The Bride Hunt (15 page)

’Twas wondrous.

Feverish, he began to move, sliding out of her, then slowly back inside. He increased the rhythm and felt her legs wrap ’round his hips, as if he were the only man in the world. He’d felt naught to compare to the sensations of her body contracting ’round him. She held him close, with arms and legs going taut with excitement, shuddering when the climax came over her, crying his name, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Her open gaze was so intimate it sent his blood roaring in his ears. Anvrai plunged deeply, at the same time burying his face in the crook of her neck. Raw pleasure shot through him when she arched against him again, and he
found his own release, trembling and quaking as if ’twas his first time.

And it was. No woman had ever come to him willingly, without good coin in payment for the use of her body. What he’d shared with Isabel was entirely different.

When he could breathe again, he gathered her close and pulled them to their sides. He slid out of her, and every muscle in his body contracted in an echo of the pleasure he’d just experienced. She pressed her lips to his throat and Anvrai nearly came apart again.

“’Twas more than I thought possible,” she whispered.

“Aye.” Naught in his life had prepared him for the intensity of emotions that surged through him at that moment. ’Twas a terrible mistake to make love to her, for he could never claim her as his own. She was meant to be chatelaine of a grand estate and he was not the one who would become her husband-protector. That role was beyond his abilities.

There could be no future between them, aside from traveling safely to England. She had satisfied her curiosity about him, and he had experienced a joining that had shook him to his very bones. “You should go back inside.”

“I’d rather sleep here with you.”

Anvrai swallowed. “What if Tillie needs you?”

Isabel sat up, her body naked but for the ragged chemise that pooled ’round her hips. Her breasts were full and high, their rosy tips beaded in the cold air. “Tillie won’t need me.” She slipped the chemise down her legs and kicked it away, then she pushed him onto his back and rose over him. “Besides, I want more of you.”

Isabel slipped into the cottage just before dawn, unnoticed. Roger lay snoring in the area he’d claimed as his own, and Tillie and Belle were quiet upon the bed. Her body still purred with awareness of Anvrai’s touch, and her emotions were in turmoil. She did not know what she felt for Anvrai, only that he made her heart sing and her body hum. She could not regret what they’d shared…they might not survive the journey home.

And if they made it safely back to Kettwyck? Isabel picked up a fur blanket and pulled it close about her shoulders, wishing it was Anvrai’s arms that warmed her.

Her father would never accept Anvrai as her husband. He owned no land, and ’twas likely he no longer had even a horse. He had no family with which to make a strategic alliance.

Isabel took a deep, shuddering breath and
looked over at Roger. He was just a boy. He lacked experience and understanding of the world, but he would mature, both in mind and body. Isabel imagined herself as his wife, bearing his children and running his household in the years to come.

The thought of it gave her an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The firelight flickered over his soft, handsome features, and Isabel realized how shallow her appreciation of him had been. Anvrai had garnered none of her early regard, yet he was by far the worthiest of knights. His value could not be measured in property or comeliness.

Belle began to whimper, and Isabel knew she would face the day with very little sleep behind her, but she did not care. The hours spent with Anvrai had been worth it. She lit the lamps and went to the young mother, who seemed recovered from the previous day’s shock.

Tillie yawned as she put Belle to her breast, and Isabel was reminded how young the girl really was and how alone. “Will we leave here today?”

“Aye,” Isabel replied. “Sir Anvrai repaired the cart, and so you and your beautiful bairn shall ride.”

“Where will we go?”

“To England, of course. We’ll find a way to get you back to Haut Whysile.”

Tillie looked up sharply. “I’d rather stay with you and Sir Anvrai.”

Isabel felt her face flush with color.

“Please, my lady,” Tillie said. “Ask him if he will allow me to accompany the two of you to your home. I am a hardworking maid and—”

“Tillie,” Isabel said, unable to bear it. The girl believed she and Anvrai were a pair. “We shall see.”

She began to gather the items they intended to take with them, purposely neglecting to tell Tillie that Anvrai was not her husband and had naught to say about whether or not Tillie stayed with her.

Roger awoke and went outside, and soon Anvrai pulled the cart up to the cottage. Isabel heard him talking to Roger, giving him instructions.

Isabel felt numb. The night’s events loomed momentous in her heart, but Anvrai had said naught of her intention to wed Roger. He’d made no declaration, no claim upon her, even after their intimate night together. Surely he would not easily relinquish her to Roger.

Isabel took Belle from Tillie, holding the bairn close to her breast as the girl went to the privy and prepared to leave. The day would be fraught with danger. The cart would not travel
well through the woods, but the path and the other open spaces left them too exposed. Isabel turned her attention to the tasks at hand and tried to put Anvrai from her mind. At least for a while.

Roger came inside and picked up his blanket from the floor, keeping his injured arm stiff at his side. “Are you ready?” he asked irritably.

“Nearly so. Roger, let me look at your arm.”

“’Tis well enough, Isabel.”

He seemed angry with her, and Isabel wondered if he knew she’d spent the night with Anvrai. Tillie had noticed the bond between her and Anvrai…mayhap Roger had taken note of the same things Tillie had seen.

Anvrai came inside, but he hardly spared Isabel a glance. He gathered the straw mattress from the bed and carried it outside, fitting it into the cart. Isabel pressed her lips to Belle’s head and followed him with her eyes, wondering at the distance he put between them. He did not speak to her, and her chest ached with a feeling of abandonment. Had she mistaken his passion for affection…or for something even deeper?

She quaked inside, worrying that she’d made a grave error in going to him last night. His manner today was cold if not outright con
temptuous, and it gave her a feeling of helplessness. Of hopelessness.

“I’ll take her now, my lady,” said Tillie, coming up behind her. When Isabel turned to hand the bairn to Tillie, Anvrai had already gone outside and was walking through the wheel tracks in the yard, spreading the dirt with his feet, obliterating all their tracks from sight. Whatever was between them was gone, too.

“R
oger,” Anvrai said, “you’ll pull the cart until we reach the path. I’ll follow behind.”

Roger said naught, but his expression was sullen. Surprisingly, he did not complain but stood between the two handles extending from the front of the cart and lifted it.

Anvrai looked back at the yard. No tracks were visible, and the cottage and shed were closed up, as though Cormac were merely absent and intended to return. Anvrai and Roger had buried the Scottish intruders a fair distance from the cottage, and Anvrai had covered all obvious signs of the grave. No one should be able to guess what had happened.

But he would never forget. Isabel had come to him in the night of her own will. The eye patch had likely made him a more palatable lover, but that was all he could ever be to her, and only once. It had been a mistake, and ’twould surely not be repeated, not when he knew she would move on with her life and wed a suitable bridegroom. If not Roger, then some other likely suitor, a man who had the wealth and power to give her the security she deserved.

There was room enough for Isabel to ride in the cart, but she had accepted Tillie’s sturdy shoes and led the way, obviously reluctant to add to Roger’s burden. Anvrai squashed the urge to lift her up and place her in the cart.

Distance was needed. They had to get as far as possible from Cormac’s cottage.

When they reached the footpath, Anvrai saw no need to cover their tracks anymore. Wheel tracks were not unusual on the path. They traveled the same course the Scotsmen had gone the day before, and when they reached the place where the trail split in two, Anvrai motioned for them to head left.

“You’re turning east?” Isabel asked. ’Twas the first time she’d spoken to him since leaving the cottage, and her question was justified.

“I followed six Scotsmen yesterday,” he replied. “Three took the eastern path. The three
who came back to the cottage were the ones who took the southern route.”

“So you want to meet up with the other three?” Roger scoffed.

Isabel touched Roger’s hand, and Anvrai looked away, unwilling to witness the affinity that still existed between them. It only showed that what he’d shared with her during the night was a momentary deviation.

“The three Scots who came to us can’t have gone very far down that path before returning to the cottage, Roger,” she said. “I’m sure Sir Anvrai prefers to take the route where we will have less change of meeting anyone.”

Anvrai held his tongue and took over pulling the cart, then moved ahead of Isabel and her young knight without adding to her explanation. The boy could not possibly be so dense he didn’t understand the reasoning for going east.

“Roger,” said Anvrai. “Walk ahead and scout the path for us. Make sure we don’t blunder into—”

“
You
go.”

Anvrai preferred to be the one to go, but he’d intended to give the boy some relief from dragging the cart. His arm must be causing him considerable pain, but his petulance tried Anvrai’s patience. He wasn’t going to argue. “Fine. Which weapon do you prefer? Ax or sword?”

“Sword,” Roger replied, with a baseless confidence. Anvrai doubted Roger had the slightest expertise with either one, but he pulled his sword from his belt and handed it to the boy, then took the ax from the cart and stalked away.

“Sir Anvrai!”

’Twas Isabel’s voice.

When Anvrai turned, she cast her eyes down as though she wished she hadn’t called out to him. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and bit down upon it, then let it slide back into place. He felt an instant punch of arousal. He’d nibbled that lip, as well as her fingertips and breasts…the very center of her femininity.

She looked up at him. “T-take care,” she said, and though she kept her voice neutral, she could not mask the fear in her eyes. He wondered if she was afraid for him, or merely afraid because he was leaving her and Tillie in Roger’s care. He clenched his hands into tight fists to keep from reaching for her, to stop himself from pulling her against him and melding them together with a kiss. ’Twould be wrong, just as wrong as the night’s interlude in her arms.

He took to the path and moved swiftly ahead, taking care to watch for signs of recent travel. He didn’t think there was anyone fol
lowing them, but he would not go so far ahead that he couldn’t hear Isabel’s cry. Still, ’twould not do to blunder into any other travelers or a Scottish settlement. They needed to take care as they traveled this path so fraught with danger.

He hoped to come upon an intersecting path that would take them south before encountering a village like the one they’d escaped. They could not continue traveling east indefinitely.

Anvrai wished he had a better sense of their location, but he had little knowledge of the Scottish lands, and he’d been insensible during the greater part of their captivity. ’Twas fortunate Isabel had paid heed to their direction.

She was not the spoiled, brainless maiden he’d originally thought her, but intelligent, quick, and uncomplaining. Her only flaw was her attachment to Roger. He had no doubt she had chosen him before the attack upon her father’s holding. Anvrai doubted that any of Isabel’s family had survived, so ’twas imperative she wed a man of wealth and standing. His personal disdain for Roger changed naught. The boy remained the best candidate as Isabel’s spouse, and Anvrai was certain the marriage would take place soon after their arrival at Kettwyck.

Unwilling to consider that inevitability, An
vrai thought about his own future. His armor and horse—the sum total of his possessions—might still be at Kettwyck. At least, that’s where he’d left them the night of the assault. Anvrai had vaguely considered the possibility of leaving Roger and Isabel on their own as soon as they came to an English holding, then going on to Belmere alone.

Now he realized that was not practical. He had to collect his armor at Kettwyck before he could join King William on his campaign against the Scottish king. Gladly, he turned his thoughts to the battles ahead.

Training knights and warfare were his skills, and he looked forward to the day he rejoined the Belmere company. Nearly a fortnight had passed since the attack upon Kettwyck. At that time, Lady Elena of Belmere had been near the end of her first pregnancy. Surely Lord Osbern would be free to travel with the king once his lady wife had delivered their child.

Unbidden, Anvrai was struck by the thought of Isabel in childbed, and he felt his knees weaken. If she were
his
wife, he would not wish to leave her too quickly, especially after childbirth. He at last had some vague grasp of Osbern’s sentiments toward his wife, an understanding that had eluded him before.

But it did him no good, nor did thoughts of Isabel holding her own bairn or feeding her infant at her breast. He would have no part of that.

The terrain became rougher, and Anvrai retraced his steps, returning to the cart to take Roger’s place. Roger had already stopped, and Isabel stood with her head bent over the young man’s arm, examining her stitches while Roger leaned close enough to touch his lips to Isabel’s head.

Anvrai reined in a sudden wave of jealousy and looked away. What they did could be no concern of his.

He reached into the cart, lifted out one of the jugs they’d filled with water, and took a long drink.

“What’s ahead? Any sign of England?” Roger made no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

Anvrai ignored the question, and asked his own, “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Besides a sword wound? Naught that should concern you.”

Isabel gritted her teeth and left the two men to bicker on their own. Roger had been positively hateful all morning long, and Anvrai had been indifferent. ’Twas intolerable.

She had not gone far when Tillie joined her.
She carried Belle as well as several clean cloths. “Would you hold Belle while I…” She nodded toward an area thick with trees and shrubs.

“Of course.” Isabel took the bairn and walked away, giving Tillie her privacy. Belle was wide-awake and looking at her surroundings. She was a beautiful child, her bright blue eyes alert and content. What little hair she had was pale blond, the same color as Anvrai’s. Isabel imagined that Anvrai’s child would resemble Belle.

She pressed her lips to the bairn in her arms and felt a surge of warmth at the thought of Anvrai’s child. He’d used great care in holding Tillie’s newborn. Belle’s entire body had nearly fit inside one of those big, gentle hands…

“What’s wrong with Sir Anvrai today?” Tillie asked when she returned to Isabel. “Ever since he put on that eye covering, he has been so very unfriendly.”

Isabel shrugged. Roger was irritable, too, and Isabel could hardly blame him. The wound in his arm was swollen and irritated from pulling the cart all morning. She’d offered to help pull it, but Roger had snapped at her, saying he was every bit as capable a man as Anvrai.

“Let’s not talk about the men. Tell me of Haut Whysile and your family.”

Tillie shook her head. “I have no family. I
came to England in service to a noble household. After all this time, no one in Haut Whysile will expect to see me again. There is naught to keep me from going with you and Sir Anvrai to your holding.”

“Tillie…Sir Anvrai is not my husband.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. “But I thought…You slept in his arms the night you came to Cormac’s cottage, when Belle was born. And last night, you…I apologize, my lady, for saying what I did. I should never have—”

“’Tis all right, Tillie,” Isabel said, flustered by the girl’s observations. She took a deep breath. “We three were taken, just as you were. But we managed to escape.” It seemed like months since that harrowing night in the currach, and she hadn’t appreciated Anvrai’s worth as he’d fought the current to save her and Roger. “We…came to rely upon each other for survival.”

Tillie sat down upon a large, flat rock that had been warmed by the sun. She gazed up at Isabel. “Did they…” She turned away, lowering her gaze and holding Belle tightly against her chest. “The Scots hurt me. They tore my clothes and they became like beasts, wild and cruel.” She began to weep, her tears running freely, soaking her face, dripping onto her clothes. “I th-thought they were killing me
when they…w-when they…” She looked up at Isabel. “I was not sorry when Cormac broke his neck. When he fell…If he had not already been dead, I think I would have killed him.”

Isabel crouched down in front of Tillie and looked into her haunted eyes. She could not imagine the horrors Tillie had survived. For a girl her age to be so brutally used was unthinkable. “I would kill him myself if he stood before me now.” She meant it truly. In these past days at the cottage, she had begun to feel as protective as a sister to Tillie. They shared a bond in their terrible experiences, though Tillie’s were so much more devastating. Isabel would never forsake this poor girl. Tillie would always have a place with her.

Tillie hiccuped and wiped at her tears. “D-did you kill the Scot who took you?”

Isabel swallowed and nodded. “There was only one man, and he let down his guard before he could hurt me. I killed him.”

Tillie sniffled and smiled through her tears. “Good! Killing was less than he deserved!”

“Aye. You’re right about that.” She reached up and patted Belle’s back. At least the bairn’s coloring was not so different from Tillie’s. She would not have to be continually reminded of the Scot who had raped her.

“Lady Isabel?”

“Aye?”

“Do you think Sir Roger might walk ahead this afternoon and leave us with Sir Anvrai?”

Isabel did not know, but she shared Tillie’s hope, which came to pass when they returned and saw Roger stalking off. When he threw back a hateful glance, Isabel saw a red mark upon his upper cheek. Anvrai must have struck him.

Roger had been churlish and childish, and Isabel did not doubt the two men had exchanged unpleasant words. But Anvrai’s manner did not invite questions. Nor did his mood improve with Roger’s departure. They resumed their journey, Tillie lay down on the mattress, and was lulled to sleep by the rocking of the cart. Isabel came ’round to the front of the cart and walked beside Anvrai.

“You should ride,” he said. “You will be weary by day’s end.”

“’Tis good of you to concern yourself with my welfare, Sir Anvrai,” she said, hardly able to believe she was speaking so coldly to the man with whom she’d shared the previous night’s intimacies. Even then, she longed to step in front of him, to stop him in his tracks and…

She did not know what she would say or do. She ached to touch him, to have him look at her as though he desired her above all else, but he
did not take his gaze from the path ahead. His demeanor remained cold and remote.

“I don’t want you to slow us down tomorrow.”

Isabel swallowed her disappointment. His only concern was for the journey. “My foot is completely healed.”

“I’m glad to know it,” he said, although his tone was indifferent.

They walked on in silence, and Isabel tried to think of a subject that would engage him.

“How long do you think we can keep walking east?”

Anvrai shook his head. “I hope there will soon be a southward path.”

“We traveled steadily north and west with the Scots,” she said. “This path seems to take us directly eastward.”

“Aye. It does.”

“If we keep on, we’ll reach the sea.”

“’Tis unlikely,” Anvrai said. “We’ll come to a village or town first.”

“Why do you say that?”

“This path is too well traveled. It leads somewhere.”

Isabel had not considered that, but she was glad Anvrai was at last talking to her, and his manner was not so irritable.

“Will we come to Dunfermline?”

“I know not. Scotland is unfamiliar territory
to me.” He turned suddenly to look at her. “If we could get to the River Tees…”

“Why? Does it flow southward?”

“’Tis where King William is gathering his armies.”

Isabel frowned. “How do you know this?”

“’Twas what Sir Hugh Bourdet told me the night Kettwyck was attacked. I’d planned to leave your father’s holding the following morn to gather my men and join the king.”