Beyond Reason Read online

  “You're decent, m' lady? Aye, you are. Right, then.”

  The door swung open to its widest, allowing entry to two burly groomsmen carrying a wooden bathing tub, followed by several servants carrying buckets of hot water. Mary, holding some folded items of clothing in her arms, stood by with a triumphant look on her face. “Put it by the fire there,” she instructed the men carrying the tub. “That's right. Now then. Fill 'er up.”

  Isobel sat up, praying this wasn't all a dream, her skin tingling at the thought of a hot bath.

  “Alright, good,” said Mary, flapping her hands at the servants as the last bucket was emptied. “Off with you all, now. Shoo, shoo!” Closing the chamber door after them with a flourish, the maid then turned back to her mistress.

  “Now then, m'lady.” She held out a hand. “Come on. Let Mary do 'er thing!”

  ~ ~ ~

  Accounting had always been something of an irritating mystery to Robert. Consequently, poring over Glendennan's figures for most of the morning had taken its toll. Without a steward to explain the entries, frustration consumed him, and his patience – already tested by Felix that morning – grew increasingly thin. The timid knock at his door only served to irritate him further.

  “Enter,” he snapped, not bothering to lift his head when the door opened.

  A woman's hesitant voice responded.“Is...is now not a good time, my lord? I can come back later if you prefer.”

  Isobel.

  Irritation forgotten, Robert rose to his feet and turned to face her.

  She stood in the doorway, eyes wide and fearful, fingers in a knot at her waist. Her wild red hair had been somewhat tamed and, apart from a few stray curls, now sat in neat braids around her head. Robert caught the hint of a sweet herbal scent drifting through the air.

  Something stirred within him at the sight of her – the same sensation he'd felt the previous night when he'd carried her upstairs. Sympathy, perhaps? Or guilt for the way she'd been treated? Aye, he felt both of those, certainly, yet there was something else – an unfamiliar feeling – but not disagreeable. Was he daft? He gave himself a mental shake as he swept his gaze over the lady's slender form. Although her clothes were clean, they were still those of a servant. He frowned and her body tensed visibly in response. He exchanged the frown for a smile.

  “Lady Isobel, forgive me. You took me by surprise. Please, come in.”

  Her expression eased a little as she stepped forward and Robert felt a sudden need to comfort her further – to eradicate the shadow of fear that seemed to hang over her. He gestured towards the papers on his bureau and shrugged. “Actually, your timing is perfect. I'm suffering the torment of numbers, and my gruff tone was directed at them. You're a welcome distraction, I can assure you. How are you feeling?”

  He approached, took her hand, and pressed his lips to her fingers. Her skin was rough and chapped, her fingernails ragged and worn down to the tips. Robert fought back a bite of anger.

  Damn you, De Lisle.

  Isobel smiled and Robert tried not to stare too closely into her eyes, which were the colour of dark, raw honey.

  That's it, Rob. You've been away from women for too long.

  “I'm more myself today, thank you, my lord. But I wish to apologize. Most profoundly.”

  Isobel's statement set him back on his feet and he blinked at her. “For what, pray?”

  “The interruption of your feast last night. I chose to faint at a most inconvenient time.”

  Robert chuckled. “Then I take it there exists a convenient time to faint? You apologized last night, lass. Several times, as I recall. It wasn't necessary then, nor is it necessary now. It is I who should apologize for your treatment at the hands of my steward.” He grimaced. “That is, my former steward. It disturbs me greatly to think of all you've endured. He'll not mistreat you again.”

  Isobel bit down on her lip and dropped her gaze to the floor. Robert recognized her struggle with emotion and waited for her to respond. He hoped she wasn't going to cry. Female tears unsettled him. Besides, Mary's account of Isobel crying herself to sleep each night had wrenched at his heart.

  “You have never mistreated me, my lord.” Isobel lifted her eyes back to his. “Your apology is also, then, unwarranted.”

  Her gentle response impressed him. He lifted her fingers to his lips again, holding them there until a dusting of rose appeared on her cheeks.

  “Simon would be most disappointed in me,” he murmured. “I didn't even think to seek you out upon my arrival yesterday, so consumed was I with the welcome of my serfs and my own news. I heard of your husband's demise while I was still in France. I'm deeply sorry for your loss and ashamed of my behaviour.”

  “Thank you. You're very kind. You were no doubt fatigued yesterday, and I know you had much on your mind.” Isobel blinked, the action releasing a tear that rolled down her cheek.

  Damn.

  “Please don't cry, Isobel.” He released her hand and brushed the tear away with his thumb. “I'm sure you've cried enough these past weeks. And tell me why you're still wearing the clothes of a servant. I instructed Mary to tend you.”

  “Oh, and she did.” Isobel paused, the flush on her cheeks deepening as she glanced down at her dress. “I believe my other clothes were sold, my lord.”

  “Sold? Why...?” Robert cursed under his breath. “Give me strength. I swear the man should be whipped.”

  “Felix said the money would go toward Simon's debt.” A frown settled on her brow. “I wish to speak to you about what I owe Glendennan, if you please.”

  “You owe Glendennan precisely nothing, my lady. You're free to return to your family whenever you wish.” He cleared his throat, wondering why the thought of her leaving the castle tasted vaguely unpleasant. “I'm sure you've more than paid with your suffering these past weeks.”

  “Oh, nay. I truly want to pay you back. And I, er... actually, my lord, I have no relatives.” She chewed on her her lip. “I'm sure, though, if it pleases you, I could find a position at court, or perhaps go to a convent–”

  “No relatives?”

  She shook her head. “I have no one.”

  There was no mistaking the unspoken plea in her voice and Robert answered it without hesitation. “Then you must stay here, of course. But think no more on the debt.”

  Relief showed in the form of a soft sigh. “Thank you, Lord Montgomery. Your kindness means more to me than I can say. But, then, please give me a purpose. I really want to contribute something to Glendennan. There must be something I can do for you.”

  “Hmm.” Robert tilted his head, toying with an idea as he studied the fullness of her lips and the dusting of freckles on her nose. “I'm soon to be married.”

  She nodded. “I heard the news of your betrothal, my lord. May your union be blessed, but forgive me, but what does that have to do with the debt?”

  The shape of her mouth, he decided, was actually quite beautiful. “Well, since you're adamant about paying me back in some way, perhaps we can come to a temporary arrangement. I find I'm in need of someone to perform certain duties. Only until I'm married, of course, at which time my wife will fulfil the requirements.”

  Isobel drew a breath and retreated a step. The action pulled his focus back to her eyes, where fear flared again. The lass had paled too.

  What now?

  “Arrangement? What...what arrangement?” Her fingers tied themselves in knots again. “I'm not sure what you're asking of me, my lord. I want very much to pay you back, but I...I do have principles.”

  A moment passed before her meaning barrelled into his gut like a fist.

  “Oh, Christ. Nay. I didn't mean you should...” His jaw tightened. “God's teeth, lass. I merely meant that you help with the running of Glendennan, as chatelaine, if you will. Lady Elisabeth usually does the work, but she's still recovering from the birth of her child. The responsibilities are not too burdensome, and my wife, of course, will assume them after the wedding.”

  Is
obel's hands flew to her face, where the pale skin once again flared like the setting sun. “Oh, Lord Montgomery. I'm so sorry. Forgive me, please. I misunderstood your meaning.”

  “You certainly did.” He gave a stilted laugh. “You have a poor opinion of men, it seems.”

  Her eyes filled with tears again. “I'm afraid I have many reasons not to trust them.”

  “Well, those reasons do not apply to me. And do not cry.” Frustrated, Robert reached over and wiped another tear from her cheek. “Isobel, please. I don't like to see you cry.”

  “I'm sorry. It's just that I... I feel terrible for misjudging you. I would be happy to assume Lady Elisabeth's responsibilities, and more yet if you wish.” Isobel nodded toward the papers on his desk. “I have a talent for numbers, should you require assistance with them.”

  “Indeed?” He bit back a smile, amused by her sudden animated attempt to compensate for her error. “Now that is useful, since I detest the things.”

  Next, she gestured to a small table in the corner. “And I see you play chess, my lord. It's my favourite pastime, so if you're ever at a loss for a worthy opponent, I'd be happy to give you a good fight.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes to wipe away the remaining tears, took a shaky breath, and stared up at him. The gesture made Robert think of a scolded child seeking to make amends. It went straight to his heart.

  “Chess. Good.” He nodded. “It's my second favourite pastime.”

  She frowned as she absorbed his words. “What's your favourite?”

  Robert raised a brow. “One that I would never force upon you, my lady, no matter how much you owe Glendennan.”

  He waited, but it took only a moment for his meaning to sink in. Her cheeks coloured again and Robert chuckled. He found her propensity to blush quite charming.

  “Ah. I...I'm so sorry I misunderstood you, my lord.”

  “You already said that. Apology accepted.”

  “Right. Thank you.” She fidgeted and cleared her throat, apparently searching for her next words.

  “Just say what is on your mind, Isobel.” Robert smiled and gentled his voice. “You needn't fear me.”

  She smiled back, and his heart gave an odd little skip. “I wonder if I might ask a favour of you, my lord.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Might I have permission to spend one day a week with the healer, Angmar, at her cottage? She was teaching me about the healing arts before Simon died. I found it quite fascinating, and would like to continue with my learning if possible. My acquired knowledge might also prove useful to Glendennan in the future.”

  Robert gave a half-shrug, “Aye, by all means, but you'll not leave these walls without an escort. Be sure to tell me whenever you intend to visit the old witch.”

  Isobel's eyes widened. “The old...witch?” A bubble of laughter burst from her, and the sound, heartfelt and musical, seemed to brighten the entire room. To his utter surprise, Robert felt himself hardening. “Angmar is no witch, my lord.”

  He grinned. “Aye, she is, though she'd probably wallop me for saying so.”

  “Surely not.” Isobel sighed. “God help me, I can't remember the last time I laughed.”

  Robert took her hand in his again, wondering what it would be like to kiss her.

  “'Twas a sweet sound, lass.”

  “I...I should go.” She blessed him with another smile. “I've taken up enough of your time.”

  Aye, you should go. Before I do something I might regret.

  “It's been a pleasant interlude.” He stroked a thumb across her palm. “Get some rest, my lady. Perhaps we'll speak again tomorrow.”

  In a gesture that aroused him further, she brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it. “God bless you, Lord Montgomery,” she murmured. “It has been many months since I looked forward to tomorrow.”

  After she left, Robert stood silent and unmoving for quite some time. His arousal could be explained away. It had, after all, been a while since he'd tumbled a willing wench.

  But the sweet, unfamiliar ache beneath his ribs puzzled him.

  Chapter 5

  Exhausted, yet cradled at last by some hope, Isobel slept, on and off, for a full three days. She took her meals in her chamber, relishing the peace and solitude, allowing her body and spirit to recover.

  For the first time since Simon's death, Isobel had time to reflect, with some clarity, on his passing. She couldn't, in truth, mourn him to any great depth. Rather, she felt sympathy for a man who, in her eyes, had been weak. It had been difficult to respect a husband who'd lost everything through foolishness, including his own self-pride.

  As a fifteen year old bride, Isobel had been dangerously naive, nursing romantic notions of what her arranged marriage would be like. In the end, she became just another possession of Simon's – the only one he hadn't gambled away. Then again, perhaps he had. His last roll of the dice had come with his death, when he'd thrown his wife's future on the mercy of Felix De Lisle and Glendennan's lord.

  Although Isobel had longed for children, it now seemed fortunate she had not borne any. In five years of marriage, she'd never once conceived. Simon had often found it difficult to perform, and blamed Isobel for being undesirable.

  Undesirable?

  Perhaps, but not frigid.

  She'd realized that three days ago – another reason she'd not yet left her chamber. Isobel needed time to clear her mind and arrange her feelings. Meeting Robert Montgomery had tangled her emotions into an impossible knot. Again and again she played out their conversation in her mind, going over every gesture, every word, trying to remember each detail. Her attraction to him had been instant, intense, and completely foreign to her timid soul.

  She cringed afresh at the memory of misunderstanding his meaning when he'd asked her for help. Even now, her skin grew hot thinking about it, but not because of any impropriety. Secretly, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to lie with Robert Montgomery.

  The man had aroused feelings in her she didn't know she had. His touch on her skin had felt like fire and ice combined. His eyes hadn't looked at her. They'd studied her, probed her, with a dark, sexual intensity. Even the smell of him – an earthy, spicy, and utterly male smell – had set her heart pounding,

  He epitomized Glendennan, she thought. Solid, strong, powerful, yet welcoming and safe. For a moment there, at the end of their conversation, she'd been certain he meant to kiss her. In truth, she'd wanted him to. But what would she have done then? Feigned shock and disgust at his behaviour? Or melted against him, wanting more?

  Something had flowed between them that morning, of that she had no doubt, but she questioned the sincerity of it.

  Much had happened to both of them in recent weeks. Given the circumstances of their meeting, feelings were bound to be raw. The connection she'd felt to the lord of Glendennan had surely been a side-effect of shared emotions, nothing more. Besides, he's promised to another – one who will be here in only a few weeks. I wonder how she will be? Pretty, I'm sure. Wealthy, for certain.

  A flutter of jealousy made her sigh and Isobel mentally chastised herself. Even if he hadn't already been promised to another, what would a man like Robert Montgomery ever see in her?

  For the dozenth time since their meeting, she checked off what she saw as her failings, squirming as she did so. To begin, her rebellious red curls refused to be tamed, and her coiffure often resembled a bird's nest. Next, freckled skin such as hers was, she knew, considered homely. As for her body...

  Undesirable.

  With a resigned sigh, Isobel looked down at her breasts. Simon had often commented on how small they were. Men liked curves, apparently, and Isobel had none. Another sigh escaped as she leaned back in her chair and pushed her foolish thoughts aside.

  She couldn't hide in her chamber forever. Today, she decided, she'd leave the sanctity of the walls and venture downstairs. It was time to face her future. Besides, she had work to do.

  A tap sounded at the doo
r and Mary stuck her head into the room.

  “Good morning, m'lady. May I tend you?”

  Isobel rose and tugged her thin shawl about her shoulders.

  “Yes, you may. Please come in.”

  Mary pushed the door open and two men entered, carrying a large oak trunk between them. “Over there, lads, if yer please. By the window.”

  “What is this?” Isabel frowned. “What's going on?”

  “Compliments of Lord Montgomery, my lovely.” Hands flapping, Mary chased the men from the room and closed the door. “ 'E wants to see you this morning, so I'll tend you as soon 'as you've decided which one to wear.”

  Mary lifted the lid of the chest and regarded Isobel with a look of expectation.

  “Which one to wear?” Isobel went over to see what lay within, and gasped. “Oh, nay, Mary. These can't possibly be for me.”

  She knelt and ran her fingers over a fine dark green velvet robe edged in cream silk and embroidered with tiny pearls. Beneath that was a rich amber damask robe, and beneath that was another creation in a deep sapphire blue. To the side were several undergarments made from the lightest cottons and the softest silks, as well as a pair of fine satin slippers and some shoes made from the softest leather. For a moment, she felt lightheaded. “These can't possibly be for me,” she repeated, in little more than a whisper. “They're so beautiful. How did he know my size?”

  She heard a sniffle, and looked up to see Mary dabbing her eyes with her apron. “We plotted together, 'im an' me. I gave 'im the servant's dress you wore the day you met with 'im, and while you were sleepin', I took yer shoes down and he measured 'em.”

  “But how... how has he done this so quickly?”

  Mary shrugged. “I s'pose when you're lord of Glendennan, you can do anythin'. So which one will you wear today, m'lady?”

  ~ ~ ~

  A sudden lull in the buzz of conversation caught Robert's attention. He lifted his head and cast a puzzled eye over his serfs, wondering why they had all, in unison, ceased their chatter. Bernard, sitting at his side, gave a soft whistle.