The company gasped. Then a whisper passed through the company like wildfire.
Isabella caught her breath, but her delight in his gesture was most clear. “Sir, I gladly accept your pledge,” she said, taking his sword. She had to grip the hilt with both hands, but she lifted it with grace, tapping the blade on his left shoulder and then his right. “I welcome you to my service as my most favored knight of all.” She smiled at him and Amaury smiled back, losing himself in the darkness of her eyes.
“There could be no greater privilege,” he murmured. Then she returned his sword and he sheathed it anew, waiting on hisknees while she bent to kiss him on one cheek and then the other.
“I thank you for coming on this day,” she whispered.
“I could do naught else,” he replied in a whisper and their gazes clung for a potent moment. “Your will is my desire.”
“Amaury,” she whispered. Her lips parted as if she would say something more, but Amaury stood then, catching her shoulders in his hands, then captured her mouth beneath his own. She kissed him back to his delight, a wild and impetuous kiss that sent that increasingly familiar fire through him. He was so beguiled that he had no care for any other detail. There was only Isabella and her shining eyes, the taste of her sweet lips beneath his own.
When their kiss broke, they studied each other as if they were alone.
Suddenly Isabella’s eyes widened as she looked over Amaury’s shoulder. “Nay!” she whispered and flung herself against him. She landed against one shoulder, spinning him off-balance and he nigh stumbled.
In that moment, Isabella’s weight fell fully against him and Amaury knew aught was amiss. He heard her gasp and felt the warmth of her blood running over his hand. He looked with dismay to find a bolt buried in her shoulder, less than a handspan from her heart.
“Isabella!” he whispered, but she fainted in his arms.
Amaury spun to find that Luc aimed at the summit of the wall. His companion knight loosed a bolt. A bowsman on the high wall was struck squarely in the throat. The man fell backward, arms outstretched, and vanished into the ditch on the far side of the walls.
He had been wearing Marnis’ colors.
He had been ordered to kill Isabella.
They had to flee! Amaury gathered Isabella into his arms. A hue and cry rose within the bailey, guards surging toward the party from Montvieux. She needed a healer, but Amaury dared not rely upon their safety within Marnis. His company drew the horses into a tight circle around him.
“Do not surrender, my lady,” Amaury murmured, hoping she could hear him, even as he lifted her into his saddle. She seemed to weigh double in this moment, as if the Fates would conspire against him and cheat him of his strength in this hour of need. They had to flee this den of treachery in all haste.
“Gates!” he roared to Luc, even as he swung into his saddle and gathered Isabella close.
Luc had already targeted the gatekeeper, who had one hand outstretched for the rope to lower the gates. If the portcullis dropped, they would be trapped inside and at the mercy of Isabella’s attackers.
Luc’s bolt went through the gatekeeper’s hand. The man recoiled, roaring in pain.
“With me!” Amaury bellowed, giving Ténébreux his spurs. His company erupted as one, crossing the bailey and charging through the gates. Luc defended their retreat with an impressive volley of bolts.
They raced through the forest and did not slow before they emerged on the other side of it.
“Amaury?” Luc asked, a hundred questions in that single word.
“I have pressure on the wound, but must slow my pace a little.” Amaury nodded to his squire. “Philip, ride on and find a healer to meet us at Montvieux. Roland will know where Rosalie is to be found in these days.”
“Aye, sir!” The boy gave his heels to his horse, racing ahead.
“You look stricken,” Luc said to Amaury, as if this was a surprise.
“She is my lady wife. She summoned me and I failed to defend her.”
“And this after she had spurned you twice.” Luc shook his head grimly.
Isabella had not spurned Amaury the night before and he knew it well. “What do you say?”
Luc took a breath, choosing his words with obvious care. “You must consider, Amaury, that the bolt might have been intended for you. Her summons might have been a trap.”
“Then it was a poorly contrived one, for she is the one who may die.”
“Anyone can miscalculate,” Luc said.