Lady Isobel's Champion (12 page)

Please know that your father talks of you often. Know also that we send you and Count Lucien our good wishes for the future. May you receive all blessings...

‘Well?’

Isobel skipped the closing salutations and rolled up the scroll. ‘My stepmother writes to tell me that my father remains weak. She is hopeful of a recovery.’

‘I am relieved there is hope.’ He hesitated. ‘When the letter arrived, I feared for the worst.’

It was on the tip of Isobel’s tongue to explain that Angelina was with child, but even as she opened her mouth to do so, she was engulfed by a torrent of doubts.

Lucien believes he has married an heiress. If Angelina has a daughter, that will remain the case as I will be the older daughter. But if Angelina has a son, my brother will inherit. I will have brought Lucien nothing. Nothing save a chest of silver pennies.

Desolation was a sick churning in her gut. This letter from Turenne had transformed her world. If Angelina bore a son, Isobel’s value as a bride would be greatly diminished.

I don’t want to tell him about the baby...

She stiffened her spine. Lucien had married her because she was an heiress. She wanted him to value her in other ways, but during her years in the convent she had come to see that as far as Lucien was concerned, her value rested solely on the lands she would bring him. Had he kept her waiting in case her mother was brought to bed of a boy, a boy who would have deprived him of the lands of Turenne?
When Mama died, and Lucien learned of Father’s weak health, he must have thought my position as heiress was secure. Only then did he summon me.

Isobel might wish otherwise, but she must fact the truth. Lucien valued her for her lands. Take away her lands and what was left? Nothing.

It was vital she learned to please him.
I must become invaluable to him in other ways. I must strengthen the bond between us.

She would tell him about the child eventually. In the meantime, she would teach him to love her, as she was beginning to love him.
I am beginning to love him? No!
Her fingers tightened on the scroll as she looked up at him, aghast. She could hardly have shocked herself more.
I do not love him
.
It is affection I feel for him. Affection.

Guilt coiled like a serpent inside her. Somehow it made it worse that she should realise she was growing fond of him at the same time she decided not to tell him about Angelina’s baby.
I cannot tell him, he might seek a divorce. I must win him before he learns of the baby...

Lucien squeezed her hand. ‘Isobel, are you unwell?’

He sounded as though he were speaking from afar, though in truth he was so close she could see the dark flecks in his eyes.

‘I am well, my lord, thank you.’ Isobel’s mind was in chaos. She must find some way of bonding him to her. No sooner had the thought formed than the answer leaped into her mind.
Give him a child. Give Lucien an heir
. Briefly, she closed her eyes, as the image of her mother straining to give birth rose up before her.

‘Good. I thought perhaps...after seeing Geoffrey...’ He gave her hand a slight shake. ‘Isobel?’

She opened her eyes, he was watching her closely, a line between his brows. ‘I am well, my lord,’ she repeated. ‘Thank you for your concern.’

With a brusque nod, Lucien went to the window. Pushing back the curtains, he tapped the glass and gave the frame a slight push, as though checking it was secure.

Isobel thought of the sachet of herbs, tucked away at the bottom of her jewel box.
I shall have to stop taking those herbs.
Her stomach knotted. Fear was cold inside her, but if she gave him an heir, the bond between them would be irrevocable.
I shall have to give him a child.
The knots twisted.
If I can. Holy Mary, help me.

Lucien let the curtain fall back into place. ‘My apologies for not coming sooner. I had business with Count Henry.’

‘I understand.’ Isobel did not know how it was, but Lucien seemed larger when standing in her bedchamber than he had in his armour on the tourney field. Realising rather belatedly that he was staring at her bare foot, she hastily rearranged her skirts to hide it.

‘You were getting ready to retire,’ he said, smiling crookedly.

Isobel’s cheeks burned.
I shall have to give him his heir.
‘Yes, I was. Didn’t Elise say?’

‘Elise? We passed in the solar, she went downstairs.’

‘Elise has left the apartment?’

‘Mmm.’ Lucien took her hand, and wove his fingers with hers. ‘She muttered something about fetching warm milk from the kitchens.’

‘She must be hungry. I didn’t ask for milk. My lord, she’ll be coming back. When I thought you were staying at the barracks, I asked her to sleep with me in here.’

He nodded. ‘That is as well, I only came to bring you the letter. Much as I regret it, I cannot stay.’

‘Unfinished business at the barracks?’

‘Yes.’

‘I understand.’ The words slipped out easily, hiding her concerns.
Whatever he says, he must blame me for his knight’s death. Is he regretting our marriage already?

A candle flared. Lucien’s eyes were very black and he had a look on his face, a look she had seen before. He had looked at her in that way in the inn before he had kissed her; he had looked that way last night
. He still wants me
. That at least was something. Isobel edged back till her calves hit the bed. She was embarrassed at the thought of Elise walking in on them, yet she knew that bedding with Lucien was as good a way as any of bonding him to her. The herbs she had already taken might prevent her from getting with child for a while, but he seemed eager to lie with her again.

The power of the herbs will fade.
How soon might I conceive if I stop taking them from now on?

‘You saw Count Henry, my lord?’

Lucien nodded, his fingers playing with hers, making her stomach swoop. ‘Mmm.’ He raised her hand to his lips, lingering over the kiss.

Isobel’s heart skittered. She glanced towards the solar. ‘Di...did you tell him about Sir Geoffrey?’

Her question removed the warmth from his expression and he released her hand on a motion of assent. ‘Naturally. He was very shocked.’

‘Not as shocked as you,’ she said softly. ‘You had a fondness for him.’

He stared at her for a moment, eyes bleak, and gave an abrupt nod. ‘So I was. Geoffrey was a good lad. He began as my squire.’

‘Before Joris?’

Another nod.

Recognising that Lucien was wrestling with a deep emotion and was concerned not to show it, Isobel waited.

‘I met him at Troyes Castle a few years back,’ Lucien said. ‘He came from a humble background, but he had a way with horses that had won him a place at the stables. I liked the look of him and Count Henry said he wouldn’t miss him, so I took him on. Geoffrey trained hard. He was set on earning enough at the tourneys to support his mother.’ He shoved his hand through his hair. ‘His mother is ailing—she lives here in the town. I returned Geoffrey’s armour to her this afternoon.’

Isobel knew the sad tradition. When a knight was killed in combat, if his armour was not taken as booty, it was generally returned to his family. Of course, Sir Geoffrey had not died in combat, but Lucien would uphold the tradition. Armour was expensive, and many a family had been beggared by a son with ambitions for knighthood. At present, Geoffrey’s mother would undoubtedly be too grief-stricken to acknowledge the armour’s return. Later, however, she would surely welcome it—if she was short of money, she could sell it.

‘That must have been hard, my lord.’ Lucien’s answering grimace was testimony to the truth of her statement. ‘Did you tell his mother how he died?’

‘Skirted around the truth a little. Wanted her to be able to think of him as a hero.’

There was a hollow place where Isobel’s stomach should be.
This is my fault. If I had not told Sir Geoffrey about the thief, he would be alive this evening.

‘There’s a girl too,’ Lucien added.

‘Sir Geoffrey was married?’ Dear Lord, he had looked so young. Was he already a father? Were there children who had been orphaned because of what she had said to him? If she had obeyed Lucien’s command to stay away from the All Hallows Tourney, his knight would be alive.

‘Not that I know of. But there was a sweetheart, someone was hovering in the yard at the back. I heard a sob or two.’

‘A sister, perhaps?’

‘Yes, there is a sister, she’s just a child. Someone else was with her.’

‘Oh dear,’ Isobel said, quietly. ‘Perhaps I should visit them. My lord, I feel terrible about this. It is my fault.’

‘I grant that I ordered you not to attend, but I fail to see how Geoffrey’s death lies at your door.’

‘In the pavilion...’ she bit her lip ‘...I told Geoffrey I thought I had seen the thief. It was on my instigation that he went outside.’

‘Isobel, one person is responsible for Geoffrey’s death—the man who cut his throat.’

‘My lord, if I had kept silent...’ Tears stung in her eyes. ‘Why did it have to happen?’

A warm hand cupped her cheek. ‘It is
not
your fault.’

‘Nevertheless, I should like to meet Sir Geoffrey’s family.’

‘To apologise? Isobel, I don’t think that’s a good idea—’

‘I shall be tactful. I won’t say anything to cause his mother more distress, but I should like to visit her. I might be able to...help.’

‘With money?’

‘Yes.’

‘I have seen to that already.’

She covered his hand with hers. ‘I am glad. However, I should like to visit them. The girl you heard... My lord, if she was Geoffrey’s lover, there may be a child.’

Lucien stared as what she said sank in. ‘Very well. If you take care what you say to his mother about the manner of Geoffrey’s death, you may visit them after the funeral.’

‘Thank you.’

Turning away, Lucien scowled at the entrance. ‘Where the devil has that woman of yours got to? Is she milking the damn cow herself?’

Isobel lifted a shoulder, though in truth she had been wondering why Elise was taking so long. ‘She will be back presently, I am sure. My lord, did you tell Count Henry about the theft of the relic?’

He nodded assent. ‘Count Henry has promised his Guardians will investigate.’

‘His Guardians? Oh, I remember, the knights who patrol Champagne.’

Reaching for her, Lucien pulled her towards him. Isobel tried not to notice how her pulse jumped. She tried not to notice how much she enjoyed being in his arms.
I don’t want him to set me aside.

Lucien’s body was warm against hers, but his eyes were preoccupied, resting on something behind her. ‘The Guardians were established after attacks on merchants in previous years. Some had lost merchandise, others their lives.’

Isobel made a sympathetic noise. ‘Sad to say, there are brigands everywhere.’

He glanced at her. ‘I feel shame to have to tell you, Isobel, but many of them are knights. In good times they live off the money they can make at the tournaments. They hire themselves out as mercenaries. In bad times...’

‘They prey on the merchants. Lord, what a world.’

Lucien nodded. ‘Merchants make easy pickings. Even the wealthiest is not going to have much in the way of an escort.’

‘Surely the Guardians cannot patrol every road in Champagne?’

‘They watch the main thoroughfares. Count Henry wants his fairs to thrive, and for that to happen, merchants must feel confident that they and their goods are safe. After what happened today, Arthur is thinking of taking the oath and joining their company.’

‘Arthur? Is he another of your household knights?’

The dark head shook. ‘Sir Arthur Ferrer. I forgot you have not met him. He was steward of Ravenshold until recently. He has finished his term with me.’

‘And the tournament today? What happened—was it cancelled?’

‘I withdrew to bring Geoffrey home, and it went on without me. Raoul took command of my team.’

He stared broodingly down at her. ‘I was thinking of joining the Guardians myself for a while,’ he said.

It struck Isobel that since he was a Count in his own right, he would not find it easy to be answerable to Count Henry.
He is very proud.
She looked back at him, into his eyes.

‘I won’t rest until Geoffrey’s murderer is brought to justice.’

Chapter Eleven

A
twist of Isobel’s hair lay on her breast. Lucien touched it with his forefinger.
Spun gold
.
And soft as silk.

Their eyes met, and Lucien became aware of a constriction in his chest. It was anxiety. Anxiety for Isobel. The idea that a ruthless killer was on the loose in Troyes was bad enough, but more to the point was his concern for Isobel. She could identify the man.

‘I thank you for trying to help Geoffrey,’ he said, hoping she could not read the rest of his thoughts. The murderer knew Isobel’s face. He knew she suspected him of stealing the relic. Was he out for her blood?

‘Anyone would have done the same.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I only wish it could have been of use.’

‘You did well,’ he said softly, rubbing a golden strand between thumb and forefinger.

Isobel had done more than well. Tears were welling in her eyes now, but at the time she had kept her composure.
Morwenna would have panicked.
For all that Morwenna affected knowledge of the healing arts, she would have been more likely to shriek and run in the opposite direction than kneel at Geoffrey’s side and attempt to stem the flow of blood.

Isobel’s expression was sombre. He couldn’t leave her like this. And if her maid didn’t return, he wouldn’t be leaving at all. He didn’t want her to be on her own, it would be an easy matter for the thief to find where she was lodged. It would not be so easy to gain access to Count Henry’s palace, but if the man was determined enough, anything was possible. He lifted a brow, trying for lightness. ‘And lest you were thinking of acting against my wishes again, I thought I should tell you, there will be no more tournaments at the Field of the Birds until next year.’

Her smile was sad and she didn’t look surprised. Geoffrey’s death had shocked her; and she was worried about her father. That letter from Turenne could not have come at a worse time...

‘Count Henry and I are of one mind on this,’ he went on, hoping to lift her spirits. ‘The present patron, Lord Glanville, is kicking up a fuss, but no matter. Next time a tournament is held at the Field of the Birds, it will be more stringently regulated as it was in my father’s day. Lord Glanville has been too lax. Next year, the Guardians will be involved and I am to be patron.’

‘Is it costly to host a tournament?’

Lucien shrugged. ‘I can afford it, and Count Henry would prefer me to be in charge. Lord Glanville is, shall we say, less likely to cooperate with the Guardians.’

‘I see.’

‘In the meantime, if you can face the idea of a tournament after today, Count Henry has reminded me about his Twelfth Night Joust. You will be invited. Count Henry’s tournaments are less challenging. More sedate.’

‘Lances will be blunted, my lord?’

‘Indeed. It is only fair to warn you that Count Henry intends to crown you Queen of his tournament, in honour of our marriage. You will be awarding the prizes.’

‘Me? Goodness, that is an honour.’ Her expression lightened. ‘Thank you, my lord, I should enjoy that. Will you be competing?’

‘Most likely.’ Lucien frowned at the door. ‘Where is that girl? Don’t tell me she’s found a sweetheart already?’

‘Elise? Heavens, I hardly think so.’

‘She had better hurry, I’m not leaving until she returns.’ Lucien moved closer. Close enough to feel her warmth. He had not witnessed what had happened behind his pavilion, but Harry had told him. Had the thief tracked her there? Had Isobel been the real target rather than Geoffrey?

Another possibility, and one that was just as unpalatable, was that Geoffrey had been involved with the thief in some way. Lucien hadn’t discussed this with anyone, not even Raoul. Could Geoffrey have been acting as the thief’s agent?

Until today, Lucien would have taken an oath that Sir Geoffrey of Troyes was honest. Until today, he’d been certain that Geoffrey could no more act dishonourably than fly. True, Geoffrey’s mother was ill and in need of costly medicines, but Lucien would never have imagined that Geoffrey would resort to underhanded means to find money. Not Geoffrey.
Not one of my household knights
. Lucien could not be sure, but it seemed far more likely that Geoffrey had been killed because he had been barring the way to Isobel.

Isobel is in danger
.

He found himself gazing at her, top to toe, as though to memorise her features. He could not fathom it, but the more he saw of her, the more beautiful she seemed to become. She was more wilful than he had expected her to be, more of a handful and yet...

In some inexplicable way, the sight of Isobel seemed to loosen knots inside him that he had not known were there. That direct green gaze, so candid, so intelligent, seemed to offer something he had never looked for in a wife. A true partnership. It was very beguiling.

He checked himself. What was he thinking? He needed no one but himself. He must not forget that he had once found Morwenna beguiling. In those far-off days, he had been an innocent himself and completely inexperienced with women. Morwenna had taken him in. She had flattered him and had bedded him with the intention of making him fall in love with her.
Morwenna gulled me. She used my naivety against me. I was a fool then. But I am naïve no longer.

Lucien wasn’t about to be burned twice. Isobel must be kept at arm’s length. That had been, he recalled with a frown, his plan all along. He had thought to marry her and keep her safe at one of his castles while he continued doing the rounds of the tourney circuit. In between tournaments and overseeing his lands, he would visit her and they could go about the pleasurable business of getting an heir...

Yes, life was going to be so much better with Isobel to come home to.
My wife.
She had grown into the most feminine of women. He let his fingertips explore her cheek, enjoying the way her skin darkened in the candlelight as much as the softness, the warmth. He leaned in and the fragrance of honeysuckle and roses caught at his senses. As long as he guarded his heart, there was no reason why he should not take pleasure in his marriage.

‘I am a lucky man,’ he murmured, dropping a swift, testing kiss on her mouth. Already her beauty was a trial to him. She was irresistible. So very beddable.

Her eyelashes lowered, her blush deepened. He pulled back, caught a slight sigh and...

Irresistible.

‘Oh, the devil,’ he said, gathering her fully into his arms.

He heard another little murmur. His tongue sought the warmth of her mouth as the scent of summer weaved about him, heady as spiced wine. Her eyes were closed, her head was tilted up to his, and that lovely body pressed close. There would be pleasure in his second marriage. As long as he remembered to keep his heart out of it.

She slid her hand up his chest, and wound her arms around his neck. Amazingly, his legs weakened, as they had not done with a woman in years. Yes, it was all very promising.

Except that her veil was in the way. Even though he had sworn not to touch her that way tonight—she was overset—Lucien longed to tear it off and loose her hair. She drew back and he noted with satisfaction how breathless she was, how her breasts strained against her bodice...

Blushing like a rose, she gestured at the bed. ‘My lord, have you changed your mind about tonight?’

If she did but know it, that husky voice was an invitation to sin, but there were shadows under her eyes. The strains of today were showing, only a beast would bed her tonight. He shook his head. ‘You need rest. Sleep well. Elise will be waiting outside, I shall send her in.’

‘Thank you, my l...Lucien.’

Lucien had left his cloak on a chair in the solar. There was no sign of Elise. With a sigh, he retrieved his cloak and softly retraced his steps to the curtained doorway.

Wrapping himself in his cloak, Lucien settled down across the threshold of the bedchamber, and resigned himself to an uncomfortable night guarding his wife. Elise would simply have to step over him when she finally returned from whatever tryst she was keeping. Stupid wench. Isobel deserved better.

* * *

The cold made for a quick disrobing—Isobel had goose-bumps everywhere. Unpinning her veil, she slung it on a hook. She slipped out of her gown and loosened her braid. It was clear that Lucien must harbour some anger against her for disobeying him. Otherwise he would have joined her in bed. She knew he wanted her.

It is lust. He lusts for me.

Was it possible to build a marriage where the husband felt little for his wife but lust?

Lord, she was tired. Too tired to think. Likely it was as well that Lucien had gone, because she doubted she had the energy to pleasure him tonight. Briefly, Isobel wondered whether to remove her undergown before deciding against it. Winter was here and no mistake, the bedchamber was cold. Damp must be seeping into the palace from the canal. No matter. There were plenty of lambswool blankets. When Elise came back, they could warm each other.

Isobel pinched out her candle, left one burning for Elise, and slipped between the sheets. As she did so, she heard a soft thump in the solar. She snuggled under the covers and rubbed her arms to warm them. Elise had returned. She fell into a half-doze.

Time slipped by. And then more time. Elise did not join her.

Muzzy with fatigue, Isobel sat up. ‘Elise? Is that you?’

Something rustled and from the other side of the screen, there came a low, but distinct curse. ‘Hell.’ The voice was male.

Was Lucien still here? Half-asleep, she stumbled out of bed, snatching up a candlestick on her way. It was solid iron, a weapon, if need be. She tiptoed to the entrance. ‘Elise? Lucien?’

The gloom in front of her shifted and took solid form, a man stood between her and the fire. Heart in her mouth, she clutched the candlestick to her breast.

Her eyes adjusted to the firelight. ‘Lucien!’ She sagged with relief. ‘Holy Mother, I thought you’d gone. You scared me.’

He prised the candlestick from her. Lucien’s scar was made sinister by the shadows in the solar, his features looked stark in the firelight. He was all lines and sharp angles. His jet-black hair; the square jaw; that furrow between his brows as he looked down at her—all combined to form the image of a man who made no compromises. His eyes glittered.

I married this man. I must give him children.

‘I intended to, but Elise did not return,’ he said curtly. He looked extremely put out; it could not be comfortable on the floor. And she was keeping him from his business at the castle.

‘I don’t need a nursemaid. You didn’t have to stay.’

He gave her a crooked smile. ‘No?’

Her gaze was held by the scar on his temple, something about it fascinated her. Stepping up to him, she pushed back his hair—thick hair, so thick—and touched it with her fingertips. His eyes darkened, he went very still.

‘Lucien, where did you get this?’

‘Some witless woman tried to brain me with a candlestick?’

‘No, truly...you didn’t have it when we were betrothed. Is it a battle-scar?’

His smile faded. ‘You might call it that.’

Something in his tone warned Isobel that further questions were not welcome. When his eyes drifted down and his expression turned to one of appreciation, she realised her hair was hanging about her, in some disorder after burrowing under the bedcovers. Hastily bunching it together, she pushed it over her shoulders.

‘No need to do that,’ he said, softly.

Heat washed over her. She was clad only in a light shift, a shift that revealed more than it concealed. And Lucien was smiling at her bare feet.

Hastily she retreated. She did not stop until she was back by the bed and the straw matting was harsh beneath her feet. Lucien came after her. Thank the Lord, there was only one candle, he wouldn’t see her blushes. She was not used to being married and his smile had a distinctly wolfish edge to it...

He replaced the candlestick on a coffer, shed his cloak and pulled her close. ‘Elise is busy trysting; why should we not do the same?’

Isobel’s mouth was dry, and her senses heightened. She was fighting with the urge to lick her lips—afraid he would notice. Lord, no, she wanted him to notice.
Holy Virgin, don’t let him see how he attracts me.
She could feel so much more of him when clad only in her undershift. His body felt leaner, stronger. More male. It was not frightening but it was disturbing. Tonight there was that about him that was almost predatory. ‘Lucien, please...’

‘Relax. I have told you that I shall spare you my attentions tonight. Tonight, I seek simply to offer you comfort.’ His hand closed possessively over her breast, gently cupping her.

Comfort?
Isobel’s breast tightened. She wanted to press herself against his palm. The ache in her belly told her how much she wanted—needed—to intensify the contact.

He nuzzled her cheek. ‘Comfort, and perhaps a few kisses. Isobel, you’re cold. Let me warm you.’

His kiss was as gentle as his hand. As seductive. It was a kiss that made her hunger for more—it had her gripping his shoulders and sliding a hand round the back of his neck. She twisted in the hope that he would see that she was giving him better access to her breasts. Recklessly, part of her wanted him to take advantage of her.

‘That’s it,’ he murmured. ‘Trust me. Show that you trust me.’

The remark struck a jarring note and she drew back. Lucien’s eyes were black in the light of the candle, but the sensual spell was broken. She could never trust him, not completely. What about his mistress?

‘Trust you? What can you mean?’

‘Trust me. Let me into your bed.’ He brought his lips to her ear, warming it with his breath. ‘Tonight, Isobel, we shall simply give each other comfort.’

Isobel hesitated, wondering if it was comfort he sought from his lover. It was painful to think about his
belle amie
, but she couldn’t help herself. She had meant to ask him about it earlier, but Sir Geoffrey’s death had pushed it from her mind.

‘Lucien, you are my husband,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘You must know I shall never deny you, but there is something...’