Sword for His Lady (3 page)

From her anger, no doubt.

You
lie…

She ground her teeth together.

Perhaps, yet it was only a small dishonesty, for she was angry too.

Aye, a tiny dishonesty, for she would be damned to hellfire before admitting she quivered for Ramon de Segrave.

Or any man.

* * *

“She has spirit, that one. And pride,” Ambrose St. Martin remarked from beside him. Ramon reached up and pulled his helmet off his head before answering his second in command.

“Yet it is earned. So not completely misplaced.”

“Earned or not, she'll not take easily to being bridled.”

Ramon offered his friend a shrug that sent his shoulder armor clanking against his breast and back plate. The sound echoed inside the storeroom, so he stepped outside.

“My first wife played the part of a submissive spouse very well. I discover myself wondering if I do not prefer Isabel's honesty. However misplaced it may be. She does not veil her lies with flutters of her eyelashes.”

Which roused his curiosity. Her scent lingered, teasing him with thoughts he'd long banished. Or at least confined to the sort of woman he might make agreement with for her favors.

Ambrose took the helmet from his lord, but there was a dark frown lingering on his lips. “There are others you may wed for a better plot than this cursed marsh keep.”

“What is your quarrel with the match?” Ramon asked. In truth, he needed to be reminded why marriage was something he disliked, for the sight of Isabel had somehow clouded his thinking.

Ambrose looked him straight in the eye as he spoke. There was a confidence in the man Ramon admired, thus why they were friends and not just knights who shared only the bond of the chivalric code.

“Her nurse told me she survived the fever that claimed the lives of her father, brother, and husband. She appears set on running this estate. You may not last longer than her husband did.”

“I am more concerned over her ability to cloud my thinking when it comes to marriage.”

Ambrose stiffened. “Perhaps you are simply trying to serve Richard and his whims, as you ever have done.”

“Perhaps.”

Ambrose drew in a stiff breath. Ramon ground his teeth. “Yet I discover my interest stirring. She stood up to me. With clear purpose and spirit. It is my own failing that allows such traits to undermine my thinking on the matter of wedding.”

Ambrose raised an eyebrow, his lips curving knowingly. “Have you fallen at last to the sweet song of the gentle sex?”

“Spare me your taunting, Ambrose.” Ramon considered the number of bundles in the storeroom. It was nearly full and the harvest was not yet finished. “Richard was correct when he said her people were fat and that this land needs defending. There is much here worth stealing, including the lady herself. When the Welsh hear her garrison is gone, they will come for her, because she is an heiress and they will think to expand their territory while the king is away.”

Ambrose conceded the point with a nod. “Yet the lady herself is far from biddable.” His gaze strayed to the merlin. “She will argue against the place you mean to set her in.”

“Her marriage was very brief; there are rumors it was never consummated.”

Ambrose stiffened. “Then she is guilty of falsehood.”

“Not so, for she has yet to speak upon the matter. It was her father who took possession of her husband's holdings by using the marriage documents. A daughter must be obedient to her sire.”

Ambrose nodded. “Yet I still believe you are more interested in pleasing Richard. Be careful, Richard will not be the one who must suffer that female in his bed.”

Ramon chuckled. “It is the thought of her in my bed that has changed my thinking. It makes wedding more enticing, I admit.”

Ambrose's face lit with surprise before he burst out laughing. Ramon growled at him, but his fellow knight only bent over with his mirth.

“'Tis grateful I am for such understanding,” Ramon said.

Ambrose cleared his throat but didn't quite erase the smirk from his lips. “Age has caught you at last. Before long, you'll be casting out your wisdom to young squires as you recount your days of glory. That lady will put the bridle on you.”

He choked on the last word, a fresh round of amusement claiming him. Ramon shot him a glare that only made the knight choke a few more times as he tried to rein in his enjoyment.

“I've a fine memory, Ambrose,” Ramon warned before stepping back into the storeroom and looking around with a critical eye.

Isabel of Camoys had been passed over by many of Richard's knights in favor of women who had land that wasn't so close to the rebellious Welsh, who refused to accept Richard as their rightful king.

“One thing is for certain, we need to set the men to building structures that are large enough to defend this keep.” He scanned the open road in front of the store houses.

Ambrose didn't look pleased. “Should you not decide upon the matter of wedding the lady before improving her land? The men will expect their pay from you, and your land stands vacant. You need to plant your own fields to provide for them.”

Ramon grinned and reached out to slap the man on the shoulder. His armor clanked as he did so.

“Richard wants this land secure. I cannot leave it in this condition and keep my word to the king.” Ramon drew in a deep breath. “It will not be long before the Welsh hear Richard has departed with all his knights.”

“And the lady?” Ambrose insisted. “What will she do to earn our men's labor?”

Ramon heard his man grumble, but his squire ran forward and took the helmet away from Ambrose. The distraction gave Ramon the opportunity to consider the lady in question. She was slender, which indicated Isabel did not take more for herself than she gave to others. Her honey blond hair, a color that suited her blue eyes, was braided in a long plait that hung down her back, but several locks had worked their way loose around her face to confirm she had not been sitting idle while her people toiled.

Both were sound reasons to consider wedding her. He scanned the keep and storerooms, frowning at the way they stood wide open to attack. There weren't even wooden walls to help fend off invaders by closing a gate. Only the keep and the outer buildings. Her father had clearly been a trusting fool, for the Welsh had a king who would happily take whatever he might while Richard was off on the Crusade. They were fortunate Richard was intent on crusading, or the Welsh would find themselves conquered in short order.

Much like Isabel of Camoys. It had taken only a ride up to the steps of her keep to secure her. She had looked back at him, her eyes narrowing. Something stirred in him, tightening inside him as he contemplated the stance she'd taken up on the steps of her keep. She'd taken the high ground, and the look on her face told him she intended to try and hold it.

He liked that trait. It spoke of courage.

Heat stirred in his loins.

A very unexpected reaction. She was no great beauty and wore no gown worthy of a poet's quill. Yet there was fire in her gaze; in truth, he would have sworn he felt the heat radiating off those flames. No meekly lowered lashes for Isabel of Camoys. She fully intended to hold her ground.

Yet she had no hope of evicting his men without his agreement. She was defeated, yet stubbornly standing in the doorway to bar the way.

The facts should have put him in a better humor. But he found himself dissatisfied and on edge. The source of his discontent was simple to identify. Isabel of Camoys challenged him, and he found her a worthy opponent.

His
fatal
weakness…

* * *

London

Jacques Raeburn was irritated.

It wasn't the fact that his king wouldn't grant him a private audience that agitated him. It was the smirks on the lips of the other men surrounding Richard the Lionhearted, because they knew what Richard was doing.

Jacques took a drinking bowl from his squire and drew off a slow sip before handing it back.

Patience.

It would not be the first time he needed persistence to gain what he wanted. Jacques remained with the king, making sure his monarch noticed him watching, because there was one thing that Richard truly was at heart, and that was arrogant. Richard believed himself worthy of Divine approval and, therefore, the devotion of men. The truth was, he enjoyed power as much as the next man. Stroking his ego would win Jacques what he wanted in the end. Finally, Richard lifted his hand and waved him forward, past the other knights and nobles trying to gain the king's attention.

“I wish to speak of Isabel of Camoys, Sire.”

“I did not expect you to be pleased by the elevation of Ramon de Segrave, but I will not placate you by giving you the same reward,” Richard informed him the moment they were closed behind thick oak doors.

“You mistake the cause of my reason for seeking you out, Your Majesty.”

Richard looked unsure. “Then tell me what put that frown on your face.”

Jacques hooked his hands into his belt. “Isabel of Camoys was wed to my kin.”

The king frowned. “I did not know such.”

“Her late husband was a bastard son of my father's, but blood nonetheless.” Jacques watched the king absorb the implications of his statement. “My father has charged me with wedding her and recovering the land she gained through her marriage. I seek your permission to do such.”

Richard grunted. “You've explained your dark brooding, Raeburn, but I will not take back what I have given to Ramon.”

“Did you order the lady to wed him?”

The king took a long swallow from his drinking vessel before answering. “No, I did not. As a widow, she has the right to choose.”

Jacques felt his mood lightening. “May I offer Ramon competition for the lady?”

The king chuckled and sat back in his chair. “So long as it is fairly done and without bloodshed. I need Ramon to keep this country loyal while I am in the Holy Land.”

“I would need to be on equal footing to make it an even match.”

The king pressed his lips together. “An agreement could be reached.”

There was a glint in the king's eyes Jacques recognized too well. Richard was focused on his Crusade and England was a poor country. The king was determined to wring every piece of gold out of its inhabitants. If Jacques wanted to please his father, he'd have to buy his noble title from his king, since Richard knew he wanted it now.

He resented that.

Jacques felt anger burn through him for the slight Richard was dealing him. Ramon wasn't the only one who had ridden beside his king for years, yet Richard denied Jacques the same reward.

But did it truly matter? Jacques lowered himself in submission to his king, shifting his focus onto what mattered.

A knight owed his allegiance to his blood kin. He'd please his father, as a son was bound to do by God's command. Isabel of Camoys, by the will of fate, had land that belonged to his family.

He vowed to gain it back.

* * *

“My lady, they are making camp.”

Alyse ran into the keep with her eyes wide. She pointed toward the doorway behind her. “Wagons have come, an entire line that is still arriving, and they are putting up tents.”

The other women gasped, several of them muttering prayers. But Isabel knew it was going to take more than heaven's mercy to be rid of Ramon de Segrave. Men rarely changed their agendas to please a woman. But the tension in her shoulders was eased by the fact that the army in front of her keep would surely be a deterrent to any invaders eyeing her storerooms.

Marriage to the baron was too heavy a price to keep the security his men might provide. Let him stay. The Welsh wouldn't need to know his reason, only see that his army was present.

There. She had found the blessing in the day at last. But she felt less than satisfied.

“The baron claims he is planning to remain.” There was no hiding her irritation and Alyse drew her hands up in front of her mouth.

Isabel pressed too hard on the herbs she was grinding and they scattered across the tabletop, some of them even rolling onto the floor. She made a soft sound beneath her breath that wasn't very polite. The others stared at her and she felt guilt color her cheeks for her lack of discipline. Allowing her temper to ruin anything was unacceptable.

She drew in a stiff breath. “He claims the king has recommended me to him for marriage.”

Just saying the words enraged her further. With a huff, she left the table. That gained her more shocked looks from her maids, but she couldn't seem to remain still. Her blood felt as though it were rushing through her body too quickly, and her heart was beating as though she had been running.

Such was all she needed. A man who unsettled her.

“You cannot refuse the king's will, my lamb.”

Isabel turned on Mildred so quickly her robes flared away from her ankles. “The man wants to wed me because the king gave him the land on our southern border. He is only looking to increase the size of his holding and secure it with my keep,” she muttered with a wave of her hand. “He'll soon tire of waiting on me to accept him. A baron will want a biddable wife.”

“Maybe you should be the one getting tired of being alone. You're young enough yet to have children of your own
.
”

Isabel felt her eyes widen.

Children.

Fate had truly dealt her an unkind blow in making it so none of her husband's efforts in their bed resulted in children. A babe would have made his callous touch far easier to bear.

“Aye, young enough…still,” Mildred tempted her.

“Shall I simply trust Ramon de Segrave's word about what the king has said? It's possible he is naught more than another rogue baron intent on pillaging us while the king is focused on his Crusade. I have only his word that he owns the estate south of us.” She would be wise to doubt the man. Many an heiress discovered herself wed to a man who wanted her property and had nothing of his own. “For all we know, his men have not been paid and he'll be wanting my silver too.”