Knight of Pleasure (24 page)

She saw first one rider, then another leave the cover of the wood. “God, no, please, no.”

They rode straight toward the abbey. She waited, muscles taut, to count them. Four, five, six. Their line strung out, the
space between increasing with each horse that left the wood. She read reluctance in their slow trot. Still, they came. Ten,
eleven, twelve.

She must warn the men below.

She cast one last look in the direction from which Stephen would come, willing him to be there.

God be praised! Stephen was coming!

The riders cresting the faraway hill were no more than dots on the horizon. They were twice the distance from the abbey as
the others, but they swept down the hill, moving fast.

Isobel flew down the narrow stairs.

“He comes! He comes!” she shouted as she ran across the sanctuary to Jamie and FitzAlan.

“The men who attacked us are returning,” she said when she reached them. “But Stephen rides hard behind them.”

FitzAlan pulled himself up on one elbow with a grimace, then commenced to fire questions at her. “What is the distance between
them? How many men in each?”

Feeling like one of his soldiers, she gave him her report. She was rewarded with a nod of approval.

“Stephen will chase them off,” FitzAlan said, “but we’d better get to the gate on the chance he needs help.”

Despite Jamie’s efforts to hold him down, the fool man tried to heave himself up.

“Lord FitzAlan, lie down at once!” she said, standing over him, hands on her hips. “I shall not forgive you if you reopen
that wound and bleed to death after all we’ve been through.”

“Geoffrey and I can hold the gate until Stephen comes,” Jamie said, his voice quiet and sure.

FitzAlan and Jamie locked eyes. Then FitzAlan gave his son a tight nod.

As Jamie ran past her, he squeezed her arm in thanks.

“Take me outside where I can see,” FitzAlan shouted at some monks hovering nearby.

Four of them rushed to do his bidding. At his insistence, they carried his pallet out the door and propped him up against
the wall. The monks almost knocked Isobel over in their haste to get back inside the church.

She sat down beside FitzAlan. From their high spot, she could see over the abbey’s wall to the first rise beyond.

Looking out, she said, “There is fresh blood on your bandage.”

“I’ve fought in worse shape.”

FitzAlan’s sword lay beside him on the pallet; his hand was on the hilt. If the need arose, FitzAlan would find the strength
to charge down the hill, sword swinging. She had no doubt of it.

If it came to that, she would go with him.

Over the chanting of the monks’ prayers inside the church, she heard the faint sounds of shouts and galloping horses. She
jumped to her feet. As the sounds grew louder, she rose on her tiptoes, straining to see. A group of riders broke over the
hill. A moment later they streaked past, riding along the wall of the abbey and into the woods on the other side.

Then a second, larger group came thundering over the hill. As they rode in front of the abbey, the lead rider broke away and
waved the others on. It was Stephen; she knew it before he rode through the gate. He pulled off his helmet and looked up the
hill, his eyes searching, until he found her.

Now that the danger was past, she felt tears welling up. She remembered how Stephen comforted her after the killing in the
wood. How she longed for that now! To feel his arms so tight around her she could not breathe. To hear him mutter soothing,
senseless words into her hair. She clenched her fists until the nails dug into her palms, to keep from running to him.

Stephen tossed his reins to Jamie. With a lightness that belied his long journey and heavy armor, he trotted up the hill.
Afore God, he was a beautiful man, with the sun glinting off his armor and shining on his hair.

But he was coming straight for her. Panic seized her as she saw the intention in his eyes. Surely he knew better than to embrace
her here, in front of everyone? Did he not care if they all knew?

As he came near, she took a quick step back and said in a voice much too loud, “Your brother is able to sit up, as you can
see, Sir Stephen!”

Had she truly said that? After he rode through the night and back again to save them?

“Thank you. Thank you so very much.” Her words fell awkwardly from her lips, showing her for the idiot that she was.

Stephen raised an eyebrow, but he came no closer.

Now that she knew he was not going to do anything foolish, she wanted to say something more to acknowledge his feat. “I—I
saw you coming from the church roof.”

He leaned his head back and squinted up at the church, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Watching for me, were
you, now?”

Isobel glanced down at FitzAlan. Could the man not save her from further embarrassment and offer some word of greeting?

When she noticed the sheen of sweat on FitzAlan’s brow, she dropped to her knees beside him.
Where is the old monk?
She looked about but did not see him.

“How are you, William?” Stephen’s voice above her was soft, worried.

FitzAlan was saved from answering by the arrival of Jamie and Geoffrey.

“Better late than never,” Jamie said, slapping Stephen on the back.

Stephen gave Jamie a puzzled look. “Late?”

“These same men attacked us at dawn,” Jamie said. “Geoffrey and I sent them running like scared rabbits.”

“This was God’s doing, not ours,” Geoffrey said.

Stephen looked from one to the other. The light left his eyes as he realized they were not having a joke on him.

“Forgive me, I came as fast as I could.”

“You came when you were needed,” Jamie said. “We could not have held them a second time.”

Stephen did not look any happier.

“One of the men lived long enough to confess,” Jamie said. “They meant to sack the abbey, murder all the monks, and blame
the English army.”

FitzAlan dozed off before Jamie was done giving Stephen a full account.

“He is bleeding through the bandage again,” Isobel said, looking up at Stephen.

Stephen sent Jamie and Geoffrey to fetch the old monk and knelt beside her. “How bad is he?”

“He has lost too much blood,” she said. “He is weaker than he would have us know.”

S
tephen’s men gave up the pursuit and returned shortly. Their mission was to return FitzAlan to Caen as quickly as possible.
Within an hour, the horses were watered and fed, the men had eaten, and FitzAlan’s wound was freshly bound.

Isobel found Stephen supervising four men loading FitzAlan’s litter onto a cart. To her relief, FitzAlan was awake and complaining
loudly that he could “damn well ride.” Still, the pallor of his skin made her anxious.

When she touched Stephen’s arm, he turned and fixed worried eyes on her. He looked tired. She wondered if he’d had time to
sleep at all.

“Thank you for the gown,” she said. “ ’Twas very kind of you to bring it.”

With all he had to do in his short time in Caen in the night, how had he thought to retrieve a gown for her? He saved her
a good deal of embarrassment. Monks might try to avert their eyes, but soldiers were another matter. It would have been a
long ride back with all the men staring at her legs.

Stephen acknowledged her thanks with a nod. “I want you to ride in the cart with William,” he said in a low voice. “He will
not fight you as he would Jamie or me.”

“Of course.”

Her breath caught as Stephen placed his hands on her waist. When he hesitated, she sensed he wanted to pull her against him
as much as she wanted him to do it. Then her feet left the ground, and she was beside FitzAlan in the cart.

The journey back to Caen took forever. Though Fitz-Alan did not complain of the pain, he flinched each time a bump in the
road jarred his wound. She tried to get him to rest.

The usually taciturn man, however, was set on passing the time talking with her. Since it seemed to distract him, she gave
in. He plied her with questions until she told him every detail of what happened the day before, after he was hit with the
arrow.

FitzAlan closed his eyes, a smile on his face. “There is no man I’d rather have at my back in a fight than Stephen.”

“Aye,” she said, “he was a wonder to see.”

FitzAlan opened his eyes a slit. “My brother has the heart of a hero, always has,” he rasped. “He only wants for opportunity
to show it.”

She wondered why it was so important to FitzAlan she understand this. Speaking cost him considerable effort.

“A man could not do better for a brother or a friend,” he said, ignoring her attempts to shush him.

Despite the pain he was in, she did not think these were the ramblings of an addled mind. FitzAlan’s speech seemed to be directed
to some purpose, but what?

She thought he was finally drifting off to sleep, when he spoke again. “He will make some woman a fine husband one day.”

As she wiped his brow, she muttered under her breath, “If a woman does not mind sharing.”

His ears were sharper than she credited. When his bark of laughter turned into a groan of pain, she regretted her remark.

As she leaned over him to check his bandage, he opened his eyes again. They were honest eyes, the color of golden amber.

“ ’Tis only the follies of a young man,” he said between harsh breaths. “Stephen needs—”

“Lord FitzAlan, please, you must lie still.” His wound was bleeding again, and she was truly worried. “We shall speak no more
now. You must be quiet and rest.”

He closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “Catherine… she would like you. I promised… Catherine… I would come home…”

’Twas true, then. The great commander did love his wife. Isobel could hear it in his voice. This was not the offhand affection
most men felt for their wives. This Catherine was the joy of his life. The reason he wanted to go home again.

Tears stung at the back of Isobel’s eyes. Perhaps it was all the emotions of the last two days hitting her now. It seemed
a lifetime since she left Caen, so much had happened. She was so tired! And worried half to death about FitzAlan.

“Isobel.” It was Stephen’s voice.

She wiped her eyes and turned around to where he’d drawn his horse next to the cart.

“Are we near Caen yet?” she asked, her voice breaking. “I fear he grows worse, and there is little I can do for him here.”

Stephen’s face was grave as he looked at his brother. “Another hour, perhaps. We cannot go faster with the cart.”

Isobel sensed the tension beneath the calm of his voice.

“Take Jamie and a few others ahead,” Stephen called out to the nearest man. “Get a physician and have a room prepared at the
castle for Lord FitzAlan.”

She understood Stephen’s purpose. He did not want Jamie to see how grave FitzAlan’s condition was before they had him safely
inside the city walls.

Stephen rode beside the cart for the remainder of the journey, but they spoke little. When at last they reached the city,
the king’s own physician was waiting at the gate. The elegantly dressed man waved at the driver not to stop and leapt into
the moving cart.

“To the keep!” the physician called out as he began to examine his patient.

Jamie was waiting at the steps to the keep. Before she knew it, he and Stephen lifted FitzAlan’s litter and carried him inside
the keep. The physician trotted behind in their wake.

Quite suddenly, Isobel found herself alone, relieved of responsibility. She leaned back and let out a long breath. Now that
the ordeal was over, she felt so weary! She could not convince herself to rise and get out of the cart.

“Lady Hume.”

She opened her eyes to see King Henry and Robert standing beside the cart. It was the king who had spoken.

“Thank you for caring for my good friend,” King Henry said, holding his hand out to her.

She glanced at her blood-encrusted nails. When she hesitated, the king flustered her completely by lifting her bodily from
the cart. It was easy to forget the king was a strong and athletic young man.

“Thank God you are safe,” Robert said, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek. The lines on his handsome face had deepened
since she saw him last. “Until Stephen returned last night, I could only guess what happened to you.”

Her heart constricted as she realized she was the reason he looked so haggard. “I am sorry I worried you.”

“That little Linnet, I wanted to strangle her,” Robert said. “I could not squeeze a word out of her.”

Despite his words, Robert sounded impressed.

“I can see you are weary from your ordeal,” the king said and held his arm out for her to walk with him. “But as soon as you
are rested, you must tell us everything that happened.”

“As you wish, sire.” What would the king want to know from her that Jamie or Stephen could not tell him?

“Women often notice things that men do not,” the king said.

“Try to recall every detail you can about the men who attacked you—horses, clothes, weapons. An unusual piece of jewelry.
Anything that might reveal who these fiends are.”

“I shall do my best, Your Highness.”

“We must learn who these men are,” he said, biting off each word. “These cowards who would lie in wait to murder my commander
and commit sacrilege
in my name.
”

She could feel his rage vibrating through her fingers resting on his arm.

“I shall have their heads on pikes.” More calmly, he said, “You shall tell Robert everything you can remember. Later, I may
wish to question you again myself.”

Exhausted as she was, she could not help noticing the king and Robert were on friendlier terms than she thought. ’Twas odd,
too, that the king relied upon Robert to help discover the identity of the attackers.

Just what role did Robert play for the king?

Perhaps she underestimated Robert, just as she had Stephen. There was more to both men than met the eye.

I
sobel awoke weighed down by guilt. There seemed no end to the consequences of her rash decision. FitzAlan was injured, Robert’s
feelings were hurt, Linnet was barely speaking to her. She hardly knew where to start making amends.