Betrothed (34 page)

Isabeau
rested her head back against Donovan shoulder. He closed his eyes at her
perfect fit in his arms. When he let her go, his heart would be as empty as his
arms. Dried blood stained the white hand she lifted to caress his jaw.

“Please.
All I want is to go home -- to Bennington.”

The
hollowness in Donovan’s heart miraculous filled to bursting. All would be well.
Isabeau’s wish was not to return to Olivet, but to stay with him.

“Follow
us, my lord,” the smithy bellowed enthusiastically as he started down the hill.
“The way is easier and straight as a crow’s flight. No need even for a cart.”

“Lead
on,” Donovan commanded.

Before
he could take the first step, Isabeau tugged on his collar and lifted enough to
whisper in his ear.  

“Lord
Kirney might be in the vicinity.”

“Yes,
Simon revealed his part in this debacle.”

Still
keeping her voice low, she explained. “I do not think he was actually part of
my kidnapping but Simon was at first anxious to—to place me in Kirney’s
keeping.”

“’Tis
a good thing your bastard brother is already dead,” Donovan rumbled his
disgust. He kissed her temple in apology when she tensed. “Think no more of
it.”

“What
are you going to do?  There is no proof of his involvement.”

Donovan
shrugged with a fabricated casualness. “I will weigh the matter in judgment…
Carstairs!”

“My
lord!” The lieutenant answered promptly as he stepped into Donovan’s line of
sight.

“Dispatch
an appropriate welcome for Sir Herzog Kirney. Make sure he understands any
contract he made with Olivet was illegal and therefore void. Isabeau is wed to
me. I would wager either he or his representative waits on the main road near
where the footpath emerges.”

“Aye,
my lord.” A wry smile curved Carstairs’ mouth. “Any other messages to be
delivered?”

“He
is to appear at the next Shire Court. In the meantime, we must look into
Kirney’s dealings.”

“As
you wish.” Carstairs gave a small bow directed at Isabeau. “’Tis glad I am that
you are safe, my lady. The entire castle would have grieved your loss.”

Isabeau
gave a small nod.

Donovan
turned to follow Eldred and Smithy to the castle. He refused all offers to
carry Isabeau. He intended she remain where she was, secure in his arms.

The
return trip to Castle Bennington was as brief as predicted. While they followed
no discernable trail, the way was less circuitous than the path Simon had
followed. A parade trailed behind him even as he followed Felix through the
postern gate, into the baileys and then into the castle proper. The honor guard
thinned only when he crossed the threshold of his own bedchamber.

When
he would have deposited Isabeau on the raised bed, Glenys and Maisie barred the
way with their feet spread and hands planted on hips.

“Now,
my lord,” Maisie crooned in a maternal melody. “You just put my lady in the
chair. We will see to her from here.”

“Aye,”
chimed in Glenys. “’Tis fittin’ that we women, and of course the healer, tend
to my lady. We be that glad she has been returned to us.”

Donovan
gave in but not before dropping another kiss on Isabeau’s temple. For a moment,
he worried that she did not look as pleased as her ladies at her rescue. They
urged him to the corridor with gentle force. The door summarily closed behind
him.

He
tried to keep his mind occupied. He tried to keep his hands busy. No matter
what he did, he could not keep his thoughts from Isabeau. What were the women
doing to her?  What were they saying?  How had Isabeau been
hurt?  Had Simon done the unspeakable? 

Questions
raced through his mind with very few answers. Unable to take the unknown a
second longer, Donovan dared to breach his chamber. At his knock, a maid opened
the door and then women, and Hemrick began to file one by one, out of the room.
“Merlina, the healer, would speak with you, my lord,” Maisie whispered as she
passed him.

Merlina, the healer?
 Ah yes, the herb woman who lives nearby
. Donovan tried to see over
the—well, he could hardly call her an old crone—healer, into his bedchamber but
a skinny shoulder barred the way. She scrutinized him through narrowed
suspicious eyes. “Need I speak to you of matters pertaining to the marital bed,
young man?”

Donovan
felt his face warm with embarrassment. “Lady Isabeau spoke to you?”

“Aye,”
the young woman chuckled, showing white teeth. “She was most concerned she had
lost your babe. And
her
not even wed long enough to be
bedded.”

When
was the last time anyone had dared to scold him as they would a child? 
Carstairs’ needling did not count. “I exaggerated the facts of conception to
hasten our marriage vows.” Why was he explaining?  He was the earl.

“Then
there is no need to explain to you it be much too soon to know if her link with
the moon has been broken.”

“Nay.”
Donovan shook his head a bit sheepishly.

“Nice
trick, my lord.” The healer chuckled again, though she was not done with her
lesson. “Mind you, she could be with child. The fall has not caused her to
start her woman’s bleeding but I can make no promises. You must take care when
you—well, with the bridal bed. I do not suppose I need guide you.” She winked
and nudged his side with her elbow. “You seem to have acquired some recent
practice.”

He
wanted to push the woman from the room and rush to Isabeau’s side. Instead, he
asked, “Olivet did no lasting damage?”

The
naughty grin left the wrinkle-free face. “The little chick, she will feel
the topple
down the hill in the morn, but her heart—I urge
ya to go slow. Try not to batter down the ramparts. She fears you will not
forgive her the sins of her brother.”

“Half-brother,”
Donovan corrected absently. “I have to see her.”

The
healer moved aside. “Allow her more time in the warm bath. I added my special
salts to ease the aches. I will examine her again on the morrow unless you need
me before. She dismissed the ladies—even young Caitlin—so you will need to
attend her. Glenys said she would send a tray. I will have her add enough for
you.”

As
she made to leave the chamber, Donovan urgently gripped her arm. “Mistress, not
a word is to be repeated. My bride is an honorable lady. I will not have her
dishonored by idle chatter about our wedding night or the deeds of Olivet.”

“No
fear, my lord. The countess’s honor rivals your own.” The woman nodded her
veiled head in understanding before closing the thick wooden door behind her.
Thank goodness someone had seen to repair it – and quickly, too.

He
flipped the latch to prevent any well-meaning disturbances. Whoever brought the
tray would have to knock before entering. He leaned his back against the door.

She
was safe—his wife. They were finally alone. She would have the privacy to tell
him what she needed to tell him. Pray, they both had the courage to deal with
the telling.

The
large wooden tub sat near the hearth where a steady fire burned on this late
spring day. A steaming pot hung off the flames, ready to warm Isabeau’s bath.
Her head rested on the rim with a folded cloth cushioning her neck. Her back to
him, he could see her arms lined the lipped edge.

Did
Isabeau know he was here?  Was she aware of his presence—of his love?

As
he drew closer, he saw her lashes resting on her ivory cheeks. Her eyes closed;
her breathing slow and deep. Had she fallen asleep?  He held his own
breath as he watched the water lick at her bare breasts. She bent her elbow and
dangled her fingers in the water. He remembered to grab a cloth before taking
the kettle off the hook.

Her
eyes opened as he added the steaming water to the other end of the tub. She
sucked in her breath as she sat straight. Her abrupt movement caused waves of
water to lap at the rim. He noticed her spine was as stiff as that first night
when she had waited in his chair.

“Is
the water too hot?”

“Donovan?”
The green in her hazel eyes glittered with grief as she made to get out of the
tub.

“Stay,”
he instructed. He put a hand on her slick shoulder and eased her back to a
sitting position. “The healer gave me orders.”

She
pulled her legs up and hugged her knees to her bare breasts.

“No,
I’ll get out. We must talk.” Her reedy voice gave portent to the words. He had
seen the same expression on the faces he met on the battlefields, men resigned
to meet death at his hands.

What
did she have to tell him, to put such dread in her tender heart?

Isabeau
forced herself to open her eyes and look directly at Donovan. She vowed not to
be a coward. She would give him the truth and accept his judgment. The water
sloshed as she struggled to her feet. He wrapped a drying cloth around her as
he lifted her from the tub.

While
thankful for the brief covering, she would need more when she stripped her
soul. She scrambled for the bed-robe draped over a chest. Careful to keep her
back to him, she dropped the drying cloth to the floor as she slid her arms
into the voluminous saffron garment. The fabric clung to her damp skin.

“I
have something I must tell you.” Staring blindly at the chest, she sensed him
move towards her and turned to keep him at her back as she knotted the sash.

“Isabeau?”
His deep voice should have soothed but only widened the chasm between her love
for him and what she knew.

She
gripped the fingers of one hand in the other and squeezed. The pain failed to
penetrate her guilt. She flinched when his big hand cupped her shoulder.

“Would
you, at least, look at me?”

Tears
burned her eyes but she nodded. She took two side-steps and the warmth of his
touch fell away. Immediately, she missed the connection. She returned to the
hearth rug before she faced him.

“Simon…”
The words blocked her throat.

“Your
brother was an evil man but you are not responsible for his actions.”

“I
wish I could believe that.” Isabeau stared into Donovan’s dark eyes. He took a
step towards her but she held up her hands, palms out, to halt him. He stopped
with the width of the hearth dividing them.

“The
healer thinks you blame yourself for what Simon has done.”

“I
am of the same blood. How could I not?”

“What
of Sir Charles? Your father was a good man, an honorable man. Is he also to
blame for what Simon did?  After all, he sired him.”

She
whimpered in sorrow, her emotions raw. Her beloved father had not grown ill
until after Simon and Syllba arrived at Olivet. After learning what her
half-brother was capable of—from his own lips—how could she not suspect his
culpability in their father’s death?

Donovan
stretched out his arm towards her. “What of young Sam? He had no knowledge of
what his companions did. Should I have sent him to the gibbet without other
considerations?  I believe you counseled Glenys on forgiveness. Were you
wrong?”

Isabeau
swiped her fingers across her burning eyes. Her knees shook and she edged
towards a stool. She dropped to the seat as her legs gave way. “The words were
easy when I was ignorant of Simon’s actions. Now, I feel unclean.”

“Does
it help to know that I cast no blame on your shoulders?”

“You
do not know what he did.” She winced at the stringent note in her plaint.

“I
know much. I know Olivet was the mysterious baron who set the ruffians on
Glenys’ family.”

“I
do not understand.” But she was afraid she did and hugged her arms around her
chest. Isabeau watched Donovan carefully. While confident he would not
physically strike her, she braced for another emotional blow.

“Young
Sam helped bring the bas -- the body from the forest. He recognized Simon as the
baron who claimed he was robbed. What he hoped to gain from the machination is
anyone’s guess.” Donovan shrugged.

Mayhap
the answers could not change what had already come to pass.

“Perhaps
he thought the deed would be enough to lure me away from the castle?” Donovan
added after a moment. “Now, we know he had easy access here when my chamber was
unoccupied.”

“Simon
poisoned your wine.” Isabeau forced the words out in a rush. “I think he
murdered Granya.”

“Aye,”
Donovan agreed. “Either she caught him in the deed or she was his accomplice.”

“That
is not the worst of it.” Isabeau put her palm over her mouth. The gesture might
have been to keep back either the bile churning in her belly or the vile words
that needed to be spoken. She took several breaths, lowered her hand and
straightened her shoulders. “Simon was mad. He claimed your father should have
wed his mother, not yours. He believed he should have your place. If not he
himself, he plotted to have his son become the next Earl of Bennington.”

“An
empty dream. Strange...” Puzzlement twisted the mild scowl on Donovan’s face.
“How could he hope to gain my earldom?  He had no influence with the king.
If he thought to take Bennington by force—he was no match. He is not my heir,”
he added.

“Simon
knew about Marta and Syllba.”

“Syllba
will go to Pomeroy immediately. She need not concern you again.”

“Donovan
-- listen to me. Simon threatened to expose the women’s—affections – if -- if
Marta did not submit to his use of her body. He got her with child.”

Although
it seemed impossible, Donovan’s frown increased. “But Christian…”

“Simon
poisoned Christian with the same powder he put in our wine. With Christian –
gone – his child would pass for yours.”

She
could see the impact of her words, the grief. Impotent rage made the scar at
the side of his face more prominent. Most of the time, she took no notice of
the mark. Now it served as another reminder of all the pain Donovan had endured
over the years. She longed to ease his hurts but after what Simon had done, did
she have the right?  And still, she had more to tell him. “I know it will
be empty comfort but…”

“This
makes no sense. Simon was indeed mad...” Donovan strode across the chamber and
back again. “There is more?”

She
nodded. “While Marta might have been willing to pay a high price for Simon’s
silence, Christian was not part of it. Apparently, she confronted Simon with
her suspicions of Christian’s death. They argued and he struck her. He did not
mean for her to die before she came to term with his child. He blamed Marta for
dying and ruining his plans.”

Stunned
and silent for a time, Donovan took a deep breath and finally spoke. “I believe
some of your brother’s evil was controlled by another. There is a plot against
the king among some barons…  Kirney?”  Donovan paced to the far wall
and back, obviously -- in his mind -- somewhere beyond the chamber. “I must
write the king about this...” He looked up and exhaled but still did not focus
on her, “Simon would have been a handy tool…  Married to Syllba – Kirney’s
ward... She must have been his pawn as well.” He jerked as the thought came to
him. “Learned her proclivities at Kirney’s knee...” Donovan shook his head,
snorted, and looked at Isabeau again. “As I said, Simon was quite mad.”

My brother did all these things. Must my husband remind me?

If
someone beyond Simon was more evil yet, did it matter? Only Simon’s behavior
had affected her – and Donovan.

Donovan’s
fists worked at his sides, opening and closing, but he stayed where he was. If
he wished to put his hands around her throat and squeeze, he overcame the urge.
Isabeau knew, without a doubt, all was lost. A weight crushed her heart. “I
will have Caitlin help me pack a trunk.” She would not cry. She would
not
cry.

“Why?”

“I
must leave Bennington.”

“Where
do you think to go?”

“St.
Ignatius.”

“No.”

The
single syllable took her by surprise. He had spoken calmly, coolly, even
soothingly.

“But…”

“You
are the countess of Bennington. Your place is at my side, being my helpmate,
giving me children. You are going nowhere.”

“How
can you stand to look at me after all I have told you?”

“Simon’s
behavior – and Kirney’s -- have nothing to do with how I feel for you.” Donovan
crossed the span of the hearth in two strides. She felt the warmth of his large
callused hands as they enveloped her upper arms. Before she could protest, he
pulled her to her feet and then to her toes. He bent his head, almost nose to
nose, to look deep into her eyes.

“How
many times must I tell you, you are not responsible for Simon and his deeds?”

“And
what if I give you children with the madness of their uncle?”

“At
the time of my betrothal with Marta, I seem to recall a discussion with my
father. He said choosing the lineage of a wife was as important as choosing
that of a horse. A man could not be concerned
only
with the silver
brought to the union, but also the strength of the sire and dame.  Father
said he discontinued bridal negotiations with one baron. He would not chance
that daughter after dealing with the father. Shall we wager it was Simon’s
grandfather of whom he spoke? There must have been something about the man’s
thinking that put my father off.”

“Truly?”

“Your
father, Sir Charles, did not have the benefit of the same counsel. At least,
not with his first alliance. I remember your grandfather and your grandmother.
Both were of sound stock.”

“You
do not think I might carry the madness in my blood?”

Donovan
pulled her closer into his embrace. His lips came down on hers and plundered
her mouth. With the kiss, he invaded her body and soul. When she thought she
might faint from lack of air, he lifted his head and eased her feet back to the
floor. Even as she clutched at his forearms for balance, he swept her into his
arms. He deposited her in the center of the raised bed, and divested of her
bed-robe, before she could think to protest.

When
she moved to cover her body with a blanket or her even her hands, he caught her
wrists and positioned them on the bolster on either side of her head. He
stepped from the dais and began to undress. She watched his eyes as he followed
the lines of her naked body with his gaze. His every motion seemed to her a
sensuous dance of sinew and steel. Her legs moved restlessly on the bed.

How
could he distract her with such ease?

She
needed reassurance. She needed an answer…

Donovan
finished with his disrobing. He approached the bed with the air of a predatory
cat. Instinctively, Isabeau wanted to scramble to the other side of the bed but
she found her limbs seemed too heavy with desire to budge.

“I
have a confession as well,” Donovan confided as he reached the top step. He
stretched out his hand to palm her cheek.

His
expression and his hand combined to quell the need for flight but stirred an
instant urgency feed the fire she glimpsed in his eyes.

“I
took you as my betrothed as an act of revenge.”

“I
know,” she whispered.

“I
took you to wife for an entirely different reason.”

“You
need an heir.” She bit her lower lip to prevent her chin from quivering.

“I
am a soldier.” His hand drifted lower until he cupped her breast. “To date, my
life has been full of war and death. My business is that of bloodletting. I am
not a gentle man nor am I fair of face.”

Her
hands fell from the bolster as she moved to protest. One hand covered his
roaming fingers to still it at her breast. The other she lifted to trace the
scar at the side of his face. “You have always taken care with me. As for your
scar, it adds to your comeliness. But do not think to acquire more.”

“When
I first took you away from Olivet, I thought I would be imprisoning you either
into the darkness of Bennington or the loneliness of the St. Ignatius convent.
Marta was not within reach of my vengeance. The only way to punish her was to
take away Olivet’s riches from her lover. I did not realize at the time that
you are the true treasure of Olivet. You brought light and life to Bennington
Castle, to my people and to me. I cannot remember the last time I felt welcome
in my own holding.”

She
tried to pull him atop of her but he held his weight aloft. “But you are
welcome here,” she proclaimed. “The people of Bennington are proud to belong to
a warrior of such legendary honor.”

“You
are the one who threw open the doors. You are the one who transformed
Bennington from a dank dungeon to a perfumed castle.” He leaned in to place
feather light kisses on her eyes, her nose. “I did not wed you to acquire an
heir.”

“No?”
Isabeau’s heart beat faster. Her breaths came fast and shallow.

“When
a knight goes on a quest, if he has never seen his quarry, he might not
recognize it the first time he comes upon it. So it was with me.” He traced his
fingers down her body then blanketed her belly with his splayed palm. “While I
would like many children with you, I need you more than I need an heir.”

“Do
you?” she asked breathlessly. “Why?”

“I
love you,” he said before settling his weight along her body. He used his
elbows to prevent crushing her.

“Truly?”
Her eyes burned with tears. Her chin trembled.

“Aye.”
Donovan moved a thigh to part hers and settled deeper onto her. “I love your
smile, your laughter, and your body. I am seduced by your innocence and your grand
capacity for love. I vow to protect you much better than I have to date.”