The Bride Thief

There was a sympathetic nod. “Aye, and so we shall, daughter, if that is your wish. You will be free to leave this place in the morn as it pleases you, either with Sir Justin or without. No harm shall come to you while you bide here. I give you this promise on the holy vows I have taken before God.” He turned and walked away.

Sir Justin followed, carrying Isabelle down a long hall and up a number of stairs before at last reaching their destination: a large, clean, well-furnished chamber, warmed and lit by both fire and candle. Placing her in a chair by the fire, Sir Justin knelt and, producing a small knife, cut away the bindings at her hands and feet.

“I regret…” he began as he tried to take her wrists in his hands to chafe them, but stopped when Isabelle yanked free of his touch.

“Leave me be, I pray you, Sir Justin.” Her tone cast harsh aspersions on his claims to the honorable state of knighthood. To the monk, who stood by the door, she demanded, “Why have I been brought here? My uncle, the Baron Hersell, will be more than displeased to know of the treatment I have received this night.”

The monk gave another nod and put his hand on the door. “There is wine on the table, and I will have food brought at once. Father Hugo has been praying in the chapel, and will arrive to greet you shortly.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Isabelle turned her angry gaze on Justin, who still knelt before her. “What is this about? Do not touch me!” She tried to pull her feet away, but the warm grip on her ankles held her fast.

“My lady,” he said with what Isabelle felt was unmerited calm, “be pleased to put your mind at rest. I have not brought you this long distance, to a monastery, i’ faith, to rape or harm you. If that had been my goal, I would have managed it at some other, more advantageous spot.” When she continued to attempt to pull her feet free, he said, “I am sorry for having tied you. I thought it the best way to keep you from harming yourself unnecessarily. But look—” his gaze fell to where his fingers gently rubbed her raw flesh “—the rope has done its own damage. If I could take the pain from you, I vow that I would.”

Weary, unwanted tears filled Isabelle’s eyes. She hated crying. Worse, she hated feeling out at sea, as if she were clawing at a slippery rock to gain any sort of hold.

Having long been treated as one without value, Isabelle believed that she was, in truth, without value, and so she said, “Sir Justin, I cannot think I will make a very good hostage. My uncle will not make Evelyn wed you simply to secure my return. He will probably be glad to be rid of me.”

He pulled his fingers from her feet and took hold of her wrists, rubbing them as he had her ankles. “I do not want you for a hostage,” he told her, “and I do not want Lady Evelyn for my wife.”

Despite her every effort not to let them, Isabelle’s eyebrows rose.

Sir Justin smiled. “I never thought I would ask for a woman’s hand in the accepted manner, but as I’m already kneeling at your feet, I suppose I should. Lady Isabelle, will you do me the honor of wedding with me?”

She stared at him as if he’d stunned her with a blow to the head.

He waited a full minute before prodding, “My lady?”

“W-w-wed?” she sputtered. “With you?”

“I’ve surprised you,” he said. “I understand fully how it must seem. But give me a moment to explain, I pray, and all will be made clear.”

Standing, he crossed the room and filled a goblet with wine, then returned, pressing the cup into her hands.

“Drink this,” he said, and bent to tuck his cloak more tightly about her. “Are you warm enough? I threw some of your clothes down to Chris after you’d fallen asleep, and he put them in one of his bags. I’m sure he’ll bring them as soon as he’s finished stabling the horses, and then you may clothe yourself more warmly.”

“You—” she began, then faltered. Just how often did Sir Justin Baldwin deal in kidnapping? He was apparently very well organized at it. “You seem to have thought of everything.” And then she remembered that he had stood in her chamber’s shadows and watched her prepare for bed. Heat warmed her face at the realization that he had seen her—all of her. With shaking hands, Isabelle lifted the goblet and drank deeply, praying for any measure of sustenance. She’d rather be dead than make a muddled idiot of herself in front of this man.

“I hope I have,” he replied thoughtfully. “There was no way to keep you from being distressed in some measure, but Chris and I tried to plan for your comfort, as best we could. I didn’t wish to give you greater reason to turn me—my request—aside.” There was a chair on the other side of the fire, and he settled into it, wearily closing his eyes. “You are aware, I think, that if I am not wed within three—nay, two days, now, I will lose all that I possess? My lands, my holdings, everything.” Opening his eyes, he gazed at her. “Even my horses and livestock. I must have a wife, my lady, else all that I have labored for will be lost to me. I do not care so much for myself, but there are others involved whom I do not wish to see brought low because of my misfortunes.”

“But I can do naught to help you,” Isabelle told him, lifting one hand in a placating gesture. “It is my cousin, Evelyn, whom you are to wed.”

“Not so. She was the bride chosen for me by my brother and the duke of Gloucester, but in the missive I received regarding the matter, it was only stated that I must be married by the first day of July, not that I must be married to her.”

“But Evelyn is ready to wed you. I know it has not seemed so, but she, and my uncle, always intended that it should be thus.”

“Did they?” His smile was suddenly unpleasant. “I am glad they kept from agreeing to the marriage too soon, for I do not wish to wed your cousin, lovely though she may be.”

“But, my lord,” Isabelle protested, “neither can you wish to marry me! You know nothing of me, of my family. I have no dowry, indeed nothing to call my own save what my uncle has chosen to give me. It is impossible for me to marry any man.”

“’Tis not impossible for you to wed me,” he said, sitting on the edge of his chair and leaning toward her. “I have no care for who your parents were, and I do not require a dowry. If you will take me as I am, I will take you, and gladly. I am no great lord, but my home is sufficient, and we could live well and comfortably.”

Isabelle’s head was spinning. He couldn’t mean the things he was saying. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible.

“My lord, I pray you will be serious, and cease speaking such foolishness. Surely there is another, or many others, whom you would more readily choose.”

“Nay,” he said bluntly. “Only you. Let us speak the truth with each other. Do you wish to continue living under your uncle’s hand?”

The question set her off balance, and Isabelle stared at him in silence.

He held her gaze unwaveringly. “He treats you like a servant. He dresses you in servant’s clothes. His own niece. I have never heard him speak a kind or gentle word to you. The chamber that was yours—” he hesitated when she lowered her eyes, and when he continued, his tone was more gentle “—it was in the servants’ quarters. Small and spare. And cold. I cannot fathom why he should treat you so ill, when he is blessed with more than enough wealth to easily treat you better. Especially when you continuously labor on his behalf.”

It’s only pity, Isabelle. ‘Tis why he’s so kind, why he deigns to speak with you. Only pity…for a small, unsightly, insignificant mouse.

Evelyn’s words came back full force, with stunning pain, and Isabelle murmured, “You pity me. You wish to marry me out of pity.”

He moved so silently that Isabelle hadn’t realized it until he was kneeling before her, lifting her chin in his hand so that her eyes met his.

“God’s truth, nay. It is so that I did not want a wife, but if I must have one, I would have her come to our marriage with cause of her own, wanting as much as I to make what we can of it. Lady Evelyn has no need of me, no reason to build a life with a man forced upon her against her wishes. But you might. Would you not like to have your own household to manage? Would you not like to be free of your uncle’s hand? To wed, to have children of your own? If you marry me, Lady Isabelle, I vow that I shall do all I can to make your life happy and content. We can be partners in all things, and can build a good life together. My home, Talwar, is a small estate, not grand, as your uncle’s palace is, but it is sturdy and comfortable, and the surrounding land is a goodly place for raising children. I am not an esteemed lord, as I have told you, but I have enough that you, and any children we give life to, shall never know hunger or discomfort.”

He was a stunningly beautiful man, and the knowledge struck Isabelle even more firmly as he gazed at her. His face was perfect, save for a scar above his brow and a smaller one on his cheek, but neither detracted from the wide set and alluring darkness of his ale-brown eyes, or the aristocratic line of his nose, or the tilt and fullness of his lips. His hair, as richly dark as his eyes, hung thick and waving to his shoulders, which in themselves were amazing to behold. She had never seen a nobleman with such a large, muscular form as Sir Justin Baldwin possessed. He looked more like a hard-laboring smithy than a knight of the realm.

“But why me?” Isabelle shook her head in disbelief. “There must be so many others—”

“Nay,” he said once more. “There are not. And if there were, I’ve no time to find and woo them.” Taking the goblet from her unsteady clasp and setting it aside, he gathered her hands up in his. “We would do well together, my lady. I admit that ‘tis a strange way to start a marriage, but if we are good and truthful to each other and strive to make what we can of our union, there is no reason why it cannot be as happy and fruitful as other marriages are.”

It wasn’t right, she thought. Here he was, so handsome and fine that he could have any woman in the world, asking her to be his wife.

“There are things about me that you do not know,” she said with open misery. “My family has long been loyal to France. Four years ago, my father was convicted as a traitor.” She searched his face for the revulsion she had thought would appear, but his dark-eyed gaze neither faltered nor changed. “He was executed, and all of his lands and possessions were taken from my family. My mother died soon after. Of shame.”

A frown settled on his handsome face, and after a moment he ventured, “Gaillard? Isabelle Gaillard? Your father was the Comte Gaillard?”

“The comte was my uncle in France. His titles and properties have since been reclaimed by the crown. My father lived in England, for my mother’s sake. He oversaw the Gaillard lands here.”

Understanding lit his features. “Ignace Gaillard. Was that your father? Lord Lomas?”

She nodded.

“And your mother was Baron Hersell’s sister? Is that how you come to be beneath his hand?”

“Aye. She was his half sister, through her mother.” Lowering her eyes to their joined hands, marveling on how strange it was to have any physical contact at all with this man, she said, “And so you understand, my lord, that it is impossible for us to wed.”

“Nay, my lady, I do not. I would be honored to have such a wellborn woman for a wife. Will our children not be blessed to receive such a noble heritage?”

Children, she thought. How beautiful his children would be, especially if they took after him, with hair and eyes the color of dark, rich earth.

“But your family would be distressed to have you wedded with the daughter of a traitor.”

“My family has no say. After what they have done to me in this matter, I have no care for their sensibilities. I have said that I would be honored to wed one so nobly born, and so do I mean it. I will never speak lies to you, Isabelle.” He pressed her hands more firmly. “Will you marry me?”

“It is so sudden. I…I must think on it.”

“I fear there is little time for such. Your uncle will be after us soon, if he is not already. ’Twill not be difficult for him to follow after and find us. The men who let us pass through Bishopsgate will readily tell in which direction we rode, especially if Sir Myles pays them well. After that he need only stop at each village on the road to ask whether we passed through, and that will lead him directly here. We must be wed very shortly, before he arrives. Within the hour, i’ faith.”

“But I do not have his permission to wed. I cannot marry without it.”

“What I lack in personal esteem,” he told her, “I possess in family influence. One of my brothers is a priest, and he is here and will marry us. Once the marriage is consummated, your uncle would not be able to remove you from my care, unless he went to the duke of Gloucester to have the union annulled.” He smiled. “The duke will shortly receive missives from my brothers, the lord of Gyer and the earl of Siere, both of whom will request that the marriage stand as legal. I cannot think even the king’s regent will wish to anger two such powerful men as they are.”

“C-consummated?” she repeated with a gulp. “Here? Now?”

His soft laughter seemed to shiver all the way through Isabelle.

“You needn’t worry about that until after you’ve agreed to wed with me.” With a gentle, reassuring squeeze of her hands, he added, “In truth, you needn’t worry about it at all. I will never hurt you, Isabelle.”

“My brother,” she said, thinking suddenly of Senet. “I cannot leave him alone in my uncle’s authority. He is but ten-and-six, and Sir Myles has no care for him, except as a way of keeping me from being disobedient.”

“Ah,” Justin said. “I begin to understand the reason for your devoted service to your uncle. Your brother will come to us, then. He has been fostered with Sir Howton, has he not?” When Isabelle nodded, he said, “I will continue to train him for knighthood, just as Sir Howton has done, and he will have all that we can give him to make his way.”

Isabelle leaned forward. “My lord, do you mean this?”

“On my honor, before God, I vow it.”

The door to the chamber opened, and both Isabelle and Justin turned. A tall blond man, dressed in brown robes and bearing a large steaming bowl, entered.

“God’s mercy,” he said, having contemplated them for a silent moment. “I never in my life expected to see you on your knees before any woman, Justin. You’re clearly more desperate than I understood. Have you convinced Lady Isabelle to become your willing wife, or are you yet trying to persuade her?” Walking farther into the chamber, he set the bowl on a low table. “I’ve brought food,” he stated, and stood to his full height, smiling down at Isabelle. “My dear, you are the most welcome sight I’ve had in many a year.”

“Hugo,” Justin said warmly, standing and hugging the other man. “’Tis good and better to see you again.”

“Aye, and so it is,” the priest replied, returning the embrace. “Be pleased to introduce me to Lady Isabelle, brother.”

“My lady, this is my brother, Father Hugo. He is going to wed us.”

“If Lady Isabelle is willing,” Father Hugo added, moving forward to take Isabelle’s hand. With a warm smile, he bent and kissed her fingers. “My lady,” he murmured, “I am honored. Justin sent me an urgent missive regarding you, and it is with great pleasure that I meet the woman who has finally captured my youngest brother’s heart.”

He was too handsome to be a priest, Isabelle thought. And far too admiring. She could feel herself turning red all the way up to the roots of her hair. “Oh, no, Father, I fear you misunderstand. ‘Tis only that he must wed to keep his lands. I’ve not captured Sir Justin’s heart, or any part of him.”

The look that possessed the handsome priest’s face reminded Isabelle of nothing so much as the pleased way her uncle looked when he saw the profits mounting up in his account books. Beneath his interested scrutiny she felt, for a moment, like a vastly valuable treasure. “That, my very dear lady,” said Father Hugo, “remains to be seen. And so—” he again stood full height “—have you decided which road you’ll take? Are you going to marry this knave and go with him to Talwar, or shall I send for your uncle to come and escort you back to London? For me, I should advise trying the first. From what Justin’s written me, you’ve already tried the latter without much satisfaction. Or is he mistaken?”

“Nay,” she admitted softly, drawing Justin’s warm cloak more firmly about her. “’Twas not pleasant to live beneath my uncle’s hand.”

“Then you may as well try marrying my brother,” Father Hugo suggested cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. “He’s not perfect, i’ faith, but I can promise he’s better than most. If he’s not good to you, you need only send word and I’ll come and make him behave.” He grinned at his younger brother. “I give my vow on that. Now, what say you? Shall I lend my blessing to a wedding this night?”

Justin’s gaze held Isabelle’s, questioning. She drew in a long breath and released it shakily. With a nod, she committed herself to a new, unknown life. “Aye. You shall.”

Chapter Four

The marriage took place as soon as Isabelle had been given a chance to eat and clothe herself. Surrounded by men—Sir Christian and several silent, solemn monks—she stood beside Sir Justin Baldwin in the monastery’s small chapel and agreed to be his wife. It should have been, she thought afterward, a moment that carried a certain amount of weight, joy or fear or some life-changing impact. But it had been nothing more than a very simple matter. Sir Justin repeated his vows, put a plain gold ring on her finger and, having received it from his brother, passed the kiss of peace along to her by setting his lips briefly against her cheek. And so, in a matter of a few minutes, they were married. At least in the eyes of the Church. What her uncle would think about it, Isabelle wasn’t able to imagine.

Father Hugo heartily hugged and kissed her when it was over, as did Sir Christian, who said, “You are a kind and beautiful lady, Isabelle Baldwin. Justin is a fortunate man, indeed. I pray God I will be as blessed someday.”

Congratulatory cups of wine were passed and drunk, and then, too soon, Justin was taking hold of her elbow and saying, “There is not much time before daylight. We will bid you all good-night”

Isabelle had never felt so embarrassed in all her life, standing before a roomful of holy men who surely realized Sir Justin’s intent to consummate the marriage.

Father Hugo, setting a reassuring hand on Isabelle’s shoulder, said, “Go and tend to this final matter, then, knowing that God has blessed your union. We will send no witnesses with you, for Lady Isabelle should not suffer further distress this night, when she has already so generously done all that has been asked of her.” He must have heard the breath of relief that she released, for he smiled warmly and kissed her cheek. “God be with you, daughter. Go now with your husband.” To Justin, he added, “I trust you will take every care with your good lady, brother.”

“Aye,” Justin replied simply, pulling Isabelle toward the door and not seeming to notice how stiffly she went.

“Well,” she said as they walked side by side down the darkened hall. “Well.”

He chuckled and said, “Indeed.”

When he suddenly put his hand on her waist, she nearly jumped into a wall.

“Forgive me,” she murmured. “I fear that I’m a little… unused to this.” Which was, she thought, a rather weak way of saying that she’d never so much as kissed a man.

His hand pressed against her with light warmth. “There is no need to ask forgiveness, Isabelle. You have never known a man and are afraid. ‘Tis understandable, i’ faith.”

He stopped before the chamber door, which he opened, stepping back to allow her to enter. A simple room had never looked so awful to Isabelle before. She cast a glance at the bed and imagined herself there, beneath this man, her husband, as he made her his wife.

“Come, Isabelle.” He took her hand and drew her farther in, closing the door. “Let us have an understanding.” Turning her unresisting body by the shoulders as if she were a powerless puppet, he drew her near. “We are all but strangers, you and I, and yet we are also man and wife. I would have you strive to trust me in all things, just as I will strive to trust you.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, gently. “But such as that will take time, and I would not repay the kindness you have done me this night by forcing you to lie with me before you are willing. When I make you my wife complete, ‘twill be because you wish it, and because you have come to trust me. Is this as you would have it, Isabelle?”

“Oh, aye,” she said with open relief, thankful for a reprieve. “You are kind, Sir Justin, and I am more than grateful.”

He nodded. “We will wait until we have achieved Talwar, then, and when you are ready to become my wife in every way, you will let me know. Only promise that it will not be long, for make no mistake—I mean us to be man and wife in every way, and for that I will suffer impatience.”

Isabelle swallowed loudly. “’Twill not be long,” she promised.

“Then we must now make an agreement between us. I abhor falseness in any form, but even more would I abhor forcing you to an intimacy you do not yet desire. Your uncle will demand proof of our union. You understand this, do you not?”

“Aye.”

“Then, if you wish to have time to know your husband better before you share his bed, you must be prepared to answer accordingly. This thing will be between the two of us only.”

Stepping back, he rolled up the long sleeve of his tunic, uncovering his muscular forearm, then strode to the bed and pulled the covers away to expose the stark whiteness of the sheets beneath.

He paused a moment and looked at Isabelle, who stared at him in incomprehension until he pulled a small dagger from a sheath at his belt.

“My lord…” she said, as if she would stop him.

“’Tis the only way,” he said. “Unless you wish to pursue the matter in the more usual manner?”

Without waiting for an answer, he drew the blade across his skin, on the inner arm, beneath his elbow. Red blood welled bright, and when he held his arm over the bed, a few drops fell. He smeared them with his fingers, then stood back and viewed the stain he’d made.

“I’ve no experience with virgins,” he admitted. “I pray that will be sufficient to satisfy your uncle, and any others who may challenge our marriage.”

Isabelle was searching the chamber for a cloth, and at last found a linen napkin. “Here,” she said, taking his bleeding arm. “Let me bind the wound. I pray it will heal readily.”

“It will,” he murmured, smiling as she bent over her work to tie the cloth tightly. “You are a good wife, already,” he said. “Taking care of me so. I like it very much. Isabelle?” She lifted her head, and he took her chin in his free hand. “If you will let me, I shall kiss you as a husband should properly do.” He didn’t wait for permission, but placed his mouth gently over hers and tenderly kissed her, meaning only to give her pleasure and affection. When he lifted his head, he saw, with delight, that she looked dazed.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

She nodded and closed her eyes, and he willingly accepted the offer, lowering his mouth to hers once more, kissing her as chastely as he could, until he felt his body begin to catch fire.

“If we do not stop,” he murmured against her lips, “we will be adding proof to the bedsheet.” With regret, he stepped away from her warmth and softness. “’Tis verily most promising.” He bent and pulled the bedcovers over the stained sheet. “You are full weary, I vow. Lie down and sleep, my lady, and in the morn, if your uncle has not arrived, we will leave for Siere.”

“For Siere?” Isabelle repeated, gratefully sinking down upon the bed.

“Aye.” He rolled the sleeve of his tunic over the binding she’d put on his wound. “I must present you to my brother, the earl, and make certain that my lands are safe.”