“Bah! It will recall me to my younger days, and doubtless encourage me to appreciate home yet more.” He sobered then, his voice falling low. “Will you have need of an army to secure your legacy?”
“I do not know,” Amaury was compelled to admit. “Isabella remained at Marnis, but I fear greatly for her welfare.”
The count’s gaze darkened. “Then we shall muster an army, in anticipation of the worst.” With that, he raised his cup to Amaury. “To the rise of Montvieux and the return of its eldest son. May Dame Fortune smile upon you from this day forth, Amaury.”
“Amen, sir!”
CHAPTER 11
Isabella jumped at the sound of a key in the lock of the door. She had been dozing in one corner, her knees pulled up against her chest and Amaury’s cloak wrapped around her. She was cold, stiff, hungry – and regretting her decision more with every passing moment.
If only she could choose again!
She rose to her feet as the heavy portal was flung open, revealing Mallory. His boots were mired and his manner impatient.
The priest slipped into the chamber, ducking around the formidable barrier of Mallory, quietly murmuring prayers. Denis was arranged in his finery, his hair combed and his features calm, his innards as close to where they belonged as Isabella had been able to manage.
She yearned for a hot bath. She guessed she had been secured in this chamber for at least two days.
“Your father seeks you,” Mallory said curtly, as if Isabella had chosen to absent herself. He glanced toward Denis, then turned away, his quest completed.
“He can scarce have been uncertain where to find me,” Isabella said, indulging her foul mood.
Mallory turned to glare at her, his eyes narrowed. “You are impertinent. Would you rather I secure the door again?”
“I would rather be treated with a measure of courtesy, but that clearly is too much to ask in my own home.”
“It will not be your home for long.”
“So, I have been given to understand. Perhaps that is no bad thing.” She halted alongside Mallory. “I do not suppose I might break my fast? I have not eaten these two days...”
“And you have missed the morning meal already. Hasten yourself, if you mean to join us at the board at midday.” Mallory sniffed with disdain. “You truly have need of a bath and a change of garments, for you are more foul than a peasant.”
“I have been washing the dead, not picking lilies.”
“You have become tart.” He almost smiled, his eyes glowing with anticipation. “Your father will be unimpressed, given the tidings he has to share with you.”
Isabella’s blood ran cold but she strove to grant no sign of her reaction to this odious man. No doubt he had contrived a reward for himself out of the situation. Mallory was like a cat, always landing upon his feet. “Then I had best have a bath and change my garb, the better to please him.”
Mallory gestured gallantly toward the stairs. “One awaits you in your chamber.”
Isabella could not keep her brows from rising. What tidings would her father share? Could Mallory and her father have ensured Amaury’s demise? Eliminating the heir of Montvieux would undoubtedly give her father satisfaction – as it would not please Isabella.
She ducked past her uncle, determined to take advantage of that rumored bath with haste. She was more than glad to put distance between herself and Mallory, though she wondered where he had been. She was aware of an unusual bustle ofactivity, as if some great matter was afoot, and heard unfamiliar voices.
The hall had been draped in dark colors, and the rushes had been changed. Many stood awaiting the lord’s pleasure, their manners somber. Mallory entered the hall and bowed to a lady Isabella did not know, a young woman with golden hair and rich garb. She carried a small dog and two unfamiliar older men in similarly rich clothing stood behind her, their expressions proud. The Lord de Marnis was smiling at the maiden, as if she was a favored child.
Though Isabella yearned to know what transpired, she wished more heartily to be clean. She hastened up the stairs.
There were three chambers at the top of the stairs: the solar occupied by her father flanked by two smaller rooms. The room of middle size had been used by Denis and shared of late with Mallory, while the smallest of the three, was claimed by Faydide. Once, Faydide had shared the solar with the Lord de Marnis, but the days (and nights) of such intimacy were behind that couple. She had moved into Isabella’s chamber, ousting Isabella from her own bed, after the death of her last son in childbirth, and had never left. Isabella had a pallet in that chamber.
To Isabella’s relief, there was a full tub steaming in that room, with braziers lit beside it. Mallory had not lied. Nor had he shared the fullness of the truth, for Faydide lounged in the bath, her two maids waiting in attendance.
Of course, she looked inclined to linger there until the water was as cold as ice.
Isabella’s temper was dangerously thin, but she kept her tone even. “Mallory says Father is impatient to share his great tidings.”
“What tidings?” Faydide snapped, gripping the sides of the wooden tub and twisting to face her. “What is happening?”
