Susan Spencer Paul

by The Bride Thief

  “Birgitte…said that she was with child.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “I do not know if she truly is or not. She has said that before, several times, to try and make me wed her. But time ever proved the truth.”

  Isabelle gazed at him solemnly, and Justin could hear the echo of his words repeating themselves, even in the silence.

  Time ever proved the truth.

  “If there is a child, I will not neglect it.” Reaching out, he gently cupped her face. “I am the same man I was an hour ago, Isabelle. Far from perfect, s’truth, but I will be as good to you as possible, the best man I can be. Can you not trust me, even a little?”

  She covered his hand with her own, holding it against her cheek. “It is hard for me to trust any man,” she whispered. “But I will strive to do so, for you have been kind to me, my lord, and I wish to please you.”

  “That you do easily,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her, then to gather her close in his arms. “Most easily, Isabelle.”

  Chapter Ten

  The account books were a horrible mess. Even after a week of laboring over them, Isabelle was beginning to wonder if she’d ever get Talwar’s finances straightened into some semblance of order. Justin, she had discovered with some surprise, had such a dim interest in keeping count of his money that he hadn’t even known where his accounts were. It had taken Isabelle and Gytha two days of searching before the books were finally found, at the bottom of a clothing chest in Justin’s bedchamber. The last recorded entry had been made four years earlier, after which keeping the accounts up to date had obviously become a duty too tedious for Justin to bother with.

  His lack of interest reminded Isabelle forcibly of her father, who had embraced a similar disinterest in what he regarded as a thoroughly soulless occupation. For her father, it had seemed much better to be involved in political intrigues; for Justin, the care and training of his young charges took preeminence, the task to which he devoted most of his day and self. Although not always. Sometimes—often—his interest was focused all on her.

  Isabelle had always thought that the honey month that followed a marriage would be one during which a newly wed couple became better acquainted, although she’d never realized exactly in what manner this was accomplished. But Justin had known, and had evidently decided that they were going to be very well acquainted, indeed. His desire for the physical union was seemingly unending; Isabelle couldn’t count how many times they had come together in the past week, in so many places, and during so many different times of the day. He didn’t seem to care at all for the propriety of keeping only to their marriage bed. S’truth, he didn’t seem to care for anything at all, save that there was some semblance of privacy, whether it be on a windy hillside beneath the shelter of trees where they had ridden to view his lands, or in the bathing chamber when he bade her wash his back and ended up washing all of her, instead, or in the working chamber where she now sat, remembering with hot cheeks and in vivid detail what he had done to her while they sat together in a single chair before the fire. Once, she had gone out to the stables to ask him about quarterly funds paid for dry goods, and after he sent the boys out of the building on some foolish task, he had quickly managed to drive all thoughts of both funds and dry goods entirely away. She hadn’t even remembered why she’d first gone out to find him until an hour later, when she sat down at her working table again and realized that she must look as giddy as a drunken lunatic. But that was what he made of her, and so easily— a lunatic. With a kiss, a look, a word.

  They had perhaps had an unfortunate start, with regard to the serving girl Birgitte, who had shortly admitted, after her arrival at Briarstone, that she had lied about carrying Justin’s child, but the memory of that had quickly become distant and dim, forgotten by Isabel’s heart entirely and held only by her mind as an event that had passed.

  She’d never been so happy in all her life, or dreamed that there could be anything like this, waking each morn to find her handsome husband lying warm beside her, his dark hair disordered, his darker eyes closed in slumber. Surely God had looked down upon her misery while she lived with Sir Myles and decided to be kind. How else could such a miracle have befallen her, that she should find herself married to the most wonderful man in England? She loved him so much that sometimes she felt guilty for it. Husbands and wives weren’t supposed to love each other, for love was to be given to God alone, but if the Lord had found it fitting enough to bless her with Justin, Isabelle thought, then perhaps He would not mind it so much if she gave a part of her love to the blessing itself.

  A soft knock fell on the chamber door, and then the door opened slightly as a head overwhelmed by tousled brown curls appeared around it.

  “Your pardon, m’lady. Meg says there’s hot cider, and I’m to ask if you’re wanting some. And Gytha says there’s a missive for Sir Justin that’s just arrived from his brother, the earl.” The missive in question was held up through the opening. “Shall I take it out to him or leave it with you, I’m to ask.”

  “Please leave it with me, Odelyn,” Isabelle said, smiling as the girl rushed into the chamber to do her mistress’s bidding. Odelyn had arrived three days before, with an escort from Briarstone and a missive from Sir Christian saying, “For Lady Isabelle, with every gratitude for her kindnesses to one whom I hold dear, an excellent maid to replace Birgitte and to lend you and your household aid. Odelyn is a precious jewel.” And that she surely was. She was somewhat younger than Birgitte, being, Isabelle guessed, around ten-and-five years of age, although nobody knew for certain exactly how old she was. Odelyn had been found abandoned at Briarstone’s gates nine years earlier, only able to point at herself and speak her own name. She had become everyone’s child in the castle, growing up with dozens of mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, and had come to Talwar already looking upon everyone there, save Isabelle, as a part of this large, informal family. She was as energetic as a child, happy and smiling and eager to please.

  “Thank you. Sir Justin has been waiting for this to arrive. I shall take it out to him right away. Please tell Meg that I’ll have some of that cider when I’ve returned.”

  With a quick curtsy, Odelyn left the chamber, running, as she usually did, and Isabelle turned the missive over in her hands, to find the earl of Siere’s seal. This would be what Justin had been waiting for—word of whether her uncle had made the way clear for Senet to be removed from Sir Howton’s care. Pushing away from her table, she closed the account book she had been working on and went in search of her husband.

  She found him in the outer bailey, mounted on horseback and brandishing a blunted wooden sword in one hand and a much-dented shield of armor in the other. Facing him was Ralf, who was likewise mounted and armed.

  “Don’t worry about your steed,” Justin instructed loudly, so that the other boys, who were mounted a little farther away, could also hear him. “A well-trained warhorse will know what’s expected of it, especially if you don’t confuse it with a lot of unnecessary handling. All your horse needs is an idea of direction and speed, nothing more. Let it do its part without any additional distraction, for mercy knows there will be plenty of that in battle. What you must concentrate on is keeping your shield before you, thus—” he set the heavy shield he bore tightly against his chest and belly “—and your sword high. Remember, never carry it below the level of your shoulder, for once you are engaged you must keep your weapon aloft to defeat your foe. He may come at you from the side with his weapon, but that is what your shield and armor are for. You attack from above, aiming for the most vulnerable areas in his armor, the head, neck and shoulders.” He chopped sharply at the air with his wooden sword, causing Isabelle to grimace at the cold-bloodedness of the actions. “Hold the reins to your steed here, in your shield hand, but loosely, mind you. Jerking the horse about in the midst of a fight may cause it injury or you death, or both. Now, Ralf…”

  He seemed to realize, by the direction of Ralf’s gaze, that Isabelle was ther
e.

  “My lady.” He smiled at her in the same manner he ever did when setting sight on her. It amazed Isabelle that he never seemed to be angered when she interrupted him, no matter what he was doing.

  “I am sorry to disturb you, my lord.”

  “Oh, nay,” he said, dismounting and leading his steed toward her. “Being disturbed by you is the most welcome occurrence I know.” The wicked gaze in his eyes told her just how much he meant the words, and Isabelle grew hot with embarrassment. Over Justin’s shoulder, she could see the boys grinning.

  “This missive arrived from your brother, the earl of Siere.” She waited until he had removed his leather gauntlets before pressing the parchment document into his hands. “Is it about Senet, do you think?”

  “It must be.” He broke the seal and unrolled the single page. His brows lowered as he read, and the line of his mouth grew set.

  Isabelle’s heart began to pound frantically. “What is it?” she asked, touching his sleeve. “Will my uncle let Senet come to us?”

  Justin shook his head. “Sir Myles refuses to answer either of my brothers’ missives, and Sir Howton has replied that he will not release Senet until he has word from Sir Myles. My eldest brother, the lord of Gyer, has appealed to the duke of Gloucester to intervene. Hugh asks us to be patient. To wait.” He quickly rolled the document up and gave it to Isabelle.

  “What will you do, then?”

  “I gave you my word that your brother would be here at Talwar within a fortnight of our leaving Siere, and he shall be. Kayne!”

  Kayne rode up at once. “Aye, my lord, Sir Justin?”

  “You will ride to Briarstone full speed and ask Sir Christian to send a dozen of his best men back with you this day to guard Talwar and my lady for the next week. You may tell him, if he asks why, that we are going to fetch Lady Isabelle’s brother from Sir Howton.”

  “Justin!” Isabelle cried. “You cannot!”

  He paid her no heed. “Mind that you have returned to Talwar by nightfall,” he told Kayne. “We will all want a good night’s sleep before we start in the morn.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Kayne replied obediently, his face flushed with excitement.

  “Go, then, and tarry not.”

  With a nod, Kayne turned his horse about and rode full speed out the bailey gates.

  “My lord,” Isabelle said, striding to keep up with him as he walked back to the other boys. “You cannot mean to do this! The earl of Siere has asked you to wait. To be patient. Surely you cannot go against his wishes.”

  He uttered a laugh. “Can I not? I think I will find it exceedingly easy to do.”

  “But—”

  “I have been more than patient with your uncle, beloved. But no more. He had full warning, and has no cause for complaint.” To the boys, he said, “We are going on a journey, with the object of stealing Lady Isabelle’s brother from a highly esteemed lord whose castle will be well fortified and his army well trained. It should be a very good lesson for you all. We’ll leave at first light tomorrow morn. I want you to spend the remainder of the day preparing yourselves and your horses for a week of hard traveling.”

  “Aye, my lord,” the boys murmured variously, pleasure at this unexpected boon strong in their voices and expressions.

  “Aric, I would have you prepare an additional horse for Lady Isabelle’s brother to ride. Make it the chestnut gelding. He’s strong and well trained. Here. Take Synn and have John care for him.”

  Taking the reins that Justin handed him, Aric obediently replied that he would do as his master bade him, and then, with the only smile that Isabelle had ever seen on the boy’s face, rode away to join the others.

  “And now, my lady,” Justin said, putting his hands on Isabelle’s waist and pulling her near, “you and I will retire to our bedchamber for the remainder of the day.”

  “But I wish to speak with you, my lord.”

  “Aye,” he murmured happily, bending to kiss her. “That is just what I want, also, my dearest wife. I want to hear you speaking to me, constantly, so that I may carry the memory of your beautiful voice with me while we are parted. I want to dream of the things you say when I am loving you, deep inside you.”

  Her face grew hot at the words. “Do I say things then?” The idea was thoroughly embarrassing.

  “Oh, indeed, yes,” he murmured against her mouth. “Sweet, delightful things. Come with me, and I shall prove it to you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Isabelle shut the account book and shoved it away with a weary sigh. She couldn’t work, couldn’t concentrate. It was impossible with Justin gone. Three days had passed since she awoke to find that he and the boys had already left. Three days in which she had alternated between worry for their, and Senet’s, safety, and fury that Justin had left without even waking her to say goodbye. Not that it would have made much difference. He’d exhausted her so thoroughly with his lovemaking that she doubted a herd of cows walking through her bedchamber would have woken her.

  She pushed away from her working table and went to stare unhappily out of the chamber’s east window, letting her gaze wander over the far hills and the blue sky. It was another hot late-summer day. She wondered if Justin was suffering from it, traveling beneath the hot sun, or if perhaps it was cooler wherever he was.

  Wherever he was.

  “He could have at least left a missive,” she said aloud, folding her arms over her chest and releasing an angry breath. “Even a word or two.” She’d had nightmares since he left. Nightmares of him being caught and jailed, or, worse, killed. What would happen to the boys, then, and to Senet? Would they be jailed, as well? Mayhap even punished? And what would happen to her? She doubted that her uncle would allow her to remain at Talwar, even though she was Justin’s legal wife. Sir Myles was still her guardian; it would be a simple matter for him to have her returned to live beneath his hand.

  Justin, she thought for the hundredth time since he’d left, you should have done as your brother advised. You should have waited. But that wasn’t the kind of man that he was. Certainly not in regard to obeying his brothers. In truth, when it came to his family, he was obdurately stubborn.

  She had learned that much about him on their last night together, when she had lain in his arms, her head upon his chest, contented to rest that way forever after the loving they had shared.

  “What was your childhood like?” he had asked, and Isabelle had felt a small shock of surprise. People didn’t speak of what was in their personal past, for life was short and only God and the future mattered.

  “It was a usual childhood, I think,” she had said at last, letting herself think back to the time when her life had been happy and secure. “My father and mother shared a deep affection, but they were different from each other. My father was very French, very passionate in all his dealings, while my mother was fully English, and much more reserved. They got along well, but it was confusing at times, especially when I was young. They seldom agreed on matters. Father believed that the heart must rule over all, while Mother felt the heart to be a rather poor and unstable instrument. She much preferred the qualities of the mind.”

  She had glanced at him, and Justin had smiled encouragingly.

  “I was tutored at home,” she continued, relaxing into the rhythmic stroke of his fingers across her bare back. “My mother was the one who taught me mathematics. My first plaything was an abacus. Her abacus. Mother loved the mystery of numbers and passed that love to me. When I was five, I would sit on her lap and decipher tables from the Almagest.” She smiled at the memory.

  “Mother had several mathematical manuscripts of her own. We had four priests at Lomas, and although they did not wish to do so, Father bade them to make copies of the Almagest, and of Arithmetica, and of Leonardo of Pisa’s Liber abaci. There were some smaller works by Archimedes, as well, and even one volume of Euclid’s Elements, which Father had sent to him by one of the chancellors at Oxford so that it might be copied. It was wicked, I sup
pose, for they might have copied the Holy Bible, instead of works for Mother’s pleasure, but indeed it was wonderful to have them. Being so English, she was a little horrified by my father’s insistence about the books, even though she loved them so. But he had a passionate nature, as I have said, and was determined that she should know every possible pleasure in life.”

  “I begin to think that your father and I have much in common,” Justin told her, teasing, and Isabelle laughed and said, “Much more pleasuring from you, my lord, and there will be naught left of me.”

  They both laughed, then, and he asked if her uncle, Sir Myles, had her mother’s books.

  She shook her head. “No longer. He gave them to a broker in London, who sold them with the rest of my parents’ library. I invested the money that came from them in a salt mine in Droitwich. It returned a huge profit for my uncle.”

  He squeezed her hand in a brief, comforting gesture. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Me, also,” she murmured. “The manuscripts that were my mother’s bore her likeness. One of the younger priests was given to much artistry, and at my father’s bidding painted small portraits throughout each book, showing my mother in many fanciful ways. He made her the Queen of Numbers,” she said, chuckling. “’Twas all in much fun.” His answering smile made her feel slightly dizzy. “I wish you could have seen them.”

  “As do I. Was your brother also taught at home?”

  “Oh, nay. Father was already unhappy that his daughter should take such an interest in anything so dull and English as mathematics. He wanted his son to be like him.”

  “Passionate?”

  “Even so, my lord. Even so. For a time, he considered sending Senet to France for training, but Mother would have none of that. Finally, when he was eight, Senet was fostered with Sir Howton.”

  “A good choice. He is accounted one of the finest training masters in all of England. Many great knights have been fostered by him.”