“Aye,” Amaury agreed and did the same.
The driver was lifting casks down to the ground and exclaimed in frustration when they were but a dozen steps away. “I bade you leave this one behind!” he said, then kicked the cask where Edmund was hidden. “This empty one took up space for no good cause.” He flung out his hands. “When will I ever find a man willing to work who heeds instruction? Not in this sorry world, to be certain!”
Amaury bit back a smile as he delivered the cask, then followed Roland back to the wagon.
He noticed that the ostler had stepped out of the stables and was conferring with a lavishly dressed man. They were some steps away but within earshot. Amaury listened as well as he could, even as he tipped another cask for Roland to roll it away.
“But my lord Mallory, I have not seen him,” the ostler protested. “No one has.”
“Someone should,” the other man argued, his mood evidently poor.
So, this was Isabella’s uncle. Amaury stole another glance.
“I had understood that Edmund had left Marnis for good,” the ostler said. Aye, this would be the fulsome ostler who had told Philip so much. If there were tidings in Marnis, he would know of them.
“He left, to be sure,” Mallory said. “But on an errand for me. I expected him back by this time.”
There was a muted cry from the sealed cask and Amaury exchanged a glance with the driver.
“I should move this one out of your way then,” the driver said. He seized the supposedly empty cask and dropped it from the back of the wagon, then rolled it with enthusiasm across the courtyard. Amaury felt sorry for Edmund in that moment, though there was no sound when the cask was stood upright.
“Ah!” the driver said with annoyance, then rolled it to its side and stood it on the other end.
Meanwhile, Mallory scowled at those gathered in the bailey, unaware that the man he sought was so close at hand.
Amaury and Roland made quick work of the delivery, though the driver berated them all the while. When they were done, they retrieved Edmund’s cask and lashed it to the wagon alone.
“Would you not pay your respects to the son of the house?” Amaury asked the driver. “It is his funeral today.”
“Aye, we should do as much. I will not pay you for the time, though.”
“I would not ask it of you,” Amaury said, bowing low. Roland followed his gesture, and when he straightened, his breath was stolen away.
For Isabella walked toward the chapel, chin high. She wore a simple dress of dark red, one that favored her perfectly and Amaury found himself staring outright at her.
His heart leapt in a most erratic way and he almost strode after her.
“Fool!” Roland said, driving an elbow into Amaury’s ribs. “You will gain naught by gaping at your betters.”
Amaury recovered himself, bowed and apologized, then followed the great company into the chapel. He was keenly aware of the driver’s curious gaze upon him, but more interested in Isabella’s proximity.
How could he steal her away with so many in attendance?
And if he tried, would she deign to accompany him?
The funeral was short,as if the priest himself was hungry and intent upon reaching the board with all haste. Denis was blessed and wished well, then buried in the small churchyard just outside the walls, all in less than an hour. Faydide wailed andwept the entire time, though she composed herself when they all turned toward the hall.
She strove to claim Gaultier’s elbow, but he evaded her and escorted Marguerite instead. Faydide might have walked with Mallory but that man saw fit to invite Isabella to take his arm. Given that the brothers from Haniers were her sole alternative, Isabella accepted, leaving Faydide to enjoy the companionship of Marguerite’s siblings.
She was seated at one end of the high table, beside the priest, while Faydide sat at the opposite end, beside Mallory – who looked displeased with his position. Marguerite was on Gaultier’s left, her brothers on either side of the couple-to-be. This time, the younger brother was beside Isabella and she doubted that was mere happenstance.
Wine was poured, the engagement was announced and the priest made it a formal agreement before the company. Tributes were drunk and toasts were made. The endless ritual of it all was almost sufficient to make Isabella yearn for the convent.
But not quite.
The hall had been filled with delicious scents upon their return and Isabella had not seen such a bounty of dishes at Marnis’ table in a long time. There were eggs and eels, fish, tarts and savory pies, roast meat of every kind, sweets and soups and sauces to tempt the most reluctant of palettes. Even the feast of the night before faded in comparison. There was rabbit in red wine, offered first to Marguerite. (To be sure, Felix, perched upon her lap, had the first bite.)
Faydide seemed intent upon consuming as much wine as possible, darting poisonous glances at her spouse. She left the table after the engagement was announced and vanished into the kitchens. Musicians began to play at Gaultier’s gesture and Isabella sat at her place, nodding periodically at the platitudes uttered by the priest.
