Beyond Reason Read online

  “Sir Elias. I trust you've been well attended?” Isobel's hair had been pulled back into fresh braids, which served to expose faint remnants of bruising on her forehead.

  “My lady.” He took her proffered hand and raised it to his lips, a hint of lavender teasing his nostrils. “Well attended, aye. Glendennan's hospitality is without fault. Pardon my curiosity, but have you recently been injured?”

  Isobel looked puzzled for a moment, her expression clearing as she raised a hand to her brow.

  “Ah. The bruises. Yes, a fall from a horse. But I'm quite recovered now.” She glanced at the leather portfolio that lay on the table. “Despite your assurances, I find myself somewhat nervous to hear your news.”

  Elias sat and gestured for Isobel to do the same. “My assurances stand. That said, I've no doubt what I'm about to tell you will come as a shock.”

  She raised a brow. “A shock?”

  “A pleasant one, I think.” He reached into the leather wallet and pulled out some documents. “I do have a question before we begin.” He gestured toward the fireplace. “Is the child yours?”

  Isobel shook her head. “No. John is under the protection of Lord Montgomery, and we've developed a relationship. I've become very fond of him.”

  Elias nodded. “I see. And so to business. Did Sir Richard – your father – ever speak to you of his brother?”

  Isobel blinked. “His brother? Nay, sir, you must surely be mistaken. My father had no siblings. His mother died birthing him.”

  Elias smiled. “I can assure you that Richard did have a brother. His name was William.”

  Isobel's eyes widened. “This truly is news to me. I assure you I know nothing of him.”

  “I'm not surprised.” Elias shrugged. “They were estranged after the death of your grandfather. Some argument about the inheritance, I believe. The entire estate went to William, him being the eldest, and your father was left landless. His holdings were acquired only after he married your mother, were they not?”

  Isobel shook her head. “I've no knowledge of how they were acquired. My mother died first, and my father soon after. At that time my husband took control of my father's holdings.” She paused for a moment and stared down at her hands. “Simon made some bad decisions. We lost everything. ”

  Elias resisted the urge to comfort her with a touch. Instead, he allowed sympathy to soften his tone. “I'm aware of that, my lady. Please do not distress yourself by treading on rough ground. I'm merely trying to fill in the missing pieces of your past.”

  Isobel sighed and lifted her head. “You said 'was'. William is dead?”

  “Aye. He died the second day of October this year. He had one son, named for him. The lad was killed this past August at the battle of Crecy. Sir William never got over it.”

  “That is indeed sad, but I fail to see what this has to do with me.” She gave him a quizzical look. “I can hardly mourn an uncle and cousin I never knew.”

  “Indeed, and I'm not here to lament with you, my lady. I'm here to tell you that your uncle was Lord Stanford of Castle Bremner in Northumberland. Since he died without a male heir, the Bremner estate has reverted back, in its entirety, to the royal house.” He lifted one of the documents from the table. “There is, however, a manor house that has been in the Stanford family since Saxon times. Stanford Manor sits on three hundred acres of arable land that borders the Bremner demesne. The royal house has no claim on it, nor interest in it.”

  Amused by the growing expression of understanding on Isobel's face, Elias paused.

  “What, precisely, are you telling me?” she asked, in little more than a whisper.

  “I'm telling you that William knew of your existence, but didn't know where you were. After his son died, he charged me with the task of locating you. I gave him my word that I would not cease my search until you were found. It has taken me almost four months, but found you I have. My only regret is that I did not do so before William's passing. It would have given him some final pleasure.” He brought her hand his lips, feeling the sight tremble in her fingers. “My lady, you are William's sole heir. Stanford Manor, therefore, belongs to you. I've come to take you home.”

  Chapter 15

  A family matter? Robert paced his office floor, trying out different scenarios in his mind, but only one made any sense. There could only be one reason why a knight would search the length and breadth of England looking for Isobel.

  An inheritance. But of what nature? Of some significant value, no doubt. Property, then. Which means...

  Robert stopped his pacing, his gut twisting with dread. True, Isobel had no obligation to him, but she was, nevertheless, dependant on him. She had already stated she could not remain at Glendennan if Robert married Joanna but, as Bernard had observed, the lass had nowhere to go. The truth of that observation had given Robert a guilty measure of comfort. It offered him a sliver of hope that, if Edward refused his request, Isobel might still be persuaded to stay at his side. His selfishness sickened him, but he pushed it aside. The thought of losing Isobel sickened him more.

  If, however, she had inherited property, it meant the equation had changed. Isobel's dependance on him had been removed. She had no reason to stay at Glendennan should the marriage go ahead. Robert, then, had every reason to believe he might lose her.

  Christ help me.

  Behind him, the door to his office creaked open. He knew, without looking, who stood on the threshold. He turned to face her, covering the dread in his heart with a forced smile.

  “Isobel.”

  “Oh, Robert. I have such news.” She closed the door and stepped into his arms.

  “What news?” His throat tightened as he breathed in the scent of her. “What did Sir Elias have to say?”

  She looked up at him, eyes bright as sunlit honey. ”It seems I'm now a land owner. It's a manor house. Stanford Manor, in the county of Northumberland, left to me by an uncle I never knew existed. There are three hundred acres of farmland and forest. Apparently, it's a very profitable farm. Isn't that wonderful?”

  Robert stumbled over a reply. Was love not supposed to be selfless? Why, then, did he inwardly curse Elias Burrell to the depth's of Hell.

  “A manor house? That is indeed good news, Angel. I'm happy for you.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Are you really?”

  “Of course.” He cleared his throat and forced himself to ask the question. “So, you're leaving Glendennan?”

  A flicker of confusion passed across her face. “You make it sound so final, Robert. Sir Elias has asked me to leave with him, yes. He said Stanford Manor is my home now. I hope you don't mind, but I told him about us. I told him, all being well, that I hope to stay here with you. I'd like to go for a visit though, with your approval. Perhaps after the turn of the year? Sir Elias is quite willing to wait until things are settled.”

  And if they're not settled?

  Robert gathered her close. “Tomorrow morning,” he murmured, “after Christ's mass, let's go for a ride. Just you and I on Argyle's back, up to High Tarn. Will you come?”

  “Of course. I can think of no better place to give thanks for Christ's birth and for our love. Tonight's feast, I believe, is almost ready. It smells delicious. Are you hungry?”

  She smiled up at him, the full curve of her lips drawing his gaze. His groin tightened.

  “Hungry for you, aye.” He took her hand. “Come with me.”

  Isobel laughed as he led her up the stairs. “Robert, slow down. I can't keep up. My legs aren't as long as yours.”

  With a growl, he swung her into his arms. “Your legs will soon be wrapped around mine, my love.”

  Chuckling at her gasp of shock, he strode into his chamber and closed the door behind him with a well-placed kick.

  “I want you,” he said, setting her down and fumbling with the laces on her robe. “I want you so badly it hurts.”

  The little moan she gave went straight to his loins. Could he be any harder? His answer came moment
s later when he had her nakedness in his hands. Some madness, it seemed, had possessed him, and now he needed to possess her.

  His lips covered hers, his tongue plunging and probing as he reached down to free his straining shaft from his hose. Their mouths still joined, he pushed her onto the bed.

  “Robert.” She mumbled through the kiss as he palmed her breast. “Your clothes.”

  “There's no time,” he said, his voice rasping as he placed the tip of his shaft at her core. “I need you now. I can't...ah...” He pushed himself home, her silken heat sending a spiral of passion through his entire body. “God help me, Isobel, I can't get enough of you.”

  His mouth slid down the curve of her neck and nipped at the sensitive tips of her breasts.

  “You were right,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around his.

  With a groan, he plundered her mouth again. Need, raw and vital, exploded in his mind. There could never be another for him. Without her, his life would have no meaning. Climbing to the pinnacle of pleasure, they then tumbled into climax, spiralling down to a sweet, sated aftermath.

  “I was afraid,” he whispered on impassioned breath, his cheek against hers. “Afraid you would leave with him. I cannot think of losing you, Angel.”

  He felt the wetness of tears on her face and pushed himself onto his elbows to look at her. She gazed unblinking into his eyes. “You said you would fight for us,” she said, “and I trust you to succeed. I love you, Robert. I will always love you.”

  And if he failed? What then? In the glow of sated desire, the harsh truth stood like a shadow. Isobel's future – their future together – lay in the hands of another man.

  Everything hinged on a letter.

  Chapter 16

  The eagle appeared to fly out of the sun, soaring on golden wings above High Tarn. Water, as black as obsidian, mirrored his silhouette as he circled overhead with an easy grace. His haunting cry echoed across the hills.

  “Look!” Isobel shaded her brow with one hand while pointing with the other pointed to the bird soaring above. “How wonderful it must be to fly. Can you imagine the view of Glendennan from up there?”

  Robert stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Aye. It would be a wondrous sight, no doubt.”

  Isobel sighed and dropped her gaze back to the landscape. “'Tis still a sight for God's eyes, even from here..”

  It was, indeed, a splendid day. The winter-burned fells reached up to embrace a clear blue sky, while a brisk winter breeze whistled across the crags and through the valleys.

  Robert wrapped his arms around Isobel, drawing her close, his lips nuzzling her ear.

  “I have always thought so. And I find it even more beautiful when shared with you.”

  He bent to kiss the delicate skin behind her ear. “We should start back, Angel. I heard a rumour the lord of Glendennan is hosting a Christmas banquet this afternoon. We should not be late.”

  Isobel laughed. God forbid there should ever come a day when he would not hear that sweet sound. “It would not be wise to offend the lord of Glendennan,” she said, twisting in his arms. “I heard he can be quite fierce on occasion.”

  “I heard he had been gentled by the love of a woman.” He tucked a windswept curl into the folds of her hood. “A woman who has stolen his heart.”

  The eagle's cry followed them as Argyle started down the mountain path. Robert turned his gaze skyward to see the bird soaring ever higher on the wind. Moments later, it vanished, swallowed by the blinding light of the winter sun. Robert blinked, trying to clear the dark spots that danced in his eyes.

  Unbidden, the same familiar feeling of dread swelled in the pit of his stomach.

  ~ ~ ~

  On that holy afternoon, surrounded by the warmth and goodwill of his friends and guests, Robert felt a peace he hadn't felt in many days. It lasted well into the evening and gentled his lovemaking with Isobel that night. Afterwards, he slept like a man free of strife with Isobel cradled against him.

  Glendennan stirred a little later than usual the following morning. Robert sat in the silence of his office, sipping rosemary tea in an effort to clear his head, wondering what had happened to his contentment of the day before. The sense of foreboding had returned, like an intangible enemy who refused to be defeated.

  He thought about the morrow, when Glendennan would be welcoming fifty guests – one of whom was meant to stay there for the rest of her life. His nerves tightened. For the briefest of moments, he wished Isobel had never come to Glendennan, thereby sparing the anguish that plagued him. A heartbeat later he cursed himself to Hell for thinking such a thing.

  A knock at the door startled him out of his solicitude.

  “Aye,” he said, irritated by the sudden interruption.

  “My lord.” Bernard stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  Robert frowned at the expression on his friend's face. “What is it? Has something happened?” The pause that followed chilled the nape of his neck. He rose to his feet. “Well? Answer me.”

  Bernard blew out a heavy sigh and held out a leather-bound scroll. “This just arrived by special courier, Rob.”

  Without seeing the wax seal, Robert knew what the missive represented. The entire presentation of the document shouted of royal influence. The chill on his neck trickled down his spine. The direction of his future, and that of two powerless women, rested within the confines of the sealed binding.

  He took the scroll from Bernard's grasp, unable to control the slight tremble in his hand.

  “Do you want me to wait?” Bernard's voice shattered the stark silence.

  “Aye.” Robert steadied his breath. “Stay.”

  He broke the seal, unfurled the parchment, and read the words that had been written there. Then he read them again as if expecting them to change. God help me.

  Bernard cleared his throat. “What does it say?”

  “Read it,” Robert replied, passing the paper over.

  Bernard's gaze fell to the message, his response that of a slow sigh. “I'm sorry,” he said. “Although in truth, I expected nothing less. Indeed, I'm surprised the reply is not an angry one. You're fortunate, I think, to still be in Edward's good grace.”

  Robert sank into the nearest chair, his eyes coming to rest on the chess-board and the damaged piece. He took it, squeezing it until his knuckles whitened.

  “I'm going to lose her, Bernard. Isobel has inherited property. She's no longer tied to Glendennan. She'll leave with him. Unless... maybe I could....”

  “What?”

  “I could go with her to the manor. Live there with her and – ”

  “Jesus Christ, Rob, listen to what you're saying.” Bernard waved the letter like a challenging flag. “You would defy your king? Aye, defy him then, and see where it takes you. You'd lose Glendennan and everything else besides, including Isobel. May I remind you, Lord Montgomery, that you have a moral responsibility to your people? There are men, women and children here who depend on you, and you vowed before God to protect them. Or have you forgotten that?”

  Bernard's words flew through the air like a hail of arrows, each one hitting the mark with agonizing accuracy. No shield existed to protect Robert from the heart-breaking reality. There could only be one path for him, and he seemed destined to travel it without Isobel. His life stretched out before him like eternal night. Then, all at once, a vision lit the darkness in his mind. It was that of an angel with brilliant copper hair, who folded her wings and crumpled to the earth.

  “I've failed her,” he whispered. “Christ give me strength.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Isobel sat by the window of her chamber, bathed in the watery sunlight of a December morning. A sampler rested in one delicate hand while the other grasped a silver needle that trailed a thread of fine yellow silk. Head bent, her facial profile lay hidden behind the curtain of sunlit copper hair that hung down to her hips. The curls brushed against the green velvet robe that draped in graceful folds aroun
d her.

  Small spots of blood had already spoiled the sampler, yet Isobel persisted with her work, forming the tiny stitches with near perfect precision. She had almost finished the piece and had resolved to do so before the day's end. The blood came from several needle-pricks to her fingers, the carelessness due to frequent blinding tears that plagued her. Yet her embroidery continued with a stubborn dismissal of the pain. After all, her fingers were not the only things that bled. Her heart did also.

  Something had happened the day before.

  Something had gone terribly wrong.

  She hadn't seen Robert at all that morning, but assumed he was busy and waited until the afternoon before going in search of him. She found him in the practice yard, wielding his wooden sword with all the ferocity of a battle-starved warrior eager for blood. The brutality of his strokes shocked and puzzled her. His unfortunate opponent could not hope to match the blows that rained down from Robert's weapon. Had the sword been real, the young adversary would have been lifeless and bleeding in the straw.

  Trouble by his odd behaviour, Isobel waited, hoping to catch his attention. At one point, he'd thrown a glance her way, one that Isobel met with a smile. Her gesture had not been returned. Instead, Robert spun round and finished his opponent with a merciless thrust, slamming the young man hard against the wall. Then, to Isobel's utter disbelief, Robert had stalked off into the armoury without a backward glance. Her blood chilled as tears filled her eyes.

  What in Heaven's name was wrong? What had she done?

  Seeking solitude, she took to her chamber and paced, gathering her thoughts and fragile emotions together. Convinced she could not be to blame, she took heart. Something else must have upset him. So, she went in search of him again, determined to discover the reason for his black mood. She found him in the great hall, but not in his usual seat on the dais. Instead, he was sitting in a quiet corner with Bernard, their conversation obviously private.

  Upon seeing Isobel, Robert had paused his discourse and turned away, his implication clear and heartbreaking. For whatever reason, Robert had no desire to speak with her. Bernard confirmed that conclusion by giving Isobel a subtle shake of his head.