Siege Of the Heart (22 page)

Perhaps if she had let her father arrange for her happiness well before now... No. She had not been ready then, no more than she was presently. And even if she had married some English lord, he would have been called to fight for Harold and stripped of his lands if he had managed to survive Hastings. If he had died, she would have been forced to remarry so her dower lands—her family’s lands—would have gone to a Norman. The same situation she faced now.

She flicked the reins, thinking back on yesterday morning. Matilde had been tearful when they made their goodbyes. The elderly woman even offered to travel with them to provide Isabel support. Isabel knew the trip would be too much for her, but she was still touched by the gesture.

Instead, Isabel merely had shaken her head at Matilde’s protests, given the older woman a hug. “I need you here.”

Matilde had squeezed her hands in reply. “Be happy.”

Isabel had not been able to hide a grimace at those words as she had straightened and turned to mount her horse, and the same expression marred her face now. What would make her happy at this point? She did not know. Too much had changed, and Isabel doubted she could be the shining example her people needed right now. She locked away her bitterness and pain with the rest of the grief the past few weeks had brought her.

Despite her heavy thoughts, it was too easy to slip back into the madness that always consumed her in Alexandre’s arms. When her morose musings became too much, she found herself remembering his words, his caresses, his kisses… She was embarrassed by her response to his continual assault on her senses, but she still craved so much more.

She recognized she could come to love him, and the thought added to her despair. He must know it too. It explained why he refused to leave her alone even though he, of all people, would know what William planned for unwed English heiresses. However, the promise they had together could be nothing more, since she would be the sacrificial lamb for one of William’s knights. And she would not complicate matters by realizing the potential of one lover while being legally bound to another.

They rounded a bend in the road bordered by forest. The mud stretched on in front of them, no public house in sight. Isabel tried not to let her disappointment show. After an already long day of riding, she was eager for a break. Every time she moved, moisture seeped past her traveling cloak and further chilled her.

Alex steered his horse closer to hers so they were side by side. He held the reins in his left hand while with the right, he idly tapped the pommel of his sword. Still plagued by her treacherous thoughts, she did not want to acknowledge him. She kept her eyes straight ahead and willed Alex to move on, but he stayed with her, his silence disconcerting as the rain fell around them. Like her clothing, things between them were saturated, but with conflicting emotions, need and duty. Surely he felt it. She was growing tired of their games. It was past time for plain speaking.

An irritated growl escaped her, and she tightened her hands on the reins. “Please say whatever you have mind to,” she snapped. She finally turned to him, surprised to find he was not even looking at her.

He raised his hand for silence, momentary annoyance flashing across his face. “Quiet,” he whispered as he scoured the woods lining the road.

Isabel bristled at his dismissal. “Why—”

An arrow passed by her face with an unmistakable whoosh and became wedged in a nearby tree.

“Get down!” Alex grabbed her shoulder and forced her closer to Hardwin’s neck so she would present a smaller target.

Alex’s men urged their horses into a tight formation with a precise combination of commands using both their reins and the pressure of their legs to direct the animals. They circled around Isabel and Alex’s mounts, holding their kite-shaped shields in from of them.

The men swiveled their heads, trying to locate the threat. Isabel’s heartbeat drummed in her ears. Was there just one archer or more men hiding in the trees looming over either side of the road? Rain rolled down the men’s helmets, dripping onto their chins and into the neck of their hauberks.
 

Alex drew his sword from his scabbard, and the rest of the men followed his example. He ordered two of the men to scout out the woods on either side of the road. Before they could dismount, more arrows whistled through the air, bouncing off the knights’ armor. Isabel, without mail, did not welcome the thought of having another arrow lodged in her body. And so soon.

Their attackers broke from the trees and came at them on foot, brandishing swords. Had Alex somehow known of the threat? Was that why he took up position by her?

Averill screamed. The knights on the perimeter spurred their horses forward. Alex commanded Hugh to protect Isabel and her servant, then his mount surged into the fray. Captain Thomas also stayed behind as the rest of the Normans engaged their attackers.

The arrows lessened. There was no question their attackers were English, given their clothes and shouts. Two men wielded axes while the rest relied on swords. She knew Alex and his men could not afford to be lenient on their attackers, but English retaliation against their conquerors was to be expected. She only hoped to avoid fighting against her father’s soldiers and vassals.

“Do you recognize any of them?” she asked Captain Thomas in French.

“No, my lady.”

“Very well.” His words confirmed her assessment of the situation. She straightened and readied her blade, waiting uneasily for the moment she would need to act.

Averill whimpered, her knuckles white where she clutched the reins.
 

“It will be all right. Just mind Captain Thomas,” Isabel said to her.

“I thought we got rid of these English fiends at Hastings,” Hugh said beside her. She gave him a sharp look, but now was not the time for an argument.

“Probably what’s left of Harold’s forces,” Captain Thomas allowed.

“Rebels, then?” Hugh asked.

Captain Thomas nodded and adjusted his shield.

The English were surprisingly nimble against the mounted Norman knights. The road was only so wide, which made it difficult for Alex and his men to wheel their mounts around to attack.

Captain Thomas’s muttered curse tore Isabel’s gaze from the spectacle. She shifted in her seat to see what had caught his attention along the road behind them. More men poured out of the woods to surround them. “Stay here,” she said to Averill.

“My lady, wait—”

Captain Thomas’s words were lost as she urged her horse forward to engage the closest rebel. Dressed as a foot soldier, he wore a simple leather tunic that provided scant protection. He had no shield and only a rude blade to defend himself, but that did not stop him from meeting her first strike.

He pulled back to take another swing at her. She saw the blow coming and blocked it, knocking the man off-balance. Her sword plunged into his shoulder. He screamed, his eyes impossibly wide, as she wrenched it back. A threat no longer. She tried to tell herself she had no choice but to defend herself against her countrymen.

Hugh caught up to her and kicked his horse into a gallop, scattering the other renegades. Captain Thomas matched blows with an axe-wielding rebel. Isabel cringed each time the blade struck Thomas’s shield with a sickening metallic clank.

She braved a glance over her shoulder. Alex and his men had largely dispatched the initial wave of attackers. Some rebels had fallen back to the woods while the rest were strewn around the road, their tunics stained with blood, rainwater and mud.

She whirled around. Hugh was now too far away for comfort, grappling with three Englishmen. Captain Thomas still traded blows with his opponent but seemed to be holding his own. Isabel urged her mount closer to Alex’s shield bearer.

A particularly cruel blow to his arm nearly knocked Hugh from his seat. With a yell, she launched an attack on the nearest man. He pivoted away from Hugh to defend himself. The impact rattled up to her shoulder as she slammed her blade against his. Her old injury smarted, and she stifled a groan.

Hugh’s sudden cry wrenched her attention away from her opponent. She watched helplessly as an Englishman hauled Hugh out of his saddle. Her breath left her in a rush. Just like poor Edgar had been dragged off his horse when the Welsh had attacked her and her men. She had not been able to help the unfortunate Englishman, but she vowed in that moment to protect Hugh.

She tightened her hand around her sword.

* * * *

After a brutal kick to the head, the last rebel sank to the ground, but Alex was not ready to celebrate. He urged his mount around and sought out Isabel. His stomach clenched at the sight of his hapless shield bearer unhorsed and in no position to protect her. Alex cursed. The fiends had tried to trap them on both fronts.

He dug his heels into his horse’s sides.
 

Before he could render aid, Isabel was there, commanding her mount to rear in an impressive show of horsemanship. The animal’s flailing hooves caught Hugh’s attacker in the shoulder. The man dropped like a sack of flour, rolling away to avoid the horse as it came down on all fours. Heedless of the fallen Englishman, Isabel slid out of her saddle and rushed to Hugh’s side.

The handful of remaining rebels fled into the woods after seeing Alex and the rest of his men advancing. Isabel examined Hugh’s injuries while Jerome dismounted to inspect the bodies. Another man collected the arrows strewn about the road.

Alex resisted the urge to dismount and crush Isabel in his arms. He already knew she would not appreciate the display of affection. Since the night of the feast, she had done an admirable job pretending he did not exist, but he knew she was simply struggling with her attraction to him and what it meant. He did not like keeping his distance, but would allow it for now. She would be his soon enough.

He forced his attention to more pressing matters. “Any survivors?” Alex asked, pushing off his helmet. The rain cooled his heated face.

Jerome dropped his hand from the last body and rose to his feet. He faced Alex and shook his head.

Alex nodded grimly, disappointed they would not be getting any answers. He turned to Hugh. “Get up,” he said, ignoring Isabel’s reproving glance.

Jerome returned to his mount. “What did they want?”

“I know not.” Alex gave the trees bordering them a long look. The niggling sensation they were being followed had struck him after midday, but the evidence confirming his suspicions had come too late.

“One of the men shouted for them to fall back, and after that, they scattered into the woods,” Captain Thomas reported.

“Do you think there are more of them?” Hugh slowly raised himself into the saddle.

“I do not care to find out,” Alex said, still on edge. “Come. We must find an inn before it grows dark,” he said with a last look at the bodies.

“If I remember, Aylesbury is but a few miles from here. And there should be an inn,” Captain Thomas offered.

“Good.” Alex nodded to the rest of the men, and they readied their mounts.

They traveled at a brisker pace than before despite their exhaustion. No one wanted to risk another confrontation along the road. Only a few men suffered injuries in the battle, and those were minor enough to tend once they reached the relative safety of the public house.

Alex directed his mount back to Isabel’s side, his mind still full of the image of her commanding her horse to rear. He glanced sidelong at her. The knuckles on her right hand bled freely. “You are hurt.”

She looked down at her hand with a start. “Oh, it must have happened earlier.”

He frowned. Hugh should have protected her.

“It does not bother me,” she added carefully.

He nodded. “You did well.”

It was inadequate praise—she had been magnificent—but he would never forgive himself if something happened to her. Even though she would be infuriated at his protectiveness, he would not apologize for his concern for her or his duty.

Alternating between a trot and a canter so they would not overly tax the horses, they soon reached Aylesbury. As Captain Thomas promised, the village had a public house. The knight negotiated their stay while Jerome oversaw the stabling of the horses in the inn’s outbuildings.

“Hugh, a word,” Alex called out as the others drifted inside. Once everyone else was out of earshot, he faced Hugh. “What happened back there?” he demanded

Hugh grunted. “Their numbers overwhelmed me.”

Alex quirked a brow. That much was obvious. “I told you to protect Isabel, not get yourself killed.”