She glanced towards the window seat where the abbess sat quietly. He noticed the nun gave a slight nod but didn’t speak.
Ranulf, now on his feet, was surprised to see that she was tall enough to look him in the eye without tilting her head back. Her chin was lifted to a haughty angle, which gave her an imperious air. Not a docile creature then. God’s teeth, give me strength.
“My visit can be no surprise. I was led to believe you were willing to accept the match?” He inclined his head towards the abbess in a silent question.
The abbess introduced him. “This is Sir Ranulf d’Argentan, Baron Beauforde, and soon to be your husband.”
She then introduced his soon-to-be wife. “Sir Ranulf, my I present Lady Isabeau de la Frêne, my niece.”
He inclined his head, then gently grasped her hand, bowing low, refusing to let her pull away.
He hadn’t intended to kiss her hand; her discomfort made him impulsive, an action he was soon to regret.
She waited until he released her hand, then quick as a snake, she lashed out and struck him across the face. “We are not married yet, sir; you will keep your distance.”
The abbess rose from where she had been sitting. Perhaps he had gone a little too far.
Rather than becoming angry, he merely bowed and before resuming his seat spoke to the abbess. “Reverend Mother, some light refreshment if you please; it seems we are in need of some fortification.”
He watched as she walked to the door and gave instructions to a young girl. Then he turned his gaze back to the woman who would become his wife.
He was going to enjoy this.
Ranulf liked nothing better than a battle. He could see his intended would be a delightful, if wearying, opponent.
He surprised himself. He found he relished the prospect.
Chapter Five
Isabeau couldn’t stop the spinning in her head. She needed to sit but was determined to show the stranger sitting opposite her that she was a woman not easily cowed.
The initial shock that the man standing before her was to be her husband had begun to wear off. Now a more pressing situation presented itself; why had she reacted to his innocent gesture with such venom? The jolt that surged up her arm when his mouth swept lightly over her knuckles had surprised her into reacting without thinking. Had she really slapped him? Brushing aside her concerns, she mustered all her dignity, and sat on the chair opposite her soon-to-be husband. “I understand under law that I have the right to reject a match, even if it is brokered by the king?”
She refused to meet his gaze, instead turning to the fire to concentrate on the flames dancing over the logs. This had been one of her favorite rooms as a child. The beautiful tapestries hanging on the southern walls had entertained her for hours. Images from the Holy Land, the Garden of Eden, and one from the sack of Troy.
Today there was no joy in this room, only dread.
“Yes, it is within your right to refuse the match, but would it be wise?” His tone was easy, and showed no sign of impatience. “Our liege lord requires a servant to protect his northern border against King Malcolm of Scotia. The young king will be pushed back to where he belongs.” He paused to watch as Tillie poured him some wine. He took a sip, and turned to Hild, who had resumed her seat at the window. “I commend you on this beverage, it is excellent.” Isabeau’s eyes were glued to his lips as they formed around the rim of the cup. Dragging her gaze away from his lips, she settled it on her hands.
“Surely I don’t need to be married for the king to protect his northern border?” She was genuinely confused as to what this had to do with her.
His tone held a hint of condescension. “My dear Lady Isabeau, I need Haythorpe if I am to protect the borders.” He gave her a most disarming smile. “If I do not hold Haythorpe, then the abbey may fall into enemy hands. Men, whom your aunt fears, and I would agree, would offer no protection to the many women who take refuge behind its walls.”
She swallowed to control her faltering voice. “It is true my aunt has gifted me her dowry lands, but surely there is a way for you to hold the village and the abbey without marrying me. Would you not be better matched with a lady who has a greater fortune?” There, she had said it. It lay between them like a great chasm.
He said nothing. Just sat there looking at her with an expression Isabeau couldn’t decipher.
The tip of her tongue slid over her lips, her mouth so dry she fought the urge to cough. She must ask, so she decided to use very small words so he would understand. “Why agree to marry me?” Although she had agreed to marry, she wanted … What did she want? As she watched him she recognized what it was that caused her to probe. She wanted to be desired for more than land. Stupid. Stupid goose. He wanted land, not her.
He laughed aloud. “It seems I am in need of a wife, and you, my lady, will do very nicely.” He paused to look at Hild. She followed his gaze to where her aunt sat by the window, seemingly content to watch as this man discussed her future. Hild didn’t offer any comment upon the conversation, but she knew her aunt disliked the situation as much as she did.
“I am sure you will agree marriage is better than guardianship. But make no mistake, Lady Isabeau de la Frêne, if I do not have Haythorpe, your aunt assures me his grace the Bishop of Hexham will.” He looked over to where Hild was watching from the window seat.
The full effect of his words hit Isabeau with a force she didn’t expect. Anything was better than Hexham. Even this stranger, with his arrogant assertion that he would have her, was better than the alternative.
Hild gave him a slight nod in agreement, but she didn’t take her eyes off Isabeau.
He ran a hand through his hair, the only sign he was losing patience with her.
“I have the king’s decree that Haythorpe be returned to my family, and as you are in possession of it, I shall have you too.”
She wanted to flee the masculine presence that seemed to be overpowering her, his body giving off a subtle scent of wool and horse. To her dismay, the combination was surprisingly arousing. When he leveled his gray eyes at her, Isabeau finally acquiesced to the inevitable. She was caught as surely as a coney in a trap. There would be no escape. Her pulse thundered in her ears, so loud she couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. Panic began to flower in her stomach, spreading to her chest, then her limbs. She was completely powerless. And it terrified her.
The image of her unbound hair, and filthy appearance, swam before her eyes, unbidden. Aware of heat rising in her cheeks, she was powerless to stop it. Oh, Holy Mother of God, what must he think?
Without warning he rose, and made a slight bow to Isabeau, then turned to Hild. “Mother Hild.” He bowed low over her aunt’s hand, then strolled from the room. His air suggested he was certain of her response.
At the door, he paused. When he turned to face her, he wore an expression that warned he expected to be obeyed. “I will return on Ides. There will be no priest; we will exchange our vows at the chapel door after Terce in the presence of Mother Hild. We will leave immediately to make our way to Beauforde. I will send a wagon for your women the day before to prepare for your arrival.” He didn’t take his eyes off her. “I advise against testing my patience.”
Eyes the color of a summer sky, pale and clear, almost gray, assessed her, their outer rim a deeper blue, like the sky before a storm. His air of superiority infuriated her. Panic gave way to exasperation. She wanted to throw something at him. She told herself she would have, but he was gone.