Mathis, Jolie (21 page)

"You would throw your lot in with a child king?" he taunted.

"I merely name the players in this game."

Devon's face was that of a man at the end of a slippery rope, with only jagged rocks waiting far below. Finally he asked, in a low voice, "What is it you intend?"

"The boy will be protected and raised with the expectation he will rule this kingdom upon his coming of age. Saxon and Norse warriors will comprise his guard."

Isabel swallowed hard, fighting the surge of tears. Kol knew of her fears for Godric, and had chosen to champion her son's future.

But what of Ranulf's place in such an arrangement? Would Kol negotiate beneficial terms for her brother?

Beside her Devon growled. "And what of my ambitions?"

Kol answered lightly. "You may remain as an advisor to the future king of Norsex. 'Tis no paltry appointment."

"As temporary regent?" suggested Devon.

"Nei.
You shall be appointed ealdorman." Kol nodded, his brows raised. "Aye, 'twould be sufficient, I believe, for a man of your aspirations."

"I decline. 'Tis not enough."

Kol leaned forward, his demeanor instantly threatening. "Then resume your place as your father's hearth hound, for you shall have no rule in this place."

Devon's lower lip rolled out, and in again, as he puffed. "Even if I accept this role as ealdorman"—he shook his head—"I still do not trust you. What would prevent you from slitting my throat as I slept? I demand a display of good faith."

"Your demands begin to chafe," Kol muttered tightly.

Devon sat heavily onto his bench. "My life is the one at stake. Bind yourself to me in some way or I will not lend my support to this child king. Indeed"—nervously, he looked around the great hall—"while I may not have sufficient forces to defeat you, I would sacrifice the entire legion to weaken yours, so much so that the Northumbrians... or even Ranulf... would find it easy to swoop in and defeat you, and claim Norsex for their own."

Kol leaned forward in his seat, as if he would leap from it and assail Devon. "You would sacrifice so many lives simply to soothe your vanity?"

Devon's upper lip trembled. "I would."

After a long silence, Kol asked, "If my word doth not bind us, what shall?"

Isabel looked at her cousin. His brow furrowed in thought, he searched the room, as if to find the answer to a question. His eyes settled upon an area just below the dais.

There Rowena stood, wine pitcher in hand.

"You must wed a Norsexian princess, a woman who shares my blood and the blood of our future king. Only then will I accept your proposal without contest."

The silence of the room seemed to swell. Indeed, it pressed painfully into Isabel's ears.
Her sister Rowena?
Kol would refuse. She waited to hear the words.

Kol's lips parted. "I agree to your request."

Isabel's stomach turned over. Had he truly agreed?

Isabel's half sister flushed. Peering up the dais toward the Danish lord, she smiled.

"But I must insist," Kol added, "upon the Princess Isabel as my bride." He looked past her cousin, to her, and smiled—much too boldly, given the current tension in the room.

Before everyone, he claimed her as his own. Isabel could not remember ever having experienced such a thrilling, marrow-deep contentment. She felt embraced, to her very soul.

Devon's frown cut into his jowls. "The Princess Rowena is the eldest. 'Tis she who should be chosen."

Rowena blinked, and looked between the two men, clearly hopeful. Kol's gaze never left Isabel.

Vekell stepped forward. "My lord hath made his preference clear." One shaggy brow slashed upward in challenge.

Devon shrugged. "So be it." He grasped a chicken leg and shook it at Kol. "But the wedding shall take place on the morrow."

Vekell grinned and shouted, "Feast into the night, gathered legion, for tomorrow our lord takes his bride."

Chapter 20

"Your sister seems a bit displeased by last eventide's outcome." Berthilde pressed her lips together, but her eyes twinkled.

"Shhh," warned Isabel, tying off a knot. They sat in Isabel's bower, on opposite sides of a small table, and worked to repair the embroidery on the gunna her mother had worn the day she'd become Aldrith's queen. Isabel would wear the treasured garment when she married Kol. Her heartbeat still quickened each time she thought of the ceremony to come. Love did not come easily in her world. Even if death separated her from Kol upon the morrow, she would cherish the memory of this day forever.

If only Ranulf could make a peaceful return, and once again become part of their lives, her joy would be complete.

She regretted her son would not be present for the wedding. The night before, Isabel had revealed to Kol all that Ranulf had told her in the church; specifically of Ranulf's plans to attack Calldarington and regain his throne. Because of that threat, and the unsteady loyalty of Devon's forces, they had decided Godric should remain in the safety of the abbey.

Upon the speaking of the final vows, Kol would issue an offer of reconciliation to her brother. She prayed Ranulf would see the honor in bringing peace to Norsex, and allow their two peoples to live side by side in harmony. If Kol could forgive the terrible thing done to him, could Ranulf not also compromise?

Rowena huffed in a chair beside the window. Draped across her lap was the ivory kirtle Isabel would wear that day. "I despise embroidery. I despise each of these awful leaves and berries."

In the next moment she gasped. "I have pricked my finger. Surely 'tis an omen this wedding should not take place."

Berthilde stood and hurried to claim the kirtle. "Wicked girl! You have stained the garment out of spite."

Rowena grimaced at Isabel. " 'Tis not fair! I am the eldest sister. I am greatly offended he hath chosen you over me. Perhaps you warmed his bed, but I should have been his bride."

Isabel's cheeks pinked. "Rowena—"

Berthilde interrupted, "Do not soothe your sister's vanity." Gravely, Berthilde took Rowena's arm and assisted her from the chair. " 'Tis time you return to your bower. You shall not ruin the happiness of this day with your petty jealousies."

"I do not consider the rule of this kingdom to be a petty matter." Rowena flounced toward the door. "'Twas my right, as eldest sister, to marry a man of importance. 'Tis I who should stand at his side."

Isabel rested her needle on the tabletop. "What if, by some chance, Stancliff lived, and returned to claim your hand?"

"Stancliff? Alive?" Rowena's gaze narrowed upon her, as if she sensed some truth to the scenario Isabel proposed.

Isabel shrugged. "Would you wish to be married to the Dane if your true love returned?"

"Little sister, I am not so ruled by my heart as you— which is exactly why I should be the one accepting the Dane's promises today. I would tell Stancliff a woman of my worth must align herself with the victor for the sake of dignity."

Isabel nodded, her lips pressed together. "I see."

Rowena smiled, but the corner of her lip twitched. "The courtyard at noonday. I shall be there." Sardonically, she added, "With ribbons and flowers in my hair."

"Thank you, Rowena," Isabel said.

At the close of the door, Isabel returned her attention to stitching the final cluster of leaves onto the sleeve.

Berthilde sniffled.

Isabel drew the needle through the linen, and squinted to be sure the stitches remained consistent. Berthilde sniffled again.

Isabel looked to her maid. To her dismay, tears streamed down her cheeks. "Prithee, Berthilde, what troubles you? Why do you cry?"

"She is horrible to you."

Isabel shrugged. "She is spoiled. I cannot allow that to ruin my wedding day." She smiled, with the expectation her maid would respond in kind. Beneath the table, she tapped her toes against the floor. She wore a wedding gift from Kol, a new pair of scarlet slippers. He had also painstakingly polished her mother's jeweled dagger and returned it to her, so that she might wear it in her girdle during the ceremony. "Perhaps soon, 'twill be your wedding gown we stitch. You have feelings for Thorleksson's captain, Vekell, do you not?"

Berthilde bit her lip and nodded. "I do."

" 'Tis good. Such unions will engender the peace between our peoples." Isabel tied the final knot on the cuff, and cut the thread. "The Norse have made clear their willingness for peace. We should not fear them."

" 'Tis not the Norse whom I fear, my lady."

Isabel's smile faded. "Who do you fear?"

"Your brother, my lady. Ranulf." Berthilde's voice thickened. Her face crumpled, and tears squeezed out from between tightly closed eyes.

"Hush, friend." With the cuff of her own sleeve, Isabel reached out to swipe the tears away. "Why would you fear Ranulf? Has he not been an honorable king to you? To all of Norsex's people?"

"Aye, that he has." She angled her face against Isabel's palm, as if she sought to hide a terrible guilt.

"Then why do you tremble?"

"For he hath not been an honorable brother to you."

Isabel sat the needle upon the table. She took up the thread, and carefully wound it onto its spool. Her mouth dry, she asked, "What do you mean?"

Berthilde wrung her hands in her skirt, and looked to the ceiling. Tears streamed over her cheeks. "Ranulf was my king. He commanded I remain silent. I was so frightened." She met Isabel's eyes. "As your friend, I should have told you long ago."

Instantly, Isabel's attention narrowed to a point. "What should you have told me, Berthilde? You must say it now."

"That morning... after you had confessed to helping the Dane escape from the pit, Ranulf summoned me to his chambers."

In a leaden voice, Isabel urged, "Go on."

"He ordered me to put sleeping herbs in your wine."

Outside Isabel's window, a cloud moved across the sun, diminishing the springlike warmth of the room. She shivered. "Sleeping herbs?"

"He was in such a fury over the Dane's escape. I had never seen him in such a state, nor ever again since."

Berthilde swallowed, and pressed the flat of one palm against her chest, as if attempting to quell the rapid beat of her heart. "So at his command, I did, indeed, boil the herbs for your evening wine."

In truth, Isabel did not remember much about that time in her life, and had attributed the lacking memories, her lethargy, to distress.

Berthilde twisted her sleeve. "At that age you were so full of mischief. You wandered about the keep, and even the burh after dark. I just wanted you to be safe. To behave."

Isabel's heart grew very heavy, but at the same time there was a peculiar relief at hearing a possible explanation for what had happened to her. Could this time of unbroken sleep have been when the attack upon her occurred?

Isabel said, "I would have liked to have known, but still, you torture yourself over this. At times Ranulf's concern bordered upon tyranny. What you did at his command, is no terrible admission."

Berthilde sobbed, "Nay, my lady. That, alone, is not." She pressed her hands to her eyes. "But I fear what I tell you next will not be so easily forgiven."

Isabel grew a bit more anxious at hearing this, and seeing the maid's near-frantic nature. "Tell me, then. I must hear this confession and decide for myself."

"Several nights after the Dane's escape, you were still confined to your chamber. The king had instructed the Lady Rowena to continue sleeping belowstairs to ensure your unbroken rest and continued recovery. After I saw you had fallen asleep, and wouldst not awaken until morn, I left the keep to visit my sister in the burh. Her babe was to be born at any time—"

" 'Tis well. I would have wanted you to go." Isabel patted her arm.

"My lady, please listen. I would have you hear my confession."

A long moment of silence passed as Isabel stared into her maid's stricken eyes. "Proceed as you will."

Berthilde swallowed heavily. "When I returned I found Ranulf at your bed."

At hearing this, Isabel could barely gather enough breath to speak. Any words felt strangled in her throat. "What do you mean at my bed?"

Berthilde looked toward the bed, as if remembering. Tears streamed from her eyes. "He crouched just inside the bed curtain, peering at you as you slept. And when he heard me enter, of course he withdrew. Whilst I was fully prepared to believe he had come to ascertain your good health for himself, he became very angry. He ordered me to keep silent about ever having seen him."

Now tears glazed Isabel's eyes as well. "Surely that is all that occurred."

Berthilde hiccupped. "But my lady, there were other nights I went to the burh. What if he is Godric's—"

"Do not say it." Isabel turned to the window.

"I am so very sorry, my lady." Isabel felt Berthilde's hand upon her shoulder. "Like everyone, I assumed the Dane guilty. If I had thought Ranulf—well, I would never have remained silent if I had even considered—"

Isabel closed her eyes against tears she felt determined not to shed. Would she ever know what had happened? Only a confrontation with Ranulf would provide the answers.

Isabel reached up to grasp her maidservant's hand. " 'Tis well between you and I, Berthilde."

Berthilde answered, weak of voice. "Your kirtle is finished. The noonday approaches."

"Aye, let us prepare. Today I shall be married." She would not allow Berthilde's dark revelation to destroy what peace Kol had brought to her life.

At noonday, Isabel made her way to the courtyard, accompanied by Berthilde and Rowena. Each woman wore her finest gown. Blue sky spread above them, a brilliant canopy. Though, thankfully, the day was more springlike than winter, the air still carried a very noticeable chill.

Isabel felt a tug on her sleeve. "Sister, wait."

Rowena pursed her lips, then said, "I should not have been so churlish this morn. I suppose I can't have everything my way." She smiled, and adjusted Isabel's head veil. "Go into this marriage, knowing I wish you every happiness."

To Isabel's surprise, Rowena embraced her.

Berthilde urged softly, "My lady, your betrothed awaits."

Kol saw Isabel search the garden, and its multitude of gathered faces. Her gaze alighted upon him. Love glowed within her, so powerful that in that moment he felt forgiven by God and all of humanity for all the sins he had committed during his time upon the earth.

Father Janus stepped forward. Kol saw acceptance, if not outright approval, in the priest's smile.

"Shall we begin?" the man said, taking his place upon the steps of the chapel.

"Aye," Isabel answered, moving toward them.

Devon sidled up alongside her. Kol nearly laughed aloud, for with a souring of her lips, and a narrowing of her eyes, she rested her hand upon his arm and allowed her cousin to escort her to the waiting ceremony.

When the crowd had settled, and the only sounds to be heard were the chirping of birds and the distant swell and crash of the waves, Devon cleared his throat and, through scowling lips, announced, "I, Devon of Wyfordon, offer my lady cousin, the Princess Isabel of Norsex, in marriage."

Isabel wiped her now-freed hand against her skirts and, with a renewed smile, reached for Kol's. One look into her eyes, and he forgot about Devon and Ranulf, and gave his undivided attention to his bride.

"Do you take this woman, Isabel of Norsex, to be your wife, in the name of the Lord?"

Kol squeezed Isabel's hands. In a low voice he said, "I take thee, Isabel of Norsex, to be my wife, in the name of the Lord."

Isabel repeated the same vow, at which time, Father Janus blessed a ring with holy water.

Kol took the ring, and considered it with a gravity he'd never felt before. "I never thought to find love," he whispered to Isabel.

"Get on with it, then," urged Vekell, and laughter arose all around.

"In the name of the Father." Kol placed the ring upon her thumb. "The Son." Gently, he moved it to her index finger. "And the Holy Spirit." He slid the band onto her long finger, where the gold gleamed in the sunlight.

Father Janus began the blessing, but from the rampart came the bellow of a watchman.

A horn bayed, low and distant.

From outside the courtyard walls arose the collective battle cry of an army. Kol's blood froze. Beside him, Isabel's expression of serenity evaporated into one of fear. The guests scattered.

"Come," he ordered. In haste, he guided her from the garden into the courtyard.

Rowena followed, "What happens? Doth Ranulf attack?"

"My lord!" came a shout, drawing his attention away.

From outside the walls arose cries of fear from the burh, the wailing of children.

"Remain here until I return." Kol ascended the wooden rampart.

Ragi strode toward him. "'Tis Ranulf, my lord. And there is a mercenary force to match our own."

Kol stared out over the lands surrounding the burh. A hundred men, perhaps two, materialized from the forest. Destiny would grant him not even one hour of peace? Looking down the stairs, he met Isabel's eyes, and saw that she understood. They would have no opportunity to extend an offer of peace to Ranulf. Their conflict would be decided in battle.

He descended the steps. Before Isabel could protest, he brushed his lips over hers and turned her over to the care of a young soldier. "Take your lady to the keep's innermost pit, and defend her unto death." To Isabel, he said, "With God's grace, I will see you again."

"Surely 'tis Ranulf!" A smile curled on Rowena's lips.

"How quickly your loyalties change!" Isabel snapped.

"Me?" Rowena gave Isabel's shoulder a sudden shove. "Confess your own sins, sister."

Isabel's heartbeat steadied. "What I feel is no sin, but love. Even if Kol dies today, my loyalty will forever remain with him."

The warrior led them down darkened stairs, into the prison.

An acrid scent filled Isabel's nostrils. "I smell smoke."

A hiss of metal sounded. The warrior groaned and collapsed to the earthen floor. Before Isabel could kneel beside him, a multitude of hulking giants appeared. Grime and filth caked their skin, and merged to their yellowed teeth. Around their bodies were draped matted animal pelts.