He paused inside the entrance of the busy hall, a twin on either side, and searched the crowd for Isobel. He found her almost at once, across the room near the hearth. When she looked up and met his eyes, his throat went dry.
Her face glowed, as though she were truly pleased to see him. Suddenly, he had a vision of her as she was the last time he saw her. Hair loose and tangled, lips swollen from his kisses. He strode across the room, seeing nothing and no one but her.
A sharp tug on his hand saved him from sweeping Isobel into his arms in full view of everyone in the hall. He looked down, surprised to see he still held the twins. Recalled to his purpose, he turned his attention back to Isobel.
And at once forgot what he meant to say. How could she have grown still lovelier? The green velvet gown made her eyes a deep forest green.
“I am glad for your safe return, Sir Stephen.”
His stomach tightened at Isobel’s formal greeting. Sir Stephen. So that was how it was.
“And who is this lovely girl?” Isobel asked, touching the child’s arm.
To his astonishment, the devil girl gave a graceful curtsy and looked up at Isobel with a beatific smile.
“My name is Linnet. I know you are Lady Hume because Sir Stephen told me Lady Hume is as kind as she is beautiful.”
Isobel gave a musical laugh that made Stephen’s heart do an odd leap in his chest. Though he doubted the girl—Linnet—could keep up this pretense of good behavior, he winked at her to show he appreciated the effort.
It seemed unkind to mention the children’s circumstances in front of them. Without thinking, he leaned close to Isobel to whisper in her ear. The smell of her skin sent him reeling.
When he remembered to speak, he said, “They are orphans in need of protection. I will take the boy as my page, but the girl…” He lost track of what he was saying. It was so very tempting to run his tongue along that delicate earlobe, to place a kiss in the hollow just below it.
Isobel jerked her head away before he could say—or do—more.
“Of course I will take her,” she said, looking at him with wide, serious eyes.
She turned to the girl and took her hand. “This is fortunate, indeed! My maid asked leave to marry one of the king’s archers. I would be so grateful if you would agree to take her place.”
As Linnet looked over Isobel’s fine clothes, her smile brightened. “I would fix your hair and help you dress in pretty gowns?”
Isobel nodded.
“And I could read you all the love poems men send you,” Linnet said, her eyes glowing. “I am sure you have many!”
Many love poems? Or many men sending them? Either way, Stephen did not like it.
“You can read?” Isobel asked, surprise showing in her voice.
“Of course.” Linnet gestured toward her brother. “As does François.”
Stephen watched with sympathy as the boy melted under the warmth of Isobel’s smile. He felt his own insides go soft when she said, “You are fortunate to serve a knight as skilled as Sir Stephen. Pay attention and you will learn much from him.”
François gave her a solemn nod.
How had Isobel done it? Already she had these two little hellions in the palm of her hand.
Stephen heard a man clear his throat beside him and turned to find cold gray eyes upon him. The dark-haired man they belonged to inserted himself between Stephen and Isobel and tucked Isobel’s hand into the crook of his arm.
So, this must be Isobel’s delinquent Frenchman.
Stephen let his eyes drift slowly over the man. He knew just how he would take him. Years of practice taught him that. William had decided that a boy with a sharp wit and a big mouth had better learn how to handle himself in a brawl as well as on a battlefield. Each day, his brother assigned a different man to fight him. The lessons did not stop until Stephen learned to assess a man’s strengths and weaknesses at a glance.
The man before him now was cocky, overconfident. He had a powerful build—the kind that would turn to fat as he grew older, Stephen thought cheerfully. Strong, but not too quick. Stephen would first grab him by the—
These happy contemplations were interrupted by Isobel. “Sir Stephen Carleton, may I present Lord Philippe de Roche.”
Stephen waited, deliberately letting the silence fall between them. If he’d been a cat, his tail would have twitched.
“He is from Rouen,” Isobel added, her voice tense.
Stephen knew damn well where the man was from. Since Isobel had not called him her betrothed, perhaps she was not yet irrevocably tied to this man with ice in his eyes. The man’s too-perfect features made him look soulless.
Aye, a broken nose would add character to his face.
“You take advantage of my intended’s soft heart,” de Roche said to Stephen, then turned to Isobel. “You need not take some unknown girl this man has picked up off the streets.”
Isobel put her arm about the girl’s shoulders. “But where shall I find another maid who can read poetry to me?”
Stephen wanted to kiss her.
The muscles of de Roche’s jaw tightened, but he patted Isobel’s hand. “Keep her if it pleases you, my dear.”
The endearment reminded Stephen what this man would be to her. Her husband. Her bedmate. His chest began to ache.
“Come, I will show you my chamber,” Isobel said to Linnet.
Isobel nodded her good-bye to François, but the smile left her face when she turned to take her leave of Stephen. As she looked at him with those wide, serious eyes, the ache inside him grew until he thought his chest might burst with it.
She seemed to startle when de Roche tugged at her arm. With a quick curtsy, she turned away.
He and François were still watching when Linnet turned to give them a sly wink over her shoulder. Linnet was an ally now, thanks to de Roche. As twelve-year-old girls went, she was not a bad ally to have.
Ally in what? Stephen took a deep breath and shook his head. What would he do if he won the prize? He wanted to take Isobel from de Roche, have her leave on his arm instead. And he most definitely wanted her in his bed. Badly. But since he did not want a wife, this was a battle he had no business trying to win.
He felt a light touch on his arm and turned to find Claudette at his side.
“What a foolish man you are!” she said in a low voice. “Stop staring after her. Do you want everyone to know?” She took his arm and firmly turned him toward François. “Since it is better to have them think you lose your head over every pretty woman, try to look at me as this boy does.”
When he looked down and saw the slack-jawed expression on the boy’s face, he laughed and tousled François’s hair. The poor boy was having quite the day.
“Do you want the king to banish you to the wilds of Ireland?” Claudette said between her teeth. She smiled and batted her eyes at him. “You do Lady Hume no favors by drawing attention to her.”
Realizing, belatedly, that Claudette was right, he picked up her hand and kissed it. He let his gaze linger on her.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “You are a wise woman.”
“Of course you missed me,” she said in a voice just loud enough to be overheard, “but you will make me vain with such compliments!”
“I do not deserve you, Claudette.”
“You do not,” she agreed and began walking him out of the hall. Dropping her voice again, she said, “There is that dreadful Marie de Lisieux, lying in wait for you near the door.”
“I suppose I should cast lustful glances her way,” he whispered back to tease her.
“I know how difficult that is for you, Stephen.”
He gave Marie a broad wink and swiveled his head as they passed.
Claudette gave him a hard pinch for his efforts. “I did not say you must stare at her bosom.”
He laughed with genuine amusement this time. “Marie would think something was amiss if I did not.”
“Just looking at her makes my back ache,” Claudet
te said, lifting one delicate eyebrow in disdain. “No matter what the fashion, men will always like big breasts.”
“Not every woman can have your perfect proportions,” he told her, as he knew she expected him to. “But, in sooth, I do not think I have ever seen a pair I did not like.”
“Men are so simple.” She heaved a sigh of feigned weariness that made him laugh again.
When they were safely out the door, she turned and wagged a finger in his face. “Now let us be serious. You must promise me you will use that clever head of yours and not get into a cockfight over Lady Hume.”
He opened his mouth to object, but she held her hand up.
“You best remember,” she warned, “the king has bet upon the other cock.”
Chapter Fourteen
Thank God for the girl. If Linnet were not annoying de Roche with ceaseless chatter, he might notice how Isobel’s hands shook. Isobel tried to make herself listen to what Linnet was saying but could not.
How could Stephen return just when she had put all thought of him behind her? That was not quite true. Not nearly true. But having him in Caen where she would see him every day made it so much worse.
She heard Linnet mention Stephen’s name and almost missed the step. “What was that you said?”
“That my brother and I were very wicked to Sir Stephen.”
How easy it was to be wicked with Stephen!
When she saw him coming through the crowd toward her, his smile like a swath of sunlight, her heart leapt in her chest. He looked so pleased to see her, too. For a moment, she thought he would sweep her into his arms.
She half hoped he would.
Perhaps more than half.
But then, Stephen could play her for a fool without even knowing it. As she left the hall, she turned to see whom Marie de Lisieux was watching so intently. It was Stephen, of course. He was already laughing and whispering with that breathtaking courtesan. While Isobel was shaken to her soul at seeing him again, he forgot her the moment she was out of sight.
He would be making his way around the room now, adoring woman to adoring woman. Making each and every one of them believe she was special.
Not that Isobel cared what he did.
She would think of her future. De Roche was a handsome man, every bit as attractive as Stephen Carleton. Surely she would find his kisses just as exciting. She would. Her mind was set on it. And for once, Robert was not here to interfere.
They were at her chamber door before she realized she had not spoken a word to de Roche since they left the hall.
“Wait inside,” she whispered to the girl, giving her a gentle push inside.
She lifted de Roche’s hand to cup her cheek and looked steadily into his eyes. Seeing how quickly the irritation in his eyes shifted to lust, she smiled, pleased with herself. It had been easy, after all. She would get her kiss now.
When he kissed her cheek, she was disappointed. Nay, annoyed. But then he began to work his way down her neck. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the soft lips and warm breath against her skin. Instead, she found herself thinking of his heavy-handedness in trying to get her to change her mind about taking Linnet. And his utter lack of feeling for the poor girl’s circumstances.
That Stephen had taken responsibility for the two orphans surprised her. And yet… it did not. Wastrel, womanizer, drunkard that he was, Stephen did have a kind heart.
She’d forgotten de Roche when, suddenly, she was slammed against the door, the latch poking painfully into her back. De Roche’s mouth was on hers, bruising her. With his tongue down her throat, choking her, she could not breathe. Panic surged through her as she tried in vain to push him away.
She fell backward with a shriek as the door opened behind her. De Roche caught her and leveled furious gray eyes at the cause of the interruption.
“M’lady, do you want these cleaned?” Linnet stood implacably in the doorway, holding a pair of boots in one hand. Not at all the humble maidservant.
“Thank you for escorting me,” Isobel said before de Roche could shout at the girl. She straightened and held her hand out.
“Until tonight then,” he said in a tight voice.
The gaze he fixed on her as he brought her hand to his lips held both anger and desire. She fought the urge to jerk her hand away when she felt his tongue on her skin.
As she watched him go, she wiped her hand against her skirts.
Claudette’s serene expression gave nothing away, but Robert saw the glint of annoyance in her crystal blue eyes as she crossed the room toward him.
“Thank you,” he said into her ear as he helped her into the seat beside him. “A woman’s touch was needed.”
“Stephen does need a woman’s touch,” she hissed. “That is precisely the problem.”
She smiled and waved delicate fingers at an acquaintance passing by. “I tried to reason with him, but reason does not work on a man who is thinking with his—”
“With his heart?”
Instead of laughing, she gave a faint sigh. “Let us hope not.”
Robert handed her the bowl of sugared fruit he’d taken from the table. “I must see what is taking de Roche so long to escort Isobel to her chamber.”
“No need,” Claudette said, glancing toward the entrance. “The snake has returned.” Claudette had disliked de Roche from the moment she laid eyes on him.
From the way de Roche stormed across the room, Isobel had fended for herself well enough. De Roche went at once to join a small group in the corner, which included Marie de Lisieux.
“You know they are lovers?” Claudette said.
“ ’Tis a shame,” he said, popping a sugared fruit into his mouth, “that murdering him would cause political complications.”
She laughed this time—a lovely tinkling sound that always drew men’s attention.
How he would love to catch de Roche in some treachery against the king. He drummed his fingers on his knee. “Tell me, do you think de Roche both clever and brave enough to play two sides at once?”
She turned to him and raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Surely vanity and overconfidence would serve, as well?”
Claudette was right, of course. She always was about men.
“Tonight, however,” she said, “he is too absorbed with looking down the front of Marie’s gown to be conspiring about aught else.”
Robert took a long swallow of his wine. Damn, it was too much to hope he could catch de Roche in some treachery in time.
How else could he save Isobel from this marriage? He narrowed his eyes, considering. All he had to do was stir the pot a bit. But the risks were high. High for all of them.
He chuckled to himself. What was life without a little danger?
Chapter Fifteen
You are a handsome devil,” Stephen murmured, “the fastest of them all, a matchless wonder.”
Lightning nickered his agreement.
“I think he likes me now,” François said, brushing the horse with long, firm strokes, just as Stephen had taught him. “He only tried to kick me twice today.”
Stephen rubbed Lightning’s nose and fed him another carrot.
Sighing, he rested his head against the horse’s. “I know she is to be wed. And truly, I have tried to stay away. But she will think me rude if I do not see her.”
Lightning munched the carrot, unpersuaded.
It was not just good intentions that kept Stephen away. He hated to see her with de Roche. He did not want Isobel to suffer with a second husband who disgusted her, but did this Frenchman have to be so handsome?
Stephen thought of how Isobel’s breath caught when he touched her. How her head fell back as he kissed her throat. Oh, God, how she pulled him down on top of her.
Would she do the same with de Roche?
Lightning jerked his head up as quick, light steps approached.
“Linnet, do not run or make sudden moves around a horse like Lightning,” Stephen said as he patted the horse’s
neck to reassure him.
As soon as Stephen stepped around the horse, Linnet jumped into his arms and kissed him on both cheeks. “Thank you, thank you!” she squealed. “I love Lady Hume. She is as kind and beautiful as you said.”
Her brother emerged from the horse’s other side, and she ran to embrace and kiss him, too.
Stephen stepped between her and the horse and hauled her back to a safe distance. “Does Lady Hume know where you are?”
“She’ll not mind that I come to visit my brother.”
So, she had not told Isobel. “If I catch you going about alone again, I shall whip you until you beg for mercy.”
Linnet rolled her eyes. “How silly you are! Maids do not require escorts.”
All the same, he would speak to Isobel about it.
“I brought you a treat from the kitchen,” Linnet said, reaching into the cloth bag slung over her shoulder. “Sir Robert told me these are your favorites.”
The smell of the warm apple tarts diverted him from his lecture, just as she intended.
He grabbed François by the shoulder and pointed to the bucket of clean water. “The tarts will taste better after you wash the smell of horse from your hands.”
The three of them sat on a pile of clean straw in the corner to eat their tarts.
“I like Sir Robert,” Linnet said between bites and licking her fingers, “but who is this… this de Roche?” She wrinkled her nose as though smelling dung.
Stephen liked the girl better all the time. “De Roche is the man your mistress is going to marry. He is from Rouen.”
Through a mouth stuffed full of tart, François mumbled his own speculation that de Roche came from hell. These children were wise beyond their years.
Linnet furrowed her brows in a pretty frown. “I cannot go to Rouen and leave François. When is this marriage to take place?”
“I do not know.” Stephen suppressed a sigh. “Let us not worry about that yet.”
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