Barak let go a humorless laugh.
“’Twas no hardship.
You went skipping, if I remember right, all too pleased to have gotten your way, escaping responsibility, leaving me holding the bag.”
“What bag?”
“Marriage.”
His face turned grave under the crown of his chestnut hair, as though the very word conjured demons in his head. “An alliance must be made to the north, if not through you, than me. Did you think I’d sit back and let that happen?”
“Let what happen?”
“Newbury has a sister, or did you forget?”
Yea, she had forgotten. She was a widow, if Isabeau remembered correctly, who unlike her brother had produced three children. “But, surely her childbearing years are nearing an end.”
“Not according to my father. Being of the age of two score and seven, he believes at ten years her senior she’s ripe for the picking.”
So that was why Barak was so bent on her marrying Newbury—to save his own skin.
The selfish jackal.
‘Twas likely his anger would have no end when he discovered her virtue missing.
Yet, ‘twas pointless to delay.
The sooner she confessed, the sooner she could return to her parents and be rid of him.
She sucked in a deep breath in preparation of her speech, but Barak cut her off. “If you want someone to blame, blame your sister for being so fertile. She’d be married to Newbury right now, if she weren’t so quick to breed. But then, it’s taken her much longer to do so again, hasn’t it.
Mayhap ‘twas the superiority of the seed.”
He said this with such unmistakable pride, a shiver prickled over Isabeau’s skin. “’Twas you,” she breathed, saying aloud what she had suspected, but loathed to believe. “You were the one who raped her.”
“‘Twas hardly rape. I wasn’t the first. She got what she deserved—lusty piece of baggage.” He flashed a smug smile, brushing the crumbs of his meal from his hands as he came to his feet. “What did she think would happen, sneaking out to meet Guilford so late at night.”
Isabeau blinked, attempting to take in all that he said. So, ‘twas no accident Lord Guilford came to Nicola’s rescue and married her.
“Ahhh, so you didn’t know that.”
She assumed Lord Guilford had loved Nicola, and that was why he had come to her rescue, but she had no idea his affections were returned. But then, she’d been very young at the time and Nicola was always tight-lipped concerning her personal affairs. “If Nicola had met him, ‘twould have been perfectly innocent.”
“Not for long, I’ll wager.” Barak gave a wicked chuckle. “A man doesn’t meet a maid alone at night without carnal pleasures in mind.”
“A man such as you mayhap, but Guilford isn’t like that. He hadn’t touched her, had he?”
“Only because he hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
How was I to know that?” Barak’s voice took on a defensive whine. “I thought I’d grab a taste of what he’d been getting—teach her a lesson. I only meant to steal a kiss.” He looked aggrieved. “But, Father Clarence got to her first”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Barak snarled. “He had his way with her.”
Isabeau gasped. “I don’t believe you!”
“Nor could I, had I not seen it with my own two eyes.” Barak’s scowl deepened. “At least I saw the result, when I found her after in the courtyard. She admitted it was him, but then swore after that it wasn’t. Why do you think Royce sent him on a pilgrimage to France so soon after? He couldn’t be certain. But, I passed him that night, right before I found Nicola. I know it was him.”
A shadowed past over Barak’s features.
“I only meant to comfort her, but my passions got the better of me. Something seized me—a terrible rage. I had to wipe all memory of him from her.”
“Comfort!”
Isabeau could not believe what she was hearing. No wonder Nicola
never
spoke of it. She had been raped by two men she trusted in one night. “This is your comfort? You defile your own cousin—ruin her life!
You rotten swine!”
She sucked in a long breath in outrage, turning away. Her whole body shook with suppressed fury as she flung over her shoulder, “May God
forgive
you for what you’ve done, for I never shall!”
He was in front of her in two strides, before she could take one step, pointing an accusing finger at her chest.
“Always the saint!
But if I wasn’t so bad, you wouldn’t look half as good. Would you! Remember that. The scopes would have no reason to sing your praises.”
She made to go again.
But before she could, he grabbed her by the wrists. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t feel so pleased with yourself, would you, cousin?”
“I could never feel good, having kin such as you!” She twisted away, revolted by his touch. “I rue the day my parents sent us to be raised alongside a devil like you!”
He gave a harsh laugh. “But then, what reason would you have to go to the chapel each morn? For whom would you pray?”
“Not you, that’s certain.” Any prayers she uttered on his behalf would be wasted.
But right now she needed more than prayers.
She needed a miracle.
God knew what Barak would do when she told him she was no longer fit to wed Newbury.
***
Abigail tip-toed down the hall, her bare skin aquiver with delicious spasms of anticipation beneath the fur mantle she hugged for warmth. With Darcy out cold, spent from the rigors of the hunt and Alec off searching for his precious prisoner, this was her chance—the moment she’d been waiting for, to catch Dominic alone and ease their mutual torment.
Better still, he was drunk.
Why else would he retire so early?
Bribing Lady Anna’s maid at the tourney, to inform Lady Isabeau’s cousin where to find her was the best coin she’d ever spent. With no keeper, Dominic had swilled ale and played the swain to that serving wench all night long.
What was her name?
Gertrude?
Nay, Gwen.
No matter. She was as plain as porridge, with a complexion as dull as marsh water, and the wit of a jester who passed wind.
Dominic had to be aching for a woman with refinement, someone with soft skin and gentle hands, gifted in the ways of pleasing men.
And ohhh, how she had dreamed of pleasing him!
Abigail eased opened the bedchamber door with nary a sound.
A candle sputtered beside the bed, sending a soft throbbing glow over the uneven surface of the flags.
A chuckle of pleasure, if not triumph, rose in her throat like a burbling cauldron, as she tripped lightly to the side of the bed, imagining Dominic’s hard body stretched beneath the pelts. A flash of heat shot through her veins, converging between her thighs in sweet stabs of pleasure.
She pushed the fur mantle off her shoulders, savoring the light tickles it made as it slid down her back to the floor.
Hail Mary and call down the saints! She was riding a stallion tonight.
“Dominic,” she whispered in the sultriest voice she could conjure.
“’Tis me, Abigail.”
No answer.
Only a low groan.
He must be asleep.
Not for long. Once she climbed in beside him and pressed her body against his, nature would do the rest.
She pulled back the pelts, but to her consternation, discovered two heads instead of one.
Gwen’s mossy green eyes stared back at her, wide with shock.
With a gasp she made to roll off of Dominic.
But he wrapped his arms around her to keep her there, seemingly undaunted. “Are you sleepwalking Abigail?” He stared up at her without bating an eye, but there was a challenge in his voice—a suspiciously sober voice. “Or has some frightful catastrophe sent you fleeing naked from your bed?”
Abigail gasped at the sound of his clear-headed tone.
She could have sworn he was drunk as a jester when he left the hall.
Yet his cynical tone bore proof of a clear head. Had he been drinking naught but cider after all? How could that be? His spirits had been so high. She could have sworn he was drunk.
Her ire rose, gazing down at his mocking face.
How dare he speak to her in such a scathing tone, before a servant no less! Every muscle in her body contracted with outrage.
Every pore seethed.
How dare he choose a mere serf over her when she had risked so much! Didn’t he realize how fortunate he was to be desired by a woman like her?
She opened her mouth to say as much, then, remembered herself. Should word reach Darcy through any of the servants about her nocturnal wanderings, she would be in serious jeopardy. She clapped both hands to her cheeks. “Is this not my bedchamber?”
“Nay, ‘tis not.”
Sarcasm dripped from Dominic’s tongue.
“I fear you’re right.” She gave another gasp for good measure. “I must have been sleepwalking again.”
She snatched up her mantle, tossing her head haughtily as she swept it over her shoulders.
Then, with as much dignity as she could conjure, hastened from his chamber.
Damn him!
Well!
This was not the end of it.
He could not spend the rest of his life prancing around Normandy.
He had to come home some time.
And when he did, she’d be ready.
***
Dawn came, sneaking over the horizon in a soft pink haze. ‘Twas time to depart. Isabeau squared her shoulders. She had put off informing Barak of her loss of virtue long enough. ‘Twas better to face his anger now than wait and suffer Newbury’s wrath, a man notorious for his cruelty.
She strode toward Barak, as he emerged from a stand of pines east of the tower. ‘Twas the perfect time, while the monster twins were occupied, readying their mounts. Her confession would be difficult enough without others witnessing her shame.
Barak froze in his tracks, an expression of annoyance riddling his brow. “If you’ve come to tell me you’re joining the cloister, you’re wasting your time. You’re marrying Newbury. And that’s the end of it. The mold is cast so cease your moaning and pleas.”
“’Tis you who are wasting your time.”
His eyes narrowed. “And why is that?”
“It pains me to tell you this, but I can’t marry anyone.” Her cheeks turned hot. “I’m no longer fit to do so.” There, she’d said it. Slowly she allowed the air to ease past her lips. That wasn’t so bad. Better to have it out in the open and done with.
Barak’s mouth thinned.
“’Tis disappointing to hear.
I had hoped Fortin’s honorable reputation would stand up. But, apparently the temptation was too great for him.”
Isabeau observed Barak closely, but saw no sign of anger. Her heart slowed to a normal pace. Not that she cared what he thought. She had done what she had to. There could be no gain without sacrifice.