After the meal was served, Matilde approached him at the high table. “Pardon, sir, but I am unable to find Captain Thomas. The other servants have not seen him since this morning.”
“I see.” He gestured to Jerome. “My man here will help you locate him.”
He dismissed them with a curt nod. He took a last sip of wine and thumped the cup down on the table. The English knight had no desire to be found. He rose to his feet. The young Kendrick had also been scarce since the confrontation in the courtyard, but that was probably because Hugh was keen to see the young man punished, if only for the nick on Alex’s neck. The accursed thing still stung.
Alex once again stalked down the hallway to Matilde’s room. Perhaps the knight was checking on his lady again. He stepped inside.
The room was empty except for the girl. A sheen of sweat covered her forehead. Her fever must have finally broken. She moaned and writhed around in the bed, blindly wrestling with her blankets. If she continued to thrash around, she would reopen her wound.
Someone had placed a water basin on a nearby chest. Alex grabbed one of the cloths set beside it and briefly let it soak in the cold water. After wringing out most of the liquid, he tried to place it on the girl’s brow, but her flailing arms hindered his efforts. He caught her wrists, and as he held them in place, she quieted.
When the moist cloth touched her skin, the girl opened her eyes. She blinked, her pupils contracting the moment she found Alex’s body leaning over hers. With a gasp, she struggled anew.
Alex let go and sat on the side of her bed.
The girl moved as far away as she could, her dark brown eyes wide. She looked down at the thin shift plastered against her with sweat. He could clearly see the outline of her generous breasts through the damp material. His fingers itched to touch her again as he took in her curved figure. She flushed at his attention and lifted her blankets to cover herself in a futile gesture, chin held high. It was all Alex could do to repress his chuckle.
“Sir?” Matilde stood in the doorway. “I…” Her voice died out when she saw her charge awake.
Alex stood. “See to it the young lady here has the opportunity to bathe and change into something more appropriate,” he said as his gaze flicked one last time over the girl’s body. He did not miss the look of relief flooding her face as she caught sight of Matilde.
“And Captain Thomas?” he asked. Matilde shook her head. “Very well. Once you have seen to your lady’s needs, you will escort her to my room so I may speak with her.”
Matilde bowed. “Yes, sir.”
4
Horror rolled through Isabel in waves as Matilde engulfed her in a hug.
“Oh, my dear, you worried us so!” Relief and censure colored Matilde’s words. The woman had served her family for as long as Isabel remembered, and despite her tart tongue, Matilde always gave her comfort.
Isabel swiped a hand over her face. “Have the men returned?
“Yes.”
“What of Edgar?”
Matilde shook her head, the lines of her face deepening. “His wounds were too much.”
Isabel hung her head and willed the grief away. “We were set upon by a Welsh raiding party. Edgar’s valor should not go unrecognized.”
She fingered her bandaged shoulder, thinking about the Norman knight who had dared to touch her. She remembered his eyes from her arrival at the castle. And then…nothing. After seeing the way he had ordered Matilde about, the way he appeared to have her home well in hand, the disturbing way he looked at her… “Who was that man?”
“Alexandre d’Évreux. He arrived two days ago and—”
“Two days! What do you mean?” She struggled to get up, but Matilde eased her back onto the bed.
“My dear, you have been with fever the last two days. I scarce hoped you would wake again.”
“I knew not.”
“Yes. They arrived but a few hours after the scouting party left. Alexandre is one of William’s knights, sent here to escort you and your father to London so you can swear fealty to William.”
“And what have you told him about my father?” The words came out more sharply than she had intended.
“I told him naught. He thinks I know only the running of the castle. When the Normans arrived, Captain Thomas bid all the servants to speak only English and pretend they didn’t understand French, what little they know of it. Captain Thomas has taken care to stay out of their way.”
Isabel grinned despite the fear roiling in her stomach. She imagined the frustration of the battle-weary knights when they could not communicate with anyone. “Not one understands a bit of English?”
“A cleric was supposed to accompany them here, but he fell ill along the way and was left behind.”
“Well, that is a relief.” Isabel frowned suddenly, her brows drawn together. “Does he know who I am?”
“He guessed, but I told him not, I swear it. I had trouble enough explaining your arrival,” Matilde said uneasily.
“Nay, you did your best.” Isabel reached over and patted her hand.
“What will you tell him?”
“I know not.”
“Remember you are your father’s daughter. He cannot force you to do anything.”
“Of that I am well aware.” Isabel looked down at her shift and groaned. “I better get ready.”
Once she reached her rooms above the main hall of the Dumont castle, Isabel changed into a fresh shift and a simple woolen overtunic. As Averill brushed and plaited her hair, the serving girl told Isabel how glad she was she had recovered.
Recovered. Not the word Isabel would have used. The dismay of finding her home overrun with Norman knights still coursed through her. Had she remained at the castle and not joined the scouting party, she would have the situation under control. At least she hoped as much. How could she have known William would seek out her family so soon?
Averill tamed her thick, chestnut hair and tucked it underneath her headrail. The servant made one last attempt to smooth the locks. “We should go. This way, my lady.”
“Wait.” Isabel picked up her mother’s brooches from the table. “I would wear these too.”
“Yes, my lady.” Averill placed them on either shoulder to hold back Isabel’s light mantle.
Isabel relaxed under the familiar weight of the golden bands passed down through the generations. Regardless of what happened in her conference with the Norman knight, she had something to remind her of heritage.
Following the servant across the hall, she reached for the seax, which normally hung at her waist, but the short, sharp knife was not there. Instead, only her leather purse and keys to the larder and storage rooms hung from her belt. Matilde had informed her their Norman visitor had seen fit to confiscate her weapons.
Another point they would have to settle.
Isabel grimaced as Averill stopped at the door to her father’s chambers. Unfortunately, apart from her rooms, they were the only quarters befitting a man of Alexandre’s station—the envoy of the man who would soon be the king of England.
The door opened, and Alexandre admitted the two women into Lord Dumont’s solar.
“Please sit.” Alexandre indicated the chairs placed around a table covered in Father’s correspondence and accounts. He signaled for the servant to leave them.
With