Susan Spencer Paul

by The Bride Thief

  The lord of Gyer was staring at her as if she were some unfathomable apparition.

  “’I. G.’” he murmured. “All of the correspondence that I carried on with your uncle’s financial steward was signed ‘I.G.’ But that couldn’t—” he was shaking his head “—that couldn’t be you.”

  She stepped back to make a mocking bow. “But it is me, my lord. Isabelle Gaillard. My uncle wouldn’t allow me to use my full name, as he didn’t want you, or anyone else, to realize that he had entrusted all of his wealth into the care of a female. Only those who lived in London, the brokers and bankers with whom I dealt, knew the truth.”

  “And they,” he said, “being sometimes dependent on your skills, wouldn’t reveal that truth, either.”

  “Even so,” she agreed.

  His eyes narrowed as he contemplated her. “God’s feet,” he muttered, and pushed past her to fill a goblet with wine, which he drank before speaking again.

  “I wrote your uncle after the disaster with the Fair Helen. Did you ever know that?”

  Surprise took the place of some of Isabelle’s anger. He was leaning over her working table, his back to her, all of his imposing manner gone.

  “Nay, I did not. He never spoke of the matter, save to say that we would have no further dealings with you in the way of jointly funding ventures.”

  “You are right when you say that I should have listened to you regarding the Fair Helen. After she went down, I was full angered with myself for being so stubborn. Your advice in the former ventures that your uncle and I financed had been unfailingly correct, and I knew, the moment I had word of the Fair Helen’s fate, that you had been right again. The other ship—the one you suggested we use instead of the Fair Helen—made the same voyage without mishap. Is that not so?”

  “Aye,” Isabelle said. “The Capetian arrived safely in Portsmouth with a full cargo. My uncle made a rare profit from the Italian silks we sold.”

  “Just as I had made three times before with the journeys you had arranged.” He sighed, and turned to face her, his expression much softened. “I enjoyed the correspondence we had shared, you and I. There was a confidence and intelligence that I much admired, and humor, also, regarding life and the fates of gambling fortunes, which gave me much pleasure. I spoke often to my good lady wife of ‘I.G.,’ the fine gentleman whom Sir Myles was so fortunate to have as his steward, and said that I should be blessed to have such a man laboring for me. After the Fair Helen sank, I determined that I would have you for my steward.”

  “Me?” Isabelle flushed with helpless pleasure. Her former fury was gone, replaced by wonder that a powerful man such as Sir Alexander Baldwin had so admired her skills.

  He nodded. “I wrote your uncle, offering anything he cared to name in return for your service. He replied that there was no sum or prize on earth that could make him part with you, and that he regretfully believed he and I should no longer deal together. Knowing now who you are, I can understand why he is striving so urgently to have you returned to him. I have had several missives from Sir Myles in the past few days, pleading for my aid in this. He is the one who convinced me that you had seduced Justin into stealing you away instead of marrying his daughter, Lady Evelyn.”

  Isabelle found the nearest chair and sat down, feeling as if someone had suddenly knocked all the breath out of her.

  “I have felt shame many times in my life,” the lord of Gyer said quietly, “but I do not think ever more than this moment. I have come here making judgment when there was no just cause, and I have spoken cruelly. The. insult I have given you this day is unforgivable, but I would ask you to believe that I have acted only out of love for my brother. He was wounded once before by a woman—badly wounded—and I would not let him suffer such as that again.”

  Isabelle stared at the floor, trying to think. Her mind had fixed on the fact that her uncle had asked for the lord of Gyer’s help, and she could barely move beyond that to grasp the words he said. He was offering his apology, she thought numbly. The exalted lord of Gyer was offering her an apology.

  “Why?” she asked, thinking of the things he had accused her of earlier. “Why should you believe me now?”

  His expression filled with remorse. “How could I not, when I know the person who guided me through three fortunate ventures to be one who is honest, forthright, and admirable in every way? I have missed ‘I.G.’ this past year, since your uncle declined my offer. I have missed the humor and advice. The longer I think on what has occurred this day, the more foolish I feel. I have known sadness at losing such a friend, and yet I come here, to that same friend, and accuse her of the basest motives. I do not expect your forgiveness, Lady Isabelle, but I tell you in all truth that I fully regret the things that I have said this day, and all that I have accused you of.”

  “But…you even brought your army,” she said with confusion.

  “Half my army,” he corrected. “I brought them because I thought Justin might require a more compelling force in meeting with Sir Howton’s skilled fighters. I only wish that he had waited for me to arrive, for together we might have claimed your brother without incident, but I seem to have misjudged Justin’s desire in the matter.”

  “You meant to lend him aid in gaining Senet, even though you thought me a devious fraud?”

  Sir Alexander smiled. “Not for that reason, I fear. I do not desire that my youngest brother should be killed while retrieving the son of a traitor. I knew it would be foolish to try to dissuade him from his chosen path, once he had set upon it. Justin is rather stubborn, if you have not yet realized it.”

  “It appears to be a common trait in your family, my lord,” Isabelle replied tartly.

  Sir Alexander laughed. “S’truth, my lady. But you are a brave lass. ‘I.G.’ would not quail at such a daunting set of relatives, I vow.”

  “’I.G.’ is quailing,” she assured him. “You made me lose my temper this day, my lord, and that is not easily done. I suppose I should ask your forgiveness for having spoken to you so boldly, but I will not. You deserved every word, and more.”

  “Verily,” he agreed when she looked at him with defiance, “this is so. I will give you the rest of the day to think of any further tirades you may wish to scold me with.” He pushed away from the working table, moving to stand before her. “I will leave you now and see to the settling of my men. This eve I will return to share your evening meal, and we will speak more of Justin, and your uncle, and other matters.”

  Isabelle’s heart sank. “My uncle?”

  “Aye, your uncle.” His expression was solemn. “He wants you back at any price, and insists that Justin honor the agreement that my brother Hugh and I made regarding his marriage to Lady Evelyn.”

  “But that cannot be!” Isabelle told him. “I heard Sir Myles with my own ears, on the night he found us at the monastery, and he told Justin that the agreement to marry Evelyn was forever broken.”

  Sir Alexander gave her a patient look. “In a moment of anger, a man will say things he later regrets, just as I have proven this day. But an alliance with the Baldwins, especially through marriage, is not a thing to be treated lightly. Having bethought his fortunes, your uncle has stated to myself, also to my brother, Sir Hugh, and also to the duke of Gloucester, that if you are returned to him, all will be forgiven as if it had never occurred. His desire is to see his daughter wed to Justin, and Lady Evelyn is evidently agreeable.”

  “God save me,” Isabelle said with a groan, setting a hand to her forehead. “They spoke of it often before Justin took me, of how fortunate they were to receive such a boon. My uncle meant to use his daughter’s marriage to gain power, and Evelyn—” Isabelle dropped her hand and looked directly at the lord of Gyer “—Evelyn said she would only marry Justin if my uncle would help her to carry out affairs when she grew bored.” Isabelle stood, feeling angry again. “She said that Justin is dull, but he is not! And I will never let her wed him and make a fool of him!”

  Sir Alexander chuc
kled and put up both hands, as if to ward her off. “Do not become angered with me again, I pray. I am in full agreement that it shall not be so. And do you think, my dear lady Isabelle, that I would lose you again, after having so shortly found you? Now that you are my sister-by-marriage, I intend to make certain you remain so.”

  “If you will, my lord,” she said, trying not to sound as desperate as she felt, “I will do whatever you ask in the way of financial matters. Any advice you want—anything—I will gladly be in your service.”

  Sir Alexander tilted his head to one side, regarding her with a slow smile. “Can it be,” he said, “that you love my brother, Isabelle?”

  She folded her hands together, nodding. “Aye, my lord. I do love Justin.”

  He took her clasped hands and pulled them both up to his mouth, kissing them. “Then have no fear, my lady. We will find the way to manage your uncle. I will set myself to the task, and you may believe that when I have embarked upon a chosen course, I am seldom defeated in it. On this, you have my vow.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Justin and his party returned to Talwar four days later, weary and hungry, but as triumphant as if they’d defeated the king’s own army.

  Isabelle had an early warning of their arrival from the guard serving as lookout, and spared a moment before she ran out into the bailey to greet her husband and brother to shout for Meg to prepare the welcoming feast they had earlier planned.

  Justin dismounted the moment he saw Isabelle racing toward him, shouting her name and catching her up in his arms, twirling her off her feet in a wide circle before setting her down and kissing her on the mouth. “My beloved lady,” he murmured, holding her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. “I praise God that I see you again.”

  “You’re home,” she heard herself saying, clutching him, covering the side of his face with rapid kisses. “And you’re alive.”

  He pulled back and grinned down at her. “Of course I’m alive. Did you think I might let myself be killed so soon after our marriage?”

  He was ragged and filthy with dirt, and his dark beard was stubbly and rough, but Isabelle didn’t think he had ever looked more handsome.

  “What’s this?” he murmured, wiping tears from her cheeks with the palms of his hands. “There is no need for tears.”

  “Aye, there is,” she told him. “I’m so glad to have you home.”

  He chuckled and kissed her again—a short, hard, joyful brand. “Come and see your brother,” he said when the other riders had dismounted. In a softer tone, for her ears alone, he whispered, “Do not let yourself be surprised by the sight of him, love. He has suffered much cruelty these many years.”

  He led her in the direction of a tall, thin, dark-haired youth whom Isabelle almost didn’t recognize. The boy held himself stiffly, unsmiling, gazing at her with caution as she approached.

  “Senet,” she whispered, moving toward him with one hand outstretched. “Senet. Oh, I am glad to see you again. It has been so long.”

  He stared at the hand, flinching when she gently set it on his arm.

  “Senet.” She searched his face and touched his cheek with her fingertips. He had grown so tall since she last saw him. He had grown into a man, nearly, when in her memories she had always seen him as a boy. “Do you remember me?”

  His blue eyes were filled with distrust, but he nodded once, and some of the wariness left him. Isabelle moved slowly, putting her arms about his rigid body and holding him in a light clasp. He made no move to return the embrace, but stood very still, enduring it. Isabelle, sensing his discomfort, pulled away. She tried to smile up at him in a reassuring manner.

  “Now that we are together again, all will be well. Sir Justin has promised us a safe home here. No one will ever be able to part us again, or bring us harm.”

  He made no reply, but lifted his gaze to Justin, as if waiting for that man to tell him whether he should speak or not.

  “Why do we not go inside?” Justin suggested, setting his hand about Isabelle’s waist and gently pulling her away from her brother. “We are all weary, and I know that the lads will want to tell you about their great adventure. They frustrated Sir Howton’s skilled forces with ease, and took Senet without a moment’s trouble. Is that not so, lads?”

  Isabelle looked to where Kayne, Aric, John, Ralf and Neddy all stood holding their horses, their dirty, tired faces glowing with pride. They had only been gone a little more than a week, yet they all looked years older.

  “And I want to hear every word of it,” Isabelle told them. “Every word, and then I shall give you all of my thanks for bringing my brother to me. If I can find words that can tell you just how grateful I am.”

  “Go and stable your horses.” Justin said. “Kayne, you take Synn, and Aric, you take Senet’s steed—”

  “Nay.” It was the first word Senet had spoken, and Isabelle was stricken at the sound. His voice was hard and bitter, sharp as a blade.

  “Very well,” Justin said without pause, his hand tightening about Isabelle when she opened her mouth to disagree. “Come to the great room when you are done, and we shall drink a glass of wine together to mark the end of our journey. And after that, my boys, you will all have a thorough scrubbing. I shall tell Gytha to start boiling plenty of water.”

  Four hours later, Justin yawned and opened his eyes, stretching one arm up above his head and smiling sleepily as with the other he pressed his slumbering wife closer. The long shadows in the room and the deep gold of the sunlight coming through the windows told him that it was late afternoon, and that he and Isabelle had been asleep for some time.

  She lay against him, naked and warm, her dark, silky head nestled between his arm and his chest, her breath brushing his skin in deep, slow, even puffs. He ran his fingers down the softness of her arm, tucking her nearer and reveling in the goodness of holding her again. Married life, he thought with drowsy satisfaction, was going to be thoroughly enjoyable. And now that he had brought Isabelle’s brother to Talwar, there would be nothing else to bar their way to beginning that life in full.

  Except perhaps for Senet himself.

  Not that the lad would prove difficult, for despite the hard life the boy had lived, Justin knew that he would, given time and patient’ handling, eventually emerge from his darkness. Justin had dealt too often with just this sort of youth at Briarstone, where so many of the children had been spawned and abandoned on city streets, living and surviving in the harshest of conditions, and he felt confident that he knew how best to help Senet regain his humanity. But Isabelle, in her desire to make everything right, might make the matter more difficult than it needed to be, simply by trying to protect and coddle the boy. Senet would reject any such kindnesses too soon, even from his own sister, and Justin prayed that he would be able to make Isabelle understand. All that Senet required for a time was good food and drink, a secure place to sleep at night, a regular routine to follow during the day, privacy when he needed it, plenty of physical work, and a chance to become used to the changes in his life.

  But it wasn’t going to be a simple matter, Justin thought with a sigh. Already they had argued over the matter. Isabelle had wanted to know what her brother had suffered at Sir Howton’s hands, and Justin had tried to be as honest as he could without revealing the whole of it, for he did not think that he would ever be able to tell her the worst of what Senet had experienced. Only he and Kayne knew the entire truth, as they had been the ones to enter and remove Senet from the cramped, filthy closet in which he had lived more like one of Sir Howton’s dogs than a civilized being. The boy had been filthy, crawling with lice and vermin, his thin body scarred from what must have been several harsh whippings. It was clear that he had been made to serve his master and former peers in the most menial manner, as a slave—worse, as the son of a traitor— who was only good enough to carry out the lowliest, most repugnant tasks.

  Justin knew without being told that the boy must have suffered a great deal of taunting, bu
t despite every attempt to strip him of pride, Senet Gaillard had not yet been daunted. At their very first stop, after they had made their escape, Justin had taken his knife to the boy’s hair, furiously slicing away the crawling, infested mass until all that was left was a short cap of thick black hair. Then he had bidden him undress and scrub himself in the river. Senet had removed his filthy clothing slowly, silently, as he exposed the ugly scars that marred him. With his chin high and his expression fierce, he had silently dared his onlookers to speak their disgust. But he had misjudged if he’d thought that the boys who had rescued him would be anything like the highborn sons he had lived with at Sir Howton’s. Kayne and the others knew better than Justin himself did how to treat Senet; they recognized one of their own, a fellow being who’d suffered as they had, and at once, without speaking a word, had taken Senet into their own private fold. It was a place where even Justin, despite the reverence they gave him, was not invited to be. They did not offer Senet pity, or even kindness, but respect and understanding and, most important of all, silence. And Senet was silence itself. Justin had only ever heard him say two words: Aye, and Nay. Otherwise, he nodded or shook his head to make himself understood.

  The boy would need time. He was filled with bitter hatred and distrust, and suffered even the smallest touch with nothing less than intense dislike. But John had been much the same when he arrived at Talwar, and, although it took time, he had eventually become the boy he was now— giving and cheerful and willing to be made a part of the whole among the other boys.