Beyond Reason

by Avril Borthiry

  He heard Bernard's gasp. “Isobel told you what I'd done?”

  “Nay, only that you had something to confess and that I should be lenient.”

  There came a moment of silence. “She loves you very much, Rob.”

  “Aye she does, and I thank God for it.” Robert sighed. “And that's another thing; you brought her back to me. You may go, Bernard, and leave the weight of your conscience behind.”

  Robert thought on his friend's transgression for a few moments, but his renewed spirit had no room for resentment. It shunned the grief of Bernard's betrayal and he thought of Isobel instead.

  “You have forgiven him?” she asked him later.

  “How could I not? I know of no other man who would commit treason to protect my interests.”

  “Good.” She dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Elisabeth told me that he's been miserable for weeks. I didn't tell her I likely knew the reason. She'll see a change in him after today, I warrant.”

  “He brought you back to me.” Robert reached for her. “I'll always be grateful for that.”

  “I also have a confession to make, my lord.” Isobel placed the chess-piece into his hand. “When I left Glendennan, I stole something from you.”

  He smiled as he ran his thumb over the small wooden knight. “I considered sending a detachment out to search for it. Perhaps I should have done so. Brought it and you back and locked you both away.”

  She sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. He moaned softly as she placed her lips close to his. “No need for a lock, my love,” she murmured against his mouth, “for I would not have tried to escape.”

  Robert made love to Isobel that night. His appetite for her had been intense, a passionate hunger borne of profound longing and lost time. But he slowed his touch, using his lips and hands to explore every part of her body. He savoured her willing surrender, the soft tremble in her limbs, her sweet moans of pleasure. He kissed away her tears as she declared her love for him. Desire for her turned him to steel. With a groan, he lifted her against him, sinking into the warmth of her tight embrace.

  “I love you too, Isobel,” he whispered as he moved deep inside her. “Beyond reason.”

  Chapter 27

  Rain had fallen steadily for three days, a relentless saturating drizzle that kept everyone indoors. As usual, Isobel rose at dawn. She sat in the office, poring over Glendennan's accounts. They'd been sadly neglected since the fire, and Isobel had spent the better part of the month putting them in order. Since her return, she'd assumed many of the duties formerly handled by Felix or by Robert himself. Although he never spoke of it, Isobel knew Robert struggled with his inability to perform his duties as he once had. He was, after all, a soldier, a knight, and the liege lord of many who looked to him for protection. Isobel did all she could to help, while remaining sensitive to Robert's pride.

  He hadn't stirred when Isobel left their bed that morning. Indeed, he'd been subdued for the past several days. Although he insisted he felt well, Isobel harboured some anxiety, for she knew something troubled him.

  The loud knock at the door startled her.

  “Enter,” she said, but the door opened before the word even left her mouth.

  “My lady,” Lucas stood on the threshold, wide-eyed and pale. “There's something wrong with Sir Robert.”

  Isobel barely remembered running up the stairs.

  She found Robert kneeling on the floor by his bed, head bent, hands covering his face. His groans bespoke of severe pain. But where? Heart pounding in fear, Isobel dropped to his side and caressed his back.“Robert, my love, what on earth is wrong?”

  “Headache,” he mumbled. “Christ help me, I can't bear it. The pain is... .” He reached for her with a trembling hand. “I'm sorry, Angel. So sorry.”

  With a rattling breath, Robert closed his eyes and slumped to the floor. Isobel's blood turned cold with panic. She turned frantic eyes to Lucas. “Fetch Angmar. Hurry.”

  The boy nodded and ran from the room.

  Isobel stroked Robert's hair. He couldn't die. Not now. Not after all they had been through. “God, please, help him,” she sobbed. “Robert, don't leave me. Please don't leave me.”

  Somewhere outside, she heard the frantic exchange of voices, and the sound of the portcullis rising.

  “Hurry, Angmar,” she whispered. “Please, hurry.”

  Next, she heard the sound of feet on the stairs, and a moment later, Bernard burst into the room. “What's happened?” He crouched at Robert's side. “Lucas is frantic.”

  “I...I'm not sure.” Isobel's voice trembled. “He complained of pain in his head and then collapsed.”

  “Does he still breathe?”

  “Aye.” She gazed at Robert's quiet form, willing him to awaken. “I can't bear to think he might...he might... .”

  “Nay, my lady. He'll be fine, I'm sure. Here, let me lift him onto the bed.”

  They settled him, but despite Bernard's words of reassurance, Isobel's mind tortured her with painful thoughts even as she prayed. After a while and with an impatient sigh, she looked to the door.

  “Where is Angmar?” she cried. “Why does she take so long?”

  “Because I have three score years and seven,” came a familiar voice. “My legs are not as swift as they once were.”

  Angmar appeared in the doorway, her long white braid damp from the rain. She paused on the threshold, removed the wet shawl from her shoulders, and shook it. Isobel ran to her and grabbed her hand.

  “Why do you hesitate?” She pulled the old lady into the room. “Please help him.”

  “Calm yourself, child,” she said, approaching the bedside, her eyes narrowing as she studied Robert. She touched her hand to his forehead and then lifted his eyelids with her thumb. With a soft grunt, she straightened.

  “There's naught I can do for him,” she said with certainty. “We must wait.”

  “Wait?” Isobel shook her head as panic settled in her mind. “What do you mean? Wait for what? Nay, Angmar, please. There must be something you can do.”

  “If that were so, I would do it.” Heaving a sigh, Angmar sat down on a nearby chair and arranged her skirts around her. “He has no fever and his breathing is steady. I suspect he'll awaken once this attack runs its course.”

  Isobel grabbed onto a fistful of hope. “Are you sure?”

  “I'm sure I suspect it,” said Angmar, giving an enigmatic smile.

  “I'm due to relieve the watch, my lady,” Bernard said, “but please send for me if you need help, and keep me informed.

  “I will, Bernard. Thank you.”

  “As for that one, he is improved, yet his conscience still haunts him,” Angmar muttered, watching as Bernard closed the door. “He blames himself for Montgomery's plight.”

  Isobel gasped and turned on the old woman in disbelief. “You knew what he had done? You knew, yet you did not speak of it?”

  Angmar's lips thinned. “'Twas not my place to speak of it. Besides, to challenge fate is foolish, for it is an arrogant spirit, and may decide to take a more treacherous path if forced to do so.”

  “Tell me this then, please. ” Isobel's voice was edged with tears. “Will Robert live?”

  Angmar shrugged again. “I cannot say. Sit down, child. My head is spinning with your wanderings.”

  Isobel gave a cry of frustration and sat by the bed, taking Robert's hand in hers.

  They sat in silence, listening to his gentle breathing and the soft whisper of rainfall outside. It seemed to Isobel that hours went by. She rested her forehead on the edge of the mattress, her mind weary with worry.

  “Please, my love,” she whispered. “Don't leave me.”

  She heard him take a deep breath.

  “Have no fear, Angel,” he murmured. “I'll not be leaving you today.”

  Isobel lifted her head. “Oh, thank God. You frightened me so much. Are you still in pain?” She leaned over him, dropping a gentle kiss on his cheek.

  “Nay,
sweetheart. I'm tired, is all. It was a bad attack.”

  “'Tis good you are awake, my lord,” Angmar said as she approached the bed.

  “Angmar. I'm glad you're here, old woman, for there's something I've been wanting to tell you.” He reached out and Isobel took his hand between hers. “The sacrifice I made? 'Twas worth it to have this woman returned to me.”

  Isobel looked from one to the other. “Sacrifice? Of what sacrifice do you speak?”

  “My sight, Isobel,” he said. “If I had not lost it, Joanna would not have left and you would never have returned to Glendennan.”

  Angmar chuckled. “You're mistaken, my lord. Your sight was not the sacrifice.”

  Robert frowned. “Then what? I don't understand.”

  “Not what, but who,” Angmar replied. “Isobel was the sacrifice. At the time in your life when you had the greatest need of her, you denied yourself. A selfless act, my lord. You humbled yourself before God.”

  Confused by the strange conversation, Isobel made a sound of exasperation. “Yet he must still suffer? How can this be? Am I, then, the cause of his suffering? In truth, I understand nothing of what you say.”

  “Hush, Angel.” Robert squeezed her hand. “None of this was your doing.”

  Angmar sighed. “Still, you have paid a heavy price. I pray God will have mercy on you.”

  He brought Isobel's hand to his lips. “He already has.”

  Chapter 28

  “What do you think, Mary?” Isobel smoothed her hands over the pale blue silk of her dress. A jewelled girdle sat around her hips, made from the finest cream brocade. It matched the gossamer veil that floated about her shoulders. “Does it fit well?”

  “Oh, m' lady. 'Tis very fine. Such a beautiful bride you'll be. I wish 'e could see you.” Tears welled up in the maid's eyes. “'E would be so proud.”

  “I think he'll be proud anyway.” Isobel gazed down at herself. “Does it need altering further?”

  “Nay, I think not. 'Tis perfect.”

  “Good. Help me undress, then. I do not wish to soil the silk.”

  “I can 'ardly believe it, my lovely.” Mary undid the laces at the back of the dress. “In three days, you'll be Lady Isobel Montgomery of Glendennan.”

  Isobel sighed. “I can hardly believe it myself.”

  “His lordship worships you. 'Is parents were the same, all lovey-dovey, like. Always kissin' and touchin'. Jus' like you two.”

  Isobel blushed. “He told me.”

  Mary slipped a simple cream kirtle over Isobel's smock, and pulled the laces tight.

  “There,” she said. “All done, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Mary. I'll be in the office with Sir Robert if you need me.”

  Isobel ran down the stairs and into the office. Robert, sitting at the table, lifted his head when she entered. A smile crossed his face.

  “Does the dress fit?” he asked.

  “It's perfect.” She frowned as she dropped a kiss on his head. “Are you alright, my love? You're very pale.”

  “I'm fine,” he mumbled. “But if you insist on pushing your beautiful breasts into my face, I doubt we will get very far with our chess game.”

  Isobel laughed. “You're incorrigible. Are you ready for battle?”

  “I am indeed, my angel.”

  She peered at him for a moment. His eyes looked darker than usual, and the skin around them seemed tight. “You can't fool me, Robert. What is it? Another headache?”

  “I had a headache, aye,but it's gone now. Stop fretting.”

  “Are you dizzy?”

  He let out a breath. “Mildly so, but it will pass. Make your move, Isobel.”

  “Hmm. Well, you'll tell me if you feel ill. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  Isobel sat down and reached over the board. “King's pawn, two spaces,” she said.

  Robert chuckled. “My little battle commander. Straight for the throat.”

  “Well, if you behave yourself, Lord Montgomery, I might just let you win.” Her hand hovered over the board. “Tell me your move.”

  Robert shook his head. “'Tis not necessary.”

  Isobel looked at him. “Why not?”

  Robert shrugged, reached over the board, and mirrored her move. “King's pawn, two spaces.”

  Isobel's breath slowed as his dark eyes levelled with hers. A strange gleam lingered in their depths and a smile came to his lips.

  “Your move, my love.”

  Isobel stared at him, her heart missing a beat as she struggled to find her voice. “Dear God be praised. You can see. Can you? You can, can't you? Robert, tell me true. Can you? Can you see?”

  His eyes filled with tears. “I had another headache this morning, nigh on as fierce as the last. Only this time it ended with a flash of light like that of the sun. Then I saw shapes, definite shapes. My table, your chair, sunlight through the window. I thought it was a cruel dream, that I would once again awaken in my bed to look upon a grey world. But it's real. 'It's a miracle, and one I did not wholly believe until just now when I saw you. Aye, Angel, I can see. God be praised indeed, I can see!”

  ~ ~ ~

  Robert and Isobel married three days later. The morning dawned under perfect blue skies dotted with small pillows of white cloud. The skylark sang his sweet song, which drifted down to Glendennan on a warm southern breeze.

  “You look beautiful, my lady.” Robert wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Are you ready?”

  Isobel nodded. “I am.”

  He lifted her onto Argyle's back, holding her close as they rode to the church. This time, the ceremony had special meaning, for it was performed in the name of love. At last, they stepped out in front of his people as husband and wife. Robert bent to kiss Isobel, and the hillsides around Glendennan rang with the cheers of his people.

  “I definitely think they approve,” he murmured, smiling against her mouth.

  She laughed, the sweet sound a blessing to Robert's ears. “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you too.” He kissed her again. “Beyond reason.”

  Something pulled his gaze upwards. He nudged Isobel and pointed to the sky.

  “Look,” he said.

  Two golden eagles soared over the church on invisible columns of air. They circled once, and then turned to sweep a path over Glendennan before ascending into the infinite blue.

  On the third day of April, 1348 – exactly one year after Isobel's return – Robert stood in their chamber and gazed in wonder at the tiny dark-haired boy that lay in the crib. He slipped a finger into the child's fist, marvelling at the little one's grip.

  “He's a healthy bairn and gave his mother very little trouble.” Angmar patted Robert on the shoulder. “Congratulations, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Angmar.”

  “He's perfect.” Isobel leaned back on her pillows with a contented sigh. “Richard George Montgomery. Our son.”

  “Aye, he's perfect,” Robert replied, his heart filled to the brim with love. “Just like his mother.”

  He leaned over and kissed the baby's forehead.

  “Welcome, little one, ” he whispered. “Welcome to Glendennan.”

  THE END

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed 'Beyond Reason'. It was one of my first attempts at novel writing, and has undergone several revisions since its inception. As my writing evolves, and hopefully improves, it may yet go through several more!

  The story was inspired by, and is a humble tribute to, an enduring favourite of mine – Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. I first read that book at the age of nine, and the profound romance of it has stayed with me ever since. My love of the classic story was further motivated by knowing that the author once stayed in the house my Nana used to own.

  I hope you will turn more of my pages in the future.

  Feedback on my writing is important to me. I hope you'll take the time to let me know how I'm doing. I take all critique seriously
.

  My sincere thanks,

  Avril

  www.avrilborthiry.com

  allwrite@rogers.com

  Facebook: Quill-and-Ink-by-Avril-Borthiry

  Following are excerpts from my other two medieval romance/fantasy novels. Both are available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback format.

  Excerpt from The Cast of a Stone © 2013 Avril Borthiry

  At that moment, the sun found a gap in the clouds and leapt through it, dropping into the surrounding mist as a shaft of blinding light. Emma blinked, squinting into the brilliance and Stephen rose up in his stirrups, his sword half-drawn.

  Three men rode out of the light, their silhouettes darkened by the sun at their backs.

  One, tall and handsome, had long silver hair that fell well past his shoulders. He stared at Emma with eyes as black as night. For an instant, she though she saw a light in them, like the quick flare of a candle-flame. The man at his left had straight black hair of similar length, a noble, serious face and eyes equally as black. He glanced at Emma for a mere moment before turning his gaze to Stephen.

  The third man, strong featured, yet gentle of expression, had long dark hair that curled as it settled upon his shoulders. He nodded at Emma, studying her with eyes of an indefinable colour. A tingle ran across her skin, lifting the hair on her arms and neck. Her strange feeling of anticipation grew.

  They have much presence, these men. Knights. They can surely be nothing else.

  Stephen settled back in the saddle, pushed his sword into its scabbard and repeated her conclusion.

  “Knights,” he murmured. “And they can only be going to Thurston. Stay behind me, Emma. Let us see who they are and what they want.”

  As quickly as it had appeared the shaft of sunlight vanished, smothered by the persistent blanket of cloud. Stephen turned his horse diagonally across the path, keeping Emma behind him, forcing the three riders to halt.