Love Never Lies

• Prologue
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  

England 1147

Being naked was a wonderful thing. To the Lady Isabeau of Dawney it was the most delicious pleasure in the world, at least it soon would be, once she discovered the mystery behind the good fortune of her hot bath.

Usually the water had grown tepid by the time her sister, Nicola, finished bathing in the big, round, tub before the blazing hearth in their solar. But tonight, Nicola was not here. After fourteen winters of coming second—Isabeau’s entire life in fact, the clear, steaming water gave her cause to celebrate.

She loved Nicola, of course, but could do very well without sharing her soap scum. And, according to their old nurse, Maddie, for a goodly time she wouldn’t have to. Tonight would be the first of many steamy soaks.

The only question was—why.

Isabeau leaned her head back on the rim of the tub, gazing through half- closed lids at Maddie who stood some feet away before the hearth. “Hesper told me my life was about to change.”

Maddie swung her sturdy girth from the fire, green gaze narrowed, voice sharp as a north wind. “How many times have I told ye to stay away from that old witch?”

Isabeau cocked a smile, wiggling her eyebrows up and down. “But she was right this time, wasn’t she?”

“Life is always changing for better or worse. If you’d but come to me, I’d have told ye' that.” Maddie gave a huff, sending a faded copper curl fluttering above her wide brow. “The miracle is, she sits on her idle rump and is rewarded for such falsehoods.”

“’Twas only a few oatcakes.”
Isabeau shrugged, immune to Maddie’s censure after so many years of her strict guardianship. “‘Tis the only way Hesper can survive, cursed with her infirmity.”

“Umf!
Infirmity my eye.
One leg is a finger shorter than the other, that’s all.
‘Tis no worse than a pimple on the arse.”

“It puts her off balance.”

“Yea, she’s off balance.” Maddie turned back around to give the fire a sharp stab with the iron poker. “And it’s settled in her head.”

Isabeau chuckled. She didn’t bother to tell Maddie Hesper’s second prediction, for fear she might spill forth a string of hair-curling oaths and fly off into a fit. Besides, what could it mean she would find danger in the woods? There was always danger—wolves, thieves. Danger was everywhere for those who were not wary. “I don’t understand,” she said, switching to the subject weighing most heavily on her mind. “Why should Nicola go home and not I?”

“’Tis not a reward, my pet, if that’s what ye be thinking.”
Maddie waddled forward with a fresh bucket of water balanced in her hands. “Her wicked ways are sending her from your Uncle’s home.”

Isabeau let forth a bark of laughter. “Nicola? Surely you jest.” Her sister couldn’t be wicked if she tried. She was dutiful to the extreme—the stick by which Isabeau had been measured all of her life. Try as she might, Isabeau could never live up to her meek and gentle ways. Maddie was forever scolding Isabeau to laugh softer, mind her tongue, and slow her gait to a modest shuffle whenever she entered the hall.

“Call it what you will.” Maddie wiped the back of her hand across her freckled brow,
then
picked up a cake of lavender soap to scrub Isabeau’s back. “‘Tis one visit, you’ll be grateful ye missed.”

Isabeau doubted that very much. She hadn’t been home since Michaelmas, four agonizing months ago. She missed her parents immensely. Two visits home a year were not enough to bask in the glow of that joyous household.

There was no such happiness here. Uncle Royce’s grim, battle-worn face could smite the joy from her heart with nary a glance, and her cousin, Barak, was no better. All he ever talked about was politics and war.

The atmosphere had grown worse since Aunt Winifred died, though she had held little sway, bedridden as she was. Her feeble protests had fallen on deaf ears. Men’s needs and wants ruled the hall. If not for Father Clarence, their young priest on loan from the Abbey, there would be no cultural or intellectual pursuits. Isabeau would never have learned to read or write.

Though the aristocracy spoke French in England and many possessed Norman-French names since the conquest, Father Clarence declared England barbaric when compared to France, the place of his birth, and destination of his future travels. He was to be sent on a pilgrimage soon.

Father Clarence’s tales caused Isabeau to rue the day her parents sent her to Marsborough Hall. He spoke so eloquently and with such passion. It made her yearn for beauty and civility. But most of all, love—the kind the troubadours sang of—the kind her parents had. Thankfully, one day marriage would rescue her from the violence of her Uncle’s hall, and her dreams would be realized.

Isabeau swung round to capture Maddie’s green gaze—a little trick she’d learned over the years to draw secrets from her lips. “What has Nicola done?”

Maddie’s face closed, transforming her round features into a stern mask. “Nothing fit to be passed between your young ears. Lean forward. ‘Tis time to soap your hair.”

Rot! The element of surprise usually worked. Why was Maddie being so close-mouthed? Isabeau shrugged. “Very well, if you think there’s no lesson to be learned from her mistake.”

“There
be
a lesson all right.” Maddie began scrubbing Isabeau’s hair with furious intent. “Never lie with a man until ye be wed. Keep your virtue intact until the blessed day you hear his vow of protection.”

Isabeau gasped, as much from the abuse of Maddie’s attack on her scalp as from her grave news. “Surely you’re mistaken. Who told you this?” Hot anger flashed through her at the villain who would blacken her sister’s reputation. How dare any man utter such a vile falsehood! “Tell me! I would speak with him at once.”

“The body doesn’t lie.” Maddie rose to her feet, shaking her head. “‘Twas two months ago Nicola had her last flux.”

Isabeau’s jaw flapped. “Nicola is with child?” She could not have been more amazed if she’d looked down to discover she’d grown breasts—something she’d prayed for in the chapel every day for a year. Her sister, whom she had always looked to for guidance was to bear a child out of wedlock. How could this be? Nicola was a model of virtue. She would never dishonor their family thus.

“I did my best to hold my tongue until I was certain.”

“You betrayed her?” Isabeau stood up in the tub, splattering water across the flags. She could not believe her ears. How could Maddie, who had protected them since they were children, feed Nicola to the dogs, or in this case, their uncle? She wanted to shake her—throw a thousand oaths at her head!

“Nay!”
Maddie’s face blanched. “I only spoke with her to offer my guidance—urge her to give the villain up, so that he might do right by her. Think you I’d wish her to spend the rest of her life in a convent?” She cast her eyes heavenward. “Forgive me Lord, but Nicola is too comely for that.” Her pious tone changed just as quickly to wrath.
‘Twas Ardith, that sharp-tongued, conniving bitch, always skulking about with her ear to the door!
By the time Nicola reached the hall, she had goaded the Earl to a fine pitch.”

Ardith.
Isabeau sank back down in the tub. She might have known. For a serf Ardith had bold ways about her, especially in the presence of their cousin, Barak. Why, Isabeau had spied them only yesterday, kissing outside the alehouse, their bodies slithering against each other like eels. She shivered in remembrance. No wonder Nicola had warned her never to be caught alone with Barak.

Maddie dumped the bucket of water over her head, rinsing the image from her mind. “But, why was Nicola sent home?” She sputtered, pushing a wet lock of blonde hair from her face. “Who is this man? Will he not wed her?”

“Alexander Fortin
be
his name, one of the knights readying to depart on the crusade.” Maggie’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Aye, he’s a proud one, I’ll give you that. He denies any part of it, says he never touched her. Ha! If not him then who, jumping from pallet to pallet as though answering a wager. Did he think the Earl would accuse him without having Nicola examined first, the witless
turd!
”

Isabeau couldn’t quite comprehend what she was hearing. Nicola was to be taken from them in shame. Why would this man deny his child? It didn’t make any sense. Her sister was most fair, with a mild temper and a ready smile—all that a man could hope for in a wife. But instead, she was to be shut up in a convent for the rest of her days.

Isabeau attempted to conjure up an image of Fortin, but failed. Men came and went in her uncle’s hall like bees in a hive. She was never allowed to associate with them, nor would she wish to. They were a crude lot—not the sort of men to be found in her parent’s hall where peace and harmony reigned. “What will happen to him?”

“Castration,” Maggie said with undisguised satisfaction. “’Tis what he deserves.”

Yea.
Maddie was right. The ruttish knave should forfeit his manhood for vanquishing her sister’s honor. She’d geld him herself if someone but handed her the knife.

***

Alec blinked against the sweat trickling down his brow. The sharp blade, moved closer and closer through the gloom toward his softer parts. Every muscle in his body tensed. The salty taste of blood from the gash on his lip only served to increase his rage. When the Earl of Agnew said he would castrate him, he thought it a mere threat. He never dreamed the bastard would go through with it.

Sweet Jesu! He didn’t even know the maid, other than to see her at the high table every eventide. She was a comely
wench,
he’d give her that, with flaxen hair and generous curves, unlike her younger, scrawny sister, who stumbled around like an ungainly sprite. And why should he risk bedding Agnew’s niece with so many other eager wenches to choose from? Why would she accuse him? What had he ever done to her? The venomous lying harlot!