she thought she couldn't bear the cold any longer, the whitewashed walls of Highgate Tavern loomed out of the miserable fog. She managed a brave smile as Robert lifted her down from her horse, but it failed to fool him.

  “God's teeth,” he muttered. “You're frozen.” He bent his head, chaffing her small hands between his. While he worked, Isobel took a moment to study him. He had eyelashes that no man had a right to possess – thick and black, with a gentle curl at the edges. The sculpted features of his face were framed by the wealth of dark curls that had tightened in the dampness. His brow, strong and wide, carried a small frown as he focused on his task.

  Unbidden, her new-found confidence wavered as she fumbled with the belief that such a man could feel for her. In truth, her future was as uncertain as ever. What was to become of her? This outing had one purpose – to secure provisions for an upcoming marriage ceremony.

  Robert's marriage ceremony.

  'Tis folly, then, to believe I might have a future with him. As what? His mistress? Not that. Never.

  To her horror she felt tears pricking at her eyes as the hint of a smile lifted a corner of Robert's mouth.

  “You study me, my lady,” he murmured, his head bent still bent over his task. “As I intend to study you later.” He lifted his gaze to hers and his smile faded. “Isobel, what's wrong? Do you feel ill?”