Romantic Association - Truly, Madly, Deeply

It was early afternoon when the horn sounded at the gate again. Isabel looked up from her work, her stomach lurching with anticipation and anxiety. When Thomas sent a squire to tell her that the Earl had returned, she abandoned her sewing and flew down the stairs to the hall, arriving to greet him just as he walked in from the yard.

Her heart opened wide at the sight of him; his height, his thick tawny-gold hair and warm brown eyes with smile creases at their edges. She greeted him with a proper formal curtsey to his bow, and although she was past thirty years old, she felt like a girl in the first flush of new love.

‘Husband,’ she murmured.

‘Wife,’ Hamelin responded, the word full of intimacy and amused affection.

Blushing, she took him up to their chamber so that he could refresh himself, and because she wanted him to see the changes she had made. She watched his reaction as he paused on the threshold and gazed round the fresh, refurbished chamber. ‘You have been busy,’ he said with approval. ‘Very restful indeed.’

‘Do you like it?’

‘I like everything you do.’ He pulled her to him, nuzzling her throat and kissing her softly on the lips. ‘I have to say the bed looks very inviting.’

Isabel laughed and nestled against his broad chest. ‘Indeed it is, but you need to take your boots off before you try it. And are you not hungry?’

‘I’m ravenous but not necessarily for food.’ Giving her a wicked look, he sat down swiftly on the box chair at the bedside and began tugging off his footwear.

Isabel dismissed the servants with a peremptory wave of her hand, and as the door closed behind the last one, knelt to help him with the task. With gentle fingers he removed her headdress and unwound her braids, letting her hair tumble around them in waves of heavy brunette silk: a sight and a privilege reserved only for a husband. He was indeed ravenous but he wanted this particular banquet to go on for ever.

‘We had some disreputable visitors while you were gone,’ Isabel said some considerable time later as they lazed in the aftermath of their lovemaking. ‘But Thomas saw them off.’

‘What do you mean “disreputable”?’ He had been stroking his forefinger up and down her bare arm but now he pulled back slightly, alert to the suggestion of danger.

‘Mercenary types looking to hire their swords but it might be wise to send men out to see if they caused troubled in any of the villages. Their leader claimed to know you but I doubt it. I told them to come back when you were home and that there was accommodation in Lynn should they wish to wait: I had no intention of allowing them under my roof.’

‘Did their leader give a name?’ There was a frown between Hamelin’s brows as he reached for his discarded shirt.

‘Yes, Geoffrey of le Mans. He was not the sort of person I would want to admit through my gates the way he looked and behaved. What’s wrong?’

Hamelin had stiffened as she spoke the name and his frown had deepened.

‘Geoffrey of le Mans,’ he said. ‘What did he look like?’

‘Red hair, red beard with a white streak in the centre. Not a young man and dressed like a common peasant with manners to suit.’ Isabel bit her lip. ‘Surely you don’t know him?’

‘Very well indeed,’ Hamelin said grimly. ‘He’s my mother’s cousin and was one of my father’s most trusted knights, not to mention my tutor in arms and horsemanship when I was a boy.’

Isabel swallowed. ‘He was dressed like a common hired soldier. Anyone looking at him would think he had mischief in mind!’

‘Life is not like a tale spun by a troubadour,’ he said curtly and began dressing rapidly. ‘If a man has been on the road for a while or met with difficult circumstances, he may not arrive at your door looking as if he’s about to dine at a court banquet.’

‘And what if I had admitted him and he had turned out to be a thief and cutthroat? How was I to know?’ Tears prickled her eyes at the injustice of his words.

Hamelin sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. ‘Would you say that if the Christ Child came calling dressed in rags? Would you turn Him away because you were not to know?’

Her own anger began to rise. ‘So by that rule do you expect me to admit every beggar and vagabond that arrives at our gates and sit them at our table?’

‘By that rule I expect you not to judge people by their appearances. You have offended not only my kin but a very fine and old friend, and this might cost me that friendship.’ He stood up, his face flushed with anger. ‘Go and consult your mirror and your etiquette concerning the matter of true courtesy. You will greet all guests as my guests, not just your own.’

Isabel watched him, a lump of misery in her stomach that felt like a lead weight. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked as he stalked towards the door.

‘To find him and atone where I can, because I doubt he will want to come back this way after the treatment he received.’ He clattered from the room and she heard him calling to his men.

Isabel gave a soft gasp and pulled the covers over her head. She was angry at the way he had spoken to her but she was chastised too. She should have investigated further and not been so swift to judge. She had been too involved in sprucing up the bedchamber and too wary to consider further. Refusal had been the easiest road to take.

It was the first argument of their marriage and her heart was bruised in a way that it would never be bruised again.

Riding on the Lynn road, Hamelin encountered a large alehouse that had recently brewed a fresh batch as denoted by the bunch of evergreen hanging on a pole outside the door. Dismounting, he handed his horse to his squire and entered the establishment. The trestles were full of drinkers; Dame Agatha’s brew was famous and when the sign of the bush went up outside her dwelling, men flocked to taste her ale. Seated around a table at the back of the room was a motley group of men, muddy from travel. They looked weary but well able to handle themselves, especially one with a beard of rust and silver, and sharp grey eyes.

Hamelin signalled to the pot boy and walked over to them. ‘I hear you have been creating mayhem over at Acre, cousin,’ he said, as he sat down on the bench. ‘My good wife thought you were up to no good.’

Geoffrey of Le Mans raised his brow. ‘I came to wish you well of your marriage,’ he replied. ‘I did not expect to be turned away from your gate like a common vagabond.’

‘I am sorry for that. Had I been home, it would have been a different matter. It is a pity no one was there who would recognise you, but they were my wife’s attendants. After all the troubles of Stephen’s reign, the Countess is wary –and justly so.’

‘You make excuses?’

Hamelin gestured at his friend’s rough tunic. ‘You must admit that you are hardly dressed to announce your rank.’

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. Hamelin met his gaze steadily, feeling like the youth he had once been, training under the knight’s stern scrutiny. ‘Well, that is true,’ Geoffrey said after a long moment. ‘But we had suffered a difficult sea crossing and I thought we could make ourselves presentable at your fine castle –but we were turned away.’

‘I am sorry for that, as I have said, and so is my lady, and I have come to make amends. You are very welcome at the castle, although I will understand if you choose not to ride back my way.’

Geoffrey gave him another long look. ‘Perhaps I shall ride your way, and look forward to a welcome, but it will be in my own time.’ He leaned forward on the trestle. ‘Now, since you have a full pitcher in front of you, let us catch up on old times, and then move on to new.’