Here Be Dragons - 1 by Sharon Penman (best inspirational books txt) 📕

before a man so obviously bewitched by his beautiful wife.The shock was all the greater, therefore, for being so unexpected. It was not the sight of Isabelle and Hugh sitting together under the peach tree that jolted him so; it was the look on his wife's face. It was not the look of a woman engaging in an innocent flirtation; it was a look of yearning, a look both erotic and intimate, the look a woman would give her lover.He tightened his grip on her wrist. "Tell me, Isabelle. What was de Lusignan saying to you?""John, you're hurting me!""Tell me!"The pain was radiating upward from wrist to elbow; tears filled her eyes. "All right! I'll tell you. He was flirting with me, that's all. No more, I swear it!"He released her so abruptly that she staggered backward, sank down on the turf seat, cradling her wrist. She'd always been scornful of women who cringed before abusive husbands, wondering how they could be so lacking in pride. But she had never been hurt before, had never been subjected to violence of any kind. Now she wept soundlessly, flinching as he stepped toward her. "Why are you so angry? Men always flirt with me; it means nothing. You know that, John, have never minded before.""Mayhap I should have."Isabelle forgot her pain in a sudden surge of fear. "My God, John, what are you saying? Surely you do not think I've been unfaithful to you? Never, John, neverI swear on our children's very lives! You must believe me!""Must I? Why? Why should you not have betrayed me, too? Why should you be any different from the others?"Isabelle was terrified. "I would never betray you, never. John, I svvear it.I'd have to be an utter fool to take such a risk!"She saw his mouth twist, and realized she'd blundered; that was n°t what he wanted to hear. He was turning away, and she stumbled to

428T429her feet. "Oh, listen to me, please. There has never been any man but you.John, I love you, I do!""Do you, Isabelle?""How can you doubt it? I've been your wife for fourteen years. when have Iever failed you? I've shared your bed and your troubles, and I've given you three children." She wiped her face with the back of her hand, choked back a sob. "And . . . and there's something I have not yet told you. I was waiting till I was sure, but. . . John, I think I am with child again."John did not react as she'd hoped. He gave her a cold, measuring look, a look that frightened her even more, and then said, very evenly, "Is it mine?"Isabelle gasped. Tears streaked her face, smeared the kohl outlining her eyes.She sobbed again, caught his sleeve. "How can you ask that? How?"Neither of them had heard the approaching footsteps, and they spun about asHugh de Lusignan coughed. "Your Grace, do forgive me. I did not realize you and your lady were quarreling. I am indeed sorry for the intrusion." The words were properly remorseful, and Hugh ducked his head as if embarrassed. But he was a poor actor. John had seen how he stared at Isabelle, knew that Hugh hated him not just for that long-ago affront to his pride. His grievance was a festering, thwarted passion; he'd wanted Isabelle in his bed, he still wanted her, and could not hide the poisoned pleasure their quarreling gave him, his envenomed satisfaction that there seemed to be a snake in John's Eden.Behind Hugh, John now saw Hugh's wife, Matilda, the wife he'd taken as substitute solace for Isabelle's loss. She was Isabelle's first cousin, but she'd not been blessed with Isabelle's beauty, was not a woman to make Hugh forget what could have been his, Isabelle and Angouleme. John drew a deep, deliberate breath as Isabelle said in a muffled voice, "We were not quarreling.""There is no need to lie, Isabelle. We can be honest with Hugh." John's smile felt wooden, utterly artificial, but the words came of their own volition, even carried conviction. "We were indeed arguing, and I fear it was my fault.You see, Hugh, Isabelle just told me she is with child again. Naturally, I was delighted. But had I known of her condition, I'd never have allowed her to come with me to Parthenay, would have insisted she remain in La Rochelle, andI was disturbed that she did not tell me sooner."The sudden fragrance of damask rose told John that Isabelle was now standing just behind him. He turned, slid his arm around her waist. She murmured, "You are sweet, love, to worry about me, but in truth there's no need." John could feel the tension in her body, but her oice had steadied, and now she smiled defiantly at Hugh, asked, "Are you not going to congratulate us, Hugh?""Indeed." Hugh's voice was toneless. "May God grant you a son, Madame."When Hugh and Matilda withdrew, John at once released Isabelle, Wrned away from her. At the far end of the gardens was a large fishpond or stew, shaded by ancient yew trees. He walked toward it, stood for a time staring down at the sluggishly moving carp. His rage had ebbed away; he felt only emptiness, only a dulled sense of disbelief, of loss.His faith in Isabelle's fidelity was born of circumstance: her extreme youth and innocence at the time of their marriage. As she matured into womanhood, he'd been her guide and mentor, shaping her thoughts and fantasies to fit his own needs. She was more than his wife, she was his creation, utterly unlike the other women in his life, and when she'd said she loved him, he'd taken it as his just due, had never thought to doubt her. Not until the moment he came upon her and the young de Lusignan seated on a turf bench and suddenly saw her not as his, but as a beautiful, passionate woman of twenty-six, a woman with a husband more than twenty