“Who dares to make camp upon the lands governed by the Lord de Marnis?” Denis demanded of no one in particular, then summoned the party onward with a flick of his gloved hand. The horses cantered at the pace he set and the beaters had to run to keep up. The dogs raced ahead, certain there could be naught better than this frolic.
As they drew closer, Isabella spied a number of horses grazing beyond the tent, perhaps a dozen of them, several of which appeared to be destriers. She could see men staking the tent and a number of boys around the men and the horses.
They must be knights. Those must be their squires. It was a company that set camp. Why here? Why now? Her interest redoubled. When one of the men looked over his shoulder, she felt a tingle of anticipation. He turned and braced his hands upon his hips, fairly daring Denis to ride toward him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his mail hauberk glinting beneath the hem of his tabard and at his neck. His hair was black and wavy, long enough to curl at his nape, and his tabard was deep blue.
It was graced by three white fleur de lis.
Isabella’s heart skipped for he could be only one man.
After eight long years, Amaury de Montvieux was returned from Palestine. He was not dead, after all!
She doubted he was pleased with what he had found.
Isabella was uncommonly glad to be present as witness of his return. She had always admired the son of their neighbor and her father’s rival. She had always believed that Amaury de Montvieux was the most handsome, noble and chivalrous knight in all of Christendom. He had scarce glanced her way all those years ago, but after he rode to crusade, Isabella had prayed daily for his safe return.
Her prayers were proven this day to have power. She watched him hungrily, noting that he seemed yet whole and hale, relief making her breath catch. What a glorious man he was. The sight of him had made her heart skip years ago, when he had been but a youth and she, a clumsy maiden. But now he was a knight and a man, one who moved with purpose and grace, and the weight of his gaze upon her, even for a heartbeat, was sufficient to thrill Isabella to her toes. She sat straighter in the saddle, wishing she might have been more than she was, but knowing it was for the best.
The most handsome men had the blackest hearts, she reminded herself. They lied to secure their own advantage, and oft possessed the charm to hide their intentions – even their cruelty. She knew this well, and knew it well enough that she could never forget it.
But still, she could look upon Amaury de Montvieux and perhaps nurture a tiny dream that he might defy all she knew to be true.
CHAPTER 2
Amaury strode toward Denis as if he was not at any disadvantage. He halted a dozen steps away and surveyed Isabella’s half-brother, his expression wary. “You must be Denis de Marnis, by your colors. I would not have known you. You were but a boy when I rode east.”
“Yet fully knighted now, and proven on the battlefield.” There was a sharpness in Denis’ tone, as there often was when he felt he had fallen short of a measure. “And who are you? You trespass on my father’s lands…”
“Yourfather’s lands? It is my father who lies in the crypt of Montvieux, alongside his forebears.”
Denis stuttered for a moment. “You are Amaury de Montvieux?”
“And no other, returned home after eight years abroad to find this.” He gestured broadly in the direction of the former keep. “Are you responsible for this travesty?”
“Montvieux burned, through no influence of mine,” Denis huffed. His destrier stamped impatiently and tossed its head.
Amaury stepped forward and seized the beast’s bridle. Isabella almost smiled that the stallion gave one last stamp, then flicked his ears, ceding to Amaury’s aura of command.
Denis straightened like a viper about to strike. “I had naught to do with it, and neither did my father.”
“Though you claim my ancestral holding as your father’s own,” Amaury noted. Red rose on the back of Denis’ neck, making him look young in contrast to the knight. “Tell me now if you were the one to strike down my father.”
“He died in his sleep,” Denis said but Amaury’s glare compelled him to continue. “Though he and my father were at odds.”
“That, at least, did not change.” Amaury’s tone was wry and Isabella almost smiled. The antagonism between their fathers had been long-standing and of common knowledge. She knew her own father said a great deal in privacy about Lucien de Montvieux, particularly when the wine had been flowing, and wondered if Amaury’s father had done the same.
How sad it must be for Amaury to arrive home and not find his father awaiting him. Isabella had always suspected that Lucien de Montvieux had been close to his sons.
Her half-brother clearly felt no such compassion. “My father insisted that Montvieux become a daughter house of Marnis and rightly so, though your father protested the wisdom of this scheme.” Disdain touched Denis’ voice and Amaury bristled visibly. “You cannot know the truth of it, for you have been away, so I will tell you.” If Denis strove to sound gracious, he failed. He sounded haughty. “Montvieux’s harvests have been meagre. Your justice has been inadequate. Your forests are occupied by criminals and vermin who prey on passersby. My father knew it would be safer for all for him to assume command of Montvieux.”
“I wager my father did not agree.”
“Nay, he did not. The two were to meet and parlay at the bridge between our lands but your father never arrived. Fearing duplicity, my father sent me to these gates where Ilearned of your father’s demise. The seneschal surrendered the seal immediately.” Isabella could hear the smile in her brother’s voice. “It was the most peaceful conquest I have ever known.”
“Where are my brothers?”
“Who can say? They fled like the cowards they are.”
There was a terse moment then, as if Amaury did not believe Denis, as if he feared his brothers shared the fate of his father. When he spoke, his question surprised her. “Why did your father fear duplicity?”
