Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (39 page)

What other reason for such mercy could exist? Or had Isabelle told them of their love? If so, what then?

Connor cleared his throat. “Alexander DeFrouchette, before I tell you anything more, I must say that even Isabelle couldn’t persuade me into letting you go without some conditions.”

Alexander bowed in acknowledgment and acceptance, for he had wronged them all very much.

“I will allow you to go free provided you tell us what you know of Oswald, his fortress and anything else we ask before you leave. I also want your word that you will never move against me or my family again.”

His conditions were fair enough, and Alexander did not hesitate to respond. “I know nothing about the fortress, save that it is in Glamorgan, and even Prince Llewellyan has apparently forgotten its existence. It was little more than a ruin, as I’m sure Lady Isabelle has told you, temporarily repaired. I expect that after our escape, it will be abandoned once again. As for the other, you have my word that I will never cause any harm to you or your family for the rest of my life.” His gaze faltered. “I hope my promise will be enough surety for you.”

“Isabelle assures me it will be.”

Alexander darted a grateful glance her way.

“Well, Caradoc, what say you?” Connor remarked, addressing the other man who had stayed in the shadows. “Shall we tell him all?”

All? What more could there be?

The other man ambled closer, studying Alexander in a way he found both disconcerting and familiar. What
was
it about this stranger that tugged at the edges of his memory, that made him think he should know who he was?

His eyes. His brilliant blue eyes, studying him as his father had done on that day so long ago … sapphire blue eyes that were so like his own they could be mirror images. “Who
are
you?” Alexander demanded.

“I am Caradoc of Llanstephan, Connor’s brother.” Caradoc made a little smile. “Half brother, or so I’ve been told.” He ran another gaze over Alexander. “And it seems I’ve got another half brother.
You
.”

Alexander gasped. This could not be … and yet his coloring, his eyes, even the very way he stood—different from Connor and so like his father’s.

“My old nurse told me that my mother was raped by a young squire named Rennick DeFrouchette,” Caradoc continued. “Apparently I am his son, not the son of the man who later sired Connor and our sister.”

Alexander nodded slowly as he began to accept this possibility. “My father seduced and abandoned my mother and me, so I can see that he might not hesitate to rape if he thought he could get away unpunished,” Alexander said. He could even hear how a man like his father would justify it.

“Seeing you, I am even more certain of that myself,” Caradoc admitted. “Connor, Isabelle and Allis all agree you are the image of the man, and I see a resemblance between us that I cannot deny.”

Alexander could not contradict it, either. “Then that means I am related to you.”

“Aye, and so Connor, as well.”

Alexander surveyed them all, lingering a moment on Isabelle’s sympathetic face before returning his gaze to Caradoc. “And that is also why you are being merciful,” he concluded. “Because I am kin to you.”

Isabelle stood and shoved her hands in the cuffs of her gown. “He is being merciful because you deserve it, Alexander.”

As Alexander looked at Connor, he saw doubt in his face. Whatever Isabelle believed, Connor was not completely convinced he was doing the right thing. Nevertheless, Connor said, “Since you have agreed to my conditions, you may leave.”

Alexander bowed low. “Thank you, my lord.”

Connor stood. “I will escort you to the gate, so that all in Bellevoire will know you have my leave to go.”

“Again, I thank you.”

He was free. He could go.

There was one undeniably good thing about his release. There would be no need for Denis to rescue him. Denis and Kiera could leave without trouble.

Ingar would have sailed without him by now, which meant he was free of that obligation. It galled him to have gone back on his word. Still, it was not his fault he had not kept the rendezvous.

But he would never see Isabelle again.

He looked at her for the last time, drinking in the sight of her, determined to lock this memory of her in his mind for all time. At that moment, nobody else existed in the chamber for him. “Farewell, my lady.”

She reached around for something behind the chair.

His sword.

Holding it out in front of her, she walked toward him, her eyes glowing with love and … and resolution, not sorrow. Fierce determination, not sadness.

Because Isabelle knew exactly what she had to do. It would mean leaving behind her family. It would mean beginning a new life of poverty and uncertainty, no longer a lady destined to marry a nobleman and be the chatelaine of a castle. She would have to give up that life forever.

She didn’t care. If she did not do as her heart commanded, it would shrivel and die, destroyed, not merely broken, and her body might as well be dead along with it.

Strong in resolve, certain in her love, she said, “I’m going with you.”

As Connor made a sound of protest and Caradoc stared, Alexander’s gaze searched her resolute face. “You can’t,” he declared, once more the imperious warrior. “You cannot leave your home, your family. I won’t let you.”

“Surely you do not think you can order me in this, as well? Have you not learned the folly of that?” she queried with a little smile, unfazed by his words, her voice level, because she saw a different truth in his blue eyes. “Besides, if you don’t let me go with you, I will follow you anyway. I love you, Alexander, and you love me. I will never love another as I do you, and I will be miserable without you. You would not condemn me to that, would you?”

She saw the moment he believed that she loved him. Happiness blossomed in his face and then he laughed—a great, joyous burst of delight that made her laugh, too.

“I have learned the folly of trying to command you,” he said as he pulled her into his arms. He still smiled with joy, but she saw the deeper emotion in his blue eyes as he murmured, “And my heart would be dead without you, too.”

Connor loudly—and fiercely—cleared his throat. “I didn’t anticipate this when I agreed to set him free.”

“Nor I,” Caradoc rumbled, planting his feet and crossing his arms, and looking so like Alexander in his ire that despite Isabelle’s shock at the revelation of their relationship, she knew they
must
be brothers. “It’s one thing to be merciful, but we never thought—”

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” she said gently, knowing their objections were based on their concern for her. “I have decided. It is what I want to do.”

“Allis will object,” Connor protested. “She’ll be upset, too.”

“I think Allis will understand. There was much she was willing to do for love.”

Connor flushed, and he wisely didn’t try to deny it. “Then there is no more to be said,” he conceded, albeit with obvious reluctance. “As we followed our hearts, I cannot tell you not to follow yours.”

“
I
can,” Caradoc said. “What’s to become of her if she goes off with him?” he demanded of Connor, as if Alexander weren’t there. “He has no trade, no skills, no home.”

“He has a trade and skills,” Isabelle retorted, not pleased that Caradoc was interfering. “He can be a soldier. Or a mason. Or a carpenter. He has worked all his life and I have no qualms. We will manage.”

“But you’re a noblewoman and he’s … he’s…”

“A knight’s bastard. I know, and I don’t care. What good is a title if it means you must marry without love? I would rather be the poor wife of a knight’s bastard than married to a wealthy man I didn’t love. And it seems to me, Caradoc, that you are in no position to preach to me, since you married the daughter of a wool merchant.”

“A rich one,” he shot back.

“Yet you love her dearly, or so Allis says. Is that a lie?”

Caradoc colored. “No.”

“And if she were a poor wool merchant’s daughter, would you love her the less?”

“Well, no.”

“There then!” Isabelle cried triumphantly, her hands on her hips.

“I told you there’s no arguing with her,” Connor noted as he regarded his brother with manly sympathy. “She’ll outtalk you every time. And she’s right. Neither one of
us
was practical when we fell in love.”

Caradoc looked as if he wasn’t willing to yield, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the sound of pounding feet and shouts of alarm sounded on the stairs. The door burst open, and Denis dashed into the chamber, brandishing a rusty sword in his right hand and his dagger in his left, a coil of rope slung around his chest.

“Stand back, all of you!” he cried, waving his weapons around like some sort of mad knight. “Alexander, I have come to rescue you!”

Charlie and Burt came charging in after him, swords drawn. “He give us the slip, my lord,” Burt panted apologetically as they halted, their eyes on the Gascon.

“Denis, what the devil are you doing?” Alexander demanded.

“I told you!” Denis cried with great bravado, although his face was as pale as a sheep’s clean fleece. “I have come to rescue you!”

“Denis,” Alexander began in a more moderate tone. “There is no need to rescue me, although I appreciate the effort.”

“But I heard you were captured and … and…”

“I was, but all is well now.”

“Or it will be soon,” Connor said to Charlie and Burt as he shooed them out the door like a mother hen with her chicks. “You two can go now. Leave this matter with me.”

“But he run up here and—”

“So I gather. There’s been a misunderstanding all ’round. It seems the despicable DeFrouchette who abducted Lady Isabelle has a twin, and he discovered what his brother had done and took it upon himself to rescue Isabelle. Amazing, isn’t it? Like some kind of troubadour’s tale, really, but strange things do happen in families. Now get back to your posts.”

Still holding his weapons defensively, Denis sidled toward Alexander. “What is going on? Who is he talking about? You have no twin brother, have you?”

“Not a twin, but there is a half brother,” Caradoc announced.

Denis really looked at Caradoc for the first time since bursting into the room like a bantam rooster who sees a hawk in the coop. He was so shocked that he dropped his sword. Before he could pick it up again, Caradoc grabbed it.

“By God, DeFrouchette,” he remarked, “you seem to be a popular fellow. Isabelle in love with you, this skinny fellow trying to rescue you. Next thing I know, you’ll tell me there’s some band of Norsemen about to—”

They all froze as the cry arose from the battlements like a call to battle. “Viiiiikings!”

Isabelle and Alexander exchanged shocked looks while Connor and Caradoc made for the door. Unfortunately, they both tried to get through it at the same time. After a brief struggle, Connor got out first, but Caradoc was right behind him.

“Denis,” Alexander growled, “what’s going on?”

Isabelle realized Denis looked as surprised as they did. “I do not know. All I know is, when I heard in the tavern that you had been captured, I had to help you. I thought we could climb down the wall as we did before, and Kiera has horses waiting and…”

“Please tell me you haven’t stolen any horses.”

“Not exactly. Kiera stole some jewels from Osburn and we traded one for them.”

“Thank God for that,” Alexander said, sounding stern, but his eyes were gentle. “You loyal fool, you could have been killed, rushing in here like that!”

“Well, I am not dead, and you are free, so let us go and—”

“And find out what’s going on,” Alexander finished.

“But we can go—”

“Not if Bellevoire is under attack,” Alexander declared as he headed toward the door, Isabelle right behind.

As they all, including Denis, entered the courtyard, they discovered that most of the other inhabitants of Bellevoire were already there.

So were Ingar and twenty of his men. Ingar had a grip on Bartholomew’s tunic and a knife at his throat. In the center of the band of Norsemen was a group of people, obviously hostages: a thin, grizzled farmer, a plump woman and what looked to be their five children, another man and a gaunt woman, and three young men. Ingar and his men must have captured them on the way to Bellevoire.

Bellevoire guards milled about, their weapons ready, but they were clearly afraid to attack the Norsemen lest the Norsemen kill their hostages.

Connor and Caradoc stood facing Ingar, fierce but also not willing to do anything that would put Bartholomew and the others at risk.

Isabelle realized that poor Bartholomew looked about to faint. The other captives were terrified, as she had been that first day when Alexander had abducted her, and her heart went out to them.

Then she noticed that Alexander had his sword drawn.

“Go to your sister,” he muttered, nodding at Allis, who was standing, pale and tight-lipped, with Edmond in the crowd. “I will deal with Ingar.”

She didn’t want to leave him, but she had no wish to be taken captive by Ingar, either. She could not help fearing that his arrival here had something to do with her, so she sidled away into the crowd.