“I am fine.” In truth, Isabella had never had another show such concern for her comforts. “Montvieux’s lands are bountiful.”
“Aye, that is the gain of the village being abandoned. No doubt the hares run wild now. We could eat for a month and doubtless make little difference to their numbers.”
He seemed saddened and rightly so. His homecoming had not been very merry and now he had a wife he likely did not desire. Isabella found herself wishing to encourage her new husband’s smile. “The merit of Denis’ lack of generosity is that we do not have to endure his company any longer this evening.”
Amaury laughed. “I admire your blunt assessment, lady mine, and find myself in hearty agreement.” He met her gaze. “Let us always strive for such honesty between us.”
“Of course.” She looked away from Amaury’s satisfaction and finally he, too, turned his attention elsewhere. She listened as he discussed the lack of meat with the others, with the result that Luc and Thierry headed into the unplowed fields. Luc whistled as he went, an unfamiliar and surprisingly merry sound. Lothair and the others continued to establish the camp, some of the boys gathering firewood in a pile.
“You have done this before,” Isabella said, wondering how it felt to travel wherever one desired and sleep wherever one chose. It spoke of a freedom she had never known. Even remaining at Montvieux this night seemed an uncommon adventure.
“Many times,” Amaury said. “It is a long journey to Outremer and back again.”
“That is why you have the tent.”
He shook his head. “Nay. I bought it in Jerusalem from a knight who had lost his funds in gambling. He had no coin to see his horses fed and housed, and we each bought some item from him to be of assistance.”
“That was kindly.”
“It was foolhardy. A man who gambles never learns to cease. But a fortnight later, he had the same malady, but less to sell.” He pointed to the horses. “The palfrey, Nutmeg, was his, as well. I did not truly need her before I bought the tent, but then, she became a welcome addition to my party and is too fine a horse for stew.”
Isabella grimaced but he nodded. She supposed she was innocent of many ways of the world. She noted then that Amaury had three squires and five horses, far more than his companions. How did it feel to have been the wealthy one, then return home to ruin?
“Will we ride to Marnis on the morrow?”
He raised his gaze to hers. “If you desire as much. And now I shall measure our honesty. Do you think it wrong for me to be reluctant to swear my blade to your father?”
Isabella shook her head silently, her gaze locked with his. “I think it would be most unusual if a knight showed haste in swearing to his father’s enemy, especially given this circumstance.” She raised a hand, gesturing to the absence of the hall and the dark ash upon the ground.
His gaze sharpened. “Was anyone at Marnis responsible?”
“Oh! I do not think so. I merely thought you came home to many surprises.”
Amaury’s brow darkened. “What do you know of the château’s destruction?”
“Only that the keep burned for two days and two nights. It was after we learned of your father’s passing, and though you cannot see Montvieux clearly from Marnis, we saw the flames and the smoke. Denis led a party to discover what had happened, and he returned with the news that the entire keep would burn to the ground. The fire raged with such force that he said it could not be halted. My father said the brigands that plague the forest and prey upon travellers must have set the blaze, perhaps even inadvertently.”
Amaury nodded slowly, his gaze trailing over what little remained of his family home, his manner thoughtful.
“Father will be glad to hear the tidings Denis brings.”
“Will he?” Amaury said softly, then turned to study Isabella so intently that she felt her discomfiture rise anew. “Tell me of your family, for I do not recall all the details. Am I correct in recalling that your mother died when you were young?”
“Very young,” Isabella ceded. “She died in the delivery of me.”
“And your father wed again shortly thereafter?”
Isabella nodded. “Indeed, to Faydide de Sancerre.”
“She is the mother of Denis?” There was no real question in his voice. His gaze clung briefly to the departing silhouette of Denis and his party.
“He is almost ten years my junior. My father relies upon him a great deal.”
“As any man would rely upon his heir. And Lady Faydide?”
“She reigns from her chamber at Marnis.”
Again Amaury almost smiled, as if he understood her feelings all too well. “Were they not blessed with other children?”