“Then you never knew her.”
“I did not.” Isabella forced a polite smile. “There has only been Faydide.”
“Ah!” the brother’s tone was understanding, and they spoke no more of Faydide. Instead, they exchanged pleasantries as if naught untoward had occurred. The dog climbed into his mistress’s lap and sniffed the edge of the trencher with interest.The music soared as the soup was carried from the kitchens, followed by an array of egg and fish dishes.
“You eat with enthusiasm,” the brother said some moments later, his tone disparaging.
“I apologize if you are offended,” Isabella replied. “I have not eaten these two days.”
“I thought you savored as much as possible before joining the convent,” he said. “Though such gluttony will have to be put aside in such a place.” He very deliberately chose the finest morsel of meat from their trencher and consumed it with satisfaction. He then took another and another, as if he would save her from her own hunger by eating more than his share.
He finally met her gaze. “It is not seemly for a lady to appear overly fond of food or drink,” he said primly. “She should be temperate in her appetites, the better to leave more for others, and also to ensure the merit of her own figure.”
“I see,” Isabella said, pointedly claiming the last morsel of meat. He looked affronted by this, but truly, he was the one who had abandoned courtesy first.
He dabbed his lips fastidiously with his napkin, managing yet to glower at her. “And further, it is the duty of every lady to smile and offer pleasant conversation at the board, to better ensure her chances of a speedy match.”
“How fortunate that I already have a husband,” Isabella said sweetly. She watched his expression sour, then gestured that her cup of wine should be filled again. He caught his breath in disapproval, but she did not grant him another glance.
His sister, meanwhile, fed her dog from the trencher she shared with the Lord de Marnis.
They dined in silence after that, leaving Isabella ample opportunity to wonder how Amaury fared on this night.
Amauryand his company rode hard, the count’s entourage following behind them. The count, to Amaury’s delight, brought not only a large retinue to ensure his own comfort but had made arrangements for an army to be mustered and follow with all haste. He would be later in departing from Sant-André, ensuring that his expectations were made clear, and bade Amaury ride ahead. The villagers from Montvieux were making their own way back to the holding, reassured by Amaury’s return, and would arrive over the following fortnight or so. Amaury was glad that there would be sufficient time to patch roofs and secure their abodes before the foul weather of winter began.
He could only be encouraged by the count’s support and the enthusiasm of Montvieux’s villagers. The future was not without challenges, but progress was made.
The journey homeward seemed shorter, the weather so fair that they made excellent time.
Amaury and Philip were greeted with a cheer, then surrounded by Roland and the others who had remained behind. There was a chatter of news, demanded and offered, but Amaury saw only the concern in Roland’s expression. His brother did not speak a word, but stepped to one side to reveal the one man Amaury had never expected to see again.
Edmund.
Long his father’s trusted confidante, of late in favor with the Lord de Marnis, and now returned to Montvieux, his manner so cringing that Amaury yearned to cast him out forever.
Edmund fell to his knees before Amaury. “I came to you, my lord, for I could do naught else.”
Amaury refrained from offering the older man a list of alternative choices, each and every one of which required his departure from Montvieux. “Aye? Why?”
“You are harsh, my lord, so very harsh. Your time in Palestine has made you forget the loyalty of those who have long served you and your family.”
“I have not forgotten, Edmund, but last I encountered you, you were in the service of the Lord de Marnis. If you are still thus, I doubt you have council for me that will be pleasing.”
“I am not, sir. I am not! I was compelled to go to Marnis after your father’s demise, for they seized me and dragged me there. Otherwise, you would have found me beside my true lord’s grave, patiently awaiting his heir.”
“You would have died, Edmund,” Roland noted. “No man survives months without water or sustenance, no matter the depth of his devotion.”
“Not if you showed me the kindness your father would have expected of you,” Edmund insisted. Roland sighed and averted his gaze, his patience clearly thin.
“Why are you here, Edmund?” Amaury asked.
“To bring you tidings, my lord, tidings and a warning that you might better confound your enemies.”
“My enemies who yet command your services?”
“Oh, my lord, you are unkind, to be sure! I have always served the family of Montvieux with utmost dedication. Your father would be appalled to hear even your tone when you speak with me. Indeed, he must roll within his very grave…”
“What tidings, Edmund?” Amaury asked tersely.
