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“Do you play chess?” he asked her.

  “I do,” she said, “and I am very good. Neither of my brothers could beat me, my lord. Can your masculine pride stand the thought of being beaten by a woman? I neither ask nor give quarter.”

  “Fetch the board, ma Belle,” he told her with a smile.

  The table was brought, and the pieces taken from a carved ivory box to be set up upon the board. They began to play, silently at first, then jibing at and mocking one another as each took an opponent’s piece. Belle swiftly won the game, but Hugh only laughed, demanding an immediate rematch, which she willingly agreed to give him.

  “Do you think he is making any headway with her?” Rolf quietly asked Alette as they sat together by the fire, sipping wine.

  “My daughter is an enigma to me,” Alette replied frankly. “I admit that I have never quite understood her. She has her father’s bold spirit, not mine, I fear, and what is good in a man is not perhaps good in a girl.”

  “You are so fair,” he said suddenly, surprised by his own boldness.

  “What?” She was not certain she had heard him aright.

  “I said you are so fair,” he repeated with more assurance. “Has no one ever told you that, my lady Alette?” Rolf de Briard had brown eyes, and they warmly surveyed her. “I am of good birth,” he said, “although mayhap I do not have the right to speak to you thusly.”

  “I do not know if you do or not,” Alette replied. “No one has ever called me fair, although my aunt once told me I was pretty enough.”

  “Did not your husband say how lovely you were?” He was astounded. How could Robert de Manneville look at Alette and not acknowledge her beauty, her sweet face, her gentle voice? She was pure perfection in Rolf’s eyes.

  “Robert married me for children. He was fond of saying all cats were alike in the dark,” Alette said. She thought a long moment, and then shook her head. “Nay, he never said I was pretty, my lord.”

  “Lady, I have not a great deal but my position, which I owe to the kindness of my friend, Hugh, but I should like to court you,” Rolf told the startled woman. “We are of an age, and not related by blood. I can see no impediment to it, can you?”

  “My lord, you flatter me beyond all words, but you would but waste your time. I do not mean to wed again,” Alette said softly. Her heart was beating rapidly, as if she were a young girl with her first suitor. Robert de Manneville had certainly never been so courteous in his pursuit of her. Rolf de Briard wanted to court her.

  “Why will you not marry again, lady?” he questioned her.

  “As a widow, my lord, I have far more personal freedom than I would as a wife. A wife, in my opinion, has little more liberty than a serf. My daughter has little respect for me. I believe her reluctance to take Sir Hugh as her husband stems from seeing my plight as her father’s wife. A husband may beat his wife, mistreat her, flaunt his mistress in her face. All this she must accept without complaint. I have been happier than I have ever been in my entire life since my husband went on crusade. While I mourn his passing, for I am not an unfeeling woman, I rejoice in the fact that he will not return to hurt me ever again. He showed more kindness to his dogs than he ever did to me.”

  “I am not Robert de Manneville, lady,” Rolf told her. “I should cherish you and love you all my days if you would one day accept me for your husband.” Reaching out, he took her hand and, bringing it to his lips, kissed it. Then he turned her hand over, pressing his mouth hotly first against the inside of her wrist, and then her palm.

  She shivered, and when their eyes met, Alette was almost overwhelmed by the look of deep passion in his brown eyes. She could not speak.

  “Let me court you,” he said, his voice low, personal, and very intense. “Let me show you that not all men are cruel and unkind, sweet lady. If when you have gotten to know me you are still of the same opinion you hold now, I shall endeavor to understand, but give me a chance to prove otherwise to you.”

  “You are most persuasive, sir,” she replied breathlessly. She had never felt this way before. Robert had certainly never looked at her with such deep feeling in his eyes, and in his voice. When he had met her for the first time, he told her quite firmly that her uncle had given him permission to marry her. There had never been any talk of love. Of courting. He would condescend to take this orphan girl with her tiny dowry off her uncle’s hands, and she would mother his children in return. It was a business arrangement, and nothing more.

  “Will you let me be your knight, lady?” Rolf said softly.

  “Perhaps a little while,” she answered him, finally able to find her voice, “but, sir, I make you no promises.”

  “I understand,” Rolf replied, his heart soaring. He would prove to Alette that not all men were cruel and thoughtless to their ladies. Eventually he would show her that he was worthy to be her husband. Had not that brute, Robert de Manneville, understood what a precious possession Alette was? He was a fool, then!

  She rose from her seat. “It is late, sir,” she said.

  “I will escort you to your chamber, my lady,” he replied, standing.

  The hall emptied, but for Hugh and Isabelle, bent in serious concentration over their chessboard. While she had won the first game, it had been mainly because he had underestimated her skill. Her respect for him began to grow grudgingly when she realized that, and saw that he did not intend to allow her a second victory over him if he could possibly help it.

  He was not like any man she had ever known. While she had loved her father, who was indulgent of her, she had hid her fear of him, for she was never certain if the swift violence he often exhibited toward her mother might not be turned upon her one day. In her secret heart Belle wondered if she would have been brave, or if she would have given way to fear, as Alette so often had before her husband. Robert de Manneville had been kind to his only daughter, but she had still been a child when he went away. Now she was almost relieved that he would never return.

  Her brothers had been another matter. William, the elder, was ten years her senior. Though she would have never admitted it to her mother, Alette had been correct when she said he tolerated her only for their father’s goodwill. On the rare occasions they had been alone, William enjoyed taunting his half sister with the fact that his mother was of far, far more noble birth than her mother. Yet Belle knew her mother’s kin were of the nobility, and more than just respectable. He also mocked her for being bigger than other girls her age when petite was the ideal for women of breeding. “You are a carrot-topped calf who will one day grow into a carrot-topped cow,” William liked to tell her. Fortunately, he spent most of his time in Normandy as he grew older, so she was spared his nastiness. She was quite delighted he would not return from his crusade, and even more so that he had left no wife or legitimate issue.

  Richard de Manneville, the younger of her father’s two sons, had been less hostile to his little sister. Six years her senior, he had spent more time than his elder sibling in the lady Alette’s care. He had a mercurial temperament, unlike the stolid and snobbish William. Usually he was kind to Isabelle, but sometimes when there was no one about to see, he would lash out at her angrily, overwhelmed by jealousy that she would have Langston, and William, Manneville. There was not enough money to put him with the Church and assure him a position of importance. Richard de Manneville would have to make his way as a knight. He would have to earn his own prestige and fortune.

  Such a fate did not appeal at all to Richard. Sometimes in his anger he would pinch his little sister where it would not show. His thin fingers were adept at rendering her black and blue. Belle quickly learned to defend herself from her brother, sometimes using her fists, sometimes kicking out at him. Such behavior never failed to amuse him. It would set him to laughing so hard that his rage swiftly dissolved. Isabelle could imagine Richard being absolutely delighted when his brother was killed in battle, leaving Manneville all to him.

  And these were the only men of her own class that she had ever known, B
elle thought. Oh, occasionally a noble visitor would pass through, requesting a night’s lodging, but they would ride in late and depart early, leaving no visible impression upon her. For over four years she and her mother had lived alone at Langston except for the servants. For three of those years, since she was twelve, she had managed the estate without any help from anyone. She had been very frightened when the old steward died, but unless she wanted them to starve, or to have her serfs rebel or run away, she knew that she had to take charge and be strong. Any sign of weakness would have led to their ruin. Until the male peasants, serf and freed, understood she was lady of the estate in deed as well as fact, they would try to bully her.

  Each day she would ride out, no matter the weather. She delegated authority where she could, but oversaw all with a very sharp eye. What she did not know about planting, threshing, and harvesting, she quickly learned from the women on the estate, who in defiance of their men wanted the lady to succeed. Belle even learned to prune the fruit trees herself. She was not afraid to alight from her horse to chase poultry into the barn in a sudden storm. She administered justice, turning a blind eye to the tenant who poached an occasional rabbit from her fields to feed his family; hanging the bully who had been previously warned, yet stepped boldly from her woods carrying the carcass of a dressed deer, which he then proceeded to try to sell for profit to her villagers. The family of the illegal hunter was fiercely driven from her estate, for Isabelle knew to allow them to remain would be but to court trouble. The people of Langston respected the lady, even if they did not all like her. If I had been a man, Isabelle thought bitterly, my actions would have never been considered unusual.

  Now she was faced with Hugh Fauconier, knight. Heir to the last Saxon lord of Langston. Sent by a king she didn’t even know, to take over not just her lands, but her person. Why, Isabelle wondered as she pondered her next move upon the chessboard, why had she never considered the possibility of a husband? Her father had never discussed the matter, although she realized that if he had not gone away, a betrothal would have been made and a marriage settled by now. Somehow in those years without him, she had become used to being her own mistress, and she liked it. She did not want to give over her authority to a husband. Langston was hers! She moved her knight piece, realizing even as she did it that it was a very bad move.

  “Check,” Hugh said quietly, taking her knight. Then, “Why did you make such a foolish move?”

  “I had lost my concentration,” she answered him honestly. “I was thinking of something else, my lord. You have won this game fairly, I think.” She even gave him the tiny vestige of a smile.

  “What were you thinking of?” he asked her.

  “You,” she said, surprising him.

  “Me?” The sandy brows over his blue eyes rose questioningly.

  “I know that you are not to blame, my lord, but I do not think it fair the king take Langston from me,” Isabelle said. “I know I am only a woman, but I have kept my lands peaceful and prosperous.”

  “What would you do if there were a war?” he asked her quietly. “How would you defend Langston from attack? How would you meet your obligations to your liege lord to send soldiers in his defense? You cannot go into battle for the king, or train others in warfare. And who is your liege lord, Belle? Will you pledge your fealty to King Henry, or to Duke Robert? What if your brother claimed these lands for himself? What would you do?”

  “Is there to be a war?” she queried him.

  “Probably in the coming spring, or summer,” he said. “King Henry will prevail, of course, but Langston is too close to the sea. Should your brother, who is the duke’s man, come here to find you and the lady Alette alone, he would certainly take these lands for the duke’s good. The king will not have it, ma Belle. You are not some silly little girl who does not understand what I am telling you. You have courage, and intelligence. These are words I never thought to use in reference to a woman, but they fit you.

  “Langston must have a lord to defend it, and you must have a husband, unless, of course, you have a calling for the religious life. If that be so, I should not stand in your way. I would dower you fairly into the convent of your choice. Your mother could then return to Manneville in Normandy. Perhaps your brother would not like it, but he would have no right to refuse his father’s widow shelter and sustenance.”

  Isabelle arose from her seat, and walking over to an arched window, looked out into the darkness. “It is snowing,” she said, seeing a buildup of white flakes upon the stone sill outside. She heard the scrape of his chair. She heard his footsteps stopping behind her, and then his arm slipped about her slender waist. She stiffened.

  “Why are you afraid to marry me?” he said quietly.

  “It is not you, my lord,” she told him. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. “I am afraid of no man. I have no calling for a religious life. I simply wish to be free. No woman who is a wife is free. You may beat me without justification, or cast me aside without cause, and I have no recourse. English law and Church law are both on your side. My father was not unkind to me, but he was never good to my mother. I should rather remain unwed than live that kind of life. Oh, you may promise me not to be that way. Perhaps you might even mean it as you said the words, but in the end it would be the same for me as it was for my mother,” Belle concluded.

  “My mother died shortly after my birth, and my father at Hastings, as you know,” he began. “I was raised by my grandparents. Never in all my life did Cedric Merlin-sone raise his hand to his wife, the lady Emma. My grandmother has a fierce Norman temper even as you do, ma Belle, but even her outbursts could not make grandfather angry enough to beat her. Many men would have, I know that, but not my grandfather.

  “My grandparents have lived their lives together as equal partners, even as King William and good Queen Matilda did, may God assoil their souls. That is the kind of marriage I offer you, Isabelle of Langston. You will not be my servant. You will be my companion. You will be the mother of my children. If I must go to war in the king’s name, you will be my regent here at Langston. I do not know how else to reassure you than to tell you these things. Neither of us has a choice in the matter. The king has said we must marry. I have pledged my loyalty to Henry Beauclerc, and will obey his commands. I know you are an honorable woman. Can you do any less?”

  “Will you put your words in writing?” Belle demanded.

  “Would you sue me then, ma douce?” He was amused. “Besides, you cannot read, and would not know if the words were true.”

  “I trust you to make them true, my lord,” she answered.

  He was amazed. “You would trust me, Belle? Why?”

  “Because you are not like my father, or my brothers,” she said simply.

  It was the most astounding avowal of faith that had ever been given to him. To refuse her confidence would be unchivalrous. “I will have Father Bernard write whatever words you dictate, ma Belle, and I will sign it in your presence. In return you must do something forme. I want you to learn how to read, and to write. You will be a much better chatelaine for it. Will you promise me that?” He turned her about so that she was facing him.

  “Who will teach me, my lord?” she wondered.

  “Father Bernard will teach you,” he told her. “Will you learn?”

  “Aye, my lord, I will learn, and gladly, but will he also teach me numbers, too?” She looked eagerly up at him. “If you and Rolf de Briard go away and leave me in charge, I must be certain the books are properly kept; that we are not cheated.”

  He nodded, thinking as he did that she had the most beautiful eyes. Not the soft blue of her mother’s, but a mysterious green-gold, like a sun-dappled pond in the deep forest. Unable to help himself, he brushed her lips with his.

  She drew back, her eyes darkening, half angry, half puzzled. “Why did you do that, my lord?” she demanded.

  “I but sealed our bargain with a kiss, ma Belle,” he said seriously.

  “Is
such a thing always done?”

  “Have you never been kissed before?” he answered her question with a question, knowing the answer before she spoke it.

  “Who is there to kiss me, sir, and why would they want to?” Isabelle said irritably. “I am not some giggling serf girl, eager for a tumble in the woods. I saw my father kiss my mother only once, when he went off upon his crusade with Duke Robert.”

  “Kissing is a fine, old sport,” Hugh told her with a quick smile. “My grandfather loved catching my grandmother unawares and giving her a loving kiss. We shall learn to know one another better if we practice kissing on a regular basis, ma Belle.”

  “You are making fun of me,” she said. “I do not like to be mocked, my lord. There is absolutely no practical use for mashing one’s lips together that I can see.”

  Hugh chuckled. “You are young, and you are innocent, ma Belle,” he told her gently. “In time I will show you how the skilled application of kissing can bring about a useful conclusion. Besides, it is permitted that a married couple kiss whenever and as often as they like.”

  “We are not married,” she said, her tone dark. Then she somehow lost her breath as he pulled her hard against him.

  “We are going to be married, and very soon, ma Belle,” he replied. His free hand cupped the back of her head firmly. “Close your eyes,” he said. “It is better when you close your eyes, chérie.”

  Why am I complying with such a silly request? Isabelle wondered, even as her dark lashes brushed her pale cheeks. His mouth closed warmly over hers, pressing firmly, and then a frisson of enjoyment raced down her spine. She was astounded, and pulled away from him, puzzled.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I felt …” She thought a moment. “Pleasure,” she finally decided. “Aye. Your kiss gave me pleasure, my lord.”

  “Then I have succeeded in my purpose, ma Belle. A kiss should be pleasurable,” he explained.

  “What follows kissing?” she demanded of him.

  “There is more to kissing than you have just experienced,” he said softly, gently running his forefinger down her elegant, long nose. “In time we will explore everything together, but for now I think you should find your bed, ma Belle. Your mother will wonder where you have gotten to, and I would not fret her.” He released his hold on her.