Knight of Pleasure (18 page)

Had he said that last part aloud? Nay, he’d never tell.

“You are drunk. She would never do that. No one could be a more devoted wife.”

“Shhhe would neber do that to William. Nebber, nebber, nebber.” But even Catherine… even she was practical once. Took a stranger
to bed. A stranger.

“What did you say?” The voice seemed to be coming from inside his head. But it was damned persistent.

“Who was it? What happened?”

Stephen wanted the questions to stop so he could sleep.

“He could not get her with child. Her other husband. That cursed first one. So shhhe let someone else do the job. Thasss how
she got ssweet little Jamie. Big sssecret. Shhh.”

S
tephen awoke with a bad feeling that had nothing to do with his hangover. A very bad feeling. Beneath the pounding headache,
lurching stomach, and dry mouth, something more sinister lurked. He had the uneasy feeling he’d crossed a line. Committed
some grave, unpardonable wrong.

Had he gone to bed with someone he shouldn’t have? He turned his head, careful not to move too quickly, and let his breath
out. If that was what he’d done, at least she was gone.

But he did not think that was it.

He crawled out of bed, poured cold water from the pitcher into the basin, and splashed his face.

What was it? He tried to piece together what happened after… The image of de Roche with his hands on Isobel was all too clear.
His rising pulse caused his head to throb violently. He leaned over the basin and poured the rest of the pitcher over his
head.

First he went to the public house nearest the castle gate. Then to the one near the old church. Sometime later, he ended up
in the seamiest part of town. He remembered the smell of cloying perfume. Then Claudette appearing like an angel of mercy.
And Jamie.

A carriage ride. Jamie dragging him to bed. Someone asking endless questions. About women being practical…

He squeezed his eyes shut. God help him, had he said those things about Catherine aloud? And to Jamie? He could not have.
He had wheedled the secret out of an old servant years ago and never told a living soul. Never would.

He turned and looked about the empty bedchamber. Where was Jamie now? Trying not to panic, he threw on his clothes, grabbed
his cloak and sword, and tore out of the room.

He had to find Jamie. God help him if he’d told Catherine’s secret to her son last night. If he had, he would have to explain
it to Jamie, try to make him understand.

And then he would have to tell William what he’d done.

Isobel looked everywhere for her brother. When she could not find him, she began to worry. Last night he said he had something
important to tell her. Why did she not make him tell her at once? Of course, she did not expect de Roche to take her off so
suddenly. And then, after what happened—she would not think of that now—she forgot completely about her brother.

Linnet’s fair hair whipped about her face as they raced across the bailey yard. “We have not tried the stables yet,” she shouted
against the wind. “If his horse is there, you will know he has not gone far.”

“You are a bright one,” Isobel said, forcing a smile. She could not say why she was so worried.

Halfway to the stables, they saw François running toward them.

“Lady Hume, I’ve been looking for you,” he called out as he drew near. He was as breathless as she. “Your brother asked me
to give you a message.”

“A message? What is it?”

François screwed his face up as if he were concentrating to be sure he got it right. “He and Jamie Rayburn have gone to an
abbey two hours’ ride from here to see a holy relic.”

“You saw Geoffrey leave?” she said, fighting to sound calm. “With Jamie?”

“At first he was going to go alone,” François said. “I told him it was too dangerous with all the brigands and renegades roaming
the countryside. But he said, ‘God will protect me.’ I swear, that is just what he said.”

Good Lord, she would kill him for taking such a risk! Even this child knew it was foolish to travel alone here.

“Then Jamie came tearing into the stable in such a state,” the boy said, his eyes wide. “Your brother pulled him into a corner
where I could not hear. Next thing I know, your brother gives me this message—and they ride off!”

“How long ago was this?”

François shrugged. “An hour? I looked a long time for you.”

She must find someone quickly to ride after them and bring them back. By now, people would be gathered in the hall for breakfast.
She ran headlong for the keep, the twins dogging her steps.

“Jamie is a good fighter,” François called out in a valiant attempt to reassure her.

She would find de Roche. He came to Caen with a large contingent of armed men. Surely he could gather enough of them quickly
to go after Geoffrey and Jamie.

She barely slowed to a walk as she entered the keep. “Wait here,” she told the twins as she went through the great arched
doorway to the keep’s hall. She spotted de Roche at once and made straight for him.

“Philippe, help me!” she called out when she was close enough to be heard. She ignored the disapproval on his face; he would
understand as soon as he heard what happened.

He held up his hand. With a laugh, he said to the man next to him, “My bride is anxious to see me.”

“Geoffrey has gone off!” she cried. “You must go after him and bring him back.”

“Calm yourself, my dear. Tell me you have not been running. You are quite out of breath.”

“My brother is gone,” she said between gasps. “You must go at once, or he’ll come to harm, I know it.”

“If you will excuse us,” he said to the man. He took her arm in a bruising grip and led her to a corner.

“You should have asked to speak to me in private,” he said, his eyes flaring with anger. “How dare you approach me in public
making demands, telling me I must do this, I must do that!”

“I am sorry, but my brother—”

“Your brother is a grown man. He can make his own decisions and live with the consequences.”

“But can you not go after him? He does not understand—”

“Good God, Isobel, do you think I have nothing better to do than chase after your foolish brother?”

“Do you?” As far as she could tell, he had nothing to do in Caen but negotiate the marriage contract with Robert—and that
was going so slowly he could not be giving much time to it.

“I do not need to explain myself to you,” he said. “Your brother is bound to think better of his actions and return. I suggest
you go to your chamber and wait for him.”

What sort of man was he? How could he refuse to help her? She had no time to argue. He would not be moved, in any case.

She rose up on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder for someone else she could ask. When she saw Lord Fitz-Alan, she shouted
his name and waved her arms.

“Stop that at once,” de Roche said. “You are making a spectacle of yourself.”

FitzAlan was already striding toward her. Praise God! And that was Stephen, right behind him.

“Lord FitzAlan, Sir Stephen,” de Roche greeted them as they approached.

FitzAlan ignored him. “What is it, Lady Hume? You seem distressed.”

“François says my brother and Jamie have ridden out of the city alone,” she said, trying to keep her voice under control.

Stephen gripped her arm. “Does François know their destination, or in what direction they rode?”

“To an abbey, two hours east.” A fragment from one of Geoffrey’s poems came to her. Something about a finger of a martyred
saint and… “L’Abbaye de Saint Michele, could that be it?”

“I’ll meet you at the stables,” FitzAlan said to Stephen. “I must leave word for the king that I’ve gone.”

“We shall find them,” Stephen said and gave her arm a quick squeeze as they turned to go.

“Wait,” she called after them. “I will come with you.”

“Don’t be foolish—” de Roche began, but FitzAlan cut him off.

“Keep her here,” FitzAlan commanded, pointing his outstretched arm at de Roche.

Then they were gone.

Dropping her eyes on the floor, Isobel said, “I will wait in my chamber, as you suggested.” She dipped a quick curtsy and
left before he could say a word.

Linnet caught up with her on the stairs. As soon as they reached her chamber, Isobel opened her trunk and took out the clothes
she had been mending for Geoffrey.

“Cut six inches from the sleeves and leggings, and help me change,” she ordered Linnet. “Quickly now.”

She brushed aside Linnet’s objections. The voice in the back of her head told her what she was doing was foolish; she ignored
that, as well.

Geoffrey was all she had in the world.

She could not sit here and wait. From the time Geoffrey was little, she was the one who protected him—from their father’s
criticisms, their mother’s indifference, his own blindness to the world around him.

“If someone comes for me, tell them I am asleep,” she said as she strapped on her sword. “Say I am unwell, a headache.”

Thank goodness her cloak was a plain one. She told Linnet to fetch it as she pushed her hair under a cap. After giving Linnet
a hurried kiss on the cheek, she pulled the hood over her head and ran out the door.

She got to the stables just as Stephen and FitzAlan were riding out. She ducked her head as they galloped past, then turned
to see that they were headed toward the eastern gate, Porte des Champs.

When she found François inside, he was no more keen on her plan than his sister. Still, she made him help saddle her horse
and swore him to secrecy. He looked so uneasy that she forgot her disguise and touched his cheek.

“I shall catch up to them in no time,” she assured him. “They will keep me safe.”

“Take good care, m’lady,” François said. “They are going to be very angry.”

She almost laughed—François was far more concerned about what Stephen and FitzAlan would do to her than the brigands and renegades.

Porte des Champs took her directly into the fields east of the castle. Far ahead, she could see two riders. She held her horse
back, not wanting to close the distance too soon. Her plan was to wait to reveal herself until they were midway to the abbey,
when they would find it easier to take her to the abbey than bring her all the way back to Caen.

Before long, she dismissed her fear of being discovered too soon. She was a good rider, but at each rise, the two men seemed
farther and farther ahead. She lost sight of them altogether in the dips between.

When she crested the next hill, she could not see them at all. A surge of fear went through her as she realized how alone
and vulnerable she was. She darted looks side to side and behind her. Should she go back? Heart pounding, she craned her neck
and searched the empty horizon.

Suddenly, two riders burst out of the trees on either side of her. Her shrieks filled the air as they charged toward her.
At the last moment, the two riders pulled their horses up. Their horses reared, hooves high in the air. Her horse shied away
from them, nearly unseating her in its fright.

When Isobel saw who the riders were, she thought she might faint with relief. She pressed her hand to her thundering heart.
“Praise God it is you! I thought you were brigands!”

“Isobel?” Stephen said, his eyes wide. “Isobel!”

She wanted to throw her arms around them both. The men were not nearly as glad to see her. In sooth, they looked as if they’d
like to murder her.

“Are you possessed?” Stephen shouted at her. “Did you think we would not notice someone following us? If your screams were
not so… so… so
female,
we might have run you through!”

He sounded as though he wished they had.

“You were a fool to come,” FitzAlan said. “And that de Roche is a bigger fool for not making certain you did not.”

“But I am here,” she said quickly. “Geoffrey and Jamie cannot be far ahead now. We must keep going.”

When she saw the look that passed between them, she knew she would get her way. But they were not happy about it.

“We shall take you to the abbey, and leave you there,” FitzAlan said. “In chains, if need be.”

With that, he turned his horse and galloped off.

“Stay close to me,” Stephen ordered. “We’ll ride behind until his temper cools.”

They spurred their horses forward and rode side by side.

Stephen could not let it go just yet. “Truly, Isobel, that was foolish in more ways than I can name.”

“Anyone seeing me will think I am a man,” she said, though she was feeling worse and worse by the moment. “Surely ’tis safer
to travel as three armed men than two.”

“Safer, with you?” he said, turning and raising an eyebrow. “Your being dressed like that serves only to distract me. Why,
I can see the shape of your leg all the way up to—”

“Be serious, Stephen.”

She looked ahead, embarrassed. At least the anger was gone from Stephen’s voice. Judging from the stiffness of FitzAlan’s
back, he would not forgive her so easily.

Stephen seemed to read her thoughts. “I’ve not seen a woman other than his wife provoke William this much before.”