Embarrassed by the tears that filled her eyes at his departure, Isabel prayed they wouldn’t trickle down her face. She could tell Ingram was only pretending not to notice that she was upset.
“Lord Chetwynd is concerned about you, Lady Isabel. I should have stayed with you,” he apologized.
“He has no right to be angry with you, Ingram. It was my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t. Lord Chetwynd is right. I should have realized the downgrade was as dangerous for you as the rise. Can you climb back to the trail if I help?”
Isabel nodded. By this time Jerome, his young face grimacing, had scrambled down the slope to help them. “I just went to the back of the line for one minute. What happened?” he asked.
“Lady Isabel’s horse stumbled and she took a spill. There’s no harm done,” Ingram assured him.
“I should have been here,” Jerome lamented.
Isabel wondered if he meant to help, or whether he was sorry he’d missed the action. Hoping to lighten the mood, she said, “Maybe you can catch my next performance.”
When Jerome smiled at her, Isabel sighed, relieved that he was able to see the humor in the situation.
Ingram shook his head and rolled his eyes at their exchange, but he too seemed relieved. By the time Isabel had regained her place in line, she had forgiven Chetwynd for his sharp words. But the incident reminded her of how easily the embers of her desire for his touch could be stirred into flames.
As the caravan drew nearer its destination, there was a definite easing of tension among the travelers. There had been no sign of bandits along the route, and the worry about an attack had faded. Isabel observed the excitement of the soldiers as they approached home territory. They were close enough that three of the soldiers could be dismissed and allowed to head toward homes located nearby.
The fourteenth day of the journey was warm and sunny. Ingram told Isabel that Chetwynd had planned a detour to the site of a Roman aqueduct in the area. Instead of traveling at the top of the canyon, the caravan followed the shallow riverbed so they would have a good view of the ancient structure. Isabel was pleased Chetwynd had remembered her interest and was excited at the prospect of viewing the aqueduct.
Father Ivo, who had made a great number of drawings during his travels, was particularly proud of his sketch of the aqueduct. On parchment it seemed so exotic, with its many arches and levels, that it had been hard for Isabel to believe it was real.
As the caravan approached the giant aqueduct, her first thought was that although Father Ivo’s sketch did it justice, the structure was much larger than she had imagined. The banks of the river rose steeply on either side of the riverbed to form a deep canyon. Isabel felt dwarfed as the aqueduct towered above them and filled the canyon. Three layers of arches formed the bridge. The bottom and middle layers were the same size, and the top layer had smaller arches. As she stared up at the amazing structure, she couldn’t imagine how the Romans ever managed to build it. Perhaps they’d had assistance from the Roman gods, she thought, beaming at the thought of Jove and Neptune giving them a helping hand.
Marianna was as impressed as she was, and they lagged behind the rest of the group who had seen it before and were only mildly interested. Isabel reined in her horse, letting riders pass by as she studied the graceful lines. Because she stopped under the arch that spanned the river, the sound of passing horses echoed inside the walls of the archway.
The rest of the caravan was already moving out of sight around a bend when Marianna called out that they should be moving on.
“Just another minute,” Isabel begged, enchanted by the size, shape, and power of the aqueduct.
When she heard hoofbeats on the rocky riverbed, Isabel was annoyed at the thought that someone was backtracking to hurry them on. It took only a second to realize the sound was coming from behind their party. Five strangers quickly surrounded Isabel and Marianna. One of them grabbed the reins of Isabel’s horse, rendering her powerless to move. Another began giving instructions to Marianna.
“Tell Lord Chetwynd to proceed to the Convent of Saint Ives. We will get word to him about a ransom.” The leader spoke tersely in a tone meant to discourage argument. It was clear he did not want to waste a minute.
“Release my lady immediately,” Marianna demanded.
Isabel could tell by the quiver in her voice that Marianna wasn’t as defiant as she sounded. In fact, her defiance changed quickly to terror and compliance when one of the men, without saying a word, pointed a knife at Isabel’s heart.
“I’ll do as you say, don’t hurt her,” Marianna pleaded.
The leader spoke again. “If anyone follows us, the lady is dead. Understand?”
Marianna nodded.
“Now get moving.”
As Marianna turned her horse to obey him, she wasn’t too cowed to shout a warning. “Don’t you dare hurt my lady. Lord Chetwynd will have your head if you so much as touch her.”
One of the young men laughed, but the leader signaled him to be quiet. “Wait at the convent for the ransom message,” he reminded Marianna as they turned to make a quick getaway, pulling a dazed Isabel along with them.
The abduction happened so quickly that Isabel hadn’t been able to think of a way to resist. She started to tremble as she remembered a similar attack eight years earlier. This time she’d have to save herself. At the moment, the only thing she could think to do was observe the route they were taking. If she could manage to escape, the information might be useful to find her way back to the caravan.
Wordlessly the men rode up the rocky bank of the river. But when they were sure Marianna was out of sight, they returned to the riverbed where they rode
