The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (32 page)

"What do you know, or think you know?" Isabel asked softly.

Elsbeth ducked her head and hid her face from view. "Adam riding into Dornei with Lord Henley at his head told all. Malton is at odds with Dornei."

"Yea," Isabel said, her eyes misty with her thoughts, "that is so. And for right cause."

"Aye, Lady, for right cause," Elsbeth said, thinking of Adam without his head. "Yet did not the Lord of Hosts command us to love our neighbors as ourselves and pray for those who persecute us? I offer my prayers to such an end, Isabel."

Isabel looked down at her, her eyes sad and the smile of acquiescence she tendered even sadder. "Then come, and welcome, Elsbeth, and be our prayer warrior, for this adventure needs much prayer to sustain it."

"I will," she answered, her eyes alight with divine purpose, "and gladly."

      
      
      
      
      
* * *

"You appear less than glad that I have come," Isabel said to Richard as they rode through the wet morning.

"You read me well," he said, keeping his eyes on the track before them, keeping his eyes off her. "You did not need to come."

"Yea. I did," she said stiffly.

Leave Richard to face Malton without her? Never. Malton had been the home of their youth, Henley and Bertrada acting as father and mother to them both, though in Richard's case Bertrada had been more than mother. What had driven him into her arms?

Isabel gazed at Richard, his profile strong and sharp in the heavy light of a cloud-thick day; he was not a man to jump from one woman's bed to another, though he had been convinced he was just such a man. And who had done that service on his soul? Malton held the answer, she was certain, because Malton was the source.

"It is a raw day to be riding," Richard said, tightening his grip on the reins.

"I am not so fail," she answered, lifting her chin defiantly.

"Nay," he said, turning to her, his
eyes
dark and shining, "you are not."

She was not. With all that had passed between them, he knew she was a woman of rare strength and determination. Had he not tried to best her for years, and did he not now find himself wed to her? Aye, she was strong, but what awaited in Malton would require more than strength of purpose. Would she not turn from him when he had accomplished his mission?

Would he blame her?

Nay, he would not.

Such a trial was asked of few, and were it not for his weakness of spirit, she would be spared now. But he had only recently come into his strength. Isabel had only recently become his wife. Isabel could not be spared, but mayhap she could still be spared the sight.

"Do you need to go?" Isabel asked, voicing his own thought. "Was there nothing that could have been said or done to make this journey to Malton unnecessary?"

He could hear her concern, even her fear, and knew it was for him. But he was beyond fear. He only wished to spare her what was to come.

"Nothing," he answered. Malton awaited. There could be no turning, not for him. "I do not need an escort," he said.

Isabel snorted delicately. "I am not your escort. I am your wife."

"I do not need—"

"If you say you do not need your wife on this journey I shall bite your lip when next you do kiss me."

"You assume much." He smiled in spite of himself. "You are certain I will kiss you?"

"Naturally." She smiled smugly. "Am I not married to the most lustful and depraved sinner in all of King Henry's domain? Kissed? I am certain to be ravaged before the sun has set."

Richard grinned and shook his head. Only Isabel would dare jest concerning his most besetting sin. Into his life she brought the miracle of laughter.

"You do not seem alarmed," he said, his smile broad.

"Do I not?" she asked innocently. "It must be because I have seen his worst. It is nothing to me."

"Nothing to you?" he said, his eyebrows raised precipitously. "I perceive I have been challenged."

In response she only looked at him, her look cool and assessing, her smile superior.

Yea, he had been challenged.

There was nothing that fired his blood hotter than a challenge.

Isabel, naturally, knew this.

* * *

"It will go better next time." Ulrich said to Edmund, their mounts riding close.

"Next time?" Edmund said with a sigh. "She will knife me ere I get close enough to speak with her again."

Ulrich chuckled. “Then shout your compliments. She will turn to hear them."

"I seem not to have the skill for courtship."

"With the need for feminine company, the skill arises. You will find your way to her heart. She wants you to find your way. With both of you in such earnest effort, you will succeed."

"She wants it? I think not," Edmund said.

"Think you Elsbeth wants my attentions?" Ulrich asked, looking ahead to where Elsbeth rode at Isabel's flank.

"Nay, Elsbeth wants no man's attentions," Edmund said easily. "Elsbeth wants only prayer and the solitude to enjoy her sojourns with God."

"You are wrong," Ulrich said, his blue eyes serious for once. "Elsbeth needs my soft words and light heart more than any woman of my acquaintance, even more than Marie, who needed me most desperately."

"You are wrong," Edmund said. "Elsbeth needs no one."

"Elsbeth needs me," Ulrich said and then shook off his solemnity. "Because I am laughter and ease when her heart knows only worry and disappointment. And I am more than disposed to provide cheer, as well as a few kisses, to train her in the art."

"Aye, you think of her welfare," Edmund chuckled.

"Aye," Ulrich said with a smile, "and if you would only think on Aelis's, then your courting would run smooth. Think not on what to say, only of what she would hear; give her what she wants and you will win only smiles from her. 'Tis a simple thing to please a woman."

* * *

"He seems to have found the way to please her," Rowland said, watching Isabel and Richard as they rode at the head of their company.

"I did not doubt him," William said, ordering the folds of his cloak with a flick of his hand. "He is a most determined man."

"Determined to ride to Malton," Rowland said softly. "What drives him, I wonder."

"Not vengeance," William said.

"Mayhap pride," Rowland said thoughtfully.

"He killed the man who assaulted his wife and his pride."

"But not the man who forced his way into Dornei."

William looked at Rowland askance. "That was strange, was it not? How that Richard did allow it? He did not want Adam within, for just cause, and yet lifted not a hand to stop his entry."

"Henley fostered him."

"A fostering that fed more loyalty than to a wife? Nay, he is not a man to tumble to that," William said, frowning. "There is something amiss there, something unholy which binds Henley and Richard to each other."

"A tie Henley uses when it pleases him," Rowland said, his eyes on the dirt being crushed beneath his mount's hooves.

"Agreed," William said. "The question is, does Richard ride to Malton to break the tie or knot it stronger?"

* * *

Isabel felt the coming of Malton in the turn of the road and the shape of the wood banding the fields. She had lived here, riding to her festering as a child of eight, frightened, excited, alone. It had been spring then, too, though later in the season, the jonquils high and bright, the wind warm. Bertrada had greeted her, arms outstretched in welcome, her pale gown fluttering at her ankles, a woman younger than Isabel was now. Isabel had been entranced at once.

Had Richard?

Isabel cast a glance at her husband. He appeared unmoved by land, the shape of Malton surrounding them slowly. Richard almost always appeared unmoved, except when she made him laugh. Or made him angry. He was neither now and would likely not be moved to any emotion when his will was so focused on reaching Malton.

On reaching Bertrada?

Such thoughts, traitorous and sharp, were unkind.

But were they true?

Richard had claimed no love for Bertrada, a claim he well believed.

Richard had claimed to battle with the cardinal sin of lust, the source of his tumble into sin with Bertrada, a claim Isabel could not believe.

He believed he lusted indiscriminately and that Bertrada had run afoul of him. How could it be true when Isabel had thrown her body in the way of his hands for an age and he had never tumbled with her?

Richard was a man of more honor than he thought. Could such a man fornicate with his lord's wife without some stronger emotion driving him? Was there not, indeed, something more than lust which had wrapped around him as surely as Bertrada's arms?

Did he not, in some way, love Bertrada?

Did she want to know?

Her thoughts kept tumbling upon themselves, like battling birds tumbling through the air, all flutter and beak and desperation. There was no answer which would give her ease, no answer to pursue which would free her, yet still she strained, a hawk straining against the jesses of history and circumstance.

Malton rose in the distance, a great tower in a large plain. Tall and gray and crenellated it rose, casting a deep shadow on the town which huddled at its stony feet. A strong tower with many men to arm her.

Isabel felt the hairs on her arms rise up in alarm and dread anticipation; would they be admitted? Henley had little reason to allow them entrance. And if not, would they be killed in minutes?

Richard kept riding, his dark eyes on his goal, when every prayer on her lips was for him to halt and return to the safety of Dornei, For him, there was no safety at Malton and 'twas all she wanted for him, beyond honor and pride. Beyond duty.

Be safe,
her heart pulsed.
Live
.

The horses kept moving forward, against every prayer, in direct contradiction to every beat of her heart.

Richard would not call on William and Rowland to fight on his behalf, not when Henley's cause was so divinely just. Only Richard was guilty of wrong and only Richard would be held accountable, if Richard had his way.

Only Richard would die.

But not alone. She would not leave him.

"Let me go to the gate alone," she said. "I will seek peaceful admittance. Surely he will grant us entry. We come with no ill intent." Yet even as she spoke, she wondered. Why had Richard come to Malton?

Even as she spoke, he could read the uncertainty in her eyes.

"He has the right to kill me. You know that for a truth, Isabel," he said.

She had no answer. Isabel, whose answers were ever quick, was silent.

William and Rowland rode up and joined them, their faces wiped of any emotion.

"Need we muster a battle plan or will we be admitted?" William asked.

"There will be no battle plan, for you will not battle on my account. Whatever fighting there may be, it will not be your fight," Richard said, his tone clipped, the subject closed.

"I am certain there are enough men for all of us," Rowland grumbled.

William smiled and said to his comrade, "You have met a man who guards his battles as jealously as you guard yours, Rowland. You will mark how irritating it is."

Rowland only grunted.

"There will be no battle," Richard said.

"They will open for us?" William asked.

For answer, Richard said, "They will open for me."

The air swept down the plain, cold and wintry of a sudden, the sky filling with dark clouds and skimming birds suddenly eager for their nests. The wind creaked through the trees, tossing them hard upon themselves, branch rubbing against branch, new leaves just unfurled showing sharp green against the darkening sky. It was cold, as if spring had been a dream of warmth on an endless winter's night.

Ignoring the chill, Richard dismounted. Dismounted and disrobed. His battle gear he laid aside, stripping off his helm, his cloak, his surcoat, his hauberk. Edmund, stunned motionless at first, hurried forward to help his lord. None spoke. The only sound was the whine of wind and the chink of metal as it landed on the damp earth.

He stopped at his breechclout. He stood before them, more naked than clothed, the wind hard in his hair, blowing its blackness to whip against the gray sky. He was defenseless. How could a defenseless man appear as lethal as an unsheathed blade?

He would be admitted. Because he was without defense, even the defense of pride and bearing.

"You are not going," Isabel said, her voice shaking.

"I am," he said, his voice strong, determined, impossible. "And I am going alone."

Isabel ignored him, or tried to. Without aid, she dismounted, her skirts catching in the stirrups, her toes catching in her skirts.

"Nay," she said. "I am going with you. I can disrobe as well as you," she snapped, pulling at her cloak and throwing it from her. The wind caught its weight and sent it flying, a dark green woolen bird clumsily finding its wings.

"Touch one lace and I will beat you," he said. He was so calm, so resolute; she had never so wanted to kill him.

"With what?" she said, her eyes filling with tears, shaming her. "You have nothing with which to fight. You have
nothing!"

Richard watched her, her hands at her laces, her eyes full of womanish tears. The shame and terror she fought within her heart was magnified a thousand times by the wash of tears over her crystal eyes. Because of him. All because of him.

He had nothing? She was wrong. He had her, this gift he had not wanted and had run from all his life. This divine gift named Isabel.

By this act, he could lose her; in all ways, he could lose her. He held her out to God with an open palm, and held his own life out as well. Let God do what God would do; he knew what was required of him. He would run and hide no longer.

Richard had finally found the strength that was to be found in a will submitted to God.

Sword would not be needed. It would not be that sort of fight, a fight of arms. No armor could save him, be it chain mail or monk's robes. Henley could kill him, he had the right; but Richard had to go. He had fled Malton, leaving Bertrada; he had to return.