Philip averted his gaze.
“Tell me of them,” Amaury invited. “There is no disrespect in conferring in private over any matter, though I do appreciate that you did not challenge me outright before the others.”
Philip cast a quick sidelong glance at Amaury. “We should not have left her,” he said with heat.
There was no doubt who he meant.
Amaury agreed, though there had been no way to seize his wife with the portcullis barred against them and the bailey full of her father’s men.
“The lady spurned me, as her father demanded.”
The boy shook his head. “You should have heard how they addressed her, sir, as if she were a lowly maid and not a daughter of the house.”
Amaury straightened with interest. “Indeed?”
“Indeed. The gates were not opened quickly to her and I doubt I was the sole one to wonder if they would be opened at all.”
Amaury frowned.
“Then the gatekeeper chastised her, my lord, as if it were inconvenient for him to be roused to do his duty.”
“Surely he would not address his lord’s daughter with such familiarity?”
But Philip nodded. “He did, sir.” Amaury felt his lips thin. “And then, when she said that Denis was killed, he berated her for leaving that man behind.”
“And what was she to do?” Amaury demanded, indignant on his lady’s behalf. “There might yet have been brigands in the vicinity! The lady might have shared her brother’s fate!”
“Aye, sir, so I thought, but it was clear that those at Marnis did not agree. She said you had commanded her to ride on, but it seemed no one knew of your return.”
This made little sense. Edmund dearly loved to be the first to share any tidings. How could that man have restrained himself from confessing to Amaury’s return, much less the nuptials celebrated between Amaury and Isabella?
“But that cannot be,” he protested.
“And yet it was so.” Philip’s frown deepened. “But the worst of it was, sir, that though Fraser and I were shocked that she was addressed in such a manner, your lady wife was not.”
Amaury found this troubling beyond all. “They always speak to her thus,” he murmured beneath his breath, and found himself in violent agreement with his squire.
He should not have left Isabella at Château Marnis.
“No one came forward to tend her steed, sir. I could not bear that she should be so insulted and that a horse so in need of care should be ignored, so I offered to do as much. We tended to the mare, my lord, Fraser and I, but had only just finished when you arrived.”
“And that was well done on your part,” Amaury said warmly. “I thank you for such courtesy.”
The boy swallowed. “That is not all, sir.”
“Tell me.”
“The ostler came to us in the stables. I did not know him, of course, but his trade was evident. He did not introduce himself, but began to ask after you, my lord.”
“Me?”
“Aye. He wished to know if it was true that Amaury de Montvieux had returned from crusade, and I assured him that it was. He wished to know if you were hale and whole as yet, and I declared you to be as hale as any man.”
“So they did know of my return,” Amaury mused.
Philip nodded. “He then lowered his voice and asked if you had attacked Denis, and I said you could not have done, for we were all in company together.”
A fulsome ostler, then, though he would not be first such in Amaury’s experience with a fondness for tidings.