Siege Of the Heart (7 page)

She shook her head. “Even if he lived, even if he could be pardoned, Julien would rather die than admit to his Norman blood.”

“The same that runs through you,” Captain Thomas said. “You will have to think of your future.”

“I know.”

“You should not have left the safety of the castle.”

She shivered, but it was not because of the biting winter wind scouring the upper walls. “I needed to feel useful.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady, that is no excuse. You should have known better.” Seeing her frown, he added more kindly, “I taught you better, child. But none of that matters now. Whether you had joined the scouting party or not, Alexandre would still be here.”

Her nails dug into her palms. “I know.”

“You will have to go with him.”

“I am needed here.”

“That matters not. William has summoned you.”

Isabel crossed her arms but stayed silent.

Captain Thomas sighed. “I will bid the sentries to watch for any suspicious activities. There have been no new sightings of the Welsh on our lands. That does not mean it will remain that way. No doubt they saw an opportunity to strike, with the Normans commanding everyone’s attention.”

“What else have I missed?”

“The son of Wilfred the candle maker has taken ill.”

Isabel nodded. “I will visit them today.” She looked up at Captain Thomas. “In the meantime, William’s men, this Alexandre… He must not know about my father.”

“I have not said anything to the Normans, nor will I until you grant me permission. But Isabel, you are a woman alone in this world. Any other girl would flock to this William the Bastard and throw themselves at his mercy.”

“I am not any other girl.”

“My lady, he could secure your future.”

“By selling me off like chattel? I am Lord Bernard Dumont’s daughter, and I have my rights.”

“I am not denying your heritage, my dear, but your father’s name will not protect you forever. You will have to face William soon enough.”

“Nay, you are right about that. But until I get rid of these Normans, my father’s death must remain a secret.”

“What of your people? They have a right to the truth as well.”

She breathed deep, her shoulder throbbing at the movement. “The loss of both their lord and their king would be too much right now. And I will not leave until I am certain the Welsh are no longer a threat.”

Captain Thomas did not reply, but his disapproval tinged the air around them.

“What do you make of Alexandre?” Isabel asked to break the silence.

For a moment, she thought he would not answer. “From what I can tell, he is a natural leader and is well-favored by William. His men will do anything he bids them.”

“That may be true, but the man I met last night was an arrogant, churlish—”

“You are being unfair, my dear.” Isabel snapped her head up. “Yes, you are,” Captain Thomas said as he stared back at her.

“No, I am not. He treated me like a child.” Even now, the overconfident curl of Alexandre’s mouth and the corresponding twinkle in his eyes were sharp in her memory. “He thinks he can walk into my home and tell me what to do. He is insufferable and—”
 

“He is a different man from that of your father or brother, and you must learn to deal with him lest reports of your conduct gets back to William. Alexandre will see you as a lady and expect you to act like one.” Isabel tried to interrupt him. “I am not finished,” he said mildly. “And you know very well you do not act like a lady,” he said with a hard look at the padded men’s tunic she wore over her dress.

She smoothed the material over her hips. “This will serve me if I am going to tend to Wilfred’s child.”

“I wonder what Alexandre will make of your plans.”

Her hand lingered on the quilted material. “He does not command me.”

Captain Thomas let out an exasperated breath. “You have grown too wild. You must not provoke him with your boldness. I know you are strong and as capable as a man in many respects, but his upbringing will blind him to your unique qualities. You must understand that.”

“I only understand there are people who need me.”

* * * *

Alex circled the hall, his steps heavy and deliberate as the rushes crunched underfoot.

“There you are,” Jerome said as he reached his side. “What is troubling you? You look like a caged animal with all this pacing.”

Alex came to a stop and faced the fire pit in the center of the room. “I am merely impatient for our lady to grace us with her presence this morn.”

“Ah, so her identity has been confirmed. Did she have any information about her father or brother?”

“Only that her father should be returning here shortly and her brother would have been at Hastings.”

“We already surmised as much.”

“I am well aware.”

A calculating look stole over Jerome’s features. “
Eh bien
, at least were the reports of her charms accurate?”

Alex thought about lying, then dismissed the thought. Jerome would have the truth out of him whether he willed it or not. “Her beauty is inducement enough to accept William’s proposal,” he said.

“You seem disappointed,” Jerome said, undeterred.

“There is little else to recommend her at present beyond her appearance. She is defiant, stubborn, and, most importantly, unhappy with our presence here.”

Jerome grinned. “You should be able to cure her of that. It is high time you met a challenging woman.”

Alex shook his head. He did not have difficulty finding female company—something his men never tired of reminding him. Alex kept his encounters with the fairer sex to occasional brothel visits and brief trysts with obliging serving women. Things were simpler that way. He already knew in marriage, nothing was simple.

“Think on what is at stake,” Jerome insisted.

Alex crossed his arms. “We both know my father will not welcome me back.” He looked around the room and sighed. “I cannot walk away from this even if she never warms to me.”

“What’s this? The great Alexandre d’Évreux put off by a mere woman? I am in shock. I must meet this female terror.”

Alex chuckled and for a moment the weight on his shoulders eased ever so slightly. Jerome, a comrade since Alex completed his fostering, was always able to make him laugh. “You will soon enough, I wager. I have not given up, but I will have to be my most charming. Starting today.”

“Oh?” Jerome said, with a lascivious waggle of his brows.

“Yes. She has promised to acquaint me with her home, so we may be of service as we await her father’s arrival.”

“I see. That sounds promising.”

“Only if she comes,” he said grimly. “I have been patient long enough.” Alex called for Matilde and ordered her to wake Isabel and bring her to him.

Jerome watched him as Matilde scurried out of the room. “Are you sure she is well enough to be up? Perhaps she is still recovering.”

“Perhaps,” Alex allowed, “but after my audience with her last night, I believe she would not meekly accept orders calling for rest. She needs to be active.”

“Like you?” Jerome asked with a wry curl of his mouth. “I confess you have not told me anything that causes me worry.”

Alex shook his head. “We shall see. Right now she is ruled by fear. Of us. Of what will happen. She hid it very well, mind you, but I do not know how to convince her I am not her enemy.” He stared into the fire’s weak flames.

“You must remember, her brother is as good as dead and her country has a new king. Her trust of anything Norman is doubtful despite her father’s connections.” Jerome held out his hands. “Perhaps when Lord Dumont is found…”

Matilde reentered the hall, and he gave Jerome a tight nod, silencing him. “That is my hope.”

She hurried over to them. “Sir, she is not in her chambers.”

He studied the old woman’s worried countenance, convinced for once she was ignorant of Isabel’s whereabouts. “Search the area. I want her found immediately. Jerome, you are with me.”

Matilde left to organize a search of the castle while Alex strode out to the stables. He wanted to see if Lady Isabel’s mount was still in its stall. And, as he suspected, the stall stood empty. Curse the girl. He looked at Jerome. “What do you say to this?”

He shrugged. “The reports did say she was high-spirited.”

Alex growled. All hope in getting to know the girl better vanished. Why had he not expected such trickery? Within moments, he, Jerome and two more of his men had saddled their mounts. Then they galloped through the castle gates to conduct a search of the grounds.

* * * *

Isabel cantered past snow-covered fields on her way back from the village.

Wilfred’s son was indeed sick, with a chest-rattling cough that made his mother Hilda cringe each time the boy drew breath. Isabel had taught the panicked woman the precise amounts of herbs for a poultice they spread over the boy’s neck and chest. Then she had taught her how to brew an infusion the lad should drink every day for a week.

The boy’s breathing had already eased slightly when Isabel had taken her leave of the modest, straw-thatched home. Wilfred and Hilda’s effusive thanks hardly made an impression on her as she had mounted and headed to the castle.

She rode past the sleepy homes of her people. Curls of smoke from their fires climbed into the sky. She was grateful they had not been exposed to the brunt of the Norman invasion. Thankfully, once word of the battle had broken out, her father’s tenants had decided to do nothing without his consent. If they panicked and left the safety of the Dumont lands, her family’s name would not protect them. Even now, even with a new king, they had enough trust in her father to see them through these turbulent times. She frowned at that thought and urged her horse faster down the road.

She soon let Hardwin have his head. With the wind in her face, she matched her movements to her horse’s strides. He took her to the edge of a small wood. A stream, not frozen fully, wound through it. The soft tinkle of water made the forest less lonely in its snow-blanketed state. Isabel dismounted and walked along the bank. She bent to pick up a stone with her left hand and threw it into the stream, splintering the ice threatening to take hold.

She had explored here before, playing games with Julien when they were younger. Their youthful shouts still seemed to linger on the frigid air. If she squinted, she could see her brother’s brown mop of hair as he crouched behind a tree trunk, ready to jump out and scare her. Tears blinded her as they slipped down her cheeks, blurring the memories. She angrily brushed them away.

Now was not the time for grief. Not with Normans in Ashdown. Now, she had to plan.

The Dumont lands were hers—to manage and, more importantly, to protect. And she needed to make sure they would stay that way. She also needed to ensure her people would survive the transition to Norman rule. She needed to know she had done all she could to prepare them and thereby honor her father’s legacy.

With Alexandre and his band of Normans already enjoying her hospitality, she was at a loss as how to proceed. She took a deep breath, trying to steady the tumult she felt cascading through her. The sharp air burning in her lungs only provided a momentary distraction.

Her horse pranced fitfully beside her. She reached out to pat Hardwin’s neck, but then she heard it too—men on horseback crashing through the underbrush.

Alexandre and a group of his men barreled toward her. Branches snapped, and snow swished in the wake of the galloping horses. She jammed her foot in the stirrup and hauled herself into the saddle. A sharp pain sheared across her body, daring her to cry out. She had reopened her wound, but if she stopped to check her shoulder, Alexandre would catch up to her.

She would not speak to him out here in the woods, surrounded by his men and not hers. She had seen the grim look on his face. He was definitely angry, but he needed to realize she was not some simpering, ignorant noblewoman who would demurely accept his authority. She was Lady Isabel Dumont, and would not stand to be ordered about by some brazen and bull-headed knight.

As it was, she had already made a fool of herself by collapsing in his presence. The reins dug into her palms. She had to show him she was no weak woman in need of his protection.