He was half hidden from view, flattened across the top of a great rock he admired. A tree grew atop this massive stone, its roots seeming to clutch the rock. Denis’ hand was plunged into the shadows beneath the trunk of the tree.
“It is still here, Isabella! My treasure has been safe all winter!” He removed his hand to examine his prize, the wind in his hair, and Isabella’s eyes flew open in the darkness.
Of course.How could she have forgotten her brother’s favorite hiding place, the one for his best treasures? She did not remember what his prize had been that day, and it did not matter. No one else had ever found that hiding spot or used it – except for a weasel one autumn, which had chosen it as a nest and taken exception to Denis’ visit. The disgust had been mutual, as she recalled, though she did not know whether the weasel had left of its own accord or Denis had evicted it.
On this night, the moonlight shone through the silk of the tent, casting shadows across the interior. She could hear the murmur of men’s voices, so calm that she knew the sentries exchanged tidings and that all was well. She could hear the river of Montvieux, which perhaps had encouraged her memory. Amaury breathed steadily beside her, radiating warmth and reassurance just by his presence.
The seal of Montvieux and the signet ring. That had to be what Denis had taken from the treasury and hidden in his favored spot. Perhaps it was in a box, one that could be opened with that third key.
If she was right, she knew the location of Amaury’s sole desire.
But what to do about it?
If she confided in Amaury, he would ride immediately for Marnis to claim the prize. She wondered if he would evenmanage to reach the hiding place, for someone at Marnis wanted him dead. Amaury was certain that she had been the intended victim of that bowsman, but Isabella believed otherwise.
She was only a woman. If she lived, she would be forced to enter a convent or otherwise cheated of her due. Amaury, though, Amaury had to die for his claims to both Marnis and Montvieux to be lost.
She shivered in the darkness and he rolled over in his sleep, gathering her into his arms and nestling closer. She raised a hand to him, thinking that his true nature could not be disguised: even in sleep, he was protective of her and concerned with her welfare.
She would be a wife equally concerned with his advantage.
It was entirely possible that Isabella might not be able to secure Denis’ prize herself. It was entirely possible that she would be threatened to place Amaury in jeopardy. It was also possible that she would succeed, surrender the seal to Amaury and he would decide that he had no need for her as his wife. His objective always had been Montvieux, and he had made compromises only in pursuit of that goal.
A small doubt lingered in her heart, but she did not truly believe he would do as much. She trusted him. Her own heart burned with a fierce love for this man, and she felt a protectiveness that surely must match his own. She wanted him to have Montvieux, and she would take any risk to ensure his happiness.
“Cold?” he murmured, his lips against her ear.
She turned a little, then touched her lips to his. “Nay, sir.”
She saw his lashes flutter and his eyes opened, his expression turning to amusement when she ran her hand down his chest. “What might I do to ensure your comfort?” he murmured and she smiled.
“You may have an idea, my lord.” She kissed him again, emboldened by his manner and her own conviction. “I had a dream,” she whispered in his ear, then pressing a kiss to his earlobe. She felt him shiver with desire and flicked her tongue against his skin so that he growled.
“And what did you dream, my lady?”
“That the hall of Montvieux rose in stone around me, and it was filled with sons of the house, each and every one with dark hair and blue eyes.”
“Surely some of them had brown eyes?” He leaned over her, clearly pleased by the prospect, and granted her a satisfying kiss.
“Perhaps a few,” she whispered. “They were all tall.” Amaury chuckled and she lowered her lashes to hide the fullness of her heart. “Let us strive to make that dream come true.”
“My lady’s wish is my very command,” he said in a low rumble, his eyes glowing with intent. His kiss was triumphant, stirring all the passion within her, and Isabella could only wind her arms around his neck and kiss him back.
If she failed in her quest on this day, this might be the last time they were together, and she would make it a night to remember.
She would hope even now to conceive Amaury’s son.
When she dressed for this day, she would put the signet ring of Marnis upon her finger again, a mark of her resolve.
Amaury foundhimself inclined to whistle that morning. He awoke to find Isabella yet asleep and kissed her brow before he rose and washed. Philip had learned to assist him silently, as he was always awake sooner than his wife, but by the time he was armored, Isabella sat up with a yawn.
“Are you earlier than usual?” she asked, so adorably sleepy that he yearned to return to bed again. He loved when she was disheveled and when she smiled softly at him, for he felt that she showed him a vulnerability that was hidden from so many others.
He could not believe that he had ever thought her inscrutable, much less devoid of passion.
He found himself leaning over her, indulging in another sweet kiss. “We ride to meet the count,” he confessed.
“I remember, but I thought he would arrive later.” She pulled him down, offering a demanding kiss of her own, one that made his heart thunder. “You could linger a little.”
