Betrothed (33 page)

“What
is it you are raving, Olivet?” The turn of conversation confused Donovan. What
could it matter to Olivet if he and Isabeau rushed the banns?  He had wed
her. Isabeau was his wife.

“I
thought I would have the time when you posted your banns. ‘Twould be time
enough to get rid of you and still have a virgin prize.”

“For
God’s sake. She is your sister.” Disgust roiled through Donovan’s belly.

“Herzog
Kirney paid me good money for Isabeau. But he does not want damaged goods.”
Simon’s brown eyes narrowed while another of those sly smiles slithered across
his mouth. “He wants to do the damage, ya see. He likes to draw the first blood.
He enjoys the screams, the fighting. He likes them tight and loud. He also
likes to perform for an audience. Takes wagers on how long the virgin lasts
before she faints.”

Simon
spread a bloody hand wide. “I was looking forward to watching that little bitch
be tamed—to get her just punishment.”

Beyond
his shock at this beast, goaded, Donovan growled, “Isabeau is mine!”  Then
he regained control and added in a quiet voice, “She is no longer a maid. She
is my wife.” He was suddenly quite glad he had allowed Isabeau to seduce him by
the creek. The guilt at rushing their wedding night magically lifted from his
shoulders.

“Do
you think I do not know that?  Now?” Simon waved the dagger wildly in the
air. “You only wed her this morning. I had one last chance to provide the
merchandise—to deliver Little Izzy to Kirney. She had run once, surely you
would be easily convinced she had again run for the convent rather than be
bedded by a scarred monster. Your so-called honor is only exceeded by your
pride. I did not think you would chase her beyond the stone walls. How could
you want another unwilling wife?  With your reputation, you might have
even returned her dowry.”

“Isabeau
did not run from me. She had nothing to fear of her wedding night.”

Simon’s
eyes narrowed at Donovan’s reminder.

“No.
She had none of a sheltered virgin’s fear of the unknown. She knew it all. She
crowed about already carrying your brat in her belly.” The corner of Simon’s
mouth curled. “She is not crowing now. Had you already plowed her belly before
you stole her dowry?  Debaucher. Thief. You have about as much honor as…”

“You?”

“This
is all your fault.” Spittle sprayed from Simon’s mouth as he continued his
tirade. “Why could you have not died on the battlefield?  Why?  My lord’s
little slut bragged about how intimate you had been with her. Before you, she
had had no idea of what happens between man and wife.”

Donovan
winced at the high pitched squawk coming from Simon’s mouth. The scent of blood
and Simon’s rants began to make Jaffey restless. Donovan knew he needed to end
this.

“How
could she even know of such things unless you had taken her like the whore she
is?”

“Is?”
Donovan jumped on the word. “She lives?”

 “She
is no longer of use to me. Kirney will not have her now.

“She
is of no use to you now either. Remember that.” Simon spread is lips to reveal
his yellow teeth. His eyes glazed.

“You
took everything by your very existence. From the moment your slut of a mother
spread her legs for the old earl, you took everything that by all that is right
should have been mine; would have been mine. I should have ruled from the
castle! Instead I bed down in this cave. I should have been Earl of
Bennington.”

What
was in this mad man’s mind? Why should he be the earl?

Suddenly,
Simon gathered his rage and raced across the tufts of grass. He pounced with
the dagger aimed at Donovan’s heart. “Mine!” he screamed as a battle-cry. “Your
life should be mine!”

Even
momentarily distracted, Donovan, always battle ready, instinctively stepped forward.
His raised sword arm met the on-coming madman, the blade sliding under Simon’s
ribcage and into his heart. The onslaught was over in a second. One moment
Simon was wild in his hopeless attack, the next he sank to his knees with a
groan.

And
it happened too quickly for Donovan. Simon d’Olivet should suffer endless
agonies for what he had done to Isabeau.

The
dying man stared at Donovan’s hand still gripping the sword’s hilt. He dropped
his dagger to clutch at the steel protruding from his chest. He looked up into
Donovan’s eyes and grimaced.

“I
expected it to be quicker. Still, quicker than Kirney.”

The
grimace turned to hatred. “All – your fault... Remember – that -- when you go
-- to a -- lonely bed...”

Simon
slid to his side.

“
All…
Your
… Fault...” His last words came out in a bloody gurgle.

Donovan
braced his boot against Simon’s torso and pulled his blade from the dead man.
Automatically, he cleaned the gore from his weapon on the thin grass growing in
the clearing. With his blade lifted, he made his way towards the mouth of the
cave.

He
had to find Isabeau. He had to hold her in his arms one last time. Give her one
final kiss as he confessed his feelings—his love for her.

Only
the angled sun shining over Donovan’s shoulder lit the interior of the dark
cave. His vision took a moment to adjust to the lack of light. He slowly became
aware of the room. He took in all the details. What he did not see was Isabeau.

“Isabeau?”
Her name echoed eerily back to him, mocking him.

He
noticed a bit of green propped against a fire-stone. Even before he scooped it
up he recognized Isabeau’s slipper, matching the other she had lost. Scuffed
and carelessly discarded, the scrap of leather and cloth gave testament to
Isabeau’s presence here at one time. It had not been here when he and Jaffey
emerged from the tunnel.

Where
is she? Does she still live?? Hope and pain warred within him.

Calling
out her name, Donovan put his hand against the cave wall and paced the
perimeter just to make sure the shadows hid no fissures.

Nothing.

Just
the single room.

He
emerged from the cave and blinked against the blinding sunlight. Never had he
felt so helpless. He stomped over to the prone body of Isabeau’s tormentor.
With impotent rage, Donovan let out a roar and kicked Simon with the point of
his boot.

“Where
is she, damn you?  Where is Isabeau?”

A
snuffle from the bushes reminded Donovan of the dog – restless now from
witnessing the violence. “Jaffey!  A moi!”

The
black beast bounded from the brush and raced to Donovan’s side. Jaffey might
not be the most experienced tracker in the pack but he had formed a strong bond
with Isabeau. Donovan bent down, holding out the slipper. “Find Isabeau,
Jaffey. A Lady Isabeau. Find Isabeau.”

At
the same time, Donovan made the hand motion, which released the silent hunt
command. If Isabeau could hear the dog…

Lifting
his muzzle to the sky, Jaffey gave two sharps barks -- as if to say ‘about
time.’  The dog began to sniff the clearing in widening circles. Then he
raced off into the thicket, this time following a still different animal trail
leading in the opposite direction from the main footpath. Donovan pushed a
bramble bush aside and gave chase. He carried hope for her survival in his
heart.

What
if Simon had an accomplice? Had the bastard had already passed Isabeau off to
another’s captivity? Kirney, he’d said.

A
voice inside taunted him. Had he just signed Isabeau’s death warrant by loosing
the hound? If she were with Kirney, what would happen? He had always known
Kirney to be ambitious, unprincipled, covetous -- ruthless in gaining his ends.
His sexual proclivities had been a surprise.

Syllba
had been Kirney’s ward, he remembered. Was Kirney like a giant spider spreading
an ever expanding web?  Perhaps Kirney needed Simon for more than his
pleasure with Isabeau. Perhaps Simon was only a tool… But why?

Donovan
almost stopped at a sudden revelation. Without a child, Kirney was heir to
Bennington! And Isabeau thought she carried a babe... Did Isabeau know this?

A
hopeful voice piped up. Isabeau was an intelligent woman—courageous to a
dangerous fault. If she heard Jaffey, she would know help was near. Somehow she
would aid her own escape. Had she not worked to slow Simon’s way?  Had she
not left a trail easy to follow?

The
path grew more crooked -- even
more narrow
-- as it
snaked along the contour of the hill. Kirney must have been waiting nearby for
his prize. If Simon had handed his sister over to Kirney, would he have come
this way? There was evidence someone had recently passed this way – and not
carefully.

Donovan
raced after the baying dog. Branches grabbed and snapped at his sides. He
traveled with an uneven gait, jumping from rock to occasional root, attempting
to avoid any hazards hidden by decaying leaves. Carefulness hampered Donovan’s
speed but he could do Isabeau no good with a broken ankle. He caught a glimpse
of the dog before it again slipped out of sight. Even the Beauceron was having
problems keeping all four feet under him. Donovan listened for Jaffey, his bark
guiding him.

Suddenly,
the sound changed, became more muffled, even a little panicked. Rustling leaves
accompanied the canine cry. Donovan realized the dog had gone over the side of
the trail. He strove to reach the dog. Where was Jaffey going?  Had the
dog fallen or was he still on the scent?

Jaffey
yapped in happy excitement. Not a sound to expect if Kirney was close by.
Donovan prayed the beast had discovered Isabeau and he was not imagining the
emotion in the animal’s yelps.

“Please,
God -- let her -- live.” Winded, Donovan spoke aloud, hoping to give his plea
more credence. “I vow -- to take -- better care of her -- in the future… Do
not  --
take -- my joy – now -- that I – have -- found
her.”

Donovan
raced towards the sound of the barking dog. He slipped on the damp leaves and
grappled with a sapling to prevent himself from falling down the embankment.
Regaining his balance, he paused a moment to orient his location in relation to
the dog. The canine was near and no longer running.

Pushing
on with renewed hope, Donovan rounded a bend, circuiting an ancient
three-trunked tree. He saw the disturbance in the leaves over the edge. Had the
dog caused the shuffling of the forest debris or had he found Isabeau?  A
long bay directly to his right halted Donovan’s manic flight. Gut clenched in
foreboding, he slid to a stop. The sound came from beyond the trees, where wide
evidence of turned leaves blazed down the hill. The fresh scent of earth and
decaying vegetation was strong.

Had
there been time for Simon to kill Isabeau and toss her body into this
gully? 

Using
trees and saplings hand over hand to keep afoot, he made his way down the
slope, bounding downhill with all possible speed. In his tortured heart, he
still was not fast enough.

He
saw the dog first. Jaffey leapt around a mound of green rags while he whined
and pawed a clump of dark brown hair.

Donovan
let out a roar when he recognized the unmoving pile.

His
beloved Isabeau. He waved the dog back and dropped to his knees at her side.

His
sweet Isabeau.

He
brushed at the leaves and twigs tangled in her silken hair. He remembered
teasing her about the leaves and moss clinging to her after their tryst by the
stream. He had never played with a woman before Isabeau.

His
heart was leaden in grief as he gently lifted her shoulders and rolled her limp
body into his embrace. He nearly dropped his precious burden when he heard the
low sob seep from her lips.

She
lived!

Joy
washed over Donovan as the realization sank into his being.

Dirt
and leaves clung to her ashen face. With a light hand, Donovan smoothed them
away to reveal silver tears and angry scratches.

“Isabeau?”
he crooned softly. “Where do you hurt,
mon coeur
?”

Her
silent sobs did not abate. Her eyes remained tightly closed.

“Look
at me, Isabeau,” Donovan coaxed. The bruise on her jaw seemed to darken under
his gaze. “You are safe now. I vow to never let violence touch you again.”

Jaffey
snuffled her hand and Donovan noticed how she clutched her side. He gave the
command for silent vigil. Blessedly, the dog removed its curious nose and went
silent, but not before giving Isabeau one last comforting lap of his huge
tongue.

“How
badly are you hurt?  Can you tell me?” Donovan took infinite care pealing
off the apron she had worn to protect her wedding dress. As he did so, he noted
that blood-stains marred the cream linen but not the gown beneath. His hand
shaking, he brushed the damp tangles of her chestnut locks away from her white
cheek.

“You
are so brave,” he crooned. “The way you left a trail. The way you fought. The
chances you took frightened me.” He hoped his words soothed, but though her
sobs grew deeper, they grew no louder. “
Jesu
!” Fear and frustration
raised their ugly heads. “Tell me what he did. Tell me how badly he hurt you.”

Isabeau
opened her eyes and gulped air as she tried to regain control. Her hand lifted
so her fingers could trace his jaw-line. He had thought never to feel her touch
again. Turning his head, he laid a kiss in her palm. She yanked her hand away
as if burned.

“I
-- am sorry.” Her crying added a raw broken quality to her words. “I --
failed.”

“At
what?” he asked as he rested her back on the ground. Quickly, he skimmed her
body and limbs for broken bones and stab wounds. Finding none, he lifted her
back into his arms and got to his feet. “You are safe. You live. You failed at
nothing.”

“I
tried to kill him.” His shoulder muffled her confession.

The
warmth of her steadying breath against his throat reassured him. She lived.
Beyond that—nothing mattered.

“I
tried to stab him but I could only draw a bit of blood.”

He
thought of the blood smeared on her apron and that on the blade Simon had held,
then of the dark patch on Simon’s abdomen. “More than a bit, I would wager.”

“I
lost the blade.” She clutched his tunic and curled into the shelter of his
embrace as if she tried to hide from him.

“You
escaped,” he reminded her. “You did well.”

She
twisted her head to peek up at him as she protested. “For what he has done, I
will cut out his heart.”

Donovan
smiled at her voracity. “You have been avenged.”

“’Tis
not for me!” Her hand flew to the back of his head. She pulled him closer to
hear the dark words. “Simon is a monster. What he has done—defies all that is
holy.”

Foreboding
snaked down Donovan’s spine. He shifted her closer to his chest. Isabeau felt
so small and fragile in his arms.

What had d’Olivet done to Isabeau, his own sister?  Had
the bastard violated her?  Would she ever again allow her husband’s touch
without Simon’s ghost tainting her marriage bed
?

He
dropped a kiss on her forehead and worried when she flinched. The dog’s stance
lacked aggression and alerted Donovan to the approach of others -- friends. By
the number of heavy footfalls, Donovan calculated a half-dozen men following
their trail.

“Ha-alloo-oo!”

“Damned
tree!”

“Lord
Donovan!”

“My
lord!”

The
deep curses rolled down the hillside mingling with thuds and the rush of
sliding boots. The hails floated through the trees from the opposite direction.

“Simon…”
Isabeau whispered in a rush.

“We
shall speak once I have you safe in our chamber.” He cut off her confession.
“…Once the healer has attended to your injuries.”

Tears
began to rain down her white cheeks in earnest. Anguish deepened the green of
her eyes. “I tried to run but the pain in my side—the pain was so—I could not
breathe. I tried to hold on to a tree but I lost my balance. I am so sorry. I
tried but -- failed.”

“Hush,”
he tried to comfort her. He stroked his hand down her arm without loosening his
hold. He received as much comfort as he hoped to give.

Her
throat worked as she swallowed. “I failed to protect your heir.”

The
hails drowned out his exclamation.

“First
Christian and now—surely, I have lost our babe. I hurt so much.” She turned her
face into his chest again.

“Halloo!”

The
calls were on top of them, surrounding them. He could no longer ignore the
hails. With no choice but to answer, he raised his voice. “Down here!”

    
In a few heartbeats, Donovan’s steward broke through the brush with two
warriors closing in from the hill.

“
Jesu
!”
The steward stopped abruptly, his chest heaving from his flight into the
forest. Felix, dragged by several barking hounds on leads, collided into his
back.

“Pray,
does she yet live?” Felix’s rusty voice tentatively questioned.

“Aye.”
Donovan assured the growing circle of men.

“Praise
the saints,” said Eldred reverently. His sentiments were immediately echoed.

“She
will be fine.” Donovan spoke firmly. He allowed for no doubt, not even his own.

He
searched all the concerned faces of the growing crowd. Several women from the
castle pushed their way into the throng. “How did you get here so quickly?” He
could understand the speed of his trained men but how had the others found
them—and coming from the opposite direction as well.

Eldred
spoke for the civilians. “When Felix and Maid Caitlin told my lady was missing,
we all had our suspicions.”

“We
prayed it was not so,” Glenys interjected.

Donovan
stared at the group. “But you made exceptional time. How did you keep up with
my warriors?”

“We
did not follow you or our warriors, my lord.” The smithy took up the tale. “We
came directly here from the castle.”

“Lady
Marta was found not more than a few dozen strides from here.” Felix waved his
hand towards the direction Donovan had followed Jaffey. “We feared that tragedy
had struck the same tree.” The burly man took one step forward and peered
intently at Isabeau.

Donovan
felt her slight shift as she tried to subdue her sobs, hide them from the
crowd. She was not completely successful.

“The
countess is truly safe?” Eldred looked at Donovan questioningly. “You rescued
her from the asp who stole her from our stronghold?”

“Nay,”
Donovan shook his head in denial. “My lady stabbed the bastard and damaged him
enough to afford her escape. She left me only the task of finishing up and
bringing her home.”

For
a moment, only the panting dogs could be heard in the silence of the wood. A
twig snapped beneath a heavy foot. The sudden hurrahs nearly deafened Donovan.
Seconds later, the dogs added their canine notes to the cacophony.

Isabeau
raised her head to face the cheering crowd. The uproar died away as everyone
became aware of her attention. She looked at each of their faces and tried to
form a smile of assurance. Lastly, she looked up into Donovan’s gaze, her hazel
eyes shining with tears.

“I
wish to go home, my lord.”

Even
as he searched her face, the green in her eyes took on a depth in which he could
easily drown. His arms tightened his hold for a heartbeat. She wanted to go
home. Although letting her go would kill him, he could deny her nothing. If she
wished to return to Olivet, he would take her. Just as soon as the healer said
she was able.

“As
you wish, dear heart.”