Lady Fortune by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page A

cheek, much less shown any sign of overwhelming passion. Nothing to suggest he was interested in anything more than the speedy conception of an heir.
    Before she’d heard that Julianna would be joining her, she’d allowed herself to wonder about the man she’d been betrothed to. Hugh of Fortham was a powerful man, whose first and second wives had died young. He was in the prime of life, a big, handsome man full of noise and energy, yet he barely talked to her or seemed to be aware of her presence at his remote castle. The match had been arranged by the king, and she would have thought Hugh a disinterested bridegroom if it weren’t for the knowledge that he himself had sought out the marriage. He’d had any number of suitable choices, including those with a more optimistic future in childbirth, but he had chosen her, and she couldn’t imagine why.
    It wasn’t the first time she’d met him, though of course he didn’t remember. Years ago, when Julianna was still a child, she’d spent a few minutes with a sweet young knight, a few moments of gentleness that she’d treasured over the long years. He’d been kind, when she’d been weeping and miserable and as pregnant as a cow. If he remembered her, he’d probably run in the opposite direction, and she made no attempt to remind him.
    She watched him at times, surreptitiously, though why a woman shouldn’t look at her betrothed was an issue she didn’t bother to ponder. Her first husband had been a short, spare man. Hugh was massive, towering over everyone in the court, with strong arms and shoulders and long, powerful legs. His face was pleasing, though his dark eyes were distant when they rested on her, and she found herself occasionally thinking about his mouth…
    She drew back from such wicked thoughts. Her first husband had been a hard man, but not entirely unskilled when it came to the marriage bed. The thought of sharing those same acts with a man such as Lord Hugh was oddly unsettling. She’d learned to separate her pleasure in the intimate act from her dislike of her husband. The thought of receiving that kind of pleasure from someone she had grown to care about was almost frightening.
    She would find out soon enough. And she had more important things to think on right now. The long-awaited arrival of her lost daughter. And the worrisome presence of Hugh’s new fosterling.
    Young Gilbert was a charmer. A handsome, sweet-faced young boy, no more than a child really, who flattered and beguiled and delighted all those around him. Even her gruff betrothed seemed to look on him fondly. But Isabeau didn’t trust him.
    Since she was, by nature, a quiet person, she had plenty of opportunity to observe without anyone realizing her watchfulness. She’d seen the coldness in Gilbert’s pretty eyes, felt the chill beneath his flattering smiles. He spent most of his days in training with the knights, and she kept telling herself she was imagining the faint hint of trouble that surrounded him. But then she would see him again, at table, or across the courtyard, and her instincts would become alert once more.
    He was of an age that he could have been one of the many stillborn babes she had borne. She should have viewed him with maternal compassion instead of distrust. But she could no more ignore her instincts than she could fly.
    She returned to her tapestry, plying the needle with careful, deliberate strokes. It was to be a gift to her new husband come Christmastide—a small hanging depicting one of his favorite dogs. He seemed to devote all his affection and attention to the silken-haired creatures, and it was the one thing Isabeau could think of to please him. One should want to please one’s husband, surely?
    She noticed that her hands were shaking, and she let them rest in her lap. It was going to be impossible to concentrate.
     
    Lord Hugh strode across the ramparts of Castle Fortham, his long legs moving impatiently. Gilbert was trying to keep up with him,