“I guess he didn’t tell you I often swam with him.”
“No, he neglected to mention that.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get your swim, my lord.”
The noise in the great hall had increased even more as the men and women slowed their eating and did more drinking and talking. Isabel and Chetwynd had exhausted their talk about Justin and remained quiet. Flushed with the success of her presence in the great hall, Isabel wondered if she dared to advance her plan.
Looking out at the troops, she saw that there were a few women traveling with the soldiers. Isabel turned to face Chetwynd again. She took it as a good sign that he no longer appeared as stern as he had when they met. “When do you leave Narbonne, Lord Chetwynd?”
“We will rest here for a day or two. My men are eager to return to their homes to help with the fall harvest.” He paused and then continued, “I’m headed for Aachen to report to King Louis about our patrol on the border.”
Father Ivo had told Isabel that Aachen was the king’s favorite palace, and Justin would be sure to be there. Since that’s where she wanted to go, she saw no reason why she couldn’t travel with Chetwynd’s army. “Would you take me with you to Aachen?” she asked.
The shocked expression on his face made Isabel realize she should have prepared him for her request instead of blurting it out. In order not to appear a wanton woman seeking to be one of his camp followers, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “I wish to visit with my brother before taking religious orders.”
“You are planning on a religious vocation?” he asked sharply, ignoring her request to travel with them.
Isabel squirmed in her seat. “Yes, my father suggested it some time ago. He is becoming more insistent each day.” At least that was true. “I haven’t told anyone yet of my decision, so please don’t mention it.”
His eyes narrowed, and Isabel knew at once that he didn’t believe her.
“We have to move quickly.” He sounded harsh, and the frown had returned to his face.
“I assure you I can keep pace with your caravan. I grew up riding horses and am quite skilled.” Isabel was eager to prove that she wouldn’t be a bother on the journey.
“I’m sure you can ride quite well. There must be a religious group from this area that will be attending the Fall Assembly. In view of your planned vocation, I think they would be more suitable companions for your journey.”
The sarcasm in his voice when he spoke of her vocation was not lost on Isabel. “I haven’t joined a religious order yet, and I may decide against it.” She realized how illogical that sounded, even as she said the words. The man was infuriating and forced her to say the most unreasonable things. She couldn’t believe she had ever suspected he was her champion.
They were glaring at each other, unaware of the attention they had attracted. Lady Winifred spoke up. “Isabel, why don’t you take Lord Chetwynd for a stroll through the garden?” It was more an order than a suggestion. “You can speak more freely there,” she whispered into Isabel’s ear.
Without a glance at Lord Chetwynd, Isabel stood up. Unmindful now of the crowded hall, she stalked across the room to a passage leading to a doorway. She wondered if he would follow, but told herself she didn’t care either way. In the sudden quiet of the garden, she could hear he was close behind. She hurried along the path. The hallway had been dim, but the garden was lit by moonlight.
Chetwynd grabbed her arm to still her flight and roughly turned her to face him. Isabel stumbled against him, shocked at his hold on her bare arm and the proximity of his hard body. She felt angry instead of frightened. Before she could pull away, he backed up and dropped her arm as though it had burned his hand.
“Your bold request took me by surprise,” he said. Frowning, he appeared sorry he had handled her roughly, but he didn’t apologize. “Your father is the one to make such a decision. Why would you ask a stranger to escort you on a long journey?”
“Since you know Justin and my father, you are not a stranger to my family.” She felt defeated and close to tears, but managed to ask in a trembling voice, “Why won’t you escort me?”
They were still standing close, and he reached out to trail his finger along the thin scar on the left side of her forehead. He quickly withdrew his hand, but not before Isabel gasped at his gentle touch. It was the touch she remembered.
“It was you who rescued me, wasn’t it?” she whispered, wondering if he would admit it.
Before answering Isabel’s question, Chetwynd paused, remembering how he had watched as the healer sewed the gash together; then he nodded. He had barely been able to feel the slight mound of the scar. Turning away from her, he sat upon a nearby bench.
Leaving a space between them, Isabel joined him. They had gone only a few steps into the garden, where there was enough light to see each other. But Chetwynd didn’t need to look at her to remember how she had filled out the gown she wore to the dining room. The low cut and soft folds emphasized her full, grownup figure. She wore a head covering, but it couldn’t contain her thick dark curls, and a few hung around her face.
Isabel finally broke the silence between them. “I’ve wanted to thank you for a long time. I hope someone thanked you that day eight years ago when you rescued me.”
Chetwynd nodded his head again, still a little shocked at his need to touch the small line on her forehead. “Why don’t you cover
