Page 2 of Knight of Pleasure
“Your daughter is the image of your lovely wife,” Hume said. “And she has spirit enough to keep a man young.”
How often did her father say she would make him old before his time? A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she slid a look at him, hoping to catch his eye.
“Aye, she is a lively girl,” her father said.
The cheerfulness of his reply gave Isobel hope she might escape a scolding for her swordplay with the boys. While the men talked on and on about some event that would take place in the autumn, she grew bored and tried not to fidget.
“ ’Tis settled then,” Lord Hume said, taking his leave at last. “You will want to speak to your daughter now.”
Lord Hume took hold of her hand before she could hide it behind her back. She tried not to make a face as he slavered on it. As soon as his back was turned, though, she wiped it on her gown.
She stood beside her father, waiting to be chastised about swords and dirty gowns. When Hume finally hobbled through the castle gate, she turned to face her father.
To her amazement, he was hopping from foot to foot, doing a little dance!
“Father, what has happened?”
He picked her up and swung her in a circle. Then he did his little dance again. Seeing him so gloriously happy made her heart swell with pleasure.
“Tell me, tell me!” she said, laughing.
He raised his hands toward the heavens and shouted, “God forgive me for ever wishing you were a boy!”
Her father grinned down at her, eyes shining, as if she had just handed him the moon and stars.
“Isobel, my girl, I have such good news!”
Chapter One
Northumberland, England
September 1417
The cold from the chapel’s stone floor seeped through Isobel’s knees. Her every bone and muscle ached with it. ’Twas not the cold, however, that caused her to pause in her prayers. Once again, she ran her eyes over the shrouded corpse surrounded by tall, flickering candles.
When her gaze reached the corpse’s belly, high and wide beneath the cloth, a small sigh escaped her. The body was, indeed, Lord Hume’s.
This need for reassurance was childish. Chastising herself for her lapse, Isobel returned to her prayers. She would fulfill this last duty to her husband.
And then she would be free of him.
When next she opened her eyes, it was to find the pinched face of the castle chaplain leaning over her.
“I must speak with you,” he said without apology.
She nodded and held her breath until he straightened. Did the man never bathe? He smelled almost as bad as Hume.
Whatever the priest had to tell her must be important. As her husband’s confessor, he had reason to know Hume’s soul was in need of every prayer. Still, she was reluctant to leave the servants to keep vigil without her. Despite the extra coin she gave them, they would cease their prayers the moment the door closed behind her.
Hume had not been a well-loved lord.
When she attempted to rise, her legs failed her, and the priest had to grasp her arm to keep her from falling. She let him lead her out of the tower that housed the castle’s small chapel. As she stepped out into the bailey yard, a gush of wind cut through her cloak and gown. She waited, shivering, while Father Dunne fought the wind to close the heavy wooden door.
As soon as he joined her in the yard, she asked, “What is it, Father Dunne?”
Father Dunne pulled his hood low over his face, took her arm, and started walking her toward the keep. “Please, let us wait to speak until we are inside.”
“Of course.”
