Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (22 page)

“When I see her—”

“Say nothing of me, I beg you.” Auberan’s gaze faltered, and he bowed his head as if the weight of his anguish was a great burden. “Let her forget that I live.”

A proud man himself, Connor understood Auberan’s request and sympathized with it. “As you wish. God be with you, Auberan.”

“The same to you, Sir Connor.”

Dressed in a simple brown wool gown of Kiera’s, Isabelle made her way down the steps and peered into the hall. The day had dawned fair and mild. She had been in her chamber ever since her imprisonment, and was desperate to breathe the fresh air blowing in off the sea, stretch her legs and reassure herself that she was strong enough to try to escape.

She was relieved to discover that the hall was empty save for a few of the women sweeping out the filthy rushes that were full of decaying food, damp with ale and no doubt home to fleas. As they worked, they roughly nudged the sleeping hounds that got in their way, and the sleeping Brabancons who did, too.

Tense with anticipation that someone might question her, Isabelle straightened her shoulders and marched toward the door. There was, after all, no way she could sneak past the men, the women and the dogs.

None of the women said a thing. One of the hounds raised his head and growled, low in his throat. The men didn’t move.

She wondered where Osburn and Kiera were, until a sound made her look over her shoulder at the screened area. It was, she realized, the feet of a bed thumping against the floor.

Blushing, she hurried on. Of course she knew that Kiera was Osburn’s mistress, but she didn’t like this explicit reminder, just as she didn’t like becoming more and more certain that Osburn took out his temper on Kiera by beating her. He never hit Kiera’s face, apparently, but she could not disguise the bruises on her arms, and new ones appeared daily.

Kiera never spoke of them, and whenever she caught Isabelle looking at her arms, she abruptly left the chamber.

Wishing there was
something
she could do to help Kiera, Isabelle sighed as she left the hall. The sun was warm and quickly drying the remaining puddles in the courtyard. A couple of the hounds had come out to lie in the sun, and so had a few of the Brabancons. There were more on the wall walk, apparently keeping guard by leaning against the battlements and chatting.

If she tried to flee right now, she might be able to catch them unaware. She glanced at the gate. The guards there were just as lax. If she could get into the stable and take a horse, maybe she could ride out … but in the daylight, they would see her too easily for her to get far.

“A beautiful day, is it not, my lady?”

She jumped, and discovered Denis at her elbow. “Yes. Yes, it is. That’s why I came outside.”

She realized the Brabancons were starting to pay attention to her presence. “I was just taking a walk.”

“
Oui
, as was I. May I join you?”

His sly grin told her he did not completely believe her innocent explanation any more than she believed his. He had probably been on watch, as he had been during Alexander’s absence. She had underestimated Denis before he fought Heinrich; she wouldn’t do that again.

“There is something of a garden over this way,” Denis said, moving toward the kitchen. “Much neglected, of course, but there are herbs. It smells quite pleasant—a delightful change after that hall and those Brabancons, I assure you.” His dimples deepened. “If you like, I can tell you the exciting tale of how I came to be saved by Alexander from a mob of villagers.”

The
garden
sounded delightful. “Very well.”

They started ambling toward the kitchen, and Denis slid her a shrewd glance. “And the wall there is very strong and easily seen by the men nearest the gate on the wall walk, so you will not be able to escape me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Of course you would,” he replied without rancor. “I think Alexander has considered tying you to a chair because that is the only way he can be completely sure you will not try to run away again.”

“I have given him my word.”

“Have you, indeed? Well, well, perhaps we are wrong and you will be content to wait until the ransom is paid.”

She said no more, and she was relieved when he did not, either.

They reached the remnants of the kitchen garden, and she discovered Denis was right. The air was scented with rosemary, thyme and lavender, a very welcome change. She also spotted what appeared to be boneset and ladies’ bedstraw. However, it was difficult to tell exactly what was growing there, for the beds were a mess and the paths virtually nonexistent. A wooden bench stood near the middle of the garden. Rain had smoothed the edges, and it no longer looked strong enough for anyone to sit on. Despite that, this place was easily the most pleasant spot in the fortress, especially in the warmth of the sun.

Even better, she did not find walking tiring at all. Of course, she had not gone far and she was not being chased.

“Where is Alexander?” she asked as they wandered down the side closest to the kitchen. “I did not see him in the courtyard.”

“He has other business.”

Such as?
she wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to reveal any interest in him. “So you are to be my protector against the Brabancons again?”

“Or you are to protect me,” Denis replied with a chuckle as he bent down and picked a spray of lavender. He presented it to her with a gentlemanly bow. “If there is trouble, he can be here quickly.”

As the scent of the lavender filled her nostrils, Isabelle wondered if Alexander was with one of those disgusting women whose most important purpose was obviously to accommodate the mercenaries whenever and wherever they wanted.

The Gascon chuckled softly as he picked another spray and tucked it behind his ear. “
Non
, my lady, he is not with a woman.”

She started and flushed with embarrassment. “I was thinking no such thing!”

“Of course you were, and why not? Those women slaver after him like dogs after a haunch of venison. I assure you, he does not return the feeling.”

She began walking along the edge of the garden again. “I wouldn’t care if he did.”

They turned the corner and made their way down what was left of a path. She tried not to ask, but her curiosity got the better of her. “So, where is he then?”

“Teaching a lesson.”

Of all things, she did believe Alexander DeFrouchette was a scholar. “What sort of lesson?”

“He is showing one of the Brabancons what can happen if he speaks disparagingly of an honorable woman.”

Isabelle came to an abrupt halt and stared at Denis. “Do you mean to tell me he’s defending my honor?”

Denis shrugged. “He has his notions of honor, too, my lady.”

She jabbed the lavender at Denis. “So
now
he decides to be honorable?” She let loose a curse that made Denis’s eyes widen. “It would have been better if he had had such scruples when he came to Bellevoire.”

“He
does
have scruples,” Denis protested. “I thought you would be pleased—”

She didn’t want to hear what he thought. “Where is this battle over my honor taking place? Not in the courtyard, obviously.”

Denis looked truly distressed. “He will be angry with me if I tell you.”

“
I
will be if you don’t!”

“Why are you haranguing my friend?”

She whirled around, to see Alexander standing at the far end of the garden, his hair an untidy mess and his tunic slung over his shoulder. Sweat glistened on his naked chest and trickled down the sides of his face. His snug breeches clung to his muscular legs, and she could see a bruise forming on his taut torso.

He had a magnificent body, even better than Connor’s. Her blood, already hot with anger, grew hotter yet with something else, something that made the memory of his embrace explode in her consciousness.

She forced that away as she marched toward him straight through the tangled mess of plants. “Where have you been?”

She silently cursed again. God help her, she sounded for all the world like an anxious wife.

Alexander wiped his face with his tunic. “It seems Denis has already told you.”

“Yes. And there was no reason for you to do that. As if I care what a Brabancon says about me! They are all louts and for you to risk your life—”

“If you will both excuse me,” Denis murmured, “I will take my leave of you.”

“No!” Isabelle cried.

She wished she had kept quiet as both of them looked at her with some surprise—but she certainly didn’t want to be alone with a half-naked Alexander DeFrouchette.

“I do not wish to interfere in your little … spat,” Denis said innocently.

“We are not having a spat!” Isabelle retorted, not for a moment taken in by his feigned innocence. “I just want him to know there is no need to put himself at risk over such a thing.” She glared at Alexander. “After all, you are the person who is supposed to take me home. What if you are killed? Do you think Osburn will abide by the agreement with Connor?”

Alexander finally put on his tunic. “There was little chance of my demise.”

She crossed her arms. “Your arrogance astonishes me—
again
.”

“Oh, but it is not arrogance, my lady!” Denis said. “He is so excellent a fighter, he will never be defeated.” Denis took hold of her arm and led her toward the very rickety-looking bench. “Now come, why do we not forget this unpleasantness and enjoy the day? You are well, my lady, Alexander has only a few bruises … and I suppose the other fellow—?” He looked pointedly at Alexander.

“A broken leg, a few gashes. Nothing overly serious.”

Denis’s smile beamed. “There—little harm done and they will all think twice before they say such things again.” Denis made a sweepingly gallant bow when they got to the bench. “Sit, please, my lady, and I will tell you the story I promised.”

She did, delicately. She slid further back when it seemed the bench would not collapse beneath her. Denis wisely did not risk adding to its burden; he sat cross-legged at her feet.

Alexander stood a short distance away. “What story is this?”

“How we met.”

Her eyes widened with surprise when Alexander rolled his eyes. Then he, too, sat on the ground and calmly and deliberately removed his swordbelt and laid it beside him. “I had better stay, or who knows what embellishments you’ll add.”

Apparently not at all disturbed by Alexander’s implications about his honesty, Denis shrugged. “As you wish,” he said brightly. “Before I met Alexander, I was traveling with a small troupe of entertainers—jugglers, troubadours, a fortune-teller and tumblers.
I
was a tumbler. We were the best troupe in Europe and performed at many feasts and festivals. When we were not employed by a nobleman at such times, we traveled from village to village bringing sunshine and laughter into the dreary lives of the villagers.”

Alexander snorted.

Denis looked mightily affronted at both the interruption and the implication. “Well, we did!”

“There were five of you, three men and two women, and you were terrible. I swear you fell down every time.”

“That is because Alphonse was an idiot! He was never in the right place to catch me.”

Alexander gave Isabelle a skeptical look, and she had to smile.

“I tell you, it is a miracle I am not dead from landing on my head!”

“That’s true,” Alexander solemnly agreed. “They were the most pathetic group of performers I have ever seen.”

“Enough about my troupe. She wants to hear about how you saved my life.”

“Yes, I do,” Isabelle concurred.

“In that case, perhaps
I
should tell the story,” Alexander said. “Otherwise, we will probably be here until the middle of the night.”

“Very well,” Denis said with a wave of his hand. “You tell it—and if you don’t bore her to sleep, I will be most impressed.”

As Isabelle looked at Alexander DeFrouchette sitting so casually on the ground before her, his hair wild and the memory of his virile body so close to the surface of her mind, she doubted she would ever find him boring.

“Denis and his fellows were in a village performing on the green,” Alexander began, “when a baker suddenly noticed several loaves of his bread were missing. At nearly the same time, he spotted one of the women from the troupe stuffing a loaf down her dress.”

“That was part of her costume,” Denis protested, as if Isabelle was about to accuse him of theft right then and there. “Giselle is small there and always wants to look bigger.”

“You must admit, Denis,” Alexander said, “that looked very suspicious. And you shouldn’t have called the villagers those colorful names when they accused you all of theft. Still, I thought you were going to talk your way out of the mess, especially after you offered to pay the baker.”

He addressed Isabelle. “Unfortunately, the butcher and a few others who kept calling them Gypsies were not inclined to be merciful, so they ran. There was very nearly a riot as the whole village started after them.”

Unable to resist, Denis picked up the story. “The others managed to get to the wagons and away, but I was on foot and I fell. They left me, and I was the best tumbler they had. Can you imagine? Then the crowd fell upon me, beating me with sticks and their fists. I was certain I was about to meet God face to face, when suddenly, the crowd parts like the Red Sea and there is Alexander. He reaches down, pulls me up and says,”—Denis lowered his voice to a very dramatic and stentorian tone—“‘Whoever next lays a hand on this man will have to answer to
me
!’”