There was a long pause, and Isabel suspected Jerome was blushing. When he did speak, he ignored her praise. “Maybe we should take turns sleeping. We need our rest for tomorrow.”
The blood was still pulsing through her veins. “I don’t think I can sleep. I’ll take the first watch,” she replied, encouraging him to sleep if he could.
Jerome had made himself as comfortable as possible when they heard more rustling noises outside. At first Isabel suspected animals, but then she heard a rock roll down the hill and a soft curse. The hunters had returned, and this time they were being as quiet as possible, hoping to fool their game into making some sound. Isabel prayed her young friend was right in his optimistic assurance that the searchers would not stumble upon the crevice where they hid.
This time the bandits were not close when they passed by, and Isabel breathed a sigh of relief. Once it was quiet again, Jerome fell asleep leaning against her side. His weight was light and his warmth a comfort, as she had left her cloak behind. Calming down, she began to notice that her head throbbed and her scraped hands were burning. Although she knew they had to stay put, she longed to climb down to the river to dip her hands in the cool water and treat herself to a long drink.
To get her mind off her discomfort, Isabel thought about what daylight would bring. She was confident Jerome would have a suggestion about what they should do. She grinned when she remembered how impressed he had been by her escape. He had no idea how frightened she had been.
Her thoughts drifted back to Chetwynd, as they always seemed to do. She had caused him nothing but trouble. He had sent Jerome to find her, and she knew he would be worried sick about the two of them.
CHAPTER NINE
FORCED TO OBEY THE INSTRUCTIONS OF THE kidnappers or risk harm to Isabel, Chetwynd led his men toward the Convent of Saint Ives. Unwilling to lose a minute in attempting to work out measures they could take to gain some control of the situation, Chetwynd and Ingram conferred anxiously as they rode.
“One of the bandits will deliver the ransom demand, Ingram. I’ll arrange for the porter to note new arrivals that look suspicious.” Chetwynd was hoping the porter would be an experienced observer of travelers. “You can seek out the local sheriff,” he said.
Ingram nodded. “I know Sheriff Willem. A thorough man,” he assured Chetwynd. “He may have information about similar abductions on the road. Perhaps there have been other kidnappings for ransom.”
The Convent at Saint Ives was a teaching convent run by the sisters of the Holy Cross. Young girls came to the convent to study, some staying to become nuns and others returning home to marry.
Chetwynd’s sister, Gilda, was one of the nuns, and he had been looking forward to seeing her. He had worried about how he would introduce Isabel, and he could take no satisfaction in the delay of this task. He would give anything to be able to ride through the gates of the convent with Isabel at his side and announce that she was his wife. His only consolation was that his familiarity with the nuns would make the task of enlisting their aid easier.
As Chetwynd gave his horse over to the convent porter, he requested an interview with the abbess. The porter agreed to see if she was available, but before he had a chance, Gilda, her veil and brown habit flapping behind her, ran across the courtyard.
“I saw you approaching,” she cried as she flung herself into Chetwynd’s arms. When her brother squeezed her so tight her ribs ached, she pushed back to look at his face. “Whatever is the matter?”
“My wife has been kidnapped,” he answered, wiping a hand over his eyes.
“You’re married?” was the first question that Gilda asked, then, “Dear lord, when was she kidnapped?”
“I have to see the abbess. I’ll tell you both the details at the same time. I need help, Gilda.”
“Of course. Come with me,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the chamber where the abbess spent most of her time working on the convent books. Although Gilda knew the abbess didn’t like to be disturbed, that fact did not deter her.
When Gilda knocked loudly, they heard an impatient one-word reply: “Enter.”
As soon as Abbess Ermguerrd saw Lord Chetwynd’s face, she rose and came around the table to greet him, taking his hands in hers. “It’s good to see you again, Lord Chetwynd. Has something happened?”
After a hasty greeting, and without taking the seat offered him, Chetwynd paced as he told them about Isabel’s kidnapping in as much detail as he could remember. Both women listened intently, their faces solemn.
When Chetwynd had finished, the abbess was quick to reply. “Ralph is a conscientious porter, and he will take note of everyone who arrives. It seems likely we will be looking for a single man, or perhaps two. Any information Lady Isabel’s maid can give Ralph about the appearance of the outlaws will be helpful.”
Relieved by her quick grasp of the situation, Chetwynd nodded. “I know Marianna will be more than happy to do all she can. She is an observant woman, and although she wasn’t in their company long, I’m sure she’ll be able to help with a description of the bandits. As you can imagine, Marianna is very upset at being forced to leave her mistress.”
As Chetwynd remembered the look of distress on the servant’s face, he paused a moment before going on. “We left two of my men behind, and they should be arriving sometime tonight with further news. My squire is going to search on foot for any trace of the bandits, and the other man is waiting at the aqueduct for him to return. Please have the porter direct them to me at once, no matter what time
