Authors: Lori Snow
“Make
a mistake, bitch, and God will be welcoming another virgin bride into his
keeping.” Simon laughed at his own jest. Isabeau could hear no merriment in the
sound, just a chord of desperation.
His
grip loosened for a heartbeat; long enough for her to drag in much needed gulps
of air. She almost gagged at Simon’s stench. He had never been fastidious in
his cleanliness but today the odor was worse. Not only had he failed to bathe,
but he lacked even the usual dousing of cologne.
Worse
yet, Isabeau was afraid she recognized the fetid smell. It reminded her of
death; Granya’s death.
He
thrust her away. Desperately she grabbed for the bed curtains for balance. She
still ended in heap but at least she prevented a hard fall. She wanted to curl
in a ball to protect Donovan’s child but she needed to keep her wits.
Simon
must be completely mad. In his right mind, he would never dress as a homeless
peasant. While he did not bathe regularly, he would not go without his daily
fastidious grooming. He never stinted on his fragrance. Simon’s personal
appearance was a banner to the world, announcing his power and position. His
wardrobe had more gilt and frills than most ladies-in-waiting.
Isabeau
put her hand on the counterpane to gain her balance as she got to her feet.
Caitlin would be arriving any minute with an armload of clothes. She had a
vivid memory of Caitlin’s back with lash marks still oozing blood. By thinking
of another’s welfare, somehow it became easier for Isabeau to think clearly.
“What
are you doing?” Isabeau asked in the low croon Felix had taught her to use in
soothing the hounds. “How did you get to Bennington so quickly? The
earl’s messenger left for Olivet just this morn. It was only last eve that we
decided to wed today at prime. The earl thought it fitting to inform you of our
nuptials. We had a quiet ceremony with few witnesses. We meant no insult. But
as I said, Donovan insisted we wed this morn.”
She
knew she was babbling but the words kept tumbling out of her mouth. She prayed
they were in the tone Felix coached. In her own moment of insanity—or
desperation—she realized she was holding out the back of her hand for a sniff.
Even as she noticed the action, Simon growled, as roughly as any of the dogs.
“I
thought I had more time.” He paced as he complained. “Why did he choose you?”
He stopped momentarily to look at her. “The bastard showed no interest in you
until he decided to pluck your dowry from my coffers. Remember that! You were
nothing without your dowry. He practically beggared me. Without your gold, I
have no way of bringing Olivet to the glory I deserve. “
He
was not really seeing her, Isabeau realized. She tried to stay calm, but the
note of growing hysteria in her half-brother’s voice twisted her belly. She
edged away from the bed towards the door but Simon returned his attention to
her and shoved her across the room.
Isabeau’s
backward momentum halted only when she came up against the bedpost again.
Clutching the pole, she gained balance and turned to face Simon. His eyes
glittered.
“What
do you think you are doing, Simon?” Perhaps a reminder of Ayllonshire’s wrath
would bring Simon to sanity. “You do not want to anger Donovan. He will be
swift in retaliation. He is your liege, your judge. If you harm me—his wife—his
countess -- do you think he will wait to take the matter to the king?”
She
realized her error immediately. The skin around Simon’s mouth and eyes
tightened. Rather than calming him, she had only enflamed him further.
“Do
you think I give a bleeding hell if Donovan d’Allyonshire is
angered
?”
Simon pulled the coverings from the bed and tore away curtains, dumping
Isabeau’s clothing on the floor. “I
want
him to dance with Satan.” With
a sweep of his hand, he shoved bottles of scent and lotion to the floor.
“Donovan will wish he had never been born when I am through with the bastard.
In fact, he should have never been born.” Spinning about, Simon shoved a chair
against a table, dislodging a candle, books and a water jug.
Caitlin
!
Isabeau called silently.
Hear us and bring help!
“I
should be the second Earl of Bennington!” He shoved his knife at Isabeau again.
“After me, my son would be the third earl.”
Petrified
by Simon’s ranting, Isabeau’s swallow passed her tight throat. “What do you
mean?”
Simon
looked about for something else to destroy. He paced, tossing fallen objects
against the wall.
“You
should know this story! It’s why I am merely a baron – not
d’Alloyshire!
”
He waved his dagger wildly.
“Bennington’s
sire…” Simon spit on the floor, “Was in the middle of marriage negotiations for
my mother when he met that bitch, Donovan’s mother.
My mother
should
have wed the Earl of Bennington! Instead, she was forced to wed a worthless
baron.
“My
father? He was not a worthless baron!” She edged away from Simon.
Luckily
Simon was so involved with his despised history that he ignored his sister’s
outburst. He sliced a bed curtain with his knife.
“
The
old earl broke off his negotiations for my mother to wed that bitch who dropped
Donovan,” Simon almost snarled.
“ ‘T’was
said she had
already proved to his lordship that she was fertile. And it did not take her
long to produce an heir.”
Isabeau’s
thoughts sped.
Had Donovan’s mother also submitted to a test as she had to
Donovan? Was this a d’Allyonshire custom handed from generation to
generation? With the loss of her virtue, had she not proved a fecund vassal,
would Donovan’s mother, have ended up in a convent? How many women had
acquiesced and failed?
Isabeau
stared at Simon. The night after their arrival at Bennington, Donovan had
ordered her to return to her chamber before he sundered her maidenhead. When
she had refused to go, he had restrained himself, but the fire in his eyes had
belied his indifference.
Then,
in the woodland, Donovan had made her scream as she conceived his child. Was
that only yesterday? Half-sprawled across his hard muscles, she had
stroked his scarred chest…
Isabeau
broke her momentary fugue.
She
was in mortal danger from her half-brother. Her duty was to protect Donovan’s
unborn child. Nothing could stay Simon’s hand if his rage burned any brighter.
Caitlin!
The
sound of a soft knock broke through the momentary silence and brought Simon’s
pacing to a halt.
“Milady?
Milady?”
Caitlin’s
soft inquiry penetrated through the closed door. Was Simon hiding behind it
when she had entered the room? Had he secured the lock? How had she missed
seeing him?
“Get
rid of that maid,” Simon warned in a low growl, “or she dies.”
Isabeau
prayed she could put volume to her voice, which had suddenly frozen with fear.
“Caitlin?”
She hoped Simon did not hear the squeak. “I have decided we are in need of the
strong backs after all. Get Geoffrey and Felix. I believe they have the muscle
we need.”
“My
lady?” Isabeau could hear confusion and concern in Caitlin’s hesitant question.
“Just
go.” Isabeau answered crossly. “You know what is to be done. I explained all to
you.”
“Aye,
my lady.”
Isabeau
closed her eyes and exhaled her breath when only silence met her ears. For a
moment she had feared Caitlin would prove more stubborn.
Simon‘s
relief was easy to see. He looked about with a wicked smile. “Was this your one
chance to see the earl’s bed?” His demeanor changed quickly. “What is that on
your hand?” The abrupt change in Simon’s focus threw her off balance.
“Nothing,”
She looked down before giving a reply.
“The
other hand, bitch.” Simon waved the knife to punctuate.
“My
wedding ring.”
“Take
it off,” he demanded menacingly, “Now.” He swiped the air with the knife,
though he stood too far away to do damage.
She
slid the ring from her finger and held the gold band in the palm of her hand.
Though she stretched out her arm, she was careful to remain outside of Simon’s
range.
“I
really hate to leave it behind. ‘Twould bring in plenty of groats,” he
complained. His eyes narrowed, his mouth turned down in a sulk. “Put it on the
table. Make sure it can be seen from the door.”
She
did as instructed, nearly tripping on a taper Simon had knocked over.
Thankfully, she did not have to get closer to her brother. He tossed the blade,
hilt first, to land on the floor just visible from between the bed and the
table. Before she could comprehend that he was unarmed, he pulled another blade
from his belt.
Only
at that moment did she recognize the blade.
“ ’Tis
one of the knives Papa gave me. What are
you doing with it?”
“That
pile of clothes.” Ignoring her question, he pointed with the knife tip.
“Convenient. Pick them up.”
“Why?”
“Pick
them up.” Simon drew closer. “You see, bitch, you are leaving your husband. You
fear his touch and his ugly scars. Donovan the great will know his bride has no
wish for him to plow her. You are running away as you did when you were to
marry Kirney. This time there’s no loving family here to force you, to drug you
into acceptance as they did Marta”
“What
do you mean?”
“Marta
could not abide the scarred monster, but her father could not afford to let
Marta’s proclivities interfere with the silver he gained with the marriage. She
confessed to her beloved Syllba that her father dosed her with two potions. One
calmed her histrionics. The other was a powerful aphrodisiac. No matter her
preferences, with the latter potion she would have let proud Donovan put a tree
trunk up her hungry cunt.”
Isabeau
sucked in her breath at Simon’s vulgarity. Turning away, she picked up the pile
of clothes.
“Did
I shock you, Little Izzy?” Simon’s sly smile widened. “Which shocks your pure
little heart more? How wide Marta spread her legs or that she would have
rather have a woman wielding the tree?”
“Does
it matter?”
“Nay,
not at the moment.”
Isabeau
followed her brother’s direction and loaded her arms with the clothing. A low
whine and scratching met her beyond the door.
“Stop!
What is that sound?” Perspiration beaded on Simon’s white face.
Isabeau
turned to look at Simon. “Only Jaffey. He is just a pup.” The dog might give
her a chance.
“Do
not open the damned door. Send the beast away.”
She
shrugged with a feigned casualness but sending the huge dog away was the last
thing she wanted to do. “
A
Caitlin, Jaffey,
a
Caitlin,” she said.
Felix
had been working with both her and Caitlin regarding new commands for Jaffey.
But had there been enough training? Would the dog leave the door to find
Caitlin? She spared a glance in her half-brother’s direction. What would
Simon do if Jaffey did not leave?
She
let out a breath when she heard the click of claws fading away. Simon’s loss of
anxiety showed he heard the echoes as well.
“Give
him a chance to get further away. We must hurry to get you to your tryst at the
appointed hour.”
Isabeau
stilled. Foreboding hovered above her. She had a feeling she would be better
off dealing with Simon alone than with whoever they were to meet.
“What
tryst?”
“ ’Tis
a surprise for the bride.” Simon showed a
lot of yellow teeth with his gleeful smile. “Now, move.”
Isabeau
had no choice. Simon brandished the knife as he stepped closer. He fisted her
gown at the back of her neck, once more reminding her of the danger of the
blade in his hand.
“Where
are you taking me?”
Isabeau
did her best to tangle her feet with his. When he recognized her intent, he
pointedly reminded her of his knife. He practically dragged Isabeau across the
room. At the decorative wooden panel, his arm still crooked about her throat,
he used his knife hand and slid the blade along a seam of the panel.
Isabeau
gasped when the panel separated from the wall to reveal the gaping mouth of a
black tunnel. He pushed her inside.
“Toss
that clothing aside. Now, light the taper. You go in quietly and you will come
out the other end. If I must silence you, you will not see sunlight again.”
Donovan’s
men had staged an impromptu mock tournament. In the spirit of
bon homme
,
the games were open to all, not just the warriors. Most Bennington males participated
in one event or another. Some of the prizes were actually played for in
earnest, the easy camaraderie between the townspeople and soldiers was evident.
Before,
when they had returned from serving the king. Donovan had noticed fear
emanating from the Bennington denizens. While they had appreciated the
necessity of living alongside an army, they were unaccustomed to dealing with
hardened men.
Now,
Donovan saw more respect than fear. As for his men, their stony countenances
had relaxed. Gradually, they were becoming more sure in their welcome and
preparing to settle into a home—until the next time they were called to duty.
They already cast their eyes about for suitable ladies. Donovan understood
their feelings. He was also anticipating the pleasures of domestication—until
the next missive from the king. Now he would not dawdle before returning to
Bennington.
Donovan
competed amid the good-natured taunts. As he readied his bow, one lieutenant
yelled across the field, “Save your skill to joust tonight, my lord.”
Another
voice distracted Donovan from the jib.
“Milord?”
Donovan
lowered his bow as yet another voice beckoned him from the target.
“Milord?”
Shifting
to a more comfortable stance, he focused on the source of the quiet yet
insistent female voice. Showing only a little impatience, he rested his hand on
the top of the bow and acknowledged Isabeau’s young maid. Even in this short
time since their arrival at Bennington, Donovan noticed the child had grown
more confident. Under Isabeau’s guidance, she became less haunted and more
efficient each day. He had his own reasons to be thankful Isabeau’s faith in
the girl had not been misplaced. Then he noticed the death pallor on the
serving girl’s cheeks and her disheveled blonde hair.
He
tried to remember the new name the girl had taken.
“Catrina?
No, Caitlin, is it not?”
“Aye,
my lord… Something is amiss, sir,” she said.
Lord
Donovan felt prickles of foreboding run the length of his spine. Isabeau was
safe, he assured himself. She was now protected under the mantle of his name.
None would dare harm her.
“My
lady weren’t in her chambers
or --
yours, my
lord.”
He
almost relaxed until he caught a flicker of something in Caitlin’s eyes. He
forced calm into his voice.
“There
is much to do with the celebration. Mayhap
..”
She
shook her head wildly.
“Nay,
milord,” she denied vehemently. “She was most insistent her belongings should
be moved to your chambers. She wanted all in place before
nones
bells.
She told me she wanted to begin yer marriage with no dividin’ walls. She was
fixin’ yer chests. I went to your chambers. She wouldn’t let me in and sent me
to get Geoffrey and Felix to move her chests. I don’t know Geoffrey, and Felix
works with the hounds. Why would she want the houndsman when there be bigger
men? When I went back to ask, Lady Isabeau did not answer. I promise, I
left her ladyship but a moment. The door was locked…”
Donovan
told himself that it was still not time to worry. Dozens of reasons could have
drawn Isabeau away from her tasks. In all probability, she had already
returned. Yet…
“Come
with me. Show me what you found. We will find my wife.” He started towards the
inner bailey with a brisk long stride. He barely noticed Caitlin’s need to run
to keep pace. He only paused when she let out a little shriek. Turning he
watched as the great hulk of a canine, Jaffey, rushed at the girl.
Though
the dog ignored Donovan’s command, he did not pull Caitlin to the ground as he
had done to Isabeau on her first day at Bennington. Instead, the dog circled
Caitlin before butting its head against her bottom. He seemed to be herding her
as a shepherd herds a lamb. The dog was not playing but following a master’s
command. Or that of a mistress!
“Caitlin,
do not fight against the dog. Let it lead you,” Donovan instructed.
Instinctively, he knew the dog would take them to Isabeau.
Jaffey
led them Donovan’s chamber but not to Isabeau. A bundle of Isabeau’s belongings
that Caitlind had dropped lay outside the door. As Caitlin had indicated, the
room was locked.
“Isabeau!
Isabeau! Answer me, Isabeau!” Donovan heard nothing but Jaffey whined.
With
difficulty, and all his strength, Donovan destroyed the lock and opened the
door. The ache in his chest exceeded damage to his body from battering the
door. Isabeau had not answered. What had happened to his wife?
Together
they surveyed the room. Whoever had stormed through this chamber had been
thorough. Bedcovers lay askew or jumbled on the floor. Perfume bottles and jars
of cream had been swept from the tabletop with a violent hand. A taper, crushed
in the center, rested among a heap of debris. Even the bed-drapes hung
drunkenly from their rods.
“What
has happened?” Caitlin stepped farther into the room, looking about.
Donovan
noted her shaking hand. Her throat worked as she fought back her fear, but his
entry into the room was arrested by one small table that was upright. On it
laid a small circlet of hewn gold and emeralds; the very ring he had placed on
Isabeau’s finger only that morn as he pledged to keep her safe.
Donovan
almost looked for the dagger ripping his gut. He carefully lifted the ring with
thumb and forefinger as if plucking a fragile bloom.
The
maid watched her lord and looked about the room again. “I left a bundle of
milady’s clothes on the bed. It’s not in the room now. Mayhap a villain wished
it to appear as if the Lady Isabeau ran away,” she said.
Her
mouth curled in derision as she spoke with strength to the disturbed man.
“Anyone who knows her ladyship would see that to be false. Lady Isabeau never
ran. Even when Lord d’Olivet struck her, she endured.”
But
she had run away, Donovan remembered. Or tried, he silently
amended
.
Many times since her arrival at Bennington, she had expressed the
desire to delay their nuptials. He remembered the expression in Isabeau’s eyes
when she had swallowed her pride and pleaded to be able to shed her disguise
before entering Olivet’s gate.
Then,
his mind latched onto what else Caitlin had revealed. “Her father hit her?” Why
was he shocked? A father has the right, just as a husband.
“Nay.
Her brother, Lord Simon—the cur. Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord. I shouldn’t be
speakin’ so of me betters. The Lord Simon only hurt milady after their sire
died. I dinna’ think he boasted the courage while the real Lord Olivet still
breathed.”
But,
there were the emptied trunks, belongings tossed everywhere at random and
destroyed. Swiftly the possible ramifications ran through Donovan’s mind.
A
woman, enraged with an unwanted fate, might easily have thrown a tantrum before
running. To the convent? No! This made no sense. Yet…
Had Isabeau sent Caitlin on a fool’s errand so she could
affect her escape? Had she rallied her courage against being forced to
wed? Only a fortnight ago, she had tried to make her way to the sanctuary
of the convent walls, running from Simon—with good reason.
She was smart enough then to manage her escape undetected.
Had she taken advantage of the day’s festivities to make another disappearance
in the confusion? What could she hope to accomplish except to anger her
husband? Did she hope he would denounce her?
A woman could appeal to the church for an annulment, but he
had plenty of witnesses to say she spoke her vows willingly enough. A healer
would examine her. She would be proved soon enough to be a wife, not a maid.
The church would not—could not shield a woman from her husband, especially when
her husband held the rank of earl.
Why
was he even thinking of this scenario? It would be a foolish plan. He would
never repudiate Isabeau.
He
felt the frown ease from his brow when he remembered Isabeau’s brave
determination to endure his “test.” He recalled the tremors of her first
release at his hands, her expression of confusion and wonder. Isabeau had
already given herself to him gloriously.
There
been no bout of virgin temerity; not when she had sought out her betrothed with
seduction masked as a picnic. This wife was not frightened of the marriage
bed’s secrets. Isabeau had not run!
But
where was she? He needed to alert his men, to search the castle.
The
great black beast, Jaffey, snuffled and pawed at the sagging velvet like a
puppy deprived of its treat.
Turning
to leave the room, Donovan caught the reflection of sunlight on metal. He cocked
his head. Tucked under the foot of the bed, nearly out of sight, he could see
the blade of a well-oiled knife and crossed the room to pick it up. Immediately
he recognized the twin of throwing knife he had pulled from a tree trunk only
yesterday.
Caitlin
hissed when she saw what he held. “’Tis Lady Isabeau’s dagger. Praise God, the
blade is clean. ‘Tis a good sign, is it not? She has not been cut.”
“Not
a dagger,” Donovan corrected absently, “but a special kind of knife. One
carefully weighted for control when thrown.” He tossed the blade in air and
watched it twirl before expertly catching the shiny weapon.
“Lady
Isabeau has a set of three her father gave her as a reward for her practice. I
aided in her unpacking when we arrived at Bennington. She said she had offered
you a challenge.”
“Aye,
she did,” he answered absently.
“She
was looking forward to showing you her skill. She said most men would not
appreciate being bested by a woman but that you are made of sterner stuff.”
He
tossed the blade and caught it again. “Would a man not teach his son the same
man’s skill he taught his daughter? You are sure Isabeau did not run away?” he
asked Catlan softly. She had proved her courage but he did not want to chase it
away. “You even suggest a villain might make it appear she had done so. What
villain, Caitlin?” Donovan coaxed, though he thought he knew.
In
spite of his gentleness, the girl began to shake. Her eyes glistened with fear.
“I should have spoken earlier.”
“You
gave me your pledge of fealty,” he reminded kindly. “What should you have told
me?”
“I
thought it was only the demon of my dreams. If harm comes to milady, ‘twill be
my fault.”
Donovan
moved to the door where she had backed in a weak attempt to escape whatever
demons she saw in her mind’s eye. “What are you saying, Caitlin?”
“Yesterday,
just before milady found Dame Granya, I thought I spied him. I thought for a
moment he came to fetch me back. ‘Twasn’t done with their plans for me, ye see.
I convinced meself I saw a shadow. How could he be inside Bennington with
ye
not knowing?” Caitlin cast him a pleading look. “But now
milady’s disappeared. I know ‘twas no shadow
“Who,
Caitlin?” He wanted to shake the answer from the rambling girl but knew if he
added to her fear the words could become locked inside her. “Who took
Isabeau? Who do you think took my wife?”
“Lord
Simon!” Caitlin practically screamed before burying her face in her palms.
“Forgive me, my lord. I failed her and she has been nothin’ but kind to me.”
“No
harm has come yet.” Donovan silently prayed for the truth of his words. There
was evidence of a struggle, but no blood; no body in the chamber.
“No
harm will come to Isabeau,” he reassured them both.
“We
will assume you did not see shadows. Somehow Lord Simon, like the snake he is,
slithered within the bailey walls.”
Caitlin
whimpered.
“With
your information we will be fast on the trail.” Donovan tried to console the
girl but he sorely lacked the practice. "Tell me about the shadow. Where
did you see him? What was he wearing?”
Jaffey
whined and butted his head against Donovan’s thigh. The beast’s strength nearly
knocked him off balance. ‘Twas a wonder Caitlin had stayed on her feet earlier.
“What do you suppose this hell-hound knows of Isabeau?”
The
dog’s ears perked as he settled back on his haunches, waiting patiently for
instruction, the brown eyes light with intelligence.
Caitlin
blinked back the tears she fought valiantly to control. “My lady swears the
giant has more intelligence then most people.” She offered him a damp smile.
“She said that ‘twas Jaffey who led her to you when you were downed by yer
warhorse. Even before he acted the hero, she ordered that he be given the run
of the castle.”
“Jaffey!”
Donovan commanded, “Find Isabeau!”
“
A
Lady Isabeau,” Caitlin interrupted. She swallowed as if she realized her
impertinence. “Felix the hounds-keeper has been teaching milady how to be with
the dog.”