"I am quite well," Isabel replied. "Did you doubt, I could take care of myself?"
"Actually, it was more your mother's words, about the root mix, that would likely make you lose the babe," Brant explained, with a hint of anger in his tone. "It was one of those, that likely cost my mother her life. She died just a few short weeks, after she lost the babe she was carrying. Was that what you were talking about, when you told Ann you did not see where you had any other choice?"
"I would ask if that was interrogating Rosamund, or eavesdropping, but it sounds like a little of both," Isabel commented, with a frown over his accusation.
She yelled for Beautrice, the serf who Brant had instructed to wait outside, with Vernon.
When the serf appeared in the doorway, Isabel said, "Take Nathaniel down to the hall, so his sire may spend some time with him. Ask my knights to see that he does not try to leave, with the child. And tell Gertrude I will be down for dinner, as planned."
Turning her attention back to her husband, Isabel said, "I think we can continue this conversation, later. Right now, get out of my room, Brant."
Brant stood still, looking at her coolly for a few moments, before deciding it would be best to keep an eye on his son. In the passage, he instructed Vernon to watch Isabel's chamber, to make sure she did not try to leave. Then, he quickly walked off down the stairs, following the serf who was carrying Nathaniel.
Isabel walked over to shut the door. She had not intended for Brant to know she was here, until later in the evening. He looked as if the last few months, were as trying on him, as they had been for her. She so, wanted this all to be over. In the beginning, it had seemed a simple matter. She and Brant, just needed to get rid of, or get control of, Avery, and both of them would be safe. How was she to know, that there was another person, who wanted Brant gone from this earth, even more than Avery? Or, that giving Brant an heir to his lands, would put her child in mortal danger.
Brant had discovered her earlier than planned, and had arrived with six men, instead of the three, or four, she had been expecting. However, that should not affect her plan, too much. He was upset with her, because he thought she was trying to sneak the babe out of the Castle, and he had overheard her mother's advice, about how to hopefully lose the babe. That was likely good. He would be making accusations, rather than asking questions.
When the evening meal was announced, Isabel left her bedchamber and descended to the hall, hoping her husband would not be too unpleasant. The meal proceeded fairly well, with Brant saying very little. He largely occupied his time eating, and watching Nathaniel, whom Isabel was holding, gnaw on a few fruits and soft vegetables.
Though the main reason, that Brant was pretty quiet during the meal, was that he was trying to decide how, to go about getting his wife and son, back to his Castle where they belonged. Isabel seemed to be taking very good care of the child. But Brant was his father, and she had no right to take the child from him. A survey of the hall, made it clear that there were two of her people, to every one of his. Cora said Isabel's knights had come to his lands to get her, so they would be taking orders from her, not him. As her husband, they should recognize him, as their Lord. They should follow his orders, but Brant did not think he needed to test it, to prove that was not the case.
When the meal was at an end, the serfs brought refills of wine, and ale, for the diners. Trying to make small talk, Brant commented, "The wine is quite good. Do they make it here?"
Happy to talk about mundane things, Isabel answered, "Nay, but it does come from one of my fiefs. While it is costly to bring it here, I think it is worth the expense. They do make some wine here."
Isabel waved Beautrice over, and handed Nathaniel to her. Brant watched as the serf carried the babe over, and laid him down on a mat, near the hearth. He realized he was beginning to feel a little groggy, and was having some trouble holding his chalice steady. He set it down, clumsily on the table. Looking around the hall, he noticed that Vernon was slumped over the table. Several of his other men, appeared to be in varying states of losing consciousness. Brant watched as mats were laid out on the floor, and his sleeping knights were moved to them. Four of them, he noted. The other men who came with him, appeared to be fine. Or were those his men? Mayhap, not, Brant thought. They were not coming to his aid. He wondered why he was not sleeping like the others, as he turned his attention to Isabel.
"You do not look like you are feeling very well, My Lord," she said, when his eyes met hers. Reaching her hand out, she said, "Give me your hand."
Brant found himself complying with her request. He raised his arm to place his hand in hers. His arm felt really heavy as Isabel grasped his hand, and squeezed it. Brant tried to return the gesture, but found that his hand seemed to lack strength. Isabel smiled at this and said, “That is good, My Lord. I think you are ready for a little fun, don't you?”
Then, she looked to her men, and said, “Let us get the Lord moved, someplace where he will be more comfortable.”
Two of the knights came forward to lift him out of the chair, by placing his weak arms over their shoulders. Then, they carried his clumsy form out of the hall. At first, confusion assailed his groggy mind, until he realized he was being lead toward the high stone wall surrounding the jail, where he had been held prisoner for nearly three months. He tried to struggle against the determined knights, but his limbs were not listening to his mind. His slight resistance barely slowed them down, and in no time, Brant was back in the cell he had been released from just over a year earlier. They sat him on the bed, and stripped his upper body, baring his chest. That done, he was laid back with his head and shoulders, raised by several pillows that had been added to the bed, since his last stay.
Brant noticed that Isabel was lighting candles around the room. The light revealed that a metal fire pit, had been added to the cell. A hood over the pit, with a pipe, vented the smoke to the high window.
Once the candles were lit, Isabel said, "Alright, I can handle it from here. Please wait in the courtyard, to see that we are not disturbed."
She moved to the edge of the bed, taking hold of one of his arms. Brant felt a soft band tighten around his wrist, and his arm was pulled up above his head. He tried to pull the arm down, but it was held fast. Isabel raised his other arm, so that his hands touched. His mind said that he should resist, but a slight amount of pressure from her, overpowered any resistance.
"I am going to kill you," Brant said, his speech slurred.
“Do not be melodramatic,” she replied, with a low laugh. “I told you, we are going to have a little fun. You always like to have fun, Brant. Over, and over, again.”
She began to untie his laces, and strip the lower half of his body.
“Stop this, I will not do it,” he said.
“Of course you will. I want to. How many times did I say no more? You wanted more, so you pinned me down, and took me, again,” she reminded him.
Brant lay on his back, thinking that he should offer some resistance, but whatever Isabel's serfs had served with the libations earlier, seemed to be preventing him from acting on his thoughts. Fortunately, she did not appear to be intent on pursuing the 'fun', she had mentioned. She was massaging one of his feet, paying close attention to an area right above his heel. Though he thought it an odd thing for her to be doing, it seemed to drain all the tension from his body. Somehow, the slightly painful sensations her ministrations were generating, caused a pleasant tightening in his loins. As if she knew his desire to resist was fading, Isabel moved to straddle his thighs.