The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (20 page)

With a nod, he gave his consent, and the outer gate was opened. The inner gate of the barbican was not. In a moment, the men were trapped within the outer gate, which closed behind them, and the inner gate.

Louis and his comrades made admirable targets.

Isabel was furious. Richard, growing more pleased by the moment, cheerfully ignored her.

Richard climbed the stair to the top of the barbican and looked down into the small, stonewalled space that confined his "guests." Their horses were pressed together, yet remained calm. That told him much about their ability as knights, for it would take a well trained knight to keep his animal calm under such circumstances. See him they could not, for he was protected by stone, yet he could study them from the slit that would allow boiling water to be dropped upon them if they proved untrustworthy. Looking at Louis, he allowed his wishes to take him where they would.

"A fine barbican," one of the knights remarked.

"If the Lord of Dornei wants us to compliment him on the skill of his stonemason and the firmness of his mortar, I can observe as much in his hall," the other said.

The unknown knights were tall and full across the chest. The squire who accompanied them was of similar breadth, but with the spareness of youth.

"I thought we were needed," the squire said to Louis.

"Needed for what?" Richard said into the midst of them.

"Lord Richard," Louis said, relieved and embarrassed at once. "I have returned—"

"I can see that," Richard said. "Returned from where and with whom?"

"He does not recognize you," one of the knights said to his mysterious companion.

The second knight remained silent but flicked back his cloak, which fell in precise scarlet folds.

"From Greneforde, my lord," Louis said, his face reddening. “This is William le Brouillard, Lord of Greneforde. At his side is Rowland the Dark. Ulrich is the squire who rides at William's back."

"I have heard much of William le Brouillard and Rowland the Dark. Little of Greneforde," Richard said. "Why have you come to Dornei?"

“To give you aid. Lord Richard," William said, toying with his mufflers. "We are here to assist you."

Richard glared at Louis, though he knew that Louis, coughing uncomfortably even now, could not see him.

"This was your errand? To find knight nursemaids to help the monk hold his tower?"

"He does not seem to need help," Rowland remarked lightly to William.

"But, my lord, William is more than knight, he is Lord Greneforde. You have some need in knowing your neighbors?" It was said as a question when clearly it was not. Louis was a poor liar. Richard pressed down the anger and humiliation he felt that a knight in his household would think he needed help in holding what God had ordained for him to hold. He was not so frail a man as that.

"Open the gate," he commanded tersely. "And have water heated for a bath."

At Richard's words, Rowland said to William, "He does know you."

William merely grunted his reply.

Once free of the barrier of the barbican, the men took each other's measure. It was not done subtly, though none took offense.

Richard was dressed in warrior's garb of leather gambeson and was sweat-slick, his sword held easily in his grasp. He felt more than a match for any man who faced him, and it showed in his bearing.

William he could have identified by his beauty and his deportment. It was a known fact that William le Brouillard had a face that would rival a woman's and the fighting skill to match a demonic wraith. He stood tall, his hair black and curled, his eyes the silver gray of steel, his manner pleasant and sure. He was a man who was certain of his worth, and equally certain that his worth was acknowledged by all, though, as all was done with a certain wry humor, it was impossible to take offense at such pride.

Rowland was a dark man, his eyes as black as his hair, his skin burnished brown by long years in the sun. He was tall, broad, and a warrior to the bone in manner and by reputation. Even among the Brothers, Rowland and William's battle tales had been repeated with a certain unholy relish. Yet for all that battle history, he appeared a mild man, his gaze soft and dark and cloaked. Yea, cloaked was a word which suited Rowland well. Dark were the depths of him, unlike the shining brightness of his comrade brother, William. Well matched they were, and if the tales were correct, as true to each other as cradle-mates. From all Richard knew of them, such men would not seek to deal treacherously with any man, especially one not known to them.

But what of Louis? What did he know of Louis, who had brought these men into his domain? Richard looked at Louis then, enjoying the sheepish look in his eyes.

"What, then?" Richard asked, laying the burden of talk upon Louis.

"My lord?" Louis asked.

"Explain yourself."

"My lord," he said falteringly, "I know Adam and Nicholas. I heard their talk, and thought you needed—"

"Help?"

"Support," he insisted. "From trusted men."

Richard said nothing, but thought that Adam and Nicholas would not have spoken openly of their plans and thoughts if they had not believed Louis one of them in spirit. He would deal with that later, in private.

"All is in hand," Richard informed them all. "Adam and Nicholas are both gone. I am true Lord of Dornei."

Richard did not miss the blush that spotted Louis's cheeks. To be true lord meant that he had bedded Isabel. And why should Louis blush at that, unless Louis held a tendre for his wife? Isabel attracted admirers as easily as a dog did fleas.

William nodded toward Isabel, who stood as if rooted at the base of Dornei Tower.

"Your lady wife?"

"Yea," Richard answered, his tone as firm as his intent.

"You have been blessed," William said with a smile.

Blessed? The word jolted Richard. He had never considered himself blessed at having been compelled to take Isabel to wife. Obedient, yea, but not blessed. He had been doing his duty, proving his submission, living out his service to God. He had not been blessed.

Had he?

“Come," he said, throwing off all thoughts of blessing. “Take your rest. You are welcome to Dornei."

At that, Isabel came forward to greet their guests, as was proper in her role as Lady of Dornei. Yet did she have to greet Louis with such warmth? And did he not detect the flutter of eyelashes when she was introduced to William of Greneforde? Nay, he was seeing what was not there to see; she was merely being gracious and welcoming. Yet he did not imagine that she ignored him. That was a truth he could not help but see, and she seemed ill disposed to hide it. When had Isabel ever ignored him?

Now.

Today.

'Twas intolerable.

"Isabel," he said, forcing her attention to him. She looked upon him like a dog in need of bathing, her expression sour and forced. "Make a chamber ready for our guests and see about the bath. We must not disappoint."

He could see the effort it took her to bite back a retort to his command and felt a flush of pleasure that he had managed to prick her. Let her fly at him in rage or sulk, he did not care which, but he would have a response from her. Ignore him she would not.

"Ulrich," William directed, "go with Lady Isabel and take these supplies with you."

"Yea, Lord William," Ulrich said in a rushing breath, trotting off after Isabel, who was striding briskly toward the tower.

"Your soaps?" Richard asked drily, motioning toward the pack Ulrich carried.

"Only a few," William answered with a smile. "It would take an ox to carry them all."

Richard nodded, smiling at the humor of the man. The tales had been true concerning William le Brouillard.

"You have been but recently married?" William asked as they walked toward the tower.

"Yea, two days now," Richard answered.

"Ahh," William smiled at Rowland in response, his eyes shining like new coin in silent mirth.

Richard said nothing. William had achieved the last word, and all three knew it.

Chapter 19

Isabel charged up the stair tower like a leaf blown by a hostile wind, so furious at being ordered about by Richard that she felt as if she were flying apart. She could hear Ulrich, squire to Lord William, panting somewhere behind her, straining to keep up; she should slow, but she could not. She could not because Richard's command was still ringing in her ears, as if she did not know how to be hospitable, as if she were a child to bid, as if she were a wife.

She reached the chamber, on the top floor, and noted that a new coverlet would be needed. She had not been up to this room in months and only now saw that dust was white upon the floor and the bedding was musty. From the look, it appeared that one of Dornei's cats had made the bed her own, for it was covered in white hair and muddy footprints. It was an embarrassment.

Ulrich, breathless and a trifle red in the cheek, came hard upon her into the chamber.

"Many thanks, Lady, for your hospitality."

"You are most welcome, Squire, but let me have the room cleaned. I had not known of its condition—"

"Oh, Lady Isabel," he said, his breath coming back, "'twill do most well for my lord William. All that he requires to be content is his daily bath. I will shake the cover. He will expect no less of me, though it be fresh from the laundress."

"Oh, you are kind." She smiled. He was a disarming lad, very broad of shoulder and handsome in his youthful way. "But I will see to a new coverlet and a good dusting before any guest of Dornei is admitted here. What you do at Lord William's command after that is between the two of you."

"Very well, Lady." He smiled. "And may I say, you run a fair race up your stair. I doubt my lady Cathryn will believe I have been outrun."

'Twas Isabel who turned red then and ducked her head with a contrite smile. "You think me a most improper wife, I daresay, yet I have only been married for two days and have not much practice at being the Lady of Dornei. You must not spread word of my indiscretion to your lady, Squire, or I will be undone."

"Lady, I would do nothing to harm you," he said with a grin, taking her measure.

Isabel returned the look, liking the lad before her. He had a way about him, a charm that flowed like river water, bright and sweet and clear. Would that Richard were more like him. This lad was not one to throw his lordly weight about a hall. Would that Richard found the grace to curb his highhandedness. 'Twas intolerable.

"Squire, you hold my reputation in your hands." She grinned back.

Aelis burst into the chamber.

"Lady," she breathed, thrusting out her bosom and looking as earnest as she might, "may I be of help to you in preparing the chamber?"

Ulrich's eyes took on a speculative look, which Isabel could hardly miss and which Aelis had hoped for.

"Yea, run and fetch a fresh cover from the linen chest," Isabel said. "This room needs airing and dusting."

Aelis was looking at Ulrich, her pretty blue eyes taking in his form and face and finding all very pleasing. Ulrich did not blush but returned her look, measure for measure. Isabel felt distinctly unnecessary.

"Aelis?" she said.

"Oh. Aye, I will," she said, still looking at Ulrich.

"Would you like help in finding the linen?" Ulrich asked, his eyes merry.

"From you?" Aelis asked. "How could you help me when I know this place and you do not?"

"I know how to find what you seek," he said.

"Do you?" She smiled, holding his gaze. "I have heard those words before and been disappointed."

"Oh, have you?" He smiled too, rising to her challenge. "I do not disappoint, Aelis. My training does not allow it."

"You speak of your knight's training?"

"Did I say so?" he said, his voice husky.

Aelis smiled and looked at the floor, her chest heaving with the sensual exchange.

Isabel remembered it. She remembered it all. The seeking, the finding, the taunts and the innuendoes; she had pursued Richard in just such a way and her blood had raced to find him. She had teased him without mercy or measure and she had loved every minute of it. Had Richard? He had not behaved as Ulrich did now. She had loved to hunt out his whereabouts, loved finding him and flirting with him, loved being with him, but perhaps she had not loved
him.
Perhaps it had only been the pursuit of him that had fired her. Watching Aelis flirt with Ulrich, she could not but think it, for did not Aelis flirt with as much joy when Edmund was her target?

Edmund came into the room then, which was becoming a trifle crowded with bodies.

Aelis ignored him. Ulrich faced him openly, his expression guiltless, which naturally he was. Edmund looked as black of visage as the Lord of Dornei.

"Lady Isabel," he said, looking at Aelis and Ulrich, "Lord Richard asks if the bath is ready."

"You can see that it is not," Isabel said, more fatigued than she could say at being so ignored in her own hall. “Tell your lord that I will manage all and that he does not need to tutor me on how to be a wife. In fact, you may tell him that I had all the tutoring I shall ever need from Lady Bertrada."