Isabella was a fool, but not to have been tempted by Amaury de Montvieux. Her folly had been in obeying her father this time, after that man had proven himself faithless so many times in the past.
Only one man had ever treated her with respect. Even if it had been a deception, it had been a beguiling one. Even if Amaury was destined to tire of her in time, in this moment, Isabella had to believe that her life would be better by his side for some short interval than it could ever be at Marnis. To be consigned to a convent against her will was a worse fate than she had ever imagined possible.
How she had erred.
Worse, there was unlikely to be any chance to repair her mistake.
Woeto any soul fool enough to step into Amaury’s path.
He considered himself a temperate man, one who remained calm in the face of adversity, one who counselled others to cool their wrath, but on this day, he was livid.
His had been a homecoming to exceed all expectations. He had returned to find his father dead, his legacy stolen and his brothers missing; he had been challenged by the Lord de Marnis’ entitled son to accept a wager he should never have been expected to make. He was accused of murder by Gaultier de Marnis, he was cheated of all by that man’s whim – and worst, he was denied by the woman to whom he had pledged himself, less than a day before.
Amaury was outraged. He had never been so poorly treated in all his life. Never had he endured such disrespect.
Never had he anticipated that his new wife would open to him like a flower – then deny their union. Who would guess that Isabella would so confound him?
But she was his wife, regardless of what she might now prefer. The heart of the matter was that those in his family wed once. They wed for all duration. If Isabella de Marnis thought she could cast him aside so readily as this, that lady had much to learn of Amaury de Montvieux. She had willingly put her hand within his. She had made her vows as clearly as he had made his own. And now it was for God alone to put them asunder.
Not the lady or even her father.
Amaury was seldom angry, but his squires understood in this moment that their consolation would be unwelcome. They rode behind him in silence, keeping in the formation he favored, undoubtedly watching their surroundings as avidly as he.
It was Thierry’s chuckle that stirred Amaury from his dark musings. “For years, I have believed you to be a man incapable of anger,” that knight said with amusement. “It seems I did not know you well.”
Amaury exhaled. “I do not think any soul has ever infuriated me as my lady Isabella can.”
“Is it love, then? A heart lost when first your glances met?” Thierry was teasing, but Amaury could not jest about this matter.
“There is something about her that I cannot ignore,” he admitted heavily. “She is no fool. She confides in me when she sees a peril I do not. That speaks of a trust, yet she does not trust me. I see it in her eyes.”
“Only a fool would expect to be chosen over kin,” Thierry said. “Blood is thickest, after all.”
“But she is my wife.”
“And many a wife is treated with disdain or ignored. Who can say what her expectation might be?”
Amaury’s own expectations had been vastly exceeded by the sweetness of his wedding night. How could Isabella have shared that with him and not been determined to fight for more?
“I did heed her,” he said, knowing that he had listened to his brothers first.
“But notfirst,” Thierry noted and Amaury could only nod agreement. She had protested that their match was doomed, but he had not recognized the depth of her conviction in that.
On the other hand, he had been appalled by the way her father had spoken to her. In a way, it was no wonder that she found it so difficult to trust him.
If ever there had been a view Amaury wished to prove wrong, Isabella’s would be it.
He had only to contrive the means of doing as much.
Back at Montvieux,those in the company tended the horses and made some improvements to the camp, as they would be using it for a long while. Amaury became aware of Philip’s silence, which was not common for the boy. When they reached a suitable pause, he beckoned to the boy.
“Walk with me,” he invited and Philip rose immediately to do as much.
Amaury led his squire toward the ruined village, unable to keep from noting how desolate it looked. “You are concerned.”
“I would not challenge your choice, sir.”
“But you have doubts about its merit in one case or another.”
