Lady Isobel's Champion Read Free Page A

difficulty in bearing a son? Was it in his mind to reject me because I may not be able to give him an heir?
    ‘Did you see Lord d’Aveyron, my lady?’ Elise murmured.
    The sunlight flashed briefly on Isobel’s needle as she formed a silver knot and drew the thread clear of the silk. ‘No, I haven’t seen him in years.’
    ‘You and the Count were betrothed as children?’
    ‘I was eleven when we were betrothed.’
    Elise’s head bent over the altar cloth. ‘Were you pleased to have been chosen by so great a tourney champion?’
    ‘The match was made by our fathers. Count Lucien wasn’t a great champion then—that came later.’ Isobel sighed and wriggled her fingers to ease the cramp. ‘But, yes, I was pleased. At the time.’
    Elise made another of those encouraging noises as Isobel remembered. She was reluctant to give voice to all she felt for Lucien Vernon, Count d’Aveyron. Shortly after their betrothal, she had been sent to St Foye’s Convent to be schooled to be his wife. Over the course of the years her feelings towards him had evolved. Isobel lived in an age when girls were married young. And though there were aspects of married life she was uncertain about, she wanted her marriage to take place.
    ‘My friend Lady Jeanne de Maurs married when she was twelve,’ Isobel murmured.
    ‘Madame?’
    ‘She left St Foye’s shortly after. Another friend, Lady Nicola, was wed at thirteen. The marriages were not consummated until later, but they were married. They had status. Helena and Constance left at fifteen, Anna at sixteen...’
    ‘Count Lucien kept you waiting.’
    Isobel focused on the sunlight sliding over the stones between the fluted pillars. ‘I am twenty, Elise. It was a great shame to be the oldest girl at St Foye’s who was not destined for the Church.’ Isobel fell silent. She felt far more than shame, she felt forgotten. Unwanted. Unloved. What is wrong with me? Why did he not call for me sooner?
    Someone coughed. ‘My pardon. Lady Isobel?’
    Sister Christine had entered the cloisters and was standing by a pillar.
    ‘Sister?’
    ‘You have a visitor. He is waiting to greet you in the Portress’s Lodge.’
    A visitor? He? Isobel felt Elise’s gaze on her. ‘Who? Who is it?’ she asked, though the sharp jolt in her belly told her the answer.
    ‘Count Lucien d’Aveyron, my lady. Your betrothed.’
    Mouth suddenly dry, Isobel handed her end of the altar cloth to Elise. At last! She was surprised to note her hands were steady. In her mind’s eye she could see a pair of vivid blue eyes. She had always remembered his eyes.
    She cleared her throat. ‘Elise, would you care to accompany me?’
    Elise hesitated. ‘Sister Christine will be with you. Do you need me to come too?’
    ‘I would welcome your support.’
    ‘Then of course I shall accompany you.’ Elise folded the Advent cloth, and placed it carefully in the workbox.
    * * *
    In the corridor outside the Portress’s Lodge, a quatrefoil was cut into the wall. ‘One moment, Sister,’ Isobel said, pausing briefly to glance through it as she straightened her veil.
    Lucien Vernon, Comte d’Aveyron, was stalking the length of the lodge, boots sounding loud on the stone-flagged floor. Light from a narrow lancet fell directly on him, giving Isobel an impression of long limbs and hair that gleamed as black as jet. One look and she sensed impatience in him. Here was a man who was not used to waiting for anyone.
    Isobel recognised the square jaw and regular features, but not the ragged scar on his left temple. Count Lucien must have received that at a tournament, for there was no scar on the day of our betrothal. Oddly, the scar did not detract from his looks, if anything it enhanced them. This was no callow youth, but a man of experience. A powerful and handsome man.
    ‘Lady Isobel.’ Sister Christine urged her into the lodge, and before Isobel knew it she was facing him. Lucien Vernon, Comte d’Aveyron, champion of tournaments