Sitting close together, Chetwynd had a good view of the thin, white scar on her forehead. They had been different people all those years ago when she had called him an angel.
Noticing that he was staring at her scar, Isabel broke the lengthening silence between them. “Emma told me you stayed and watched her mother stitch my wound. Why did you do that?”
“I was afraid you might wake up and be frightened. I wasn’t sure what I would have done if you did, but since you called me an angel, I thought my presence might calm you.” He smiled at the idea.
“That was a kind thing to do.”
“Why don’t you cover the scar? You could do so easily. Emma’s mother remarked on that as she sewed you up.”
Isabel didn’t want to tell Chetwynd that the sight in a mirror reminded her of the hero who rescued her. After the scar had discouraged her first betrothed, an old man she had no wish to marry, it became a badge of pride, or maybe of good fortune.
Instead she replied, “It’s nothing to hide. I’m not ashamed of it.”
Chetwynd reached out his hand to remove her veil and was disappointed to find that the curls he wished to touch were bound in place. Ever since he saw her sleeping on the ground, he had longed to bury his fingers in her hair.
“Your tresses are tightly bound. Is that comfortable?” he asked.
“Not anymore. I didn’t notice the pull earlier, but I do now.”
“Why don’t you take the scarf off?” he suggested.
“I’m not sure I can. Marianna did it up.”
“I’ll help you.”
Before she could say a word, Chetwynd moved to kneel behind her. He worked slowly so he wouldn’t pull her hair. Isabel closed her eyes and sighed with relief as the tightly held locks were set free. She hadn’t realized how uncomfortable the arrangement had become until the pressure was gone.
After Chetwynd had removed the scarf, he ran his fingers through her curls, spreading them around her shoulders. He leaned close to smell her hair and suspected it had been washed with lemons.
Isabel closed her eyes as Chetwynd began to massage her neck, sending tingles through her body. “You seem a little tense,” he said.
When Isabel laughed in reply, he moved his hands to her shoulders, using his strong fingers in a gentle pattern to knead her tight muscles.
“The summer you were injured, I understood Emma’s mother to say that you were betrothed and soon to be married. I was surprised when Justin told me the marriage never took place, and later you told me old men think the worst. Exactly what happened?”
Without thinking about it, Isabel bent her head to one side, allowing her face to touch the strong hand on her right shoulder.
“When Count Frederick arrived, my scar was still new, a red mark above my eye. He questioned me about it. I told him soldiers had attacked me, and when he jumped to the conclusion that more had happened than actually did, I didn’t correct him. My father and grandmother were furious at me when he broke off the match.”
“It’s no wonder they were angry. Why didn’t you tell the count the truth?”
“I wasn’t sorry he broke off the match. Frederick was an old man, and I had no desire to marry him. He already had four children and two grandchildren.”
To Isabel’s regret, Chetwynd stopped massaging her shoulders. She had been mentally willing him to move his hands around to the front where her breasts were yearning for his touch. Instead he moved to sit in front of her so he could see her eyes.
“You must have been very willful, even then,” he said. “I imagine your father had his hands full trying to arrange another match.”
Isabel straightened up at his words, and her eyes blazed. He laughed at the swift change. “Are you going to deny you’re willful?”
She couldn’t help resenting the fact that he wasn’t more understanding of her situation. Did he think she should have been happy to marry an old man?
“I have a question for you, my lord. If you think I’m willful, why did you agree to my grandmother’s proposal?”
“It’s rather complicated,” he warned. “I hope you’ll be able to understand.”
“I’m not addled. Why don’t you try me?”
He sighed, realizing they were getting off to a bad start. Best to just state the truth, he decided.
“Justin knew I would be passing by Narbonne on my way home from the Spanish March. He was instrumental in getting me the assignment.” He didn’t explain that he had needed to get away from court. “Your brother described you as restless and unhappy. He said you had hinted many times that you wished to leave Narbonne.”
Expecting to hear about Queen Judith, Isabel was puzzled to be learning instead of the part played by Justin. Although she knew her brother had been aware of her desire to leave Narbonne, Chetwynd had given no clue that Justin had requested he bring her to Aachen.
“Did Justin ask you to bring me to court? That first night at Narbonne when I asked you to take me along on your journey, you refused.”
“He didn’t ask me to bring you, but I hoped to please him by doing so. If you really want to know why I refused your request, you had looked perfectly content swimming in the pond. Not at all like the unhappy maiden Justin described. Then in the great hall you boldly asked me to take you along on our journey. I found your request forward and my refusal was instinctive. I guess you could say I rebelled at your impertinence.”
Isabel sat even straighter. “Let me see if I understand. You intended to take me to Justin, but because I brought up the subject first, you were offended by my—what—forward request and impertinent manner?”
The sarcasm in her voice tested his patience. “Just calm down. There was more to it than that.”
Chetwynd hesitated to
