The Quest, page 21
He carefully shifted to his side, holding her fast so that they remained together. Softly his lips touched her forehead, her cheek, her lips. Mere hints of kisses. Murmurs of passion.
Iana clung to him in delight and in desolation, both a result of the truth that now dawned. She loved Henri. All along she had loved him. And she knew he loved her, too.
Matters were far worse than she had ever thought.
“Iana, my love…” he said, and would have said more.
“Please.” She placed her fingertips over his lips and sought forgiveness with her eyes. “This changes nothing.”
“It must,” he insisted vehemently, holding her tighter.
She sighed. “For years on end I was not even a person, Henri. I was a thing to be cast about, this way and that, chattel to my father and my husband, then my brother. Now I have found my courage and I would be me, whatever the cost. I know you do not understand this and I’ll not ask it of you again.”
Silently, he released her, sat up and began to don his clothes. He did not hurry, nor did he seem angry. Iana watched, holding fast the memory of the golden hour now past. Whatever came afterward, this would never dim.
How she wished she could touch him now, tell him that she loved him and how much she regretted that they could not go through life together. But he would latch on to her words and take hope from them, which they were not meant to convey.
Today in this chamber Henri had made her feel not owned, but treasured. He had behaved so apurpose, she knew, in order to change her mind about marriage.
If only he could understand how much she needed to be her own person, not someone else’s creature, they might dwell together in some way or another as equals. But alas, he was a man, so must make claims. Must rule. Must possess. If she demanded he alter his very nature, she would be no better than the men who had strived so to change her.
Before he left, he looked down at her once, a long assessing stare. Then he calmly walked out of the chamber and silently closed the door behind him. Iana felt bereft, but also relieved. Somehow she knew that he would no longer push her to do what she would not. And still she wept.
Henri had done all that he could to change Iana’s mind about wedding him, and yet she held firm. The only hope he had left to make her happy was removing her from her brother’s wardship. Ambrose would follow through on the betrothal unless Hamilton called it off. And Hamilton would not be so disposed, certainly not to hand Iana over to Henri.
His mind full to bursting with problems and no solutions, Henri clattered down the stairs and across the hall, looking for Rob.
“God’s truth, you look fit to groove daggers with your teeth!” Jehannie said. “What’s amiss?”
“What is not amiss?” he countered with a frown. “Where is Robbie?”
“With the guests in the solar,” she said, nodding that way and matching her steps to his. “I do swear Rob must be ready to toss you all out the gates and bar them.”
“No doubt.”
“Did you bed her, then?” she asked.
Henri halted midstride. “Merde!”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, do not go all French and haughty. Her scent is on you, so do not bother to deny it.”
She yelped when he grasped her shoulder. “Stay out of this, Jehan! I warn you!”
Instead of dashing away frightened, as he’d meant for her to do, she held her ground and shook a slender finger under his nose. “Harry, I want Ambrose, so this is my muddle, too. There’s no point in our dueling over it, when we could—”
“Hold a moment! What did you say?” He shook her shoulder. “Dueling?” He pounded his forehead with his other hand. “Of course! C’est parfait! A duel with Hamilton.” He kissed her soundly on top of her head, delighted with the idea she’d given him.
“Harry, no!” she argued.
He blinked and caught his lip between his teeth, thinking. “You are right. Not with her brother. With Ambrose. Oui, there is the solution.”
He left her standing there and rushed to find the man. A deal could be worked, an honorable way out of the knight’s promise. Newell could not argue with that.
Jehan followed and grabbed at his arm. He shook her off.
“Do not do this, I beg you!” she pleaded.
Henri hated to distress her any more than she already was, so he stopped. “I will not hurt him. I give you my word. Have you ever known me to lie?”
One of her dark brows kicked up and her lips quirked to one side.
“I mean about anything of import. Surely you do not question my honor, Jehan. If I say the man will be safe, he will be safe.”
“You promise? You vow?”
“I do,” he assured her. “I have no real quarrel with Ambrose. I quite like him, even if he is more than a bit—”
“Careful, Harry,” she warned.
He laughed. “Do not worry.”
She seemed to accept that, for she gave a half shrug and left off haranguing him.
“Go see to Iana for me, would you, Jehan? Do not speak of what you suspected of us, however. Also, no mention of the duel. Talk only of mundane things, things to soothe her, eh? Be my friend?”
She nodded and turned reluctantly toward the stairs. “All will be well, Jehannie,” he called after her. “I promise.”
This could solve everything, he thought as he strode toward the solar to present his challenge. Already he was thinking of how he and Ambrose might enact this. No doubt the knight was well trained with a blade. One could always tell by the way a man stood, his confidence and, of course, the slightly larger muscles in his sword arm.
Oh, he and Ambrose would make this a show never to be forgotten. The public defeat might sting the knight’s overweening pride, Henri knew, but gaining the right to court Jehan openly would soothe that readily enough. They would each have what they wanted in the end.
If Iana would accept him. But that was a problem for another day. For now, he must free her from her brother’s plans.
He pushed open the door, stalked inside and, wearing his fiercest, most determined expression, addressed Newell. “Hamilton, I would wed your sister.”
The eyes, so like Iana’s, hardened. “I think not, Gillet,” he replied. “She is promised.” He glanced lazily at Ambrose. “Is that not so?”
“Aye, you have had my word,” Ambrose answered firmly.
“There you have it,” Newell said, raising one hand, palm up as if he could not change a thing.
Henri had expected as much. He turned to Ambrose. “Then I will fight you for the honor of her hand, for I love the lady. Since you are all that stands in my way, I must remove you.”
“Harry!” Rob shouted as he leapt to his feet. “Do not!”
“Be still, brother. This is my concern, not yours. What say you, Ambrose?”
The knight looked crestfallen, not at all eager to engage in a contest. How could he not see this was his only chance to have Jehan?
Henri gritted his teeth and widened his eyes slightly, trying to impart his intent silently. Ambrose stared back as if Henri had lost his senses.
“I have reasons for betrothing Iana to Sir Ambrose,” Newell said calmly. “Yet none in aligning my name with a French knight of no account. Aside from that, I do not like you, Gillet. I believe you can guess why.”
Yes, he could guess. Newell had figured out that Henri was behind the earlier deception. Ambrose must have apologized for his part of that in the interim, for he seemed back in Newell’s good graces.
As for being of no account, Henri abruptly realized Newell did not know that he was heir to the Comte de Trouville. Likely no one had told the laird of the vast wealth and four estates in France owned by Trouville. Henri had more property, as well as gold he had acquired on his own, in addition to that. Such news might sway Newell’s decision right enough.
However, boasting of it would appear as if he were trying to buy Iana’s hand, which in essence he would be doing. True, that was the way brides were usually acquired, but he knew she would never forgive him if he did so in this instance. She had been sold before and he would not stoop to making a purchase of her again.
He would simply have to go as he’d begun and make it an outright challenge for her, borne of love. Hopefully, that would prove to her that he truly cared and that she need never question his reason for wanting her as his wife.
In his experience, there was no greater compliment to a woman than for a man to fight for her. Again he applauded himself for thinking of this. How could she refuse him when he put his life at risk to have her? She need never know the outcome was a foregone conclusion.
Henri repeated his challenge. “I shall win her, Hamilton. When I have done with Ambrose and you betroth her to another, I will remove him as well. On and on, until there is no one left standing but myself for you to consider.”
He realized he meant every word of that speech, if it came to that. But it would not. Her brother would give his word, Henri would best Ambrose, then the way would be clear. At least, clear of Ambrose and her brother. Iana herself would probably present a much greater challenge, but Henri felt hopeful. She had allowed him to make love to her. She was his now no matter what happened. He loved her and would never let her go.
Newell Hamilton smiled craftily. “Ambrose is not one to tolerate defeat so easily, Gillet. I have seen him fight. You might find him more capable than you expect.”
“If he should win, you would be rid of me, would you not?” Henri asked, returning the forced smile with one of his own.
But Ambrose would not win, Henri knew. If he did, he would have to go through with the betrothal and wedding, and thereby lose Jehan. Any fool could see those two were smitten with one another. As besotted as he himself was with Iana.
The only problem might be in arranging the battle so that it lasted long enough for Ambrose to lay down his sword and cry mercy without appearing cowardly.
Rob was signing surreptitiously, warning Henri emphatically to withdraw, to cease this. It was unlike Rob not to catch on to a trick such as this at the outset. Surely his own brother did not think Ambrose could defeat him.
Anger at that notion spurred Henri on. “Sanction this, Hamilton. You shall have the bride price, come what may. And I’ll wager Sir Ambrose will not withdraw his friendship from you when he loses. You could still count on his support in matters politic. What say you?”
Ambrose nodded to indicate he agreed with that. His lips were drawn tight and he frowned. A good guise of unwillingness to risk forfeiting Iana, Henri thought. He would have to commend Ambrose later for that pretense.
Dead silence reigned for a while as Newell considered. He looked from Henri to Ambrose several times, as though judging them. “Ambrose, are you certain of your willingness to reaffirm your right to claim my sister? Is she worth that to you?”
The knight closed his eyes and sighed. “I have given my word to you that I will have her. My conscience demands I do whatever I am able in order to keep it. If you say we fight for her, then I shall fight, and will abide by the will of God.”
Newell grinned. “Then show this parvenu français how an able Scotsman wields a sword. I want him on his back in the dirt with your blade at his neck.”
“Nay!” Rob thundered. “I’ll not permit.”
“You will permit!” Henri declared, signing with his hands the intent to pretend the entire thing.
Rob kept shaking his head, worry apparent in his frown. No matter, Henri thought to himself. He would explain to his brother later what he meant to do.
Sometimes Rob perceived things wrongly. But rarely did he do so, a small voice in Henri’s head warned him. Very rarely did Rob mistake a man’s intentions.
Iana had finished her fit of weeping, put on her clothes and returned to her own chamber. She had been glad to leave that improvised cell where Newell had visited her and she had later made love with Henri.
It was not yet midday and so much had happened to her. More than anything, she wished she could simply forget it all.
Foolish to think that possible. She would never be able to banish the feelings Henri had stirred within her. She pressed her palm to her heart and felt it racing still.
Oh, that man would ensorcell her if she let him. Mayhaps he already had, for she certainly could dwell on little else at the moment.
She was still standing in the middle of the floor, her mind fixed on him and their loving, when the door opened.
Alerted by the dour expression she wore, Iana knew Jehan was upset the moment she entered the room. Immediately the woman began to pace, wringing her hands and casting frequent accusing glances at Iana.
Had Henri confessed so soon that they had made love? He must have done. What else would bother Jehan so?
The thought had occurred to Iana that Henri might have seduced her in order to gain her acceptance of his proposal. If so, he had troubled himself for no cause. She did not intend to wed anyone at all. She must tell him she would not stand for this sort of trickery.
A pity that learning of their intimacy angered Jehan when she and Iana were on the brink of becoming friends. “Jehan, mayhaps I should explain. Henri and I did not plan—”
“You did not plan,” Jehan snapped. “No, Henri is the one with all of the grandiose schemes!” She whipped her skirts aside with an angry swat as she whirled. “Tup you and trap you, he thought. Then taunt your brother into agreeing.”
“I cannot believe this!” Iana gasped, mortified beyond bearing. “He has told Newell?”
“No, not about that, you goose! I am not supposed to tell you this, but I will. That brother of yours actually gave his assent that Henri and Ambrose could fight one another for your hand,” Jehan announced. “To the winner goes the spoils.” She winced at her own words, touching her fingers to her lips. “Oh, I did not mean that the way it sounded.”
Iana waved away the token apology as unnecessary. “I am spoiled, why not say so? But I cannot credit Newell’s sanction of a contest! First he offers me up to Ambrose like a mare at auction, and next I’m to be a tourney trinket? Och, that is ten times worse!”
Jehan had tears in her eyes now and was hurriedly wiping them away before they fell. “One or both of them could be hurt, you know. It’s that damnable honor of his,” she cried. “A plague on knights and their nonsense!”
Iana felt moved to comfort her. There was the worry about injury, of course, but she suspected Jehan’s fears went a bit deeper than that. Ambrose would be fighting for the hand of another woman if this farce took place. All because he had given his word to Newell that he would enter into the betrothal. Nothing official had been signed yet, and still Ambrose felt obliged.
She took Jehan by the hand and led her to the chair beside the fireplace. “Sit. Let us think this through and see what we might do about it.”
“There is nothing to be done!” Jehan said, sniffling.
“What do you mean?”
“I listened outside the solar door. They have set their minds to it. Eager as lads. I think it is the competition, French against Scot, as much as for the prize at the end of it.” Again she pressed her fingers to her unruly lips. “Oh, not that you are no worthy prize, Iana. You are!”
Iana blew out her breath in a rude sound and glanced heavenward. “If you ask me, I think all three of them have had one too many blows to the head. I shall put a stop to this, never you fear.”
“Too late, I think,” Jehan said with a sigh.
“Well, I’ll not wed either man,” Iana assured her. “So you need not fret that Ambrose will be forbidden to you when it’s done. You love him, do you not?”
Jehan chewed the corner of her bottom lip and let her gaze wander around the room, avoiding Iana’s eyes.
“Well, do you?” She waited until Jehan nodded, a little reluctantly. “Or do you not?”
“I think so,” Jehan admitted, plucking at a thread on her sleeve, “though I have never really loved before. What is it like?”
Iana leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands beneath her chin. She thought for a moment. “Let me see…first, you admire him. You know, how he behaves toward you and others.”
“Yes, I do that. What else?” Jehan demanded, intent on every word. How flattering it was to be asked advice of this nature. Iana could not recall anyone ever giving full attention to her words of wisdom.
“Well, you feel a certain protectiveness, I think. That should go both ways, of course. He ought to care for your safety and well-being.” Iana smiled at her. “You have exhibited that by objecting to this contest, so it is a given.”
“So it is. There’s more?”
“Ah, yes. You should feel shivery whenever he touches or kisses you. A good sort of trembling, not fright or such. Do you wonder what it would be like…” She hesitated to speak of it, that wicked inner questioning. The memory of her satisfying her own questions about Henri was simply too recent.
“To share his bed?” Jehan supplied. “Oh yes, I do! I dream of it. In truth, I would have offered already if I did not know his cursed honor would hold him back.”
She colored. “Uh, I did not mean that Henri was lacking honor. It’s simply that Ambrose…”
Iana laughed. “I know what you mean about Ambrose. He could do with a bit less honor and a lot more wit, I should think!”
Jehan began to protest in Ambrose’s defense, then stopped and wrinkled her nose. “He could at that. The poor fellow is all too unbending and high-flown. He needs my common sense to put him right.”
“Then you do love him,” Iana said with a firm nod.
“As you love Henri,” Jehan declared.
Iana shook her head. “Nay, I—”
“You do so!” Jehan insisted. “If you did not, how would you know what love entails and be able to advise me of it? Lie to yourself if you must, but there is no need to lie to me. I can see that you love him, and I think you should marry him. Elope. Secret marriages are as valid as those sanctioned. All you need is a priest somewhere about. He need not even participate in the ceremony for it to be legal. My father is a priest, you know, and I’m certain if I asked—”
