Rosalie caught her breath and returned the stone hastily to Amaury. She then turned away, muttering to herself as she checked again upon Isabella’s wound. “It is the curse of Marnis come to Montvieux, my lord.”
“Nay, Rosalie, I suspect it was a person from Marnis come to Montvieux, to do wickedness.”
“You must catch him and oust him, sir!”
“I intend to try, Rosalie. Have you any tidings to share with me of my father’s end?”
To his disappointment, she shook her head. “I was down at the river, my lord. I saw no one and heard no one, save the birds and the fishes. My lord Roland sought me out, though ’twas too late for me to be of aid.” She crossed herself and surveyed the chamber, as if comparing it now with how it had been then. Or perhaps she remembered her last sight of his father. Amaury could not say, and she said no more on the matter. “She must be kept warm, my lord.” To his surprise, Rosalie granted him a coy smile. “I suspect a husband might be of merit in such an endeavor.”
Amaury smiled and thanked the healer, ensuring that Roland saw her back to her abode. He sat with Isabella, hating that there was even a possibility of her father having treated her thus, understanding a little better why she hid her thoughts so very well and trusted so reluctantly. He could not believe that she summoned him on this day to betray him.
Amaury put the stone into his purse, then called to Philip to aid him in removing his hauberk. He heard the company settle and felt the chill of night falling, but could not still his thoughts. He finally laid down beside Isabella, attuned to her every breath, hoping for the best.
He could not lose her now, not when he felt on the cusp of understanding her, not when they seemed to have a chance of building the life together that he desired above all else.
It was after midnight when Isabella gave a small sigh, then she rolled toward him. Amaury waited, holding his breath, but she nestled against him with contentment, her hand falling upon his chest. It halted directly over his heart, as if the feel of his pulse gave her solace. Her brow was cool and he was glad she had no fever. When he looked down, her lips were curved in the slightest of smiles, and that alone reassured him.
He dared to believe that his lady would recover, and with that, he finally slept.
CHAPTER 16
Isabella awakened surrounded by warmth. Her shoulder was sore, but she felt so comfortable otherwise that she strove to ignore it. There was linen beneath her fingertips and the muscled strength of another person pressed against her side, from shoulder to toe. Even better, she smelled the musk of a man’s skin, a scent that she already knew she would never forget.
Amaury.
She opened her eyes and he sighed contentment. “At last,” he murmured, touching his lips tenderly to her brow. She felt flustered that he had been watching her sleep and more so when he pulled back to study her intently. “How bad is the pain?”
With that, Isabella began to sit up and Amaury supported her, advising her to move more slowly. She wore only her chemise, the garment torn, and there was linen wrapped around her aching shoulder. “My mother’s gown,” she whispered in fear, thinking of the fortune secured in its hem.
“Safe in that trunk,” Amaury said, his tone reassuring. “You were most worried about it. I did not even let Philip try to remove the blood.”
“Good,” she exhaled. Fearing the worst, she looked about herself and realized they were in the tent at Montvieux.
Alone.
Truly, there was no place she would rather be.
Amaury, too, wore only his chemise and there was a night’s growth in his whiskers. The morning sunlight shone through the red silk and he was watching her closely, his eyes that vivid blue. She swallowed and averted her gaze.
Her stockings and shoes were gone, though the cord with its three keys was yet around her waist. Only Amaury’s ring remained upon her left hand. She lifted her hand in consternation that she had lost the signet ring, but he led her hand to the cord with the keys.
“I placed the signet ring here,” he said softly. “For it was loose upon your finger.”
She dared to look up and meet his gaze. “You found the poison stone.”
“It is back in my purse, for safekeeping.” His eyes darkened and he bent to brush his lips across hers again. “I feared you lost, my Isabella,” he whispered, his voice so husky that Isabella’s breath caught.
“They meant to kill you,” she replied just as quietly. “I summoned you and it might have been to your death. I am sorry I erred…”
Amaury kissed her resolutely to silence.
“I thank you for the stone,” she confessed unsteadily. “You were right that my father had been poisoned, for the stone turned dark when touched to his lips. I should never have been certain otherwise. And later, nigh every morsel prepared for me also changed the hue of the stone. I am sorry, Amaury, that I feared you responsible for my father’s demise.”
“It was only reasonable of you. You heard my vow, after all.” That he was prepared to excuse her so readily made herfeel even more guilty for doubting him. “Did you learn who was responsible?”
Isabella shook her head. “I cannot say. It might have been any of them, for my father could be vexing.” Amaury snorted beneath his breath. “I meant to ask Simon, the seneschal, what he had learned, but he brought me food that had been tainted.”
“Simon might not have been the one to tamper with it. I see no gain for him in your death or even that of your father.”
