Someone rang the bells in the church.
Isabel rolled over but it was still dark. She bit her lip because she ached. A deep ache that curled her up into a ball.
She heard a pounding on the chamber door a second before someone shoved it in. “Ramon!”
Ambrose didn’t stay behind the wall separating the bedchamber from the receiving chamber. Ramon was on his feet, his sword in hand before he realized who was in the chamber.
“Raeburn was in Thistle Keep.”
Isabel blinked; her thoughts were moving slowly.
“I’ll run him through if I find him,” Ramon announced.
“Stay here,” Ambrose insisted. “It is your lady he wanted to poison.”
Ramon looked toward her. “Isabel?”
She tried to answer but her mouth was dry and all she ended up doing was moving her lips.
Mildred walked into the room, as Ramon lifted Isabel up from the bed.
“Drink this now…we have to purge you,” Mildred said firmly.
Mildred’s concoction was foul but it soothed her throat. Ramon held Isabel up, cupping her neck with one hand to keep her in place.
“There now,” Mildred soothed.
Isabel gasped as her belly clenched violently. She flopped over and vomited.
Isabel had no idea how long it lasted, only that she had never hurt so much in her life. Every muscle felt strained and sore and even her insides burned. Ramon cradled her, smoothing her hair back from her face. She succeeded in locking gazes with him, but there was no peace there. Only a burning rage that nearly scorched her.
“The babe might yet be lost,” Mildred said.
Isabel looked at Mildred, horrified. Her nurse had tears glistening in her eyes. “The boy says that devil Raeburn has himself a woman of the east with him. Says she brewed up a poison to make you lose the child.”
Tears fell down Mildred’s cheeks. Isabel wanted to cry but there was no moisture in her body.
“I am going to kill that bastard,” Ramon swore. “To hell with the law and the barons’ council.”
“But…you…cannot…risk your position…”
“For myself, I would not. But for you, I will choke the life from him with my bare hands.” His teeth were bared, his eyes bright with the need for vengeance. “I love you.”
Ramon stroked her face and she grabbed his hand, pressing it tightly against her cheek.
“The barons…might demand your life if you kill a baron. Do…not,” Isabel beseeched him.
He leaned down and kissed the back of her hand. “That is the only thing I cannot grant you, my love. I will not allow him to harm you.”
He pulled away from her and it felt as if he were being ripped from her. He gripped his sword and began calling for his men before he left the outer chamber. Isabel curled into a ball, willing her womb to cradle her child. She would not lose it.
She would not.
* * *
He wanted blood.
The fever burned brightly as Ramon led his men through the night. Jacques had moved his men a few times, but the land was scarred where their camps had been. The newly fallen snow made it simple to follow the tracks to where he nested now.
Jacques was just making it back to his men when Ramon found him.
“Raeburn!” he snarled, taking in the woodsman hood and common clothing. “I am not surprised to see you using trickery to gain your way.”
Jacques’s men jumped from their beds, running to support their lord. Ramon pointed his sword at him. “I will have satisfaction.”
Jacques laughed and threw his arms out wide. “If you strike me down, the barons’ council will have your head for it, as I am unarmed!”
“I have your squire to swear that you poisoned my wife,” Ramon declared. “Dishonorable action deserving of a dishonorable death.”
“The word of a whore’s whelp?” Jacques spat on the ground. “My captains will speak the truth. That you cut me down while I had no sword. Which testimony do you think will carry more weight?”
“He is right.” Ambrose grabbed his shoulder and held him back. “As much as I wish it were otherwise.”
“Get your sword, Raeburn!” Ramon ordered. “Face me.”
Jacques shook his head. “I think not. In fact, I plan to live long enough to hear that your heir has slipped from his mother’s womb.”
Ambrose growled. “You have no honor.”
“None,” Jacques answered easily, gaining several snorts of amusement from his men. “I prefer profit, as do my men. I have always been better at planning, which is why my men follow me. That is why they will swear you cut me down in my own camp. Kill me and you’ll end up hanged in the spring by the barons’ council.”
Ramon felt his bloodlust rising further, but he had to think. Rash actions often led to mistakes, and mistakes cost lives. His own master had taught him that as a young squire. Time and time again he’d witnessed the truth of it on the battlefield. Today, he struggled for the discipline to keep his head. Because he had far more to lose than ever before.
“I challenge you, Baron Raeburn. On the field.”
“Why would I meet you?”
“Men do not follow cowards. For a coward will sacrifice his men when there is enough profit in it,” Ramon declared in a clear voice that carried through the morning air. “Fail to meet me tomorrow and you are a coward. Every man behind you will know it and know that you might sell them out.”
Jacques was still arrogant and sure of himself, but the men behind him lost their smiles. They stiffened as they cut looks between themselves.
Ramon looked up at the men behind Jacques. “And I will cut every man in this camp down while they sleep. Such is the death deserved by those who follow a coward and poisoner of women. Meet me or ride away. But be assured that I will find you if you stay too near.”
* * *
“Fool!” Jacques yelled as Ramon turned his stallion and rode away. “I will enjoy fucking your woman when my next arrow puts you in your grave!”
He certainly wouldn’t be meeting anyone on the field of valor. Such was for fools who wasted their days devoting themselves to chivalry. He had profit to gain.
When he turned around to face his men, they were silent, looking at him with hard glares that even he couldn’t shake off. By the time he arrived at his tent, he realized there wouldn’t be an easy way to dismiss Ramon’s challenge. Jacques sat in his chair and refused to be bothered. He snapped his fingers and Rauxana brought him his drinking bowl.
No, he would not be answering Ramon de Segrave’s challenge.
His captains arrived within an hour to question him.
“The men want to know—”
“If I will meet Segrave at the tiltyard?” Jacques sneered at them from his chair. “Why should I? There is no profit in it.”
“Then are we to leave?” the second captain asked. “If we stay here, the snow will make it simple for him to find our camp.”
“My father has charged me with wedding Isabel of Camoys.” Jacques stood up. “I will not be the first son to lose land.”
“Then meet Segrave on the field,” his captain said flatly. “Kill him on the field and the widow will be yours to claim.”
“You do not tell me how to act.”
His captain narrowed his eyes. “I’ll not follow a coward or wait to be slaughtered in my sleep. You poisoned the man’s wife. His challenge is just. So too will be his retribution on us if you don’t face him.”
Jacques felt the first stirrings of uncertainty. “Have you forgotten how much gold I have placed in your hand?”
“I risked my life for that gold,” his captain answered clearly. “And a dead man has little use for coin.”
There wasn’t a hint of fear in the man, which was why Jacques had chosen him. Now, the same qualities he’d seen as beneficial were becoming a noose.
“Tomorrow,” Jacques snapped, “I’ll kill Segrave on the field and hang you by nightfall for this disloyalty.”
The two captains didn’t look away. Jacques felt a chill on his neck that he hadn’t experienced since the last time he saw his father. Both men left the tent as Jacques sat back down.
So be it.
He lifted his drinking bowl and drained it.
Segrave was a hulk of a man, which made him slow.
It would be a pleasure to kill him on the field where his men would see who was the stronger baron to follow. By tomorrow night, he’d be sleeping in a keep.
With Ramon de Segrave’s head by his bed.
That thought gave him pleasure. For if Rauxana’s potion had failed to do its work, looking at her husband’s severed head certainly would.
* * *
“He could ride for London,” Ambrose said.
Ramon nodded at Ambrose. “Let him.”
Ambrose gave him a menacing look. “I would rather take some men and wait on the side of the road for the maggot.”
Ramon stopped on his way across the yard. “Nay.” He looked around the yard, with all its openings and outer buildings. “All are needed here. It is time to secure this keep until walls can be built. We must think of those looking to us to safeguard them.”
Ambrose surveyed the two keeps and the people moving around the yard. The sun was up and the snow still fell. The keeps would now be the center of everyone’s lives. If the food was poisoned, they would all die.
“Aye,” he agreed. “I’ll see to posting sentries.”
Ramon should have been more pleased by Ambrose’s words. But all he could think about was the fact that he might have acted too late. He looked up at the new keep. It was impressive, a true marvel, but it would be nothing if Isabel was lost to him.
Nothing.
* * *
Ramon rose with the dawn and went to the church. Isabel wanted to go with him but her body refused. When she woke again, it was to the sound of Thomas bringing in her husband’s armor. The harsh sound of metal clanking against metal threatened to drive her insane.
“Do not ask me not to go.” Ramon gave her a firm look.
“Be mindful of…” Isabel tried to sound strong, but her voice was only a husky shell. Her throat was still raw. She struggled to conceal it, to show her husband only a happy expression.
The sides of her lips felt like they were cracking.
“Save your breath, Isabel.” He tempered his tone, and that was worse than hearing him press his will upon her.
“I am strong,” she protested. “The king…the king might demand your head if you ride against another baron.”
“Richard would not. I have a confession.”
“From a boy, who never had a choice in who he served.”
Ramon sat on the edge of their bed and covered her lips with his hand. There was a hard certainty in his eyes. A glimpse of the man she’d first faced when he’d ridden up to her keep.
“He had a choice.” There was a firm note in his tone that she knew she could never argue with. “He might have come to me. Each man must accept when his honor is more important than those he serves. Just as every man must answer at the day of judgment for his lies. The boy made his choice and will answer for it. I will let him live a day longer than his master, but no more.”
He pressed a kiss against her cheek and stood up. His squire was ready with the padded under tunic that went beneath his mail. There was grim focus in his motions, a determination that she felt radiating from him.
“Jacques has no honor,” she said.
Ramon flexed his fingers as his squire slid a gauntlet into place. “Which is why I must ride against him. Only a baron has the right.”
“I cannot bear to lose you.”
Ramon waved his squire away. “I will join you in the yard.”
The squire and his assistant gathered up the remaining pieces of armor and headed out of the chamber with them. Ramon came close again, sitting beside her and reaching out to smooth his fingers across her cheek.
“As I cannot bear to lose you. As long as Jacques draws breath, you remain his target. I could never be worthy of you if I did not face this threat. Pray for me, tell me you understand, but do not ask me to be a coward. You could never love a coward.”
And he wanted to be worthy of her love…
It was there in his eyes. A need as great as her own. Her breath was frozen for a long moment as she found her secret yearning fulfilled.
“No, you are not a coward, nor could you ever be.” She blinked away the tears stinging her eyes. “I am proud to be your wife. I want to continue being your wife more than anything else. You let him be after he wounded you, so let him be now. Let us live in peace.”
His eyes brightened, his expression softening for a moment. He stroked her cheek.
“An attack against myself, I could ignore.” His expression hardened. “Against you? I will fight to the death. You are the keeper of my heart. I can deny you nothing except this.”
“You could die,” she argued. “And I will be here without you.”
“I cannot live knowing the man who harmed you draws breath. Forgive me for that failing.” He kissed her cheek before he left.
She was sure that her heart left with him.
* * *
“What are you doing?” Mildred was horrified, but Isabel only waved her into the chamber.
“Hurry. I must go to the tiltyard.” But her legs weren’t cooperating. They quivered so badly Isabel was learning against the wall next to her wardrobe. “Help me dress, Mildred.”
“I will not,” Mildred stated firmly. “’Tis back to bed that I will be helping you with.”
“I must go,” Isabel beseeched Mildred. “I cannot lie here while he dies.”
“I do not think the baron will be the one dying,” Mildred informed her.
“You have never seen Jacques Raeburn,” Isabel whispered. “He lacks all honor. Do not deny me every moment with my lord. Besides, I never gave him my favor to carry…”
Isabel held up a long ribbon. It was green and fluttered from her hand. “I must make sure he has it.”
But she didn’t have the strength to do it. She looked at Mildred, desperate to find assistance. Yet her hope was fading as the moments stretched out and Mildred contemplated her.
“Well then,” Mildred said at last, “if we’re going to the tiltyard, we’ll be needing a few more hands.”
She went back to the door and spoke to one of the men standing guard. Isabel heard him walk down the steps before Mildred turned and came to the wardrobe.
“Now, let’s find you something worthy of the wife of Baron de Segrave.”
* * *
The tiltyard was still decorated from the harvest festival, but the garlands were wilting now and the mood subdued. The snow had melted, leaving the ground muddy.
Isabel rode in a cart, Mildred beside her, and another woman who was strong enough to help hold her up. The curious looked at her as she passed and more than one cheered. Her driver took her to the tilt field. People were already swarming into the stands. Colorful pennant flags were flying in the morning breeze, set up for the tournament by the people of Thistle Keep and Ramon’s men.
They looked out of place, just as the faces in the crowd were not covered in excitement, but deadly anticipation. Jacques Raeburn had taken the north side of the field, his flag flying above the stands. Only his men were there to cheer him on. Yet they were great in number and Ramon’s men watched them from the south side of the yard. Only the fact that their masters were set to battle kept them from charging at one another.
Her belly clenched tight with horror. There would be blood spilled today; the only question was how much? Ramon might prove the champion, only to be attacked by Raeburn’s men.
Isabel raged against the unfair nature of fate.
On the south side, the stands were so full Isabel feared they might collapse. More people were still arriving and pushing their way up the stairs and crowding in. Her driver pulled onto the field and she heard a huge cheer. People balled up their fists and shook them as they shouted.
Ramon was behind the gate, but Ambrose rode out and slid off his horse in front of her.
“Lady?” His tone was deadly as he offered her a hand out of the cart. “My lord needs no distraction.”
“I am here to stand firmly in the box as a loyal wife should and make certain Jacques sees that I am well.” She gave him a hard stare. “Let Jacques be the one to worry that everything is not as he wants it to be.”
Ambrose looked her up and down. “You lie better than most ladies do. I believe the wind might blow you off your feet.”
“It will not,” she informed him tightly. “Besides, there is a chair in the box, is there not?”
He offered her a slight curving of his lips, so slight she wouldn’t call it a grin. “You have courage, lady.”
He reached past her hand and grasped her wrist to help her rise. He hooked his other hand around her back and actually lifted her up most of the steps while keeping her feet only an inch from the ground. A box was built on the first tier of the stands for the nobles. Ambrose settled her in the high-backed chair and inclined his head.
“I would tell you to have my lord come for his favor, but I fear Jacques will not respect the rules of chivalry and allow me the time to tie it on his arm.” She pulled the ribbon from her sleeve and held it out. “Yet I would have him wear it. And have Jacques see it.”
Ambrose took the ribbon, but there was still doubt clouding his blue eyes. Isabel sat up straight.
“You will see no weakness from me,” she assured him. “Yet I must be here. I must see with my own eyes.”
“Then you shall, lady.”
It was a hard compliment, but a compliment nonetheless. Ambrose took her ribbon and disappeared behind the closed gate. Time began to creep by, each moment stretching until it was a torment she couldn’t endure much longer.
Yet she didn’t want the time to arrive, because it might be Ramon’s last.
Mildred was praying beside her, softly beseeching the saints to intervene.
Isabel wasn’t sure anyone in Heaven had anything to do with what was about to happen. This would be a battle of flesh against flesh.
The sun shone overhead but the gates did not swing wide. People strained to see what was happening, but nothing did. At last, Jacques rode onto the tilt field, his stallion’s hooves kicking up the mud.
“Segrave!” he bellowed. “Who is the coward now?”
He beat his chest armor with his sword and roared.
In the distance, the sound of approaching riders came. It grew louder and louder as Isabel felt her heart accelerating. At the far end of the field, a group of riders appeared, another baron’s pennant flag fluttering in the breeze. There were two dozen knights at his back, all of them in full armor.
“Another baron?” Mildred asked.
“My lord is no fool,” Isabel said softly, because it was the only way to hide the fact that she wasn’t relieved. There was still a challenge to be fought.
The newcomers rode onto the field. One of them stopped and faced the crowd. He reached up and pushed his face guard up.
“I am Baron Smyth.” His stallion danced in a circle, the huge beast snorting as his master pulled him up. “I will stand witness to this challenge.”
His men rode to the four corners of the yard. The baron rode to the stands and dismounted. He climbed to the box where Isabel sat and paused before her.
“Lady.”
She should rise.
Isabel bit her lip and rose from her seat. She felt Mildred watching her as Baron Smyth offered her his hand. She placed hers into his but he didn’t raise her hand to his lips. He grasped her wrist and supported her as her knees gave out.
“Your husband was wise to send a rider to Havenworth. I see his report of poison is no lie.” He turned and braced his hands on the rail. “Let this challenge be done with honor! Else face my judgment!”
His men pulled their swords, the blades flashing in the noon sun. The gates hiding Ramon opened with a groan as he rode onto the field.
“You are the coward, Raeburn!” Ramon accused clearly. “You deal in poison, and I will have satisfaction.”
The crowd howled with outrage. Curses filled the air as Ramon beat his chest plate with his sword.
“You shall have my steel!” Jacques shouted as he pulled his face guard into place and guided his stallion forward.
Her heart stopped at they charged toward one another, their stallions pawing up the mud and flinging it out in dark clouds behind them, their nostrils flaring as the powerful beasts charged forward.
Each knight leaned forward, focused on one another. They collided with a clash, a horrible meeting of metal as the stallions shrieked and reared up.
They turned and swung their swords at each other again, the deadly blades bouncing off their armor. Jacques twisted around and drove his sword through the neck of Ramon’s stallion.
The horse screamed and collapsed, rolling over Ramon as it died.
Isabel’s heart stopped. People in the stands cursed, but Jacques pulled his horse around and sent it charging toward Ramon as he struggled to free his leg.
Jacques swung low, leaning far out to make sure his blade would reach. Ramon rolled out of the way and at the last moment came up onto his feet.
The crowd cheered but Jacques had the advantage now. He guided his horse up the field and turned to run Ramon down. There were other horses, but weighted down by his armor Ramon would never be able to mount one in time. Ambrose sent something sailing through the air.
Ramon plucked it from the mud and turned it with a smooth motion. The sunlight flashed off the head of the spear before Jacques ran into it. The tip slipped beneath Jacques’s shoulder plate and breast plate. He howled as he tumbled from the saddle to land in the mud.
“Well done,” Baron Smyth said beside her. “Finish him!”
But Ramon didn’t take the opportunity to plunge his sword into Jacques’s back.
He waited while Jacques scrambled in the mud, fighting to get to his knees and onto his feet.
“I’ll see your face when I kill you, Raeburn,” Ramon declared.
“You will be the one losing his head!” Jacques snarled as he swung his sword in a wide arc designed to decapitate.
Ramon dodged the attack and reached in to deliver a hard punch to his jaw. The smack echoed around the field to another cheer rising from the stands.
Isabel didn’t join in.
Neither did Baron Smyth, and that was what terrified her the most. He had gray eyebrows and age lines on his face. He knew the fight might go either way.
Just as she feared.
It was the worst fear she had ever known, holding her so tightly she could barely draw a breath.
Jacques stumbled and came back with an overhead swing. Ramon took the blow on his shoulder, snarling as he pushed up and punched Jacques in the face again. The sound was brutal, the scent of blood filling the air.
This time, Jacques stumbled when he tried to swing his sword. Ramon sidestepped easily, before smashing his foot into the back of Jacques’s knee.
He crumpled, cursing, and the people in the stands howled with approval.
“Confess and be forgiven before your death,” Ramon offered.
Jacques growled on his knees, looking beat, but suspicion tingled through her.
“Finish it!” Smyth yelled.
Ramon looked up and Jacques took advantage of his inattention. He pulled a dagger from his forearm and lunged at Ramon’s neck.
Isabel bit her own hand as she smothered her cry. The people in the stands surged forward. Ramon pulled back, Jacques following him. They hit the ground, their armor clanking as the mud splashed up and coated them. For a moment, they were nothing but a tangle of limbs, straining as they struggled. Time felt as if it weren’t moving, trapping her in a moment where her worst fears were reality.
There was a harsh grunt and a gurgle as one knight proved the victor. One set of legs stiffening in death spasms before slumping to the ground. Everyone held their breath as they waited for the victor to rise.
“Holy Christ…” Isabel prayed. “Sweet holy Christ…”
Ramon rose from the mud and she honestly wasn’t sure if it was real or the sight of her husband rising from his body. He stood and pushed his face shield up, the dagger still in his hand.
The midday sun illuminated the blood on its blade.
The crowd roared with approval, shaking the stands.
All Isabel could do was collapse back against the seat in relief. “Thank God.”
“Aye,” Baron Smyth muttered. “Thanks be to God, for that was a nasty bit of business that might have ended badly.”
He stood up and held up his hand. “The challenge is finished! Any man who does not go in peace will face justice!”
There was a pounding of hooves. Raeburn’s men began spilling into the yard, herded by Baron Smyth’s men. They were ruthless as they drove them into the tiltyard to join their master’s fallen body.
The crowd started howling, their blood lust running high.
Ramon climbed up to the first level where a platform stood for a master of ceremonies. He pounded the wooden rail with his fist.
“There will be no lawless men in this county.”
“Or in mine!” Baron Smyth added.
“Give up your swords or kneel and swear loyalty to a new master,” Ramon declared. “Or you shall be cut down where you are.”
Raeburn’s men looked around, searching for escape, but there was none. Smyth’s men had them surrounded and Ramon’s men mixed with them, making the numbers unbeatable. They would be slaughtered.
They pushed one of their captains forward. He held up his hand to quiet them.
“What man do we kneel to?” he asked of Ramon.
“Ambrose St. Martin.” Ramon pointed toward his second in command. Ambrose sat on the back of a stallion, his armor as solid as the grim look in his eyes. “I will personally ask the prince to raise him to the station of baron.”
Many of the men nodded, for only a baron could have armed men.
“Kneel or throw down your swords and leave in peace. Make no mistake. Unrest will be dealt with swiftly and harshly.”
Snow started falling again. Just a soft sprinkle, but the men surrounded in the yard looked up at it with horror. There was no place to go where hungry mouths would be welcomed during the long months of winter. Perhaps in the spring they might have had a chance of making a place for themselves. Now, they were dependent on Ramon’s good will.
“I will kneel.”
It was the captain who spoke. He turned to face Ambrose and hit his knee. The men behind him followed, until they were all on one knee.
Would it be the solution they all craved?
Isabel didn’t know, but all she cared about was looking at her husband standing at the rail. Ambrose rode out, his new men rising and following him.
Only Jacques’s body was left behind.
Isabel didn’t give it a single glance.
Instead she ran into the arms of the man she loved. Ramon clamped her against him, burying his face in her hair.
For once, fate had been kind.
She planned to treasure the gift until her days were done.
* * *
“I have done you no favor with this,” Ramon warned his friend.
Ambrose grinned in spite of Ramon’s grim tone. “You have offered me an opportunity. Never let it be said that I am not a man to make the most of such occasions.”
Ramon looked over Raeburn’s men. They stood waiting for Ambrose to lead them back to the camp.
“This lot will be unruly.”
“Aye,” Ambrose agreed. “I plan to make sure they have enough tasks to do, that by nightfall, they will lack all strength to plot against me.”
“I am leaving you a dozen knights for your personal guard, else you will never be able to close your eyes. Do not eat anything without having it tasted. Let no one into your bed without careful consideration.”
Ambrose nodded. “It seems you have your wish, my friend. You now have the means to curtail my roving ways.”
Ramon slapped him on the shoulder.
“We’ll ride for London tomorrow,” Ramon decided. “You need the prince’s seal.”
There was no guarantee that he would get it, but Ambrose felt his blood igniting. He was full of anticipation, dreams he’d cradled close to his heart for most of his years finally within reach.
He’d get that seal.
There was no other outcome he’d consider.
His gaze fell on the men that were now his. Their strengths and their weaknesses. Every transgression would reflect on his name. It was the burden he’d coveted, and he fully intended to shoulder it. He wanted to earn their loyalty, for that would be a far stronger bond than fear-inspired oaths.
Yet his first test was one that confounded him.
“The witch is inside.” Ambrose eyed the captain who had spoken. The man nodded. “Raeburn brought her from the east. She brewed up the poison.”
Men were whispering, asking to burn her. Ambrose held up his hand and they fell silent. They eyed him, waiting to see what he’d do.
“I will be the one to decide the matter.”
Ambrose stiffened but lifted the tent flap out of his way and entered. The floor was covered with Persian carpets and the table held expensive glass from the Holy Land. There was a huge throne-like chair facing the entrance of the tent and an overlarge bed for campaigns behind it.
At the foot of the bed lay a huge pillow. The woman was on it, lying across its expanse and watching him with dark eyes. Her only clothing was a robe that lay across her curves like molten gold.
Her hand moved, lowering from her lips as she swallowed something. She blinked and drew in a deep breath. “I am not a witch.”
“Did you brew the poison?” he asked.
She blinked again. “What men label a poison, women call an easement for bringing their courses.”
“To the Lady de Segrave, it was a poison.”
She blinked again, this time slower. “I obeyed my master. For one such as myself, there is no other path. He bought me…in the market.”
Her eyes slid shut. Ambrose moved closer as her breathing became softer and softer. Her hand relaxed, the small pottery cup she’d drunk from rolling over the edge of the pillow and onto the floor.
He picked it up and sniffed it. A bitter scent clung to it, a dark ring marking the inside.
Poison, no doubt.
A draft blew through the tent as his captain entered. “Do you want us to take her?”
“Not just yet.” Ambrose stood and placed the cup on the table.
“She should be burned.”
Ambrose turned to look at the man. “Have compassion. She will be dead soon enough and by her own hand. You’ll take some men and bury her.”
The captain’s expression darkened.
“You will,” Ambrose insisted. “There will be order in this camp and Christian values.” He aimed a hard look at the man. “Every man will be judged by what he does from this day forward, and they will extend that mercy to one another as well as this woman. No man will be faulted for the obedience he gave to Raeburn. Neither will she.”
“Aye, my lord. Well spoken.”
Ambrose turned around and watched as the woman drew her last breath. It was soft and slow, her face serene as life left her body.
He lowered his head and offered prayer for her, beseeching mercy for a soul who had found little of it in life.
* * *
Ramon’s men were building something in the yard.
Isabel looked at it as she was brought back to the keep. Their mood was somber, unlike it had been when they labored to raise the new tower. Their expressions were grim and she felt a chill on her nape.
“What is that?” she asked.
Ramon cradled her as he carried her up the stairs to their chamber, his arm tightening instead of giving her an explanation.
“Ramon?” she pressed. “You are avoiding my question. Why?”
He settled her into their bed, holding his tongue until he had made sure she was settled on two plump pillows and the bedding was tucked up to her chest.
“It is a gallows,” he said in a hard tone.
Thomas arrived to help Ramon take his armor off. She wanted to help but she was weak. The bedding helped restore warmth to her toes and she tightened her grip on the blankets, but she kept her eyes on Ramon. His squire poured some water into a pan. Ramon happily cupped it in his hands and splashed it onto his face. Mud and blood washed away and he braced his hands on the table before speaking again.
“The boy must pay,” Ramon said softly, but with a firm tone she recognized well.
Thomas’s lips were set in a hard line as he handed his lord a towel to dry his face. Ramon stood and walked toward her. “It is the duty of a lord to enforce the law on his land. He’ll be hanged in the morning. It will be quickly done.”
“Could you not banish him?”
Ramon shook his head. “His crime is too great. He’ll spend his last night in the dungeon.”
“The what?” She sat up. “There is no such thing on my land.”
“In the keep I built, there is a dungeon for times when the law must be enforced. Or someone held because they might do harm to others. He might have tampered with the food stores instead of just your drink.”
Her belly tightened; things might have been so much worse. Yet she couldn’t fathom that beneath her very bed was a place designed for nothing but torture. “I cannot bear the idea of sleeping above such a place of pain and torment.”
“There is only a set of chains in there, to keep those who have proven themselves untrustworthy from harming others.”
“He didn’t poison me.”
Ramon was washing his hands and forearms. “He carried the poison into this keep and failed to tell me. Our child might be dead because of it.”
She cradled her belly, trying to protect the tiny life inside her. Yet she knew it was true. No one had a will strong enough to start life once it had stopped.
Life could so often be quickly gone.
“I am going to bathe. There is a man at the door in case you need help.”
She was suddenly tired. Every bit of strength bled away and left her grateful for the bed supporting her.
She was grateful for a lot of things.
So many things.
Yet she hungered for more favor from fate. Just one more miracle. She covered her belly with her hands, trying to protect and soothe the baby inside her.
Just one more gift.
Isabel slept, waking when Ramon returned from bathing. He gathered her close and kissed her temple.
She sighed and rested her hand on his chest, absorbing the proof of his life. Willing it to travel through her body to their child.
* * *
Isabel woke in the early hours of the night. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, the chill of winter tightening. Ramon lay beside her, his breath soft and even. Her nose was cold but the man holding her was so very warm.
Something moved inside her.
It was only a soft motion, but within her womb. She lay still, framing the small mound of her belly with her hands. Waiting as she held her breath, sleep losing its hold on her instantly.
Was she imagining things?
It moved again, and again. A soft thump against the inside of her womb. Like the motion of a butterfly’s wings. And then it came again, a little stronger now, like the tapping of a finger against the back of her hand.
A smile brightened her face.
Their child lived…
Joy burst inside her, sending two tears of happiness down her cheeks.
Alive.
It was such a gift. Such a blessing. She would raise her child with love and never forget to tell him how much joy his presence brought to her.
The poor little boy named Donald had never heard such words from his mother.
Isabel felt her joy ebbing as she contemplated the gallows standing so newly built in the yard. Everyone pitied the boy, but that would mean nothing when the sun rose and he was taken to his execution.
She sat up, not even sure what she’d decided to do. Only that Donald’s face refused to leave her thoughts. The bed itself was no longer welcoming.
The keep was quiet, the guard no longer at her door. She walked down the stairs in her bare feet and kept going until she made it to the chamber beneath the great hall. She opened the door she hadn’t realized led to another level and went down the narrow steps. Here, there was no heat from a hearth, no scent of smoke. Only a lingering smell of mortar. The stairwell was narrow and the only way down into the dungeon. Once on the ground floor, she felt the walls closing in on her for the ceiling was low.
The huge collar Ramon had once threatened her with was now secured around Donald’s throat. The boy wasn’t sleeping. He watched her as she entered the room, his face looking much older than the last time she’d seen him. His eyes were sunken back in his head, dried blood still on the side of his face.
“Lady…” he rasped and fell to his knees. The chain shifted, sending noise through the chamber that echoed in a horrifying way.
“Be still,” she warned and looked at the door above her.
When she looked back at him, he’d clasped his hands and held them up to her. “Forgive me. The priest said I’d burn in hell if you didn’t forgive me. I beg you, have mercy on my soul.”
What are you doing?
She wasn’t entirely sure. Only that she’d ended up there without fully deciding to go. It had been an instinct of some sort. Something she was powerless to ignore. Another flutter of motion stirred in her belly and she knew what she was about.
Life. Aye.
“I forgive you.”
Relief covered his face. He collapsed onto his haunches and cried silently. His expression became one of acceptance. “I’m grateful to you. I am indeed.”
It turned her stomach to see him.
She lifted the key from the hook on the wall and moved toward him. He watched her, biting his lower lip to suppress the question he wanted to ask. When she fitted the key into the lock, he quivered, his entire body shaking as a light entered his eyes.
“Lady?”
She twisted the lock free and stepped back, suddenly unsure if she had made a mistake. Donald collapsed on the floor, flattening himself and reaching forward with one hand. He caught the edge of her robe with two shaking fingers. He drew the fabric to his lips and kissed it.
“Go,” she said as tears filled her eyes. “I cannot do more for you. My husband will hang you if you are caught.”
He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes swimming with tears. “You have done everything, lady. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Yes, you can,” she said as he drew back onto his haunches and stood. “Become a man of honor. Prove my actions right by never doing harm again, for in truth, I am not sure why I am here. Perhaps goodness is a chain, for Rauxana cut my bonds and without that mercy, I would have suffered greatly. So now I release you. Show your gratitude with your actions. Become a good man.”
“I shall,” he whispered before he looked toward the door. Hope brightened his eyes and he showed a hunger for life. He crept across the floor quietly, pausing in the doorway to look at what was on the other side before disappearing through it.
She’d have to confess to Ramon.
Isabel replaced the key and drew in a deep breath.
She could not lie. No, there was nothing for it but confession.
“I wondered if you would make it through the night without coming down here.”
She gasped and jumped as Ramon appeared in the doorway. Her husband contemplated her as she lifted her chin.
“I planned to tell you,” she said firmly.
He nodded. “Aye, I believe you would have. No matter how much you know I feel that boy is a threat to you.”
“Only so long as Jacques was alive.”
Ramon came down the stairs and picked her up. “The Raeburns have other sons, Isabel. They will always consider this land theirs. Land is the only true wealth. They will not abandon what they see as their claim.”
He carried her up the stairs.
“They will have to.” She spoke firmly. “Our child lives.”
He froze with her still in his arms. Need flickered in his eyes.
“I felt it move,” she whispered, “inside my womb.”
He let her feet down and cupped her belly, seeking proof.
“Mildred says you will be able to feel it in time. When my belly rounds.”
Disappointment flashed across his face, but he nodded.
“I couldn’t stomach the thought that blood would be spilled at sunrise on the day that I learned my child still lived. Forgive me for that.”
Her husband stood silent for a long moment.
“I love you, Isabel.”
“Yet that is not saying you forgive me,” she argued softly.
He laughed softly. “I understand you. Why do you think no one stopped you?”
She lifted her head. “You know me too well.”
He offered her an arrogant chuckle.
“I am surprised none of your captains questioned you on the matter.”
Ramon opened the door and started to carry her through it. Two of Ramon’s captains stood there, Donald held between them.
“They did not question, because they were here.” Ramon hooked his hands into his wide belt. “Where is the old woman who claims this boy?”
“I am here, my lord.”
An old woman made her way from where she’d been sitting at one of the tables. Ramon stared at her. “You claim this boy?”
“Indeed I do. Adopted him, I did, for me own son is lost on the Crusade.”
Ramon nodded. “You would have mercy for him?”
“Aye. He came to me, my lord, and told me about the poison. If he’d not, the babe would have been lost by morning. It is a woman’s knowledge, you see. Have mercy, for if he’d held his tongue, everyone would have thought it naught more than misfortune.”
Ramon looked at Donald. He nodded at his men and his captains released the boy. Donald stumbled but corrected himself and stood tall.
“Do you want to be adopted, boy?” Ramon asked.
Donald blinked, the question catching him by surprise. He turned to look at the cook, his lips twisting into a giddy smile. He cleared his throat and looked back at Ramon. “Aye, my lord.”
“And swear loyalty?”
Surprise flashed across Donald’s face a second before he fell to his knee. “Forever, my lord!” His voice was so loud, several of the men sleeping on the floor of the hall woke and sat up to see what was happening.
Isabel held her breath. But Donald looked up at Ramon with a glitter of satisfaction in his eyes. She realized she’d never seen the boy so happy. Ramon didn’t miss it. He tightened his lips to keep them in a hard line.
“Done.” Ramon turned his head toward the cook. “Now stop keeping your mother up so late with worry. She needs her rest, my men eat a lot of food.”
Donald sprang up, his feet barely touching the floor. “Aye,” he answered as he put his arm out for the cook. She took it as tears made shiny tracks down her wrinkled cheeks.
Ramon shook his head but his lips curved before he turned and scooped Isabel off her feet. Once she was settled into their bed he grunted at her, “My men are taking bets on how easily you will bend me to your will.”
“They would not.” She slapped his shoulder before he pressed her head back down. “Admit you enjoyed seeing that boy happy.”
“I’ll run him through if he steps out of line.” There was a hard note of finality in his tone. She smoothed her hand along his chest.
“Sometimes, all any of us need is a second chance at life. I am grateful for my second chance with marriage.”
“As am I.”
It was simple to slip back into sleep now. Ramon’s embrace cradled her as she felt her child move again.
Aye, she was grateful for the chance to know love.
* * *
The White Tower was imposing, just as it was intended to be. Prince John sat inside it with his brother’s barons. Occupying the head of the table, king in everything but name, which vexed him because it meant each baron had a vote. They also had the right to wear a baron’s coronet with eight points on it. No one except a royal was allowed a crown. It was Richard’s seal on their position, his blessing on their rulings.
John didn’t care to share the crown with anyone, but he was only a prince. He would need the support of these men if he wanted the crown. The people of England were growing tired of Richard’s Crusades and the cost they had to shoulder for his glory, both in gold and lives. That dissatisfaction was something John might use to his advantage. No one wanted to be ruled by a king who didn’t want to be in the country.
“You killed Baron Raeburn.”
“In a fair fight,” Ramon de Segrave answered clearly. “He poisoned my wife. My challenge was just.”
Two of the other barons nodded in agreement. “Raeburn bought his title,” Baron Smyth said. “He was no true baron.”
“But your action caused his army to fall under your command,” John argued. The rest of the barons’ expressions tightened. None of them wanted any baron to have more resources than they had.
Ramon stared at him. “The army in question is under the command of my captain, Ambrose St. Martin. He is worthy of the title of baron.”
John stroked his beard. Ambrose St. Martin was a huge, golden-haired beast of a man. He stood behind his lord with a solid stance.
“His task will be greatly vexing if you elevate him. Raeburn’s men lacked discipline and honor. But to disband them would have flooded the borderlands with villains. The Welsh lairds would have been happy with that. More men to use against us. Even if only half of them are salvaged, it is better.”
“I see the worth in your actions,” the prince muttered. “Ambrose St. Martin, you are raised by my hand to the title of baron.”
There were a few narrowed eyes, but John enjoyed knowing that not everyone was pleased. It was important to keep every baron guessing. They’d think to rule him otherwise. But there was one thing that John intended to do.
And that was to rule in his own right.
He’d be the king of England, and soon too.
As for Richard, well, John doubted his brother would ever return from the Crusade. It was an added bonus that his brother had done nothing about ensuring he had an heir.
That left the throne of England for him, and John was going to be very happy to accept it. More than one of the barons had noted how things were going to be. Segrave and St. Martin would now be indebted to him as well.
England was as good as his.
* * *
Isabel looked up as the church bells began to ring. There were shouts of joy in the kitchen as everyone hurried out to greet the returning lord.
She moved slower, her belly big and round.
It was the heart of winter, the trees frozen and everything covered in white. A terrible time to travel, but she enjoyed watching Ramon as he led the way back into the yard.
He would never put off his duty because the road was too cold. She wondered how she had ever dreaded his arrival.
He pushed his face plate up and aimed his dark stare at her.
“I seek the Lady of Camoys!”
“Only Lady de Segrave is here,” she replied.
His lips curved into a satisfied grin. He slid from his stallion and marched up the steps, his armor clanking with his motions.
He cupped her chin, his fingers cold, but she rubbed her cheek against them to warm them.
“I am here, my lord.”
“And I have come to be your devoted husband, madam.”
He leaned down and kissed her, to the delight of those watching. Mildred snorted, but Isabel was far too absorbed in the kiss to pay attention to her.
* * *
Isabel’s toes were warm now. The ice of winter was gone as warmer air surrounded them all. The scent of newly turned earth was thick.
“Bear down now…harder.”
Mildred was showing no mercy.
Isabel groaned, feeling as if she must be splitting in two. She couldn’t seem to draw in enough breath, but Mildred had no sympathy.
“Bear down, Isabel! Harder, I tell you, you must do it with the pain.”
“I am trying…” Isabel panted.
“Harder!” Mildred’s voice snapped like a whip.
The birthing table was hard against her back but Isabel curled up and grabbed her knees. Two maids pressed their hands into her back to help keep her there as she bore down. Her body was splitting again, opening as the pressure built until it burst, and her baby slipped through into the world. She felt it moving, passing from her womb to where the midwife waited.
The midwife caught the baby with steady hands and eased it free. “A son,” she declared as she swung the baby by its heels and thumped it firmly on the back twice. When she turned him up, she rubbed the infant briskly with a length of fabric. His tiny body shook, his hands opening and closing before he gulped air and let it out in a wail.
Isabel sobbed, reaching out for her baby. The maids all cried out, helping her to cradle the baby because her arms were shaking from the effort of the birth. Mildred tucked the fabric around him, her face crinkled up with her joy.
Isabel’s son screamed, the sound echoing through the kitchen and out into the great hall. A cheer went up from those waiting beyond the closed door. Ramon’s squire began pounding on the door.
“Lady…lady…my lord waits,” he called. “What word?”
He wouldn’t actually enter the birthing area, for it was a woman’s place, but he flattened his hand and hit the door frame.
“A son!” the midwife called to him. The pounding stopped as the sound of the boy running through the hall echoed into the kitchen. A moment later, there was a roar that Isabel recognized very well.
After all, it was the man she loved.
The baby drew in a shaky breath and opened his eyes, locking gazes with her.
Love was a fine thing indeed.
A very fine thing.