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M other was smiling, and that was never a good sign.

Isabella put down her armful of scrolls on her mother’s angled desk and turned to leave quickly, fearing what that smile might mean.

If she had to guess, it had something to do with the baron who had arrived the previous night, talking to her father about marriage, but she prayed she was wrong.

While she hadn’t seen the man, she’d overheard enough to make her worry.

Clutching her heavy green wool shawl around her shoulders, she reached for the door.

“Not so fast, Little Bird,” her mother said from her bed.

God’s teeth, she hated that nickname! It was ridiculous, especially now that she was significantly taller than her mother. There was nothing little about her.

“Come help me up,” her mother ordered.

Isabella seethed inwardly as she made her way to her mother’s side and helped her rise, pull on a brown wool robe over her cream linen shift, and seat herself at her desk.

“Stoke the fire. There’s a draft in here.”

Icy February winds rattled the shutters, and her mother’s room was so cold, Isabella could see her breath.

Bamburgh Castle certainly wasn’t designed for the comfort of its residents.

It might be good for fending off Vikings and Scots, but wind was another matter.

How she missed the moderate climate of her native Bordeaux!

Grudgingly, Isabella added a log to the fire and nudged it a few times with a poker. It rankled how her mother had always treated her daughters like servants. At least Isabella had the strength to stand up to it, unlike her little sister, Adelaide.

“Comb my hair and tell me the news,” the countess ordered as she began to peruse the scrolls with brisk efficiency.

Isabella bristled at the command.

“Shouldn’t your lady’s maid do this?” Really, her mother was pushing too far. Isabella wasn’t the biddable girl from five years ago that her mother had sent away to court.

“You’ll do as you’re told, girl,” her mother snapped, slapping her hand down on the desk. “I swear, you are just as ill-mannered as you were the day that I sent you off to Queen Eleanor to be her lady-in-waiting. Shall I write to her and tell her how disobedient and ungrateful you’ve become?”

If there was anyone Isabella did not want to cross, it was Her Grace, Eleanor of Aquitaine, no longer queen of France but soon to be queen of England, she hoped.

Isabella had been with the duchess through every agonizing moment of her annulment with King Louis, the kidnapping attempts that followed, and her hasty marriage to Henry, Duke of Normandy.

And then, with no explanation, Isabella had been sent away.

Biting her tongue with difficulty, Isabella slid off the ribbon that held her mother’s gray-streaked chestnut locks in a simple braid, picked up the tortoise shell comb, and began pulling it through the silken skein.

She still remembered how to read her mother’s moods like a Book of Hours.

That smile spelled danger. Would her mother give anything away about the strange man as Isabella gave her morning update?

She almost missed serving Queen Eleanor.

It should have been a relief for Isabella to return to her family after all that had transpired, but she had only traded one ruthless matriarch for another.

Though they looked entirely different, her mother petite and dark-haired and Lady Eleanor a voluptuous redhead, they had the same cold eyes.

What had she done to anger Her Grace? The thought gnawed at her. There had to be some explanation.

“A man named Lord Martin arrived last night,” Isabella said, combing out the tangles none too gently.

She paused to see if her mother would mention the man’s marriage intentions, but she remained silent.

“I overheard him telling Father that Henry is back in England attempting to relieve the siege at Wallingford by besieging King Stephen’s castle at Malmesbury.

The king is livid, but his barons don’t want outright battle with Henry, especially not in the middle of winter.

It’s only a matter of time before King Stephen falls and Henry takes the throne. ”

Her mother’s smile broadened. “Good. Very good. Our efforts on Henry’s behalf are coming to fruition.

Your father isn’t much use for anything except hacking people apart in battle, but his guests do bring the most delicious tidbits our way.

You have been very useful to me, do you know that, Little Bird? ”

“Please don’t call me that.” The urge to yank her mother’s hair became almost intolerable.

“Such a shame you’re so tall and awkward,” her mother continued, setting aside the scrolls and turning to look at Isabella.

“If only you were prettier, you might have found a decent husband by now. At least you’ve learned your lessons at court well.

You never did miss a thing when I sent you out to spy for me, and I see nothing has changed. ”

Isabella had hated doing her mother’s dirty work as a girl, but she’d never been given much choice. And her mother wasn’t wrong. She was good at what she did. At least it kept her mother’s attention away from Adelaide, who had been frail and sickly ever since a fever when she was a baby.

It had broken Isabella’s heart upon her return to see how pale and thin her sister was, like a plant deprived of sunlight. Guilt flooded Isabella every time she thought of the years she’d spent away, unable to give her sister the love and support she needed to thrive.

“It’s such a shame I must give you up,” her mother said, almost as an afterthought.

All the air left Isabella’s lungs in a rush as if she’d received a blow.

The last time her mother made a pronouncement like that, Isabella had been thirteen, and they had still been living near Bordeaux.

Her mother sent her off to King Louis and Queen Eleanor’s court.

Five years passed with barely a word from her family until her father inherited the Bamburgh earldom from a distant cousin and she was abruptly sent away from Her Grace to her new home. And now she was being exiled again?

Her thoughts immediately went to Adelaide. Isabella had hoped to find a way to get her sister safely away from this poisonous place before she was forced to go away again.

“What do you mean you have to ‘give me up’?” she asked carefully.

There was a knock on the door, and her mother’s grin widened. “Oh good. Adelaide is here too. Come in, Little Mouse!”

Adelaide peeked into the room. Isabella’s heart squeezed painfully at the sight of her fourteen-year-old sister, thin as a reed, her wispy, sable hair in a careless braid down her back. She shuffled into the room and took a place beside Isabella, eyes on the floor.

“I’m glad you’re both here because this concerns both of you,” her mother said, looking between them.

Isabella met her gaze steadily. She would not show weakness in front of this woman.

“Lady Eleanor, in her infinite wisdom, has selected a husband for you, Isabella, and she has requested that Adelaide join her in Normandy, taking your place.”

Panic gripped Isabella. She was braced for the news about a prospective husband, but Adelaide’s summons to Normandy was a complete surprise.

Isabella flicked her gaze toward her sister just in time to see Adelaide’s back go rigid.

Her sister’s breathing rasped as she stared fixedly at the floor, eyes wide.

“What do you mean?” Isabella only barely managed to keep her voice even as she tried to match her mother’s cold nonchalance. The countess didn’t take kindly to displays of emotion.

“The man you overheard talking to your father last night? That was the Martin de Vere, Baron of Winchelsea. He arrived yesterday, bearing a signed and sealed letter from Lady Eleanor with her instructions. She wishes you to marry him.”

The news descended on Isabella with the force of a headsman’s axe. It was all she could do to remain standing, even though she was expecting such a blow. Adelaide’s eyes met hers for a split second, offering sympathy before she hurriedly looked back at the floor.

“Speechless with gratitude, I see.”

Truly, there were no words.

“Little Mouse, get out my brown wool gown with the gold-trimmed sleeves.” Adelaide hurried to the chest with her mother’s dresses and laid out the requested gown, then squeezed herself into a corner of the room as if trying to disappear.

“Little Bird, finish my hair then return to your chambers and put on your best gown. You marry at noon.”

Noon? Of this very day? She needed more time to undo this, but it seemed her mother and her monarch had already thought of that.

“I’m not marrying Lord Martin, and Adelaide is absolutely not going to Normandy.” Lady Eleanor and her mother had out-maneuvered her quite neatly, but they both underestimated her if they thought she would accept this unchallenged.

“Don’t be ridiculous, girl. Your future queen has asked you to do your duty. I know you know better than to risk Lady Eleanor’s wrath.”

It was true. Isabella had seen what happened to women who tried to cross the once and future queen.

She still remembered when Lady Collette was caught spreading the rumor that Queen Eleanor had slept with her uncle.

Her Majesty retaliated by producing a fabricated marriage certificate as proof that Lady Collette had secretly married a goatherd before she wedded Lord Etienne.

The queen sent it to the Pope, and Lady Collette’s marriage was annulled, leaving the unlucky lady utterly humiliated and in poverty.

Perhaps Isabella should count herself lucky that she was only being married off to a baron.

“There must be a way to undo this. What if I propose a better match that is more advantageous to Lady Eleanor and bring Adelaide with me?” It was worth a try. At least it would buy some time.