“You do not join the spirit of the hunt, Isabella,” Denis complained now, slowing his horse to ride beside her. His horse, a fine white destrier of majestic proportions, stamped and snorted to be held back at all. Isabella often thought the beast was in command and not her brother. “I do not think you have taken so much as a hare.”
“You know I do not like to hunt here.”
“And yet you ride out with me, even knowing my destination.”
She slanted a glance his way. Truly, he was his mother’s child. Snide, petty, selfish, and he had Faydide’s small mean eyes as well. He was grinning at her, enjoying the chance to taunt her. What a vile creature he was.
But Isabella smiled sweetly. There was nothing to be gained in goading mother or son, for they were malicious and inclined to turn upon anyone, merely for amusement. Her father always took Faydide’s side, which meant that Denis could do no wrong. She certainly would not complain about her ankle, as that always gave Denis satisfaction.
“I like to ride when the weather is fine,” she said mildly. “And it is good for Caprice to be ridden regularly.”
“Even when I ride to Montvieux?”
“The forest is most lush here. I enjoy seeing its vigor.”
“It reminds you perhaps of what you most wished to have,” Denis said with a smirk.
Isabella felt her flush rise, though she feigned ignorance. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Oh, come, sister! You heard our father scheme with the late Lord de Montvieux over a marriage of alliance.”
“They did not scheme. They negotiated.” Isabella was certain her father had been the sole one to scheme. All the same, what might her future had been if the Lord de Montvieux had not died three months before? The man had three sons and her father had been determined to wed her to one of them, putting Montvieux securely beneath his thumb. Now, those sons were no more, the oldest lost in Outremer and the two younger sons vanished.
Denis laughed. “Yet the father died and the sons fled like rabbits from the prospect of taking you to wife. Truly, Isabella, you must consider yourself well beyond the possibility of matrimony. A man could not expect to get sons upon you at your advanced age.” He leered at her, his mood a result of his indulgence in wine on the hunt, and lowered his voice. “And why would he want to? You are the plainest demoiselle ever born.” He laughed at his own jest as Isabella kept her gaze downcast. She did not wish to know which of the men in the company joined Denis’ merriment. “But you should hunt when we ride out. It would be healthy exertion for you.”
“Indeed, you may speak the truth. Perhaps next time.”
“On the morrow, then? The weather promises to be fine.”
Isabella granted him a simmering glance. “On the morrow.”
“And you will strive to take a deer?”
“I hardly think we have need of another.” Isabella indicated the two being carried behind the horses, both killed by Denis earlier in the day.
“There is always need for venison. If you had the wits to know aught at all about the administration of a holding, a man mightwed you for that competence. Alas, you possess the worst of every measure. Ah well, you can be nursemaid tomysons.”
“You have no sons, brother, nor even a wife.”
“But I will have one. A wealthy beauty, as Father promises, and she will be as fruitful as a hare.” He laughed in delight. “We go to Paris in September to secure the match.”
“I knew naught of such a journey,” Isabella said, feeling her spirits rise in anticipation of a reprieve from Marnis.
Denis laughed again and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Because you are not invited, Isabella. Father says you will stay at Marnis in our absence. Maman is certain that the sight of you will diminish my options. No one, after all, chooses to wed into a family burdened with feeble stock.”
Isabella could not entirely regret a decision that would see her denied the company of both Denis and Faydide, but she would have liked to go to Paris. She had never been far beyond Marnis’ borders and she was curious about the greater world. She also knew she was unlikely to ever find a husband within the walls of Château Marnis.
“We must go and look upon the razed keep,” Denis said with undisguised anticipation. “Father will wish to be assured that naught has been disturbed.”
It was macabre, in Isabella’s view, this compulsion the pair of them had to revel in the destruction of Château Montvieux. Isabella found it sad to visit the empty land which had once hosted a vibrant community. But the route was for Denis to choose and she could only follow his lead. She reminded herself that a day riding with Denis was better than one spent tending to Faydide’s whims.
They passed through the last of the forest, Denis urging the beaters to walk more quickly, ignoring the burdens they bore. He was giddy with his success, as was his inclination, but he pulled his horse up short where the road left the trees behind.
“What is this?” he said beneath his breath.
Isabella drew alongside him and looked. She blinked for the sight was most unlikely, but the silhouette of a tent remained clear. It was a round tent with a peaked roof, of the type minstrels insisted would be found at a tournament, occupied by a valiant knight and his squires, or a maiden whose favor all would strive to win. It was red and bore a pattern that she could not quite discern, and she wondered if it was made of silk, as those in the tales were said to be.
Why would such a tent be here? Who occupied it? From whence had they come?