Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (27 page)

“Isabelle?”

She inclined her head with haughty dignity. “My lord.”

Alexander could not believe his ears. Her name was
Isabelle?

Oswald whirled on his son. “You fool, what have you done? This is not Lady Allis! This is Isabelle, her sister, you dolt!”

Alexander felt as if a mace had crashed into his head. Yet if she was Lady Allis’s sister, that would explain so much. The intimate looks back at Bellevoire.

And why he did not believe she loved Sir Connor.

Why hadn’t she told him?

Because she was your prisoner. Because you stole her away. Because being an intelligent woman, she would fear what dishonest men would do if they realized they had erred
.

To her, you are such a man
.

Oswald grabbed Osburn’s tunic and hauled him to his feet. The action jolted Alexander out of his stunned immobility, while Kiera squeaked with alarm, and shocked mutters arose from the Brabancons and serving wenches.

They did not need an audience. “Get out,” Alexander ordered them, not waiting for Oswald or Osburn to do so.

“Yes, go,” Oswald seconded, releasing his son.

The women and soldiers quickly obeyed as Osburn, coughing and spluttering, tried to regain his balance. Kiera scurried behind the screen. As for Lady Isabelle, she did nothing at all except stand there, resolute and dignified.

As distraught as a chastised child in the midst of a tantrum, Osburn jabbed his finger at Alexander. “It was
him
!
He
brought her!
He
made the mistake.” He pointed to his chest. “
I
stayed at the ship.”

“Yes, you did,” Alexander agreed. “My friend and I took all the risk and went into Bellevoire. You stayed in the ship and drank.”

“I was keeping watch!” Osburn screeched, flecks of spittle at the corner of his lips. “Don’t you try to blame me!” He looked back at his father. “I’ve never seen Lady Allis. You always made us stay at home. You never let us travel or visit, or go to court. How could I know he’d got the wrong woman?”

Not bothering to answer his son, Oswald turned his stern visage toward Alexander. “Explain to me how this happened.”

“Since this may take some time, my lord,” the lady quite calmly interrupted, “I believe I shall sit down.”

And so she did, without waiting for either approval or censure.

“Let us
all
sit down,” Oswald said with some semblance of his normal, seemingly kindhearted manner, as if he was beginning to regain his self-restraint.

But now Alexander saw that manner for what it was: a mask.

Osburn sullenly threw himself into the chair beside his father. Alexander sat on the bench nearest him, by the wall, until Oswald imperiously pointed at the chair beside the lady. “There, Alexander, so that I can hear you.”

I am part of a noble circle at last
, Alexander thought as he did as he was commanded. It was a mockery of what he had dreamt of for so long, but he had brought this upon himself by aligning himself with such men.

He saw with a horrible clarity how Oswald had used him, working on his wounded pride and shame, luring him with what he most wanted. Preying on his weakness, until Oswald got what he wanted.

Was it any wonder that with such confederates, his grand plan to have vengeance on the man he believed had wronged him lay in ruins?

Even the lady wasn’t who he thought she was—a jest of God, perhaps, or the ultimate proof that he was nothing but a blind fool, after all.

Oswald laced his fingers over his stomach. “Well, Alexander, explain.”

He did, without emotion or inflection, like a child reciting a lesson he had learned by rote. “When I saw her in the market at Bellevoire, it was obvious by her dress and manner that she was a noble lady. Since she looked precisely as you described and was talking and laughing with Sir Connor in what seemed an intimate manner, I believed she was Lady Allis. You never told me the lady had a sister.” He allowed more than a hint of disapproval to creep into his voice. “Indeed, my lord, there were
many
things you never told me. Nor did she say she was
not
Lady Allis before we sailed away.”

“What would have happened if I had?” she demanded of Oswald, ignoring Alexander. “I doubt I would have been set free. Your son would probably have killed me or sold me to Ingar.”

Alexander felt a small measure of gratitude that she charged Osburn with being capable of such things, not him.

“Then you might have gone after Allis again,” she continued, “and that I could not risk.”

Oswald slid Alexander a shrewd, searching look. “Tell me, Alexander, how was it that this grave error was not discovered when you took the ransom demand to Bellevoire?”

“Neither Sir Connor nor Lady Allis ever gave any indication that the woman I was speaking of was not Sir Connor’s wife.”

“You see?” Osburn cried, straightening. “I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know. I kept her here just as you told me to and—”

“Shut your mouth, Osburn,” his father snapped as he rubbed his chin. “Your sniveling is making my head ache. An error has been made, and now I must consider what is to be done.”

Sweat trickled down Alexander’s back. He did not fear for what might happen to him if he incurred Oswald’s displeasure; he didn’t particularly care. His concern was for Allis—Isabelle.

He glanced at her, seemingly so calm and resolute, but he knew her well enough to note the extreme stiffness in her posture and the defiant thrust of her chin, which kept it from trembling. She was afraid and trying mightily to hide it.

I have given my word that I would keep you safe, my lady
, he silently promised, determined to keep his word so he could retain some small measure of self-respect.
I will do so to my last breath. And I will get you home
.

“Why must anything be done?” he asked Oswald. “Sir Connor knew, if we did not, that we had his sister-in-law and not his wife, yet he has offered to pay the ransom nonetheless. Why change anything now? I shall take her back, collect the ransom and return here, where we will split it as we agreed and go our separate ways.”

“Yes, why change anything?” Osburn cried eagerly, obviously forgetting his father’s command to hold his tongue. “Of course he’ll pay.”

Once again Oswald looked at his son, but this time, his gaze was more speculative than annoyed as he ostensibly addressed Isabelle. “You are not yet married, are you, Isabelle? Or even betrothed? I’m sure your dowry will be considerable.” Oswald steepled his fingers and rested them against his full lips as he mused aloud. “Ransom, dowry, what does it matter what it is called?”

Alexander couldn’t breathe as the import of the man’s words hit him like a slap across his face.

Her face flushed, Lady Isabelle shot to her feet. “I would rather die than marry your son!”

A rage and horror nearly blinding in its force filled Alexander, and he stood so abruptly his chair fell backward, crashing against the stones of the floor. “It was ransom that we planned,” he reminded Oswald, his words fierce and full of the ire sweeping through him. “A temporary captivity—and she was not to be harmed!”

Oswald smiled indulgently, as if they were a pair of squabbling children. “Ah, the excitability of youth! And you, my lady, so quick to choose death! Really, my dear, you should think before you speak. There would be advantages to marrying my son.” His expression hardened. “The first, of course, is that you would not die.”

He looked at Alexander, and the expression in his eyes altered to one of greedy conspiracy. “As for you, my young DeFrouchette, what does it matter what happens to her as long as you get your money, and I arrange for your knighthood—as we agreed?”

“I did not agree to
this
, and I will not be party to this change of plan.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Osburn said, his father’s new scheme having revived his bravado.

Oswald paid his son no heed as he ran a long, slow gaze over Alexander. “You claimed that you were immune to the lady’s charms. I was referring to Lady Allis, but this young lady has obvious temptations of her own. Your father thought so, too. Did she tell you how she offered to marry him in her sister’s stead?”

Stunned, Alexander faced her. “Is this true?”

Her eyes blazed as she straightened her shoulders. “Yes. I offered myself to your father so that my sister would be free to marry the man she loves. Oswald can twist it and make my offer sound sordid, but that is the reason and I am not ashamed of it. I would do it again.”

So it was true—and yet after hearing her explanation he was no longer surprised. She had the strength to make that kind of sacrifice, or any that she felt necessary.

“I think you will see the wisdom of living and becoming Osburn’s wife,” Oswald replied, smiling a little smile that was monstrous in its callousness. “After all, this marriage will guarantee that I will leave your sister and her husband and even that brat of a brother of yours alone. You would have my word on it, because we would be family then.”

“I am not a fool to trust the word of a man like you.”

Alexander did not, either.

“I am glad to hear it. What man wants a fool for a daughter-in-law, especially when his son is fool enough already?”

Osburn muttered something, but his father continued without pause. “However, you have no choice but to trust me, for if you do not become my son’s wife, you will die, and I will most certainly go after the rest of your family.”

“I could kill your son as he slept.”

“Father!” Osburn whined.

“Osburn, leave us. Do something useful. Go to the kitchen and make sure they’re not burning the meat.”

“You can’t send me away—”

“I can and I will. Go!”

As the father and son glared at each other, the one old and powerful, the other young and weak, Alexander’s hand moved toward the hilt of his weapon, tempted to strike them both down—but then how would he get the lady from this place, as he must? Even if he succeeded in killing Osburn and Oswald both, there were still the Brabancons in the courtyard and at the gate.

He could not abandon Denis, either. The Brabancons might kill him out of revenge, or Ingar might take him to sell as a slave.

After a moment’s useless glaring, Osburn slunk away, heading toward the kitchen as his father commanded.

“Now, where were we?” Oswald asked brightly, as if they were discussing an upcoming feast or festival. “Ah, yes. Why all this fuss, Isabelle? You were willing to marry Rennick for your family’s sake. What is so different here?”

“It was
my
decision to make.”

Oswald shook his head as if she were a little girl making silly demands. “That is the trouble with women. They want to make decisions, although we all know they act with their heart, not their head. So much trouble could have been avoided if your sister had not betrayed Rennick with that Welshman.”

“She fell in love with Connor, and it was not wrong of her to listen to her heart.”

Oswald
tsk
ed. “But it was very convenient for her, and her lover, too, when Rennick was accused of being a traitor by Sir Connor and they were rewarded with his estate. Isn’t that right, Alexander?”

Alexander no longer cared what had happened in the past. All he could think of was Lady Allis’s—Isabelle’s—future, and he could not bear the thought of her being forced to be Osburn’s wife. To be his chattel. To share his bed.

Once more his hand moved toward the hilt of his sword, and again his hand itched to strike a fatal blow. “I have nothing to say about matters of the heart, my lord. I do about honor, though, and if you force this marriage, you will have broken faith with me. Think carefully, my lord, before you do that.”

Oswald didn’t bat an eye or lose that disgusting smile. “I remind you, DeFrouchette, I am still a powerful man and you are still the unacknowledged bastard son of a traitor to the king of England. If you break with me, that is all you will ever be. Are you willing to accept that, and all for the sake of the sister of the couple who destroyed your chance before?”

Silently, fervently, praying that Alexander would break his allegiance to Oswald, Isabelle held her breath as she waited for him to answer. She saw the struggle in his eyes, the very way he stood.

“No, my lord. As you so wisely point out, I would be a fool to pass up the opportunity you offer, and I have been made a fool enough already.”

She sank back in her chair as he marched from the room, leaving her alone with the wolves. In spite of everything, she had hoped he would stand with her against Oswald. A foolish hope, obviously, and yet…

And yet she had forgotten that she had always been a prisoner here, a thing to be bargained for.

Oswald laughed with malicious glee as the door to the courtyard banged shut. “Poor fellow—he is so like his father, whom he hates so very much even though the man is dead. But then, I think you know that better than I, my lady.”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? Then he has not been swayed by your charms after all? Amazing. I would have said that like his late, unlamented father, he wanted very much to love and be loved. The baron’s great weakness was his love for your sister even though she spurned him.” Oswald’s beady black eyes gleamed with more malice and triumph, and only her courage and defiance kept her from fleeing the room.