by Ida Curtis
“Why is it you never married, Lady Isabel?” he asked. “From what I understand, you had opportunities.”
It was because none of her suitors had lived up to her memories of her champion. Her childish fantasies about being rescued were embarrassing, and she had no intention of telling him about them.
Remembering his reply when she inquired about his attachment, Isabel answered stiffly, “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”
Recognizing his own words, Chetwynd accepted her abrupt reply. He thought of his earlier speculation that Lady Isabel had been awaiting a lover at the pond when he happened upon her. The memory dislodged the companionable feeling that had been developing between them.
“Are you sure there is not a reason why you would wish to remain in Narbonne?” he asked coldly while staring at the pond.
Puzzled by his question and irritated at his tone of voice, Isabel replied, “No, of course not. I already explained why I wish to leave.”
Chetwynd stood up. When he spoke, his words were casual and cool. “Fair enough. Our arrangement does not include sharing confidences. Please forget I asked the question.”
When Isabel scrambled to her feet, Chetwynd grasped her arm to help. But he withdrew his hand quickly once she was standing.
“Your father and I discussed a time for the marriage. If I were here alone, I could stay longer, but my men are eager to be home. In order to leave tomorrow, the marriage will have to take place either tonight, as your grandmother suggested, or before worship in the morning. Is such short notice agreeable with you?”
“That will be fine. My maid, Marianna, has no family. We can prepare to leave quickly.”
“Good. I’m pleased you will have someone to attend you. I think it might be best if we exchange vows tomorrow morning, and then leave directly. If we marry this evening, there will be the expectation that we . . . Well, you know.” He was reluctant to mention sharing a bed.
Isabel knew exactly what he meant and answered quickly. “Of course. I’ll inform my grandmother of your wish.”
The silence between them became awkward as it lengthened. Finally, Chetwynd spoke again. “Since I didn’t have a swim yesterday, I’d like one now. Why don’t you meet with your father while I do so?”
Isabel nodded and backed away from him. “I think you’ll enjoy the pond, Lord Chetwynd.” Not knowing what else to say, she turned and hurried away.
It was a few minutes before Isabel remembered she had left her slippers behind. She turned back to the pond and arrived as Chetwynd, his bare back turned toward her, was pulling off his hose. Forgetting her slippers again and hoping he hadn’t heard her, she fled, but not before the shape of his muscular body was etched upon her mind. He seemed a great deal larger without his black clothing.
Trying to ignore the vision, Isabel ran along the path and concentrated on the things she had to do. She must meet with both her father and grandmother. When Isabel blinked her eyes, Lord Chetwynd’s well-formed body appeared on her closed eyelids, causing her face to flush. Deciding she wasn’t ready to deal with her family, Isabel sought out Father Ivo.
The parish priest was in the small room at the back of the chapel where Isabel had received lessons. He looked up from his book, took a minute to focus on the present, and then struggled to his feet.
“My, you looked flushed, my lady.”
“I’ve been running,” Isabel managed to say between gasps of breath. Tucking her bare feet out of sight under her gown, she brushed her hair from her face and remembered that she had also forgotten her head covering at the pond.
“I was awaiting you. Lady Winifred has told me the news, and I was sure you would come. I understand Lord Chetwynd is a friend of Justin’s, and both your grandmother and father seem satisfied it’s a good match.”
Isabel nodded, still out of breath.
“But what of you, Isabel? Is it a match which pleases you?” As he spoke, he waved his hand to indicate she should take her accustomed seat on the bench at his worktable.
His question surprised her, and Isabel was touched that he would care enough to ask how she felt. “Yes, Father, it pleases me,” she replied.
Although her family life had often been a trial, the hours she had spent with Father Ivo helped fill the void left after Justin’s departure. Looking around at the familiar room, Isabel knew she would miss her time spent with the elderly priest.
“I will miss you, my child,” Father Ivo said, echoing her thoughts. “In all my years of teaching, I have never had a student who asked such challenging questions. You have brought warmth into the life of an old man.”
For the second time that day, tears came to Isabel’s eyes. She felt her control slipping, and she covered her mouth to keep from sobbing.
“No, no, my lady. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s time for you to venture forth, and I envy you the opportunity.”
Father Ivo patted her shoulder awkwardly, but Isabel couldn’t speak.
“You must have a chance to see the empire, Lady Isabel, before the sons of King Louis let it slip away.” Father Ivo was a great admirer of King Charles, but had little respect for his grandsons who were destined to rule.
When Isabel still didn’t say anything, Father Ivo began one of his familiar tales. “I was there at the beginning, when King Charles was crowned Holy Roman Emperor by Pope Leo III. At first the king seemed reluctant to take the crown, but then he accepted it, as well as the task of safeguarding the empire. He grew into that crown. He was famous for inviting poets and historians to his court, and encouraging his people to learn to read and write. They named him Charles the Great, Charlemagne. What a glorious time that was.”
Isabel had heard this story many times, and she would have enjoyed hearing it once more. But Father Ivo abruptly interrupted himself.
“You have listened patiently to my stories, Lady Isabel. Now it’s your time. You’re to be wed, and I am forgetting my duty. I must prepare you for your role as wife to Lord Chetwynd.”
The kindly priest looked thoughtful, as though trying to remember what it was he was supposed to say. Isabel understood Father Ivo’s strength lay in his knowledge of literature and history, as well as his heartfelt manner in conducting Mass. According to Emma, his domestic advice was less adept.
“There is no need, Father. I have talked to Emma and am quite prepared.”
Not that she needed information, she reminded herself, as she had no plans to be intimate with her husband. The last sight she had of Chetwynd leapt to her mind again. Shocked that such a vision would appear to her in Father Ivo’s presence, she blinked and forced herself to think of other matters. “I came to say goodbye in private, Father.”
“Well, if you think of any questions about personal matters, please come to see me.” Clearly relieved, Father Ivo continued, “You have been the best kind of student, Lady Isabel. One I learned from while I taught. I put aside this small sheaf of poems for you to take with you.” He handed her a packet tied together with a string.
“Thank you, Father Ivo.” To keep from crying, Isabel hugged the small priest, inhaling for the last time the dusty smell of old parchments that clung to his robe. He was as hard to say goodbye to as Emma had been.
“I will miss our lessons. There will be a hole in my life,” he whispered, and Isabel heard his voice crack.
Remembering Emma using those same words, Isabel pulled away. “Father Ivo, there is someone who would love to listen to your stories, as well as learn to read. It’s Emma. She never tires of hearing tales and would like to read them. Would you give her lessons?”
His bushy eyebrows lifted. “She is a bright girl. Do you think she’d be interested?”
“Yes, yes, I do. I’ll tell her to come see you.”
Isabel smiled happily at the thought of the two most important people in her life sharing time together. “Tell her about your adventure with the poet who came to Charlemagne’s court from across the waters. I know she’ll enjoy it.”
His words sobered Isabel. Then the nude Chetwynd stole into her thoughts once again, and she started to laugh. “I’ll do my best,” she said.
CHAPTER FIVE
ISABEL’S MEETING WITH HER FATHER WENT pretty much as she had expected. Lord Theodoric told her she was fortunate to be making such an advantageous marriage and warned her against undermining the match. Isabel kept her annoyance in check by thinking about Father Ivo, who had, in many ways, been her real father.
Her visit with Lady Winifred was even more annoying. Her grandmother was curious about how her relationship with Lord Chetwynd was progressing.
“The minute I laid eyes on Lord Chetwynd, I believed him the husband for you, Isabel,” Lady Winifred told her. “He has wealth, a promising career, and is a friend of Justin’s. You spent some private time with him. What do you think of your future husband?”
“I think he is an honorable man, my lady.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Lady Winifred said impatiently. “But he is also a strong, virile man. Has he shown any interest in you?”
“He seemed pleased that Marianna would be traveling with me,” Isabel answered, purposely misunderstanding her grandmother’s meaning.
“Don’t be so naive, Isabel. Did he touch you in an intimate manner?”
It was difficult for Isabel to refrain from answering sharply. But what was the point, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to change her grandmother. She settled for ignoring the question.
“We talked about marriage arrangements, my lady. We decided to exchange our vows at sunrise. That will give Marianna and me a chance to pack this evening.”
This news distracted Lady Winifred from her probing. “But Isabel, I had hoped you would start your married life at Narbonne. If you exchange vows this evening, you can spend your first night together here in your home.”
Isabel suddenly had a vision of her grandmother, an encouraging smile on her face, tucking them into bed together. The ludicrous thought cheered her up, but she dared not share her amusement, as she knew her grandmother lacked a sense of humor where the marriage of her granddaughter was concerned.
“Lord Chetwynd prefers to wait until morning,” Isabel said. Since men were seldom denied the final say about such matters, Isabel was confident this information would put an end to her grandmother’s objection.
Lady Winifred shrugged off her disappointment. “Men . . .” she muttered. Then, after a moment, she changed the subject. “I don’t imagine you need any information about the physical aspect of marriage. I’m sure either Father Ivo or Emma has filled you in on the details. Just try not to be cold and stiff. Men hate that.”
“Thank you for the helpful advice, Gran-mere.” As Isabel expected, the sarcastic tone with which she spoke these words was lost on Lady Winifred.
Her grandmother’s attempts at interference gave Isabel reason to be thankful for Chetwynd’s plan to exchange vows in the morning. There was no telling how far her grandmother would go to see that they slept together. The sooner they departed Narbonne, the better.
In contrast to her father and grandmother, her time with Marianna had been companionable and pleasant. Isabel had been ten years old when Marianna, two years older, had been assigned by Lady Winifred to be her handmaid. From her first day, she had taken her duties seriously, and her attitude made her seem older than her years. Despite the small age difference, she acted like a mother toward Isabel.
Since she had no family, her personal maid was thrilled at the prospect of traveling with Lady Isabel, and she only complained mildly about the fact they were leaving so soon.
“I’m sure Lady Winifred will help us, if you think the packing is too much for us to do alone,” Isabel said to tease Marianna.
As she anticipated, Marianna shook her head vigorously. “We don’t need her help. Your mother’s gowns and jewelry are already packed, just waiting for you to take an interest in them.”
Isabel grinned. “I’m fortunate to have you, Marianna. And I’m fortunate to have inherited a ready-made trousseau. Leave out my plainer gowns for me to wear on the road. Most of my mother’s things are much too elegant to wear on horseback.”
In addition to clothes, the two women packed bedding, eating utensils, and some herbal remedies Marianna thought they might need. Isabel added writing implements and, of course, the sheaf of poems from Father Ivo. The packing extended late into the night, and when they were finished, Isabel had no trouble falling into a deep sleep.
The marriage ceremony would be a simple affair. Isabel’s religion was part of her life, as it was for everyone she knew. Each day started with Mass in the manor chapel. As Isabel had often witnessed the exchange of marriage vows by others, she knew the ceremony was to take place on the porch of the chapel. A worship service would follow so that the couple could begin their marriage with the blessing of God.
At dawn, the residents of the manor, as well as Chetwynd’s troop, were waiting inside the chapel. On the porch, the small wedding party stood together while Lord Theodoric gave his consent to the match. Father Ivo prompted Lady Isabel and Lord Chetwynd as they solemnly exchanged their vows. Isabel hadn’t expected to be moved by the ceremony, so she was surprised when she had to force her words through a suddenly constricted throat. She fought hard to hold back tears.
Biting the inside of her mouth, Isabel reminded herself that Chetwynd had no doubt already sworn an oath of devotion to someone else. This ceremony was merely a few words that released her from the authority of her father and placed her under the authority of Lord Chetwynd. Looking from the smiling face of her father to the solemn face of Chetwynd, she feared she was exchanging one uncaring master for another.
As Father Ivo led them down the aisle to the front of the church, Chetwynd placed his hand gently on her elbow. The contact eased Isabel’s tension. She appreciated the kind gesture from the stranger she was marrying. As she knelt and bowed her head, she prayed their journey together would honor them both.
When they walked back down the aisle to exit the church, the small chapel was filled to capacity. Merchants, tenant farmers, and soldiers were crowded together on the benches and stood at the back. Isabel searched for Emma, and when she saw her, she relaxed and smiled for the first time. Emma returned her smile and wiped away a tear. It was done.
The entire service had not taken much longer than the usual morning worship. A meal was set up in the great hall, and it was eaten quickly. The marriage ceremony was forgotten in the excitement of preparing for the coming journey.
The caravan consisted of thirty-two soldiers, six squires, and a few serving men and women. There were also a few young wives who were allowed to travel with their husbands, as they had no children. Isabel had already become familiar with some of the faces, and she observed how efficiently the group worked together.
The presence of Isabel and Marianna, newcomers to the tightly knit group, gave rise to a certain amount of curiosity and watchful waiting. Clearly the veterans would withhold judgment until they saw how well Isabel and Marianna traveled and whether their presence would slow the progress of the journey. Making good time seemed to be everyone’s major concern. After spending the late spring and summer on the Spanish March, the travelers were eager to return to their homes.
Lord Chetwynd had suggested they take a litter for Isabel and Marianna, but Isabel declined his offer. She preferred riding her own horse to bumping around in a litter. She had not been exaggerating when she told Chetwynd that first evening that she was an accomplished rider. Although she enjoyed riding astride as men on the farm did, she also managed well with both legs to the side, a method more appropriate for her position.
Since everyone was eager to depart, the goodbyes were short. Lord Theodoric and Lady Winifred bid the couple a br
ief, formal farewell. Emma was the only one who lingered at Isabel’s side.
“Are you excited, Lady Isabel?”
Taken aback by the formal address, Isabel stared at her friend. “Emma, I’ve not changed because I have a husband.”
“It’s hard not to see you in a different light now that you’re married to Lord Chetwynd.”
Isabel poked her friend with her elbow and was rewarded with a giggle. “I don’t feel any different, Emma,” she said, frowning at her friend. “I hope I can live up to the person I’m supposed to be.”
“You’ll do just fine.” Emma glanced over at Lord Chetwynd as he conferred with his second-in-command. “He looks a robust man, Isabel. I predict he will be heating up your bed before many nights have passed.”
Isabel’s face warmed at her friend’s words, and she prayed the others nearby were too busy to notice the exchange. She wondered what Emma would think if she told her friend about seeing Chetwynd removing his clothes at the pond. She couldn’t help smiling at what Emma might ask or say about that revelation.
Emma hadn’t missed her sly grin. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing. Has Father Ivo approached you? He said he’d give you lessons.”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “Yes, and he said to bring the babe. I hope it’s not too difficult for me to learn.”
“When you get tired of trying to follow the words, just ask him a few questions about his days with King Charles. He’ll start telling you tales of his days at court.”
The friends embraced one more time, and Emma helped Isabel onto her horse. Lord Chetwynd approached them, making it clear he intended to ride beside her. A lump formed in Isabel’s throat as she watched Emma move away.
Chetwynd distracted her, explaining the route they would be taking. The caravan was headed eastward to the Rhone River, and from there they would follow the river north.
“The road is in good condition,” he said. “It’s an ancient trade route first used by the Greeks and Romans, and later restored by Charlemagne. If the weather is good, and there are no unforeseen accidents, we should reach Aachen in two weeks. We’ll spend the first night at a Benedictine abbey near Arles.”