Free Love Never Lies by Rachel Donnelly Page B

forfeit her supper. But she would not tell him that. She would not complain. It would only give him cause to gloat.
    He came slowly forward to regard her steadily. “Don’t argue with me, wench. ‘ Tis a command not a request.”
    Isabeau straightened her spine despite the fingers of fear crawling up her back. “If you wish assistance, I’ll fetch Hilda. She’s ever eager to see to your needs.”
    When she made to walk past him, he captured her by the arm. She gasped as his fingers bit into the fresh bruises Edric had left there. “Please, my lord.” She blinked back the tears that rushed to her eyes. “You’re hurting my arm.”
    He drew her toward him into the light. His blue eyes narrowed. “How did you come by these marks?”
    His voice battered her ears like an accusation. “A gift from you, my lord.” Her voice shook with suppressed anger, at herself as much as him, for feeling the way she did, and not being able to stop it. “Had you already arranged for my ransom, I’d not have to fight off the unwelcome advances of your men.”
      His tone grew dangerous. “What men?”
    “’Tis of no importance.” She shrugged off his hand. “I’ve no wish to see him punished.”
    “What makes you think I’d punish him?” He asked, a scowl rippling his forehead. “‘Tis likely you encouraged his attentions.”
    Her mouth gaped wide.
    Of all the…”
    The man was an ass!
    She snapped her mouth shut. Why waste time pleading her innocence. He would not believe her. He thought her a whore and a liar. “Yea, my lord, mayhap you’re right.” Her voice rose a hair above a whisper. “My kindness was misplaced. ‘Twas foolish of me to put my trust in any man, for whenever I do, I’m doomed to disappointment.” She turned on her heel and strode for the door, remembering too late as her face hit the late afternoon sun, that she had failed to demand news of her ransom.
    But she could not turn around and speak with him now, feeling rattled as she did.
    She needed time to collect herself.
      Rot!
    Why did she allow him to turn her into such a milk-livered sop?
    She yanked her blue kirtle over her head, smoothing it down with the palms of her hands, then marched across the yard to the hall, braiding her damp hair as she went.
    She arrived at the hall to find a score of men sitting at the trestle tables swigging ale, voices raised so loud they might have been one hundred. It did not take her long to discover why, as she threaded her way through the tables with her ewer of ale to replenish their cups.
    “The constable has all but given it up,” one man said.
    “I give him two days,” another replied.
    “Two? Why say you two?” The first barked a loud laugh. “We’ll be drinking Highburn’s ale come the morrow.”
    Apparently the siege neared an end, giving them cause to celebrate. Isabeau’s spirits rose at the news. Mayhap with the siege over, Fortin would turn his efforts toward claiming her ransom. In the meantime, she must continue her pleas to hasten him along, while at the same time, endeavoring never to be caught alone with him again.
    As if that wasn’t enough to worry about. On her way back from the kitchen with a heavy platter of boiled roach, Edric appeared before her, blocking her path. She gazed up at him through swirls of steam curling above the platter of fish, willing him to speak before her arms gave out.
    “Forgive me, my lady,” he said in a gush. “For what happened at the gatehouse. I meant no insult. But whenever I see you...”
    Isabeau cut him off to save him any further embarrassing disclosures, saying with a tight smile, “’Tis of no consequence. Now if you’ll forgive me, I need to deliver this platter, ere it grows cold.”
    He stepped aside, allowing her to pass, but she continued to feel his eyes on her as she moved about the hall. Between his unwelcome stares and the dark glances Fortin shot her way from the high table, ‘twas a wonder she could go about her labors