Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] by All My Desire

on his way to England to show his father when he heard the man was dead—killed by another who was given all that might have been his. Imagine how it would be if you had one goal in your life and worked and suffered for it and then—poof!” The Gascon brushed his palms together, then spread his hands. “Gone, and through no fault of your own.”
    “That hardly gives him leave to kidnap me,” Isabelle said, refusing to feel any sympathy for thwarted ambitions.
    “Perhaps not, but then suppose a man seeks you out and says, ‘If you do what I ask, I will see that the French king makes you a chevalier —a knight—and gives you an estate in Normandy. If you do this simple thing, you will be rich, too.’ What then would you say, my lady?” He waved his hand in an exaggerated gesture of refusal. “ Merci , but non . I cannot accept the dearest wish of my heart. I must not act against the man who killed my father and stole what was to be mine, not even if it will restore to me what was lost.”
    This was not the first time she had heard someone tell of Oswald offering revenge and retribution. He had tried to use Connor’s grudge against King Richard to turn Connor into a traitor. However, there was one very significant difference between Connor and this DeFrouchette. “If your friend is an honorable man and so worthy to be a knight, he should have refused.”
    “Obviously, my dear Lady Allis, he is not,” Osburn declared, sitting heavily beside her.
    She had been so intent on her conversation with the Gascon that she had not noticed Osburn awaken, or come toward them.
    “Speak softly, Norman,” Ingar growled from the stern, “or you will wake the whole countryside.”
    Osburn sniffed, but when he addressed the Gascon, he did so in a whisper. “Go away, Dennis. I wish to talk to the lady.”
    The Gascon looked about to refuse, but then he shrugged and rose. “Den-ee,” he muttered. “My name is Denis .”
    Isabelle got to her feet. “If you will excuse me.”
    She had no idea where she was going, except away from him. She would rather be back in the stern with DeFrouchette than have this man stinking of wine near her.
    “No, I do not excuse you,” Osburn said, roughly pulling her down beside him. “Come, come, my lady, if you can talk to Dennis here in such a confidential manner, you can speak with me. I’ll share my wine.”
    “I don’t want any wine.”
    Osburn leaned close, and his breath was nearly enough to make her gag.
    “I was wrong,” he said after taking another gulp of wine. “You are beautiful, even more beautiful than my father said.” He shifted closer. “No need to be so nervous. I want to be friends.”
    Isabelle regarded him with all the scorn she felt as he laid his hand on her shoulder. “You must be mad if you think I could be anything but your enemy.”
    “Some men like women who put up a bit of a fight,” Osburn murmured as he dropped the wineskin and turned toward her. “It’s exciting knowing that a woman doesn’t really want you. It will make it all the sweeter when—”
    He yelped as he was lifted upward, so that he was suspended in the air, his feet dangling, barely touching the deck. Like a dog with a rat in its teeth, DeFrouchette shook him by the collar.
    Isabelle scrambled to her feet. She sidled backward and to the left away from De Frouchette and Osburn; Ingar stood on the right side of the stern. The Norsemen nearby continued to row, but they watched the confrontation with avid interest.
    “She is not here for your pleasure,” DeFrouchette snarled. “Leave her alone, or you will have to answer to me.”
    “Put me down,” Osburn gasped, his face reddening, his arms flailing helplessly as he tried to free himself, “or you will have to answer to my father.”
    DeFrouchette shook him again. “Not until I have your word you will not touch the lady again.”
    “I-I promise!”
    With a scowl, DeFrouchette let him go. Osburn staggered upright and straightened