Rose of rapture (21 page)

"Nay!" Isabella whirled as Lionel caught her roughly and shook her. "Nay! I am still a maid; I swear it!"

"But he has held ye like this and tasted your lips, as I have, has he not? Nay, do not deny it, 'Sabelle, for I can see in your eyes 'tis true. God's wounds! How could ye let him touch ye, the whoreson?"

"Dost think I wanted him to? He is my betrothed!" Isabella cried, distraught. "'Tis his right. What wouldst ye have me do? Oh, Lionel. Lionel! I told him I loved another and pleaded for release from the betrothal, but he only laughed and mocked me cruelly and told me he would kill me if I betrayed him with my lover! Do ye wonder now why I am frightened so? If he knew I were with ye, he would—"

"Christ's son! I shall slay him, the bastard! Is he daft to think he can lay hands upon what is mine?"

"But I am not yours! And now, if ye do not speak to Gloucester and ask him to persuade the King against this match, I never shall be. Oh, Lionel. Lionel! Ye swear ye love me and wouldst make me yours, and yet. ye do not speak to me of marriage—"

Isabella broke off, her heart constricting with fear at his silence. Had she been right, after all, in doubting him?

"I cannot," he admitted at last; then, at her stricken glance, he rushed on to forestall the questions that tumbled to her lips. "Oh, 'Sabelle! I have made such a mess of things; I do not even

know where to begin to explain Forgive me, dearest heart,

and trust me. In time, I shall straighten everything out, I promise ye."

"But I do not understand—"

"Shhhhh. Trust me," he reiterated. "I love ye. Is that not enough?"

And though the girl knew, somehow, in her heart, that it was not, still, she tried desperately to banish her doubts and replied, "Aye, of course. I am sorry. I know ye will do your best to right whatever is wrong. Ye are not to blame for what has happened."

And though Lionel's conscience smote him guiltily at that, he made no attempt to deny her statements. He had entangled himself in such a web of hypocrisy and lies that even had he wished to unravel it, he could not have done so now. He had thrown away his opportunity to speak, to explain, and to beg Isabella's understanding, instead demanding she trust him and using her faith in him to deceive her. That was unforgivable.

"I shall speak to Gloucester," he said abruptiy. "'Tis the least I can do."

"Oh, Lionel, my love, thank ye," the girl breathed, her aching fear receding. "Thank ye so much. I knew ye wouldst not fail me.

What he would do if the Duke persuaded the King to release Isabella from her betrothal to Lord Hawkhurst, Lionel did not know. As with everything he did, he determined to cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, it was enough that he had managed to retain Isabella's love and trust. He wanted her and meant to have her, as he'd said, one way or another.

Chapter Fifteen

THE DAYS AT GRASMERE PASSED SLOWLY THAT SUM-mer, as though autumn were in no hurry to make her appearance, and for that, Isabella was grateful. Giles needed the serenity of those peaceful, languid days to recover, to forget the horror of his beloved Catriona's tragic death and his mad slaying of her clansmen. Each morning, he and Isabella walked and talked as they had of old. Like children, they explored the woods and the moors, finding joy in the simple discovery of a foxhole or squirrel's hideaway; and the girl's heart lightened as some of the sorrow in her brother's eyes began to dim. Now and then, Giles even spoke of Catriona, and Isabella was relieved to find the telling was not as painful for him as, at first, it had been.

"I shall never love again, 'Sabelle," Giles told her one morning, "for my heart will always lie with Catriona. How strange it should be thus, but perhaps 'tis the way of us Ashleys. I sometimes think that Father died more from a broken heart over Mother's death than from the sweating sickness that took them both."

"Aye, I too have often wondered if 'twas not so. Still, ye are young yet, Giles. Despite what ye say, methinks ye will love once more."

"Would ye, if Lionel were taken from ye?"

"I—I do not know."

"I pray to God ye need never find out, 'Sabelle. Which reminds me: I have been so engrossed in my grief that I have forgotten my duties. 'Tis time ye were wed, dear sister. Methinks I had best ask my foster brother his intentions toward ye," he said teasingly, his face lighting up a little at the jest.

"Nay," Isabella said quickly, too quickly; then, at her brother's puzzled, inquiring glance, she smiled brightly. "There is no hurry, Giles. Let us wait until ye are well before we talk of my leaving ye. I could not bear to be parted from ye at this moment; I see ye so little as 'tis."

"Ah, 'Sabelle, methinks your world still revolves too much around me. However, I am selfish enough to let it remain so a while longer. So. Tell me of Rushden and our new warden. I fear I paid little attention to ye earlier when ye sought to speak of them."

"Rushden does well, as always, and our new warden, though hard, is fair."

"Yet, ye shiver when ye talk of him, 'Sabelle."

"Nay, dear brother, 'twas but a sudden cooling of wind. It seems autumn draws nigh after all."

"Riders approach, my lady." Sir Eadric made the announcement as he entered the hall and bowed respectfully. "'Tis Lord Hawk-hurst and his men. Beowulf, who has the eyes of an eagle—or so he claims—managed to discern the banners of the party."

"Art—art sure, Beowulf?" Isabella queried, one hand fluttering to her throat.

"Aye, my lady. It be the Earl right enough."

"But why does he come here, I wonder? Oh, I hope nothing is wrong at Rushden. Thank God, Lionel has taken Giles hunting. Thegn, please have my mare saddled and brought around at once. I shall ride out to meet his lordship and discover what is the matter. Beowulf, if Lords Rushden and Lionel return, detain them here until I can find out if anything is amiss. Eadric, ye will accompany me."

"Aye, my lady," the three knights chorused as one.

Once outside and mounted up, Isabelle urged Cendrillon to a rapid pace, her heart pounding nervously in her breast. Why was Warrick coming here? The girl did not truly believe there was trouble at Rushden. The Earl was too arrogant to consult her over such a matter; he would have handled the difficulty himself. Nay, there was some other reason he sought her out at Grasmere,

invading her haven, her refuge. Had he somehow learned about Lionel? The thought sent a shudder down Isabella's spine. Though Warrick did not want her as his wife, he still considered her his and had made it quite clear what he would do if he discovered she had betrayed him.

Cendrillon's thudding hooves rushed over the moors, trampling the tall grass rippling in the wind and the last of the wildflowers that still bloomed before the onset of autumn. Recklessly, Isabella flung her head back, letting the breeze stream through her tangled mass of silvery hair as she galloped over the hard earth. There was always a strange sense of freedom that pervaded her being when she rode this way. It made her feel wild and alive, able to face anything—even her new warden. She was glad that Sir Eadric had warned her of Warrick's coming, for it had given her time to prepare herself, to gain control of the small fear at the back of her mind. At least she would not be taken unaware, for no doubt, the Earl had meant to surprise her!

She spied Warrick, at last, and cantered toward him, slowly reining her mare to a halt. The Earl seemed even more darkly handsome and forbidding than she remembered, and oddly enough, Isabella's heart caught in her throat at the sight of him. She turned away so he would not see the confused expression on her face, then, after gathering her composure, she smiled warmly at Ca-erllywel, who had spurred his horse forward to meet her.

With a sly, triumphant grin at Warrick and a courtly flourish designed to melt even the hardest of hearts, Caerllywel swept off his cap and bowed low in the saddle.

"My dear Lady Isabella," he greeted her, his eyes twinkling, despite his brother's frown, "ye are even more beautiful than I remembered."

"And ye. Sir Caerllywel, are still as silver-tongued as ever," Isabella noted archly with pretended disapproval, though the corners of her mouth quirked ever so slightly. And then, more coolly, she greeted the Earl. "My Lord Warrick," she said as he drew his destrier up and motioned for his men to stop. "We are honored. What brings ye here, to my humble manor house, Grasmere, when ye have all of Rushden at your disposal?"

The Earl smiled mockingly, that jeering grin she recalled so well, as his yellow eyes raked her body hungrily, then returned to rest upon her countenance.

"My lady, 'tis I who am honored," he professed, his tone tinged with just a hint of sarcasm. "Do ye normally ride out to greet your guests in this manner, or"—he lowered his voice

slightly—"can it be that ye missed me far more greatly than I imagined?"

"If that is why ye have come, ye have wasted your time, Warrick." Isabella rejoined with mock sweemess, continuing to smile for the benefit of his men and a laughing-eyed Caerllywel, who had urged his steed closer in order to overhear the soft exchange, which soon grew more heated.

"Have I?" the Earl drawled, then shrugged. "Ah, well, 'tis my time to waste, after all."

"What brings ye here, my lord?" Isabella questioned again impatiently. "Is aught amiss at Rushden?"

"Nay. 'Tis as ye told me, my lady: The castle is well run. 'Tis merely that I feared perhaps Grasmere was not equally as efficient, that mayhap there was trouble here; ye have lingered so long at this place."

"My brother is here and ill. I wrote ye as much in response to the messages ye sent."

"Aye." Warrick nodded, his gaze still ravishing her speculatively. "And I am touched by your sisterly devotion. Still"—his piercing eyes narrowed—"I fmd it hard to beheve 'tis your brother alone who commands your attention at this place, as unwell as he may be."

"I knew it! Ye came here to spy upon me!" Isabella hissed.

The Earl raised one eyebrow demoniacally.

"Is there aught for me to spy upon, madam?" he queried softly, intently.

The girl inhaled sharply, realizing suddenly how foolish she had been. Had she greeted Warrick normally, she might have allayed his suspicions. Now. she had only succeeded in arousing them. Doubtless, the moment he saw Lionel, the Earl would recognize him as the man whom Isabella loved. She bit her lip, then attempted to shrug casually.

"Grasmere is my home, my lord," she responded at last, "not a place of intrigue. However, ye must suit yourself in the matter."

"I intend to, my lady."

The ride back to the manor house was a nightmare for Isabella, for she could think of no way in which to warn Lionel of their predicament and beseech him to do nothing rash. She recalled his reckless announcement that he would slay the Earl, and she prayed the two men would not come to a duel. As disloyal as the thought was. Isabella knew that Lionel could not possibly hope to prevail over Warrick's age and experience, and she feared the man she loved would be killed.

What the Earl was thinking, she had no idea, for his dark visage was closed and unreadable except for the glint in his amber eyes when he looked at her. It was almost as though he could read the thoughts chasing frantically through her mind, and the idea unnerved her. For a moment, Isabella believed she would swoon. To her dismay, Warrick drew his steed near and reached out one hand to steady her, his arm deftly encircling her waist. She trembled in his grasp and knew he could not help but notice, the wretch!

"There is no need for ye to faint, madam," he told her, his eyes filled with cool amusement. "I am certain ye have been faithful to me—with your body, if not your mind."

Suddenly, the Earl's possessiveness and arrogant assumption angered Isabella. Even if Warrick did not want her as his wife, he might at least show her a little respect. After all, it was not her fault she was betrothed to him. She gazed up at him from beneath half-closed lids.

"And what makes ye so certain of that, my lord? Someone once told me 'twas unwise to be so sure of things," she taunted quietly.

For just an instant, his grip about her tightened, and his nostrils flared whitely, thinking she had betrayed him. Then he relaxed and laughed, knowing she had not.

"louche, my lady," he acknowledged the point. "I see ye are clever as well as beautiful. However, 'twas not my intent to insult ye, as it seems ye were, but rather to compliment ye instead. Mayhap I should have spoken more plainly. I meant only this: There are ways in which a man can tell if a woman is still a maid, and do not think ye are so foolish as to attempt to deceive me on our wedding night with any of the tricks less virtuous wenches often employ."

Isabella blushed furiously.

"Oh! How dare ye speak to me in such a fashion?" she snapped.

"Wouldst rather I whispered words of love like the moonstruck swain I shall doubtless discover here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the girl retorted stiffly.

"Don't ye?"

"Nay. TTiere is no one at Grasmere save for myself, my brother, Giles, and his foster brother, Lord Lionel Valeureux, whom Gloucester didst bade accompany Giles on his journey."

"Ah." The Earl pounced upon this last. "Ye must tell me more

about this Lord Lionel. Is he not the heir of St. Saviour-on-the-Lake?"

Isabella quivered once more with apprehension.

"Aye, and Giles's foster brother, as I have said. There is nothing more to tell. I have seen him but a few times in my life. My lord—I beg of ye—my brother has only just begun to fiilly recover from a terrible shock. He does not yet know of our betrothal, and 'twould only upset him. Please, say nothing to him, and do naught to bring him further unhappiness. I wouldst not see him hurt again, especially now, when he is yet so vulnerable. There will be time enough later, when he is well, to speak of the matter. After all, ye said yourself 'twould be some

time before we would be wed " The girl's voice trailed off

as she glanced up at Warrick pleadingly.

"Very well, madam," he agreed at last, "but my silence has a price—Nay, do not look so alarmed, my lady." His eyes lingered on her mouth. "'Tis but a kiss, one kiss, given willingly from your lips—a small price to pay, surely, for your brother's well-being."