“Aye.”
“If my father did not kill your father himself, he profited from it in claiming the treasury.” Her expression turned fierce. “We must find the seal of Montvieux. Whoever holds it must be responsible for your father’s demise.”
“I wonder if that person might have kept the box from Beaune, for it has vanished as well.”
She fixed a look upon him. “Do you know what it looked like?”
Amaury told her and her gaze flicked, as if she strove to recall some detail.
“I think I have seen such a box,” she murmured. “Though I am uncertain where or when. It sounds familiar. It must have been at Marnis.”
“You will not return there to seek it.”
“Of course, I will. It is my holding and legacy, after all.”
“You will not go alone,” Amaury insisted. “And you will not leave Montvieux until you are fully healed.”
“You are a tyrant, sir,” Isabella said but she was smiling. She reached up and smoothed the frown from between his brows with her fingertip. “I cede that you will come with me, and we will slip the poison stone into every item we intend to consume.”
“There is a wise course of action,” Amaury said, pulling out the stone again. He untied her chemise, baring her breast to his view and considered her rosy nipple. He set the stone against it and the chill of the stone made the nipple tighten to a point.
“The stone remains green,” he said solemnly, studying her breast intently. “It appears that there is no threat of poison here.”
Isabella started to laugh, then caught her breath when Amaury bent and captured that nipple in a kiss. He rolled the stone down her belly, nestling it in her navel as he teased her nipple with his teeth and his tongue. She whispered his name as his fingers eased the stone between her thighs, and he smiled as she gasped and parted her thighs.
“No poison here either,” he whispered, meeting her merry gaze, then slipped beneath the hem of her chemise to replace the stone with his teasing tongue.
Isabella could not have been morecontent.
It was true that the wound in her shoulder gave her some annoyance, but she could not complain about having Amaury’s attention so fixed upon her. He was thoughtful and protective beyond all expectation, and tender when they were intimate abed. The next few days were quiet ones for her, her main activities when she left the tent being the consumption of meals intended to fortify her. Rosalie visited her daily and seemed pleased with her progress.
And best of all, Amaury showed her Montvieux. He escorted her through the ruined village. Though she expected sadness on his part, he directed her attention to the villeins who had returned and how they rebuilt their homes. His pride could not be disguised, nor his satisfaction. He conferred with the villagers and was encouraging, always prepared to offer assistance or guidance. His gift was an optimism that Isabella admired greatly. It was not for Amaury to dwell upon injustice; his way was to seek a means of improvement.
They talked of crops and tillage, of his mother’s garden and the need for an orchard. They discussed the depth to which the verges should be trimmed and considered the layout of the keep he intended to build. His affection for Montvieux was infectious and admirable.
Amaury was delighted when the miller returned with his family and embraced that man so warmly that Isabella was a bit surprised. She learned then that the miller had been the one to guide the villagers to safety, and also that Philip was the miller’s son.
Again, Amaury’s choices defied expectation, but she could not have imagined a more valiant or faithful squire than Philip had been. The boy spent part of each day with his family after their return, assisting in the reconstruction of the mill. Amaury himself shed his hauberk to help on the second day and soon the familiar sound of a millstone turning carried through the air – followed by a resounding cheer.
Each day, more of the villagers returned. Each day, the company around the nightly bonfire grew a little bigger. Roland was put in command of the village reconstruction and it seemed to Isabella that he blossomed beneath the weight of that responsibility, and perhaps with Amaury’s steady guidance. Each night, the men sat by the fire and conferred, and she thought that Amaury held a kind of court there. Hisattentiveness was more than worthy of respect, and she felt his optimism spread through the ranks of all those who were sworn to him. They set out a schedule for courts and hearings, acknowledging the traditions of Montvieux.
On one fine day, she walked the footprint of the old keep with Amaury, listening as he explained how it might change. He invited her thoughts that the plan might be improved before the masons arrived and began their labor, and his enthusiasm never failed to make her smile.
What a man she had wed. Isabella sat upon a great stone when she became tired, watching Amaury debate the position of a dungeon with his men. She liked that he heeded their suggestions, compiling a solution that used the best of their experiences.
A man spoke suddenly from her side. “He oft challenges expectation, does he not?”
Isabella looked up to find one of Amaury’s companions standing beside her, awaiting her attention. “You and your brother resemble each other greatly, but I believe you are Thierry.”
“I am indeed.” He bowed to her. “Thierry Douglas, my lady, at your service, though we have not spoken as yet. And not just brothers: Luc and I are twins.” He hesitated and she felt his expectation. She gestured to the place beside herself and he sat on the ground beside the rock, his gaze returning to Amaury.
“Twins,” she said. “Your parents must have been delighted to have two sons at once.”
He laughed a little. “Perhaps not my mother in those first moments, though she came to be glad of it in time.” His brows rose. “And my father said that both sides of the argument needed a defender.”
“You often disagree with your brother then?” Isabella asked with a smile.
“We often come to similar conclusions by different routes.” His diplomacy made her smile broaden.
