Dreams of Lilacs

Chapter 23



Isabelle rode inside Monsaert’s gates and wondered if she were riding into certain death. She supposed it was somewhat reassuring to find that, at least based on first glance, all she was riding into was certain chaos.

The courtyard was full of wagons and wains and men-at-arms and their gear, all wearing colors that resembled Gervase’s but weren’t quite the same. Isabelle looked at Robin who was leaning on the pommel of his saddle and watching the goings-on with an assessing glance.

“Well?” she asked.

He straightened, then shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m just the guardsman.”

“Who are you guarding?”

“You or Gervase,” he said. “Depends on who needs me more at the moment, though your lord isn’t fond of the idea. He doesn’t believe that there’s nothing I like more than stomping about as a lowly garrison knight and appearing where I’m not looked for.”

“Or wanted,” she said, unable to resist the barb.

He laughed a little. “You know me too well, which means you also know I know you don’t mean that. Kings have salivated over the thought of having me to guard their sorry arses and look you here how I’m doing the like for you and Monsaert without demanding gold in return.” He smiled pleasantly. “I can hardly begin to describe how truly remarkable I am.”

“Don’t hurt anything in the attempt,” Isabelle said.

“You’re starting to sound a little like Amanda, if that pleases you, though I don’t suppose you’ll ever manage to stay with that unpleasantness for long.” He nodded toward the commotion in front of them. “Have any idea what that’s all about?”

“None,” she said honestly, “though Gervase doesn’t look happy, does he?”

“Too many souls milling about for his comfort,” Robin said, “which is why you’ll notice he’s divided our forces into two groups to better keep the rabble controlled.”

“Has he?”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Iz, you will never make a soldier, so don’t bother trying. Of course he has. See you there how he has most of his men going about their normal business, the sort of business you would expect from them? The ones with less delicate humors—or more ruthlessness, depending on how you see it—aren’t quite as busy—nay, don’t look.”

“You told me to look.”

“Well, don’t be so obvious about it.”

“I want to see where something might be coming from,” she said, finding the conversation not at all to her liking. She looked at her eldest brother and had to admit that she was vastly relieved to have him there. “I can’t believe I agreed to any of this.”

Robin’s expression was rather serious, for Robin. “I doubt Father would be pleased by the idea, but in this I must admit I agree with your lord there. Your mystery murderer is obviously much more interested in Gervase’s death than yours. Gervase’s mystery murderer has obviously not given up on the plan to see him in his grave. It makes perfect sense to see if you can’t bring the two lads together in a place where Gervase knows all the bolt holes.”

Isabelle watched the goings-on around her as casually as possible whilst trying not to look as if she were watching those same happenings. Gervase was going out of his way to play the part of lord of the manor, loudly commanding servant, and guardsman alike. If he were trying to linger near an escape, he gave no sign of it. She considered him a bit longer, then looked at her brother.

“I wonder things.”

“Do you?”

She was past shivering, so she simply sat there in the drizzle and didn’t even spare a thought for the warmth of a goodly bit of morning sun. “It would be interesting if the lad who had sent for me and the lad who had tried to kill Gervase in the fall happened to be one in the same, wouldn’t it?”

Robin smiled in a particularly unpleasant way. “It would be interesting.”

She looked at him in surprise, then felt her mouth go slack. “Is that what you think—nay, is that what he thinks?”

“Well, you don’t imagine he’s as disgustingly rich as he is because he can’t keep at least a pair of steps in front of opponents he’d intended to fleece at tourney, do you?” He leaned closer to her. “Of course that’s what he thinks. We chewed on it all the way here.”

“I thought you were discussing horses!”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Really, Iz. After all the studying of my admittedly superior reasoning skills you’ve done for the past score of years and that’s the best you can do?”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I believe he thinks you have enough to think on for the morning,” Robin said with a shrug. “You’re supposed to be poisoning him by degrees, remember? He didn’t want to take your mind off that happy task with these trivial details.”

She tried to swallow, but it was difficult. “I don’t know how you can make light of this.”

“’Tis either that or weep, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully, then he swung down. “Watch your back.”

She had absolutely no answer for that. She watched her brother blend almost immediately into the press of men-at-arms. Robin, amusing himself.

She caught Gervase exchanging a brief look with Miles who took over where Robin had left off. No doubt he was fully informed of Gervase’s thoughts as well. Obviously she was going to have to have speech with a certain lad very soon to let him know she did not appreciate being kept in the dark. She had help out of her saddle, then found herself surrounded not by her usual guardsmen but by a handful of steely-eyed, rough-looking men made up equally of Gervase’s and Robin’s guardsmen. Her brother was leading the charge, as it were, dressed in less-than-pristine gear and happily wallowing in his obscurity.


She sighed. She supposed she’d been fortunate in that she’d even been allowed to come back to Monsaert. Her grandparents had been banished to the safety of Beauvois. Gervase had been on the verge of sending her along with them until she’d pointed out to him that it would be a little hard for her to kill him if she wasn’t close enough to his supper to poison it. He had agreed, reluctantly, and she had been warned that her ability to move about freely would be reduced to nothing.

“Wonder who’s here?” Miles murmured.

“I don’t want to speculate,” she said.

“Those are Monsaert’s colors,” he mused, “though slightly altered. This should be entertaining.” He lifted his eyebrows briefly, then walked with her through the courtyard and up the way to the great hall.

She watched the people around her, not recognizing half of them, as she followed Miles into the great hall. It was then that she realized entertaining wasn’t going to be the half of it.

A woman was there, holding court. There could be no other way to describe it. Isabelle would have turned around and gone to hide in the stables, but Miles had a hold of her so she couldn’t move.

“Who,” she managed, “is that?”

“I believe, sister, that Mother Monsaert has returned to the fold.”

The one thing she had always disliked about her brother was his strength. She supposed the only way she would manage to be free of him would be to pull a dagger from her boot, only she hadn’t managed to get to the abbey’s armory that morning to procure one, leaving her singularly unable to stab Miles in the gut with it. Obviously, she needed to attend to her weaponry sooner rather than later. Sooner seemed a good option at the moment, but again, Miles seemed to have a death grip on the back of her tunic.

“I think we should go meet her,” Miles murmured.

“Are you daft?” she whispered furiously. “I’m wearing hose.”

“Why do you care?”

She shot him a murderous look that he only smiled at, damn him anyway. She pulled her cloak closer around her, but supposed that would do nothing to hide her lack of gown. Then again, perhaps she would manage to simply remain in the background. If Robin could blend into the garrison, then so could she. She edged behind her twin, fully intending to use him as a shield if necessary. She pitied Gervase that he didn’t have the same option open to him. The hall was full of his men, true, but he was the one left standing alone in front of them all.

The lady of Monsaert didn’t bother to rise from her place before the fire to greet him. She simply waved a languid hand.

“Gervase,” she said, her voice slicing through the air like a painfully sharp sword, “do come over and do me the honor due me. Then perhaps you can explain why you weren’t here to welcome me when I arrived.”

Isabelle found herself joined on her other side by Joscelin who seemed just as determined as Miles to keep her from fleeing. How they managed to both have hold of bits of her clothing whilst she was standing mostly behind them, she didn’t know, but they did. She glared at Gervase’s brother, just so he wouldn’t mistake her lack of movement for acquiescence. Joscelin only shook his head.

“You know you’ll have to meet her eventually.”

“Perhaps when I’m dressed properly?” she said pointedly.

“Don’t know why you’d care,” Joscelin said with a shrug.

“Would you go into battle on a goat?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it and smiled. “I suppose not. Very well, we’ll try to keep you out of sight as much as possible, though I don’t think you’ll escape scrutiny altogether.” His smile faded. “I’m sorry for that, Isabelle. She’s not a pleasant woman.”

Isabelle could hear that from where she was standing. It had to have been an art, she was fairly sure, to be able to speak that distinctly yet in tones that were barely above a whisper. Isabelle strove to keep a pleasant smile on her face whilst the dowager duchess of Monsaert pointed out, kindly of course, her step-son’s failings in being prepared to entertain her in style. That Gervase listened to it all without saying anything said much about his self-control. Then again, Isabelle could tell he was coldly furious. She couldn’t fault him for it. Lady Margaret was fortunate he didn’t pick her up and throw her bodily from his hall.

“And who do we have over there?” Margaret said with a yawn. “Joscelin, drag him out from behind you and let me see what sorts of servants we’re employing at present.”

Isabelle took a deep breath, then stepped forward and inclined her head. “Your Grace,” she said quietly.

“A girl,” Margaret said, with a tinkling laugh that contained nothing but sharp edges. “And who might you be, my dear, dressed in lads’ clothes?”

“She’s Isabelle,” Yves blurted out defensively, “and she’s very kind.”

The look his mother shot him had the poor lad backing up quickly behind an older brother. Isabelle returned Margaret’s look because whilst she was not Gervase’s stepmother’s equal in rank, her father was also not a kitchen lad.

“But why are you here?” Margaret asked, her perfect brow creasing slightly. “Surely not as a guest.”

Miles stepped forward and made Margaret a sweeping bow. He straightened and smiled at her. Isabelle had to admit her brother could be very charming when he wanted to be. It was undeniable that he was at the height of his prowess and the sheer beauty of his face had left lesser women fanning themselves. Then again, Margaret was old enough to be his mother and she was apparently made of sterner stuff than most for she merely looked him over, then pursed her lips.

“A de Piaget son, obviously.”

“Miles, my lady Margaret.”

“And that bedraggled urchin next to you?”

Isabelle found that neither she nor Miles had a chance to speak because they were interrupted by a quiet, but undeniably cold voice.

“That, my lady mother,” Gervase said, “is my lady, Isabelle de Piaget. She is here as my personal guest.”

Margaret looked at him, then laughed. “Surely you jest.”

Isabelle realized that with all the looks she’d had from the young lord of Monsaert, she had never, ever had him bestow on her a look of utter disdain. Decades of breeding and a healthy dose of his own confidence had obviously done a goodly work in helping him master that. She would have wilted on the spot. Lady Margaret, however, was obviously made of much sterner stuff. She only returned Gervase’s look with one of her own.

“I don’t suppose, my boy, that you saw fit to tell her that you are already betrothed?”

Isabelle felt Miles shift beside her almost imperceptibly, though she could have told him he didn’t need to bother. She would have put her own eyes out before she gave the woman in front of her the satisfaction of seeing any reaction on her face.

“I believe,” Isabelle said smoothly, “that such is common knowledge, isn’t it?”

“Then what, you common tramp, are you thinking to do with him?” Margaret snapped.

Isabelle smiled. “I don’t know that I’ve indicated any wishes to have anything to do with him, Your Grace.” She started to move away, then she stopped. She supposed she should have thought better of the words on the tip of her tongue, but at least she was merely planning on speaking. Amanda likely would have slapped the woman in front of her. “I can’t imagine you don’t already know this, but I’ve found that most often when one uses a slur against another—common tramp, for example—that the words are ones the speaker tends to apply to herself when no one is looking.” She smiled. “Don’t you agree?”


The stillness in the hall was palpable. Isabelle inclined her head and moved off. No sense in giving the lady Margaret the opportunity to filch a blade and use it. She glanced over her shoulder as she left and paused. Perhaps it was the closeness of that immediate circle by the fire that afforded her such a fine view of Gervase drawing his hand over his face, or perhaps ’twas a bit of happy fortune. He shot her a look that she couldn’t quite decipher, then shook his head, looking as if he might be fighting a smile. Isabelle shrugged and started for the kitchens.

Somehow, that seemed particularly appropriate.

“Well played,” Miles managed under his breath.

Isabelle said nothing until she had her brother all the way to the kitchens. Once she was certain they were out of sight of anyone who might have been loitering at the top of the passageway, she whirled on him.

“Is he betrothed?” she demanded.

“Ah—” Miles said.

“Is that all you can say?” she exclaimed. “Tell me what you know and tell me now before I cause you a great amount of pain.”

“Um—”

That was as far as he got because he was suddenly shoved out of the way by the lord of the hall who had apparently wasted no time in coming after her so he could make a full confession of his hedging. Isabelle put her hands on her hips and glared at him instead.

“Is it true?” she demanded. “Are you betrothed to someone? And who in the bloody hell might that be?”

His eyes were rather wide. “Is that language ladylike?”

She looked around for something sharp to use on him but realized that all she had to hand was her tongue. Unfortunately, the unpleasant amount of surprise she was laboring under seemed to be robbing her of anything useful to say. “I don’t give a damn,” she said finally, “what my language is at the moment.”

He looked as if he might be fighting a smile. “Would I be courting you if I were engaged to Evelyne of Coucy?”

“Courting?” she echoed. “Is that what you call it? This bossing of me, chasing me—”

“Luring you into semi-darkened corners and kissing you?”

“You haven’t lured me anywhere,” she said shortly. “And if you think I have any intention of ever again kiss—”

Well, apparently, that was indeed what he was thinking. She found herself in his arms in the middle of his kitchens being thoroughly kissed. She closed her eyes because she decided that there was no sense in not giving her full attentions to a man who obviously knew how to kiss a maid so she thought she might like him to keep on with his labors.

He finally allowed her to breathe and instead kissed her once on the end of her nose. “Does that answer your question?”

She managed to pry her eyes open. “What question?”

He smiled. “Isabelle, I love you.”

“I’m not sure that is a decent answer to the question I can’t remember at the moment, but so be it. When did you decide this?”

He bent his head and kissed her again, softly. “I think I knew it when I first looked at you and fell off my horse.”

She was eventually going to have to tell him to leave off with that or she wasn’t going to be able to attend to the task of poisoning him by degrees, but perhaps later when she could think clearly again. “Did it hurt, that falling?” she managed.

“I landed on you.”

“No wonder I lost my memories,” she said, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “And I think you’re avoiding my question.”

“Do you remember your question?” he asked politely.

She scowled at him. “Details, Gervase. Don’t make me draw my blade on you.”

“You don’t have a blade,” he said, sounding far more relaxed about that than he should have. “And aye, I was betrothed. The woman in question’s sire came through the hall several se’nnights ago and made it quite clear she had no more interest in wedding me.”

“Then she’s daft,” she said.

He smiled and bent his head to kiss her again. “I love you,” he whispered against her mouth. “And before you shower me with all manner of sentiments in return, I will commend you to your brother’s care and return to the viper’s nest in the great hall. Please stay out of her way.”

“I tried to improve her character,” Isabelle pointed out. “Did she not appreciate that?”

He laughed uneasily. “She may not have, but you have earned the undying loyalty of her sons. But because she does not offend well, please stay behind your brother and leave her to me.”

“And just what are you going to do with her?”

“I’m going to try to have her come to court with us—”

“We’re going where?” she asked in utter surprise. “And when did you decide this?”

“Robin and I discussed the possibility on the way here,” he said with a shrug, “but seeing our guests half an hour ago made the decision for me.” He smiled. “I thought you might like to meet the king and his mother.”

She knew she was gaping at him, but she couldn’t do anything else. “Court?” she wheezed.

He kissed her cheek, then smiled. “If we don’t remove Margaret from the hall, we won’t have a hall to return to because I’m quite sure she’ll burn it to the ground out of spite. Besides, there is safety in a crowd.” He looked over her head. “Watch over her well, Miles. I’ll try to find her later.”

“Oh, I think not,” Miles said, pulling her over to stand next to him. “She’s fair to swooning now as it is.”

“That’s because I haven’t anything to wear to court,” Isabelle said through gritted teeth, “and that makes me nervous.”

Gervase only smiled pleasantly, then turned and strode from the kitchens. She watched him go, then looked at her brother.

“What is he thinking?”

“That his stepmother won’t kill you if the queen mother is watching?”

Isabelle shivered. “I don’t suppose I made a friend in her today, did I?”

“Even Amanda would have hesitated to speak to her so bluntly,” Miles said hesitantly. “I believe you have surpassed even her cheekiest comments. If I were you, however, I would take your love’s advice quite seriously. Don’t let her catch you alone.”

She nodded slowly, though it occurred to her that that sage piece of advice could apply to more souls than the dowager countess of Monsaert.

? ? ?

Evening shadows had fallen when Isabelle stood in the great hall, taking up space against the wall next to Miles. She was leaning against his shoulder partly because he made a handy pillar and partly because she had the strangest feeling that they wouldn’t have all that many more opportunities to do the like. She looked at him finally.

“I have the feeling our days of lingering on the edge of the hall are almost over.”

He bumped her companionably with his shoulder. “It depends upon how often your future husband allows me inside here, I suppose.”

She couldn’t smile. “You’re assuming he’ll want to have anything to do with me once he’s seen what’s available at court.”

“Iz, he’s already seen what’s available at court,” Miles said dryly. “Repeatedly. Unclad, if rumor has it aright.”

She scowled at him. “That is rumor only.”


“I’m not saying he partook of what was offered,” Miles said with a shrug, “just that he’s seen more of what’s available than might be considered polite. He’s had his choice of women, which I believe we’ve discussed before. He knows what he wants and apparently what he wants is you.”

She sighed. “Is Evelyne of Coucy beautiful?”

“Oh, I’m not sure that word does her justice,” Miles said, with more reverence in his voice than perhaps was necessary. “She’s almost too beautiful to look at.”

“Are you being helpful?”

He winked at her. “I’m trying to help you see how useless it is to discuss her. She’s beautiful, true, but no man with sense could possibly endure her longer than a handful of minutes without looking for other company. I’ve only met her once and I wanted to run the other way.”

Isabelle took a deep breath, then nodded, because she could do nothing else. She wasn’t anticipating a journey to the French court with any relish at all. One, she was English and she had the feeling that no matter whom she arrived with, she would not be a popular addition to the company. Two, she did not care at all for the niceties that were required to move successfully in court circles. Her mother didn’t care for it either, though she was willing to do what was required of her. Amanda enjoyed the game, but she was also in the enviable position of not giving a damn what anyone thought of her.

The one who had turned out to be the most deft hand with things of a political nature had been Robin’s wife, Anne. Her shyness was taken as a proper and appropriate amount of reserve and her words, always chosen with utmost care, were looked upon as gifts when offered.

Isabelle had to admit that there had been times when she’d been with Anne that she’d felt as if she were tromping about in boots better suited to working in the stables.

She sighed as she looked out over the company, then she froze as she realized she was being watched. It wasn’t by Margaret the viper, nor by any of Gervase’s brothers. Not even the servants or guardsmen were paying her any heed. But that man, the lord of the hall sitting in his great chair in front of the fire, was watching her as if the sight of her pleased him.

“Evelyne is not your worry,” Miles murmured.

“What is?” she asked.

“Having that man ever let you out of his arms.”

She looked up at her brother, then smiled. “He’s kind.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Miles said, “but he does love you. As do his brothers, apparently.” He smiled. “Are you prepared to be a mother to them?”

“I think Guy and Joscelin are past needing mothering,” she said. “But as for the others, aye, I think I can manage them.”

“Well, ’tis for damned sure they want nothing to do with their dam. I’ve never seen a collection of lads beg for more time in the chapel the way these have today, righteous souls that they are.”

Isabelle nodded because he had it aright. Gervase’s brothers seemed to want to have nothing to do with their mother. Then again, Margaret obviously had no interest in her sons. Surely the lads had to have felt that. She smiled very briefly at Gervase, then watched him turn away and put on a polite face for his stepmother.

Poor man.

At least he was alive to pretend to be polite. She rubbed her arms, then looked casually about the hall to see if there might be anything out of place. Robin was leaning against the opposite wall, obviously enjoying his anonymity greatly. Gervase’s brothers were sitting as far away from their mother as possible—well, except for Guy, but perhaps he had a stronger stomach than the rest of them. Then again, he was Margaret’s eldest son, so perhaps she had favored him with a regard she hadn’t been willing to offer the others. Isabelle supposed that was her right, but she couldn’t understand it. Guy certainly had the appearance of a useful sort of lad, but obviously he couldn’t be trusted with anything of import.

“You’re thinking hard,” Miles remarked.

She shrugged. “Something troubles me.”

“It sounds like a secret,” he said with a faint smile. “My favorite sort of trouble.”

She looked out over the hall and wished there weren’t so many souls there. So many possibilities for things to happen she couldn’t control. She didn’t look at her brother because she didn’t want to give anything away, but she leaned closer and spoke behind a smile that she knew from long experience wouldn’t alert anyone to what she was saying.

“Remember the seeds Guy gifted me?”

“Aye.”

“And that I told you I’d sent a missive to Grandmère?”

“That, too.”

She glanced at him. “She told me last night that she never received it. I asked her specifically about it, but she had seen nothing, not even a messenger claiming to have been robbed of it.”

“Perhaps she was distracted with all the goings-on,” Miles said. “You know, us finding out that our grandfather lived and suppressing the urge we both felt to kill Robin for never having told us.”

“We owe him for several things,” she conceded, “but about the other? You can’t believe that she simply overlooked my telling her I was alive. Besides, that was almost a se’nnight ago. We hadn’t yet been to the abbey to distract her.”

He sighed. “Have you asked Guy what he did with your missive? For all you know, he sent it with an unreliable messenger and is too embarrassed to admit it.”

She shot him a look. “Do you think so?”

He turned toward her, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “A better question is, why would he purposely waylay your message?”

“So he could read it himself.”

“But why?” Miles asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“Because I hadn’t revealed my identity at the time,” she said, “and I was writing to the abbess of Caours. Perhaps he was curious.”

“Perhaps he thought you were lovely and hoped that reading your correspondence might help him divine a way to make you look on him with favor.”

She blew a stray hair out of her eyes. “He fails to deliver my message, then he fails to deliver Gervase’s. Doesn’t that seem slightly suspicious to you?”

“It seems annoying,” Miles said, “but not suspicious. And haven’t we had this conversation before?”

She sighed lightly. “Aye, but I wasn’t satisfied with it.”

“Because you don’t care for the man is no reason to suspect him of nefarious doings,” Miles said carefully. “But, if you like, I’ll keep him in my sights.”

“Or perhaps we’ll run afoul of a decent piece of good fortune and he’ll remain behind whilst we’re about our business at court, then you won’t need to keep him in your sights.”

“I wouldn’t hold out much hope for that,” Miles said, watching the commotion near the fire that seemed to consist of Lady Margaret requiring attention. “He seems particularly attached to his mother, so I imagine if she comes, he’ll come as well. But perhaps that’s for the best. We won’t need to worry about his filching Gervase’s chair and thereafter refusing to relinquish it.”

There was that, she supposed. She watched as Margeret left the hall, obviously off to seek her bed. The woman ignored everyone but Guy, but perhaps that was the usual sort of business. The hall door banged shut behind her and stillness descended.


And then everyone in the place seemed to take a decent breath.

Isabelle found herself encircled suddenly by Gervase’s brothers. She dispensed embraces, pats, compliments, and spent a good half an hour listening to them tumble over themselves to tell her of the hell they had passed through that afternoon. She did her best to remind them that the lady Margaret was their mother and deserved respect. It was to their credit that they at least listened politely to her admonition before they inundated her again with their adventures.

“All right, lads, that’s enough,” Gervase said, coming up behind their little group. “Off to bed. The lady Isabelle and I have plans to make for the morrow.”

Yves seemed less-than-eager to release her hand he was holding. “Where are you going now?”

“A brief journey to court,” Gervase said, reaching out to ruffle Yves’s hair.

“Are you bringing her back home?”

“If she’ll agree to come.”

Isabelle found herself the subject of scrutiny by several of Gervase’s brothers. She felt herself beginning to blush a little.

“I believe he needs to propose first,” she said, “if that’s his intention.”

“Come on, lads,” Joscelin said wryly. “Let’s leave Gervase to his wooing and you to your beds. Yves, let her go before you crush her fingers.”

Isabelle braced for Yves throwing himself into her arms, hugged him tightly, then set him down and sent him on his way. He put his hand in Joscelin’s.

“Who is that fierce lad over younder?” Yves whispered loudly. “Never seen him before, but he looks a great deal like Lord Miles, doesn’t he? Much fiercer, of course, but that’s all to the good.”

“We’ll find out in the morning,” Joscelin promised. “But aye, he does look as if he might have some idea how to use a sword. If he needs aid in the morning, I’ll see what I can do for him. Lucien, see these little ones to bed. I’ll remain with Lord Miles and roam the passageways.”

Isabelle smiled at the look of promise Robin was sending Joscelin, then smiled a bit more as Gervase took her hand.

“He doesn’t have to do this,” Gervase said quietly, “which I’m sure he realizes.”

“Don’t be too quick to credit Robin with altruism,” Isabelle said. “He loves nothing more than to pretend he’s an ordinary guardsman, then dazzle and befuddle those foolish enough to think so.” She shrugged. “He’s complicated.”

“But he loves his sister, obviously,” Gervase said, “which I understand.” He drew her into his arms and held her close. “You’ll take my chamber for the night. I’ll stand guard and make certain you’re safe.”

“Nay,” Miles said, “Robin and I can see to it. I think you would be wise to rest.” He smiled briefly. “Perhaps you should feign a bit of sour stomach, just to move things along.”

“And speaking of that,” Isabelle said, pulling back to frown at him, “what is this new scheme you and my brother have discussed?”

Gervase looked at her seriously. “It occurred to me last night that while I might feel more comfortable at home, being at home wasn’t going to help me discover anything new.” He glanced about himself, then lowered his voice. “If you’re being followed and I’m being followed, I thought that perhaps it might help us flush out those unsavoury types if we were all to be on unfamiliar ground. As it were.”

“Did that unfamiliar ground need to be the queen mother’s court?” she asked with a wince.

“I couldn’t think of anywhere else,” Gervase admitted. “I don’t want to endanger your family or mine. This way, my guards and your brother’s can lose themselves amongst others without drawing undue notice to themselves, we can have at least a modicum of safety in a crowd, and hopefully the lot of us being in a relatively strange locale might force our attackers to make a misstep.”

“Attackers?” she echoed pointedly.

“At this point, whether they are two or one in the same, you and I are both in a fair bit of peril.” He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. “Short of locking you in my solar for the rest of your days, I’m left with very few moves on the board.”

She held on to him tightly for a moment or two, then pulled away. “I understand your reasons. I just wish I had filched a gown from Nicholas’s wife. I fear I will be a great embarrassment to you.”

“Let’s worry about that later,” he said. He kissed her briefly, then looked at Miles. “I believe I would be wise to accept your offer of sleep, but be careful.” He paused. “I hardly know whom to trust even in my own household.”

Isabelle said nothing, and she didn’t dare look at Miles, but she understood the sentiment completely. She walked with Gervase from the hall and was grateful for the escort of Miles, Joscelin, and, trailing along behind them all with a handful of unpleasant-looking lads, Robin as well. She had to admit she agreed with Gervase’s plan. Losing themselves in a crowd at court might possibly be the only thing that drew their attackers out of the shadows.

Unfortunately, as she knew very well, it was difficult to be seen when one was standing in the shadows, never mind where that darkness found itself.

She only hoped that inability to see where danger lay wouldn’t be what killed them both.