He made progress, to be sure, and told himself to be content with that.
And yet, he was not. He wanted more with Isabella.
He wanted her all.
“Are you too tired to speak with me on this night?” he asked, hoping she would argue otherwise.
Instead, she granted him a polite smile, the kind of smile she might offer to a stranger. “I am, I thank you,” she said. “Perhaps the morning would be better.”
She did not wait for his reply but returned to bed, her back turned toward him, and Amaury felt he had lost something precious, through no choice of his own.
Alas, he did not know how to retrieve it on this night, but he would learn.
Isabella lay awake beside Amaury,content and yet uncertain. She wished it had not been her nature to look for the shadow when she saw the sunlight, but she had learned to distrust aught good. Favors were withdrawn, promises broken, treasures stolen or confiscated, treats denied. It was the rhythm of her days that all good things failed to endure – indeed, they faltered quickly – and so it was only natural that she expected the marvel of her marriage to Amaury to vanish.
Or to be taken from her.
She did not want to be afraid, but already Isabella was. She liked Amaury. She admired his resolve and his determination to improve. She trusted his word and she loved how he touched her abed. She liked how he looked and how he thought and knew she could lose her heart completely to him. Indeed, why should she not? He was her husband.
But Isabella could not trust in that prospect, though she knew not why. It must be because she was plain.
Perhaps it was merely her past experiences.
Surely, Amaury would become smitten with another woman, a beauty who offered herself to him, perhaps when Isabella was with child and unavailable to meet his needs.
Surely, he would cast her aside if she did not provide a son in a timely manner or if she did not ripen with child at all.
Surely, a union as marvelous as this one had been could not be repeated for years and years, with both partners still so enthusiastic as on the first time they met abed.
She feared that she wished for more than could possibly be her own, for something or someone would take this delight from her, as surely as every other one had been seized.
Isabella closed her eyes and nestled closer to her husband’s heat, wanting all of this satisfaction to endure forever – even as she feared it could not.
Amaury awakened as soonas the sky lightened. It was a habit that would not be broken soon. He had slept hard, but not long enough, though that, too, had become routine. He stretched beside Isabella, acknowledging the exhaustion that he could not indulge. They must ride to Marnis and return Denis’ destrier – thanks to Isabella’s warnings, he now dreaded the errand. What could go awry? A hundred details. He could be trapped and attacked, even killed as his father had been. He could be cheated in some other way. Gaultier could rescind his promise to grant Montvieux to him even after Isabella bore a son.
His family had learned that distrust of those at Marnis was doubly deserved while he had been in the east. He looked at sleeping Isabella and wished he could perceive all that she knew. He wanted to trust her fully, he knew that should be the balance between man and wife, but her lineage gave him doubts. Her reticence did not reassure.
Would she betray him to abet her father’s plans? He wished he knew. He wondered if she realized that when she hid her thoughts, retreating behind a veritable mask of indifference, that she fed his suspicions well.
Her very decision to be aloof made him wonder what she had to hide from him.
What did he know of her? She was Gaultier’s sole daughter. She had been left long unwed. She said her betrothals had been broken once the men in question met her. Amaury did not think she was so unattractive as that. Perhaps Isabella’s father haddemanded more of those men, unbeknownst to her, more than they wished to promise. Perhaps she had not liked the manner of her suitors once they arrived and had deliberately shown herself in poor light. He did not doubt that she could do as much. She had the wits for it.
That made him wonder why she revealed such sweetness to him. He could feel no greater triumph than when Isabella blushed softly, or responded to his touch with an eagerness for more than fueled his own desire. Was the true lady the one he met abed, or the one who watched him, as inscrutable as a sphinx? Amaury wished he knew.
He hoped he learned the truth at some point in time.
He rose with a frown, noting the wilted coronet of daisies on the rug. The sight of it made him smile in recollection of Isabella’s pleasure, and though he was not a whimsical man, he found himself carefully picking it up, winding it into a circle and placing it in his purse. It would remind him of his lady’s trust and give him hope for their shared future.
In that moment, he heard Philip outside the tent. The boy silently brought him hot water and Amaury bathed, then gestured that he would don his armor outside the tent, leaving Isabella to sleep. His fellows were stirring, as well, Lothair preparing to ride out even though the sun had barely crested the horizon. Once dressed, Amaury wished his comrade well, advising him on the route, then shaking his hand heartily.
He watched, Luc and Thierry coming to his side, as the Viking rode away, his squire close behind.
“Will your brother await him?” Luc asked just as Roland joined them both.
Amaury nodded with a conviction he did not quite feel. “Aye,” he said, watching Roland nod agreement, then hoped with all his heart it would be so. The roast venison had been sliced into their one great pot, and water added to make a thinsauce. It heated now over the rekindled fire, but Amaury had a task to perform first.
He excused himself, gesturing that Roland should remain with the others, and strode to the crypt. He would seize the opportunity to pray for his father, and perhaps that man might grant him some guidance for the day ahead.