Knight of Pleasure (37 page)

De Roche and LeFevre were dead. She was safe.

She heard a door scrape, and her hand flew to her throat.

“Lady Hume?” a cheerful voice called out. “Are you awake?”

Isobel pulled the bed curtain back as a plump older woman entered the room carrying a steaming tray.

“Feeling better today?” the maid asked over her shoulder as she set the tray on a table near the door.

“I am, thank you,” Isobel answered. “Did I sleep long?”

“A full night and day, m’lady,” the maid said with a laugh. As she came toward the bed, she pinched her brows together. “Tsk,
tsk, those are nasty bruises.”

Isobel dropped her hand from her throat.

“Such a tired lamb! You gave me quite a turn, you did, falling fast asleep in the tub.”

“You scrubbed the blood from my fingers,” Isobel said, remembering.

She was so grateful she could have kissed the woman. For two days, every time she looked down at her hands on the reins, she
saw de Roche’s blood crusted under her nails. She couldn’t get it off, washing in the dark with no soap.

How could Stephen and the king speak to her of marriage when she still had de Roche’s blood on her boots and leggings and
matted in her hair?

“I would have let you rest longer,” the maid said, “but your brother has come to take you to the king.”

“To the king?” It felt as if she had just left him.

She closed her eyes. Damn that old fool Hume! If he’d not been taken in by Bartholomew Graham’s lies, none of this would have
happened. She would never have met de Roche, she would not have had to kill anyone, and she would not have bruises on her
throat. She would be living peacefully in Northumberland, running her household.

What would be her fate now? That a marriage alliance had failed to ensure de Roche’s loyalty would not deter the king from
trying again. Which French nobleman did King Henry wish to bind to him now?

Or would it be Stephen? Could he convince the king? If he did, what would she do?

She would agree. Of course, she would.

How long would it be before he broke her heart? A few weeks? Six months? A year? Regardless, she would rather be unhappy with
him than be with another man. If God were kind, she would have children to comfort her.

An hour later, she entered the Exchequer hall. Her heart dropped to her feet when she saw that Stephen was not there.

She stood before the king, once again waiting to hear her fate. Geoffrey and Robert stood on either side of her.

Where was Stephen? If he wished to claim her, surely he would be here. Perhaps he had already spoken to the king, and it was
all settled.

“I hope you have recovered sufficiently to discuss your future,” the king said, kindly enough.

Isobel flushed, recalling how she had flung herself at his feet, begging. She as much as told the king he owed her a debt
of service—and how he should repay it. She never would have done it if she had not been utterly exhausted.

“I leave Caen at dawn and want to settle this matter before I leave,” the king said, unrolling a parchment in his hands.

She turned her head to see if Stephen had come in.

“I have a letter from my uncle, Bishop Beaufort.”

Bishop Beaufort! Had he not caused her enough grief?

“He spoke to your father about increasing your dowry.”

Why? What were they planning now? How many times must she suffer the choices of men who held power over her? She was sick
to death of the decisions they made on her behalf.

“The bishop prevailed upon your father to increase your dowry to a handsome sum.”

She could imagine Bishop Beaufort “prevailing upon” her recalcitrant father. If she were not so tense, she might be amused.

“Your Highness, if I may?” her brother said. When the king nodded, Geoffrey said, “Our father will increase her dowry further
when he learns I am joining the Cistercian order.”

Isobel tried to smile at her brother. Though it was an unlikely choice for an only son, she was happy for him.

“I admire the Cistercians’ devotion to poverty, prayer, and arduous labor,” the king said. “Your father should be proud.”

Ha! The king might hear their father’s shouts all the way from Northumberland when he heard the news.

“ ’Tis a shame the dowry won’t be needed now,” the king said, shaking his head. “I am releasing you from your promise to marry
a man of my choosing.”

“Your Highness?” Isobel was too stunned to be sure she heard him correctly.

“If you will not take a husband, you must have an income,” the king said. “So I’m granting you the Hume property, as well.”

She blinked at him. “But the Hume lands belong to Bartholomew Graham now.”

“Graham was caught consorting with Scottish rebels,” the king said. “So the bishop confiscated the lands for the crown.”

She stared at him. Was it possible?

“I intended to give the property to your new husband as a wedding gift,” the king said, frowning.

Isobel felt dizzy. The Hume lands were hers, at long last. It was what she’d waited for all these years. Never again would
she suffer the humiliation of being sold like cattle for land or political need. She could run her own household, dependent
on no man.

Quite suddenly, she was struck by the loneliness of the life before her. The life she had prayed for since she was a girl
of thirteen.

“Surely this is the best of news,” Geoffrey said as he led her out of the hall.

“Aye, the best,” she murmured.

She could not remember if she thanked the king. Or made the proper curtsy before leaving his presence.

“You look pale,” Robert said on her other side. “Are you unwell?”

She turned to look at him. “Do you think the twins would go to England with me?”

Robert made a face and shook his head. “ ’Tis best they stay here. Sooner or later, a relative is bound to turn up and claim
them. Until then, I’ll look after them.”

She was unaware they had left the castle grounds until they stood before the door to FitzAlan’s house.

“I would like to be alone now,” she said.

“But the FitzAlans are waiting to hear your news,” Robert said.

“They have been so kind,” Geoffrey added, “surely you can visit with them for a little while?”

She nodded, knowing her brother was right.

“The family is expecting you,” the servant at the door told them. “They are in the solar.”

“Thank you,” Robert said. “We can find our own way.”

“The king has released me to escort you home to Northumberland,” Geoffrey said as they went up the stairs. “You will need
to say your good-byes to the Fitz-Alans soon.”

Isobel felt the prick of tears at the back of her eyes. She’d become fond of the FitzAlans, especially Jamie.

“You’ve visitors!” Robert called out as they reached the top of the stairs. He stepped aside to let Isobel enter the solar
first.

She stopped dead at the threshold. Leaning against the wall opposite, arms folded across his chest, was Stephen Carleton.
Long and lean and perfect. When he turned and met her eyes, the breath went out of her.

The sad, sweet smile he gave her as he came to greet her made her insides go soft. When he touched his lips to the back of
her hand, she had to close her eyes against the wave of emotion that washed through her.

“We must let Robert and Geoffrey come in,” he said in a soft voice.

She moved on stiff legs as he drew her away from the doorway. The warmth of his hand on her arm was so comforting, she longed
to rest her head against his shoulder.

She stood mute as Robert and Geoffrey told the others of her good fortune. No one showed surprise at the news.

“So, you shall be a wealthy landowner in your own right,” Lord FitzAlan said with false heartiness. Despite his words of congratulation,
the look he gave her was full of sympathy.

“You will return to England soon?” Lady Catherine’s voice, unlike her husband’s, was cold, and her eyes were angry.

“Aye, we will,” Geoffrey answered for her.

“We go home ourselves,” FitzAlan said. “Perhaps we can travel together as far as London.”

“I am leaving, as well,” Stephen said beside her.

The tightness that had been around Isobel’s heart like a vise eased a bit. She would not have to say good-bye to Stephen until
they reached London, and that would take at least a week.

“You travel to England?” Robert’s tone was casual, as if this were a matter of little concern. “To Northumberland to claim
the Carleton lands?”

Northumberland! Why, they would journey together for two or three weeks. If Stephen remained in Northumberland, she might
even see him at gatherings from time to time.

“I stay to fight with the king,” Stephen said. “I am taking command of William’s men.”

Isobel’s stomach gave a lurch.

“I must bid you all adieu now,” Stephen said. “We march at dawn.”

March? At dawn? Isobel felt herself sway on her feet.

As Stephen left her side, she felt a rush of cold where his hand had rested on her arm.

Stephen and FitzAlan slapped each other’s backs.

“I know you will watch over Jamie for us,” FitzAlan said and pulled Stephen into a fierce bear hug.

Jamie was leaving, as well? Would she have no chance to bid him good-bye?

Lady Catherine fell into Stephen’s arms, weeping openly. “Promise me you will come back. Promise.”

“Give my love to the children,” Stephen said and kissed her cheek.

After saying his farewells to Robert and Geoffrey, Stephen returned to stand in front of Isobel. His eyes were soft as he
took her hands.

“Isobel, I wish you every happiness.”

“You have a command, as you wanted,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I told you what I want.” He attempted a smile, but his heart was not in it.

He gave her hands a final squeeze and was gone.

Isobel flung the water jug against the wall. It bounced instead of smashing to bits, giving her no satisfaction at all.

Now that she finally had what she wanted, why was she not happy?

She paced the small bedchamber until her legs ached. Finally, she crawled onto the bed and lay on her back. The bed curtains
encased her like a tomb. Tears of frustration slid down the sides of her face and into her hair, making her head itch.

If not for Stephen, she would be content. Nay, she would be overjoyed! He had taken that away from her.

What did he mean, telling her he wanted her and then leaving? She pounded her fists against the bed. And then she cried in
earnest until her head ached and her throat was parched.

The door opened with no warning knock. A moment later, someone jerked the bed curtain back with a snap and thrust a candle
in her face.

“How can you be so foolish!”

Lady Catherine. Could the woman not leave her to her misery? Isobel locked her arms over her eyes.

The mattress sank as Lady Catherine sat on the bed.

“Please go,” Isobel groaned.

“If it were only you who suffered, I might.” Catherine’s voice was sharp. “Have you no sense of what you are doing to Stephen?
I fear he will not survive the first battle.”

Isobel sat up. “But he is a skilled fighter.”

Ridiculous as it was, her confidence in Stephen’s abilities was such it did not occur to her until now he might be killed.

“ ’Tis a dangerous thing,” Catherine said, “to send a man off to war when he does not care if he lives or dies.”

Isobel felt as though a fist squeezed her heart. “You do not truly think—”

“I do,” Catherine said.

“Then he must not go,” Isobel said, wriggling out from under the bedclothes.

When she tried to squeeze past, Catherine caught her arm and held it. “Stephen will not take you if you only wish to save
him. He told me he tried to force your hand before, and he will not do it again.”

“Then you know he only wanted to wed me because he thought I might carry his child.”

Catherine blew out a long breath. “Of course, Stephen would do the honorable thing. But are you such an idiot you cannot see
he loves you?”

Isobel shook her head violently from side to side, though she did believe Stephen loved her now.

“Stephen is such a good man, kindhearted and thoughtful,” Catherine said, her voice growing softer. “You could not ask for
a better father for your children. ’Tis a rare man who is so good with little ones.”

Isobel’s heart ached, because all that Catherine said was true.

“I can see you love him, too,” Catherine said.

“Of course I love him! He could not make me so very wretched if I did not.” Isobel looked hard at Catherine, willing her to
understand. “I promised myself I would never let another man have the power to hurt me as much as my father did.”

“It is too late for that.” Catherine brushed the hair back from Isobel’s face. “Come, tell me what it is you fear.”

“That he will fail me when I need him most,” Isobel blurted out. She drew in a shaky breath and then added in a whisper, “That
he will abandon me, as both my parents did.”

“I see I shall have to tell you,” Catherine said, shaking her head, “though Stephen made me swear not to.”