“Thus far, my lord, there has been only one. I am inclined to believe that she is her mother’s child.”
“I am inclined to believe as much, too, Rosalie.”
The healer, to Amaury’s surprise, fell silent. He waited, sensing she had some detail of import to share.
“There have been tales, my lord,” she said finally.
“Of my lady wife?”
“Of her father.” Rosalie sighed. “It has been said that his refusal to summon a midwife for Lady Eloise was not the sole time he made such a choice.”
Amaury straightened. “I do not understand.”
Rosalie’s fingertips swept downward, down Isabella’s leg toward her ankle. She gestured, Amaury knew, to the one that was twisted, that compelled the lady to limp. “It was a wicked tale, sir. Wicked, wicked.”
“Tell me, Rosalie.”
“I cannot be certain of its truth, my lord.”
“But you suspect it might be true.”
“It would be a consistent choice.” The older woman studied Isabella intently for a long moment, undoubtedly deciding whether to confess the tale. “It was said that she fell. A child stumbling upon the stairs, a child who could not be caught in time.”
“Such incidents happen.”
Rosalie met his gaze steadily. “But it was whispered that the child was defying her father and he taught her a lesson by breaking the bone.”
Amaury caught his breath, outraged at even the possibility. “I will wager he did not call a healer.”
Rosalie shook her head. “The leg was bound and the girl expected to continue without complaint or assistance. Whether the tale is true or not, my lord, she has become a lady of rare strength.”
A lady who knew better than to defy her father. Amaury believed the talewastrue and his heart ached for what Isabella had endured. No wonder she was in no hurry to trust him.
“Do you train an apprentice in these times?” he asked, striving to lighten the mood.
“Given the sorrows of recent years, I have not, my lord.” She surveyed him. “But now that you are returned and wed, perhaps I should do as much.”
Amaury smiled. “My lady and I have spoken of the appeal of filling Montvieux’s hall with sons. I would see her welfare ensured in that endeavor.”
“And I should be honored to be of assistance, my lord.” Rosalie curtsied more deeply than Amaury might have expected she could. Her knee did creak loudly as she straightened, but he gave no indication of having heard it. She eyed him and he thought himself caught, but her words surprised him. “I hear a rumor that you possess a poison stone, my lord.”
“From whom did you hear such a tale?”
“A bird chattering upon the sill,” Rosalie said with a smile.
“It was a gift, though I surrendered it to my lady wife to ensure her safety.”
The healer considered the wounded lady and snorted.
Amaury looked in Isabella’s purse, but the stone was not there. He frowned, troubled that it had been lose, but Rosalie smiled.
“Her stocking,” she said and he eased aside the chemise, noting the lump in the stocking beneath the garter.
“She hid it there,” he said and Rosalie chuckled.
“A wise choice, if it works.”
Amaury surrendered the stone to the healer, watching as she studied it. “It turned black when I placed it upon my father’s lips three days past.”
