Emma gave a snorting laugh. “It’s the only type of sewing you know how to do.”
“You sound like my grandmother. When did you become so righteous?”
Emma sighed. “It’s not some little incident I’m referring to, Isabel. You spoiled your chance to wed by allowing Lord Frederick to believe you had been ruined.”
“He jumped to conclusions. I didn’t encourage his belief. I just didn’t correct it.” Isabel shrugged. “I was young and didn’t want to marry. It seemed an easy way out of the match.”
“What was easy about it? Your grandmother was so angry I thought she’d burst a blood vessel. Her eyes were actually bulging when she discovered what had happened.”
Isabel tried to hide her grin.
“Don’t laugh. Your father threatened to send you to a nunnery. You promised to wed another suitor. But then—surprise—he too heard about the attack. How many times did that happen?”
“Don’t pretend you condemn my behavior, Emma. If any of those suitors had looked like Derek, I might have been tempted.”
Emma smiled at the compliment to her husband. “Keep your eyes off Derek.”
“Why are you bringing all this up now? You’ve always sided with me.”
Emma nodded. “What you say is true, Isabel. But it’s gone on too long. The vision of a soldier you saw for a few minutes is ruling your life. You’re waiting for him to return, but that’s not going to happen. It’s time to move on with your life.”
“Emma, I swear on my mother’s grave that I saw a soldier at the pond. He had golden hair.”
“It could be some other soldier with fair hair. Lots of soldiers from the north have fair hair. Does that mean he’s your angel?”
“No, of course not. That’s why I ran away.”
Deflated, Isabel lay back and stared at the rafters that supported the thatched roof. For many years, Emma’s cottage had been a sanctuary for her, a place to hide when soldiers stopped at the manor or she had a disagreement with her grandmother. Perhaps she had imagined the soldier with golden hair. When he appeared, she had been thinking about how her champion would touch her when he did come back for her. It could have been anyone, or no one.
Emma’s sympathy for her friend was evident on her face. “What are you going to do, Isabel? You’re the lady of the manor. Are you going to hide behind the tapestry and search for your champion?”
“I gave that up years ago.”
“Now you usually wait here until the soldiers move on. Maybe you did see this hero of yours today. Why don’t you join your family for supper and have a look?”
“You don’t really believe me, Emma. You just want me to face my fear of confronting a troop of soldiers.”
“It’s time.”
Isabel lifted her eyebrow. “My grandmother would be surprised. She has been more than happy to assume the role of lady of the manor.”
“She’s just filling the role you refuse, Isabel. Instead of learning the skills you need to run the manor, you spend your time studying Latin with Father Ivo.”
Isabel sighed. “Lord Theodoric is pleased with the way Lady Winifred runs his household. My father wants me to enter a convent. Maybe I should do that.”
“Be serious, Isabel. You like your freedom too much for that. There must be other things you can do.”
Lately Isabel had been thinking the same thing, but she had been reluctant to approach her father. To marry or enter a convent were the traditional choices for a noblewoman. And her father was steeped in tradition.
“Father Ivo has taught me to read and write. He’s fond of history and geography, so we study that in addition to reading holy works. Perhaps Justin could find me a position at court. He’s a minister to King Louis, after all. He should have some influence.”
Emma rolled her eyes, clearly not impressed with the idea. Pushing herself to her feet, she began to straighten the kitchen area. “You often talk of joining Justin at court. But first face the soldiers, Isabel. There are a lot of soldiers at court. Either do it or accept one of the matches Lady Winifred manages to unearth.”
“I’m twenty years old. You know as well as I do that my chances for a desirable match have dwindled. Men want to marry maids of twelve, not twenty. If I didn’t like the choices before, imagine what they’ll be like now.”
“You are playing an old tune, Isabel. You’re waiting for your champion to return.”
Isabel stood up and poured another cup of water. “Maybe he has returned. I swear to you, Emma, the soldier at the pond was tall and well shaped. Isn’t that how you described him?”
“Enough, Isabel. A lot of soldiers are tall and well shaped. As I said before, you’re obsessed. It’s like one of those tales you told me. Remember what happened when Apollo was obsessed with Daphne, chasing her through the forest day after day? In the end, Apollo caught nothing but a handful of leaves when Daphne turned into a laurel tree.”
Isabel shook her head in disgust. “I should never have told you those tales.”
“It was a fair exchange,” Emma said, adding slyly, “I gave you lots of details about the marriage bed.”
Isabel giggled as she thought about the stories they told each other. Her contributions were based on the erotic tales of Ovid that she was now able to read in Latin. But Emma’s were based on reality. “You’re right, Emma. It was a fair exchange.”
When the baby cried, Isabel lifted her out of the cradle and soothed her until Emma had freed her breast to nurse her.
“Do you really think you saw a golden-haired soldier, Isabel? Or were you just dreaming? You think of him a great deal.”
LATER, WALKING TOWARD THE POND TO RECOVER HER slippers and vest, Isabel wondered if she were beginning to imagine things. The golden vision had disappeared quickly. Perhaps it was a trick of the sun on the water that had inspired her to see
