Betrothed

by Lori Snow

  His grip loosened for a heartbeat; long enough for her to drag in much needed gulps of air. She almost gagged at Simon’s stench. He had never been fastidious in his cleanliness but today the odor was worse. Not only had he failed to bathe, but he lacked even the usual dousing of cologne.

  Worse yet, Isabeau was afraid she recognized the fetid smell. It reminded her of death; Granya’s death.

  He thrust her away. Desperately she grabbed for the bed curtains for balance. She still ended in heap but at least she prevented a hard fall. She wanted to curl in a ball to protect Donovan’s child but she needed to keep her wits.

  Simon must be completely mad. In his right mind, he would never dress as a homeless peasant. While he did not bathe regularly, he would not go without his daily fastidious grooming. He never stinted on his fragrance. Simon’s personal appearance was a banner to the world, announcing his power and position. His wardrobe had more gilt and frills than most ladies-in-waiting.

  Isabeau put her hand on the counterpane to gain her balance as she got to her feet. Caitlin would be arriving any minute with an armload of clothes. She had a vivid memory of Caitlin’s back with lash marks still oozing blood. By thinking of another’s welfare, somehow it became easier for Isabeau to think clearly.

  “What are you doing?” Isabeau asked in the low croon Felix had taught her to use in soothing the hounds. “How did you get to Bennington so quickly? The earl’s messenger left for Olivet just this morn. It was only last eve that we decided to wed today at prime. The earl thought it fitting to inform you of our nuptials. We had a quiet ceremony with few witnesses. We meant no insult. But as I said, Donovan insisted we wed this morn.”

  She knew she was babbling but the words kept tumbling out of her mouth. She prayed they were in the tone Felix coached. In her own moment of insanity—or desperation—she realized she was holding out the back of her hand for a sniff. Even as she noticed the action, Simon growled, as roughly as any of the dogs.

  “I thought I had more time.” He paced as he complained. “Why did he choose you?” He stopped momentarily to look at her. “The bastard showed no interest in you until he decided to pluck your dowry from my coffers. Remember that! You were nothing without your dowry. He practically beggared me. Without your gold, I have no way of bringing Olivet to the glory I deserve. “

  He was not really seeing her, Isabeau realized. She tried to stay calm, but the note of growing hysteria in her half-brother’s voice twisted her belly. She edged away from the bed towards the door but Simon returned his attention to her and shoved her across the room.

  Isabeau’s backward momentum halted only when she came up against the bedpost again. Clutching the pole, she gained balance and turned to face Simon. His eyes glittered.

  “What do you think you are doing, Simon?” Perhaps a reminder of Ayllonshire’s wrath would bring Simon to sanity. “You do not want to anger Donovan. He will be swift in retaliation. He is your liege, your judge. If you harm me—his wife—his countess -- do you think he will wait to take the matter to the king?”

  She realized her error immediately. The skin around Simon’s mouth and eyes tightened. Rather than calming him, she had only enflamed him further.

  “Do you think I give a bleeding hell if Donovan d’Allyonshire is angered?” Simon pulled the coverings from the bed and tore away curtains, dumping Isabeau’s clothing on the floor. “I want him to dance with Satan.” With a sweep of his hand, he shoved bottles of scent and lotion to the floor. “Donovan will wish he had never been born when I am through with the bastard. In fact, he should have never been born.” Spinning about, Simon shoved a chair against a table, dislodging a candle, books and a water jug.

  Caitlin! Isabeau called silently. Hear us and bring help!

  “I should be the second Earl of Bennington!” He shoved his knife at Isabeau again. “After me, my son would be the third earl.”

  Petrified by Simon’s ranting, Isabeau’s swallow passed her tight throat. “What do you mean?”

  Simon looked about for something else to destroy. He paced, tossing fallen objects against the wall.

  “You should know this story! It’s why I am merely a baron – not d’Alloyshire!” He waved his dagger wildly.

  “Bennington’s sire…” Simon spit on the floor, “Was in the middle of marriage negotiations for my mother when he met that bitch, Donovan’s mother. My mother should have wed the Earl of Bennington! Instead, she was forced to wed a worthless baron.

  “My father? He was not a worthless baron!” She edged away from Simon.

  Luckily Simon was so involved with his despised history that he ignored his sister’s outburst. He sliced a bed curtain with his knife.

  “The old earl broke off his negotiations for my mother to wed that bitch who dropped Donovan,” Simon almost snarled. “ ‘T’was said she had already proved to his lordship that she was fertile. And it did not take her long to produce an heir.”

  Isabeau’s thoughts sped. Had Donovan’s mother also submitted to a test as she had to Donovan? Was this a d’Allyonshire custom handed from generation to generation? With the loss of her virtue, had she not proved a fecund vassal, would Donovan’s mother, have ended up in a convent? How many women had acquiesced and failed?

  Isabeau stared at Simon. The night after their arrival at Bennington, Donovan had ordered her to return to her chamber before he sundered her maidenhead. When she had refused to go, he had restrained himself, but the fire in his eyes had belied his indifference.

  Then, in the woodland, Donovan had made her scream as she conceived his child. Was that only yesterday? Half-sprawled across his hard muscles, she had stroked his scarred chest…

  Isabeau broke her momentary fugue.

  She was in mortal danger from her half-brother. Her duty was to protect Donovan’s unborn child. Nothing could stay Simon’s hand if his rage burned any brighter.

  Caitlin!

  The sound of a soft knock broke through the momentary silence and brought Simon’s pacing to a halt.

  “Milady? Milady?”

  Caitlin’s soft inquiry penetrated through the closed door. Was Simon hiding behind it when she had entered the room? Had he secured the lock? How had she missed seeing him?

  “Get rid of that maid,” Simon warned in a low growl, “or she dies.”

  Isabeau prayed she could put volume to her voice, which had suddenly frozen with fear.

  “Caitlin?” She hoped Simon did not hear the squeak. “I have decided we are in need of the strong backs after all. Get Geoffrey and Felix. I believe they have the muscle we need.”

  “My lady?” Isabeau could hear confusion and concern in Caitlin’s hesitant question.

  “Just go.” Isabeau answered crossly. “You know what is to be done. I explained all to you.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  Isabeau closed her eyes and exhaled her breath when only silence met her ears. For a moment she had feared Caitlin would prove more stubborn.

  Simon‘s relief was easy to see. He looked about with a wicked smile. “Was this your one chance to see the earl’s bed?” His demeanor changed quickly. “What is that on your hand?” The abrupt change in Simon’s focus threw her off balance.

  “Nothing,” She looked down before giving a reply.

  “The other hand, bitch.” Simon waved the knife to punctuate.

  “My wedding ring.”

  “Take it off,” he demanded menacingly, “Now.” He swiped the air with the knife, though he stood too far away to do damage.

  She slid the ring from her finger and held the gold band in the palm of her hand. Though she stretched out her arm, she was careful to remain outside of Simon’s range.

  “I really hate to leave it behind. ‘Twould bring in plenty of groats,” he complained. His eyes narrowed, his mouth turned down in a sulk. “Put it on the table. Make sure it can be seen from the door.”

  She did as instructed, nearly tripping on a taper Simon had knocked over. Thankfully, she did n
ot have to get closer to her brother. He tossed the blade, hilt first, to land on the floor just visible from between the bed and the table. Before she could comprehend that he was unarmed, he pulled another blade from his belt.

  Only at that moment did she recognize the blade.

  “ ’Tis one of the knives Papa gave me. What are you doing with it?”

  “That pile of clothes.” Ignoring her question, he pointed with the knife tip. “Convenient. Pick them up.”

  “Why?”

  “Pick them up.” Simon drew closer. “You see, bitch, you are leaving your husband. You fear his touch and his ugly scars. Donovan the great will know his bride has no wish for him to plow her. You are running away as you did when you were to marry Kirney. This time there’s no loving family here to force you, to drug you into acceptance as they did Marta”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Marta could not abide the scarred monster, but her father could not afford to let Marta’s proclivities interfere with the silver he gained with the marriage. She confessed to her beloved Syllba that her father dosed her with two potions. One calmed her histrionics. The other was a powerful aphrodisiac. No matter her preferences, with the latter potion she would have let proud Donovan put a tree trunk up her hungry cunt.”

  Isabeau sucked in her breath at Simon’s vulgarity. Turning away, she picked up the pile of clothes.

  “Did I shock you, Little Izzy?” Simon’s sly smile widened. “Which shocks your pure little heart more? How wide Marta spread her legs or that she would have rather have a woman wielding the tree?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Nay, not at the moment.”

  Isabeau followed her brother’s direction and loaded her arms with the clothing. A low whine and scratching met her beyond the door.

  “Stop! What is that sound?” Perspiration beaded on Simon’s white face.

  Isabeau turned to look at Simon. “Only Jaffey. He is just a pup.” The dog might give her a chance.

  “Do not open the damned door. Send the beast away.”

  She shrugged with a feigned casualness but sending the huge dog away was the last thing she wanted to do. “A Caitlin, Jaffey, a Caitlin,” she said.

  Felix had been working with both her and Caitlin regarding new commands for Jaffey. But had there been enough training? Would the dog leave the door to find Caitlin? She spared a glance in her half-brother’s direction. What would Simon do if Jaffey did not leave?

  She let out a breath when she heard the click of claws fading away. Simon’s loss of anxiety showed he heard the echoes as well.

  “Give him a chance to get further away. We must hurry to get you to your tryst at the appointed hour.”

  Isabeau stilled. Foreboding hovered above her. She had a feeling she would be better off dealing with Simon alone than with whoever they were to meet.

  “What tryst?”

  “ ’Tis a surprise for the bride.” Simon showed a lot of yellow teeth with his gleeful smile. “Now, move.”

  Isabeau had no choice. Simon brandished the knife as he stepped closer. He fisted her gown at the back of her neck, once more reminding her of the danger of the blade in his hand.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Isabeau did her best to tangle her feet with his. When he recognized her intent, he pointedly reminded her of his knife. He practically dragged Isabeau across the room. At the decorative wooden panel, his arm still crooked about her throat, he used his knife hand and slid the blade along a seam of the panel.

  Isabeau gasped when the panel separated from the wall to reveal the gaping mouth of a black tunnel. He pushed her inside.

  “Toss that clothing aside. Now, light the taper. You go in quietly and you will come out the other end. If I must silence you, you will not see sunlight again.”

  C hapter 38

  Donovan’s men had staged an impromptu mock tournament. In the spirit of bon homme, the games were open to all, not just the warriors. Most Bennington males participated in one event or another. Some of the prizes were actually played for in earnest, the easy camaraderie between the townspeople and soldiers was evident.

  Before, when they had returned from serving the king. Donovan had noticed fear emanating from the Bennington denizens. While they had appreciated the necessity of living alongside an army, they were unaccustomed to dealing with hardened men.

  Now, Donovan saw more respect than fear. As for his men, their stony countenances had relaxed. Gradually, they were becoming more sure in their welcome and preparing to settle into a home—until the next time they were called to duty. They already cast their eyes about for suitable ladies. Donovan understood their feelings. He was also anticipating the pleasures of domestication—until the next missive from the king. Now he would not dawdle before returning to Bennington.

  Donovan competed amid the good-natured taunts. As he readied his bow, one lieutenant yelled across the field, “Save your skill to joust tonight, my lord.”

  Another voice distracted Donovan from the jib.

  “Milord?”

  Donovan lowered his bow as yet another voice beckoned him from the target.

  “Milord?”

  Shifting to a more comfortable stance, he focused on the source of the quiet yet insistent female voice. Showing only a little impatience, he rested his hand on the top of the bow and acknowledged Isabeau’s young maid. Even in this short time since their arrival at Bennington, Donovan noticed the child had grown more confident. Under Isabeau’s guidance, she became less haunted and more efficient each day. He had his own reasons to be thankful Isabeau’s faith in the girl had not been misplaced. Then he noticed the death pallor on the serving girl’s cheeks and her disheveled blonde hair.

  He tried to remember the new name the girl had taken.

  “Catrina? No, Caitlin, is it not?”

  “Aye, my lord… Something is amiss, sir,” she said.

  Lord Donovan felt prickles of foreboding run the length of his spine. Isabeau was safe, he assured himself. She was now protected under the mantle of his name. None would dare harm her.

  “My lady weren’t in her chambers or -- yours, my lord.”

  He almost relaxed until he caught a flicker of something in Caitlin’s eyes. He forced calm into his voice.

  “There is much to do with the celebration. Mayhap..”

  She shook her head wildly.

  “Nay, milord,” she denied vehemently. “She was most insistent her belongings should be moved to your chambers. She wanted all in place before nones bells. She told me she wanted to begin yer marriage with no dividin’ walls. She was fixin’ yer chests. I went to your chambers. She wouldn’t let me in and sent me to get Geoffrey and Felix to move her chests. I don’t know Geoffrey, and Felix works with the hounds. Why would she want the houndsman when there be bigger men? When I went back to ask, Lady Isabeau did not answer. I promise, I left her ladyship but a moment. The door was locked…”

  Donovan told himself that it was still not time to worry. Dozens of reasons could have drawn Isabeau away from her tasks. In all probability, she had already returned. Yet…

  “Come with me. Show me what you found. We will find my wife.” He started towards the inner bailey with a brisk long stride. He barely noticed Caitlin’s need to run to keep pace. He only paused when she let out a little shriek. Turning he watched as the great hulk of a canine, Jaffey, rushed at the girl.

  Though the dog ignored Donovan’s command, he did not pull Caitlin to the ground as he had done to Isabeau on her first day at Bennington. Instead, the dog circled Caitlin before butting its head against her bottom. He seemed to be herding her as a shepherd herds a lamb. The dog was not playing but following a master’s command. Or that of a mistress!

  “Caitlin, do not fight against the dog. Let it lead you,” Donovan instructed. Instinctively, he knew the dog would take them to Isabeau.

  Jaffey led them Donovan’s chamber but not to Isabeau. A bundle of Isabeau’s belongings that Caitlin
d had dropped lay outside the door. As Caitlin had indicated, the room was locked.

  “Isabeau! Isabeau! Answer me, Isabeau!” Donovan heard nothing but Jaffey whined.

  With difficulty, and all his strength, Donovan destroyed the lock and opened the door. The ache in his chest exceeded damage to his body from battering the door. Isabeau had not answered. What had happened to his wife?

  Together they surveyed the room. Whoever had stormed through this chamber had been thorough. Bedcovers lay askew or jumbled on the floor. Perfume bottles and jars of cream had been swept from the tabletop with a violent hand. A taper, crushed in the center, rested among a heap of debris. Even the bed-drapes hung drunkenly from their rods.

  “What has happened?” Caitlin stepped farther into the room, looking about.

  Donovan noted her shaking hand. Her throat worked as she fought back her fear, but his entry into the room was arrested by one small table that was upright. On it laid a small circlet of hewn gold and emeralds; the very ring he had placed on Isabeau’s finger only that morn as he pledged to keep her safe.

  Donovan almost looked for the dagger ripping his gut. He carefully lifted the ring with thumb and forefinger as if plucking a fragile bloom.

  The maid watched her lord and looked about the room again. “I left a bundle of milady’s clothes on the bed. It’s not in the room now. Mayhap a villain wished it to appear as if the Lady Isabeau ran away,” she said.

  Her mouth curled in derision as she spoke with strength to the disturbed man. “Anyone who knows her ladyship would see that to be false. Lady Isabeau never ran. Even when Lord d’Olivet struck her, she endured.”

  But she had run away, Donovan remembered. Or tried, he silently amended . Many times since her arrival at Bennington, she had expressed the desire to delay their nuptials. He remembered the expression in Isabeau’s eyes when she had swallowed her pride and pleaded to be able to shed her disguise before entering Olivet’s gate.