Sword for His Lady Read online

  Truly, she had never thought freedom might come with such burdens.

  “Likely knights on their way to join the king,” she offered to those watching her. “They will pass through.”

  She dusted her hands across the apron she wore to protect her over robe and went toward the front of the keep. The hallways were dim, in spite of it being full daylight, because they were long and the sun’s rays didn’t penetrate beyond a few feet.

  It was chilly too. The stone that the keep was constructed from hadn’t yet lost the bite of winter. It lingered in the center of the passageway, urging her forward to the inviting spring weather.

  But the view from the keep’s steps was not pleasant. The rumbling sound grew without the thick walls to muffle it. Thistle Keep was placed on high ground, which gave her an unobstructed view of the road.

  Isabel’s throat tightened.

  Twin columns of mounted knights were riding toward her. The sunlight flashed off the surface of their armor; even their horses wore metal faceplates. They were clearly full knights, men who were seasoned by battle and hardened by rigorous training. She struggled to maintain her poise. The harvest had been poor the last two years, and King Richard was focused on gathering supplies for his Crusade. Behind the knights there were more mounted men and even more on foot. There were archers in their ranks as well, confirming that this was not some random group of pillaging raiders. They were an army. The columns stretched out too far into the distance to be anything that might be considered good. These men rode with a purpose, and what concerned her were the wagons with them. Wagons they would likely expect to fill with food.

  She needed everything she had to provide for her people. There was nothing to spare.

  The dust rose as they drew closer, and she could make out the crest on the flags the lead knights flew. A raptor with a baron’s coronet in blue against a white background.

  A baron. That meant even more trouble. A baron was a noble and only answered to the king.

  “What do they want?” Mildred asked from behind her.

  “They will pass through,” Isabel said quickly, not caring for how much her words sounded like a prayer. A desperate one at that. She straightened her back, forbidding herself to be afraid.

  There was no time for childish emotions. She was the lady of the keep and duty was calling her.

  Mildred scoffed at her, but Isabel raised her chin and refused to lower it. Dust teased her nose as the knights pulled their stallions to a halt in front of her. The animals pawed at the ground and shook their heads while the armor their riders wore shifted, filling the air with the sound of metal clanking against metal.

  “I seek the Lady Isabel of Camoys.”

  A chill raced down her spine but Isabel maintained her position. The knight who had spoken lifted one gauntlet-covered hand to raise his visor. His hair was dark and his eyes the color of midnight. He peered at her, his gaze as hard as his breastplate.

  “I am Isabel.” She fought the urge to twist her fingers in the fabric of her over robe. Thistle Hill did not even have men training to become knights because the king had summoned all of them for his Crusade. No boy over the age of twelve was left, unless she counted those wearing sackcloth in the church. That left only her courage to protect the people looking to her as their lady.

  Maybe she should have ordered the keep barred instead of coming out to face the riders. Dread twisted through her belly. It was not just her fate that hung on her decisions, it was every soul who lived on her land. Barring the door would have left all their food unprotected. She stepped forward.

  “I am Baron Ramon de Segrave.”

  He raised one hand into the air, with his palm flat and his fingers pointed skyward. The men riding with him responded quickly, the air filling with the sounds of them dismounting.

  Isabel gasped, feeling control slipping from her grasp. “How may I assist you, Lord de Segrave?”

  Her hope that the man might have a simple request died as he swung his leg over the back of the horse and lowered himself to the ground. Her belly twisted as she noted just how imposing a man he was once he was braced on his feet. He gave the stallion a firm pat but his eyes remained on her. Piercing and sharp, his gaze cut into her in spite of the distance between them. He was a hardened man, one built for war.

  “His majesty has sent me to discover why you withhold your geese from him.”

  Isabel stiffened. “His Grace does not need my geese, only their feathers, which have been sent each season as is required of me.”

  The baron closed the distance between them. Isabel fought the urge to retreat because even though she stood on the top step, the man looked her straight in the eye.

  Something strange fluttered through her belly.

  Something completely misplaced.

  Yet surprising, nonetheless. She felt as though her heart skipped a beat.

  Which was, of course, ridiculous.

  “His majesty requires more feathers for the archers he is preparing to march to the Holy Land.”

  Isabel’s temper stirred. “There is not a goose for twenty miles beyond the borders of my land because the king had them slaughtered. My flock must not have the same fate. I need my geese alive to nest or there shall be no feathers next season.”

  The number of men behind the baron drove home the fact that she could do very little against them if she failed to convince the baron that her geese should live to procreate. She swallowed her anger. Logic was her only weapon and she needed her wits to wield it.

  “I see you and your men are set to join the king. There are some feathers in my storerooms for this year’s taxes. I shall fetch them.”

  She didn’t wait for the man to answer, but hurried off toward the long storage buildings that ran alongside the keep. Mildred kept pace with her, muttering beneath her breath as they opened the door to the storerooms and heard one of the merlin falcons flutter its wings when the sunlight disturbed it.

  Isabel reached for one bird without thinking, her fingers trailing over the smooth back of the animal in a familiar motion.

  “Be at peace, Griffin.”

  Her hand was suddenly grasped, the baron’s fingers closing all the way around her wrist. He lifted her arm away from the hawk in one swift motion.

  “Even hooded, a raptor is dangerous, lady.” His voice was thick with reprimand and his eyes flashed with his displeasure. “Your father should have taught you better than to touch one.”

  Isabel lost the battle to rein in her temper. “My father is the one who instructed me upon the art of falconry. I am every bit as confident with Griffin as any man might be.”

  She reached out and stroked the hawk once again, keeping her rebellious gaze on the baron’s. His eyes narrowed.

  “Then it is a good thing your father is dead, for I would have words with him about teaching a woman the art of falconry. Such is a duty for a man.”

  His voice held all the arrogance she expected from a baron—well, from a man. Perhaps it was a sin, but she did not miss having to answer to a husband.

  “Since the king requires all my men, the duty of running this land is mine and I see it done well. There are the feathers. God’s peace be with you.”

  Ramon de Segrave didn’t turn. Instead, one of his dark eyebrows rose. He clearly didn’t care for her tone, but she had more important things to do than court his favor. He studied her with his dark gaze, and something shifted in the air between them. A gust of heat that had nothing to do with the changing season and everything to do with how close Ramon was to her. She shifted back, losing the battle to remain poised.

  “Do you argue against your place, lady? Is that the reason you wheedled your way into being taught to handle a hawk?”

  She drew in a harsh breath. “There was no wheedling involved, my lord. You are presumptuous to assume women only use sniveling to gai
n what we need.”

  “Need, madam? Admit you only sought the status the hawk would bring you when it was perched on your arm.” Determination edged his words. His opinion shouldn’t have mattered, but her pride flared up.

  “There are many here who look to me in these hard times. I have learned the tasks necessary to make sure my land feeds my people.”

  He frowned at her. Isabel wasn’t sure if it was her tone or her words that displeased him, most likely both. He was a knight and a baron. The church preached that it was her place to be humble in his presence, but she could not seem to recall that as she was forced to suffer his arrogance.

  She pointed once again at the baskets the feathers were carefully stored in.

  “Rats steal goose eggs. Hawks eat rats. My flock of geese is large because I fly Griffin over the marshes to hunt the rats. It keeps the vermin out of the stores as well.”

  His eyes narrowed as he contemplated her. Her belly fluttered again, which was preposterous because there was no reason she should worry about pleasing him.

  And yet…that sense of heat shifted between them again, and she noticed just how black his hair was. Like the deepest winter midnight.

  Enough!

  “Clever lady. You use reasoning well. Interesting.”

  His lips twitched. Something flashed in his eyes that sent her back a step in spite of her resolve to remain unmoved by him. There was a sense of command in him that seemed woven into the very fiber of his soul. She could have sworn she felt it, like heat radiating off coals.

  He turned his attention from her and looked at the baskets. Isabel was grateful for the moment of privacy because she was sure her face betrayed how unsettled she was.

  She wanted him and his army gone. The sooner the better.

  Maybe needed was a better word.

  You shall not think in such a manner…

  Her poise was crumbling, deserting her in a fashion that she had never experienced. It was so unsettling, she was nearly breathless.

  “I hear the king leaves soon on his Crusade, and that he has even taken to wearing the cross on his robe.”

  “He has.” Ramon de Segrave stared back at her. This time he lingered over her features, his gaze slipping down her body with a slow, sweeping motion that sent heat to her cheeks. It was unseemly for any knight to look at a lady in such a way, but it suited his nature.

  Excitement twisted through her like too much wine during a winter feast.

  “Enough.” Her mouth had gone dry. “Your gaze is overly bold for a knight embarking on the Crusade, my lord.”

  His lips twitched. “When you greet me with your head uncovered, you should expect such.”

  His chastisement stoked her temper. “The day is fine and warm. Whilst working inside, I had no need of a veil. This is not court, where efforts are devoted to vanity instead of the work necessary to begin planting. I dress to suit my duties.”

  She raised her chin and refused to lower her head with shame. He pressed his lips into a firm line, but she could see him weighing her words. Judging her.

  Wasn’t that the way of men?

  “I bid you good travels.” She lowered herself in one swift motion that erased the amusement from his expression. The baron quickly moved into her path, almost too fast for how much armor he wore, blocking the doorway with his large body.

  “His majesty has bestowed the title of baron upon me for service by his side, and given me the duty of making sure his kingdom is secure while he is away. Specifically, this borderland. I am also your neighbor now; the land to the south of your estate is mine.” His expression became impossible to read, drawing her closer as she sought some understanding of what he intended. There was something brewing in his eyes, something that twisted her insides with anticipation.

  She stepped back from him and his eyes narrowed.

  “That land has been deserted for two generations. There is not even a manor house still standing, for the Welsh burned it.”

  “Which is why the king has seen fit to suggest I wed you. Together, our land will become an estate the Welsh will find they cannot raid.”

  Her throat tightened until she couldn’t squeeze even a breath through it. Her temper flared up. She had held these lands countless days and toiled long hours to provide for their inhabitants. Everything was a credit to her own dedication. Yet to Ramon de Segrave, it might all so easily become part of the spoils.

  “When hellfire rains down from heaven, and not one moment before, shall I stand at the church door to wed you.”

  She hurried down the length of the store house and out another doorway, every muscle in her body quivering.

  From her anger, no doubt.

  You lie…

  She ground her teeth together.

  Perhaps, yet it was only a small dishonesty, for she was angry too.

  Aye, a tiny dishonesty, for she would be damned to hellfire before admitting she quivered for Ramon de Segrave.

  Or any man.

  * * *

  “She has spirit, that one. And pride,” Ambrose St. Martin remarked from beside him. Ramon reached up and pulled his helmet off his head before answering his second in command.

  “Yet it is earned. So not completely misplaced.”

  “Earned or not, she’ll not take easily to being bridled.”

  Ramon offered his friend a shrug that sent his shoulder armor clanking against his breast and back plate. The sound echoed inside the storeroom, so he stepped outside.

  “My first wife played the part of a submissive spouse very well. I discover myself wondering if I do not prefer Isabel’s honesty. However misplaced it may be. She does not veil her lies with flutters of her eyelashes.”

  Which roused his curiosity. Her scent lingered, teasing him with thoughts he’d long banished. Or at least confined to the sort of woman he might make agreement with for her favors.

  Ambrose took the helmet from his lord, but there was a dark frown lingering on his lips. “There are others you may wed for a better plot than this cursed marsh keep.”

  “What is your quarrel with the match?” Ramon asked. In truth, he needed to be reminded why marriage was something he disliked, for the sight of Isabel had somehow clouded his thinking.

  Ambrose looked him straight in the eye as he spoke. There was a confidence in the man Ramon admired, thus why they were friends and not just knights who shared only the bond of the chivalric code.

  “Her nurse told me she survived the fever that claimed the lives of her father, brother, and husband. She appears set on running this estate. You may not last longer than her husband did.”

  “I am more concerned over her ability to cloud my thinking when it comes to marriage.”

  Ambrose stiffened. “Perhaps you are simply trying to serve Richard and his whims, as you ever have done.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Ambrose drew in a stiff breath. Ramon ground his teeth. “Yet I discover my interest stirring. She stood up to me. With clear purpose and spirit. It is my own failing that allows such traits to undermine my thinking on the matter of wedding.”

  Ambrose raised an eyebrow, his lips curving knowingly. “Have you fallen at last to the sweet song of the gentle sex?”

  “Spare me your taunting, Ambrose.” Ramon considered the number of bundles in the storeroom. It was nearly full and the harvest was not yet finished. “Richard was correct when he said her people were fat and that this land needs defending. There is much here worth stealing, including the lady herself. When the Welsh hear her garrison is gone, they will come for her, because she is an heiress and they will think to expand their territory while the king is away.”

  Ambrose conceded the point with a nod. “Yet the lady herself is far from biddable.” His gaze strayed to the merlin. “She will argue against the place you mean to set her in.”

&nbs
p; “Her marriage was very brief; there are rumors it was never consummated.”

  Ambrose stiffened. “Then she is guilty of falsehood.”

  “Not so, for she has yet to speak upon the matter. It was her father who took possession of her husband’s holdings by using the marriage documents. A daughter must be obedient to her sire.”

  Ambrose nodded. “Yet I still believe you are more interested in pleasing Richard. Be careful, Richard will not be the one who must suffer that female in his bed.”

  Ramon chuckled. “It is the thought of her in my bed that has changed my thinking. It makes wedding more enticing, I admit.”

  Ambrose’s face lit with surprise before he burst out laughing. Ramon growled at him, but his fellow knight only bent over with his mirth.

  “’Tis grateful I am for such understanding,” Ramon said.

  Ambrose cleared his throat but didn’t quite erase the smirk from his lips. “Age has caught you at last. Before long, you’ll be casting out your wisdom to young squires as you recount your days of glory. That lady will put the bridle on you.”

  He choked on the last word, a fresh round of amusement claiming him. Ramon shot him a glare that only made the knight choke a few more times as he tried to rein in his enjoyment.

  “I’ve a fine memory, Ambrose,” Ramon warned before stepping back into the storeroom and looking around with a critical eye.

  Isabel of Camoys had been passed over by many of Richard’s knights in favor of women who had land that wasn’t so close to the rebellious Welsh, who refused to accept Richard as their rightful king.

  “One thing is for certain, we need to set the men to building structures that are large enough to defend this keep.” He scanned the open road in front of the store houses.

  Ambrose didn’t look pleased. “Should you not decide upon the matter of wedding the lady before improving her land? The men will expect their pay from you, and your land stands vacant. You need to plant your own fields to provide for them.”