“There are four boys in the churchyard at Marnis, all of whom died at birth or shortly thereafter. When they said my step-mother was cursed, she took to her chamber and seldom has left it since.”
“How tragic.” His attention fixed upon her again. “Are you close to her?”
Isabella could not lie, nor could she utter her thoughts aloud. She shook her head.
“Ah.” Amaury bowed to her. “I thank you for confiding in me. Welcome to Montvieux, my lady, such as it is in these times. If you will excuse me, I will see what can be done to improve our comfort this night.”
Isabella could only incline her head and watch him go.
It was a kind of madness.
Here Amaury was, returned home but hours ago, and already wed. Here he was, after eight years of celibacy, with an innocent bride unaware of what to expect. Isabella’s uncertainties were so great that she could not disguise them.
He doubted she knew anything at all about coupling or the marital debt.
Worse, they scarce knew each other. Amaury feared to frighten her or to hurt her, though it was not his intention to do either. If only they had shared a few days together that he might better know how to begin.
If he had danced with her just once on that long-ago evening, all might have been simpler now.
So much rode on this night. It was that Amaury believed the beginning would set their course, but that opportunity could be inadvertently destroyed before given a chance.
He glanced toward her, struck again by the agitation of her manner. She strove to hide it – how interesting that she was accustomed to hiding her thoughts and reactions – but already he managed to discern the truth. He wished he had a month to court her, to gradually win her affection, to woo her and convince her of his good intentions.
Instead, the match must be consummated before they rode to Marnis the next day.
She was favoring her leg so he beckoned to Philip, instructing the boy to take his lady wife a seat. There was a folding chair in the tent that she might appreciate.
“And recount a tale to her, if you please,” he instructed.
“One of your valor and merit, my lord?” the boy asked pertly and Amaury chuckled.
“She may be curious about Outremer,” he said. “Many are. You might share some of your observations, but do not continue too long. A taste, not a feast.”
Philip grinned. “Aye, my lord.”
Fraser was already brushing down the lady’s mare, who seemed to be savoring the attention. Amaury watched as Philip fulfilled his errand, noting how Isabella smiled for the boy. She sank into the chair with what might have been relief, and perhaps a measure of surprise.
Her gaze flew to him and he smiled approval, noting how she flushed anew. Did no one give a care for this lady and her comfort at Marnis? The notion irritated Amaury. If her brother’s manner was any indication, she must suffer many indignities in her father’s hall.
On the other hand, Denis might be jealous because their father doted upon her. Perhaps she was not wed because her father could not bear to be without her.
Amaury suspected otherwise, but soon enough, he would know for certain.
And what of her feelings about their match. Was there joy? Anger? Nay, it was complacency that Amaury saw in his new wife’s manner. He had noticed similar attitudes in men in Outremer, men who were granted no authority or command over their own circumstances, men who endured insults and discourtesies in silence day after day. He could not forget that girl whose face had been alight with the simple pleasure of being asked to dance, and that fed his suspicions that life had not been so merry for her at Marnis.
He felt a fierce desire to make her circumstance happier than it had been, to coax her smile, even to see her eyes sparkle with delight. Yet Amaury was keenly aware that he possessed few assets to so court a lady. He had no access to delightful gifts, here in the ruins of his home. He had no family treasures to lavish upon her, for all the riches of Montvieux were gone. He could not even offer her great comforts. What coin he possessed would be spent in rebuilding Montvieux, and that task would take years if not decades. He occupied himself in cleaning the first hares that Luc and Thierry brought and strained his ears to hear whatever Philip said.
He smiled that the boy was describing the journey to Outremer. Philip had not liked ships any better than the horses had, so his tale was filled with the horrors of waves and winds, the peril of monsters and the inadequacy of the food.
Isabella looked to be enthralled.
“We will mount a watch this night,” he told his fellows as they worked. “Two men.”
“Aye. I wager the tent will draw those bandits,” Luc noted.
“Luc and I will take tonight’s watch,” Thierry said with a nod. “You will have another task to fulfill.” The twins grinned at Amaury who nodded agreement.
“I could relieve the watch before dawn.”