Betrothed Read Online Free PDF

already
be when your party arrives.” She prayed he would relent. She prayed he would
change his mind and continue on to Montrose, but she knew in her belly such a
change was too much to hope for. They were too close to Olivet to not take
advantage of its’ available hospitality.
    “Think
you that by now your people would not have noticed your absence?”
    “I—I
beg of you, my lord. Please, allow me to change my clothes.”
    His
blue eyes seared into her soul and for a moment she thought she recognized pain
in his depths. “Very well. You can momentarily continue your charade of
innocence. But I make no promises for the future.”
    They
had traveled with only brief stops and arrived at the gates of Olivet after the
evening meal. When the sentry had exclaimed at Isabeau being in the midst of
the group, his lordship made a casual comment about meeting her a short
distance down the road; that she had agreed to act as guide.
    She
continued the charade by boldly leading the way into the Great Hall and then
seeing to the needs of the road-weary travelers. In her nervousness, she forgot
her new position and issued orders as if she were still the chatelaine of
Olivet. But she was not anxious to join the meal. Her belly was too gnarled to
take more food than pieces of bread.
    As
of yet, the earl had held his tongue, but he had yet to meet her brother.
    She
sent a message to Simon but he never came to the hall to greet his prestigious
guest.
    The
servant did not even bring back regrets. Why was he behaving this way; putting
them all in danger of Bennington’s anger? The earl was Simon’s liege!
    Where,
in the name of the saints, was Simon?

C hapter 4
     
     
    Even
in the familiarity of her own bed, exhausted as she was after her fruitless
adventure, Isabeau slept fitfully. Every sound seemed to reverberate through
the Manor. She started at the smallest noise, expecting any minute that Simon
would throw open her door and lay into her with his favored crop. The
anticipation was far worse than a beating. She just wanted it over.
    Dragging
herself out of bed, Isabeau entered the kitchens before the night melted into
day. Marley met her with storm of excitement over their guests and the pressure
to provide accustomed fare suitable for the earl. Isabeau didn’t bother to
remind the cook that conditions would be primitive on the battlefields.
Instead, she pitched in, allowing Marley’s reflected enthusiasm to mask her
trepidation.
    All
was ready when Donovan came down the tower stairs and his men had assembled
from the barracks or from the bedrolls they had spread out in the Great Hall.
The Olivet people gave way to the Bennington warriors as was their place.
Chattering voices echoed from the vaulted ceiling; the sing-song rhythm of a
comfortable keep. Isabeau looked over the crowded tables with pride. This was the
Olivet of her girlhood. This was the way it should always be.
    She
scanned the room one last time and noted the two empty chairs at the head of
the table. Syllba was yet in childbed, having lost another babe several weeks
past. Isabeau didn’t think even the king’s presence could get her sister-in-law
into the Great Hall.
    But
Simon? 
    To
her knowledge, he had still not welcomed his liege. What was he thinking? 
Was he even within the walls of Olivet?  And if not, why had none of his
personal attendants said anything?
    She
gave the nod to the house priest to lead the prayer of thanks and bowed her
head in supplication. As his final “Amen” bounced against the walls, she gave
the servants the signal to bring their loaded trays to the tables. She was
happy, standing at her post directing the well-orchestrated movements,
occasionally casting a glance or two towards the legend now occupying Simon’s
throne.
    The
blue of Lord Donovan’s eyes held the shadows of pain, though presently they
were lit with humor as he spoke in low tones to the serving boy pouring his
ale. She studied the small white scar that ran under