Siege Of the Heart (19 page)

Oh no. With a frown, she eyed her work. She had missed her mark and needed to redo the stitch.

“My lady, such domesticity. I am surprised to not see you deficient in womanly tasks.”

Isabel trembled at his teasing tone. “I have learned all the tasks necessary for the caring of this castle.”

“As well as the unnecessary ones for a woman of your quality,” he said. He held up his hand and counted off his fingers. “You read, you write. Matilde told me how your mother insisted you and your brother be educated. But then you also are skilled in horsemanship and weaponry. You handle all the household accounts, and I’ve heard from the cooks that the meat pies come out better after you’ve been in the kitchen. And now I see you embroider as well.”

“Then let me be clear: I have learned all the tasks I deem necessary.” His exuberance made her uncomfortable. Was he mocking her or was he actually surprised by her abilities?

“I must say I am impressed by the range of your interests,” he said, not unkindly.

She frowned at him. “At least I serve my own.”

He watched her for a moment, no doubt waiting for her to elaborate. She avoided his gaze and continued to stitch with careful attention.

He sighed and took another step toward her. “I suppose my lady thinks I am only serving William’s interests by being here, no? Let me assure you by serving under his orders, I am achieving my own aims.” He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “I assume you are responsible for all of the beautiful tapestries gracing the hall and my chambers?”

She shook her head, but did not bother to look up. “
Non
, they are by my mother’s hand. My work is but a mere shadow of hers.”

“I heard from Matilde about your mother. It must have been difficult growing up without her.”

Isabel bristled. “That was a long time ago.” Her mother died in childbirth when she was seven. It still hurt to remember her warm smile, to imagine the confidences they could have shared now that she was older. Thinking about it, however, would not bring her back.

“Even so,” he continued, “to be such a young girl when it happened… My mother passed away only a few years ago, and I still miss her.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” she managed to say before returning her attention to her work. She did not want to appear unfeeling but she had no desire to dredge up any more painful memories.

Alexandre watched her embroider in silence for another long moment before he spoke again. “I must apologize for my conduct last night.”

The topic was an improvement, but not by much. Isabel strove to keep her eyes on her work. “It is already forgotten.”

“For being such an intelligent woman, you enjoy forgetting a great many things.”

She scowled and twisted away from him in an attempt to continue her sewing.

He leaned over her shoulder. “But what if I do not want to forget?” he whispered in her ear.

Isabel remained silent, willing herself to make one stitch at a time. And another. And another.

Alexandre sat beside her. “Why have you not yet married?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

She glanced up at him, uncertain what had prompted his question. “I have not met a man I could fully commit myself to,” she said slowly.

“Surely your father could have found such a man.”

“My father wanted me...wants me to marry a man of my choosing. Englishwomen can decide whether to accept a man’s troth, and I had intended to do the same. With my father’s blessing. But that was before Hastings…” Isabel’s throat was suddenly dry and she could feel the telltale pressure behind her eyes.

“He must love you very much.”

Isabel turned back to her sewing, but he was not put off.

“Have there been men who asked for your hand?”

“Yes,” she answered in a huff. She was growing tired of such personal questions. The knight was determined, knowingly or not, to bring up every aspect of her life she strove so hard to ignore.

“And how did you find them?”

“Lacking.”

Alexandre let out a short bark of laugher. “Are you so sure you could ever find a man you deem worthy?”

Isabel cleared her throat. “Sir, I must beg you to let me continue my work in peace.”

“You know what I think? I believe it is not the men you find so distasteful but the idea of marriage itself.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

“No, no, my lady. I am only being honest. What are you waiting for? Is it riches you crave? More land?”

Isabel jumped to her feet. Her sewing fell forgotten to the floor. “I care for nothing but the freedom to love who I want!” She glowered at him and calmed herself. “I had hoped we could move on and be civil to one another but you are determined to be ill-mannered.” She shook her head. “Now what was so important you had to invent more work for Matilde?”

He straightened at her charge. “I would ask if you would like to accompany me into the village this afternoon, but it seems you are already quite busy here.”

“Yes.” She tried to swallow her irritation at his interruption for such a trifle. “With all the people who will be in attendance tomorrow night, there is too much to be done to warrant a merry jaunt into the village.”

He chuckled, a rich sound. “Merry jaunt, indeed. No, I just thought it would be best to get out from underfoot as your servants scurry about. I saw Captain Thomas earlier, and he could barely spare me a kind word.”

“Do you ever deserve one?”

“Not everyone shares your high opinion of me,” he said in a mild tone.

Isabel gave him a stern look. “You know very well what I think of you.”

“Think? I have no idea what you think. I only know what you feel,” he teased her.

“You mean annoyance, revulsion and loathing?” She tried to ignore the fact she was all alone with the confounding man. He was still able to unnerve her without even trying.

“
Non
. In fact, I believe it to be quite the opposite.” She gave him a warning look, and grinning, he moved toward the door. “But I think we should speak no more on this subject in order to preserve the peace between us.”

“That would be most intelligent of you. I had almost given up hope you could be reasonable.”

* * * *

Isabel held up the linen table runner, turning it this way and that in the candlelight. She might not have her mother’s mastery, but her handiwork was competent enough and would serve them well at the feast.

Indistinct shouts filtered into the room. She could not make out the words, but their urgency troubled her. She set aside her sewing and rushed down the stairs, the echoing cries growing louder with each step.

“A fire’s broken out in one of the buildings in the village,” a passing servant told her.
 

“Oh no!”

Fires were a too frequent hazard in the wooden houses and outbuildings of the town. That had been one of the reasons her father had insisted on reinforcing the Dumont castle and battlements with stone. The villagers did not have the same option, what with stonework still rare and even more expensive. Given the cold weather and the approaching feast, there were more people than usual staying in the village. With the overcrowding, she should have been prepared for something like this. She could only hope no one had been hurt.

She commanded one of the stable boys to saddle her horse since speed was of utmost importance. As soon as her mount was ready, she flew out the gates and down the road toward the village of Ashdown. Thick, black smoke stifled the sky. Thankfully, a steady breeze carried the worst of the smoke away to the east. Isabel entered the town and picked her way carefully along the streets to avoid villagers, who ran about in a panic.

Ahead, Alexandre’s men and a few of hers were positioned on different sides of a small dwelling. Flames climbed up the exterior walls. Alexandre strode among the men shouting out commands in French. He had them organized with buckets of snow and water from the nearby stream, and their efforts soon reduced the blaze to a few stubborn flames. Once she was close enough, Isabel alighted from her horse and ran to Alexandre’s side. “What happened?” She scanned the charred building, looking for anything the Normans might have overlooked.

Alexandre barely spared her a glance, too intent on the actions of his men. “From what I could understand, a group of children started a fire on the road too close to the house. Do not trouble yourself. The fire is almost out.”

“Was anyone hurt? Anyone still inside?”

“We got the family out in time, and Hugh is tending one of the injured over there,” he said with a touch of defensiveness. He pointed to a space well away from the blaze.

Isabel could see Hugh setting the broken arm of a young man who must have fallen in the confusion. A nearby knot of villagers uneasily watched the men heave a few more buckets of snow and water. Others helped by smothering the lingering flames with blankets and furs.

A few wisps of smoke were the only reminder the blaze. Isabel straightened her shoulders as relief coursed through her.

She took Alexandre’s arm and made him face her. “Sir, I thank you. Thank you for responding so rapidly to the needs of my people.”

Alexandre smiled faintly. “It was nothing, my lady.”

“Please give my thanks to your men. It is well deserved.” Isabel looked at him closely for the first time. “You are burned.” He had discarded his cloak, and part of his sleeve was singed, leaving behind patches of raw and blistered skin. Small cuts marked his hands. She took one in hers. “What is this?” Her gaze raked over his knuckles, which bled freely.

“Merely a trifle, Isabel.” He snatched back his hand. “One of the cross beams fell on me when I was bringing out the old man.”

Concern choked her as she imagined the ordeal. “You are a better man than I thought. Be sure Matilde treats you and the men for burns when you return to the castle.”

Before he could respond, Isabel left to find the family who had so recently become homeless. After encouraging the cooper, his wife and their two children to stay at the castle until their home was repaired, Isabel trudged back to her mount. By now, charred rubble was the only evidence of fire. Alexandre’s men had dispersed and the villagers returned to their work.

She sighed. What would have happened if Alexandre had not been there? Her thoughts flew to her future husband. Would William select a man who would be able to protect her people as successfully as Alexandre? She did not think so. She was terrified her betrothed would be uncaring or incompetent.

She was surprised to find Alex was neither.
 

13

Clad in her best dress and her mother’s brooches, Isabel stepped toward the high table. A hush fell over the crowd of knights, thanes, soldiers and villagers who had assembled in the main hall. She came to a stop in front of her seat and looked out across the room, at the sea of people waiting for her to speak. Deep-seated terror lurched about in her stomach. She could only guess what her people’s reaction would be. She had reviewed this moment over and over again in her mind but knew it was not going to be any easier in actuality.

“Well met, friends, neighbors, comrades. We meet at a curious time, where the mettle of the English will be tested by a new era under a new king. You have heard about William of Normandy’s success at Hastings and the death of King Harold.” As she spoke, Captain Thomas translated her speech to Alexandre, Hugh and Jerome standing nearby. “The Normans now rule this land, and we must accept that. We must trust our new rulers will see us through this time of sorrow to one of prosperity. And I believe that is possible, if we look to the future.

“I know there has been much sorrow. The passing of loved ones and the conquering of our country has had a profound impact on us all. And I am afraid I must bring you more sad tidings. Lord Bernard Dumont of Ashdown, thane to the king, and his son and heir, Julien, are dead.” Isabel waited as alarm spread through the people, their surprised murmurs echoing throughout the hall.

Out of the corner of her eye, Isabel saw the look of astonishment on Alexandre’s face, his hand suddenly clenching the hilt of the sword at his side. She forced herself to ignore him. “My father, Lord Dumont, died following the battle at Stamford Bridge. And I just learned from a recent report my brother Julien fell at Hastings.