There was silence in the chamber as they stared at each other, Edmund looking between them with undisguised curiosity. Mallory appeared to be amused.
“But Iamwed.”
“And I say that you are not. You stand in Marnis, my holding, wheremywill is done.”
“No doubt your father will write to the bishop to have this inappropriate match annulled,” Mallory suggested to Isabella’s outrage.
“Aye!” her father agreed with enthusiasm. “Aye, I will do this very thing, if Isabella must be so impulsive.”
The situation was not Isabella’s fault. She was not the one whose decision defied logic.
There was, however, one detail that could not be ignored. Isabella spoke clearly. “The match is consummated, Father.”
The Lord de Marnis caught his breath and Mallory averted his gaze, his expression becoming pained. Edmund grinned at her in a lecherous manner.
“Wretched girl,” her father said under his breath.
“No man of merit will take her hand now that she is soiled,” Mallory affirmed and her father nodded.
Soiled?
“I did as you commanded,” Isabella began, her temper rising. “I have been a biddable daughter...”
“And I have changed my mind.” Her father spoke to her as if she was a simpleton. “Everything changes with this situation. Do you not see the obvious, you foolish girl? You cannot be wed in this moment, and you can never be wed tothatman.”
Once again, they glared at each other. Panic was rising within Isabella.
The match could only be annulled by the bishop if it was not consummated, and Isabella would not lie about a detail of such import. She could not deny what she had done. She had acted as her father desired, but now he would blame her for the choice.
What would become of her if she was neither maiden nor wife? What if Amaury’s seed took root? She saw more than a shadow in this moment. She saw a vale of darkness fit to consume her.
“Those who God has joined together, let no man put asunder,” she said and fury flashed in her father’s eyes.
She retreated a step as he erupted from his chair, certain he would strike her, and heard Mallory catch his breath.
There was a cry from the bailey in that moment. Her father shoved past Isabella with such vigor that she almost stumbled.
To her horror, Edmund seized her elbow, then grinned at her in a salacious way. “I could console you, my lady.”
It was all too clear what manner of consolation he meant.
“I have a husband!” Isabella snapped, tearing her sleeve from his grasp. She marched after her father, refusing to look back when she heard Faydide snickering behind her. Her step-mother appeared from some crevice and now whispered gleefully to Mallory as they followed the Lord de Marnis. Isabella could not dispel her sense that they wrought a scheme that would benefit only themselves.
Oh, she had been a fool to imagine that all came aright in her life with her marriage.
She was shaking when she reached the bailey, but her anger redoubled when she saw Amaury on the far side of the portcullis.
He was barred from entry to the keep.
Her father did mean to deny her marriage and that truth made Isabella’s heart sink to her toes.
Amaury rodehis destrier and led a familiar chestnut palfrey, one with a figure draped across the saddle. The palfrey must have been the horse Denis had taken this morning to seek his own steed. The white destrier followed behind. There was a trail of blood dripping from Denis and his posture left no doubt that he was dead. Behind Amaury was his companion knight, Thierry, whose expression was grim, and that knight’s squire.
“Lord Gaultier, Lord de Marnis,” Amaury said, his voice carrying over all. “I regret that we should meet again in such circumstance. I bring your son, Denis, home.”
Isabella’s father gave a cry of anguish so potent that many in attendance winced. “Open the gates! Open the gates and bring my son inside! He cannot be dead!”
The portcullis was lifted and Amaury made to ride into the bailey. “I fear he is, sir.”
