12

 

The evening meal was not going well.

With the household ban on speaking French now lifted, Isabel witnessed an uneasy truce gradually developing between her men and Alexandre’s. However a handful of the older servants and men-at-arms remained particularly standoffish.

Kendrick, too, had not warmed to their Norman visitors. He was more withdrawn than usual, and it pained Isabel to think their interrupted conversation the other day the cause. She had been unable to speak with him privately since. Should she pretend he had not asked for her hand, that she was still ignorant of the love he felt for her? It might make things easier for both of them.

Then there was Alexandre’s young and cocksure shield bearer. His constant scowl made his dislike of being around so many Englishmen clear, but from what she could tell, he did not hesitate to follow any of Alexandre’s orders. For everyone else, the language difference between the Normans and her own men was a source of constant amusement. Laughter often floated toward her from the lower trenchers.

Perhaps most alarming was the friendship of sorts that had formed seemingly overnight between Alexandre and Captain Thomas. They chatted about the training of men, discussed military strategies and laughed over remembered conquests. The only positive aspect about the situation was they spent the majority of meals talking to one another, allowing Isabel a brief reprieve from the Norman’s attentions. Plenty of time for her to reflect on all the ways Alexandre had encroached upon her life.

Time to be angered by her inability to stop it.

The food made no impact on her as she mentally reviewed the day’s events to determine what still needed to be done for the feast in two day’s time. Isabel left the hall as soon as she could politely excuse herself from the evening meal. For once, Alexandre gave her little argument.

Her thoughts weighed heavily as she moved past the diners and into the hallway. Soon she would be able to relax in her quarters. Her steps quickened.

“Isabel, a moment.”

She froze as Kendrick’s words cut through the darkened hall. She clutched her chest and willed her heart to slow to a normal pace. “You startled me.”

He emerged from the shadows. “Forgive me.” He must have been waiting for her to appear. “I would speak with you.” His golden brows were drawn tight over his eyes.

“Certainly,” she said, doing her best to regain her composure.

They walked in silence and stepped out into the bailey together. The chilly dark stole her breath after the warmth of the hall. The strikes of the blacksmith’s hammer echoed around them. She hoped Kendrick would be quick, as she had no desire to linger out-of-doors.

Kendrick turned toward her. “I will be leaving Ashdown.”

Isabel’s breath left her in a rush. “What? But why?”

“I cannot stay here any longer.” He gestured toward the hall. “Not while they are here.”

“Have Alexandre and his men offended you in some way? Or is their Norman blood the problem?” She hoped such prejudice beneath him. After all, she was half-Norman herself.

He shook his head. “Nay, it is not what they have done, only what they stand for.” He looked up at the night sky and then back at her, anger and something else simmering in his otherwise mild brown eyes. “I wish they had never come. They will ruin our land and our customs.”

“Come now, I agree our guests have been bothersome, but they have not been aggressive, and they have respected our traditions. We should be thankful. Others have not been treated so fairly. My father—”

“Is not coming home,” he finished for her.

She blinked back her surprise. “What do you mean?”

“He should have returned home by now.”

She shook her head. “The weather could have worsened, or—”

“Do not lie to me, Isabel. How long have you known?”

She closed her eyes at his accusing tone. Her fingers ached, clenched at her sides.

“The tidings the messenger brought the other day.” Kendrick said. “Were they tidings your father was dead?”

She finally opened her eyes. “Yes. Julien sent word of my father’s death and his intentions to join Harold in fighting the Normans. That day the safety of our lands became my responsibility.”

“So you ordered the scouting party.”

“Yes, what little good that did.” Her thoughts flew to Edgar, who had fallen in the first skirmish with the Welsh.

“When will you tell the others?”

Isabel sighed, her breath visible on the cold air. “Soon. I will make the announcement at the feast. It will matter not what Alexandre does then. I will make my excuses to William, and he will marry me off to one of his men. I can only hope I will be able to help our people adjust to a new Norman lord.”

Kendrick gave her a tight nod. “And I will not stand by and watch you sacrifice yourself for such a life.”

“I have no choice—” The flash of pain in his eyes had her cursing to herself. She had been so preoccupied with Alexandre’s presence, she had unintentionally hurt Kendrick in the process. She held out her hands. “Kendrick, you must understand. I cherish your feelings for me, but I cannot return them. I cannot afford to be selfish. There is too much at stake.”

“I know. Which is why I must go.”

“Do not be foolish. My father’s name will not protect you if you leave. Our Norman visitors have been understanding so far, but you know others will only see you as a conquered Englishman.”

“It is better than staying here and watching you destroy yourself and your family’s legacy out of a misplaced sense of duty.”

The words were a slap to the face. “Kendrick...”

“My mind is firm. I will leave tonight.” He glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. The next thing she knew, he pulled her into a hug, his beard pressing against her cheek. “Make sure Captain Thomas understands why I had to go. Be safe.”

He released her and vanished into the stables. In moments, he reappeared, mounted. Isabel realized he had already prepared his things and had only come to tell her of his decision. She would not have been able to persuade him to stay. He gave her a short wave before he passed through the gates and into the night.

Isabel shivered, but she did nothing to warm herself as she watched him fade into the night. Gone, like so many others.

* * * *

Alex battled back his dislike of the young Kendrick as the man-at-arms directed his mount away from the Dumont castle. He would say good riddance, if not for the forlorn look on Isabel’s face as she stood there, huddled in her cloak. Lovelorn or merely surprised? His fists clenched. He would learn the truth of her regard, once and for all.

“You will grow ill if you stay out here much longer.” Alex came up behind her as the main gate swung shut.

Isabel gasped and whirled toward him. “Alexandre.”

He peered into her face. “Where do your thoughts go?”

She stared up at him, mouth agape. His gaze fell to her lips as he waited for her to answer. She bristled and crossed her arms. “I was only thinking on how much I enjoy my solitude.”

Alex frowned. Solitude? “Then what of your father’s soldiers? You did not seem to mind Kendrick’s company.” The young man had been much too familiar with her.

Isabel gritted her teeth. “So now I cannot speak with my men without your permission?”

“Non, that is not what I meant,” he said as gently as he could. “But I would know what he said to you. You are trembling.”

Isabel shook her head. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with. I am merely cold.”

Alex bit back his irritation and gestured to the gate. “I assume he is leaving. I saw your tender goodbyes. I do not understand why you think you should hide such things from me. I am here to help, as you well know.”

Isabel scoffed. “Help? Is that what you call it?” She groaned and raised a hand to her temples. “You are right. He could not stay here any longer.”

“And why is that?” He was pushing her, but he had to know.

She looked away. “It is personal.”

“I may not know your language, but I know Kendrick did not leave here with your blessing.”

 “He did not,” she said with a soft sigh. “I cannot protect him past these walls.”

Alex followed her gaze to the gates before returning his attention to her. “He is man enough to protect himself,” he said dismissively.

She shook her head. “He does not understand the position I am in. I thought because he accepted me and my father, he understood the reasons I must tolerate your presence here, why I must acknowledge William as my king.”

“Then it is better he move on.”

“You do not understand.”

“I understand that he is in love with you,” Alex bit out, ignoring her surprised gasp. “I understand that he hates me and my men for being here in Ashdown, for being here in England. And he hates that he is helpless to stop it. Do you deny it, Isabel?”

He said her name with a hint of possessiveness. Her face reddened. He stood close to her, very close. He could touch her if he wanted, feel her warmth and softness once again. He had been true to his word and not made any more advances toward her, but denying his attraction to her was a sore trial. Especially when he was certain she felt it too. If Kendrick was the reason she kept refusing him…

Alex took another step toward her. “Did he swear to protect you? Did he ask you to run away with him?”

“It was not like that.”

Alex glared at her. “Tell me, do you return his feelings?” he said, his voice tight with frustration.

Her head snapped back toward him. “Non. He is dear to me like a brother, but nothing more.” 

He straightened his hunched shoulders. Her swift denial, the confusion in her eyes, set his mind at ease. The boy had Isabel’s affection, nothing more. So why was she still so resistant to him?

Alex stared down at her, and her breath caught. He could affect her with just a look. Something primal stirred inside him. He would make her acknowledge the pull between them. “You are trying very hard, are you not? To ignore it?”

“What are you talking about?” 

Her feigned ignorance did not fool him. “The way you look at me when you think I am not looking, the way you try to act as though I do not affect you, the way—”

Her cheeks darkened. “Enough! I told you never to speak to me of such things.”

“Non, my lady, you did not. You said not to touch you, and I am not touching you, yet.”

Though he was sorely tempted. He advanced upon her. A few scant inches separated them. He flexed his fingers, wanting nothing more but to crush her against him and silence her objections with more kisses. Isabel stepped back until she found herself against the outer wall of the hall. Still afraid. He did not want that.

He leaned in and gazed down at her. “Isabel,” he said softly, “I cannot pretend I feel nothing for you.”

He reached out a hand to touch her cheek, but dropped it to his side when she flinched. 

She breathed deeply and drew herself up to full height, facing him head on. “I will not be drawn into another discussion about this, sir. There can be nothing between us, and I would suggest you accustom yourself to the idea.”

She slipped past him.

“Isabel…” he called after her.

She turned, her face cloaked in shadow. “You of all people should know what awaits me in London,” she said slowly, taking care with each word. “Do not make the situation any more difficult.”

He straightened as her meaning washed over him. She was not denying her attraction to him. She only refused to see where it led, when, as far as she knew, William would marry her off to another. 

Admirable. And infuriating. The truth clamored to be told, but something held Alex back. Perhaps it was the dark look on her face, her forbidding tone. Or perhaps it was that selfish part of him that still wanted to see if he could win her for himself. No decrees, no mandates. Just a man and a woman, stripped of both duty and obligation.

He had to hope she would still be his as he watched her retreat inside the castle.

* * * *

Matilde worked the spinning wheel while Isabel bent over her embroidery, berating herself whenever she made a mistake. Sewing was not a favorite task of hers, but she did enjoy the peacefulness it brought her.

“So this is where you have been hiding,” Alexandre said as he entered the solar.

Startled, Isabel stabbed her forefinger with the needle. She cursed and sucked on the injured digit as she glared up at him.

He stepped past her and stood near Matilde. “One of the serving girls from the kitchen needs assistance with some household matter, Matilde. I told her I would let you know.”

“You are so kind for telling me, sir.” She smiled at him and bobbed a curtsy.

Before leaving the room, Matilde gave Isabel a significant look she ignored by busying herself with her needlepoint. She highly doubted Matilde was needed in the kitchen or that any of the servants would dare approach Alexandre for such a trifle. They were too well trained. Matilde was blind when it came to the Norman knight, as if the man—

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.