“How long ago was this?”
François shrugged. “An hour? I looked a long time for you.”
She must find someone quickly to ride after them and bring them back. By now, people would be gathered in the hall for breakfast. She ran headlong for the keep, the twins dogging her steps.
“Jamie is a good fighter,” François called out in a valiant attempt to reassure her.
She would find de Roche. He came to Caen with a large contingent of armed men. Surely he could gather enough of them quickly to go after Geoffrey and Jamie.
She barely slowed to a walk as she entered the keep. “Wait here,” she told the twins as she went through the great arched doorway to the keep’s hall. She spotted de Roche at once and made straight for him.
“Philippe, help me!” she called out when she was close enough to be heard. She ignored the disapproval on his face; he would understand as soon as he heard what happened.
He held up his hand. With a laugh, he said to the man next to him, “My bride is anxious to see me.”
“Geoffrey has gone off!” she cried. “You must go after him and bring him back.”
“Calm yourself, my dear. Tell me you have not been running. You are quite out of breath.”
“My brother is gone,” she said between gasps. “You must go at once, or he’ll come to harm, I know it.”
“If you will excuse us,” he said to the man. He took her arm in a bruising grip and led her to a corner.
“You should have asked to speak to me in private,” he said, his eyes flaring with anger. “How dare you approach me in public making demands, telling me I must do this, I must do that!”
“I am sorry, but my brother—”
“Your brother is a grown man. He can make his own decisions and live with the consequences.”
“But can you not go after him? He does not understand—”
“Good God, Isobel, do you think I have nothing better to do than chase after your foolish brother?”
“Do you?” As far as she could tell, he had nothing to do in Caen but negotiate the marriage contract with Robert—and that was going so slowly he could not be giving much time to it.
“I do not need to explain myself to you,” he said. “Your brother is bound to think better of his actions and return. I suggest you go to your chamber and wait for him.”
What sort of man was he? How could he refuse to help her? She had no time to argue. He would not be moved, in any case.
She rose up on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder for someone else she could ask. When she saw Lord Fitz-Alan, she shouted his name and waved her arms.
“Stop that at once,” de Roche said. “You are making a spectacle of yourself.”
FitzAlan was already striding toward her. Praise God! And that was Stephen, right behind him.
“Lord FitzAlan, Sir Stephen,” de Roche greeted them as they approached.
FitzAlan ignored him. “What is it, Lady Hume? You seem distressed.”
“François says my brother and Jamie have ridden out of the city alone,” she said, trying to keep her voice under control.
Stephen gripped her arm. “Does François know their destination, or in what direction they rode?”
“To an abbey, two hours east.” A fragment from one of Geoffrey’s poems came to her. Something about a finger of a martyred saint and… “L’Abbaye de Saint Michele, could that be it?”
“I’ll meet you at the stables,” FitzAlan said to Stephen. “I must leave word for the king that I’ve gone.”
“We shall find them,” Stephen said and gave her arm a quick squeeze as they turned to go.
