She watched Gervase for another moment or two until she thought she could ask what ate at her. “And,” she began very slowly, “will he be formidable again, do you think?”
“Do you care?”
She met his gray eyes. “Not for myself, but for him?” She took a deep breath. “Aye, I care very much.”
“You know,” he said, smoothing her hair away from her face, “you are a woman without peer.”
“Not even Amanda?” she asked wistfully.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Isabelle, your strengths lie in different areas.”
“I wish mine lay with steel.”
“Why?”
She nodded toward Gervase. “So I might guard his back if the need arose.”
“You’re too fond of him.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Of course I can,” Robin said promptly. “He’s hopelessly arrogant. No one ever wanted to sup with him when he was off raiding the countryside.”
She smiled. “You’re not serious.”
“Well, no one ever wanted to sup with him because he was forever holding cheeky knights for ransom and pouring their gold into his coffers. I suppose there were women enough who invited him to grace their tables.”
“Then perhaps he wouldn’t want me,” she said slowly.
Robin looked at her in surprise. “You forget who you are.”
“I don’t think that matters here.”
“I think it matters to him, damn him anyway. And because of that, I daresay I’ll be forced to train you a bit. It might be the only thing that saves you from that reprobate out there.”
“I already have Gervase’s knife in my boot.”
“Give it back to him,” Robin advised. “He might need it.” He patted her and stepped back. “Go find a bit of wall to sit on. I’ll find you a knife tomorrow and we’ll work.”
She looked at him seriously. “Why now?”
He pursed his lips. “Because I should have done it earlier but always thought there would be time enough. When did you stop being a child?”
She rolled her eyes and walked away from him. But she fully intended to hold him to his promise.
She found herself a spot for watching the madness, was grateful for a decent amount of moonlight, and supposed if there were ever a place to pray that her brother wouldn’t kill the man she thought she just might love, it was her grandmother’s abbey.
Chapter 22
Gervase stood outside the abbess’s solar, looked at his love’s eldest brother, and was tempted to thank him for a lovely evening. He supposed it said much about his life before his wounding that he never would have unbent far enough to thank someone for taking him out to the lists and beating the bloody hell out of him.
Things changed, indeed.
He leaned his shoulder against the stone because he was simply too damned tired to stand up all on his own any longer. He cursed to give himself a bit of courage, then looked at Robin.
“Thank you.”
Robin grinned. “That had to have hurt almost as much as the thrashing I just gave you.”
“I’m surprised to find it doesn’t,” Gervase said honestly.
Robin clapped him with unpleasant firmness on the shoulder. “Poor babe, you are in sad shape. I’ll see what I can do over the next several days to remake you into a warrior who might someday hope to stand against my squire, but the task is daunting.”
Gervase shook off Robin’s hand because he knew Isabelle’s brother would have expected nothing else. “Do you ever shut up?”
Robin only lifted an eyebrow. “’Tis all part of the regimen, my lad, to build your strength for both swordplay and insults. You would think you hadn’t lost your resilience for the latter, at least, but I find I’m continually surprised by the condition of the lesser swordsmen I’m called on to better.” He smiled. “Don’t fret, little one. When you reach my august age with my number of full, rich years behind you, you’ll understand.”
“I’m not that much younger than you are, you fool.”
“At least four years by my count,” Robin said, “which leaves you wet behind the ears still.”
Gervase was fairly certain that Robin waxed rhapsodic on that subject for quite some time, but he found he couldn’t quite pay attention any longer—though he supposed he might come to regret that on the field at some point. He looked around him, frowned, then looked at Robin.
“Where’s Isabelle?”
Robin left off with his babbling. “Surrounded by your guard and mine,” he said with a shrug. “Why?”
“Because I haven’t seen her in a quarter hour,” Gervase said. He looked over Robin’s shoulder but saw neither Isabelle nor her guard. “Move,” he said, pushing past Isabelle’s brother.
He found himself running. That was, he had to admit, excruciating. Worse still was that Robin was keeping pace with him without the slightest sign of exertion.
“You’ll recover,” Robin said mildly.
“And how the bloody hell would you know?” Gervase said with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than he should have.
“I almost died of a fever in my youth,” Robin said. “Took me half a year to be able to shuffle across the damned courtyard and that much time again to feel like myself. I’d suggest you find out sooner rather than later who wants you dead so you can heal. You don’t want my sister endlessly coddling you, do you?”
Gervase most certainly did not, which he supposed he didn’t need to say. He skidded to a halt, though, when he saw Isabelle walking toward him along one side of the cloister. Actually, he couldn’t see her, but he could certainly see her cluster of guards well enough. He suppressed the urge to continue to run toward them all. Obviously, he was simply on edge. She was well.
He waited until they had stopped in front of him before he parted Robin’s men and his with equal ease, then looked at his lady. It took but a single glance to know that something was amiss. He thanked his men, reached for her hand, and pulled her out of their circle. He supposed taking liberties with her person was not going to endear him to her brother, but he didn’t give a damn what Robin of Artane thought. He pulled her into his arms.
“What befell you?” he whispered against her ear.
“Nothing.”
He might have believed that if she hadn’t been so still. He considered that for a moment or two, then stepped back and cleared his throat. “Thank you, lads,” he said in a cheerful tone. “My lord Robin and I can see his sister back to safety, so please seek your own rest by a warm fire.”
The men nodded respectfully, even Robin’s, and walked off to presumably the abbey’s garrison hall. Gervase didn’t have to put Isabelle between himself and her brother, he merely watched Robin take her far side. He also didn’t have to look behind him to know that Sir Aubert had elected to ignore the order to decamp and was following them as they wasted no time walking back to Lady Mary’s chamber. There was another lad walking alongside Aubert who wore Artane’s colors and looked passing unpleasant, so Gervase assumed he was Robin’s captain. Isabelle would be safe enough.
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “The truth,” he said quietly.
“The truth is I’m cold,” Isabelle said. “Robin, stop crushing my fingers.”
“Monsaert is holding your hand,” Robin said. “I’m just keeping you balanced.”
“He’s not crushing my fingers!”
“I’m warming your fingers,” Robin said. “You’re cold.”
“That’s because I am cold.”
Gervase considered interrupting to pry answers from her, but he supposed if anyone were going to be an annoyance to her, it was better that it be her brother and not him. He listened to them bicker in a relatively good-natured way until they were standing in front of Mary’s solar. He jumped a little at the sight of his younger brother arriving at the same time from a different path.
“Lord Joscelin,” Isabelle said faintly.
Gervase was surprised enough at her tone t
o look at her. She was as pale as if Yves had recently flattened her and she was having trouble catching her breath. He frowned, then looked at Joscelin and tried to pit his poor wits against the mystery of why Isabelle would look terrified and Joscelin baffled. Well, the latter was easier, surely. Joscelin was often overcome by the view of a lovely woman. But Isabelle? That she should look so unsettled was very odd, indeed.
“What ails you?” he asked carefully.
She was trembling, but she lifted her chin. She stepped away, toward Joscelin, and turned to put her back against his chest.
“Put your arm over my throat.”
“What?” Joscelin asked in astonishment.
“Do it,” she said harshly.
He looked as shocked as Gervase had ever seen him, but he gingerly complied. Isabelle patted his arm, then took him by that arm and spun out from underneath him. She shoved his sleeve up to his elbow, then closed her eyes briefly.
“It wasn’t you.”
“What,” Joscelin said in a garbled tone, “are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” She released him and patted him on the shoulder. “My apologies.”
Gervase would have asked her what in the hell she was doing but found there was no need. She walked over to him, then pulled his head down toward hers. He sincerely wished she had been preparing to kiss him. He wished it with even greater fervor after he’d listened to her words.
“The lad we’re looking for caught me in the garderobe,” she murmured against his ear.
Gervase froze. “Are you hurt?”
“Nay, nor embarrassed, thankfully.”
He ignored Robin’s noises of protest as he put his arms around Isabelle. “What did you do to him?”
She laughed a little. “What faith you have in me.”
He found he wasn’t equal to even making a poor jest. All he could do was hold her tightly and hope that she mistook his trembling for something coming from her.
“I’m sorry to do that to your brother,” she said quietly. “I just don’t know who to trust.”
“I think we’re safe inside,” he said. He lifted his head and looked down at her. “Only family there.”
She nodded, but said nothing.
He let Robin open the door, then hung back until he saw everyone settled. Isabelle had saved a chair for him next to her, which he appreciated, but he didn’t suppose it served him to sit quite yet. He shut the door, then joined Lord Etienne in standing by the solar’s entrance.
“What news, son?” Etienne said, covering a feigned yawn with his hand.
“Betrayal,” Gervase murmured. “Danger. An assault on my lady.”
“Who is behind it?”
“I haven’t determined that as yet.”
“Best hurry then, hadn’t you?”
Gervase looked at Isabelle’s grandfather. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but apparently you and your wife are in the lad’s sights as well.”
Etienne lifted a single silvery eyebrow. “That puts it in a different light.”
“I believe, my lord, that it might be time for some honesty. About not only who you are, but what Isabelle knows. I imagine I’ll contribute a thing or two, as well.”
Etienne sighed deeply. “Why did I know you were the harbinger of doom?”
“Because I am the Griffin of Monsaert,” Gervase said with a snort, “which tells you all you need to know, I suppose.”
Etienne elbowed him companionably. “And your grandfather counted the days until you wore that title, my lad, so bear it proudly. I’ll tell you about our more notable exploits over a bottle of wine after you’ve solved your little tangle here. You’ll appreciate them, I daresay.”
Gervase blinked. “You have exploits? With my grandfather?”
“Several,” Etienne said cheerfully. “Very dangerous, very secretive. Abelard was an excellent swordsman, but he didn’t make a particularly good nun. I’ll tell you about that later, as well.” He started to move, then hesitated. “What will my little Isabelle do, do you think? When I reveal my true self?”
“I wouldn’t presume to guess,” Gervase said. “Rid her of all steel beforehand would be my first suggestion. And stand between her and the fire irons.”
“You would know?”
“I would know.”
Etienne sighed, then pushed away from the wall and walked over to the company there in front of the fire. It occurred to Gervase as Etienne edged closer to the fire that perhaps he should have warned Robin about what was to come, but it was obvious by the lack of anything resembling surprise on the heir to Artane’s face that he already knew that his grandfather was still alive.
Etienne looked at Mary for a moment or two, then went down on one knee in front of his granddaughter.
“There is no easy way to tell you this, Isabelle,” he said quietly.
He pulled his wimple and veil from off his head. Gervase watched Isabelle’s eyes widen. He supposed that she simply gaped for a handful of breaths before throwing her arms around her grandfather instead of pushing him into the fire was a good sign.
She recovered enough to notice that Robin didn’t seem to be as surprised as perhaps he should have been, but obviously her brother was not going to fare as well. She looked at him in astonishment.
“Don’t tell me you knew.”
“Well, of course I knew,” Robin said with a snort. “I met Grandfather before Artane was built. You don’t think I’ve been crossing swords with a nun all these years here, do you?” He smiled at his grandfather. “You’re looking well, my lord.”
“I keep myself busy,” Etienne said modestly. He rose to his feet, then sat down next to Isabelle. He looked over the company, his smile fading. “And I believe, children, that the time has come to discuss what’s afoot before we allow ourselves the pleasure of other, simpler conversation. Since things seem to be revolving about our lovely Isabelle, why don’t we allow her to begin?”
Gervase leaned back against a wall and listened to Isabelle describe what she remembered of the original missive—interrupted continually by Miles who apparently had seen the thing for himself. He couldn’t say he was surprised by the details about her flight that were supplied by her brothers, but he certainly wished he could have somehow spared her what she’d endured. He allowed Joscelin and Isabelle both to describe her time at Monsaert which left him enduring looks of promise from an elder brother and a grandfather. He closed his eyes briefly and allowed the conversation to go on around him. To say he was weary didn’t begin to describe how he felt. Then again, he was still on his feet. He certainly wouldn’t have been a month ago.
“You suspected me?”
Gervase opened his eyes to find his brother gaping at Isabelle.
“If it eases you any,” Isabelle said, looking at him seriously, “I suspected your brother as well.”
Joscelin reached for her hand. “I’m sorry, Isabelle,” he said quietly, lifting that hand.
Two throats cleared themselves pointedly. Gervase would have checked his own to see if the noise had come from him but he realized that both Robin and Etienne were frowning at his younger brother. Joscelin released her hand immediately, accompanied by a hasty apology.
Robin reached out to pat him on the head. “I can see you have no one of substance in your household to see to these sorts of matters for you. It leaves me, obviously, stepping forward to accept that heavy burden.”
“Good of you,” Miles drawled. He refilled Joscelin’s cup, then his own. “Perhaps I’ll stay on in France for a bit and accompany you on the search for a bride. And I won’t admit ’tis for anything but purely selfish reasons.”
That took the conversation in an entirely different direction, something for which Gervase found himself rather grateful. He looked about the chamber for a seat, but saw only a bench residing against the back wall. It looked serviceable enough, though, so he walked over and made himself at home on it, groaning a bit as he stretched his poor legs out in front of him. Memories
of his afternoon with that brutal healer came back to him with unpleasant clarity. He didn’t want to admit that an hour spent biting back the very vilest of curses and convincing himself that his eyes were simply watering—he hadn’t wept, of course—had served him any, but he couldn’t deny it. A pity he hadn’t known to come look for her two months ago. Then again, considering the lack of enthusiasm he was feeling about the idea of having her anywhere near his poor flesh on the morrow, perhaps he would have avoided her just the same.
He realized, after a bit, that he had been joined on his bench. He looked to find that his companion just happened to be his favorite would-be shieldmaiden. She looked at him glumly.
“Robin promised me a lesson in knife work tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll show better than I did earlier.”
That wasn’t what he’d expected her to be thinking about, but perhaps everything else was more than she could look at. He couldn’t blame her. Heaven knew he’d felt the same way over the past several months.
“You were distracted with me today,” he offered.
“I was distracted by you today.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Were you, indeed?”
She looked at him for so long, he would have squirmed if he’d been the sort to squirm. Instead, he went perfectly still as she put her arm around his neck, leaned over, and kissed him.
Not on the cheek.
She met his eyes. “Thank you, Gervase.”
He found, to his horror, that he was blushing. He wasn’t sure he’d ever blushed in the entirety of his life. And damn the woman if she didn’t smile, kiss him full on the mouth again, then lean back against the wall and take his hand in both her own. She closed her eyes as if she hadn’t anything better to do than to take a small rest.
For himself, he wasn’t sure which was the best of all the courses of action laid out before him. He considered first rising and killing Robin de Piaget, who was plainly incapable of any sort of seriousness befitting an elder statesman. He dismissed Miles, who was burying his smiles in his cup, and vowed to remind Joscelin of his place in the family later. He immediately decided that taking Isabelle’s chuckling grandparents to task wasn’t in his best interest.