His hand began stroking again. “We shall see.”
Weariness made her close her eyes. “I do not wish to cause you trouble.” She yawned. “It is enough to be away from him.”
“’Twill be no trouble. You should have all that is rightfully yours, and though it may be many months in coming, one day you shall.”
But she had already fallen asleep beneath the soothing rhythm of his hand, and didn’t hear his vow. Justin sat beside her for a long while, contemplating his new wife and stroking her silky black hair, which was, he thought, extraordinarily long and beautiful. Her blue eyes, which he also thought beautiful, ever stood out starkly against the frame of her hair. When they first met, he had found it difficult to pull his gaze away from her entrancing face. He was not a man to take anything for granted, and he did not do so now with Isabelle. He had done very well in choosing himself a wife, he thought with pleasure. Far better than his brother Hugh had done. Of a certainty, Hugh would be furious when he discovered the truth, as would Alexander, and Hugo would equally fall victim to their wrath for his part in lending his aid in the marriage. But, although he regretted bringing Hugo grief, Justin didn’t really care. He had the wife he wanted now—a good, fine wife, for whom other men would envy him— and they would make a life together whether his exalted family bade them well or no.
Chapter Five
She was dreaming that her dreams were real. The man she loved was her husband, and they had the most beautiful children—two boys and a sweet tiny girl—and he loved her. They were walking beside a wide, slow-moving river, their children running before, playing and laughing, and he took her hand. She turned her head and smiled, and he, so handsome and fine, smiled back. She could read his love for her in his eyes. It was there, as clear and constant as the river. She knew the feel of his mouth on hers, the warm, sweet pressure. He loved her, and her heart was full of the knowledge.
“You’ll not keep me from searching the place! Get out of my way, holy man, else I’ll strike you down.”
The sound of her uncle’s voice seared through her dreams like a blistering heat, and Isabelle sat bolt upright.
“Justin!” she cried, and the next moment his hands found her in the darkness.
“I’m here. Whisper. Take off your clothes and get under the covers. Hurry.”
He began to tug at her lacings, and she pushed his hands away. “I’ll do it,” she insisted shakily and, with trembling fingers performed the task herself.
He stood and moved about the room; she could hear him throwing his boots off and putting on his sword.
“I wish I could remove my tunic,” he murmured distractedly in the darkness.
“Where is the slut?” Her uncle’s voice boomed louder. “Isabelle! Attend me!”
“Hurry,” Justin said, sitting beside her again. “Nay, remove everything, Isabelle. Do not be afraid.”
“But—”
Without warning, he took hold of her chemise and dragged it over her head, throwing the garment on the floor beside her other clothes.
“Now, under the covers. Nay, do not lie down yet. Help me, Isabelle.” The warmth of his hands fell on her bare shoulders. “Kiss me,” he murmured, already pressing hard, hot kisses rapidly against her face and neck. “We must look as if we’ve been loving. Put your arms around me, sweet. Your hands in my hair.”
His mouth came down on hers then, open and moist, and his tongue pushed between her teeth to invade the depths of her mouth. Shocked, she tried to push him away, but he was solid and heavy, as if made of stone, and her distress went ignored. Pressing her down on the bed, he kissed her harder, until Isabelle felt tears of pain stinging her eyes. When he at last pulled away, she gasped for air, and tried to turn away, but he held her face between his palms and ran his tongue over her lips.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, placing more stinging kisses on her face and neck.
Finally, as Sir Myles’s angry voice neared their door, he thrust his hands into her thick, unbound hair, rapidly disordering it.
“Keep yourself covered,” he commanded as he stood. “And trust me, Isabelle.”
The next moment he had flung the chamber door open, and in the candlelight from the hallway Isabelle could see that he held his dagger in his hand. Her uncle appeared, his face first angry, and then, as Justin grabbed him by the collar, surprised. He began to say a word, but only air whooshed out of him as he was shoved up against the far wall with the dagger held against his throat.
“Now,” Justin said into the other man’s face, “did I hear you insult my good lady wife a moment ago, sir?”
“Aye!” Sir Myles sputtered wrathfully. “I’ll name her. slut and more, i’ faith!” Craning his neck, he looked past Justin’s broad shoulder until he saw Isabelle sitting in the bed, thoroughly disheveled and covered all the way up to her neck with bed linens. “Harlot!” he shouted furiously. “Jezebel! Ungrateful who—”
The last word died unfinished as Sir Myles choked.
“I will kill you for speaking thusly of my lady,” Justin told him, seething, pressing the blade closer.
Suffocating, Sir Myles flapped his arms like a helpless bird. “Off,” he managed, his bulging eyes pleading desperately with Father Hugo, who stood nearby. “Off!”
“That’s enough, Justin,” his elder brother said calmly. “I do not say he doesn’t deserve death, but I’ll not suffer murder within these sacred walls.”
“Then I shall take him outside,” Justin replied evenly.
“Where his men will kill you after you’ve finished with him. Nay.” Father Hugo set a hand on his shoulder, attempting to pull him back. “I’ll not let you be killed this night for such a one as this. Leave him be.” When Justin gave no proof of hearing his words, he added, “Do you wish to make Lady Isabelle a widow so soon after she became a wife?”
“Nay,” Justin admitted. He released Sir Myles and stepped back, warning, “Guard your tongue, and do not speak thus again, else I swear by heaven I will indeed kill you.”
Sir Myles put a hand to his throat and breathed with loud relief. A moment passed before he was able to say, “You—you stole her. You insulted my daughter, and me.”
“I stole the wife I wanted,” Justin said, “to this I admit. As to your daughter and yourself, I cannot think that any insult I may have given compared to that which was given me.”
Sir Myles looked at him with renewed fury. “We gave you no insult! I was willing that my only daughter should become your wife. Evelyn has fully expected to wed you two days from this. How could you mar her name and reputation so? ’Tis worse than mere insult! And to steal my niece from my own home, while I slumbered. With the help of your bastard friend, Sir Christian Rowsenly.” He said the name with sour disdain. “I never should have been so generous as to allow that illegitimate whoreson into my ho—”
The dagger went up again, and Sir Myles was once more thrown against the wall. This time Father Hugo had to use both arms around Justin’s shoulders to pull him away.
“He’s cut me!” Sir Myles cried with horror, pulling bloodied fingers from his throat. “He’s—he’s nearly killed me! My knights! Attend me!”
“Aye!” Justin snarled, amid a loud clattering in the hall. “And but for my brother, I should have done.” He powerfully shoved Hugo away. “Call every man in your service, Sir Myles.” Justin pulled his sword from its sheath, holding it skillfully in his other hand even as the blooded dagger twirled like a butterfly in the other. “’Twill do you no good. I will yet kill you, and happily.” Raising his voice, he called, “Christian Rowsenly! Attend me!”
“I am here, my friend,” Sir Christian said with placid calm as he strode through the crowd made by Sir Myles’s men. “Unharmed and well, and wishing you would be less ready to take insults that belong to me.” Turning to smile at Isabelle, who was trembling with the awareness that she was starkly naked beneath the bed linens, he said with more gentle reassurance, “My lady, you would do as well to return to your
slumbers. This is an interesting display, i’faith, but naught shall come to harm you.”
“I want no fight,” Sir Myles said. “My niece has proved her ingratitude this night for the years of care that she and her brother have received at my hand, yet I am willing to take her back. Whatever ceremony took place here this night will be annulled, and you may consider your betrothal to my daughter forever broken, Sir Justin.”
At this, Justin laughed. “I considered it well broken many days ago, when I realized the game that you and your daughter played upon me. I came to you with honor, and you treated me with naught but contempt. Worse, you sought to steal my lands for yourself by making them a payment for your daughter’s hand. But now, my lord, you will suffer the game I have chosen. I have done the stealing, and your niece is my wife. Mine, Sir Myles. You will not have her back.”
Sir Myles turned nearly white. “I must have Isabelle back.”
“So that she may continue to increase your wealth?” Justin asked pointedly, laughing again when Sir Myles’s mouth fell open. “Oh, aye, I’ve learned much about you these past many days, my lord. All that you have has come to you through Isabelle’s efforts. You have made her like a slave to gain riches. Now I am the one who shall enjoy her talents, who will have the benefit of the skills she possesses. She will make me rich in ways you’ve not yet begun to fathom.”
“Nay! You’ll not!” Sir Myles sputtered. “I’ll go to the duke and demand her return. I am her legal guardian, and she did not have my permission to wed. ‘Tis all illegal!”
“Is it?” Justin asked, sheathing both his sword and dagger with equally fluid movements. “We shall see.” He turned and strode back into the chamber, not stopping until he had reached Isabelle and scooped her, bed linens and all, into his arms and out of the bed. “Look!” he said, his tone daring. “Look and see. I have taken Isabelle as my wife before the Church, and in the way of men. The proof is here, my lord. Can you think the duke will deny it? The law requires nothing more than Isabelle’s unforced consent in the matter, and every man who attended our marriage— and Isabelle herself—will attest that she was willing.”
Sir Myles stepped into the chamber, staring at the blood-stained sheet as if it were a horror. “You stole her,” he repeated weakly. “It cannot stand as legal.” He lifted wide eyes to gaze at his niece. “Isabelle, you must come back. Have you no care for Senet?” His meaning was clear.
“You threaten my wife at your peril, my lord,” Justin warned in a low voice. “I have never asked my brother, Alexander of Gyer, for anything in my life, but on the morrow I will send him a missive, asking him to use every power he possesses to have Senet Gaillard put into my guardianship. You will know that the lord of Gyer is a man who is not denied what he asks for by either crown or regent. Until Senet is under my hand, you will treat him well, or suffer facing the king’s regent with my complaints regarding your care of him.”
Sir Myles began to shake. He clamped his trembling hands together in an effort to still them, but when he took another step toward Isabelle, he only appeared to be pleading. “Isabelle, you must come back with me! I’ll give you anything. Do anything. Evelyn will be kind. I swear it. You can’t want to go with this man. He doesn’t care for you. ‘Tis only your ways with money that he wants. Can’t you see that?”
Isabelle saw it. She’d heard Sir Justin openly proclaim the fact before everyone present, while she sat in the bed and felt as if someone had speared her with a jousting lance. She’d been more than a fool to dream that he might want her for herself, that he might care for her, to let herself believe that he’d spoken the truth when he called her beautiful. Now, held in his arms—not with the value of a person, but only as a prize to be fought for—she was filled with pain. She knew what she must look like, naked beneath the covers, marked and reddened from Sir Justin’s kisses, with that deceitful stain on the bed. Mortified at what all who saw her would think, shamed by her foolishness, she wished she could crawl into a hole and hide. But there wasn’t a hole anywhere nearby, and so Isabelle took the only refuge she had at hand, closing her eyes and burying her face against her husband’s hard shoulder.
Justin’s arms tightened about her. “You’ve had your answer, my lord. Now go.”
“Think, Isabelle!” Sir Myles persisted desperately. “Only think. You’re no better with him than you were with me. Do you think he’ll make anything but a slave of you? Evelyn and I offer you the ties of blood, of family. And matters will change, I vow it! I’ll give you a house, and servants of your own. Senet will live with you, as it pleases you. I’ll hire tutors for the lad, and buy his knighthood when the time comes. Isabelle,” he pleaded. “Please come back with me!”
It was true, she thought, pressing a fist against her eyes to keep the tears from spilling out. She was only exchanging one master for another, going from one place of labor to another. But Sir Justin, at least, had shown her kindnesses that had not been necessary. He’d done everything he could not to distress her. And he had told Sir Myles that Senet would come to them at Talwar—if he had lied about other things, at least he’d not lied about that.
“I’ll not go back,” she managed, weeping. “I will go with Sir Justin.”
“Isabelle!”
“Nay!” Justin cut him off. “No more. You will not torment her further. Leave now. I do not merely ask it of you. Go.”
An angry silence filled the room.
“Very well,” Sir Myles said at last. “I will take my men and leave. But heed me, Sir Justin Baldwin. I’ll have Isabelle back. I swear it by all that is holy. And you’ll come to regret this night and your vile deeds. You will, sir. You will.”
When he had left, Justin sat on the bed, cradling a silent Isabelle in his arms.
“A dangerous man,” Father Hugo commented. “Beware him, Justin, and keep control of your temper. As God’s holy word tells us, ‘Be slow to wrath, for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”’
“But it does get rid of Sir Myles,” Justin replied wearily.
“What do we do now?” Christian asked. “Would it not be wise to make for Siere?”
“Aye.” Justin turned his gaze upon Isabelle, who still had her eyes closed against his shoulder, although he knew she did not sleep. “Would that we could rest longer,” he murmured. “But we cannot.” To Christian he said, “We will clothe ourselves and make the horses ready, and then we will ride full haste for Siere, where I will have much to say to my brother the earl.”
Chapter Six
Siere was, for Isabelle, a daunting place. Everything about it was grand, as well as on a grand scale. The castle was enormous, with so many stairs and hallways and chambers that Isabelle commonly got lost. The land surrounding the castle was vast, stretching so far that, even when Justin took her to the castle’s highest tower and pointed out the direction of the borders, she’d not been able to see the end of it. The town of Siere was really a bustling city and, from the personal wealth of the earl and his lady, Isabelle realized that local commerce must be quite healthy.
Isabelle knew the signs of prosperity when she saw them, just as she knew and understood bankers, moneylenders, traders and businessmen. It took a calm, sure hand to manipulate all of those involved to bring about a city’s financial success, and Isabelle was filled with admiration for the one who’d guided Siere along just such a path. Sir Hugh, the earl of Siere, had smiled at Isabelle’s shy compliments on the matter and revealed that it was his wife, Lady Rosaleen, who managed Siere and made every major decision. “I’m only here to make speeches,” he told her, “and to keep the children occupied when their mother wants some rest. Otherwise, I’m nothing more than the official bedfellow.” This he accompanied with a smile so meaningful that even the memory made Isabelle’s cheeks burn. Of course, it wasn’t all true. Lady Rosaleen might be the one who actually had the managing of Siere, and did it very capably, but it was Sir Hugh who ruled. He was an estimable lord, seeming to know everything without be
ing told, heading off trouble before it occurred, always saying the right word at the right moment. Isabelle had only been at Siere for a week, but in that time she’d seen Sir Hugh deftly handle a number of his citizen’s complaints with the ease and wisdom of a Solomon, and she had yet to see one person leave the castle whose anger hadn’t been transposed into calm.
The earl had a gift for putting people at ease, which Isabelle had experienced firsthand when she arrived at Siere and Justin introduced her to Sir Hugh and his wife. Exhausted from the long ride, and weary from the rapid experiences of being kidnapped and married in only a matter of hours, Isabelle had only stared when the earl of Siere sauntered toward her with a welcoming smile on his lips. It had taken several long moments before she was able to mumble some kind of reply, and then, as he stood holding her cold fingers in his engulfing hand, he’d chuckled with warm amusement and said, to Justin, “I gather that you’ve not yet explained about Hugo and me being twins. The poor girl probably thinks that her wits have wandered away.” Which was exactly what Isabelle had thought, at least until Justin explained why it was that the priest who had married them and the earl of Siere looked to be the same man.
Sir Hugh had seemingly received the news of Justin’s bringing a different bride to Siere from the one that had been chosen for him with ease, giving no more evidence of surprise than the slight lifting of one eyebrow, and yet Isabelle was wary. He had been all that was kind this past week, but she had seen him contemplating her often, with a silent, seeking regard, and it was clear that very little escaped those piercing green eyes. A silent tension existed between himself and Justin, as well, and if the earl wondered why his brother and his brother’s new wife didn’t share a bedchamber, he never voiced the question aloud. At least, not in Isabelle’s hearing.
Lady Rosaleen, fortunately, was a much less bewildering presence. Beautiful, forthright and kind, she had immediately accepted Isabelle as her sister-by-marriage, and had done everything possible to make her comfortable.
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