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his.
    “Yes,” she responded, quelling a please .
    “Good.” He kissed her in return but still he did not
release her. Indeed he wove an arm beneath her bottom, so she was more securely
supported. “Was it by chance that you fell onto me?”
    “What else?” she replied, hiding her face against his
dark hair. She heard him chuckle and then somehow his lips were on hers again.
    “However it was, or is, we should make a kiss of
peace,” he murmured, his mouth claiming kiss after kiss.
    “Stephen,” she began, unsure what she would say, only
wanting woman-like to be sure, to have a firm date, time and place so she could
march into that den of her mother-in-law’s and announce, “He is seeing me here and when do I see Matthew?”
    But Stephen deepened his kiss, stroking his lips along
hers and easing his tongue into her mouth. She had never been kissed in such a
way before, so close and intimate and warm. Her body responded, heating and
softening against him. Before she knew it, her arms were around his neck and
her tongue was exploring his mouth. He grunted a sharp exclamation of approval,
bending her into his embrace.
    “No more, or it shall not be enough.” Chuckling, he
lowered her, touched the tip of her nose, kissed her face again and took a
careful backward step. “I must quarrel with you soon, if that is your kiss of
peace.”
    He mounted his small gray horse and cantered off, waving and calling, “Until tomorrow!”
    He was gone. Dazed, Isabella hugged herself and leaned
against the garden wall, glad of a moment alone before she must face the
family. So far, surely so good, but had she done enough? Did that sweet,
amazing kiss of peace mean more?
    I should have asked him for a token, for Sir William
may not believe me otherwise , she thought, but afterward she found
herself smiling. Tomorrow would be her proof.
    Tomorrow, and hopefully the day after that, and after
that.
    Then, please God, I shall see my son again .
     
     

Chapter 4
     
    “You will flirt and be pleasant—most
pleasant— to other men. If you do not, you will never see Matthew again.”
Sitting on the dais in the family great hall with his favorite jewel box placed
on a small table beside him, Sir William fingered his gaudy costume and then
the glittering inlays of the box. “Do you understand?”
    Torn between fury and despair, Isabella
clenched her fists. “No, I do not,” she answered, ignoring the hiss of
displeasure from her mother-in-law, who stood alongside her on the hall tiles. “I
have done what you asked. I have secured Stephen’s attention. I am winning his
affections. He has a young daughter and I have my Matthew. They could be
play-mates.”
    Sir William picked his nose, a deliberate
insult. Isabella heard the anger pounding in her ears, felt it prickle in her
hands and feet. She longed to smash the heavily ornamented jewel box into her
uncle’s bored and haughty face. Hit him and keep on striking.
    “Be quiet, girl,” muttered Margery, trying
to seize her arm. Isabella whirled back. One part of her, the sensible
Isabella, was clamoring for her silence. Careful. If you speak too bluntly they
will not let you visit Matthew.
    She thought of her son in his brave blue
coat and spoke again, determined this time to wrest a concession from her
tormentor.
     “I do not understand why you have suddenly
changed what I must do, changed it seems on a whim. I have done what you
demanded. Now let me visit Matthew.”
    Sir William yawned. “Visit Matthew,” he
mimicked. “I grow weary of this complaint.”
    Beside her, Margery her mother-in-law
scowled afresh. “You do not understand, girl. There is more than my grandson at
stake here. We have the seals—”
    “Not now, Margery,” warned Sir William,
gripping the jewel box in clear alarm and irritation. Her mother-in-law fell
silent at once.
    Isabella remained fixed to the spot and
refused to be diverted. “Is it because I am being successful? Are you so petty?”
    Sir