Isabel jumped off the high table. “No!”
“Let me finish, Isabel.” She was pacing the floor, but he gripped her arm and held her in front of him. “It’s for your own safety. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can make arrangements to ensure your protection. I need to talk to Justin.”
Unable to pull away, Isabel stared up at him, her eyes blazing. But her voice was steady as she asked, “How long will that take?”
“I can’t say.”
“That’s what I thought. Will I stay here forever? Did you ever mean to take me to court? No, don’t shake your head, Chetwynd.” Isabel’s mind was churning furiously. “I know you think I’m an unreasonable bother. Let me ask you this. Whose side is Justin on in this political situation?”
“Justin tries to stay neutral. As an advisor to the king, he feels it’s his job to mediate conflicts.”
“And Justin wishes to have me with him, you said as much. You could have accomplished that without marrying me. Well, now you can bring me to Justin, and I’ll be safe with him.”
Though he knew she was angry, Chetwynd still hoped she would listen to reason. “Isabel, you’re still my wife. Bringing you to Justin isn’t going to change that. You’ll still be in danger.”
Isabel was outraged that he would use that argument. “No, I’m not really your wife. You can get an annulment right away on those grounds. You can make it clear to everyone that you have no concern about me, and I’ll be safe. In fact, you can take up with Queen Judith again. That will make your position with me very clear to everyone.”
Chetwynd shook his head. Both Gilda and Ingram had warned him. Even Jerome had something to say on the matter. Why had he thought she would suddenly become reasonable and willingly accept his judgment?
Chetwynd stared into the fiery brown eyes that were daring him to try and reason further. Then he started to laugh. He was as surprised at his outburst as Isabel was. As he watched her eyes widen and her mouth open, he laughed harder. That was when she made a fist and struck him on his sore shoulder. He stopped laughing to gasp in pain.
Isabel was immediately aghast at what she had done. “Saints alive, that’s your sore arm.”
Chetwynd wiped a tear from his eye. It was from laughter, not pain. “What am I going to do with you, Isabel?”
His face had softened, and Isabel hoped he was relenting. She moved between his legs and placed her hands on his chest. He watched her fingers move into the pale hairs below his stomach and thought he might stop breathing. Because of the strange roar in his ears, it took him a minute to realize someone was calling his name. He recognized Ingram’s voice.
“What is it?” he called out impatiently without taking his eyes off Isabel’s face.
“Chetwynd, it’s urgent,” Ingram called from the other side of the curtain that was pulled across the entrance.
Chetwynd paused another few seconds as he looked at Isabel, then sighed deeply and gently pushed her away. At the entrance he whipped open the curtain and faced Ingram.
Before Chetwynd could say a word, Ingram made a blunt announcement. “Queen Judith has arrived at Saint Ives with her entourage. She has been accused of witchcraft by Bishop Agobard and banished to the convent.”
While Isabel struggled to grasp the meaning of his message, she noticed that Ingram was carrying their clothes. He sent an apologetic look in her direction. Behind Ingram she saw Jerome, his eyes directed toward the floor, and realized he must have brought the message from Saint Ives.
Chetwynd grabbed his clothes and addressed his squire. “Jerome, wait for Lady Isabel to dress, then bring her back to the convent.”
Before Isabel could say a word, Chetwynd looked at her with a warning scowl. “Don’t say anything, Isabel. Just this once, do what I ask of you without argument. Jerome will bring you along as soon as you’re dressed.”
Chetwynd had no need to worry. Isabel was too startled to object to being left behind. In stunned silence she watched as he strode from the room, still wrapped in a flannel. He closed the curtain behind him so she could dress in private. She wondered vaguely if he would take time to dress, and almost laughed at the thought of his arriving at Saint Ives in his flannel. Then she heard Jerome clear his throat outside the curtain, and hurried to put on her clothes.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AN UNEASY SILENCE HUNG BETWEEN JEROME and Isabel as they rode back to Saint Ives at a leisurely pace, neither one of them eager to reach the convent. For the first time, Chetwynd’s squire seemed to have trouble meeting her eyes, and his withdrawal hurt and puzzled Isabel. They had been through a great deal together and had become close confidants while escaping from the outlaws.
Determined to break the silence without referring to the present situation, Isabel asked, “Have you ever seen a Roman bath, Jerome?”
“No, my lady.”
Since baths were no doubt not open to squires, Isabel was not surprised by his answer, but she hoped to at least spark some interest. “The Roman bath was glorious. The water was warm and steamy. It seemed to support my body so that I could float much easier than in the pond back home. Perhaps it’s the minerals in the water. I could smell them and didn’t like the smell at first. But I got used to it soon enough.”
There was still no trace of the chattering lad she had come to care for. Jerome kept his horse at a slow and steady pace and stared straight ahead.
Isabel became even more determined to elicit a response from the young squire. “But there was one thing
