Purebred (12 page)

There was Isobel in her hooded cloak
and beside her the maid, Jeanne. They carried a small coffer
between them.

"I'm coming with you."

Alonso waited a moment to be sure he
had not imagined her there. She walked forward in a drift of rose
oil perfume and his horse whinnied to her in greeting. Ah, she was
real then and not a mirage.

Restraining the urge to scoop her up
into his arms, he tried to be very mature and practical. "There are
things we should discuss. Your husband—"

"I am infertile and no use to him. I
wrote to my father today, explaining it is all my fault. I daresay
Louvet will be glad to see the back of me, especially since I take
the blame on my own shoulders and leave him as the wounded
party."

"He might come after you."

She arched an eyebrow. "Louvet? Do we
talk of the same man? The man who can barely raise himself out of
bed every day? The man who could not be bothered to fuck his own
bride?"

"Then he could send someone else to
fetch you."

She smirked. "I can promise you he
won't. He won't want me back again."

"Why not?"

"Because he will find
himself...feeling better without me."

He did not know what she meant. All
that mattered was that she would come home with him.

"Now let us go quickly," she added. "A
little powdered corncockle in their ale will only keep the guards
in the privy for so long."

As they passed through the gates on
their horses, he looked at the noble lady by his side, grabbed her
hand from the reins, and kissed it. "Why do you come with me,
throwing your fine life and all your riches away?"

"Because I love you," she said with a
wide smile, her eyes shining in the shadow of her hood. "Because I
carry your son."

He stared at her, astonished. "But I
thought your flux—"

"Thorns, roses, pricks. Blood. Good
lord, you men are slow-brained."

"'Tis lucky they have us, my lady, to
knock some sense into them," little Jeanne piped up from the horse
she rode behind.

Still holding Isobel's hand, he
laughed abruptly. She was carrying his child. Could any news be
sweeter to his ears now?

He squeezed her hand and she squeezed
back.

"Besides, Alonso, my love, I did not
leave all my riches behind."

It turned out that her mother had
secretly given her a purse of coins and a box of jewelry on her
wedding day.

"My lady mother was not an
affectionate woman by any means. I suppose it was the best she
could do for me. That and a few words of advice for my wedding
night." She sighed. "Which turned out to be very far removed from
my own experience. I almost feel sorry for her."

Isobel had kept her mother's gift
hidden from Louvet during the months of their marriage, and now she
brought it with her to begin a new life.

"You ought to have some dowry," she
added. "And it is all I can offer you."

Again he raised her hand to his lips.
"Isobel, my lady, you are giving me more than any man could want.
You are giving me a son."

He had never been more content and the
future never so filled with possibilities.

"I love you, Isobel."

"Well, that's just as well,
considering."

* * * *

The next day, when the Baron went to
her chamber, he found the straw doll she'd left laid on her bed,
with a row of pins beside it.

No wonder his knee began to ache less
already!

"I am reprieved," he bellowed, seizing
the doll in his trembling hand. "The witch has relinquished her
spell. She leaves this here as proof and with her pins removed. I
am freed!"

Thus they were both freed.

Chapter Ten

Guillaume d'Anzeray sat up in his bed.
"This is news indeed! Finally one of my sons brings home a wealthy
bride."

"Aye, but she happens to be someone
else's bride," his eldest son Salvador remarked wryly. "Trust
Lon."

Their father shrugged. "That can be
undone. No real man wants to keep a wife who has no taste for him
and desires another."

"The marriage is already undone," said
Alonso. "Her husband thinks her infertile and does not want her
back. She has written to her father and asked for the marriage to
be voided. It was never consummated in any case," he grinned,
"except by me."

Guillaume looked at his son and
nodded. "You have done well. She is a fine woman. Elegant, eh? Just
needs feeding up a little."

Alonso laughed. "I'm working on
it."

* * * *

She met her two new sisters, Princesa
and Aelfa, who quickly helped her and Jeanne to settle in. It was a
large castle but primitive compared to those in which she'd lived
before. Isobel was eager to fit in there and prove to Alonso that
she could belong with his family. Jeanne, on the other hand, found
almost nothing there to her satisfaction. Anyone would think she,
and not her mistress, was the true daughter of the Duc de
Bressange, not merely a handmaiden who was once plucked from a poor
family to serve a little girl who took a fancy to her.

Alonso's brothers, all dark and
handsome, surprised Isobel by their manners, which were almost
gentlemanly — at least around her. For now. She did not know how
long it would last. Men generally slipped eventually, so she'd
found.

But she blossomed under Alonso's love
and attention. When the time came for his brothers to share her, as
was their tradition, they did so gently and with care.

"If I had not fallen in love with my
darling Alonso first," she exclaimed to her maid one morning, "I
think I might not be able to choose which of my husbands I adore
the most."

Little Jeanne shook her head in
disgust. "I don't know what is to become of us, my lady. We have
thrown in our lot with this disreputable band of mercenaries and
the good lord cannot help us now."

"But can it not also be said, Jeanne,
that the good lord put us here in the first place? If he did not
want me to meet Alonso d'Anzeray, why send him to me?"

The maid pondered this with her lips
pursed and finally announced, "It was a test, my lady. A test of
temptation."

"Oh, dear." Isobel sighed as she
stretched languidly in her bath. "Looks as if I failed then,
doesn't it."

Jeanne somberly agreed. "And you'll be
going straight to hell come the day of judgment."

"For now at least I still have you
with me, little one," her mistress added with a wry smile. "We'll
just have to make sure you do not succumb to the same wicked
temptation, won't we?"

Affronted, Jeanne squared her small
shoulders. "I can assure you, my lady, I am quite safe from all
that nonsense. I'm a good girl, I am."

"Indeed. A good girl." Isobel chuckled
and put a finger to her lips as a new idea came to her.

"What's that look for, my lady?"
Jeanne began folding clothes, brisk and efficient as
always.

"Oh...nothing."

"Nothing, my arse! I've seen that look
before. Don't you go getting any ideas, my lady."

Slowly Isobel smiled. She
really couldn't bear to part with little Jeanne. So if
she
was going to
hell...

"I mean it, my lady. Don't you go
getting those thoughts in your head. Wipe that smirk off your
face."

...She'd just have to make sure Jeanne
came too. All she needed was a bit of that wicked temptation. And
there was plenty of it around in her new family.

THE END

Note for the
historians
- Lady Isobel Bressange (and
thus her scribe) took a slight liberty in using the song "Bryd one
Brere" for this story, as the lyrics were not written until
approximately 1299, more than two hundred years after she met
Alonso "Blackheart" d'Anzeray. But perhaps we can allow her this
naughty transgression. After all, the words may have been spoken
and heard long before they were immortalized in ink for the first
time by a monk at the Priory of St. James, near Exeter,
England.

Incidentally, he wrote the secular
poem on the back of a papal bull - out of carelessness or mischief.
Or perhaps he was the thrifty type.

Bird on a Briar

(Bryd One Brere) (Translation from the
Middle English)

Bird on a briar, bird, bird on a
briar,
(Man)kind is come of love, love thus craves.
Blissful bird, have pity on me,
Or dig, love, dig thou for me my grave.
I am so blithe, so bright, bird on briar,
When I see that handmaid in the hall:
She is white of limb, lovely, true,
She is fair and flower of all.
Might I her at my will have,
Steadfast of love, lovely, true,
From my sorrow she may me save
Joy and bliss would wear me new

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ABOUT THE
AUTHOR

Georgia Fox
has lived in many different places, including a canal boat, but
sadly never in a windmill or a lighthouse. Maybe that's next! She
loves good company, spicy food, thought-provoking erotica and
excellent brandy. She also enjoys pushing the
boundaries.

In her life
she’s done a little bit of everything and somehow lived to tell the
tales.  Except those she's legally bound not to spill - for
now.
She doesn’t believe in
fairies, ghosts, flying saucers or conspiracy
theories.

But she still
believes in love.

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