Footsteps approached. Heavy, booted footsteps. Not Elise. Dropping the shoe, Isobel came to her feet. She was facing the door as Lucien walked in.
Lucien bowed. He was wearing a black tunic, liberally embroidered with gold about the neck and cuffs. The tourney champion of earlier had been transformed into the courtier—a stern-faced courtier with an intriguing scar on his temple. He was tapping a beribboned scroll against his thigh.
‘I would not have disturbed you so late, my lady, but a letter has arrived from Turenne, and I thought you would like to receive it.’ Looking very formal, he held out the scroll. ‘Can you read, or do you need help?’
‘I can read.’ Isobel took the scroll, the seal was unbroken. ‘You have not opened it?’
‘Since it is from your family, I thought you should be the first to look at it.’
‘Thank you.’ Isobel stared at him for a moment, his manner was distant, but she could not help but be warmed by his consideration. Many husbands, she knew, would think nothing of reading their wives’ correspondence. She broke the seal. The letter had been written by a scribe; she glanced at the bottom to see who had sent it.
‘It is from your father?’
‘No, it’s from my stepmother, Angelina.’
She began to read:
My dear Isobel,
I send you greetings and blessings, and pray that you are in good health. Your father has instructed me to write to you so that you may share in our great news. We are happy to tell you that I am with child.
God willing, the baby will be born in January—
Isobel found herself staring at the word January. January. Angelina was to have a baby in January!
These tidings were bittersweet. For as long as Isobel could remember, she had longed for more family. She had always wanted a brother or sister—partly to ease her mother’s distress, and partly for herself. Her years at the convent had been marked by the making and losing of friends, as other girls first arrived at St Foye’s, and then returned to the world to be married. Isobel had yearned for someone with whom she might feel a particular bond, a bond that would last.
If Angelina comes safely to term, I shall have more family!
Angelina was younger than her mother. Stronger. There was every reason to hope that she might be swiftly and safely delivered of her child. In January.
Her eyes prickled.
‘Isobel?’ Lucien touched her arm. ‘Is it ill news? You look very pale.’
A brief, bright flash of joy ran through her. I am to have a brother or sister!
‘Isobel?’
‘One moment, my lord, I have not finished.’ Quickly, she read the rest...
Isobel, you should also know that a cloud remains over Turenne on account of your father’s continuing poor health. He is weak and finds breathing difficult. I have asked the villagers to pray for him, and beg that you do the same. I am holding to the hope that our good news will lift his spirits and strengthen him.
Please know that your father talks of you often. Know also that we send you and Count Lucien our good wishes for the future. May you receive all blessings...
‘Well?’
Isobel skipped the closing salutations and rolled up the scroll. ‘My stepmother writes to tell me that my father remains weak. She is hopeful of a recovery.’
‘I am relieved there is hope.’ He hesitated. ‘When the letter arrived, I feared for the worst.’
It was on the tip of Isobel’s tongue to explain that Angelina was with child, but even as she opened her mouth to do so, she was engulfed by a torrent of doubts.
Lucien believes he has married an heiress. If Angelina has a daughter, that will remain the case as I will be the older daughter. But if Angelina has a son, my brother will inherit. I will have brought Lucien nothing. Nothing save a chest of silver pennies.
Desolation was a sick churning in her gut. This letter from Turenne had transformed her world. If Angelina bore a son, Isobel’s value as a bride would be greatly diminished.
I don’t want to tell him about the baby...
She stiffened her spine. Lucien had married her because she was an heiress. She wanted him to value her in other ways, but during her years in the convent she had come to see that as far as Lucien was concerned, her value rested solely on the lands she would bring him. Had he kept her waiting in case her mother was brought to bed of a boy, a boy who would have deprived him of the lands of Turenne? When Mama died, and Lucien learned of Father’s weak health, he must have thought my position as heiress was secure. Only then did he summon me.
Isobel might wish otherwise, but she must fact the truth. Lucien valued her for her lands. Take away her lands and what was left? Nothing.
It was vital she learned to please him. I must become invaluable to him in other ways. I must strengthen the bond between us.
She would tell him about the child eventually. In the meantime, she would teach him to love her, as she was beginning to love him. I am beginning to love him? No! Her fingers tightened on the scroll as she looked up at him, aghast. She could hardly have shocked herself more. I do not love him. It is affection I feel for him. Affection.
Guilt coiled like a serpent inside her. Somehow it made it worse that she should realise she was growing fond of him at the same time she decided not to tell him about Angelina’s baby. I cannot tell him, he might seek a divorce. I must win him before he learns of the baby...
Lucien squeezed her hand. ‘Isobel, are you unwell?’
He sounded as though he were speaking from afar, though in truth he was so close she could see the dark flecks in his eyes.
‘I am well, my lord, thank you.’ Isobel’s mind was in chaos. She must find some way of bonding him to her. No sooner had the thought formed than the answer leaped into her mind. Give him a child. Give Lucien an heir. Briefly, she closed her eyes, as the image of her mother straining to give birth rose up before her.
‘Good. I thought perhaps...after seeing Geoffrey...’ He gave her hand a slight shake. ‘Isobel?’
She opened her eyes, he was watching her closely, a line between his brows. ‘I am well, my lord,’ she repeated. ‘Thank you for your concern.’
With a brusque nod, Lucien went to the window. Pushing back the curtains, he tapped the glass and gave the frame a slight push, as though checking it was secure.
Isobel thought of the sachet of herbs, tucked away at the bottom of her jewel box. I shall have to stop taking those herbs. Her stomach knotted. Fear was cold inside her, but if she gave him an heir, the bond between them would be irrevocable. I shall have to give him a child. The knots twisted. If I can. Holy Mary, help me.
Lucien let the curtain fall back into place. ‘My apologies for not coming sooner. I had business with Count Henry.’
‘I understand.’ Isobel did not know how it was, but Lucien seemed larger when standing in her bedchamber than he had in his armour on the tourney field. Realising rather belatedly that he was staring at her bare foot, she hastily rearranged her skirts to hide it.
‘You were getting ready to retire,’ he said, smiling crookedly.
Isobel’s cheeks burned. I shall have to give him his heir. ‘Yes, I was. Didn’t Elise say?’
‘Elise? We passed in the solar, she went downstairs.’
‘Elise has left the apartment?’
‘Mmm.’ Lucien took her hand, and wove his fingers with hers. ‘She muttered something about fetching warm milk from the kitchens.’
‘She must be hungry. I didn’t ask for milk. My lord, she’ll be coming back. When I thought you were staying at the barracks, I asked her to sleep with me in here.’
He nodded. ‘That is as well, I only came to bring you the letter. Much as I regret it, I cannot stay.’
‘Unfinished business at the barracks?’
‘Yes.’
‘I understand.’ The words slipped out easily, hiding her concerns. Whatever he says, he must blame me for his knight’s death. Is he regretting our marriage already?
A candle flared. Lucien’s eyes were very black and he had a look on his face, a look she had seen before. He had looked at her in that way in the inn before he had kissed her; he had looked that way last night. He still wants me. That at least was something. Isobel edged back till her calves hit the bed. She was embarrassed at the thought of Elise walking in on them, yet she knew that bedding with Lucien was as good a way as any of bonding him to her. The herbs she had already taken might prevent her from getting with child for a while, but he seemed eager to lie with her again.
The power of the herbs will fade. How soon might I conceive if I stop taking them from now on?
‘You saw Count Henry, my lord?’
Lucien nodded, his fingers playing with hers, making her stomach swoop. ‘Mmm.’ He raised her hand to his lips, lingering over the kiss.
Isobel’s heart skittered. She glanced towards the solar. ‘Di...did you tell him about Sir Geoffrey?’
Her question removed the warmth from his expression and he released her hand on a motion of assent. ‘Naturally. He was very shocked.’
‘Not as shocked as you,’ she said softly. ‘You had a fondness for him.’
He stared at her for a moment, eyes bleak, and gave an abrupt nod. ‘So I was. Geoffrey was a good lad. He began as my squire.’
‘Before Joris?’
Another nod.
Recognising that Lucien was wrestling with a deep emotion and was concerned not to show it, Isobel waited.
‘I met him at Troyes Castle a few years back,’ Lucien said. ‘He came from a humble background, but he had a way with horses that had won him a place at the stables. I liked the look of him and Count Henry said he wouldn’t miss him, so I took him on. Geoffrey trained hard. He was set on earning enough at the tourneys to support his mother.’ He shoved his hand through his hair. ‘His mother is ailing—she lives here in the town. I returned Geoffrey’s armour to her this afternoon.’
Isobel knew the sad tradition. When a knight was killed in combat, if his armour was not taken as booty, it was generally returned to his family. Of course, Sir Geoffrey had not died in combat, but Lucien would uphold the tradition. Armour was expensive, and many a family had been beggared by a son with ambitions for knighthood. At present, Geoffrey’s mother would undoubtedly be too grief-stricken to acknowledge the armour’s return. Later, however, she would surely welcome it—if she was short of money, she could sell it.
‘That must have been hard, my lord.’ Lucien’s answering grimace was testimony to the truth of her statement. ‘Did you tell his mother how he died?’
‘Skirted around the truth a little. Wanted her to be able to think of him as a hero.’
There was a hollow place where Isobel’s stomach should be. This is my fault. If I had not told Sir Geoffrey about the thief, he would be alive this evening.
‘There’s a girl too,’ Lucien added.
‘Sir Geoffrey was married?’ Dear Lord, he had looked so young. Was he already a father? Were there children who had been orphaned because of what she had said to him? If she had obeyed Lucien’s command to stay away from the All Hallows Tourney, his knight would be alive.
‘Not that I know of. But there was a sweetheart, someone was hovering in the yard at the back. I heard a sob or two.’
‘A sister, perhaps?’
‘Yes, there is a sister, she’s just a child. Someone else was with her.’
‘Oh dear,’ Isobel said, quietly. ‘Perhaps I should visit them. My lord, I feel terrible about this. It is my fault.’
‘I grant that I ordered you not to attend, but I fail to see how Geoffrey’s death lies at your door.’
‘In the pavilion...’ she bit her lip ‘...I told Geoffrey I thought I had seen the thief. It was on my instigation that he went outside.’
‘Isobel, one person is responsible for Geoffrey’s death—the man who cut his throat.’
‘My lord, if I had kept silent...’ Tears stung in her eyes. ‘Why did it have to happen?’
A warm hand cupped her cheek. ‘It is not your fault.’
‘Nevertheless, I should like to meet Sir Geoffrey’s family.’
‘To apologise? Isobel, I don’t think that’s a good idea—’
‘I shall be tactful. I won’t say anything to cause his mother more distress, but I should like to visit her. I might be able to...help.’
‘With money?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have seen to that already.’
She covered his hand with hers. ‘I am glad. However, I should like to visit them. The girl you heard... My lord, if she was Geoffrey’s lover, there may be a child.’
Lucien stared as what she said sank in. ‘Very well. If you take care what you say to his mother about the manner of Geoffrey’s death, you may visit them after the funeral.’
‘Thank you.’
Turning away, Lucien scowled at the entrance. ‘Where the devil has that woman of yours got to? Is she milking the damn cow herself?’
Isobel lifted a shoulder, though in truth she had been wondering why Elise was taking so long. ‘She will be back presently, I am sure. My lord, did you tell Count Henry about the theft of the relic?’
He nodded assent. ‘Count Henry has promised his Guardians will investigate.’
‘His Guardians? Oh, I remember, the knights who patrol Champagne.’
Reaching for her, Lucien pulled her towards him. Isobel tried not to notice how her pulse jumped. She tried not to notice how much she enjoyed being in his arms. I don’t want him to set me aside.
Lucien’s body was warm against hers, but his eyes were preoccupied, resting on something behind her. ‘The Guardians were established after attacks on merchants in previous years. Some had lost merchandise, others their lives.’
Isobel made a sympathetic noise. ‘Sad to say, there are brigands everywhere.’
He glanced at her. ‘I feel shame to have to tell you, Isobel, but many of them are knights. In good times they live off the money they can make at the tournaments. They hire themselves out as mercenaries. In bad times...’
‘They prey on the merchants. Lord, what a world.’
Lucien nodded. ‘Merchants make easy pickings. Even the wealthiest is not going to have much in the way of an escort.’
‘Surely the Guardians cannot patrol every road in Champagne?’
‘They watch the main thoroughfares. Count Henry wants his fairs to thrive, and for that to happen, merchants must feel confident that they and their goods are safe. After what happened today, Arthur is thinking of taking the oath and joining their company.’
‘Arthur? Is he another of your household knights?’
The dark head shook. ‘Sir Arthur Ferrer. I forgot you have not met him. He was steward of Ravenshold until recently. He has finished his term with me.’
‘And the tournament today? What happened—was it cancelled?’
‘I withdrew to bring Geoffrey home, and it went on without me. Raoul took command of my team.’
He stared broodingly down at her. ‘I was thinking of joining the Guardians myself for a while,’ he said.
It struck Isobel that since he was a Count in his own right, he would not find it easy to be answerable to Count Henry. He is very proud. She looked back at him, into his eyes.
‘I won’t rest until Geoffrey’s murderer is brought to justice.’
Chapter Eleven
A twist of Isobel’s hair lay on her breast. Lucien touched it with his forefinger. Spun gold. And soft as silk.
Their eyes met, and Lucien became aware of a constriction in his chest. It was anxiety. Anxiety for Isobel. The idea that a ruthless killer was on the loose in Troyes was bad enough, but more to the point was his concern for Isobel. She could identify the man.
‘I thank you for trying to help Geoffrey,’ he said, hoping she could not read the rest of his thoughts. The murderer knew Isobel’s face. He knew she suspected him of stealing the relic. Was he out for her blood?
‘Anyone w
ould have done the same.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I only wish it could have been of use.’
‘You did well,’ he said softly, rubbing a golden strand between thumb and forefinger.
Isobel had done more than well. Tears were welling in her eyes now, but at the time she had kept her composure. Morwenna would have panicked. For all that Morwenna affected knowledge of the healing arts, she would have been more likely to shriek and run in the opposite direction than kneel at Geoffrey’s side and attempt to stem the flow of blood.
Isobel’s expression was sombre. He couldn’t leave her like this. And if her maid didn’t return, he wouldn’t be leaving at all. He didn’t want her to be on her own, it would be an easy matter for the thief to find where she was lodged. It would not be so easy to gain access to Count Henry’s palace, but if the man was determined enough, anything was possible. He lifted a brow, trying for lightness. ‘And lest you were thinking of acting against my wishes again, I thought I should tell you, there will be no more tournaments at the Field of the Birds until next year.’
Her smile was sad and she didn’t look surprised. Geoffrey’s death had shocked her; and she was worried about her father. That letter from Turenne could not have come at a worse time...
‘Count Henry and I are of one mind on this,’ he went on, hoping to lift her spirits. ‘The present patron, Lord Glanville, is kicking up a fuss, but no matter. Next time a tournament is held at the Field of the Birds, it will be more stringently regulated as it was in my father’s day. Lord Glanville has been too lax. Next year, the Guardians will be involved and I am to be patron.’
‘Is it costly to host a tournament?’
Lucien shrugged. ‘I can afford it, and Count Henry would prefer me to be in charge. Lord Glanville is, shall we say, less likely to cooperate with the Guardians.’
‘I see.’
‘In the meantime, if you can face the idea of a tournament after today, Count Henry has reminded me about his Twelfth Night Joust. You will be invited. Count Henry’s tournaments are less challenging. More sedate.’
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