His tone turned peevish. “‘Twas fortunate for you, my father and I were able to secure you another prosperous match, since your parents haven’t the means to peddle your charms.”
She resisted the urge to laugh. How typical of Barak to want to take all the credit, when in fact he had campaigned long and hard to betroth her to one of their allies in the north—Lord Newbury, an odious, bear-sized warrior, nearly twice her age—more creature than man. She shivered at the thought. Thankfully her parents had vehemently disagreed. “As I understand it,” she forced civility into her tone despite her vexation, “‘Twas my betrothed who approached Uncle Royce. So, in truth, I only have God and my own good fortune to thank.”
“Yea, and the sizable dowry my father’s offering on his sister’s behalf.”
“And that,” she said with mild candor, “Is why I’d not wish to impose on your goodwill a moment longer.”
“Very well, though it pains me to be parted from your beauty when our time together is so short.” His lips curved in a slow, suggestive smile, making the small scar on his bottom lip stand out. “But then, there’s always tonight,” he said, urging his steed ahead at a canter through the dim tunnel of trees.
Isabeau shivered despite the warmth of her gray, woolen mantle. Would he never give up? For the life of her, she could not figure him out. Where did he think pursuing her would lead? Cousins did often marry, but in their case it could come to naught, as they were each obligated to make a prosperous match in order to benefit their families.
And, at the age of a score and one, having lost her betrothed to war, she was more than eager to comply—anything to leave her uncle’s house and the oppressiveness hovering there.
Her gray palfrey pranced again, pricking up her ears. Isabeau leaned forward to pat her sleek neck. “Be still, my beauty. ‘
Tis only the wind.”
But the words were as much to calm herself as the mare.
Maddie had been right; she should never have gone to Hesper that day. But who would have thought she would still be plagued by a palm full of spit. Hesper’s prediction had become a curse—a precipitator of fear. No matter how hard Isabeau tried to control it, whenever she rode through a forest or even a copse of trees, her heart beat faster, her palms began to sweat—she could not banish it from her head.
Her hand strayed beneath her mantle to the ruby amulet dangling from the gold chain around her neck—a gift sent to her from her betrothed, Lord Hogan. She had worn it every day these past two months. Though they had never met, it had become a symbol of her liberation. This marriage would take her from her uncle’s hall and away from Barak forever.
If only she could read the inscription on the back, it might ease the erratic thumping of her heart. But the strange symbols were unfamiliar. She could only imagine what they said—a promise of his protection and devotion—the love that would hopefully spring from their match?
Isabeau’s heart beat slower when she spied the bright sunshine ahead. She closed her eyes as she lifted her face to the warm rays of the sun, and her mood lightened. The scent of freshly cut wheat tickled past her nose.
Ahhh…‘twas a glorious day.
And the morrow would be all the more glorious.
She would be free.
A loud war whoop sliced the air—an eerie demonic screech, more animal than human in its sound.
Isabeau’s eyes popped open.
Her heart leapt in her breast.
Mother of God! They were under attack!
Her palfrey reared, nearly spilling Isabeau from her back. Only by clutching tightly to her mane was she able to keep her seat. By the time she got the mare under control, an army of men surrounded them. At least two score—mayhap three. She had little time to count.
Much shouting followed.
She edged her palfrey closer, hoping to hear what was being said, taking care to keep well back, out of harm’s reach. But before she could discern the cause of the disagreement, a melee broke out in the clearing ahead.
A woman’s scream rose above the clang and crash of swords.
Maddie!
Dear Lord! She was in the wagon!
Isabeau skirted around the fray in a desperate attempt to rescue her old nurse. How, she did not know, but she would not allow Maddie to perish at the hands of these villains.
Shouts and curses rang in her ears, but their attackers were too busy fending off blows from her uncle’s men to pay any heed, or bother to give chase.
By the time Isabeau managed to reach the wagon, she still had no plan of what she might do. A gangly young squire stood in the back of the wagon pointing a sword at Maddie’s throat. He did not see her approach until Maddie shook her head in warning.
This gave Isabeau the advantage she hoped for. She urged her palfrey forward. The height of the wagon was such that when the squire turned, he discovered her dagger pointed just below his belt. “Release her, Monsieur, or as God is my witness, I’ll turn you from a man to a woman in short order.”
The squire’s eyes nearly hopped from his head. Anger, then frustration chased across his face.
Then, very slowly, very carefully, he lowered his sword.
Isabeau barely had time to smile in triumph before she felt the prick of steel in the small of her back.
Her mouth went dry.
She forgot to breathe.
“I would not do that if I were you, demoiselle,” a deep voice said behind her. “A man does not like to grieve for his children before they are born. ‘Twould be wiser if you slit his throat.”
The suppressed violence behind his words rattled up her spine, causing her hand to shake. Before she could lower the dagger, he wrenched it from her grasp. How he had maneuvered his horse so close and so fast, she did not know, but the shock of his assault left her speechless.
The squire gushed out a loud sigh. “Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t expect there to be any women.”
“Nor I.”
Whoever he was, he did not sound pleased, but judging by the note of authority in his tone, Isabeau wagered he was the leader. “Leave them. The lady will have need of their comfort when she discovers her dowry is missing.”
Isabeau’s hands clinched the reins tighter as she listened to him canter away. Only then did she dare turn in the saddle, but it was soon enough to catch a glimpse of his grim profile. ‘Twas difficult to tell where his shoulder-length hair ended and his black surcoat began, as they were the same color, but there was enough anger in the tight set of his lips to turn her flesh cold.
So, he thought her a serf. ‘Twas fortunate her cloak fell clear to her ankles, covering the fine linen of her kirtle, and her hood had stayed up in the heat of the skirmish. Barak’s suggestion that she cover her wealth had most likely saved her from being taken for ransom. She would certainly thank him if she found him alive.
The battle did not last long, as her uncle’s men were outnumbered two to one. One lay crumpled in the dirt, trampled to death, after being thrown from his mount, three, were wounded, but none grievously so. They had gone for help for Barak, who lay on the ground, knocked out cold.
Two, seeing the futility of their efforts, had turned tail and run.
Pathetic cowards.
Their attackers dispersed as quickly as they came.
Isabeau stood by her palfrey, rooted to the spot with Maddie at her side, staring helplessly as the wagon with her dowry and all of her worldly possessions rolled away, and with it, any hope of her future.
Her hands clenched, as she blinked against tears of rage pricking her eyes. “What am I to do?”
“Rejoice!” Maddie declared with fervor. “We’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
“Yea, and so is Barak.” After a hasty search, they had found him, slumped on the ground, his warhorse munching grass some feet away. The sight of blood oozing from a cut on his head made the bile rise in Isabeau’s throat, so soon after watching her uncle’s man cut to shreds under a destrier’s hooves. A man’s life lost and her dowry taken. How could she rejoice?
Maddie did not understand. She had not lived as Isabeau had these past six years—guarding her virtue like a relic, so that she did not end up like her sister, shamed then married off in haste.
Rot!
How could fate be so cruel as to strip her of her goal when she could all but taste it?
This couldn’t be happening. Two long months she had dreamt of her betrothed, envisioned him in her mind. Now she would never meet him—never know if his golden curls and sweet smile existed. For that, was how she imagined him, a handsome knight on a charger, coming to sweep her
away.
What folly it all seemed now, all of the hoping and planning. He would never take her now. She had nothing to offer, save herself—no land, no treasure. Men married for personal gain. Even Lord Guilford, who had married her sister, sullied as she was, received a sizable dowry for his trouble, and with Nicola being the eldest, the promise of, Dawney Manor, her parent’s estate.
Isabeau straightened her back.
Well! They wouldn’t get away with it.
The villains!
She didn’t give up that easily.
This marriage was not only necessary for her future happiness, but necessary to restore her family’s reputation after Nicola’s mishap. Somehow, someway, she must get her dowry back.
“I swear, I’ve seen that face before,” Maddie wondered aloud. “But for the life of me, I can’t put my finger on it.”
Isabeau paid little heed. In her old age, Maddie’s memory often wanted to slip. “Come hither,” she said with grim resolve. “We must try to get Barak in the cart. He’s in need of better attention than you or I can give him, if he’s to live to remember this day.”
“If we can lift him,” Maddie grumbled, following in her wake. “He’s as long as a plow horse and half as wide. Brazen-faced villains! ‘Tis good they didn’t want for food or they’d have taken the cart as well as the wagon. We’d have had no means to carry him back.”
Despite Maddie’s skepticism, they managed to heft him up into the cart, with Isabeau tugging at his shoulders from within and Maddie pushing his knees below.
Isabeau collapsed in the cart with a groan when they finally had him placed.
“Sweet mercy!
He’s as heavy as a bag of rocks.”
“Yea,” Maddie agreed, “And that’s just his head.”
Isabeau leaned forward to examine the bloody welt on his brow. The cut appeared jagged, but not too deep. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped. But he would have a terrible headache when he woke. “’Tis lucky his skull didn’t crack from such a blow. The longer he sleeps the better.”
“Now would be a good time to take a peek and see if his cock is as big as his walk.” Maddie slashed a broad wink. “But ‘twould steal the joy of imagining it the size of a malt-worm.”
“Maddie!”
Isabeau chuckled in spite of their dire circumstance. “Is that all you see when you look at a man—his offending parts?”
“’Twould not be so offending, if it were not attached to him.”
“You are wicked.” Isabeau clucked her tongue as she came to her feet. “’Twas not so long ago, you wouldn’t allow me in the same room with such bawdy talk.”
Maddie held out a hand to help her down from the cart. “Yea, but you’ll soon be married. They’ll be no secrets then. But be warned, even marriage will not protect you from the likes of him. Men like Barak have but one thing on their mind.”
“Yea, I know it well,” Isabeau said with great feeling. She had spent many years dodging his sweaty palms. She had no wish to go back to it, nor spend another day in her uncle’s mirthless hall.