Betrothed (9 page)

“I
need a word with the housekeeper.”

His
mouth flattened, causing the scar on his jaw to whiten. “You are no longer
chatelaine to this place—nor will you continue the duties. If it is work you
want, you will have plenty at Bennington.”

He
handed her the reins and turned away to swing up onto his own mount. With a
click of his tongue and a twitch of his bridle, he began their journey.

The
huge procession had gone but a few yards when a young girl cried out. “Lord
Donovan!  Halt, I beg you!”

A
single fluid motion of his hand and everyone stilled. All stared at the young
girl who dared to impede the path of the liege lord. The blonde girl stood as
tall as her trembling form would allow. Isabeau thought she recognized Carrie
under the puffy eyes and white cheeks.

“Speak,”
commanded the earl briskly.

Isabeau
shivered at the deep resonance in his voice.

Carrie
stepped closer to the dancing hooves of the earl’s beast. “Please, milord,
might I go with you.”

Isabeau
wondered at the desperation in the girl’s voice. Was she too, tired of being
Simon’s whipping girl or was there something more behind this bold action?

The
earl stared at the maid intently. She had pulled her blonde hair tightly back
and secured the plait with a leather thong. She clutched a bundle wrapped in a
blanket to her chest and Isabeau thought she was wearing several layers of
clothing. Carrie had come prepared.

“What
is your name?” the earl asked evenly, perhaps even kindly.

“C-C-Carrie,
milord.”

“Are
you free or are you indentured to Olivet?”

“I’m
free.”

“What
of your family, Carrie?  Bennington is of a distance that you would not be
able to travel freely. You would not see your mother often.”

She
looked back at the manor and Isabeau followed her gaze where Simon and Syllba
stood sentinel atop the stairs at the grand doors.

“It
matters not.” Carrie returned her gaze to the liege. “I canna’ stay here.”

The
earl’s eyes flickered in the same direction before nodding. “Very well. While
in my home, do not speak of those in this place.”

The
girl nodded and dropped into a grateful curtsey. “I vow. You have my undying
fealty, My Lord Donovan.”

“You
have my protection. So be it.” He turned to Carstairs at his right. “Make room
on one of the wagons for Carrie. She goes with us. She will attend to the Lady
Isabeau on the road and at Bennington.” After a slight hesitation, as his man
dismounted, Donovan added in a loud voice. “Make it known that she is under my
protection.”

Carstairs
took the girl’s burden and led her to the rear of the convoy. He assisted
Carrie onto one of the wagons loaded with provisions. Isabeau didn’t remember
these wagon springs quite so burdened on the way to Olivet. In fact she frowned
as she tried to remember their arrival. She could only recall one wagon. Her
single chest and few selections from the library couldn’t possibly take so much
room.

Isabeau
watched Carrie as she made a place in the corner of the wagon and settled down
with her bundle as a pillow. The color had begun to return to her pale cheeks.

 “Isabeau.”
The earl interrupted her musings as he and Carstairs remounted. “You will ride
next to me, as is your place.”

He
motioned the party to begin the journey, and they were on their way. Isabeau
sat as tall in the side saddle as was possible while still being prudent.
Olivet would remember her leaving proudly at their liege’s side.

A
last look at the manor and Isabeau relaxed a shade more as she faced
forward—towards the road to Bennington.

Simon
stood on the stair and watched as the procession of the mighty Donovan, Earl of
Bennington filed out of the outer bailey gate. He simmered like a hag’s
cauldron. His gaze focused on the first wagon. The wagon hauling Carrie, the
traitorous little bitch, was laden down with the weight of Simon’s gold and
jewels. All of the valuables his miserable father had deemed Isabeau’s dowry
should have been his.

May the old man rot in hell!

Simon
had been so close to recovering a fraction of profit after his last setback.
Now, his machinations had been for naught.

How
had they fallen apart?  Again!

“What
happened?  I was gone but two days,” he growled at his bitch of a wife. He
would rather be free of the slut but she had her uses, and her proclivities did
occasionally amuse him. She had even afforded him his previous opportunity. Had
the scheme come to fruition, he would finally have been given his due.

“Where
were you, husband?” Syllba asked in her silky voice.

“Bennington
was not supposed to arrive for another week.” Simon ignored the question. He
would answer eventually. His wife often had functional suggestions—well,
functional after he added his masculine intelligence to the mix. “I should have
had plenty of time. Why did he change his plans?  What happened after his
arrival?”

Syllba
waved her hand with her lethally sharp nails. “Little Izzy rode out of Olivet
and returned with Bennington in tow. ‘Tis obvious she wagged her tongue and no doubt
rained her pitiful tears upon her hero’s head. No telling what tales she told.”

“Did
she?” Simon watched Carrie’s blonde hair disappear from sight as the wagon
passed through the gate and the driver turned down the road. “He took
everything that was mine.”

“Where
were you?” Syllba simpered.

“Kirney’s.”
Simon clipped out.

“Oh.
He’ll not be pleased to lose such delicacy. He was salivating on his last
visit.”

Simon
hoped he hid the wince at the reminder. “He’ll not be pleased.”

Syllba
watched until she could no longer see the last of the procession. She said
slowly, softly for his ears alone as she dug her claws into his forearm. “She
will be of little use to you after the wedding night.”

Simon
jerked his head in her direction and watched her as she continued to stare at
the empty gate.

She
continued with an almost melodious lilt. “Of course, Bennington still has to
die.”

Isabeau rode
on for seemingly endless miles with only the rhythmic pounding of dozens of hooves
against the hard packed road. She recalled the old adage: “
Beware of your
wishes, the capricious fates may grant them.”

She had wished
for time to think. She had plenty of that as she rode in silence beside her
dour betrothed. Occasionally, she would glance over at his grim profile and any
words she might have said died on the tip of her tongue. Donovan seemed to be
deep in the mire of his own thoughts. Was he as leery of their union as she, or
did he pine for his lost countess?

She had wished
to hide behind stone walls away from Simon’s cruelty. Well, she would have that
wish, too, but her new home wouldn’t be the sanctuary of the convent. She
wouldn’t have token guards at the gate but instead would have the protection of
her very own fierce warrior and his army.

He had
promised Carrie protection and she was just a young girl. Isabeau was his
betrothed. He had vowed more than just protection.  She wondered what
having the protection of her betrothed entailed. Protection had many meanings.

An ugly thought
clouded her vision. Was Carrie already the earl’s leman?

She made a
slight shake of her head.
No! 
She rejected the notion in a
heartbeat.
Carrie was not yet fifteen. She was but a child.

When he had
accepted the girl into his household, passion had not rung in his deep voice.

He had asked
of her only one thing; not to speak of those in Olivet Manor. Why such an odd
request? Isabel shook her head at the puzzle. Donovan d’Allyonshire had more
honor than to seduce a child to his bed.

How did she
know?  She had listened to his legend many times, but she had only met the
man
the day before. The tales she had been fed over the years could be
just that; tales.

What had
happened within the manor that had changed him so much from the cheerful man of
the morn to the fierce soldier at the evening meal?  The darkness which
had overtaken his soul frightened Isabeau in and of itself, but the swiftness
of the metamorphous tightened a fist in her belly.

As his future
wife, would she to grow accustomed to such occurrences?  Would these
mercurial changes be a daily part of her married life?

Would she be
better off at Olivet?

A lump formed
in her throat as she remembered Simon’s plans for her future. She would do
better with Donovan on the darkest day.

Over their shared
trencher, Isabeau had sensed the loss inside him, an emptiness which had not
been there earlier. Had Simon been responsible?  What had their liege
found on his inspection of Olivet?  His Lordship had shown Simon nothing
but contempt throughout the evening meal.

What had gone
on before she had entered the Great Hall?  Had the men’s paths crossed
before sitting down to share the evening meal?  What had Simon done?

Why would the
earl not simply challenge Simon to a duel of honor?  Or judge him as was
his right and place as liege?

The more she
gnawed on the problems, the more certain she became of Simon’s culpability in
her unexpected change of fortune. Her dowry and the additional penalties
extracted from Simon’s coffers had not been merely because Simon had contracted
a marriage for her without consulting his liege. Donovan had meant for Simon to
pay a high penalty.

Would
she,
too,
pay for her half-brother’s
misdeeds?        

Isabeau looked
over at the stony profile of her betrothed. He appeared unapproachable, but
somewhere Carrie had found the courage to step before the great man. Isabeau
could do no less.

“My lord?”

He slowly
turned in her direction. A humorless smile gave his mouth a small curve. “We
are now a betrothed couple. You have leave to use my name.”

“Name?” She
blinked.

“My Christian
name is Donovan.”

She blinked
again. “I know.”

“Then use it.
Now, what did you want to ask?”

“Ask?”

This time a
touch of humor reached his eyes. “You were the one who started this bit of
confusion,” he teased gently.

Her cheeks
burned with embarrassment. “I just wished to thank you for allowing me a few
keepsakes.”

His left
eyebrow rose. “A few?”

“My mother’s
portrait?  I know it should have remained in the gallery as a lady of Olivet
but—Simon—would not appreciate the history.” She wanted to say more but still
remained guarded about so much. “Thank you.”

Donovan
shrugged casually before changing the subject. “The day’s light lingers this
time of year. We will be able to make a good distance before twilight forces us
to make camp. Tomorrow night we will take shelter with Sir William. I am sure
he will not begrudge me his hospitality again so soon.”

Isabeau felt
the urge to apologize. “I am sorry for being such a disruption. I would be
agreeable if you wished to continue with your travels. I could accompany you or
proceed on to Bennington. I could even visit the Sisters of Saint Ignatius
while you attend to your duties.”

“Anything but
remain at Olivet?” he suggested quietly.

She blushed.
“I would hope I am not so obvious all of the time. I only proposed the
possibilities so you could accomplish your business unencumbered.”

“But I am
encumbered.” He motioned to her and at the following entourage. “I am the Earl
of Bennington, and as such, I find myself encumbered with all sorts
of—privileges and—baggage.”

Did she hear a
note of bitterness in his sweeping statement?  Her courage failed her
before she could ask which their betrothal was; privilege or baggage?

    
The ride was long and wearing, made more so, she thought, because of the
side-saddle and the uncertainties weighing her heart. She was about to brave
breaking the silence to suggest she join Carrie in the wagon when Donovan
raised his hand in signal to halt the procession.

    
He informed Carstairs, “I believe this would be a good place to rest for the
night.” He turned to Isabeau and continued. “It is easily defendable and near a
source of fresh water.”

    
Carstairs held his reins firm as his horse pranced restlessly. “I hardly think
anyone but the most foolhardy would think to attack your banner in your own
province.” He winked at Isabeau before adding. “Just ask your lady. She was
sure just your colors would shield her from harm.”

    
Isabeau’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. She didn’t want Donovan reminded of
her transgressions, not when she already walked an unsure path.

    
“Choose the watch.” Donovan growled at his man. “Be careful I don’t put you on
sentry throughout the night for that wise tongue.”

    
Carstairs laughed.
“ ’Twouldn’t
be the first time.
Where do you want your tent set up?”

    
Donovan shrugged. “’Tis mild enough. I haven’t used the tent since our return
to our home shores.”

    
“I was thinking more of your lady’s comfort.” Carstairs raised his eyebrows. “I
know you are not accustomed to traveling with females, but we have recently
acquired two of the softer persuasion.”

    
“Oh.” Donovan’s cheeks darkened. Whether with impatience or embarrassment,
Isabeau couldn’t determine. She wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences of
either emotion.

    
“I have no need for a tent, my lord,” she spoke up quickly. “There is no need
for going to that trouble. We will be resuming our journey quite early in the
morning, will we not?”

    
Treating her to an all-encompassing glance, Donovan gave her a humorless smile.
“Only yesterday, you were prepared to tempt the elements without a safeguard.”

    
She tried the bravado of a smile but knew she failed dismally. “As Carstairs
said, I utilized the safeguard of your livery and…”

She broke off
before she finished her confession. How would Donovan react if she told him
about the set of throwing knives her father had given her?

“And…” he
prompted.  

“Nothing,” she
shook her head.

He sighed as
he dismounted. “You might as well make a clean breast of things. ‘Twill be
better in the long run.”

She licked her
dry lips as he crossed the short distance to Meadowlark. “I had my knives, as I
do now.”

Donovan stared
up at her, surprise clear on his face. After a moment, a true smile curved his
mouth. “You have served up surprise after surprise since our first meet, my
lady. Did your father, perchance, give you any defensive training along with
your throwing skills while your lady mother wasn’t looking?”

“Nay,” she
admitted regretfully.

“Well,” he
sighed. “At least, you would have had some defense if an assailant didn’t sneak
up on you. Mayhap one day we will add to your repertoire.”

Enthusiastically,
she leaned forward in the saddle. “Oh, could we?  Could you teach me archery
as well?  I would be a faithful pupil.”

Donovan
laughed as he reached up and lifted her from her perch. The sound held an
unused quality but it was a genuine laugh. The accomplishment absurdly pleased
her, even though his amusement was at her expense. “I would hope Bennington has
enough defenders without the necessity of recruiting the countess.”

“But…” her
palms spread against his broad chest as she tried to find her balance.

“Milady.”
Carrie interrupted Isabeau’s entreaty.

Donovan pushed
a lock of her hair behind her ear with a gauntleted finger. “I think I have
just been saved from a minor skirmish. I can decamp the field with my honor
still intact.”

He turned
Isabeau towards the young maid. The absence of his warmth disconcerted her. How
could she feel the loss?

“I will have a
couple men secure a glade for you ladies to refresh yourselves in private. I
request, however, that for no reason should you venture from the safety of the
area. You are to stay together as well.”

“Aye, my
lord.” Carrie nodded.

Isabeau could
feel Donovan’s gaze as a warm caress. “Do you comprehend, my lady?”

She nodded
distractedly.   

“Are you sure
you do not wish for my tent to be raised?”

“As you said,”
Isabeau tipped her chin up proudly, “the weather is mild enough.”

“So be it.” He
took the reins of both Meadowlark and his own mount. He led them away to be
tethered and tended with the other animals.

Before Isabeau
could pursue him, two young men stepped forward. Both of them sported freckles
and wheat colored hair but it was the matching blues eyes which marked them as
brothers.

“Milady,” the
taller man spoke, “Just beyond those trees is a secluded crook in the river. It
should be sufficient for your needs. We will ensure your privacy. His lordship
asked us to remind you to not venture from the area and to go nowhere without
your lady’s maid.”

Isabeau nodded
before allowing her betrothed’s men to lead her to the small river. They
disappeared through the bush after again assuring her of her safety and
privacy. She attended to her needs in silence, broken only when she asked
Carrie if she was ready to return to the camp. “We should make ourselves
useful. I am sure there is something we can do.”

But when the
girls returned to the camp site, they found fires lit and several pallets
already spread out on the ground. A few of the men were already sprawled upon
their bedrolls, their conversations a low murmur floating over the air.  

She strolled
over to Donovan where he sat on a small stool next to one of the fires. He
poked at the flames with a stick.

“Is there
anything left for us to do?” When she heard the petulant tone of her voice
embarrassment warmed her cheeks more than the fire.

“Sleep.”
Donovan didn’t bother to look up from the flame now eating at his stick. “We
will resume our travel with morning light.”

    
Isabeau glanced around the encampment and asked with more humility. “Where do
you wish us to bed down?”

    
“What did you say?” Donovan whipped his head around, his voice gruff.

    
Startled at his abrupt question, Isabeau involuntarily stepped back. “I simply
asked where you wish Carrie and me to sleep.”

    
“Oh,” he shook his head. He waved his left hand. “There.”

    
Isabeau turned, and for the first time saw three bed rolls spread out not far
from the fire. She assumed the third pallet was for Donovan. Somehow, she had
not expected to be sleeping so close to him. With such a large traveling party,
and Carrie to sleep on her other side they would be far from alone, but the
darkness would hold an intimacy she had not contemplated until this moment.

    
“Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your kindness and your protection.”