The Bride Thief

“Nay!” Justin cut him off. “No more. You will not torment her further. Leave now. I do not merely ask it of you. Go.”

An angry silence filled the room.

“Very well,” Sir Myles said at last. “I will take my men and leave. But heed me, Sir Justin Baldwin. I’ll have Isabelle back. I swear it by all that is holy. And you’ll come to regret this night and your vile deeds. You will, sir. You will.”

When he had left, Justin sat on the bed, cradling a silent Isabelle in his arms.

“A dangerous man,” Father Hugo commented. “Beware him, Justin, and keep control of your temper. As God’s holy word tells us, ‘Be slow to wrath, for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”’

“But it does get rid of Sir Myles,” Justin replied wearily.

“What do we do now?” Christian asked. “Would it not be wise to make for Siere?”

“Aye.” Justin turned his gaze upon Isabelle, who still had her eyes closed against his shoulder, although he knew she did not sleep. “Would that we could rest longer,” he murmured. “But we cannot.” To Christian he said, “We will clothe ourselves and make the horses ready, and then we will ride full haste for Siere, where I will have much to say to my brother the earl.”

Chapter Six (#ulink_7d0be7c0-8cb2-595b-a355-95cb9c1b13e4)

Siere was, for Isabelle, a daunting place. Everything about it was grand, as well as on a grand scale. The castle was enormous, with so many stairs and hallways and chambers that Isabelle commonly got lost. The land surrounding the castle was vast, stretching so far that, even when Justin took her to the castle’s highest tower and pointed out the direction of the borders, she’d not been able to see the end of it. The town of Siere was really a bustling city and, from the personal wealth of the earl and his lady, Isabelle realized that local commerce must be quite healthy.

Isabelle knew the signs of prosperity when she saw them, just as she knew and understood bankers, moneylenders, traders and businessmen. It took a calm, sure hand to manipulate all of those involved to bring about a city’s financial success, and Isabelle was filled with admiration for the one who’d guided Siere along just such a path. Sir Hugh, the earl of Siere, had smiled at Isabelle’s shy compliments on the matter and revealed that it was his wife, Lady Rosaleen, who managed Siere and made every major decision. “I’m only here to make speeches,” he told her, “and to keep the children occupied when their mother wants some rest. Otherwise, I’m nothing more than the official bedfellow.” This he accompanied with a smile so meaningful that even the memory made Isabelle’s cheeks burn. Of course, it wasn’t all true. Lady Rosaleen might be the one who actually had the managing of Siere, and did it very capably, but it was Sir Hugh who ruled. He was an estimable lord, seeming to know everything without being told, heading off trouble before it occurred, always saying the right word at the right moment. Isabelle had only been at Siere for a week, but in that time she’d seen Sir Hugh deftly handle a number of his citizen’s complaints with the ease and wisdom of a Solomon, and she had yet to see one person leave the castle whose anger hadn’t been transposed into calm.

The earl had a gift for putting people at ease, which Isabelle had experienced firsthand when she arrived at Siere and Justin introduced her to Sir Hugh and his wife. Exhausted from the long ride, and weary from the rapid experiences of being kidnapped and married in only a matter of hours, Isabelle had only stared when the earl of Siere sauntered toward her with a welcoming smile on his lips. It had taken several long moments before she was able to mumble some kind of reply, and then, as he stood holding her cold fingers in his engulfing hand, he’d chuckled with warm amusement and said, to Justin, “I gather that you’ve not yet explained about Hugo and me being twins. The poor girl probably thinks that her wits have wandered away.” Which was exactly what Isabelle had thought, at least until Justin explained why it was that the priest who had married them and the earl of Siere looked to be the same man.

Sir Hugh had seemingly received the news of Justin’s bringing a different bride to Siere from the one that had been chosen for him with ease, giving no more evidence of surprise than the slight lifting of one eyebrow, and yet Isabelle was wary. He had been all that was kind this past week, but she had seen him contemplating her often, with a silent, seeking regard, and it was clear that very little escaped those piercing green eyes. A silent tension existed between himself and Justin, as well, and if the earl wondered why his brother and his brother’s new wife didn’t share a bedchamber, he never voiced the question aloud. At least, not in Isabelle’s hearing.

Lady Rosaleen, fortunately, was a much less bewildering presence. Beautiful, forthright and kind, she had immediately accepted Isabelle as her sister-by-marriage, and had done everything possible to make her comfortable.

“Don’t let Hugh rattle you, my dear,” she’d said when she took Isabelle to her chamber. “Baldwins tend to be rather intense, and my husband has the added difficulty of being a dreadful meddler. If there’s any trouble to be gotten into, Hugh will be the first to get into it. He’s not quite as serious-minded as Sir Alexander and Justin are, however, so perhaps that makes up for some of it. Not,” she’d added quickly, glancing at Isabelle with a smile, “that there’s anything wrong with being serious-minded. Justin is a marvelous man in every way, including his sober nature. But I don’t need to tell you that, do I, my dear? Do you love him very much?”

She did, and, sitting before her chamber fire, she’d admitted it, and everything else, to a sympathetic Lady Rosaleen.

“I don’t know how it came to be,” she said miserably, setting her weary head into her hands. “All the time he was courting Evelyn I loved him, and even now, when I know he only wed me to save his lands and to…to further his own gains, I love him. Evelyn spoke truly when she said that he would be horrified to know of my regard. I am a fool.”

“Oh, nay, never,” Lady Rosaleen assured her gently, setting a comforting hand on Isabelle’s shoulder. “You are weary and distressed, and upset at being taken forcibly from your home and married so shortly after, just as any woman should be, but you are not a fool. I cannot say why Justin has done what he has, but you may believe that he would not have taken you unless he held you in some regard. It may be, my dear, that he cares for you more than you think.”

But Isabelle found that hard to believe, despite Justin’s continually courteous and gentle manner toward her. She had only to look in her mirror to see that her face, so plain and common, couldn’t compare to her cousin’s, or Lady Rosaleen’s, or those of most other women. It certainly wasn’t the sort of face to inspire love. And as to the rest of her…well, Isabelle supposed that the most generous thing that could be said about her was that she was kindhearted. But that, matched with her temper, was probably far from sufficient to cause any man to want her. And there was always her unfortunate love of mathematics to consider. Although her skill with numbers was considered well enough in the way of increasing fortunes, it was seldom a topic that men cared to discuss, especially with a woman. Only her uncle’s bankers and financial associates had found discussions with Isabelle enthralling, and they were hardly the sort of men Isabelle wanted to enthrall. Her husband, now…her husband, she wanted to enthrall, to entice, somehow…to make him desire her the way he had probably desired Evelyn. But how? she wondered, setting aside the needlework on which she’d spent the past hour laboring.

The castle was quiet during the afternoons, when the midday meal had been finished and cleared away. In the great hall, where the castle ladies gathered to gossip and ply their needles while the sun yet shone through the tall, clear windows, servants moved with quiet ease, performing their tasks with the same efficiency that was to be found everywhere in Castle Siere. Indeed, not just the castle, but Siere as a whole, seemed to work with all the elegant beauty of a carillon bell clock.

She was waiting for Justin, just as he had asked her to, just as she did every afternoon. Each day at this time he took her for a walk in the gardens, or sometimes along the river, because, he had said, “We must come to know each other better.”

These had been wonderful times for Isabelle, partly because it had been so many years since she had not had to spend her every waking hour inside her uncle’s house, laboring over his accounts, and partly because her husband was such an amiable companion. He had not insisted upon any of his husbandly rights during the week that they’d been at Siere, but he was affectionate nonetheless. Surprisingly enough, he liked to walk with her in the same manner that Isabelle’s parents had done, which was to link his hand and fingers with hers, rather than to simply offer her his arm to hold. The first time he took her hand in such a manner, Isabelle had been so nervous that she felt her palm growing distressingly damp, and her fingers had been so stiff that they ached, but he had not seemed to notice, although he had loosened his grip slightly, and after a few minutes she’d begun to accept the intimate clasp and relaxed. Sometimes he would embrace her lightly, briefly, and kiss her cheek, doing it without warning and so suddenly that it was over before Isabelle had any chance to respond. Afterward, he would gaze at her in an oddly warm manner before taking her hand in his again and resuming their walk.

Leaning her head back in her chair, Isabelle contemplated the great hall’s ceiling. It might be another hour or more before Justin returned from the village, where he had gone with Sir Christian and the earl, and she was weary of needlework. The truth of the matter was, she missed her account books. Oh, she knew they were really her uncle’s, but in four years they had come to seem like hers. She knew each one intimately, from the first entry to the last, from every mistaken inkblot she’d made to every crease in the leather bindings. She had filled each page with meticulous care, had tallied every column twice, had… God’s mercy! Isabelle sat upright, with a hand to her forehead. She must be mad! If Evelyn could only hear her thoughts now, she would laugh long and loud. And with good cause, Isabelle thought with a groan. If anyone could be charged as dull, it was she, Isabelle, and not Justin. She would probably bore her handsome husband into weariness before a year’s time was out, God help her.

“Have you an ache, my lady?”

Isabelle dropped her hand to gaze at Lady Rosaleen, who stood before her with her young son, Lord Farron, tucked firmly in one arm.

“Oh, nay,” Isabelle replied foolishly. “I was only… thinking.”

“Ah,” said Lady Rosaleen, seating herself in the chair beside Isabelle’s. “I must have looked very similar whenever I used to think of Hugh, before we were wed. We had an exhausting courtship. But that seems to be the way the Baldwin men carry out such things. Sir Alexander held his wife prisoner for many weeks before marrying her to gain her dowered lands, Hugh forced me to labor as a servant at his estate for three months before we were wed, and Justin kidnapped you.” Lady Rosaleen laughed. “Poor Willem is the only brother among them who managed to be a gentleman, and he was finally ensnared in marriage to a lady who decided she wanted him for a husband. And a good thing it was, else he’d never have married at all.”

Isabelle laughed, too. “Justin has told me some of these stories before. I think I have been the lucky one, after all that you and Lady Lillis went through.”

“Aye, s’truth,” Lady Rosaleen agreed. “Justin has ever been the most considerate of the men, certainly when it comes to women.”

“Father Hugo seemed very kind,” Isabelle noted.

At this, Rosaleen shook her head. “Hugo, like his twin brother, loves women. All women, regardless of age or condition. I’ve seen those two charm young girls and elderly grandmothers with but a smile, the rogues. I’ll never understand how Hugo has managed to stay in the Church all these years. He’s worse than Hugh, at times.”

Remembering the warm, appreciative gaze that Father Hugo had eyed her with at the monastery, Isabelle had to agree.

“Are you still worrying, my dear, over why Justin wed you?” Lady Rosaleen asked.

Isabelle’s smile died, and she lowered her eyes. “Aye,” she whispered. “I know I should not care so much, for I can give him what he wants of me. I have just been thinking of how I miss working with my uncle’s accounts. ‘Twill be good to have some to work on again soon.”

“You have not known Justin long, as I have,” Lady Rosaleen said gently, “but if you had, you would be reassured, and would know that it is not wealth he wants you for. I have never seen him look at another woman the way he looks at you, with such tenderness and affection. And I have never seen him so content, either, despite his current anger with my husband.”

Isabelle lifted her head. “He has seemed angered with Sir Hugh. Is it because of me that they quarrel?”

“Not you, nay, but with matters that may have concerned you at one time. I do not think any man would like to be commanded to wed, do you?”

With a thoughtful frown, Isabelle replied, “He did not seem displeased to wed Evelyn until she and my uncle were so foolish as to give him insult. But for that, he would have married her.”

“Would he?” Lady Rosaleen asked. “I do not know if that is true. But let us speak of the matter no more, for I’ve no desire to test how red you can go.” She laughed lightly when Isabelle reddened even further. “My dear, if you have missed working with numbers, would you like to entertain yourself with some of my accounts? I should be exceedingly glad to let you work with any or all of them, I vow, for although I enjoy working them, as well, I’ve not much time to do so since this little one was born.” She smiled lovingly at her sleeping son. “Robert, the steward, once suggested that I give Farron over to the care of a nurse, and Hugh nearly took a whip to him, but he spoke the truth. With Kathryn and Harry just babies yet, and Galen so active—” at this, she uttered a long sigh “—I’ve not much time left for Siere, as I used to. ’Tis a blessing Hugh is so willing to lend me aid.”

“Robert does not care to take over the task?”

“Oh, aye, he does, just as he wishes to take over every task, God bless his efficient soul, but he has enough to do in keeping Hugh out of trouble, I fear. ‘Twould be unjust to make him do the accounting, as well. I suppose I should let him hire a treasurer, but I’ve always had the keeping of my own accounts and have never desired assistance until now. Any help that you might be ready to give, dear Isabelle…”

“Oh, aye, my lady,” Isabelle said at once. “I should be most glad to repay your kindness to me in any way that I can.”

The countess of Siere smiled warmly. “Then go to the working chamber that I share with my husband, and see what may be done with the accounts. Stay for as long as you are happy, and when the work grows tiresome, put it away. You have my permission to work there as often as it pleases you, save when my husband is there. I know he would welcome your company, i’ faith, but his language is so unchristian at times that I’d never expose you, or any gentlelady, to it.”

It was, for Isabelle, a boon too good to believe. She nearly dropped her needlework as she quickly stood.

“Thank you, my lady,” she said gratefully. “Is there anything urgent that needs tending, in particular?”

“The rents are far behind,” Lady Rosaleen said thoughtfully, “as are the livestock accounts. Don’t touch the household books, however, for Robert does keep those, and most jealously.”

“Will you please tell Justin where I am if he should come looking for me?”

Lady Rosaleen nodded and smiled. “I’ll tell him. Do not worry on it.”

“Robert,” said Sir Hugh as he walked into his working chamber, carrying his sleeping daughter in his arms. “Well met. Lady Kate had the audacity to fall asleep while being admired in the village. Can you imagine such a thing?”

Setting down the pen with which he’d been writing, the steward rose from his table. “Good day, my lord,” he said, adding, when Justin, holding one of his nephews by the hand, followed his brother into the room, “And also to you, my lord, Sir Justin. May I hope you have at last come to discuss important matters?”