Betrothed (19 page)

Donovan
watched this man maintain what remained of his dignity while waiting for
judgment. Even with pants dampened with piss and spattered with puke, Sam
somehow found the pride and strength to face his own death.

“For
your crime of digging, you will accompany Zeke and his family to the nearest
consecrated ground and dig their graves and pray for their souls. When your
work is completed you will be escorted to Bennington Castle. There you will
tell your tale of woe to one more suited to pass judgment—Zeke’s grandmother.
Tis her loss. If she can find reason to spare your neck, so be it. Should she
bid me, you will follow your fellows to hell in a thrice.”

Elated,
Simon returned to the cave. With stealth and cunning, he had cleverly breached
the heart of his enemy’s lair. Not only had he gained useful intelligence but
he had secured an ally in the bosom of the castle. The mighty sword of Donovan
could not have done better.  

He
had only to feign grief over Marta’s death and Granya had been willing to do
anything short of plunging a dagger into Allyonshire’s chest. The old witch
would have neither the strength nor the stomach for that deed. Still, she would
have her uses.

The
aid of candlelight would speed his forays into the castle, he thought with
satisfaction. Next trip he would explore the second tunnel. He settled on one
of the large rocks surrounding the outside fire ring and decided to enjoy the
lowly brew still remaining with the supplies.   

What
was taking Arneau so long?  Simon had made his own trip, accomplished much
and returned, yet the servant was still away. If Arneau had succeeded, his next
foray into the castle would not be through the tunnel.

He
heard a rustling in the trees. Arneau’s round face burst through the leaves as
he entered the clearing. The man and his horse were not quiet. When the time
came, Arneau would be completely expendable.

“What
of Bennington?” Simon demanded before taking another mouthful of wine.

“The
castle got news before daybreak. The earl took several of his men to
investigate a fire on one of his farms. Word has spread that raiders have
attacked and he has gone hunting.”

 “Has
the earl returned to Bennington?”

Arneau
could only shake his head. “Nay.”

Simon
tossed the wineskin at Arneau then circled the empty fire pit.

How can I use this?

Simon
would take advantage of Allyonshire’s early departure. He could return to the
castle and strengthen his hold on the old witch. Yes. He liked that idea.
Simon’s words came faster as he began issuing orders. “Arneau, you will keep
watch on the road between the farm and Bennington. Also, select several hiding
places. I need a good line of sight while I remain concealed. When done, get
back here and fix me a meal. I want something to eat besides stale bread and
cheese.

“Get
going, man,” he growled before turning on his heel.

By
now Donovan had to be leagues away, chasing after those gullible fools, so a
return to the castle was possible.

Strategically,
the earl should be disposed of outside the walls of Bennington. If the
opportunity to kill Donovan along the road did not come to fruition, Simon
would ensure his downfall from within the very heart of the man’s own fortress.

He
found a malicious liking for the idea of taking down a warrior where he should
be most protected.

The
idea of slitting Donovan’s throat while he slept appealed.

Donovan
sighed as he shifted on his saddle. He wondered when he had grown so
tired?
  Had the road ever felt so long?  When had
he worried about anything but the next battle?

In
the matter of warfare, things were as sharp as the point of a blade, as final
as the slash of a sword. How was it then, that he now offered mercy where on
the battlefield none would be due?

“Regrets?”
queried Carstairs.

“About?”
Donovan asked cryptically. He winced.  Not just at the verbal echo of his
thoughts but that his friend should maneuver his beast next to his without him
knowing. He had lost his battle-ready awareness—a fatal flaw? He couldn’t
afford to reveal any of his self-doubts, even to his most trusted friend and
man-at-arms.

Carstairs
sighed and shook his head knowingly. His lieutenant’s particular taunting
expression irked Donovan no end.

“I
was wondering what our next action should be. Should we send word to the king?”

“About
what?” Donovan did not bother hiding his puzzlement. Many times, too much work
was involved in attempting to decipher Carstairs’ witticisms.

Slowly,
Carstairs removed the stalk of straw from the corner of his mouth. “About the
imposter who is masquerading as the king’s distant cousin, once removed.”

“What
foolishness is spilling from your mouth?” Donovan straightened even taller than
his regular rigid posture. “You know I am no pretender.”

“How
can I be sure of that?” Carstairs tilted his head and then began to punctuate
each of his points with a wave of his gnawed grass. “First, a man with such a
deathly aversion to the wedded state that he spends all of his time trying to
die a glorious death, announces his betrothal. Second, a solder known for his
swift justice uses only two gallows instead of three. And third—to my avid
curiosity, the most interesting—this same man who once stayed at home only long
enough to replenish his saddlebags -- is now racing back to his castle before
the dust has settled from his departure.”

Donovan
only grunted. He had no defense against Carstairs’ truths. He asked himself the
same questions. No answers conveniently presented themselves.

“You
can understand my dilemma,” Carstairs stuffed the stalk back into the corner of
his mouth and chewed.

“We
are not on foreign soil,” Donovan offered as an explanation.

“Nay.”
Carstairs waggled his head in agreement.

“We
are on Bennington lands.” Donovan could feel the warmth as his cheeks mottled.
“There are special considerations which have to be made when dealing with
civilians rather than soldiers.”

“We
have dealt with many
civilians
in our travels. Never before have I seen
the Earl d’Allyonshire question his decisions.”

“I
hear questions but they are spilling from
your
mouth.” But Donovan could
not completely ignore the changes burgeoning inside his own chest. “Do you
think I erred in my dealings with Zeke’s killers?”

“His
killers?  Nay.” Carstairs shook his head.

“And
that young Sam?”

“You
make him sound like a child. He is of your age—if not older—and you rubbed the
peach fuzz from your cheeks long ago.”

“You
are wrong,” Donovan countered. “Sam is younger than outside appearances. You
can see it in his eyes. Just because he traveled with a villain does not mark
him a villain.”

“What
has gifted you with this eye of discernment?”

For
a while, Donovan rode without answering. Then a single word slipped from his
mouth like a prayer. “Isabeau.”

Carstairs
remained quiet longer than Donovan expected. He endured his lieutenant’s
intense inspection as he waited for the eventual conclusion.

“Lady
Isabeau has no resemblance to her dreadful brother. But that is not a new
revelation. You recognized her innocence from the beginning. That is why you
were so determined to rescue her from her brother’s clutches.”

“She
was busy perpetrating a deception when we met.”

“And
with good reason, for all appearances.” Carstairs jumped to Isabeau’s defense.

“Aye,”
Donovan agreed just as quickly. “But I have no reason to trust her.”

“But
you do.”

A
frown tightened his forehead as Donovan searched for the truth. “I think I just
might…  There is no logic—no basis. But I…”

“You
love her.” Carstairs stated.

Donovan
shook his head in astonishment. “Love?  Now, that is a leap. Does such a
thing exist? It surely was not a factor in my marriage. I’ve known Isabeau but
a sennight. I…” His voice trailed off as he fished for words.

“I
want her,” he admitted. “I want her as my wife—as my lover. But I am not sure
about love. Are you? ”

“Am
I what?”

“A
believer in love?”   

Carstairs
laughed. “I do not have to see the wind to know it exists.”

“Or
get buffeted by its gusts?” Donovan tried to smile as his friend continued to
laugh.           

They
rode on while his mind weighed Carstairs strange idea. Could he be in love?
Neither broke the silence for so long, he thought their odd conversation
finished.
       

“So
when are you going to put everyone out of your misery and wed the girl?”

The
sudden question so startled Donovan, he pulled his mount to an abrupt halt.

“
My
misery?” he asked as he automatically controlled his prancing beast.

“Aye.”
Carstairs did not bother to hide his smirk. “
Your
misery.” Carstairs
also halted. “So when are you going to wed?”

Donovan
shrugged. “I do not know.”

In
silence, the two men walked their horses forward a short distance. This time,
Carstairs reined in his animal. “Donovan?” The earl did not stop.

“You
are the Earl of Bennington,” Carstairs called after him. “You above all should
know when you will wed. All you have to do is tell the wench when to meet you
in front of the priest. That or take her to bed.”

Donovan
urged his horse forward. When Carstairs was again beside him he responded.
“Isabeau does not wish an immediate wedding. I will not take another choice
from the girl,” Donovan snapped. “She has few enough of them.”

“More
than most girls her age.”

“She
was sheltered and gently raised while her mother and sire lived.”

 “And
being gently raised she would have expected her father—had he lived—to choose
her husband. How has her life changed?  You chose her husband rather than
her father.”

“She
has this idea, from tales told her by her mother, that I am
le parfait
chevalier
of a French romance. I am not that man.

“Then
marry her with all speed,” Carstairs laughed. “Mayhap you can become her
perfect knight.”

“How
do I accomplish the task?”

“Woo
her.”

“What?”

“Woo
her. You know; pay court to her, write her love poems, give her gifts.”

“Why
would I do such a thing?”

Carstairs
gave a long suffering sigh. “Friend, you are sorely out of practice. You just
bemoaned that you would not have Isabeau wed a stranger. So cease being a
stranger. Give her tokens of affections, shower her with complements. Pretend
to listen to every word she utters.”

“So
I act as if I am something I am not? How is that going to help?”

Carstairs
pulled his straw from his mouth. “With any other female, I would suggest
baubles of diamonds and gold, pretty posies in the middle of the day, but with
Lady Isabeau, I recommend a fanciful tome from your library.”

“You
think a book would be appropriate?”

“A
book of hours or one of those French romances; of everything she could have
chosen from Olivet, she picked out six volumes of her father’s.”

“Those
six volumes must have been truly large books from the size of the wagon we led.”

“Well,
a suggestion was made that she might need assistance selecting keepsakes.”
Carstairs smirked as he jabbed the straw back into his mouth. “Most everyone at
Olivet wished to help.”

“I
see.”

“Remember,
the goal is a speedy wedding. You will feel more settled—more clear-headed—once
you bed her. If the Earl of Allyonshire is happy, why then, all of Bennington
will be as happy as pigs rolling in muck.”

Donovan
spared him a narrowed glance before urging his horse to a slightly faster pace.
Could he woo his betrothed?  He had never needed to employ such tactics
with women. He was d’Allyonshire. His riches and title served to entice plenty
of females—or their ambitious families—to overlook his scarred face. In the
past, he had neither the inclination nor the need to pursue a particular lady.

 Isabeau
wore a skirt of a different color. While others carefully attempted to ignore
the jagged marks on his face, she did not appear to see them. Another woman
would fuss about a droplet of wine spilled on her bodice. Isabeau merely
laughed after getting plastered with mud.

“So
you have spoken to her?” Carstairs continued. “You said Isabeau did not wish an
immediate wedding. I assume this means you have discussed the matter with her.”

“Aye.”

“So
what was her reasoning?  Did she put conditions on her acquiescence?”

“Only
one.”

“What
was her one condition?”

“That…”
Donovan almost answered without thought. He clamped his mouth shut before the
damage was done. The last thing he wanted was for Carstairs to get that
particular bit between his teeth. He would never hear the end of the matter.
“Nothing of importance.”

“I
would think it of utmost importance. She has placed a condition on your
marriage. No matter how small you deem the matter, ‘tis not trivial.”

 “I
will deal with the matter.” Donovan shrugged dismissively and hoped Carstairs
would drop the subject.

“My
advice. Just give the girl whatever she wishes as soon as we arrive at
Bennington. You know you will surrender eventually. There is no way you are
going to let her escape. Like I said, you love her.”

Donovan
just snorted and stared down the road. But as he rode he had the uncomfortable
notion Carstairs’ remark landed too close to the heart of the situation.

They
caught sight of Bennington by mid-morning and heard the calls before they made
the main gate. A horn blared from the gate tower, apparently as a warning of
their imminent arrival. A crier shouted their return from the wall. Through the
open gates he could see several young lads race across the bailey, screaming at
the top of their lungs.   

He
had not rated such a noisy announcement of his return after months in the
king’s service. On this trip, he had only been absent from the castle two days.
As he dismounted and handed his reins to the waiting stable hand, he noticed
each of his men were treated in like fashion.

Looking
around the bailey, grim faces surrounded him. His people had not been this
somber when telling him of Marta’s death. Had something happened to Isabeau?

Donovan
stretched his legs as he rushed to the entrance. He stumbled in his relief when
he saw a disheveled Isabeau cross the massive threshold and emerge into the
daylight. She was followed by Glenys.

He
sucked in his breath as the sun glinted off Isabeau’s chestnut hair. She seemed
to brighten even the gray of the dress she wore. Was it possible he had
forgotten how beautiful she was?  How fragile her frame?  How bright
her smile?

“Welcome
home, my lord.” Isabeau held a hand towards him; her melodious tones kept low
as she looked up at him with concern shadowing her eyes.

“I
pray you found Glenys’ family unharmed?”

He
shook his head. Only Glenys moved as she took an involuntary step forward.
Donovan felt her searching gaze. Then a sob shook the old woman’s shoulders.

“A-all
of th-them?” The words came out punctuated by sobs she tried to stifle.

Donovan
could only shake his head again.

“May
God keep
them.
” Isabeau wrapped her arms around the
sobbing woman. “You caught the men who did this, of course.”

“Yes,”
he said gruffly. “Two of them have been dealt with.”

Isabeau
searched his battle-weary, travel-worn face. He wondered what she found when
she sighed and nodded. “It is right they be punished but I am sorry the
judgment weighs so heavily on your soul. No matter if the cause be just and
right, the ending of a life is not an easy task for a man of conscience. Nor
should it ever be.”

How
had she known what he felt?  She was but a mere slip of a woman.

“There
was a third man,” Donovan stated in a rush before he confessed to other things.