Song of Isabel Read online

  Even in the cool water, Isabel’s face flushed when she remembered seeing Emma and Derek together. She had never told her friend she had happened upon them one hot summer evening. As she watched, the swimmers emerged from the water. Both were naked, a fact that surprised Isabel as she and Emma always kept their shifts on when they swam. When Derek began to caress Emma’s breasts, the sight made Isabel’s own breasts tingle with longing, and she had fled.

  Although Isabel hadn’t watched for long, the scene had made a lasting impression. The memory returned as she stretched out her arms and twisted her hips to propel herself slowly across the pond. Loving the freedom her body possessed in the water, she closed her eyes. Touching her own breasts, she tried to imagine what it would feel like to have a man touch her the way Derek had touched Emma.

  A shadow suddenly alerted Isabel that someone was near. Lifting her head, she gasped at the sight of a soldier looming above her on the shore. His face was shaded from view because the sun was behind him, but his hair was lit from behind. A halo seemed perched above his golden hair.

  Struggling to secure her footing on the sandy bottom of the pond, Isabel lost her balance. The deep water closed over her head. When she resurfaced, her hair covered her eyes. Quickly pushing it away, she searched the shore. In the few seconds it had taken her to clear her eyes, the vision had evaporated.

  Fear quickly replaced her excitement. Perhaps it hadn’t been her champion. Was a soldier hiding, waiting to spring upon her?

  Not eager to tempt fate, Isabel leapt out of the water and grabbed her gown. She pulled it over her wet shift and was already running as it fell into place. As she rushed toward Emma’s cottage, she tried to reconstruct what had taken place so quickly. She hadn’t had a chance to see his face, but she was sure the outline of the figure she’d seen had a sword hanging at its side. She had no doubt it was a soldier. Remembering her movements in the water, she bit her lip. How long had he been watching her?

  Lifting her long skirts out of the way of her bare feet, Isabel pushed herself to run faster. In her haste she had left her slippers and outer vest at the pond. By the time she reached Emma’s open door, she was panting for breath. Unable to speak, Isabel flopped down on the straw pallet in the corner of the one-room cottage.

  “You shouldn’t be running in this heat,” Emma chided absentmindedly. Accustomed to Isabel’s sudden arrivals, she continued settling her babe in his cradle in a dark corner.

  Although Isabel was the daughter of Lord Theodoric, and Emma the wife of a tenant farmer, a stranger would have trouble telling which was which. Most of the time, Isabel adopted peasant dress and left her hair free of the head covering her grandmother insisted was proper attire for a noblewoman. Only her thick, long dark curls and delicate features suggested her noble heritage.

  “Emma,” Isabel gasped out between pants. “Listen. At the pond . . .”

  “You went swimming without me?” Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you come fetch me? I could have brought the babe.”

  Ignoring her words, Isabel pushed her wild hair away from her heat-flushed face and blurted out, “There was a soldier at the pond.” She was satisfied to see that her words had captured her friend’s full attention.

  Quickly pouring Isabel a cup of water, Emma sat beside her on the pallet. “Just calm down. There was talk in the village. I heard a company of soldiers arrived today. How could one of them find the pond? What happened? Are you all right?”

  Isabel noted the worry lines on Emma’s forehead. It was clear her friend was remembering the day the soldiers had surrounded Isabel.

  “Nothing happened,” Isabel assured Emma. Her heart slowed and she took a long drink. “I was swimming when something caught my eye. A shadow over the pond. When I looked up, I saw an outline—nothing more, as the sun was behind him. It was a soldier with a golden halo.”

  “Saints preserve us,” Emma declared in a disgusted voice. “Not that again.” She began to stand up, but Isabel grabbed her arm.

  “This was no silly imagining. I really did see him, Emma. But, just as last time, I didn’t see his face.”

  Shaking her head with resignation, Emma settled down again. “Isabel, your obsession rules your life. If it was a soldier, it’s good that you ran away. But it could have been anyone.”

  “I know that, Emma. No obsession rules my life,” she protested.

  Emma narrowed her eyes. “Eight years ago, you sent Lord Frederick away.”

  Isabel interrupted before her friend could continue. “He was old, Emma. You have a short memory. At the time, you thought I should discourage the match.”

  “It’s how you discouraged it that worries me. You let him believe the soldiers defiled you.”

  Isabel shrugged. “He noticed the scar and asked what happened.”

  “You could have hidden the scar. Or you could have told a tale. You don’t usually have problems in that area.”

  “I don’t lie, if that’s what you mean. Sometimes I embroider the truth.”

  Emma gave a snorting laugh. “It’s the only type of sewing you know how to do.”

  “You sound like my grandmother. When did you become so righteous?”

  Emma sighed. “It’s not some little incident I’m referring to, Isabel. You spoiled your chance to wed by allowing Lord Frederick to believe you had been ruined.”

  “He jumped to conclusions. I didn’t encourage his belief. I just didn’t correct it.” Isabel shrugged. “I was young and didn’t want to marry. It seemed an easy way out of the match.”

  “What was easy about it? Your grandmother was so angry I thought she’d burst a blood vessel. Her eyes were actually bulging when she discovered what had happened.”

  Isabel tried to hide her grin.

  “Don’t laugh. Your father threatened to send you to a nunnery. You promised to wed another suitor. But then—surprise—he too heard about the attack. How many times did that happen?”

  “Don’t pretend you condemn my behavior, Emma. If any of those suitors had looked like Derek, I might have been tempted.”

  Emma smiled at the compliment to her husband. “Keep your eyes off Derek.”

  “Why are you bringing all this up now? You’ve always sided with me.”

  Emma nodded. “What you say is true, Isabel. But it’s gone on too long. The vision of a soldier you saw for a few minutes is ruling your life. You’re waiting for him to return, but that’s not going to happen. It’s time to move on with your life.”

  “Emma, I swear on my mother’s grave that I saw a soldier at the pond. He had golden hair.”

  “It could be some other soldier with fair hair. Lots of soldiers from the north have fair hair. Does that mean he’s your angel?”

  “No, of course not. That’s why I ran away.”

  Deflated, Isabel lay back and stared at the rafters that supported the thatched roof. For many years, Emma’s cottage had been a sanctuary for her, a place to hide when soldiers stopped at the manor or she had a disagreement with her grandmother. Perhaps she had imagined the soldier with golden hair. When he appeared, she had been thinking about how her champion would touch her when he did come back for her. It could have been anyone, or no one.

  Emma’s sympathy for her friend was evident on her face. “What are you going to do, Isabel? You’re the lady of the manor. Are you going to hide behind the tapestry and search for your champion?”

  “I gave that up years ago.”

  “Now you usually wait here until the soldiers move on. Maybe you did see this hero of yours today. Why don’t you join your family for supper and have a look?”

  “You don’t really believe me, Emma. You just want me to face my fear of confronting a troop of soldiers.”

  “It’s time.”

  Isabel lifted her eyebrow. “My grandmother would be surprised. She has been more than happy to assume the role of lady of the manor.”

  “She’s just filling the role you refuse, Isabel. Instead of learning the skills yo
u need to run the manor, you spend your time studying Latin with Father Ivo.”

  Isabel sighed. “Lord Theodoric is pleased with the way Lady Winifred runs his household. My father wants me to enter a convent. Maybe I should do that.”

  “Be serious, Isabel. You like your freedom too much for that. There must be other things you can do.”

  Lately Isabel had been thinking the same thing, but she had been reluctant to approach her father. To marry or enter a convent were the traditional choices for a noblewoman. And her father was steeped in tradition.

  “Father Ivo has taught me to read and write. He’s fond of history and geography, so we study that in addition to reading holy works. Perhaps Justin could find me a position at court. He’s a minister to King Louis, after all. He should have some influence.”

  Emma rolled her eyes, clearly not impressed with the idea. Pushing herself to her feet, she began to straighten the kitchen area. “You often talk of joining Justin at court. But first face the soldiers, Isabel. There are a lot of soldiers at court. Either do it or accept one of the matches Lady Winifred manages to unearth.”

  “I’m twenty years old. You know as well as I do that my chances for a desirable match have dwindled. Men want to marry maids of twelve, not twenty. If I didn’t like the choices before, imagine what they’ll be like now.”

  “You are playing an old tune, Isabel. You’re waiting for your champion to return.”

  Isabel stood up and poured another cup of water. “Maybe he has returned. I swear to you, Emma, the soldier at the pond was tall and well shaped. Isn’t that how you described him?”

  “Enough, Isabel. A lot of soldiers are tall and well shaped. As I said before, you’re obsessed. It’s like one of those tales you told me. Remember what happened when Apollo was obsessed with Daphne, chasing her through the forest day after day? In the end, Apollo caught nothing but a handful of leaves when Daphne turned into a laurel tree.”

  Isabel shook her head in disgust. “I should never have told you those tales.”

  “It was a fair exchange,” Emma said, adding slyly, “I gave you lots of details about the marriage bed.”

  Isabel giggled as she thought about the stories they told each other. Her contributions were based on the erotic tales of Ovid that she was now able to read in Latin. But Emma’s were based on reality. “You’re right, Emma. It was a fair exchange.”

  When the baby cried, Isabel lifted her out of the cradle and soothed her until Emma had freed her breast to nurse her.

  “Do you really think you saw a golden-haired soldier, Isabel? Or were you just dreaming? You think of him a great deal.”

  LATER, WALKING TOWARD THE POND TO RECOVER HER slippers and vest, Isabel wondered if she were beginning to imagine things. The golden vision had disappeared quickly. Perhaps it was a trick of the sun on the water that had inspired her to see what she desired.

  The pond was isolated and almost impossible for someone to stumble upon. That fact was the best reason to doubt a soldier had appeared. Isabel moved to the spot where she had seen the vision and searched the ground. Breathless, she fell to her knees. At the very edge of the pond where the earth was soft, there were two large footprints. Someone wearing boots had stood in this very spot.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHEN LORD CHETWYND ENTERED THE manor’s great hall to join his men, he saw they had already made themselves comfortable at the lower tables. He was annoyed at missing his opportunity for a swim, and the warm air and boisterous noise in the hall did not improve his humor. He held back to observe the scene.

  Chetwynd easily identified the solidly built man seated at the center of the high table as the lord of the manor. Theodoric, his full head of white hair shining in the light, was clad in an elaborate purple mantle trimmed with fur and silver ornaments. Chetwynd’s own unadorned black doublet was spartan in comparison.

  An older woman sat beside Lord Theodoric, but a quick glance along the table revealed no sign of the water nymph who had kept him from his anticipated swim. He had followed Justin’s directions to the pond, only to find it occupied. At first he had hoped to join the swimmer, but when she looked up, her startled eyes had been exactly like those of her brother. Lady Isabel’s movements in the water made it clear she awaited a lover, and he suspected she wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted.

  Chetwynd wasn’t sure what he expected, but discovering that Isabel had matured into a shapely, sensual woman had been a shock. He remembered an innocent slip of a girl who had called him an angel. There had been something unbearably sweet about young Isabel. Of course, he had never been an angel, but for some reason her mistake had touched him.

  He remembered other things about the young Isabel. Though small of size, she had boldly stood up to the soldiers who were tormenting her. The bite she gave one of her pursuers had been deep. It caused the young soldier great pain when it later became infected. Chetwynd’s face softened at the memory of the struggle she had put up before being struck on the head. Her courage had given him time to reach her before the soldiers could overcome her.

  According to Justin, Lady Isabel had not been untouched by her mishap. Chetwynd knew that she had not married as expected. He had assumed that leaving her with Emma’s mother would prevent the incident from becoming common knowledge. Surely a small scar that could be hidden by her hair would not be enough to discourage a suitor.

  For all that, Lady Isabel had appeared happy enough as she moved sensually through the water. He frowned as he imagined the couple frolicking in the pond after he rushed away. Her involvement with a lover could very well hamper the hope Justin had of bringing her to court. Chetwynd regretted seeking out the pool Justin had described, upset that he had neglected to mention that Isabel also swam there.

  Finally pulling away from the wall he had been leaning on, he made his way to the high table to greet the lord of the manor. Chetwynd wondered how much Lord Theodoric knew about his daughter’s activities. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised at the change he found in Lady Isabel. He had grown up on a secluded farm manor himself, and knew that country life encouraged lusty appetites. Yet, he couldn’t help preferring his memories of an innocent, courageous girl to the reality of the sensual woman he had encountered at the pond.

  When Chetwynd introduced himself by name, Lord Theodoric smiled and rose to indicate that Chetwynd join him at the table. Theodoric spoke loudly to be heard over the noise of the great hall. “Welcome, Lord Chetwynd,” he said as he indicated that others make room for his guest. “We meet at last.”

  “Your hospitality is appreciated, my lord.”

  “Sit, sit.” Theodoric motioned to the servants, indicating that food be passed to Chetwynd, and urged him to fill his trencher.

  “Your reputation precedes you, Lord Chetwynd. My son Justin has often spoken of the time you spent training together with Count Jonas.”

  “It seems a long time ago now. Although our training often pitted us against one another in mock battle, we still managed to become friends,” Chetwynd replied, remembering those carefree days.

  “Justin says you are one of King Louis’s most favored warriors. I congratulate you on your success.”

  Chetwynd tried not to grimace at his host’s words. Lord Theodoric had no way of knowing that his favor at court had plummeted of late, or that Justin no longer held him in high regard. Instead of answering, he took a bite of the joint of meat on his trencher.

  “I hope you will enjoy your stay at Narbonne, Lord Chetwynd. Was this your first assignment on the Spanish March?”

  “It was my first assignment in the region with my own soldiers. Many years ago I served Lord Malorvic when his troops guarded the border.”

  Chetwynd wondered if, after all these years, Theodoric might connect him with the injury to Lady Isabel. Perhaps she had told her father what happened at the hands of Malorvic’s men.

  “I heard about your campaigns against the Saxons, Lord Chetwynd. Your success at besting the heathens is legendary.
You’re young to have had such an illustrious career. Perhaps after your meal you could entertain us with some tales.”

  Chetwynd’s military prowess was well-known. Shortly after his first success against the Saxons, King Louis had rewarded his efforts by making him a knight and granting him a benefice. Aquis, located near the king’s palace in the north, was made up of rich farmlands and a thriving vineyard. The purpose of the grant was to provide Chetwynd with the means of raising enough funds to outfit his own troop.

  “I’m not much of a storyteller, Lord Theodoric.”

  Chetwynd knew it was the custom to hear the exploits of warriors after a meal. The Song of Roland, a heroic tale about Charlemagne’s most famous knight, was often recited. But Chetwynd was not one to indulge in boasting of his military accomplishments, and after his experience at court, he was even less inclined to talk about himself. His success on the battlefield had not kept him from disaster at court. Flattered by the attentions of Queen Judith, he had acted in a manner of which he was not proud. King Louis was an old man who spent most of his time on religious retreats, while the young queen was lonely and in need of someone to confide in. Or so he had thought.

  Chetwynd’s growing involvement with Queen Judith had shocked Justin, who accused him of being ruled by his loins rather than his head. It was true, of course. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that the beautiful queen was using his reputation and influence for her own purposes. When gossip started to circulate, Justin had proven his friendship by arranging for Chetwynd to be assigned a tour of duty on the Spanish March. The assignment at the southernmost boundary of the empire had given Chetwynd some much-needed time away from court.

  Chetwynd had no intention of entertaining his host with stories of his service to the king. When Theodoric realized he was serious about not reciting tales, his face lost its eager expression. Theodoric shrugged his shoulders and turned to the small but imposing woman seated on his other side. She, too, was elegantly clad in flowing robes of silky green and white, her head covering rising above her head like a crown.