Song of Isabel Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Ida Curtis

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

  Published 2018

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-63152-371-7 pbk

  ISBN: 978-1-63152-372-4 ebk

  Library of Congress Control Number:2017956049

  Book Design by Stacey Aaronson

  For information, address:

  She Writes Press

  1563 Solano Ave #546

  Berkeley, CA 94707

  She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.

  At the beginning of the ninth century, the Frankish Empire included territory that is now France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, and half of Italy. King Charles, or Charlemagne, as he became known, ruled this vast empire.

  When Charlemagne died in 814, the long reign of his son Louis began. Unlike his father, who enjoyed having grandchildren and encouraged his daughters to bear children out of wedlock, Louis was committed to the Christian view of marriage and became known as Louis the Pious.

  PROLOGUE

  Narbonne, 817

  WHEN ISABEL PLUCKED THE BRIGHT RED flower from the rich soil, she felt an immediate reaction. The ground shook as though Mother Earth were protesting the theft. But that wasn’t what made the peaceful meadow quake and thunder with sound; it was galloping horses heavy with the trappings of war.

  “Run, Isabel, run!” Emma’s voice was shrill with panic as she raced through the brush that bordered the meadow.

  Isabel, wide-eyed with admiration at the sight of the giant horses, stood her ground. Her father’s farm horses were tame compared with the magnificent beasts racing toward her. She paid no attention to a young soldier who was shouting to attract the attention of the others. Only when Isabel lifted her eyes from the horses did the sight of four soldiers bearing down on her give her pause.

  As the riders slowed their horses and circled around her, it dawned on Isabel why Emma had urged her to flee. Both girls had heard cautionary tales of how soldiers mistreated peasant women. But Isabel wasn’t a peasant, and she glared at them as they continued to circle her.

  “Yo, what have we here?”

  “A young, fresh one by the look of her.”

  “But old enough, I wager.”

  They leered at the silent Isabel and encouraged each other with lewd remarks. “Look how she is ripening.” “A tasty treat.” “Time for a little refreshment.”

  Suspecting it would be unwise to show the fear that was knotting her stomach, Isabel watched for a break in their circle. She knew if she could reach the trees where Emma had disappeared, she’d have a chance to escape into the forest where the horses couldn’t follow.

  Even as she was planning her escape, one of the men jumped down from his horse and grabbed her arm in an iron grip. Under his helmet, ugly scars marred his cheek, but he smiled at Isabel as though he thought she should appreciate his attentions.

  Trying to shake her arm loose, Isabel became furious at his daring. “Release me, you oaf! My father is lord of the manor. He will have you whipped to death for touching me.”

  The large man paused to study Isabel, but he didn’t release her arm. When she attempted to pull free of his hold, he laughed.

  “A lady of the manor? Dressed like a peasant and roaming about in the meadow? What do you say, men?”

  Another soldier, who appeared much younger than the first, dismounted to have a better look. “Looks too wild to be a lady. I say she be putting on airs.” His hand whipped out and ripped Isabel’s dress so that it fell off one shoulder. He stared at the small breast he had uncovered. “Looks ready to pluck,” he said, making a sucking sound with his mouth.

  Isabel’s courage fled, and she was suddenly sorry she had insisted on dressing like her friend Emma. With a trembling hand, she managed to pull her dress up enough to cover her breast. Straightening her shoulders, trying to hide her fear, she looked to the first soldier who still grasped her arm. He was older, and she hoped he might be more apt to listen to reason.

  “My father is Lord Theodoric.” By now her voice had lost its haughty edge. “You will be sorry if you do not cease your abominable behavior.”

  “Listen to her,” the young one scoffed. “Don’t she talk fancy?”

  At her words, the scar-faced soldier released her arm and pulled back. “She sounds educated to me. Maybe she is the lord’s daughter.”

  When the older one retreated, Isabel saw her chance. Dodging past him, she started running for the woods. There was a loud protest close behind her, and she feared the younger one was running after her. She hoped he would be too burdened by heavy armor to catch her, but then she realized another rider had come to his aid. The man on horseback cut her off, and when she had to slow down, the one on foot caught her by the hair.

  Isabel’s hair was thick, and it felt like he was pulling out a large chunk of it. Effectively imprisoned, she tried to blink away the tears of pain and frustration that leaked from her eyes.

  “That’s better,” the soldier panted as he pulled her around to face him. “I’ll share her with you, Roul.”

  Realizing her only chance to break free was for him to let go of her hair, Isabel went limp and waited for the soldier to loosen his grip. Believing she had given up, he said, “Now, that’s better.”

  As Isabel had hoped, the soldier released her hair to tear at her dress. Isabel grabbed his hand as it ripped her sleeve, biting into the fleshy part at the base of his thumb until her teeth hurt. The soldier screamed and tossed her away from him. Before she could regain her balance and run away, a heavy blow to the side of her head knocked her to the ground.

  Groggy, Isabel tried to crawl away from her attacker, who suddenly cursed. She thought his words were for her, but she heard a different voice shout, “Get away from her!”

  “She bit me,” her attacker whined.

  “You’ll get more than a bite if you’re here when Malorvic arrives. You’re supposed to be scouting the area.”

  Isabel heard horses riding away. She rolled to her back to see if she was alone. Although her hair, as well as something warm and sticky, was blurring her vision, she felt a presence nearby. Blinking, she tried to sit up, hoping her rescuer was someone she knew.

  “Just lie still while I see how badly you’re hurt.” His voice was kind, but unfamiliar. “You took a hard blow to your head,” he said as he leaned close and arranged her torn dress to cover her.

  His touch was gentle and Isabel did as he asked. She felt him moving her hair. “His wrist leather broke the skin, and you’re bleeding. Can you see me, little one?”

  Struggling to see his face, all Isabel could make out was a golden light. She kept blinking and trying to focus.

  “There’s a bright light,” she whispered.

  “Sorry, little one. It’s the sun that’s blinding you. Is that better?”

  He must have moved his head between her and the sun, as she could now see the dark outline of his face surrounded by a golden light. Isabel smiled up at him. “You’re an angel. I can see your golden halo.” Relieved by what she saw, she gave in to her need for release.

  CHETWYND LEANED OVER TO MAKE SURE THE GIRL WAS still breathing.

  “Is she dead?”

  He turned to stare at another young girl standing above them. She looked much like the injured girl, but her dar
k hair hung down in neat braids. He almost laughed at her blunt words, but managed to answer seriously, “No, she just fainted. Are you her friend?”

  “Yes. You saved Lady Isabel from the soldiers. I saw you chase them away.”

  “This is Lady Isabel?” Chetwynd was stunned to realize that the slip of a girl lying on the ground was the daughter of Lord Theodoric and sister of his friend Justin. “What was she doing out here?”

  “Isabel and I were picking flowers. I ran when the soldiers came, but Isabel loves horses. She wasn’t afraid.”

  “Well, she should have been. What’s your name, girl?”

  “Emma.”

  “I need your help, Emma. I know the manor is some distance away. Is there a cottage nearby where I can take Lady Isabel?”

  “Our cottage is not far. I’ll show you. My mother has healing skills.”

  By this time, there was a large troop of soldiers in the meadow. A few slowed and made smutty remarks when they saw Chetwynd carrying the young girl. Lord Malorvic, recognizing one of his most trustworthy warriors, stopped and listened to Chetwynd’s explanation.

  “Damn. I had hoped to spend the night at the manor, but I don’t want any trouble. It’s best that we move on. Are you sure she’s Lady Isabel?”

  “I don’t doubt the word of her friend. Besides, she showed a spirit that reminds me of her brother. I’d like to stay and make sure her wound is tended, my lord.”

  Malorvic nodded. “Catch up with us when you’re done,” he said, clearly eager to be off.

  At the cottage, Chetwynd sat crossed-legged by Isabel’s pallet and watched as Emma’s mother stitched the long cut above the unconscious girl’s left eye. He had often observed wounds being repaired, and had even done some of that duty himself. But the young age of the patient troubled him. He prayed she wouldn’t wake up until the woman was done, and his prayer was answered.

  After Emma’s mother had secured the last stitch, she turned to Chetwynd. “Saints preserve us. It’s fortunate you came along when you did. From what Emma told me, you saved Lady Isabel from ruin.”

  Chetwynd stared down at the small face that appeared pale despite her sun-darkened complexion. “Will she have a scar?” he asked.

  “No doubt. But she has enough hair to cover it. Perhaps the mark will remind Lady Isabel to be more cautious in the future,” she said, although Chetwynd could tell by her smile that she was fond of Isabel and meant her remark only as a mild rebuke.

  “I promise you the men responsible will be punished.”

  She shrugged, clearly not confident he spoke the truth. “You said your troop has already left. It’s best that news of what happened not get back to the manor. I will keep Lady Isabel here.”

  “Won’t someone be looking for her?” Chetwynd asked.

  “It’s not unusual for her to stay with us a few days. There is no reason to upset her father or her betrothed.”

  Chetwynd understood that, despite Lady Isabel’s innocence, such an incident might cause gossip and ruin her reputation. Since her father held a large and valuable property, he wasn’t surprised that she was already betrothed. Still, looking down at her small form, she seemed too young for marriage.

  As though responding to his thought, Emma’s mother said, “Lady Isabel is already twelve and will be married this summer. She hasn’t met her betrothed yet, but I’ve heard he has grandchildren.”

  Chetwynd couldn’t help grimacing at the thought of the young girl married to a man old enough to be her grandfather. It happened all the time, he reminded himself as he started to rise.

  Suddenly Lady Isabel moved restlessly on the pallet and murmured, “I saw an angel, Emma.”

  Chetwynd grinned. If only she knew, he thought. Then he took his leave before Lady Isabel became fully conscious.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Narbonne, 825

  AT THE SOUND OF POUNDING HOOVES, Isabel fell to her knees and crawled behind the nearest thicket. She made it a habit to walk at the edge of this particular meadow where there was plenty of brush to hide her from view. Cautiously she raised her head just enough to peer through the branches and watch the muscular legs that shook the ground beneath her. She enjoyed the precision and rhythm of the horses especially bred for the warriors of King Louis. Their long legs pounded the earth, and their power never failed to excite her.

  Despite their size and energy, Isabel had no fear of the horses. It was the soldiers riding them who made her cautious. She’d never forgotten the feeling of helplessness she’d experienced in this same meadow when other soldiers had overpowered her. Eight years had passed, but the incident still haunted her.

  Rolling onto her back, Isabel stared at the patches of blue sky visible through the branches of the trees. The memory of that day was not all terror. A glimmering image stayed with her, a bright recollection that warmed her heart. It was associated with the warrior who had rescued her from the clutches of her would-be ravishers.

  After the attack, it frustrated Isabel not to be able to recall his face. “What did he look like?” Isabel had asked her friend Emma.

  “Beautiful. He was beautiful. You thought he was an angel,” Emma had replied with a giggle.

  “Men aren’t beautiful,” Isabel protested. “Tell me exactly what he looked like.”

  “Tall, I guess. No beard. Maybe younger than the others. They seemed to respect him and backed off at his words.”

  “What else do you remember, Emma? He carried me. He must have been strong,” she prompted.

  “I suppose. You don’t weight much.” Emma shrugged. “Mainly I remember his golden hair. It was long and curly. That’s why you thought he was an angel. Everything happened fast. That’s all I remember.”

  Although Isabel had asked her friend many times to repeat the story, Emma had never been able to give her the detailed information she sought. Frustrated, Isabel would close her eyes and bring to mind her own memories of her hero. There was the mellow, soothing sound of his deep voice as he spoke kind and reassuring words. When he adjusted her ripped clothing to cover her breast, his hands had been gentle, although she recalled feeling hard edges on his fingers. She imagined the calluses on his hands, as well as the scent of his body, resulted from controlling a magnificent war horse. Over the years, the memory of his touch had progressed from gentle contact to caress.

  Shaking her head, Isabel cleared away the memories she had stored away and revisited many times. The meadow was quiet. No doubt the soldiers would seek shelter for the night at her father’s manor house before continuing north. Isabel knew it would be the first of many stops they would make on their route from the barrier against the Moors on the southernmost boundary of King Louis’s empire. Charlemagne was dead, and King Louis was doing his best to protect the Holy Roman Empire his father had ruled after being crowned emperor by Pope Leo III in 800. Since guarding against invaders along the Spanish March was a desolate tour of duty, the warriors would be happy to be headed for one of the king’s palaces in the north.

  For a few years after the vicious attack that had left Isabel with a thin scar below her hairline, she waited for her champion to return. Unwilling to face visiting soldiers, any one of whom could be her attacker, she often hid behind a convenient tapestry in her father’s great hall and searched the assembled lot. Although frustrated that she didn’t have a better description, Isabel was certain her golden hero was never among them.

  When all the warriors had passed her hiding place, Isabel ran through the woods to her favorite refuge, a secluded pond that few people knew existed. She peeled off her slippers, vest, and heavy gown. Heated from her run, she found the pond especially inviting. Wearing only a thin shift, Isabel waded into the cool water.

  After paddling about quickly to give her warm body a chance to become used to the chilly water, Isabel relaxed. Floating on her back, she squinted at the sun filtering through the trees. Although she was not the first to discover it, Isabel thought of this place as her own. Many years ago, her olde
r brother, Justin, had laid claim to the secret pond on one of his frequent journeys of exploration through the thick forest on their father’s land. The children had been warned against such jaunts, but Justin had been fearless and Isabel tried to emulate him.

  She had been but five years old when she followed the brother she adored as he slipped away from the manor. When he discovered her, Justin tried to send her home. But by that time, they were already at the pond and Isabel kept jumping into the water. Justin realized he had to teach her to swim or watch her drown.

  The only children of Lord Theodoric, Justin and Isabel spent a great deal of time in each other’s company. Their mother had died shortly after Isabel was born, and their father never remarried. Once Isabel was able to swim, Justin ignored the fact that she was a girl and treated her as an equal. Being included in his many adventures was one of her happiest memories.

  But when Justin reached his twelfth year, everything changed. Since it was the custom for young noblemen to be trained on estates much larger than his, Lord Theodoric arranged for his son to enter the household of Count Jonas. Justin would begin his education as a page, serving in the great hall. If all went well, he’d advance to learning how to ride and handle weapons, skills necessary for a knight who would serve the king.

  As the servants packed the things Justin would need on his journey, Isabel wailed her protests, insisting that she be allowed to go with him. No matter how hard her grandmother tried, she could not convince Isabel of the justice of the tradition that sent male progeny off to be educated while females stayed with their families.

  After Justin left, Isabel missed him terribly and in rebellion refused to learn any of the household skills her grandmother tried to teach her. It was summer, and Isabel continued to roam the forest and swim in the pond that she had shared with Justin.

  Isabel’s loneliness ended when she met Emma. The daughter of one of her father’s tenant farmers, Emma turned out to be a kindred spirit. Isabel initiated Emma into the pleasures of the secluded pond, and before long the two girls became inseparable. A few years later when Emma married, she showed her husband the secret pond and taught him to swim. Isabel had tried not to be jealous, but it was hard to lose her exclusive relationship with Emma.