Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (24 page)

Kiera curled into a little ball with her back to him.

Denis sidled into the room. “Alexander is putting his lordship to bed.”

He closed the door. “Forgive me for intruding,” he said as if he feared speaking louder might increase Kiera’s pain, “and Alexander will have my head if he finds out what I am doing, but I think I should tell you something about my friend, and why you should listen to him.”

Although Isabelle was burning with curiosity to hear more about Alexander DeFrouchette, Denis had not been speaking to her. “I’ll leave, if you would like.”

Kiera quickly rolled over. Her hand shot out, and she grabbed Isabelle’s wrist. “Please, stay with me,” she pleaded, her eyes begging as well as her voice.

“Osburn is a jealous man, is he not, Kiera?” Denis asked as he pulled up the stool.

She nodded.

“Then you must stay, my lady, and I must be swift.” He glanced around as if fearing spies, then leaned forward and regarded them, his brown eyes intense. “Alexander will be angry if he finds out that I’ve told you about his mother, so please, you must not let him know.”

“I won’t,” Isabelle vowed.

“Nor I,” Kiera whispered.

Denis gave a brisk nod of approval. “She was born a lady, into a wealthy family in France. When she was but fifteen, she was seduced by Alexander’s father. He abandoned her, and when her family found out she was with child, she was thrown into the streets.”

Kiera’s hand gripped Isabelle’s. As difficult as a servant’s life could be, a maidservant bearing a child out of wedlock in a noble household was not unusual, or even particularly shameful. She would be compensated, and the child, especially if a boy, could hope to have some measure of worldly success and assistance from his father.

It was vastly different for a woman of noble birth, though. Her virginity had far more value when it came to marriage alliances. For a noblewoman to bear an illegitimate child was not just shameful; it devalued her completely.

“Alexander understands how a girl can be seduced by a handsome nobleman,” Denis continued. “But she lived in hope that Alexander’s father would come back to her. She was not a whore then, although they called her that. She earned her money working for a brewer, in a tavern, and all the time she told her son they must always be prepared for his father’s return. They must always have fine things she could barely afford, just in case—wine and linens and a gown for her and clothes for him, awaiting the day they would be needed. Alexander had to learn to act like a nobleman’s son, to sit and eat and walk and talk like one, although every day the other boys reminded him of his bastardy. But he was not slow to see that his father had left her with nothing except him—no money, no house, no name. He wondered why this was so, and why his mother continued to speak of his eventual return as some might the second coming of our Blessed Savior. Nor would she let him question the man’s absence.
Non, non
, they must be prepared. He would come. They must be patient.

“Then one day,
voila
! He is there. The great man himself. Why he finally arrived, Alexander never did learn. All he can remember is his mother throwing herself at his father’s feet, sobbing with joy to see this man who had left them alone, with nothing. A tall man, he towered over them both, and dressed all in black, so he was like a great crow. Handsome, and cold and without a hint of love for them.”

“He looks just like his father now,” Isabelle noted, her heart full of sorrow for the abandoned boy and his mother.

“It’s easy to see how his mother was seduced, if he was as handsome,” Kiera murmured. “And why she would wait.”

“Do not tell Alexander that. He thinks his mother fooled herself for far too long. She was living in a dream, and even when his father came, so cold and aloof, she did not wake up. Instead, she humiliated herself. He told me once that she was like a dog whose master kicks it again and again and again, and still it comes sniveling back.”

“But I thought he wanted to please his father,” Isabelle said.

“He wanted what his father promised if his father was pleased,” Denis clarified.

“The knighthood and estate and the chance to inherit,” Isabelle explained for Kiera.

Denis nodded. “
Oui
. After his father left, staying for only that day and the night—in his mother’s bed, and whatever you do, do not tell Alexander I revealed
that
!—she became more determined that he must be worthy. It was only after this that she sold herself, to earn the money for a sword and armor and a horse. That sword he carries now is the one she bought for him. He hated that she would do that, but what could he do, a little boy, except excel, and when he had his knighthood and his estate, look after her?” Denis sighed. “She died when he was twelve. All she had managed to purchase was the sword. The rest he earned the money for himself and he found an ancient knight willing to train him. Old Sir James could barely walk or breathe.” Denis shrugged. “But when a man is keen to learn, he can learn from any teacher.”

Denis rose and smiled down at Kiera. “So you see,
ma petite
, why he does not want you to excuse a man who will hurt you.”

Kiera choked back a little sob and turned her face away. “Will you … will you thank him for helping me?” she whispered.

Denis came around the bed so that she had to see him, and a compassionate look softened his brown eyes as he squatted down so that he was face to face with her. “You are a beautiful, kind and loving woman,” he whispered as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He smiled tenderly, a different look from his usual merry grin. “You deserve a better man who will treat you well. And of course I shall pass your message on to my friend.”

“Thank you.”

He rose. “A word, if you please, my lady,” he said to Isabelle.

She nodded. “I’ll be right back, Kiera. You rest while I add my thanks to Denis’s message for Alexander.”

When they were outside the closed door, Denis regarded her with an intensity she found unnerving. “If Osburn had struck
you
, Alexander would have killed him. He cares for you more than you know.”

“He has no feelings for me beyond what I am worth in trade,” she replied, telling herself that was so.

“I would it were so, my lady,” Denis said woefully, “for things would be simpler for him then. He has borne much and been disappointed many times. I would spare him pain if I could, because of the pain he spared me, so I ask you to be gentle with him.”

“You are speaking of the man who abducted me,” she reminded the Gascon, and herself. “Why should I have any mercy for the man who kidnapped me?”

“Because he deserves it, and because he cares for you more than he is willing to admit, even to himself. I would even say he loves you.”

Oh God, this could not be! This must not be! Denis had to be wrong. Alexander DeFrouchette
couldn’t
love her. Nor could she love him. It was improbable, impossible, unthinkable. Whatever she thought she felt for him, unless it was hate and anger, it had to be wrong.

She had to escape him and this place. Soon. Tonight. Before Oswald came and revealed who she really was. Before desire for her captor made her do something she would surely regret for the rest of her life.

Once she was away from here—and Alexander DeFrouchette—all would be as it was. She would be free in every way.

She abruptly opened the door and went back into the chamber where the weeping Kiera waited.

With a grunt, Isabelle removed the last of the loosened stones in her chamber wall late that night. The space thus created was small, but large enough for her to crawl through. Her arms and legs would be covered, so she would not be too badly scratched by the rough stones.

It had started to rain that evening, so she would be soaked before this night was through—but the rain meant clouds covered the moon. Between the rain and the darkness and the guards’ desire to stay warm and dry by huddling in sheltered spots on the wall walk, there was less chance that she might be spotted climbing down the wall, or so she planned.

Whether the rain continued or not, she had to leave tonight.

Hoping her makeshift rope would hold, Isabelle knotted one end around the post of the bed, which she had slowly, carefully and quietly pushed close to the window. The other end she shoved through the loophole.

The rope disappeared into the darkness. If she had guessed correctly, it would be nearly long enough to reach the wall walk. If she had not…

She wouldn’t think about that.

For her final preparation, she reached back and pulled the back hem of her skirt through her legs, then tucked it into her girdle, so that her skirt was like a baggy pair of breeches. This way, her feet would not get entangled in her skirt and her knees would be covered as she crawled backward out of the hole.

She took one quick look around the chamber. After this, if she was successful, she would never see Alexander or Denis or Kiera again. She would never see Osburn and those women and the Brabancons again, either, she reminded herself, subduing any hint of regret.

Pressing her lips together with grim determination, she grabbed hold of her rope, then, with repeated silent pleas to God for help and strength, she began to crawl out.

Her feet dangled in the air until her waist was at the edge of the wall and the window. She forced down the bile of fear and inched further back until she was able to get the soles of her feet against the wall. She eased the rest of her body outside.

The rain pelted her bare head and soaked her gown before she had gone another foot. The rope was already hurting her hands.

If only she had gloves. And a hood. Water dripped off her forehead and into her eyes.

How far above the wall walk was she? She didn’t know and didn’t want to look down to find out, as long as the rope didn’t end too far above it and none of the guards spotted her.

And she could hold on long enough. Her hands were chafed and her arms ached after only this little way.

She forced herself to ignore the discomfort. She had to escape. She had put it off too long as it was. What if Oswald came tomorrow? What if what she felt for Alexander was—

She would not think about Alexander as she crept slowly down the wall. She must think about Allis. And home.

The rope jerked, and one section of the braiding went slack, as if it had been cut or torn up above. She raised her head, but in the rain, she could see nothing.

The strand must have ripped on one of the stones. What if the others did, too? A swift, sickening glance showed that she was nowhere near the wall walk yet, and if the rope broke....

She fought the panic surging through her. She must think.

But her arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets. Her hands were raw.

Then, as suddenly as the strand had gone slack, somebody began hauling up on the rope.

Somebody strong, for he was pulling her with it.

She couldn’t go down and she didn’t want to go back. She wanted to go home.

She stifled a shriek as her rain-slicked hands slid further down the rope. It was only a few inches, but she foresaw her bloody death on the stones below. A sob choked her, for she knew she really had no choice. She had to go back, or she would surely fall. Gripping the rope, she began to walk slowly up the wall as whoever was in her chamber pulled her up.

Another section of the braiding slackened. Only one strand made of braided strips kept her from falling and dashing her brains out on the stones below.

“Oh, God,” she cried, the words both prayer and plea, quickly lost in the driving rain. “Oh God, help me!”

She reached the bottom of the window. One hand holding the rope, she desperately reached in to get a grip on the inside edge.

A strong hand took hold of her and hauled her into the chamber.

Alexander enveloped her in a powerful embrace. He was warm and solid and strong, and she held on to him tightly.

“My love, my love, you could have killed yourself!” he murmured against her hair.

He kissed the top of her head. Then he drew back a little and lightly kissed her forehead. Her cheeks. Her eyelids. He brushed gentle, feathery kisses over her face.

Until he found her mouth.