The Scarlet Lion Read Free Page A

was thriving and showed no ill effects, either of body or disposition, the latter being remarkably sunny. Providing he was fed, kept dry, and played with, he made few demands, unlike his two older brothers who at seven and six were into every scrape imaginable and frenetic with energy from the moment they woke until the time they were sent to bed, Richard in particular. She could hear his voice now through the open shutters, raised in a shriek of excitement, and his brother's yelled reply.
       Isabelle frowned. Their training in weapon play must have finished early, or else Eustace, their tutor, was letting them have a moment to run wild. But the shout of masculine laughter that followed their exclamations was not from Eustace and it caused her heart to kick in her breast and her breath to shorten. She ran to the window arch and looked out. Eustace was standing on the sward, hands on hips, a broad grin on his face as he watched her sons blithely attacking their father and Jean D'Earley with their wooden practice swords. Behind them, the knights and serjeants of the Marshal coterie were making their way towards the hall, shields slung at their backs, arms filled with baggage rolls and equipment.
       Gathering her scattered wits, Isabelle turned from the window and began issuing swift commands to her women. She didn't know whether to laugh or be furious that William had not sent heralds to warn of his arrival but had chosen rather to sweep in like an autumn gale and take her unawares. Once the matter of a bath and food had been set in motion, she sped down to the hall, checking her wimple and smoothing her gown as she ran.
       A son bundled under either arm, William was entering from the courtyard as she emerged flushed and breathless from her chamber stairs. Composing herself, aware that all eyes were upon them, but only having eyes for William, she went forward to greet him. His cloak and boots were pale with dust from the road but he himself was tanned from his summer of campaigning. He looked lean, fit, and dangerous.
       He saw her and released the boys. "Go to," he said, tousling their hair. "Let me greet your mother fittingly."
       Nudging each other, grinning, Will and Richard stood aside. William went to Isabelle, lifted her right hand in his, and formally kissed it. He had grown a beard whilst away in the field and his whiskers tickled. The expression in his eyes filled her heart and liquefied her loins. "My lord, welcome home," she said with equal formality, although the look she returned him was incandescent. "If you had sent word ahead, we would have been better prepared to greet you."
       "And that would have been a pity. I wanted it to be a surprise." He turned to take the welcome-cup of wine presented by the hall steward. Having taken a formal sip, he passed it on to Jean D'Earley who also drank and in his turn gave it to another knight of the mesnie.
       "Your supper will be a surprise too, depending on what supplies we have to hand," Isabelle answered, but she was laughing. She felt giddy, a little drunk on his presence. It was always the same after so long a parting. Appetites that had been suppressed of a necessity were suddenly brought into sharp focus, both the physical and the intellectual.
       "After the rats' tails and boiled worms we've been eating, anything will taste like manna," he said with a wink to his sons, and headed for the tower stairs. All around the hall wives, sweethearts, and children were greeting their menfolk and the sound of voices raised in pleasure and merriment filled and warmed a room that had been too long empty.
       "That bad?" Isabelle said.
       "Some of the time," William answered evasively. Entering the chamber, he acknowledged the curtseys of Isabelle's women with a nod and went over to the cradle at the bedside to gaze down at the slumbering baby. He had received news in the field of Gilbert's birth and baptism. A third son to vouchsafe the