The Bride Hunt (16 page)

The strain of pulling the cart began to show on Anvrai’s face. He moved along much faster than Roger had, and a fine sheen of moisture glistened on his forehead. Though the air was cool, the sun shone brightly, making the temperature comfortable for Isabel, but warm for Anvrai. He loosened the laces of his tunic and pulled the edges apart, baring his chest.

Isabel’s breath caught, and her fingers ached to slide over his dense muscles. She knew how sensitive his nipples were and how he pulsed with arousal when she licked them.

With great effort, she turned her attention back to their conversation. “We would be safe if we joined the king’s men.”

“Aye.”

“Does the River Tees run near Dunfermline?”

“No, ’tis south. It flows through English lands.”

“So King William intends to gather his army there and go north?”

“Aye.”

They walked on in silence and Isabel’s mind wandered over all their possibilities. They could leave the path and try to move south over untraveled ground, but that might cause them to lose time. If they came upon unpassable land or a cliff, they would have to turn back.

“I wonder if Queen Margaret’s court is near.”

Anvrai did not respond. How could he, when he did not even know where they were.

“’Tis said that when Margaret fled England with her brother, the English king, a storm forced her ship to seek refuge in King Malcolm’s harbor. They say the storm was a miraculous—”

“Miraculous?” Anvrai scoffed. “Like the storm that nearly killed
us
?”

“Why not?”

“Because Malcolm met with Edgar the atheling in York and offered sanctuary to his family. Edgar simply accepted the invitation. There was no miracle.”

“King Malcolm wed Margaret upon her arrival at Dunfermline,” Isabel said, though she knew little of Edgar’s history, nor did she know much about his sister. “’Twas quite romantic, was it not? He must have fallen in love with—”

“I am a soldier, Isabel. I know naught of romance.”

Isabel turned away so he would not catch sight of her disappointment. He refused to acknowledge that powerful emotions had passed between them, emotions she could not ignore.

“Nor did I, Anvrai,” she said. “I had planned to join the order de St. Marie in Rouen.”

“’Twould have been a waste.”

H
e glanced at her, clearly intending to say more, but quickly returned his gaze to the trail ahead and resumed his silence.

“I-I never planned to wed…but to remain pure…”

Anvrai said naught, but she saw a muscle in his jaw flex and his lips tighten.

“I do not feel
im
pure now…” Isabel did not know quite what she felt. She should not have spent the night in the shed, but she could not regret it. Whatever happened to them on this perilous sojourn, she would always have the memory of the intimacy she and Anvrai had shared.

’Twas pointless to think past the day’s walk,
and the next’s, nor would she contemplate the day they would enter Kettwyck’s gates and she would be compelled to wed Roger.

Anvrai was not mistaken in his assessment of Henri Louvet’s requirements for her marriage. Her father had been quite clear that her husband was to be a man of good family and substantial wealth. He wanted a liaison with a man whose connection to King William was strong.

Roger de Neuville fit all the important criteria. Once Isabel would have agreed with her father. Now she knew that a comely face reflected little of a man’s character.

She let her gaze rest upon Anvrai’s hand as he pulled Tillie along. He’d said he had no family, nor any property. She knew that the fate of his mother and sister weighed heavily upon him. Their current sojourn, with all its inherent dangers, must remind him of all he’d lost. More than ever, he seemed anxious to be rid of her and the others. “Does the king expect you to join him at the River Tees?”

“Aye.”

“Do you know him well—the king?”

Anvrai nodded, but seemed reluctant to speak of his connection to King William.

“Did you come with him from Normandy?”

“Aye, with Osbern of Belmere. We fought side by side at Hastings and moved north…”

“Baron Osbern’s lands adjoin those of my father, do they not?”

“They do.”

“King William granted rich holdings to my father and the rest of his loyal knights, did he not?”

“You wish to know why he did not do the same for me?”

Anvrai must be the worst fool in all of Britain. He’d allowed himself to get lost in the moment with Isabel, indulging in the worst kind of deception…Deceiving himself. He’d had every intention of making it back to Kettwyck alive, yet he’d gone along with Isabel’s notion that today might be their last. He’d made love to her as though there was no future, as though she would never return to Kettwyck and wed Roger.

“You refused to accept the prize King William offered?” she asked. “After all that happened to your family, I can understand why you would not wish to—”

A bitter laugh escaped him.

“The king has not yet forgiven me for refusing a royal request.”

Isabel frowned, a crease marring her perfect forehead. “I don’t understand. You refused the king’s command?”

“William asked me to remain in Winchester to train his knights.”

“But you would not?”

Anvrai shook his head. “’Twas not an outright refusal. I merely declined and asked to remain with Lord Osbern of Belmere.”

She placed one hand upon his arm, slowing his pace, looking up at him as though he were not the ugliest man she’d ever seen. It must be the patch. “You wanted to withdraw from the king’s army?”

“Aye.”

He’d had enough warfare to last two lifetimes. Had he stayed with the king’s garrison, he would have faced march after march and battle after battle. Instead, he’d had months of peace at Belmere.

“The king must respect your skills.”

Anvrai shrugged. “It makes no difference. I spent four years in King William’s service, fought every battle by his side, more than many of his favored barons. The king chose to leave me unrewarded.”

Isabel’s expression was one of shock. Mayhap ’twas disbelief. Either way, it did not matter. He was a knight with no land, a loyal subject who enjoyed no favor with King William.

“I remain in Baron Osbern’s service.”

“Training knights?”

“Aye.”

They walked on in silence, and Anvrai knew she didn’t understand. He trained knights for Osbern, yet he would not do the same for King William. But they were two very different occupations. Had he remained with the king, he’d have seen no end of warfare. With Baron Osbern, he kept the Belmere men in readiness in case of attack, and for the weeks when they were required to serve the king.

“So there is no hope that he would ever…”

“Isabel, you know I am a knight of no renown and no property. I foresee no change in the king’s sentiment toward me.”

Anvrai had never experienced such pleasure as he’d had during the hours he’d spent with Isabel in his arms. She’d come to him looking for forgiveness and camaraderie, for comfort and reassurance. However blissful the night had been, naught had changed. Even if he were to agree to King William’s demands and go to Winchester to train and command his army, he could not take Isabel to the king’s garrison. Nor could he engage his heart where it did not belong.

The afternoon wore on, and when Tillie awoke, they stopped a while so that she could feed her bairn. Isabel sat beside her, and Anvrai walked some distance up the path. ’Twas too
easy to imagine her holding her own child, feeding a bairn at her own breast.

’Twould not be a little blond-haired infant, either, not with Roger as its father. Isabel would have dark-haired children.

“God’s eyeballs,” he muttered, disgusted by his useless musings. He’d been content with his life. Gentle Isabel had shattered that contentment, shown him all that he lacked.

He walked on until he encountered Roger, coming toward him on the path. “Naught lies this way,” Roger said.

“No southern branch of the footpath?”

Roger gave a shake of his head. “But at least there were no cottages, no villages all along the way. We should be safe tonight, sleeping in the open.”

“Stay with the women,” Anvrai said, “and escort them as far as you can go before dark.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll explore the territory south of the path,” Anvrai replied. Walking with Isabel had become torture…talking with her, thinking how it felt to kiss her, to slide into her. “We cannot continue east indefinitely.”

Roger did not argue, and Anvrai headed into the woods to the south. He could leave Isabel’s presence, but he was afraid
she
would not leave
him
.

“When will he return?” Isabel asked, unnerved by Anvrai’s absence.

Roger worked at getting a fire started. “I would not know. He is scouting a southern path for us. Stop your pacing.”

“’Tis nearly dark, Roger.”

He glanced up at her accusingly. “Surely you, of all people, do not doubt Sir Anvrai can take care of himself.”

No, she did not doubt it…but she did not feel safe without him. They were still deep in Scottish territory. Anything could happen.

The sky remained clear, but it became colder as the sun touched the horizon. They made a modest meal and consumed it in silence, but for the occasional cry of Tillie’s bairn. Isabel and Tillie made an effort to keep Belle quiet, aware that her cries annoyed Roger and might attract unwanted attention to their camp.

Fortunately, though, Belle slept most of the time, and once she was fed, was content to lie upon her mother’s lap and look out at her surroundings.

“Roger, mayhap you should set some snares so we will have meat upon the morrow.”

The quick glance he gave her was fraught with hostility.

“We have only a small amount—”

“I know naught of setting traps. When Sir Cyclops returns,
he
can go and hunt.”

Isabel bristled at the crude reference to Anvrai’s damaged face and crossed her arms over her breasts. “I thought you…Did you not bring us those birds—”

“’Twas Anvrai. He is your mighty hunter.”

The fire caught, and Roger tossed some dried grass onto it, then a few twigs to keep it going. “Don’t let it go out,” he said as he took the ax and stalked away.

Isabel stood motionless for a moment, but when she felt Tillie’s gaze upon her, she busied herself gathering brush and small timber for the fire. She kept an eye upon the path, expecting Anvrai to appear and wishing it would be soon.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Tillie asked.

Tillie’s question shook Isabel, though she forced herself to remain expressionless. Why
would
Anvrai return? His chance of survival would be far greater if he continued alone. He had no need of them, not her, not Tillie, and certainly not Roger. He would be able to travel quickly and stealthily, going over whatever rough terrain he encountered.

Isabel slid her arms ’round herself and hugged away the sudden chill. Unwilling to let Tillie see the worry caused by her question, she
walked away from the site they’d chosen for their camp and headed in the opposite direction from the one Roger had taken.

A cold fist tightened ’round Isabel’s heart. She took a shuddering breath and blinked away tears. As twilight fell, the path became darker, and the trees on each side seemed impenetrable.

She and the others were a burden to Anvrai, but Isabel knew he would not forsake them. As much as he might resent having to take responsibility for them, he had done all that was humanly possible to keep them safe. ’Twas in his nature.

Sniffling once, she brushed away her tears, refusing to believe the worst, certain that Anvrai had likely found himself too far from the path to make his way back to her before nightfall. Surely that was the only reason for his absence. It had naught to do with all that had passed between them.

Yet it
had
. When she would have spoken of her feelings for him, he’d silenced her with a kiss, or with his mind-numbing touch. He had not wanted to hear her words.

Isabel pressed her forehead to a tree and tried to take deep breaths to calm herself, but her tears fell freely. ’Twas ridiculous to weep, after all they’d been through. Surely one night—

“Isabel.”

She whirled ’round at the sound of Anvrai’s voice. He approached her, reaching one hand out, but she closed the distance between them and threw herself into his arms.

“I was so worried!”

His arms went ’round her, warming her, comforting her. She pressed her face against his chest and took a shuddering breath. His heart beat strong and steady against her cheek, his body was warm and musky against hers, and Isabel became incapable of thought.

He slid his hands down her arms and started to pull away. Isabel looked up at him, barely able to discern his features in the fading light. “I thought you had left us,” she said shakily. “When you did not rejoin us, I was—”

“I promised to take you to England, Isabel.”

“Aye, but you have been angry with me all day.”

“I am not angry,” he said, and she heard him sigh.

“But you’ve been so…”

“Isabel, there can be naught between us,” he said, taking a step back. “You know this. Roger…He is the one you chose, the man whom your father approved. Even if I wanted a wife, I could offer you naught.”

Her heart sank as Anvrai walked away. She would never care for Roger or any other man
the way she felt for Anvrai, but he did not want her. She lifted the edge of the old tunic she wore and wiped the tears from her face.

Anvrai looked back just as Isabel lifted his ragged tunic and wiped her tears. He did not enjoy causing her pain and could do naught but regret taking her innocence. He should have been stronger, should have resisted her allure. He had to make her believe he was indifferent to her…when all he wanted was to take her to a soft bed of pine needles, lay her down, and explore the limits of their passion.

It could never be, and the sooner they accepted that, the better it would be for both of them.

He followed the smell of the campfire and soon came upon Roger and Tillie, sitting in silence on opposite sides of the fire. Neither of them seemed relaxed.

Isabel joined them shortly and took a seat near Tillie. She did not look at him, but Anvrai could almost feel the distress in her body. She might hold herself stiffly, but he knew her body was softly curved. She folded her legs under her, and Anvrai’s mind filled with thoughts of how smooth they were, how sensitive they’d been under his hands, how she’d opened them, opened herself, to his attentions.

Roger did not deserve her. Anvrai doubted
the boy would ever grow into an admirable man. He could barely do what was necessary for his own survival, instead, expecting Isabel and Anvrai to serve him and resenting Tillie’s presence for slowing them down.

He bore a red abrasion high upon his cheek from Anvrai’s blow, but no real damage had been done. At least now he held his tongue in regard to Tillie.

When Isabel raised a hand to her mouth and yawned, Anvrai went to the cart and pulled the mattress out. He shook it to redistribute the straw inside, then replaced it on the cart and opened up the blankets they’d brought.

“Isabel, you and Tillie will share the bed. Roger and I will be nearby.”

Roger grumbled under his breath, but said naught as Anvrai took the bags that held their food, tied ropes ’round them, and suspended them from a tree limb several paces from where they would sleep. He wanted to attract no scavengers.

At the same time, Isabel and Tillie prepared for bed while Roger remained sitting by the fire. Anvrai found a blanket for himself, pulled it ’round his shoulders, and slid under the cart. He rolled onto his side and tried to sleep, but it was all wrong without Isabel in his arms.

In two nights’ time, he’d become so accus
tomed to sleeping with her that her absence made slumber nearly impossible.

Rain threatened all the following day. Anvrai constructed a canopy of furs to protect Tillie and Belle in case the rain began, but so far, they had been fortunate. Not only had the weather held, but they were able to cover many miles to the south. They’d had little difficulty covering the terrain Anvrai had scouted the day before, and even if they had to veer east or west, he did not doubt they would soon arrive in friendly Norman territory.