The glow of a
campfire illuminated the night. The surrounding woods, a place of danger and
darkness, had its foreboding eased by the sound of soft chatter, made by the
men sitting around the blaze.
From the boar
that was roasting on the spit, Owen cut a thick piece for himself. As he ate
it, savoring the smoky flavor, he looked over at the hounds. They were calm and
obedient, as they were trained to be. But their eyes were bright with
expectation, their noses wiggling at the wafting scent of meat, and their tails
swishing in a sign of hopefulness. Owen’s mouth turned up slightly as he carved
off generous portions of the roast. He tossed the pieces to them, giving them
their hard-earned reward. They were equally a part of the company – a group
contented by the satisfaction of a hard day’s work and full bellies.
A long and
grueling day of training was done. The men had run for miles, weighed down by
their heavy coats of mail. They had passed around a heavy leather ball to
improve their upper body strength and coordination. They had engaged in
sword-fighting, of course. And then, there was the hunting of the boar. Taking
down such a beast was considered a great feat of courage and manhood - the
culmination of practices meant to prepare one and all for war. Now the prize
was crackling on the fire, providing a feast for all.
Owen only
wished his contentment could be complete.
Looking at his
father, who was sitting nearby, he saw that Guy’s expression was firm with
concentration, his thoughts clearly on something beyond the assembly of men and
dogs. In his grasp, pressed between his fingers, was a tiny object. There was
no need to question what it was. Owen was quite used to seeing the trinket - a
little amethyst cross that was forever in his father’s possession. Usually, it
was hidden beneath his shirt, but at times he just held it in his hand, looking
at it. Cassia Gisborne wore a similar cross, hers embedded with an amethyst
jewel. Years ago, she had gifted her husband with a cross of his own, this one
embedded with a diamond that was meant to endow its wearer with courage and
fortitude, and to bring him good fortune and victory. The examination of the
bauble was always accompanied by a certain look – an expression of softness
that Guy of Gisborne rarely wore. It was a look that Owen had seen many times.
But for the first time, he felt that he truly understood it.
They would all
be returning home late. When they arrived, there would be a look of peace that
would come over his father’s face. It had always seemed to Owen, at least in
his way of thinking, that there was much disappointment to be found in ending a
day of war games and training. But his father had always seemed so eager to get
home - so content to be done with everything outside the walls of the manor.
Not so long ago, such a mind-set had been a source of contention for Owen. But
now, he wondered if what he was feeling inside was the very same turmoil his
father had always struggled with.
True
contentment, it seemed, was in the promise of something sane in an insane
world. A home. A family. A loving woman, most of all. With a deep sigh, he
thought of what he would be returning to. Nothing of significance, in truth.
Once, he had relished a solitary life. Now, he found himself wishing there was
someone waiting for him when he returned from a long day - the kind of soft,
warm presence that his father was so eager to come home to. As he gazed into
the fire, losing himself in thought, he recalled the countless times during his
life when he had seen his mother and father reunited, particularly after a long
separation. No matter how they had tried to disguise it, no matter what manner
of polite and proper behavior they exhibited to those who were watching, there
was always an obvious fire between them. He wanted to share such a secret
passion with Isabella – a deep love that others envied, the way they envied his
mother and father. And he wanted not only to find comfort and love in her, but
to give it in return. That, he now understood, was what it truly meant to be a
man. Not to conquer enemies and seek glory for a king, but to have something of
his own – someone of his own, and to be the one who protected and provided for
that someone.
His father’s
voice suddenly shook him from his thoughts.
“Something is
on your mind, Owen?”
Owen shook his
head. “It is nothing, Papa.”
It was an
untruth that his father was surely aware of. Since their return from Toulon,
they had not discussed Isabella. What was there to speak of? It was useless to
go on with endless arguments about what should and should not be done. There
was the more important matter of war preparations, which held precedence over
everything else - even matters of the heart. But his mother and father had
surely noticed his deep distraction, even if they said nothing of it.
There was a
long space of silence that passed between them. Guy cut a piece of meat from
the roast, pausing it at his lips as he spoke.
“Your mother is
quite recovered from Phillipe’s birth.” Eating the meat, he maintained a casual
air. “She wishes to visit your brother soon.”
Owen’s posture
immediately straightened. “Does she?” he asked.
He was careful
to control the volume of his voice. The other men, even Lucien, were aware that
something was on his mind, and they rightly assumed that a woman was the cause
of his trouble. He had, after all, confessed to having such a distraction in
his life, but no amount of coaxing or taunting had pushed him to reveal her
identity. They knew nothing of his relationship with Isabella, and it was
important for it to remain that way. There could be no hint of excitement
expressed. Guy’s reply was guarded as well.
“Aye, she
does,” he said. “But a woman cannot travel alone. I think perhaps we should
accompany her.”
Owen’s answer
was quick, spoken firmly, his voice calm even as a spring of anticipation
welled up within him. “I think that is a wise decision.”
It was hard to
suppress the happy expression that threatened to give away his secret. But he
called upon his knightly discipline to give him strength, to see him through
the act of pretending that he knew nothing of love.
If love is a crime, he thought, Then I am as guilty as a man can be.
*****
“A message has
come for you.”
Isabella,
occupied with the cleaning of windows, broke herself from her revere. Of late,
happy thoughts of Owen had been a constant in her mind, even while doing chores
or other tasks. He had been on her mind at that moment, when William had
entered with the rolled parchment, which he handed to her. Looking down at it,
she saw a familiar imprint in the red wax, and was stunned.
“It is my
father’s seal.”
Her father’s
seal. The sight of it made her gasp. Breaking it quickly, she began to read as
she found her way to a nearby chair, and as she read, William slowly approached
her, his eyes and manner curious. A myriad of feelings was written over her
face – a moment of joy, then a moment of sorrow – and without looking away from
the letter, she shared her news with him.
“He and my
mother are well. But my brother is in failing health.”
Poor Bernardo,
she thought. He had never been the strongest of young men, but now it seemed
that he would never rise again from his sickbed.
“I am sorry to
hear of it,” William said.
Sitting back in
her chair, she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. But sorrow was quickly
taken over, trampled by an altogether different feeling – one of fear. A motion
in the distance, seen from the corner of her eye, caught her attention. Men on
horseback, coming at a swift pace. A familiar banner, with a well-known crest,
waved in the air as it was carried along, and the scroll dropped from her hand.
William came to her side, worried by the paleness that had overtaken her.
“Isabella, what
is it?”
Her reply was
nearly a whisper, her voice choked by fear. “Gilbert.”
“What?”
“He has come.
He has found me.” Panic gripped her senses. Backing away from the window, taking
to pacing back and forth in quick, frightened steps, she brought her hands to
her lips, trembling.
“All is done.
My end is near.”
Gilbert would
see her dead. Even if his own hand did not manage it, he would see that she was
taken to task by the law, and they would not be merciful. Images of horrifying
tortures, of brutal suffering, played in her imagination. The sudden grip of
William’s hand on her arm did little to shake her terror, even though his voice
took on a sudden sense of commanding that she had not heard from him before.
“Go out the
rear door. Make haste to church, and be at prayer.”
“At prayer?”
she cried, bewildered. He gave her a firm but gentle push towards the door.
“Tell the
priest that you claim sanctuary.”
“But I…”
His voice rose.
“Do as I tell you!”
The strength of
his words seemed to grant her the return of her senses. Still shaking, but
bolstered by William’s command, she rushed out the rear door. The church was
but a short distance away, just past the garden. As she hurried into the hall,
she nearly collided with the elderly priest as he was leaving. The elderly
cleric had been kind to her from the first, just as William had been, and
clutching his arm now, she pleaded with him, her face flushed.
“I seek
sanctuary!”
The priest
seemed bewildered by her sudden appearance and anxious state. Looking at her,
he spoke with a confused air.
“Sanctuary?”
There was no
time for long explanations. Falling to her knees, she pleaded with him. “My
husband comes for me. He will end my life.” Grasping the hem of his robe, she
pressed it to her lips. “Please help me, father. I beg you.”
In her heart,
she feared that he would turn her away. He and William, and all of the
Gisbornes, had been more generous than she deserved, and she knew she was
asking too much of this honorable man. But God in heaven, she hoped with all of
her being to be granted one last reprieve.
A moment later,
she felt the priest’s hand pressing against the top of her head.
“Rise, child.
You are under God’s protection.”
Slowly she came
to her feet. Taking his hand, she pressed her lips to his rings as grateful
tears rolled down her cheeks. Taking her by the arm, he led her to the steps of
the altar, where he told her to kneel. She needed no incentive to do so. With
her hands clasped together, she uttered fervent and desperate words of prayer,
all the while fearing that at any moment, Gilbert would rage through the door.
He would not have a care for the boundaries of the church. His only care would
be for revenge, and when Gilbert LaCroix wanted something, he would stop at
nothing to get it…
*****
William stood
firm as the party approached. He felt no fear for himself as he stood on the
stoop, watching the small but fearsome looking band of men coming forth, led by
the sheriff of the village. Sheriff Lefitte was not a man given to friendly
conversation or laughter - a man resigned to the violent nature of his job. At
nearly seven feet tall, he towered over everyone surrounding him, which gave
him a physical presence that was usually enough to deter mischief. And yet, he
was not one to exploit the power of his position. He would assess the situation
and act with fair judgment, and William was confident that no act of
persecution would fall on his own head, for he was a man of God, and Lefitte would
respect that dynamic.
The protection
of Isabella, however, was not so certain.
Gilbert LaCroix
was clearly set to a dark purpose. It was rumored that he was set on marrying
his mistress, and he wanted to be shed of any previous
attachments…specifically, the former wife who was still living. Somewhere along
the way, his plans had transitioned from imprisonment to something more
sinister, but when Isabella had escaped from the convent, his plans had been
thwarted…and he was infuriated by the deception. Now he was here, clearly set
on a mission of punishment. But William felt his confidence holding him up, his
faith supporting him. He stepped forward to greet his visitors, his hands
clasped firmly behind his back.
“Good morrow,
gentleman. To what do I owe this visit?”
Lefitte slid
down from his horse, with the other following his lead. His approach was
unhurried, but his purpose serious in its manner. He was plain-spoken, as was
his way, his words beginning without a polite greeting.
“We seek the
lady Isabella.”
William
answered with equal straightforwardness. “She is not here.”
“Our sources
indicate otherwise. Produce her, Diaconate.”
“I say again,
she is not here.”
Gilbert came
from behind, trying to push the sheriff aside.
“You would
willingly aid a criminal by harboring her? We know she is here, so produce her
now or pay the price for your deception!”
Confronted by a
red-faced, fiery-eyed brute, William replied in a cool and confident manner.
“She resides in
the church, my lord. She has claimed sanctuary, and by law, she is under the
protection of God.”
In an instant,
the reply seemed to disrupt the heavy tension hanging in the air. The sheriff
looked at Gilbert.
“If she has
truly claimed sanctuary, there is nothing to be done, baron.”
The baron’s
response was swift, angrier than before. “I will drag her out and have her
displayed in the streets as the whore that she is!”
Lefitte pushed
him back with a calm hand, but offered him a strong rebuke. “For God’s sake,
man. Remember yourself. You are in the presence of a man of God.”
William shook
his head, a slight smile coming to his lips. “I am not offended, my lords. And
you have my permission to search the premises if you like. But take care. I do
not feel it necessary to destroy my meager possessions.”
Lefitte was
silent for a moment, perhaps contemplating just what action to take. After a
few moments spent in thought, he spoke his command.
“Search the
house, men. But seek, and do not destroy.” He turned to a page boy. “You, go to
the church and see if the woman is there. Speak to the priest, and inquire
about her situation. Make haste.”
As the boy
hurried away, the men went about their search of the house. William watched,
seeing the hesitance in their actions as they looked. They were fearful, it
seemed – fearful of the reprucssions of disrupting a religious household. The
baron, clearly not sharing their concerns, fumed silently near the doorway. A
short time later, the page boy came rushing in, offering the sheriff the
report.
“The priest has
confirmed the news, my lord. She is confined to the church and cannot leave the
grounds.”
Lefitte slowly
let out a breath. “Then there is nothing to be done,” he said, and he gestured
for his men to depart. “Come, men. There is more important business to attend
to.”
As he turned
away, moving back towards his horse, Gilbert followed him with a furious
stride.
“You will
abandon your duty in the mere blink of an eye?”
The reply was
given calmly.
“My duty has
been done, LaCroix. If you wish to pursue this matter, do so of your own
accord. My men must occupy themselves with more important business.”
“Then I will
punish her myself!” Gilbert began a march towards the church, but Lefitte
stopped him with a forceful shout.
“You will not!”
Everyone grew
still and quiet, staring at Lefitte as he commanded the baron. “Go home,
LaCroix.”
Enraged,
Gilbert cursed as he struggled to mount his horse.
“The lot of you
are useless! Fucking useless!”
Once in the
saddle, he quickly departed with his men, kicking up a furious trail of dust
behind him. From his own place in the saddle, Lefitte looked over at William.
“Rid yourself
of the woman, Diaconate. She is a curse upon your household.”
He gave his
horse the spur, riding away, and William turned his steps towards the church. A
weight began to settle on his heart. A duty lay just ahead of him…one that
might very well tear at the fabric of his family’s bond.
In the chapel,
he saw Isabella kneeling at the altar, her hands clasped in prayer. The priest
came to his side, and after a brief conversation whispered between them, he
left William and Isabella alone together. Slowly, William came to stand behind
her. His tone was soft, almost sad, as he began the unenviable task.
“Lady
Isabella…”
He hesitated
for a moment, and was surprised when Isabella spoke first.
“I have brought
such strife upon your family. I can bear the guilt no longer.”
There was a
note of finality in her voice – something that told him she had come to a most
important decision.
“What will you
do?” he asked.
Lifting her
head, but remaining still with her hands still held in prayer, she replied in a
calm and steady voice. “I am uncertain. But I know I must choose a new path.
One that takes me far from your family, and preserves your happiness. If I
stay, I will be the ruin of the Gisborne family.”
It pained him
to know that he would be forced to turn her out. And worse, she would go
willingly, at the possible detriment to herself. He thought quickly, seeking
some solution – anything that would make this burden easier to bear, and he was
relieved when a possibility came to him.
“Perhaps you
should seek your own family.”
He saw how she
turned her head slightly, listening to him, and the idea in his mind began to
grow.
“If you wish to
travel to Spain, I will provide you with the means.”
Just speaking
the words, he felt a sharp stab of guilt. When Owen discovered this, he would
be heartbroken – and furious. It was likely that he would retaliate with
aggression. A part of him dreaded the thought of the betrayal. But it had to be
done – and both he and Isabella knew it. She spoke softly.
“You are too
generous, my lord. I know not how to repay your kindness.”
He came to sit
on the steps of the altar. Neither of them looked at one another, each knowing
the difficulty of their duty to be done, and the pain they would be inflicting
on Owen, as well as themselves.
“Isabella, my
mother and father will be here tomorrow. Along with Owen. The greatest kindness
you can bestow upon my family is to make my brother see reason.”
From the corner
of his eye, he saw the slight nod she gave.
“I will do my
best, my lord.”
*****
