Page 6 of The Wager and the Wedding

She met his gaze, fierce eyes gleaming with unshed tears, and his heart melted. He had to win her favor if it was the last thing he did.

“I have a proposal,” he said, folding his hands together to keep from reaching out and stroking her cheek. “We must go through with the wedding. Lady Eleanor has made her wishesknown, and your parents want the match. We could hardly defy them in their own castle. But there’s no reason we must consummate it. Give me…let’s say…the time it takes us to travel to Winchelsea to win you over. If by the end of our journey you still feel I am the wrong man at the wrong time, we can have the marriage annulled. I have no desire for an unwilling wife. All I ask is that you keep an open mind and let me woo you for the duration of our voyage.”

She blinked. “I know I cannot defy Lady Eleanor, especially not while I’m under my parents’ roof. I accept your offer on one condition.”

A little flame of hope sprang up in Martin’s breast at her words. “Yes, my lady?”

“Let my sister, Adelaide, stay with me at Winchelsea while I find a new husband. She is supposed to continue to Normandy to enter the duchess’s service as soon as we arrive, but I wish to delay her journey until my future is settled.”

It would be tricky keeping Lady Adelaide in defiance of Her Grace’s wishes, but he supposed he could figure out a way to explain a minor delay. If it helped him win Isabella over, it would be worth it.

“As long as it’s a brief stay, it would be my pleasure. I don’t wish to risk Lady Eleanor’s ire, but I doubt she’ll notice a few extra weeks.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, and she looked at him in silence.

“Are we agreed then?” he asked tentatively.

“We are, my lord,” she said at last.

Wonderful news! In just a few hours, he would wed this lovely, intelligent woman, and he had weeks at sea to convince her to stay. That should be more than enough time to win her over. The Fabian strategy was working.

“You are grinning too much, my lord. Don’t get your hopes up. I am not the wife for you.” She stood, gave him a little nod, and swept out of the hall.

We shall see, my lady. We shall see.

Chapter Three

Perhaps not allhope was lost, Isabella thought as she made her way to the solar. The soft padding of her feet in her pointy-toed, leather-soled pigaches echoed in the bare stone corridors of Bamburgh Castle. At least she would be heading south soon. Not as far south as she would like. Winchelsea was still a long way from her childhood home in Bordeaux. But the weather would be milder.

And maybe Lord Martin was someone she could work with. Not that she could trust him an inch. After all, he was Lady Eleanor’s man. He was also deeply irritating, the preening fool. But the deal he struck indicated he might be malleable, persuadable. If she could only convince him to annul the wedding, perhaps she could salvage this terrible situation. She just needed to keep up her shrew act long enough to convince him to give her up.

As she entered the solar, she was relieved to find it empty. She needed a moment to herself. All she wanted was to sit at the loom and mull things over as her fingers went through the motions of weaving in different colored threads. It was easier to think when her hands were occupied. Something about the rhythm of tapestry weaving seemed to clear her mind and help her puzzle out the thorniest problems.

This room had received more attention than the rest of the castle as the family settled in. Tapestries depicting the Crusadeshung on the walls. Her father was quite proud to have gone on crusade with King Louis and Queen Eleanor back in 1147. His armor stood vigil at one end of the room, a lurking presence that never ceased to make Isabella feel uneasy. The swords of defeated enemies hung on hooks above the hearth at the other side of the room.

The scene emerging on the loom was of yet another battle. Her mother’s bloodthirsty nature played out in handicrafts. Isabella was quite certain her mother’s disdain for her father was born of jealousy. Why should he get to ride out into battle when she was forced to stay at home and sew?

Settling on a wooden stool, Isabella began to weave. And plot.

Several weeks’ journey wasn’t very long for her to figure out her future or to rescue Adelaide, but she was certain she could play the shrew sufficiently well to put Lord Martin off. Not that the act was too far from the truth. The man was insufferable, and she had no desire whatsoever to find herself tied to him for life.

Once she was rid of him, should she marry an English earl or a Norman count? Either would suit her purpose, though she needed someone with enough distance from the duke and duchess to defy them and keep Adelaide. As she mentally listed her marriage prospects and weighed their relative advantages, her fingers flew across the strings of the loom.

How would she gain their attention? Lady Eleanor might be able to send a missive to the man she wanted to marry and have him come running, but Isabella didn’t have the richest province in France to entice her prospective groom. She would have to find some other means of convincing them to come to her aid, especially since, to all outward appearances, she would already be wed.

Looking down at her work, she realized she’d woven a strand of green where she needed to weave white, and she went back and fixed it before settling back into the rhythm of the loom.

Who should she choose? The Earl of York, the Earl of Norfolk, and the Earl of Chester were the three most promising candidates for husband that came to mind. Each one offered a different strategic advantage. All three were currently unmarried. The Earl of York was a supporter of King Stephen’s. He would certainly be willing to defy the Duke and Duchess of Normandy, but would he even consider Isabella a prospect after her time with Lady Eleanor? The Earl of Norfolk, on the other hand, remained neutral, courting both sides in the war but aligning himself with neither. The Earl of Chester was a Norman by birth and a longtime supporter of Henry’s claim, but he thought Lady Eleanor wielded too much influence over her husband. He might be willing to take her down a peg by defying her, though it was risky.

Finishing a row, she checked the pattern that was emerging and checked her thread supplies. She was going to need more brown for this next row. There were a lot of horses to depict. Reaching into a wide basket on the floor beside her, she pulled out another roll of brown and began her weaving again.

Of the three, the Earl of Norfolk seemed the most likely candidate. She’d met him several times, even flirted with him once at a saint’s day festival. He’d gone as far as kissing her, though she had escaped before things went any further. He had a reputation for ruthlessness and ambition that she thought she could work to her favor. She cared far less about what kind of husband he would be than about his ability to protect her and Adelaide. His persistent neutrality in the face of civil war gave her confidence that he would think nothing of defying Lady Eleanor’s demand for Adelaide.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door. Adelaide entered, carrying a lute, and her red-rimmed eyes told Isabella she’d been crying.

“Do you have a plan yet?” Adelaide asked, loosening the thick shawl around her shoulders.

“I have the start of a plan. The less you know the better, at least until we set sail,” she answered carefully. “Otherwise, Mother might try to pry it out of you. You’ve never been good at keeping secrets. Your face gives everything away.”

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