The Bride Thief. Susan Paul Spencer
needn’t worry about that until after you’ve agreed to wed with me.” With a gentle, reassuring squeeze of her hands, he added, “In truth, you needn’t worry about it at all. I will never hurt you, Isabelle.”
“My brother,” she said, thinking suddenly of Senet. “I cannot leave him alone in my uncle’s authority. He is but ten-and-six, and Sir Myles has no care for him, except as a way of keeping me from being disobedient.”
“Ah,” Justin said. “I begin to understand the reason for your devoted service to your uncle. Your brother will come to us, then. He has been fostered with Sir Howton, has he not?” When Isabelle nodded, he said, “I will continue to train him for knighthood, just as Sir Howton has done, and he will have all that we can give him to make his way.”
Isabelle leaned forward. “My lord, do you mean this?”
“On my honor, before God, I vow it.”
The door to the chamber opened, and both Isabelle and Justin turned. A tall blond man, dressed in brown robes and bearing a large steaming bowl, entered.
“God’s mercy,” he said, having contemplated them for a silent moment. “I never in my life expected to see you on your knees before any woman, Justin. You’re clearly more desperate than I understood. Have you convinced Lady Isabelle to become your willing wife, or are you yet trying to persuade her?” Walking farther into the chamber, he set the bowl on a low table. “I’ve brought food,” he stated, and stood to his full height, smiling down at Isabelle. “My dear, you are the most welcome sight I’ve had in many a year.”
“Hugo,” Justin said warmly, standing and hugging the other man. “’Tis good and better to see you again.”
“Aye, and so it is,” the priest replied, returning the embrace. “Be pleased to introduce me to Lady Isabelle, brother.”
“My lady, this is my brother, Father Hugo. He is going to wed us.”
“If Lady Isabelle is willing,” Father Hugo added, moving forward to take Isabelle’s hand. With a warm smile, he bent and kissed her fingers. “My lady,” he murmured, “I am honored. Justin sent me an urgent missive regarding you, and it is with great pleasure that I meet the woman who has finally captured my youngest brother’s heart.”
He was too handsome to be a priest, Isabelle thought. And far too admiring. She could feel herself turning red all the way up to the roots of her hair. “Oh, no, Father, I fear you misunderstand. ‘Tis only that he must wed to keep his lands. I’ve not captured Sir Justin’s heart, or any part of him.”
The look that possessed the handsome priest’s face reminded Isabelle of nothing so much as the pleased way her uncle looked when he saw the profits mounting up in his account books. Beneath his interested scrutiny she felt, for a moment, like a vastly valuable treasure. “That, my very dear lady,” said Father Hugo, “remains to be seen. And so—” he again stood full height “—have you decided which road you’ll take? Are you going to marry this knave and go with him to Talwar, or shall I send for your uncle to come and escort you back to London? For me, I should advise trying the first. From what Justin’s written me, you’ve already tried the latter without much satisfaction. Or is he mistaken?”
“Nay,” she admitted softly, drawing Justin’s warm cloak more firmly about her. “’Twas not pleasant to live beneath my uncle’s hand.”
“Then you may as well try marrying my brother,” Father Hugo suggested cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. “He’s not perfect, i’ faith, but I can promise he’s better than most. If he’s not good to you, you need only send word and I’ll come and make him behave.” He grinned at his younger brother. “I give my vow on that. Now, what say you? Shall I lend my blessing to a wedding this night?”
Justin’s gaze held Isabelle’s, questioning. She drew in a long breath and released it shakily. With a nod, she committed herself to a new, unknown life. “Aye. You shall.”
The marriage took place as soon as Isabelle had been given a chance to eat and clothe herself. Surrounded by men—Sir Christian and several silent, solemn monks—she stood beside Sir Justin Baldwin in the monastery’s small chapel and agreed to be his wife. It should have been, she thought afterward, a moment that carried a certain amount of weight, joy or fear or some life-changing impact. But it had been nothing more than a very simple matter. Sir Justin repeated his vows, put a plain gold ring on her finger and, having received it from his brother, passed the kiss of peace along to her by setting his lips briefly against her cheek. And so, in a matter of a few minutes, they were married. At least in the eyes of the Church. What her uncle would think about it, Isabelle wasn’t able to imagine.
Father Hugo heartily hugged and kissed her when it was over, as did Sir Christian, who said, “You are a kind and beautiful lady, Isabelle Baldwin. Justin is a fortunate man, indeed. I pray God I will be as blessed someday.”
Congratulatory cups of wine were passed and drunk, and then, too soon, Justin was taking hold of her elbow and saying, “There is not much time before daylight. We will bid you all good-night”
Isabelle had never felt so embarrassed in all her life, standing before a roomful of holy men who surely realized Sir Justin’s intent to consummate the marriage.
Father Hugo, setting a reassuring hand on Isabelle’s shoulder, said, “Go and tend to this final matter, then, knowing that God has blessed your union. We will send no witnesses with you, for Lady Isabelle should not suffer further distress this night, when she has already so generously done all that has been asked of her.” He must have heard the breath of relief that she released, for he smiled warmly and kissed her cheek. “God be with you, daughter. Go now with your husband.” To Justin, he added, “I trust you will take every care with your good lady, brother.”
“Aye,” Justin replied simply, pulling Isabelle toward the door and not seeming to notice how stiffly she went.
“Well,” she said as they walked side by side down the darkened hall. “Well.”
He chuckled and said, “Indeed.”
When he suddenly put his hand on her waist, she nearly jumped into a wall.
“Forgive me,” she murmured. “I fear that I’m a little… unused to this.” Which was, she thought, a rather weak way of saying that she’d never so much as kissed a man.
His hand pressed against her with light warmth. “There is no need to ask forgiveness, Isabelle. You have never known a man and are afraid. ‘Tis understandable, i’ faith.”
He stopped before the chamber door, which he opened, stepping back to allow her to enter. A simple room had never looked so awful to Isabelle before. She cast a glance at the bed and imagined herself there, beneath this man, her husband, as he made her his wife.
“Come, Isabelle.” He took her hand and drew her farther in, closing the door. “Let us have an understanding.” Turning her unresisting body by the shoulders as if she were a powerless puppet, he drew her near. “We are all but strangers, you and I, and yet we are also man and wife. I would have you strive to trust me in all things, just as I will strive to trust you.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, gently. “But such as that will take time, and I would not repay the kindness you have done me this night by forcing you to lie with me before you are willing. When I make you my wife complete, ‘twill be because you wish it, and because you have come to trust me. Is this as you would have it, Isabelle?”
“Oh, aye,” she said with open relief, thankful for a reprieve. “You are kind, Sir Justin, and I am more than grateful.”
He nodded. “We will wait until we have achieved Talwar, then, and when you are ready to become my wife in every way, you will let me know. Only promise that it will not be long,