Betrothed

by Lori Snow

  Carstairs sighed and shook his head knowingly. His lieutenant’s particular taunting expression irked Donovan no end.

  “I was wondering what our next action should be. Should we send word to the king?”

  “About what?” Donovan did not bother hiding his puzzlement. Many times, too much work was involved in attempting to decipher Carstairs’ witticisms.

  Slowly, Carstairs removed the stalk of straw from the corner of his mouth. “About the imposter who is masquerading as the king’s distant cousin, once removed.”

  “What foolishness is spilling from your mouth?” Donovan straightened even taller than his regular rigid posture. “You know I am no pretender.”

  “How can I be sure of that?” Carstairs tilted his head and then began to punctuate each of his points with a wave of his gnawed grass. “First, a man with such a deathly aversion to the wedded state that he spends all of his time trying to die a glorious death, announces his betrothal. Second, a solder known for his swift justice uses only two gallows instead of three. And third—to my avid curiosity, the most interesting—this same man who once stayed at home only long enough to replenish his saddlebags -- is now racing back to his castle before the dust has settled from his departure.”

  Donovan only grunted. He had no defense against Carstairs’ truths. He asked himself the same questions. No answers conveniently presented themselves.

  “You can understand my dilemma,” Carstairs stuffed the stalk back into the corner of his mouth and chewed.

  “We are not on foreign soil,” Donovan offered as an explanation.

  “Nay.” Carstairs waggled his head in agreement.

  “We are on Bennington lands.” Donovan could feel the warmth as his cheeks mottled. “There are special considerations which have to be made when dealing with civilians rather than soldiers.”

  “We have dealt with many civilians in our travels. Never before have I seen the Earl d’Allyonshire question his decisions.”

  “I hear questions but they are spilling from your mouth.” But Donovan could not completely ignore the changes burgeoning inside his own chest. “Do you think I erred in my dealings with Zeke’s killers?”

  “His killers? Nay.” Carstairs shook his head.

  “And that young Sam?”

  “You make him sound like a child. He is of your age—if not older—and you rubbed the peach fuzz from your cheeks long ago.”

  “You are wrong,” Donovan countered. “Sam is younger than outside appearances. You can see it in his eyes. Just because he traveled with a villain does not mark him a villain.”

  “What has gifted you with this eye of discernment?”

  For a while, Donovan rode without answering. Then a single word slipped from his mouth like a prayer. “Isabeau.”

  Carstairs remained quiet longer than Donovan expected. He endured his lieutenant’s intense inspection as he waited for the eventual conclusion.

  “Lady Isabeau has no resemblance to her dreadful brother. But that is not a new revelation. You recognized her innocence from the beginning. That is why you were so determined to rescue her from her brother’s clutches.”

  “She was busy perpetrating a deception when we met.”

  “And with good reason, for all appearances.” Carstairs jumped to Isabeau’s defense.

  “Aye,” Donovan agreed just as quickly. “But I have no reason to trust her.”

  “But you do.”

  A frown tightened his forehead as Donovan searched for the truth. “I think I just might… There is no logic—no basis. But I…”

  “You love her.” Carstairs stated.

  Donovan shook his head in astonishment. “Love? Now, that is a leap. Does such a thing exist? It surely was not a factor in my marriage. I’ve known Isabeau but a sennight. I…” His voice trailed off as he fished for words.

  “I want her,” he admitted. “I want her as my wife—as my lover. But I am not sure about love. Are you? ”

  “Am I what?”

  “A believer in love?”

  Carstairs laughed. “I do not have to see the wind to know it exists.”

  “Or get buffeted by its gusts?” Donovan tried to smile as his friend continued to laugh.

  They rode on while his mind weighed Carstairs strange idea. Could he be in love? Neither broke the silence for so long, he thought their odd conversation finished.

  “So when are you going to put everyone out of your misery and wed the girl?”

  The sudden question so startled Donovan, he pulled his mount to an abrupt halt.

  “My misery?” he asked as he automatically controlled his prancing beast.

  “Aye.” Carstairs did not bother to hide his smirk. “Your misery.” Carstairs also halted. “So when are you going to wed?”

  Donovan shrugged. “I do not know.”

  In silence, the two men walked their horses forward a short distance. This time, Carstairs reined in his animal. “Donovan?” The earl did not stop.

  “You are the Earl of Bennington,” Carstairs called after him. “You above all should know when you will wed. All you have to do is tell the wench when to meet you in front of the priest. That or take her to bed.”

  Donovan urged his horse forward. When Carstairs was again beside him he responded. “Isabeau does not wish an immediate wedding. I will not take another choice from the girl,” Donovan snapped. “She has few enough of them.”

  “More than most girls her age.”

  “She was sheltered and gently raised while her mother and sire lived.”

  “And being gently raised she would have expected her father—had he lived—to choose her husband. How has her life changed? You chose her husband rather than her father.”

  “She has this idea, from tales told her by her mother, that I am le parfait chevalier of a French romance. I am not that man.

  “Then marry her with all speed,” Carstairs laughed. “Mayhap you can become her perfect knight.”

  “How do I accomplish the task?”

  “Woo her.”

  “What?”

  “Woo her. You know; pay court to her, write her love poems, give her gifts.”

  “Why would I do such a thing?”

  Carstairs gave a long suffering sigh. “Friend, you are sorely out of practice. You just bemoaned that you would not have Isabeau wed a stranger. So cease being a stranger. Give her tokens of affections, shower her with complements. Pretend to listen to every word she utters.”

  “So I act as if I am something I am not? How is that going to help?”

  Carstairs pulled his straw from his mouth. “With any other female, I would suggest baubles of diamonds and gold, pretty posies in the middle of the day, but with Lady Isabeau, I recommend a fanciful tome from your library.”

  “You think a book would be appropriate?”

  “A book of hours or one of those French romances; of everything she could have chosen from Olivet, she picked out six volumes of her father’s.”

  “Those six volumes must have been truly large books from the size of the wagon we led.”

  “Well, a suggestion was made that she might need assistance selecting keepsakes.” Carstairs smirked as he jabbed the straw back into his mouth. “Most everyone at Olivet wished to help.”

  “I see.”

  “Remember, the goal is a speedy wedding. You will feel more settled—more clear-headed—once you bed her. If the Earl of Allyonshire is happy, why then, all of Bennington will be as happy as pigs rolling in muck.”

  Donovan spared him a narrowed glance before urging his horse to a slightly faster pace. Could he woo his betrothed? He had never needed to employ such tactics with women. He was d’Allyonshire. His riches and title served to entice plenty of females—or their ambitious families—to overlook his scarred face. In the past, he had neither the inclination nor the need to pursue a particular lady.

  Isabeau wore a skirt of a different color. While others carefully attempted to ignore the jagged marks on his face, s
he did not appear to see them. Another woman would fuss about a droplet of wine spilled on her bodice. Isabeau merely laughed after getting plastered with mud.

  “So you have spoken to her?” Carstairs continued. “You said Isabeau did not wish an immediate wedding. I assume this means you have discussed the matter with her.”

  “Aye.”

  “So what was her reasoning? Did she put conditions on her acquiescence?”

  “Only one.”

  “What was her one condition?”

  “That…” Donovan almost answered without thought. He clamped his mouth shut before the damage was done. The last thing he wanted was for Carstairs to get that particular bit between his teeth. He would never hear the end of the matter. “Nothing of importance.”

  “I would think it of utmost importance. She has placed a condition on your marriage. No matter how small you deem the matter, ‘tis not trivial.”

  “I will deal with the matter.” Donovan shrugged dismissively and hoped Carstairs would drop the subject.

  “My advice. Just give the girl whatever she wishes as soon as we arrive at Bennington. You know you will surrender eventually. There is no way you are going to let her escape. Like I said, you love her.”

  Donovan just snorted and stared down the road. But as he rode he had the uncomfortable notion Carstairs’ remark landed too close to the heart of the situation.

  They caught sight of Bennington by mid-morning and heard the calls before they made the main gate. A horn blared from the gate tower, apparently as a warning of their imminent arrival. A crier shouted their return from the wall. Through the open gates he could see several young lads race across the bailey, screaming at the top of their lungs.

  He had not rated such a noisy announcement of his return after months in the king’s service. On this trip, he had only been absent from the castle two days. As he dismounted and handed his reins to the waiting stable hand, he noticed each of his men were treated in like fashion.

  Looking around the bailey, grim faces surrounded him. His people had not been this somber when telling him of Marta’s death. Had something happened to Isabeau?

  Donovan stretched his legs as he rushed to the entrance. He stumbled in his relief when he saw a disheveled Isabeau cross the massive threshold and emerge into the daylight. She was followed by Glenys.

  He sucked in his breath as the sun glinted off Isabeau’s chestnut hair. She seemed to brighten even the gray of the dress she wore. Was it possible he had forgotten how beautiful she was? How fragile her frame? How bright her smile?

  “Welcome home, my lord.” Isabeau held a hand towards him; her melodious tones kept low as she looked up at him with concern shadowing her eyes.

  “I pray you found Glenys’ family unharmed?”

  He shook his head. Only Glenys moved as she took an involuntary step forward. Donovan felt her searching gaze. Then a sob shook the old woman’s shoulders.

  “A-all of th-them?” The words came out punctuated by sobs she tried to stifle.

  Donovan could only shake his head again.

  “May God keep them.” Isabeau wrapped her arms around the sobbing woman. “You caught the men who did this, of course.”

  “Yes,” he said gruffly. “Two of them have been dealt with.”

  Isabeau searched his battle-weary, travel-worn face. He wondered what she found when she sighed and nodded. “It is right they be punished but I am sorry the judgment weighs so heavily on your soul. No matter if the cause be just and right, the ending of a life is not an easy task for a man of conscience. Nor should it ever be.”

  How had she known what he felt? She was but a mere slip of a woman.

  “There was a third man,” Donovan stated in a rush before he confessed to other things.

  “His companions pressed him into trying to retrieve non-existent stolen gold. He did no killing, nor did he know what the other two had done until we captured them and took them back to the smoldering rubble.”

  “Did he…Was his punishment the same as the others?” Isabeau whispered as she continued to hold the gray-haired mourner.

  “Nay. I told him another had the right to decide his fate.” He looked at the wrinkled old woman. Mayhap this was too heavy a burden for a woman of her years?

  “The man, Sam, will be brought to Bennington on the morrow.” Donovan touched the grieving woman on the shoulder. “The Abbot had several more labors for Sam to perform as the beginning of his penance.”

  Glenys tilted her head just a bit as she looked back up at him.

  “His first penance was to dig the graves. We saw that your family were given a proper burial.”

  “Thank ye, my lord,” mumbled Glenys. He could hear snuffling and tears through the open door as the whole castle wept for the young family.

  Donovan felt their loss. He realized, in that moment, that while he had delivered final news before, he had never served it with comfort. He dealt well with all matters of death but this part. Could this be yet another of the changes to which Carstairs had alluded?

  Glenys did her best to control her emotions. She buried her hands in her apron. “Why?” Glenys moaned staring at Donovan’s face. “Why did they take my babies?”

  “Greed.” Donovan repeated an abbreviated version of the tale, but even in the retelling he could find not logic. Why had the fools believed such a story? When they realized a young family occupied the cottage; why had they not retreated?

  “You will hear the third man’s story from his own lips,” Isabeau concluded for Donovan. “You must decide if he deserves the fate of his fellows, clemency, or another punishment. Mayhap he should be charged with rebuilding Zeke’s cottage and tending his fields?”

  “Why rebuild?” Glenys asked bitterly. “Zeke and Tessa have no more need of it. Why should he be rewarded?”

  “It would be a crime against all of Bennington to allow Zeke’s crops to wither away in the field,” Isabeau answered smoothly. “Do not be hasty in your judgment. Follow the earl’s example. Listen to the young man’s telling. Pray to God, for he will give you wisdom. Now. I think you should come with me, Glenys. Maisie, would you see that all is prepared for his lordship’s bath and refreshment. ”

  Donovan was grateful to hand over the situation to Isabeau’s capable tending and made his retreat. Isabeau handled his larger household with fineness. He had a feeling Glenys’ judgment would be whatever Isabeau decided.

  As he stepped out into the bailey, he tipped his face towards the sun. The gentle wind carried the scent of mixed herbs from the kitchen gardens. Mint mingled with a hint of the floral and a dash of horseflesh. The winds must have shifted, Donovan thought with satisfaction, for the jakes no longer overpowered the bailey.

  “My lord, Lady Isabeau has ordered a bath in your chamber. She thought you would be weary after your—your journey. There is plenty of time, but she has said the mid-day meal will wait until you are ready.”

  Donovan turned. Maisie’s eyes were red with weeping and her voice was gruff. He stared after the retreating figure of the housekeeper and followed her to his chambers.

  Donovan’s squire removed his sword and belt and placed them on a trunk. A page poured hot water into a waiting tub. He shook his head. Isabeau was proving to be a whirlwind, blowing the old dust away. How did you control the wind?

  Marta had never directed servants to perform any duties for his comfort—except packing his gear. She had never posted a crier to announce his arrival nor greeted him on the castle steps.

  He was in the tub of comfortably hot water, scrubbing his chest with a cloth and a wedge of lavender scented soap, when a knock on the door disturbed the lad adding another bucket of water to bath. He wondered if Isabeau, finished with Glenys, had come to scrub his back as was the ancient tradition. His smile of pleasure faded when Marta’s old crone of a nurse pushed open the door.

  Granya gave the room a quick survey before turning on the boy with a malevolent smile.

  “Git on with you, boy
. There be more buckets waitin’ to be lugged up the stairs.”

  Sparing only a brief glance at Donovan, the boy raced to do the old bat’s bidding full.

  When the door closed behind the boy, Granya turned her gimlet eyes on Donovan and he narrowed his own in annoyance. “What do you want, old woman?”

  “Why nothing, my lord.” The woman hobbled over to the tub as her gaze settled on his bare chest. “I am only seeing to your comfort.”

  Donovan believed that about as much as he believed Zeke would rise from his grave and hug his grandmother. With a woman of fewer years, he might have thought the remarks flirtatious. But the malice brightening the pale blue eyes only served to strengthen Donovan’s contempt.

  “There is no need,” he growled. “I am sure you have other duties.”

  Granya nodded as if pleased at his words though she made no move to leave. “Aye, my lord. I come with complaints from the castle because the others be afraid of your new woman.” She placed the gnarled hand not holding her cane against her chest. “The lady has taken it upon herself to turn many of your people into helpless drudges. She tells one person to tear down a thing. No sooner than he is done, then she orders another to undo the destruction. Bennington is echoing with the grumblings she has started. Nary a man, woman nor child does not bear a new mark since your departure.”

  Water sloshed over the sides of the tub as he straightened. “She beats them?”

  Granya stumbled back. For a moment, her mouth opened and closed like a fish flopping on a bank. “Nay. Nay. To my ken, she has no raised a hand, only her voice.”

  “Then what is this nonsense about marks.”

  “Tis only the blisters and the bruises caused by the false tasks she has fashioned. As one, Bennington does not welcome this interlope.”

  “And what are your wounds?”

  “Why—why. My hands are that sore from soaking in water and lye.” She held out a hand for his inspection.

  He knew she lied. Something in her eyes gave her away. But how much of her lies were built on truth? A rap on the door prevented him from confronting her.

  “Get the door,” he ordered without preamble. “Then be on your way. I have no wish to continue listening to your tattle.”