“You are naive, my dear,” Lady Winifred replied, shaking her head. “You will change your mind once you discover the advantages of having a husband who has the ear of the king. You will be welcomed at court, plus you will have a manor of your own to manage as you please.”
As far as her grandmother was concerned, there was no higher goal in life for a woman than overseeing her own manor. Her fear that Isabel might replace her in that role at Narbonne was no doubt the main reason she wanted her granddaughter settled elsewhere, whether it be with Lord Chetwynd or in a monastery.
Isabel refused to leave without a final word on the subject. “I will not trap him,” she repeated, and made a hasty retreat before her grandmother could reply.
Once in her bedchamber, doubts stole any satisfaction Isabel might have achieved by having the last word. She tossed and turned in her narrow bed, repeating the last sentence to her grandmother over and over in her mind. Long into the night, she kept replaying her conversations with both Chetwynd and her grandmother, examining each carefully. She tested the motives of all parties, including herself, and questioned what she had done.
For eight years, she had dreamed of being rescued by the golden-haired warrior. But she was a grown woman now, and Emma was right, it was well past the time when she should have put that dream away. Lord Chetwynd was not the champion she imagined, and he was definitely not here to rescue her. She would have to do that herself.
It was almost dawn before Isabel finally fell into a restless sleep. When her handmaid, Marianna, shook her shoulder a short time later, Isabel awoke with renewed determination. She had been given a chance to leave Narbonne, and she would make the most of it.
Isabel and her grandmother walked to the chapel in silence, as though neither wished to return to the disagreement that lay between them. Chetwynd planned to speak to Lord Theodoric after the service. Isabel wondered if nightmares of Lady Winifred’s scheming might not have caused him to flee the manor.
When Isabel spotted him entering the chapel, she couldn’t help feeling relieved. This morning his stony expression made her smile a little, as she saw it as a sign of resolve to go through with their plan.
Wishing to hear the news of his interview with her father in a secluded spot away from curious stares, Isabel turned to her grandmother and said, “Tell Lord Chetwynd to come to me at the pond after he has spoken to Father.”
“What pond? What are you talking about, Isabel?” her grandmother asked impatiently.
“Don’t worry, he’ll know what I mean,” she assured Lady Winifred, and hurried on ahead of her into the chapel.
The soldiers filled the benches of the small chapel where Father Ivo performed the morning service. He had been both the parish priest and Isabel’s tutor for as long as she could remember. As she knelt with bowed head, she thought of his painstaking method of teaching her to read. He pointed out the Latin words in his large, engraved Bible, showing her the verses she heard repeatedly in the chapel.
Her eagerness to learn surprised and delighted the old priest. As a reward for her hard work studying the Bible, he introduced her to the tales of Ovid. The poet had written about the triumphs, tragedies, and tomfoolery of the Greek gods and goddesses. It was with Ovid’s stories that Isabel used to entertain Emma.
Father Ivo had suggested she join a religious community, but to be a teacher, not a nun. Perhaps it was her romantic fantasy of being rescued that had made her hesitate, as she would have enjoyed sharing her knowledge. She felt closer to Father Ivo than to her father or grandmother, and wondered what he would think of Lord Chetwynd and their plan to marry.
At the end of Mass, Isabel and her family preceded the other worshipers out of the chapel. She caught sight of Emma seated in the back row. After exchanging a tentative nod with Lord Chetwynd, who walked beside her father, Isabel waited for Emma. Isabel linked arms with her friend and pulled her away from the crowd.
“Let’s walk to the pond, Emma. I need to talk to you.”
Emma, looking older with her plaits hidden under a head covering, cradled her baby in her arms. Isabel could tell it was all Emma could do to keep silent, but she waited until they had advanced along the path before she spoke.
“I saw the fair-haired soldier walking with your father. Is he the one you saw at the pond?”
“Yes. Did he look familiar to you?”
“No, should he?”
“You mean he doesn’t look like an angel?”
Emma stopped in her tracks and twirled around, but Lord Chetwynd was out of sight. “Are you saying it’s him?”
“Shush. Not so loud, Emma. Your voice could wake the dead.” But Isabel giggled at the startled expression on her friend’s face.
“Oh Isabel, he’s a well-built man, but I doubt I would have recognized him as your angel. The hair is similar, I suppose, but this man has a hard, proud face. He moved with an arrogant grace that I don’t remember, and he fills out his clothes. Your angel was slight of build. This man looks more like the devil than an angel.”
“My, you did take notice of him.”
“It was hard not to. I’m sure you noticed the same things,” Emma replied with a sly smile.
Isabel grinned, amazed at how lighthearted talking with her friend made her feel. “It might interest you to learn, Emma, that the man you just described in such detail is about to ask my father for permission to marry me.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open, and Isabel had to drag her along to keep her moving. “I seldom see you speechless, Emma. Let’s hurry to the pond where we can talk in private.”
Neither one said another word as they hurried
