Rose of rapture (24 page)

"The fool," Caerllywel muttered under his breath, then asked more loudly, "What has he done?"

"Nothing really, except to say we are to be married at once." Isabella's voice was bitter at the thought. "In the beginning, he told me 'twould be a year or two at least before we would wed, and now it seems he has changed his mind."

"Mayhap 'tis best, my lady. Sometimes, when a thing is unpleasant, 'tis better to get it over with, for waiting only prolongs the agony."

"Aye, but I had hoped—I had hoped something would happen, in time, to prevent the marriage from taking place. Now that will be impossible."

"'Tis unlikely that such would have occurred in any event, 'Sabelle," Caerllywel observed slowly, then paused. "I know ye dislike Waerwic, but it could be worse. At least he is handsome and rich and a favorite of the King. And in his own fashion, my brother will treat you well. He will not beat ye or otherwise abuse ye, as some men would."

"But he will not love me either!" the girl cried.

"How do ye know, my lady? As Waerwic often says, 'tis unwise to be so certain of things. Oh, 'Sabelle, my brother's heart is cold; 'tis true. But 'tis because he was so deeply wounded by Brangwen's betrayal of him. Your heart is warm, and ye are a healer of those who have been hurt. There is magic in these tender hands"—Caerllywel took them in his own and studied them intently for a moment. Then he looked into her eyes. "Can ye not set them to curing the ache in Waerwic's soul? If ye can, ye

may find he will love ye more truly than ever a man has loved a woman."

Isabella bit her lip and turned away so that Caerllywel could no longer see the expression on her face,

"But how—how can I, when I—when I love another?"

"Lionel Valeureux?" he inquired softly.

"Aye. Oh, aye," the girl sobbed quietly, trying to pull her hands free, but Caerllywel hung onto them gently but firmly.

"'Sabelle, look at me," he ordered. "Look at me. Despite his many charms, Lord Lionel is not the man for ye; and methinks, in your heart, ye know it. Oh, 'Sabelle, ye are woman capable of deep and lasting passion. When ye love—truly love—ye will give your whole heart and soul. Tell me, is there not some small part of your being that ye have held back from Lionel Valeureux?"

"Nay! Nay, 'tisn't true!" Isabella protested, but her eyes were haunted by shadows of doubt all the same.

"Isn't it?" Caerllywel queried, then shrugged lightly when she refused to reply. "Perhaps not, then. But if 'tis, ye must ask yourself why, my lady. Look to your heart, 'Sabelle, for therein lies the answer."

Lost in thought, Isabella made her way to the stables, opening the door and automatically gathering up her basket of linen strips and unguents as she began her morning rounds.

Warrick had not lied to her. Preparations for the wedding were, even now, being carried out by the excited servants at Rushden, all of whom thought Isabella extremely lucky to be marrying such a rich and handsome man. One of the King's favorites too! Imagine being blessed with such good fortune.

Lucky, the girl thought bitterly, her mouth curling with scorn. Lucky to be wedding a man who does not love me. Lucky to be torn from the man / love.

But even as the reflection came to her, she remembered Ca-erllywel's words of the other day and was troubled by them. Was he right? Could Warrick come, in time, to love her if she set about to heal his wounded heart? He wanted her, aye; that much she was sure of. But could his desire for her grow and deepen to something more lasting, and did Isabella want that to happen? She thought of Lionel and wondered why, despite his fervent reassurances of his love for her, she could not banish that small fear of doubt about him that still clouded her mind. Was Caerllywel right? Was her heart indeed trying to tell her something?

The girl sighed and shook her head. There were no easy answers.

Most of the inhabitants of her menagerie appeared to be doing well, and she turned, at last, to the stall wherein she had kept the stray dog, which she'd named Faegen, the past few days.

"Well, Faegen, my boy," she greeted the hound, who raised his head at the sight of her. "And how are ye doing today?"

To Isabella's surprise, the animal laid its ears back and growled at her.

"Here now. What's wrong, Faegen? Are ye hiding something ye don't want me to discover? That old soup bone mayhap? Did ye bury it under your pile of hay?" she teased. "Well, I promise not to disturb it. Come on now. Let's take a look at ye."

Basket in hand, she moved toward the beast, gave it a few tender pats, then bent to examine the nasty injury on its body, which had stubbornly, despite her treatment, refused to heal. She touched the wound gingerly, probing gently to see if the infection was growing worse. Faegen growled once more, then barked and snapped at her. Isabella gave him a light, reproving thump on the nose to quiet him. He certainly was restless today.

"I know it hurts," she said, "but I'm only trying to help ye."

Faegen was not soothed by the sound of her words. Suddenly, without warning, he turned and bit the girl on the leg.

Although she winced as the sharp teeth dug into her calf, Isabella was not at all frightened by this assault, for she had been bitten before when dealing with the creatures of her menagerie. She merely assumed the dog's injury pained him more than she had realized, and he was only defending himself against further ache.

"All right." She gave Faegen's ears a friendly scratch. "We'll leave the wound today then, and see how it does tomorrow."

Once outside the stall, the girl glanced at the bite on her leg. It did not appear to be serious, so she washed it with some soap and water and thought no more about it.

The next day, Faegen refused to allow her inside the stall. He growled and barked and ran at the door threateningly when she attempted to open it. Slightly alarmed now by his behavior, Isabella slammed the barrier shut and bolted it, a puzzled frown on her face. Inside, the hound continued to run about wildly, snarling, yelping, and lunging at the stall door as she stood there, studying him thoughtfully. Why, it was ahnost as though he had gone berserk.

"Madam."

She turned at once at the sound of that faintly mocking voice and the rap of knuckles upon the open stable door. Warrick's tall dark figure filled the entrance, blocking the shaft of autumn sunlight that grew paler each day with winter's approach. He had been hunting, she saw, for he still wore his hunting jacket and falconer's glove. He tapped the side of one high, black leather boot absendy with his whip.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "I thought I heard some sort of scuffle—Oh, 'tis the dog. May I come in?"

"Aye." The girl nodded. "I do not know what is the matter with him. He—he seems to have suddenly gone quite mad."

"Mad?" The Earl's eyes widened. "Stand away from the stall, 'Sabelle!" he commanded, striding quickly to her side and yanking her back when she didn't move. Filled with foreboding, he stared down at the hound grimly. "How long has he been like this?"

"Just—just this morning. Why? Oh, yesterday, he was a little snappish; in fact, he bit me, but—"

"What?"

"He—he.. .Faegen bit me. On the leg. But I'm sure 'twas just because his wound pained him so when I touched it," Isabella added hurriedly by way of explanation, thinking that Warrick would make her get rid of the animal otherwise. "'Twasn't his

fault. I don't believe he really meant to hurt me " Her voice

trailed off at the ominous look upon the Earl's face.

"Let me see die bite," he ordered curtly. Then, "Oh, for Christ's sake, Isabella! I have no intention of ravishing ye. Now pull up your skirts so I can see your leg!"

Warrick bent and examined the small wound closely, but he didn't touch it. After a moment, he stood, his visage shadowed with anxiety as he glanced once more at Faegen.

"Don't let that dog out of the stall," the Earl told the girl. "Has it come in contact with any of the other creatures in this place?"

"Nay. I don't think so, except perhaps the cats. They and the birds are the only ones free to roam about the menagerie. They catch rats ... the cats, I mean, not the birds. But I do believe 'tis rather unlikely any of them have entered the stall. They aren't yet accustomed to Faegen; and as he was most likely a hunting dog at one time, he would surely have killed any cat or bird that got into the stall. That's one of the reasons I locked him up. I keep all my newcomers isolated from the rest until I am certain

they understand they are not to attack their fellow inhabitants. Why, Warrick? What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "I've only seen one other beast in my life that behaved in such a strange fashion, as though it had suddenly lost its mind. Have ye never before viewed such, my lady? Oh, surely, ye must have, as many animals as ye have tended. Think hard, 'Sabelle!" His voice was urgent.

"Aye, there—there was one that behaved oddly, growing vicious, without warning, as Faegen has done. I found it upon the moors. A ferret, 'twas. It had been in a fight and was badly injured. It seemed friendly enough when I approached it, but as I drew near, it suddenly snarled and began to run about quite wildly. Then it charged at me. Eadric was there, and he slew it before it reached me. 'Twould have attacked me otherwise, he said. I—I cried over its death all the same."

"The animal I saw was a badger," Warrick spoke. "I thought it peculiar at the time because it was not at all frightened of me and my brothers. To our surprise, it came right up to us; and Caerllywel and I decided it must have been caught and tamed by someone. I remember Emrys bending down to pet it—for he was fascinated by its fur and claws—and then Madog, some instinct for danger, perhaps, warning him, snatched my brother's hand away before he could touch the beast. The creature went berserk moments later. We climbed into the trees to escape from it. A few minutes after that, 'twas dead. I am worried, 'Sabelle. We must keep a close watch on that dog."

She looked at Faegen, who was still acting crazily, and then, as though she were afraid to, glanced down covertly at her leg. The Earl did not miss the gesture.

"If the hound dies..." he began, then stopped.

"You're—you're saying I could die too," Isabella whispered, "because Faegen bit me. Oh, Warrick, nay. Nay!" she cried, her eyes wide with horror.

"I shall summon a physician—"

"Why? Why should ye care?" the girl spat bitterly. "If I die, ye will be free of me!"

Then she turned and ran so he would not see the sudden tears streaming down her fear-filled face.

" 'Sabelle!" Warrick called, starting after her. " 'Sabelle, wait!"

But she had gone.

The following day, Faegen's condition had worsened, and he was foaming at the mouth. Convulsively, he attempted to swallow

but could not. The day after that, he was subdued, almost suspiciously quiet; and though Isabella's hopes had been raised, at first, upon seeing his calmed state, they plummeted to the depths of fright and despair when she realized the animal was paralyzed. Several hours later, Faegen died.

Chapter Seventeen

THE CASTLE WAS PREMONITORILY SILENT AND FILLED with grief. The happy preparations for the forthcoming wedding had ceased. The physician had come and gone; and now, where none dared to disturb him, Warrick sat alone in the great hall, his eyes closed, his head resting in his hands.

There is nothing to be done, my lord. I have seen this before. The lady Isabella will soon grow quite mad, as the dog did, and then she will die. I am sorry. There is nothing to be done.

The doctor's words hammered in the Earl's mind, and a terrible sense of guih chiseled at his soul. He had not wished to marry Isabella, and now, he would not have to. Oh, God. To live with that on his conscience for the rest of his life! Never had he thought he would live to see the day when he was sorry he would not be wed.

There is nothing to be done....

"Nay! There must be something that can be done!" he muttered fiercely to himself, slamming one fist down upon the high table, causing Isabella's empty plate beside him to jump and clatter, a sharp and painful reminder that she had not joined them for supper.

Since Faegen's death, the giri had kept to her chamber, dis-

tressed by the eyes of the servants, who watched her apprehensively, waiting for some sign that the madness was upon her. Warrick inhaled deeply, his chest constricting painfully as he recalled Isabella's words to him.

"I don't want to become as Faegen did, my lord. Please, Warrick, if I—if I do go mad, slay me quickly, oh, quickly," she had begged. " 'Twill take but one blow from your sword, and ye are the only man here I can trust to do it. The others will go on hoping that I—that I won't die, and they will spare me a merciftil end " Her voice had trailed off pitifully.

"God's blood!" Warrick swore as he remembered the brave facade that Isabella had managed, despite her fear. "There must be something that can be done!"

"Why do ye care, brother?" Caerllywel was suddenly standing there before him. The mysterious blue eyes that Caerllywell had inherited from Hwyelis, their mother, bore no trace of their usual merriment. Instead, they were quietly accusing. When Warrick made no answer, Caerllywel deliberately repeated the question. "I ask again: Why do ye care, brother?" The word "brother" was almost a sneer. "If she dies, ye will be rid of her. 'Tis what ye wanted, is it not? After all, she's good for but one thing only, and there are plenty of other women for that."

The Earl's dark visage, when he looked at his brother, was deadly.

"I ought to slay ye for those words," Warrick said.

"Why don't ye try? Is it because I do but fling your own back into your face?"

"Christ's son! I shall kill ye!" the Earl snarled, suddenly springing to his feet and drawing his sword.

Caerllywel laughed, but the sound was not pleasant. He pulled his own blade from its scabbard.

"As I told ye once before, ye can try, brother," he goaded sofdy.

The two men faced each other warily, forgetting, for the moment, the blood bond between them. Briefly, they saluted, and then there was nothing but the clash of steel upon steel that echoed ominously through the great hall. The brothers were evenly matched, and the duel was made even more murderous by the fact that neither man was armored. Again and again, the swords engaged, thrust, and parried until both men were panting from their exertions, wiping the sweat from their brows. This was no childhood game of pretense; it was a furious battle to the death; and either way, both brothers would be losers. Somewhere, deep