Rose of rapture (16 page)

"Very good, my lord," Isabella responded smoothly.

"And cease 'my lording' me. There is no need for it when your rank is as great as my own, and ye are to be my wife besides! I have a name; 'tis Warrick. Use it hence, madam!" he snapped wrathfully.

Christ's son! The wench sought to make a fool of him at every turn!

The soft light that shone always in Isabella's eyes died, and her heart sank with despair at his words.

Oh, Lionel, my love, my dearest heart and soul!

"As—as ye wish, my—Warrick," the girl replied at last, her voice so low, they almost didn't hear her.

Neither the Earl nor Caerllywel missed the sudden shadowing of her face before dumbly she turned away from them and once more left the hall. Caerllywel threw his brother an angry glance, but Warrick only stared back at him coolly until the younger man swore under his breath, then abruptly followed Isabella from the chamber. The Earl frowned, watching with narrowed eyes as his brother caught the girl's arm and bent to speak to her. Reluctantly,

she ceased her blind, hurried stride, earnestly gazing up at Ca-erllywel as he talked. Then she shook her head slightly and tried bravely to smile, but it was a pitiful attempt at best. Fuming inside, Warrick joined them and, with a single dark look, curtly put an end to their conversation.

There was another tense moment of anxiety as Isabella's little grey mare, Cendrillon, was led forth, and the Earl's strong hands closed around the girl's waist to assist her into the saddle. His fingers were like a steel band, deliberately possessive, as though to remind her she belonged to him and not to Caerllywel—or any other. And as with the previous evening, Isabella found Warrick's touch strangely disturbing to her. Briefly, the girl saw his eyes gleam with that odd light of desire that had frightened her so last night, and she trembled slightly as she gathered up her reins.

"I—I am ready, my—Warrick," she said.

Only then did the Earl release her to swing up onto his own mount, a huge brown destrier with a golden-cream mane and tail. Slowly, they cantered beneath the iron portcullis and over the' drawbridge to the terrain beyond, Caerilywel and the rest following behind.

The day had dawned brightly and was now clear, for the early morning mist had long since lifted, though here and there, dew-drops sparkled still, like prisms, upon the spring grass. Before the small party, the road stretched out in a ribbon that wound its way through the forests and fields, just beginning to bloom. The branches of majestic oaks and sturdy pines intertwined with those of the tall ashes and slender poplars, forming canopies of multicolored green above the gnarled limbs of the spreading yews and thick, tangled gorse, at whose bases a riotous cascade of wild roses, gillyflower, ferns, and moss grew. Acres of newly planted wheat, oats, and barley gleamed in the sunlight and rippled in the slight breeze that stirred now and then, whispering softly to the crofters who dotted the countryside, hoes and scythes in hand. In the distance, cattle mooed lowly, and sheep and goats bleated on the hillsides.

All about him, Warrick saw nothing but signs of prosperity, cleanliness, and health: for Isabella had put her months as mistress of Rushden to good use, righting many of the wrongs that Lord Oadby had perpetrated, despite the Duke of Gloucester's pointed warning to him. After her previous warden's death, the girl had found that although, on the surface, Rushden seemed well cared for, its tenants had been even more badly treated than she and

Giles. Isabella had been horrified upon learning of the hardships the villeins had endured, and she had set about to ease their lots as best she could, winning the crofters' love and gratitude. Now, they hailed her warmly when they spied her, laying aside their hoes and doffing their caps with respect.

Several women worked alongside their men in the fields, but others tended the neat vegetable patches the Earl saw behind every single cottage. Older children aided their mothers at this task, but the little ones, Warrick noted, played under the watchful eyes of a few young maids.

He turned to Isabella questioningly.

"Why are they not all in the fields, where even the youngest of them ought to be?" he asked, his voice disapproving. "And who gives them leave to plant gardens for themselves and care for them when there is other work to be done?"

"I do," Isabella answered calmly, "as my father did and his father before him and his father before him. Our ways here at Rushden are different, my lord."

"So I see," the Earl remarked dryly.

"My lord—Warrick—the manner of life ye observe here has long been the custom at Rushden—despite Lord Oadby's many wicked and miserly attempts to change it," the girl added coolly, and Warrick, wisely, did not miss the hint. "Our tenants are well cared for and take pride in their work. I ask ye, my lord: Of what use is a villein who has been beaten and starved into submission, who is likely to run away, rebel, or fall prey to any number of illnesses and die? Of what use is a child who, put to work in the fields at two, is likely to be emaciated and malformed at eight and dead at fifteen? Of what use is a crofter who, having managed to survive the hardships of such a childhood, grows to manhood angry and resentful or broken in spirit and bereft of pride? I tell ye such tenants are of value to no one, Warrick; and I was hard pressed to right the many wrongs that Lord Oadby did to break the spirits of my brother's people." Again, there was a warning in her words.

"Your ways encourage them to have ideas above their stations!"

"Perhaps, but what is a man without hope and dreams? Do ye not see what a rich estate is Rushden? Do ye think 'twould be even half as wealthy if our ways here were otherwise? Nay, 'twould not be, methinks. There would be cruelty beyond measure and crime without end. Those who could not bear it would flee; those who stayed would suffer; and thus, Rushden would suffer

HO REBECCA BRANDEWYNE

too, as it did during Lord Oadby's time. Now—I'll warrant that one of Rushden's villeins does the work of three on another estate—and does it better and does it willingly, with a gladness bom of love and security. There is not a man here who must wonder whether or not he will have enough food to feed the hungry mouths of his children. There is not a man here who must cheat the castle of its rightful due or steal from his neighbors in order to survive the winter. 1 have seen to that. 'Twas my ancestors' belief that a man was bound more surely with honey than vinegar, my lord, and so it has been here at Rushden. There is not a man here who would not freely and happily lay down his very life for me if I asked it. Can ye say the same of your own crofters?"

The Earl thought of his own tenants, a poor and bedraggled lot who worked sullenly and watched him slyly out of the comers of their eyes. He thought of his own estate, Hawkhurst, a cmm-bling-down min, which produced little and was grossly encumbered by debt, despite his own personal wealth. The contrast with Rushden was not pleasing, and he was consumed with envy and wrath that this small slight girl at his side mled a domain where the villeins met one's eyes without fear, where the fields were greening richly beneath the spring sun, and where the herds were vast and well tended. She was only a woman. How did she know of such matters? 'Twas most unseemly. A wench's place was at her spinning wheel or embroidery frame in the sollar—or beneath a man in bed. Warrick felt like a fool in the face of her knowledge and wealth, the fact that she was succeeding where he had failed.

That his failure was due primarily to his not spending any time at his estate only rankled him further. He had no one to blame but himself for the current condition of his lands and castle. Like his father, he preferred life at Court and in battle, retiring to his domain only upon receipt of his steward's messages that matters could be neglected no longer. Even then, like his father, Warrick spent more time hunting than overseeing his estate. No wonder the number of his tenants lessened each year, as more and more of them dared to forsake their small plots and brave the world in hopes of finding a better lot.

The Earl set his heels to his stallion's sides and galloped on ahead, not tmsting himself to speak, but now determined to make more than just the cursory examination of Rushden that he had originally planned.

At the village, he was met with further evidence of how well Rushden was mn. Even the dirt roads were clean, the garbage

and offal being periodically removed and used to fertilize the fields. The priest and the bailiff were summoned to show him their ledgers, and one old man among the crowd that had gathered to view the new warden tugged on the priest's robe and asked in a querulous voice if the village folk should fetch their papers.

"Papers? What papers?" Warrick inquired suspiciously.

"Why, the papers the Lady has the priest write for us to show we have paid what is due the Lord," the man answered simply.

"He means his receipts, Warrick," Isabella explained as she reached the throng. "At harvest time, each villager and tenant is given a receipt for the revenues he has paid to the Lord. That way, a new priest or bailiff cannot force the people to pay again what they have already fairly paid once. 'Twas my father's idea. The times are hard, what with the civil war and not knowing who may wear the Crown tomorrow; and 'tis not right for the commonfolk to suffer for the quarrels of the nobility."

"Aye." Warrick's golden eyes narrowed. "That, at least, I can understand, for the Welsh too have long been afflicted by such. The Ashleys have always been Yorkists, have they not?"

"Aye, since the beginning of the civil war. And ye, my lord?"

"I, madam?" The Earl raised one eyebrow mockingly and smiled strangely.

His brother laughed.

"Waerwic is always for the winning side, my lady," Caerllywel said.

Isabella was shocked.

"Why, that's terrible! Have ye no honor?"

"I am half-Welsh and a bastard besides, madam," Warrick drawled, his tone a trifle bitter. "What kind of honor would ye expect me to have? I am a savage—or worse—or so I have been told."

Isabella turned those fathomless grey-green eyes upon him.

"Even a savage must have some code of honor," she noted softly. "Without such, a man is nothing."

The Earl's nostrils flared whitely, and for a moment, Isabella thought he would hit her with his whip; then, his jaw set, he hauled on his reins and spurred his horse forward, galloping out of town.

Isabella bit her lip in despair.

"I have angered him, and 'twas not my intent," she said.

"Do not fret yourself, my lady," Caerllywel told her. "Ye didst but speak the truth, as well Waerwic knows. He will get over it soon enough."

"I wish—I wish I understood why he dislikes me so. 'Tis something more than just our betrothal, methinks. I know he doesn't want to wed me, that 'tis the King who conmiands our marriage; but surely, Warrick must know I desire this match no more than he does. Last night—last night, after he told me of it, I even prayed 'twas but a drunken jest." She paused, then sighed. "I'm sorry. 'Twas unkind of me to tell ye such a thing, but, oh, Caerllywel! 'Tis true! To be forced to marry a man I scarcely know ... Ye cannot understand how the thought appalls me! I hoped I would have a choice in the matter. Now everything is so changed, and there is nothing I can do. Nothing!" she reiterated bitterly. "Oh, surely, the Earl cannot hold me to blame for our betrothal; surely, he cannot! Why, then, does he treat me so? Do ye know, Caerllywel? Will ye tell me?"

"'Tis—'tis simply Waerwic's way, my lady," Caerllywel responded, turning his face away so she could not see his expression. "He does not mean to be cruel. 'Tis just that he has little liking for any woman. He was not always thus. Once, he laughed as easily and gaily as any other man—and loved too—but the object of his worship was ill chosen. Brangwen, his betrothed, was like the belladonna plant, beautiful but poisonous at her core. In time, all of us came to see it—all except Waerwic, who was blind to her evil, despite our mother's attempts to warn him of it. Even my brothers and I could not reason with him. Brangwen used Waerwic, and when she had done with him, she scorned him and played him false. The wound of her betrayal went deep. I pray ye be patient, my lady, and not judge him too harshly for his ways."

"I—I shall try."

"Thank ye, Isabella." Caerllywel smiled soberly. "Ye are a gentle maid. Perhaps, in time, ye may heal Waerwic as ye do the creatures of the woods and moors."

"Mayhap. After all"—her voice caught in a ragged little sob— "I shall have a lifetime to try. The King has seen to that."

They rode on in silence, Isabella lost in sorrow and Caerllywel having no further words of comfort to offer.

Chapter Eleven

IT WAS NIGHT WHEN THEY REACHED THE OUTLYING keep of Oakengates, which belonged to one of Giles's vassals. Sir John Debolt. But the dark was not sufficient to disguise the fact that all was not well at the castle. By the light of the moon, the small party could see that several of the fields had been burned, leaving great patches of blackened ruin upon the land, and the herds that would normally have ranged upon the sweeping heaths were nowhere to be found.

Isabella was distraught.

"What can have happened?" she asked as she stared, horrified, at the ravage that had been wrought. "Twas not thus the last time I visited here with my brother's men."

"I do not know," Warrick told her, his earlier enmity toward her vanishing now in the face of the destruction that threatened them both. "But we shall soon discover whatever may be wrong, I promise ye."

To her surprise, he gave her a small, reassuring smile before calling back orders to the men behind who accompanied them. Instantly, all snapped to attention, eyes and ears alert, hands laid warily upon hilts of swords. The entourage would not be taken unaware if there were any who sought to wreak ill upon it.

At last, the fortress came into view. It was not large, but it was capable of being efficiently defended, and it had served Rushden well in the past. After Caerllywel had shouted their names to the sentries, the party was admitted without difficulty. Once they were inside, Sir John himself came forward to greet them, his warm welcome doing little to hide his dismay at knowing the state in which they had found Oakengates. He assessed Isabella's new warden sharply.