His grip tightened on the tankard of ale in his hand. “What would you know of righteousness?”
Her cheeks flared crimson as she wriggled to a more upright position in her chair. “Dominic was just as much to blame as I.”
“Strange. That’s not the way I remember it.” The urge to reach out and grab her by the throat was strong, but for his father’s sake he resisted.
She tossed her head, causing the dark curls on her shoulders to swing like fat hooks. “I wonder what would have happened if I’d gone to your bed first.”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
A smug smile spread over her face as she rose to her feet. “You wanted me until you realized he’d already had me.”
Alec’s gut twisted in disgust as he watched her sidle toward the stairs. Memories oozed back like congealed milk—her naked body outlined in the torchlight, thick dark hair falling down her back, while her tongue traced the edge of her full lips.
Damn his traitorous body for responding to the sight of her standing naked by his bed. But neither he nor Dominic had known their father had taken her to wife. After swilling ale all night at the guardhouse, they were both dead drunk.
He was
snoring
the rafters down when a tap on his shoulder woke him. Abigail crawled into his bed in a blink. Alec would never forget the smell of Dominic’s sweat on her skin, or the sticky feel of her thighs as she writhed up against him.
Abigail’s anger when he pushed her from the bed that night could not compare to the rage he felt the next morn when his father introduced her as his wife.
Dominic turned as white as an eel’s belly, strode from the hall to the courtyard, and swiftly tossed the contents of his guts.
“Checkmate.” Isabeau’s triumphant voice turned Alec back around—away from the darkness and guilt, squeezing at his heart.
“You’re a witch.” Dominic stared agog at the pieces on the chessboard. “Who taught you to play so well?”
“’Twas a gift, my lord, given to me by my father.”
Isabeau’s soft chuckle floated on the smoky air like a fairy’s song, turning heads at the trestle tables, racing up Alec’s spine to tickle the hairs at the back of his neck.
“Come,” he said, rising from his chair. “Tis time to retire.”
“What?”
Dominic’s mouth widened in mock-outrage.
“You can’t take her away before I’ve had a chance to beat her.”
Alec cocked his brother a wry smile. “I thought I taught you to be a better loser than that.”
“Ha!” Dominic came to his feet, to raise his arms high in a bear-like stretch. “Your boast will lose its thrust when she beats you next.” He grinned. “If only I could stay to see it done.”
Isabeau stood and held out her hand to him. “I’ve not had the honor of beating a more worthy opponent.”
Dominic bent his head to kiss her hand,
then
flashed a wicked smile. “Have a care, my lady. My skills will be sharper when we next meet.”
Alec strode forward to take Isabeau’s arm. “If you can keep your mind clear from drink,” he said over his shoulder, heading her toward the stairs.
“That was very hard,” Isabeau whispered fiercely when they were far enough away that Dominic could not hear. “He’s had ought to drink but cider these past three
days.
”
Alec raised a brow at her attempt to chastise him, but kept his tone light.
“’Tis between me and my brother.”
She halted, forcing him to stop beside her. “You make me his keeper, then brush me away as though ‘tis none of my concern.”
“I bid you keep him company, not play the doting matron.”
She cast him a wounded look,
then
turned away.
His chest tightened at her disappointment. “Very well,” he conceded with ill-grace, his ire pricked that one glance from her could make him feel so small. “I’ll speak to him in the morn. Are you satisfied?”
She turned, laying her hand on his chest to halt his progress. “Speak to him now, my lord, I beg you, so that he isn’t troubled from lack of sleep.”
The intimate gesture coupled with the earnest look in her eyes stabbed him to the core. She couldn’t have done worse had she dragged him to the chapel and forced him to his knees.
He gave a low growl,
then
turned to stalk back toward the hearth, gritting his teeth as he went.
Women!
They were the plague of man’s existence.
He had wished for a bedmate, not a priest.
Yet, some time later, when he eventually went aloft to seek his bed, he discovered she had been right. He felt strangely at peace. Dominic’s easy temper had cleansed him of Abigail’s poison. There was
a stillness
about Dominic of late—a measure of calm that he hadn’t possessed when he arrived.
Mayhap Isabeau was right.
Dominic was truly on the mend.
Gazing down at her, asleep on her pallet, her face aglow by the fire, lips as red as bilberries, he wondered how much she had had to do with this miraculous change in his brother. She had a way of infecting people with her brightness. Even Myrtle, had lost that sour, pinched look since the lady came, her manner lightened if not brisk.
In the short time she’d been there, Isabeau had certainly proved herself an asset to the household.
If he hadn’t already given Barak his word, he might consider keeping her as his mistress.
But it was too late.
The bargain was struck.
Though it pained him.
He had no choice but to give her up.
***
The bundle of laundry Isabeau dragged down the stairs behind her appeared as harmless as a giant mushroom without a stem. ‘Twas a pity it wasn’t as light as one. She’d be fortunate to make it out the front door of the hall without rupturing something, let alone all the way to the cart.
But, an overloaded bundle of sheets was the least of her troubles with Abigail still in residence at Highburn, thinking up extra chores for Isabeau, supposedly to keep her away from Dominic, whom Fortin insisted she continue keeping company with.
‘Twas a mystery how she had become so embroiled in their family squabbles. If not for Dominic she’d tell Fortin to go to the devil and take care of his own family troubles.
But she couldn’t abandon Dominic, not when he was drinking less and the bloom of good health was returning to his cheeks more and more each day.
Even if she had a mind to, there was no sense in complaining, and no one of authority to hear her if she did.
Fortin and his family had gone on a hunt with their neighbors, reminding Isabeau once again that she was no more than a prisoner and what had passed between them meant nothing to him. They would both go on to marry different people. The loss of her maidenhead did not change a thing.
The hall hummed at a more tranquil pace in their absence. Now that the trestles were cleared—all traces of the breakfast feast removed, Isabeau’s mind focused on more urgent matters as she lugged her burden toward the door—like what Fortin planned to do with her when Barak learned of her loss of virtue and refused to pay the ransom. Would he provide safe escort to her parent’s home, or would he set her loose, expecting her to fend for herself?
She preferred to journey to Lowglen to discuss her plight with Nicola before facing her parents, as her sister would surely understand her predicament. Even if she could not find Isabeau a proper match, ‘twould give Isabeau time to lick her wounds—grow accustomed to the idea before she was shut up in a convent for the rest of her days.
But Lowglen was a considerable distance away from her parent’s home. ‘Twas unlikely Fortin would spare a party of men to escort her that far. His purse was as tight as a pilgrim’s fist on a cross, his coffers reserved for building his ships and restoring Highburn to the splendor of earlier days.
Myrtle waited in the doorway of the hall, huffing and puffing after bumping her own bundle down the stairs. “Lady Abigail isn’t mistress here. You need not obey her orders,” she said, heading out the door in
a lather
.
“’Tis no burden.
I welcome the change and fresh air.” Isabeau followed to lift her bundle into the cart, pushing it over the edge to land atop the other two already within.
“She had no business sending you to the river the first time—sly baggage. His Lordship went up one side of her down the other when he learned what she’d done.”
“Fearing he’d lose his ransom no doubt.”
“’Twas your life he feared for. Had Eda and Ludella not already left for the village he’d have taken a stick to them for abandoning you at the river’s edge.” Myrtle cocked her head at the two girls from the village chatting unconcerned at the head of the cart, readying to pull the load of laundry to the river.
Surely Myrtle was mistaken that Fortin should be concerned for her safety, but the thought of it brought a spark of pleasure to warm Isabeau’s cheeks just the same. “You may put your mind to rest. I’m in no hurry to meet my maker or to be reunited with my cousin yet.”
“He won’t like it.” Myrtle folded her arms under her bosom and compressed her lips. “’Tis a bad feeling I have about this.”
“We’ll be back long before he returns,” Isabeau assured her with a quick wave, not in the mood to be burdened with Myrtle’s superstitions on such a glorious day.
The cart rolled for the gate under the warmth of the autumn sun. Isabeau fell into step behind, suppressing a smile at Myrtle’s mulish expression that reminded her so much of Maddie.
Maddie.
The one person who had made her life bearable these past five years since Nicola had married and left for Lowglen.
Isabeau’s smile fell away.
How she missed Maddie—her solid reasoning, her resolute disposition.
If she knew what her charge had done, given away her virtue in a blink after guarding it so closely for her marriage bed, she’d scold her soundly for behaving so rash.
But what else could she do?
‘Twas the only thing that would save her from Newbury.
A man such as him—a baron of the realm who strutted and postured with such arrogance would surely not accept her sullied as she was. He’d consider it an insult.
But a man like Lord Guilford—a knight with more heart than pride might take her to wife.
An image of Fortin crowded her thoughts, but she pushed it aside. He was the enemy—the cause of her troubles. He would not come to her rescue. He was planning to marry his neighbor.
But, mayhap another would.
All she need do was to wait for her sister to come.
He need not be rich. Lara had been happy as a woodcutter’s wife. A kind smile was all he need possess, and a devotion to family of course. Surely there were many men who planned hunts to keep their father’s occupied, though they weren’t in need of meat and there was much work to be done.
He need not be as handsome.
His eyes need not be as blue—sparkling like a rushing river, or his lips, so perfect and smooth.
“How do we know it isn’t a trap?” Talbot peered through a hole in the bracken, scanning the river’s edge, the smell of mud and fish tickling past his nose. After many hours of crouching in the dampness, there had not been so much as a sniff of their prey.