The Bride Thief

“You—” she began, then faltered. Just how often did Sir Justin Baldwin deal in kidnapping? He was apparently very well organized at it. “You seem to have thought of everything.” And then she remembered that he had stood in her chamber’s shadows and watched her prepare for bed. Heat warmed her face at the realization that he had seen her—all of her. With shaking hands, Isabelle lifted the goblet and drank deeply, praying for any measure of sustenance. She’d rather be dead than make a muddled idiot of herself in front of this man.

“I hope I have,” he replied thoughtfully. “There was no way to keep you from being distressed in some measure, but Chris and I tried to plan for your comfort, as best we could. I didn’t wish to give you greater reason to turn me—my request—aside.” There was a chair on the other side of the fire, and he settled into it, wearily closing his eyes. “You are aware, I think, that if I am not wed within three—nay, two days, now, I will lose all that I possess? My lands, my holdings, everything.” Opening his eyes, he gazed at her. “Even my horses and livestock. I must have a wife, my lady, else all that I have labored for will be lost to me. I do not care so much for myself, but there are others involved whom I do not wish to see brought low because of my misfortunes.”

“But I can do naught to help you,” Isabelle told him, lifting one hand in a placating gesture. “It is my cousin, Evelyn, whom you are to wed.”

“Not so. She was the bride chosen for me by my brother and the duke of Gloucester, but in the missive I received regarding the matter, it was only stated that I must be married by the first day of July, not that I must be married to her.”

“But Evelyn is ready to wed you. I know it has not seemed so, but she, and my uncle, always intended that it should be thus.”

“Did they?” His smile was suddenly unpleasant. “I am glad they kept from agreeing to the marriage too soon, for I do not wish to wed your cousin, lovely though she may be.”

“But, my lord,” Isabelle protested, “neither can you wish to marry me! You know nothing of me, of my family. I have no dowry, indeed nothing to call my own save what my uncle has chosen to give me. It is impossible for me to marry any man.”

“’Tis not impossible for you to wed me,” he said, sitting on the edge of his chair and leaning toward her. “I have no care for who your parents were, and I do not require a dowry. If you will take me as I am, I will take you, and gladly. I am no great lord, but my home is sufficient, and we could live well and comfortably.”

Isabelle’s head was spinning. He couldn’t mean the things he was saying. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible.

“My lord, I pray you will be serious, and cease speaking such foolishness. Surely there is another, or many others, whom you would more readily choose.”

“Nay,” he said bluntly. “Only you. Let us speak the truth with each other. Do you wish to continue living under your uncle’s hand?”

The question set her off balance, and Isabelle stared at him in silence.

He held her gaze unwaveringly. “He treats you like a servant. He dresses you in servant’s clothes. His own niece. I have never heard him speak a kind or gentle word to you. The chamber that was yours—” he hesitated when she lowered her eyes, and when he continued, his tone was more gentle “—it was in the servants’ quarters. Small and spare. And cold. I cannot fathom why he should treat you so ill, when he is blessed with more than enough wealth to easily treat you better. Especially when you continuously labor on his behalf.”

It’s only pity, Isabelle. ‘Tis why he’s so kind, why he deigns to speak with you. Only pity…for a small, unsightly, insignificant mouse.

Evelyn’s words came back full force, with stunning pain, and Isabelle murmured, “You pity me. You wish to marry me out of pity.”

He moved so silently that Isabelle hadn’t realized it until he was kneeling before her, lifting her chin in his hand so that her eyes met his.

“God’s truth, nay. It is so that I did not want a wife, but if I must have one, I would have her come to our marriage with cause of her own, wanting as much as I to make what we can of it. Lady Evelyn has no need of me, no reason to build a life with a man forced upon her against her wishes. But you might. Would you not like to have your own household to manage? Would you not like to be free of your uncle’s hand? To wed, to have children of your own? If you marry me, Lady Isabelle, I vow that I shall do all I can to make your life happy and content. We can be partners in all things, and can build a good life together. My home, Talwar, is a small estate, not grand, as your uncle’s palace is, but it is sturdy and comfortable, and the surrounding land is a goodly place for raising children. I am not an esteemed lord, as I have told you, but I have enough that you, and any children we give life to, shall never know hunger or discomfort.”

He was a stunningly beautiful man, and the knowledge struck Isabelle even more firmly as he gazed at her. His face was perfect, save for a scar above his brow and a smaller one on his cheek, but neither detracted from the wide set and alluring darkness of his ale-brown eyes, or the aristocratic line of his nose, or the tilt and fullness of his lips. His hair, as richly dark as his eyes, hung thick and waving to his shoulders, which in themselves were amazing to behold. She had never seen a nobleman with such a large, muscular form as Sir Justin Baldwin possessed. He looked more like a hard-laboring smithy than a knight of the realm.

“But why me?” Isabelle shook her head in disbelief. “There must be so many others—”

“Nay,” he said once more. “There are not. And if there were, I’ve no time to find and woo them.” Taking the goblet from her unsteady clasp and setting it aside, he gathered her hands up in his. “We would do well together, my lady. I admit that ‘tis a strange way to start a marriage, but if we are good and truthful to each other and strive to make what we can of our union, there is no reason why it cannot be as happy and fruitful as other marriages are.”

It wasn’t right, she thought. Here he was, so handsome and fine that he could have any woman in the world, asking her to be his wife.

“There are things about me that you do not know,” she said with open misery. “My family has long been loyal to France. Four years ago, my father was convicted as a traitor.” She searched his face for the revulsion she had thought would appear, but his dark-eyed gaze neither faltered nor changed. “He was executed, and all of his lands and possessions were taken from my family. My mother died soon after. Of shame.”

A frown settled on his handsome face, and after a moment he ventured, “Gaillard? Isabelle Gaillard? Your father was the Comte Gaillard?”

“The comte was my uncle in France. His titles and properties have since been reclaimed by the crown. My father lived in England, for my mother’s sake. He oversaw the Gaillard lands here.”

Understanding lit his features. “Ignace Gaillard. Was that your father? Lord Lomas?”

She nodded.

“And your mother was Baron Hersell’s sister? Is that how you come to be beneath his hand?”

“Aye. She was his half sister, through her mother.” Lowering her eyes to their joined hands, marveling on how strange it was to have any physical contact at all with this man, she said, “And so you understand, my lord, that it is impossible for us to wed.”

“Nay, my lady, I do not. I would be honored to have such a wellborn woman for a wife. Will our children not be blessed to receive such a noble heritage?”

Children, she thought. How beautiful his children would be, especially if they took after him, with hair and eyes the color of dark, rich earth.

“But your family would be distressed to have you wedded with the daughter of a traitor.”

“My family has no say. After what they have done to me in this matter, I have no care for their sensibilities. I have said that I would be honored to wed one so nobly born, and so do I mean it. I will never speak lies to you, Isabelle.” He pressed her hands more firmly. “Will you marry me?”

“It is so sudden. I…I must think on it.”

“I fear there is little time for such. Your uncle will be after us soon, if he is not already. ’Twill not be difficult for him to follow after and find us. The men who let us pass through Bishopsgate will readily tell in which direction we rode, especially if Sir Myles pays them well. After that he need only stop at each village on the road to ask whether we passed through, and that will lead him directly here. We must be wed very shortly, before he arrives. Within the hour, i’ faith.”

“But I do not have his permission to wed. I cannot marry without it.”

“What I lack in personal esteem,” he told her, “I possess in family influence. One of my brothers is a priest, and he is here and will marry us. Once the marriage is consummated, your uncle would not be able to remove you from my care, unless he went to the duke of Gloucester to have the union annulled.” He smiled. “The duke will shortly receive missives from my brothers, the lord of Gyer and the earl of Siere, both of whom will request that the marriage stand as legal. I cannot think even the king’s regent will wish to anger two such powerful men as they are.”

“C-consummated?” she repeated with a gulp. “Here? Now?”

His soft laughter seemed to shiver all the way through Isabelle.

“You needn’t worry about that until after you’ve agreed to wed with me.” With a gentle, reassuring squeeze of her hands, he added, “In truth, you needn’t worry about it at all. I will never hurt you, Isabelle.”

“My brother,” she said, thinking suddenly of Senet. “I cannot leave him alone in my uncle’s authority. He is but ten-and-six, and Sir Myles has no care for him, except as a way of keeping me from being disobedient.”

“Ah,” Justin said. “I begin to understand the reason for your devoted service to your uncle. Your brother will come to us, then. He has been fostered with Sir Howton, has he not?” When Isabelle nodded, he said, “I will continue to train him for knighthood, just as Sir Howton has done, and he will have all that we can give him to make his way.”

Isabelle leaned forward. “My lord, do you mean this?”

“On my honor, before God, I vow it.”

The door to the chamber opened, and both Isabelle and Justin turned. A tall blond man, dressed in brown robes and bearing a large steaming bowl, entered.

“God’s mercy,” he said, having contemplated them for a silent moment. “I never in my life expected to see you on your knees before any woman, Justin. You’re clearly more desperate than I understood. Have you convinced Lady Isabelle to become your willing wife, or are you yet trying to persuade her?” Walking farther into the chamber, he set the bowl on a low table. “I’ve brought food,” he stated, and stood to his full height, smiling down at Isabelle. “My dear, you are the most welcome sight I’ve had in many a year.”

“Hugo,” Justin said warmly, standing and hugging the other man. “’Tis good and better to see you again.”

“Aye, and so it is,” the priest replied, returning the embrace. “Be pleased to introduce me to Lady Isabelle, brother.”

“My lady, this is my brother, Father Hugo. He is going to wed us.”

“If Lady Isabelle is willing,” Father Hugo added, moving forward to take Isabelle’s hand. With a warm smile, he bent and kissed her fingers. “My lady,” he murmured, “I am honored. Justin sent me an urgent missive regarding you, and it is with great pleasure that I meet the woman who has finally captured my youngest brother’s heart.”

He was too handsome to be a priest, Isabelle thought. And far too admiring. She could feel herself turning red all the way up to the roots of her hair. “Oh, no, Father, I fear you misunderstand. ‘Tis only that he must wed to keep his lands. I’ve not captured Sir Justin’s heart, or any part of him.”