Amanda Forester - Highlanders Heart

Northumbria, England

Late spring, 1355

One thing was perfectly clear; it was time to get rid of her husband. Isabelle, Countess of Tynsdale, tightened her grasp on the saddle and continued to plot ways to end her marriage, for if she ever was returned to her husband, she would die.

Unfortunately for her train of thought, her tall mount moved with a swaying motion Isabelle found disconcerting. She had imagined riding a horse would be delightful, but now, perched on top of the stiff, boxlike saddle, Isabelle was reevaluating her opinion of horses.

You must not let him take you back, said Marjorie, Isabelles former nursemaid and companion who rode next to Isabelle on the dusty road. It was an unnecessary reminder. Other than trying not to fall off her horse, Isabelle could think of little else but escaping her husband, the Lord Tynsdale.

I am not going to sit idly by whilst that husband of yours murders you, continued Marjorie. I have raised you since you were naught but a bundle of swaddling clothes, and I will not be having that old worm take you with him to perdition.

I have no intention of being my husbands fourth deceased wife. I had hoped to be a widow, said Isabelle with a wistful sigh.

It would be most considerate of him if he was to keel over dead, but I warrant we cannot expect kindness from the likes of him.

No, not him, replied Isabelle in a soft voice. She had been married five years ago when she was sixteen, and Tynsdale carried more years than anyone cared to count. She spent one violent night with him before fleeing back to her uncle at Alnsworth Castle. Isabelle rubbed the scar on her temple, the one visible reminder of that dreadful night.

Tis a shame having a rat bastard for a husband is not grounds for divorce, Marjorie sniffed.

Isabelle smiled at Marjorie. Indeed, quite so.

I hesitate to suggest it, but maybe you could do something to cause your husband to divorce you, like take up with another man?

Isabelle laughed but shook her head. I could present Lord Tynsdale with a dozen illegitimate babes and he would never dissolve the marriage. Not when he stands to gain all of Alnsworth. The castle is too great a prize.

I wish your uncle could have clung to life a little longer.

I wish I had not inherited Alnsworth. Isabelle shuddered to think of what would happen if Tynsdale ever became lord of Alnsworth. Her uncle had protected her from Tynsdale for the past five years, which had sparked a bloody feud between the two barons. If Tynsdale took control of Alnsworth, his revenge would be felt by all. A heavy mantle of fear wrapped around her shoulders, but Isabelle resisted giving in to the seductive draw of despair.

I must convince King Edward to dissolve this union, Isabelle said brightly, shaking off her fear. They had left Alnsworth that morning to travel to the court of the king of England. Isabelle smiled at the prospect of going to court and meeting King Edward II. For five years Alnsworth Castle had been a safe refuge, but Isabelle longed for freedom.

Isabelle took a deep breath of fresh air, untainted by the smells of castle life. Granted, the smell of horses figured prominently, but the aroma was at least different, if not completely fresh.

The procession of horses was unexpectedly called to halt. On the road ahead, her entourage had been stopped by a group of soldiers riding toward them. It was a bright, sunny day and the hard-packed dirt road bordered a grassy field to her right and a tall forest to her left.