Siege Of the Heart (31 page)

Isabel and her saddlebags were nowhere to be found.

Where… He blinked back disbelief. He called her name, peering through the trees in the dark. Perhaps she had gotten lost after leaving camp to relieve herself. His shouts brought his men to his side. Quickly, they began canvassing the forest around them.

At some point Hugh took him aside to keep him from barking out any more frantic orders. “The men have been searching for some time now, and there is still no trace of her. Are you so certain she wants to be found?”

“What do you mean?”

“It was common knowledge your bride was not the most eager. I don’t think the men would be surprised if she has deceived you.”

Hand near his sword’s hilt, he took a step toward Hugh. “Isabel has not run away. I cannot believe you would even entertain such a notion.”

Captain Thomas, now awake, joined them. “All the horses are accounted for.”

Hugh ignored the old man and matched Alex’s aggressive tone. “You have been quarreling with that woman since we first arrived in Ashdown. Why, even tonight you were at it again. We could hear your heated words as we sat by the fire.”

Alex’s mouth curled bitterly in remembrance. “That was no fight, I promise you.”

“She has blinded you from everything. She is no better than the rest of the English. She will—”

“For God’s sake, man,” Captain Thomas interrupted, “she did not take her horse!” He did not need to say Isabel would never willingly travel anywhere without her mount.

The fact was painfully obvious, but Hugh was too impassioned to moderate his criticism. “Only a fool would trust that wench after her lies about her father!”

“Enough. There is no reason to—” Captain Thomas tried to say as Alex glared at Hugh.

“Sir, sir!” A breathless man-at-arms ran over, unknowingly breaking the growing tension between the men. “Jerome found the beginnings of a trail. It looks like another horse has been this way recently, but it is too dark to follow the trail now. We must wait until daybreak.”

Alex glared at Hugh.
 

“That means nothing,” Hugh replied. “She could have planned—”

Captain Thomas spoke up, trying to direct the conversation. “Alex, that is only a few hours from now. They will not be able to get very far.”

Alex returned his attention to the man-at-arms. “Very well. See to it we are ready to go at first light.”

Hugh shook his head as he watched the man go. “Alex…”

“Not now.”

“But—”

“God’s teeth, Hugh! Leave off.” Alex stalked away, trying to make sense of what happened. With Isabel’s scent still pervading his skin and clothes, with the image of her making love to him still firmly entrenched in his mind, he could not believe she left him willingly. He had left her sated and well-loved. She was not in any condition to vanish so completely.

Had some ruffian stumbled upon her as she slumbered and run off with her? Not likely. The presence of Alex’s men would dissuade even the most daring. Isabel must have been targeted for some reason. It was no secret to anyone aware of her circumstances, she would be returning this way to Ashdown once their business in London was concluded.

Isabel had never denied her Norman or English ancestry. It was possible some disgruntled Englishman wanted to punish her for being so quickly welcomed by William and his men. Alex thought back to the curses and oaths hurled at Isabel by her people as they had walked the streets of London. So much hatred and distrust plagued the land.

He recalled Hugh’s words and all the heated arguments he had shared with Isabel since he had met her. On more than one occasion, she had made it clear she did not trust him or respect his authority. And he knew how upset she was once she learned about their impending marriage. At the time, he thought it was because he had misled her, not that she was actually unhappy at the prospect of being with him. What if she had truly been opposed to him? What if she had devised a means to earn his and William’s trust and then found a way to secure her freedom? Isabel had the skills and determination to put such a daring plan into place. His chest tightened at the thought she would willingly deceive him after all they had shared.

Then he remembered the soft look on her face after their last coupling. That made it easier to push away such doubts. Instead, his unease for her welfare grew. Alex hated waiting, but it was foolish to try to track her while it was still dark. The risk of making a mistake was too high to warrant it.

And Alex would not tolerate mistakes. Not when it came to Isabel.

* * * *

The right side of her body was numb. Cold, too. That was why she hated sleeping on the ground. Isabel shifted and suddenly all the sewing needles in the land were pricking her. She grunted. Past time to get up.

As the stinging pain receded, she cracked open her eyes. Sunlight blinded her. Had Alex ordered the men to take down the tent while she still slept? She smiled, basking in the warm sun on her face. It was sweet of him, but unnecessary. She was made of sterner stuff.

She opened her eyes again, this time better prepared for the rush of light as she sat up. She blinked, and then blinked again as a dull ache throbbed in her temples. Where…

The clearing was silent except for the breeze rattling against the bare tree branches that stretched to the sky. A sick feeling lodged in her stomach. No camp. No tent. No Alex.

He had left her. Left her behind to fend for herself. She had been such a fool. After everything they had shared… Why?

She bowed her head as tears blurred her vision. Then she saw the ropes loosely linking her wrists and ankles—just enough mobility she had not felt the restraints until now. Her seax, which she had strapped to her waist after her tussle with Alex, was gone. Belatedly she thought of what she was wearing. Alex had been none too gentle on her riding dress, and she had drifted into sleep without a thought to modesty. Now, though, she was clothed in her traveling cloak, which sheltered her against the cold air. A blessing, given her state of dishabille.

Her head shot up, and she reevaluated the clearing. Her gaze landed on an unfamiliar horse, stocky and piebald, tied to one of the trees behind her. Not the mount of a man of consequence. What was going on?

A twig snapped underfoot. Alone no longer. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest. Should she pretend to sleep or confront her captor? Before she could decide, booted feet tramped closer.

“Here, you. Thought you’d still be asleep.”

Isabel twisted and spied a man entering the clearing. Just as his mount confirmed, he was a peasant or craftsman at best. The man looked strong and alert, with a short, sturdy blade fastened to his belt. Was it just him or were there others hidden in the trees?

She forced air in and out of her mouth. “What is going on? What have you done to me?”

“You stay quiet like a good lass.” He turned to his horse and rummaged through the saddlebags. The jangle of jostled supplies filled the clearing.

“You cannot treat me thus! Untie me at once!”

Despite the ropes, she struggled to her feet. Dizzy, her head throbbed with each beat of her heart. What was wrong with her?

The man finally troubled himself to come over. “Here now, stop that. I’m supposed to bring you back in one piece.”

His touch was harsh but impersonal as he made sure the ropes were still secure. She tried to pull away but her motions were slow and clumsy. Handling her as easily as if she were a child, he forced her to the ground with an ease that made her gut lurch. He sank to his haunches next to her and produced a leather pouch held closed by a length of twine.

Pleas would not affect him or promises interest him. Resignation shrouded his features. This was a man who had seen too many battles, too many betrayals. He would not be swayed. Whatever he had been hired to do to her, he would see it through to the end.

He placed a kerchief around his face, protecting his nose and mouth, and opened the leather bag.

“How dare you!” Her voice held the imperious quality she used with her servants.

For a heart-stopping moment, he stilled. Then he acted as if he had to remind himself what he was supposed to do. Pity glimmered in his brown eyes briefly, but then he shook his head as if to clear it and brought closer the bag. It likely contained a concoction of herbs that would drug her into oblivion. Again. The only explanation for her sluggish reactions.

“If you know who I am, you know I will kill you for this injustice,” Isabel said quietly.
 

He placed a firm hand on her mouth, preventing her ability to avoid inhaling the aromatics.

The air suddenly became oppressive, and she could feel herself slipping. Buzzing filled her head, as though she stood next to a beehive in high summer. Colors leached together, culminating in darkness. Her mind became heavy and full of slumber.
 

Before she gave into the inevitable, she heard the man speak again. “He told me you might say something like that.”

20

A long way off, she heard voices. The words did not make sense but they floated around her mind nonetheless. Her head had stopped aching, but the cloying aftereffects of the herbs still clung to her. It must have been days since she last had eaten solid food, and her bereft stomach lurched unpleasantly.

She moaned, and suddenly the voices were closer, more insistent, pressing on her. She opened her eyes to darkness. A blindfold muffled her face and constricted her sight.

“Shh…not so fast. Gently now.” The voice was much closer than she had expected, and a momentary tremor swept through her.

“No good in coddling her,” a man cut in. “I want answers out of her when I return.”

Something brushed past her. The sensations were lost amid her body’s protest as someone helped her into a sitting position.

“There.”

The first voice was so familiar, yet she could not place it. Someone stroked her hair as if trying to soothe her as she struggled to get comfortable. She found herself wishing it was Alex, but he could not help her now. Her errant thoughts were only a dream.

“Isabel, wake up. You must eat. You need your strength.”

She heard the words, but the voice affected her at a visceral level. The recognition was blinding. Shaking, she tried to push herself away from the arms holding her. “No…”

Hands kept her in place in spite of her feeble attempts to escape.

“Isabel, calm down. All is well.”

“It cannot be…” She could feel the blindfold being loosened and was terrified of the sight before her. Panic filled her senses.

“Be not afraid. It is your brother, Julien.”

Even though she had recognized his voice, his touch, she was still not prepared for seeing Julien crouched before her. Bewilderment jolted through her. “How is this possible? I thought you were…”

“Dead?” he finished with a grim smile.

Isabel stared askance at him, unsure if he was just a product of her drug-addled imagination.

“Here, eat this. Then we talk.”

The bowl of broth he proffered seemed real enough as she inhaled its aroma and took the first bite he directed into her mouth. She sat there awkwardly with her hands tied behind her back, her brother spoon-feeding her as if she were still a child. She digested not only the soup but also the fact she had found what she thought lost.

A few weeks ago, she would have been ecstatic to find Julien again, to learn he had survived the bloody conquest. Now, with her aching head and chafed wrists, she did not know what to think. He looked older, and exhaustion covered him like a cloak. The brother she had grown up with was still there but now shared the body of a world-weary stranger.

As the broth nourished her body, she glanced around at her brother’s companions inhabiting the meager camp. They appeared to be disenfranchised Englishmen, and she observed a handful of bond slaves among them. The men’s hands tended to linger on the hilts of their swords in uneasy comfort as they stamped around the camp. They no doubt fought against the Normans at Hastings but took to the countryside after Harold fell, an act of self-preservation to allow them to fight another day. Despite being among her people, Isabel could not shake the feeling something was terribly wrong. She did not belong here.