Rose of rapture (34 page)

"Her Grace the Duchess of Burgundy has come home to England to visit. Naturally, Richard wanted to see her. He is with her now at Edward's palace in Greenwich," Giles explained. "I begged my lord Duke's permission to lodge with ye in the Tower, and of course, he gave it."

"Oh, Giles, how wonderful!" the girl exclaimed. "Then ye will be with me for some time. How glad I am of that and that ye must not leave right away. So tell me. Didst speak with Gloucester of your fears that ye wouldst be unable to serve him with your whole heart and soul?"

"Aye, 'Sabelle."

"And 'tis all right, then?"

"Oh, aye, dear sister. Ye were so right about him. He was so kind to me. Though he had many more important things to do, he gave orders that he was not to be disturbed, and he listened to me well into the wee hours of the mom as I poured out my story to him. Then he laid his hand upon my shoulder and told me that no man with compassion ever joyed in war, though he did his duty and well: for battle did naught but bring suffering and death, even to those who triumphed in the end. Richard said he often lay awake at night, thinking of those whom he had slain. He told me 'twas natural to feel remorse at the taking of a life, that only a monster wouldst be unmoved by the deed. Then my lord Duke ordered me to put my mind at rest, saying I was the best of squires and soldiers; and then, oh, 'Sabelle! He bade me kneel, and he knighted me!"

"Oh, Giles, I am so happy for ye." Isabella's eyes shone with joy for her brother. "How I wish I had been there to see it."

"Aye, Lionel was most put out when he discovered I had beaten

him in the race for our spurs." Giles laughed, then sobered as he realized what he had said. He was silent for a moment, then went on softly. "I'm sorry, 'Sabelle, so very sorry. I know—" He broke off abruptly and ran one hand raggedly through his hair. "I know ye loved him, that ye had hoped to wed him—"

"Aye, but that is all in the past now, Giles. Do not think ye have wounded me by speaking of him, for I have done my best to put him from my heart and mind; and each day, the hurt he did me grows less painful, though still, sometimes, I do ache inside," the girl confessed.

"To his credit, Lionel—Lionel told me what he'd done, 'Sabelle; and though I cannot forgive him for it, I understand what drove him to deceive ye. He—he wanted ye so desperately, and he thought he could find some way out of his betrothal to Gilliane Beaumaris; but he could not. God only knows why he didn't tell ye the truth when he learned he could not free himself. I guess he loved ye so much, he couldn't bear your scorn and so continued the charade, still hoping to discover some means of making ye

his " Once more, Giles was still, then suddenly he swore

under his breath and slammed his fist into his open palm. "God's wounds! I should never have brought him to Rushden. I'm sorry, dear sister, so very sorry," her brother apologized again, "for Lionel did not play the gentleman with ye, and I know he hurt ye deeply."

"Aye." Once more, Isabella acknowledged the truth of this. "Still, I try not to mind it, for I would not have been able to marry him in any event. The King had already betrothed me to Warrick."

"And is he good to ye, 'Sabelle? Warrick, I mean. Has he made ye happy?"

"He is a hard man, but no husband could be kinder, Giles. Though he had no wish to wed me. he is attempting to make our marriage work. I have no cause for complaint. He sees to my every want and need."

"But does he love ye, 'Sabelle? Are ye happy with him, dear sister?" Giles asked again, wanting to be certain that Isabella was not, in truth, miserable and trying to hide the fact from him.

She answered slowly, considering.

"Warrick—Warrick does not love me, Giles, not yet, though I have set about to win his heart. Like me, he was terribly hurt in the past by the betrayal of his love; and the wound has yet to heal. But still, he desires me," the girl told her brother frankly, "and methinks he has come to care for me a little. 'Tis a beginning

at least. And he does give thought to my happiness, which is more than many men would do. I know he would fight like an animal to protect me, even as he did that day at Oakengates. Aye, I am content."

Giles seemed relieved by this.

"Then I am glad for ye, 'Sabelle."

"Then come, dear brother." Isabella smiled and held out her hand. "I wouldst like for ye to know my husband better, for if he is to love me, he must also love ye, who are so much a part of me."

It was nearly three days later when Lord Lionel Valeureux made his appearance at Court. With him was his wife, the Lady Gil-lianc. Despite the fact that he despised her, Lionel had realized it was only proper she be presented at Court, and so he had sent for her to join him in London.

Isabella's fingers tightened whitely on Warrick's arm as she spied Lionel across the great hall, for though she had guessed he too, like Giles, had come to London, she had not realized how the sight of her former lover would affect her. Warrick glanced down at her stricken face, then searched the chamber rapidly for the cause of her distress. His jaw set in a hard line.

"So ye do yet have some tender feelings for Lord Lionel after all, madam," the Earl growled accusingly.

"Ye of all people must know that a wound such as I suffered at his hands takes time to heal, my lord," Isabella reminded her husband quietly. "His appearance took me by surprise. I am sorry I was not better at masking my emotions at his presence, but do not think I love him still, Warrick, for I do not. 'Tis but a wistful sadness for what might have been that pierces my heart a little. I pray ye do not judge me too harshly for that."

"Nay, I do not, my lady. I do but warn ye to remember ye are my wife and that I demand your loyalty to me—in both body and mind."

"I do not forget, my lord. My loyalty is yours and has been since the day we were wed. I wouldst not be so foolish or cruel as to deceive ye—in any manner. May we—may we retire now, Warrick?"

"Nay, 'Sabelle. I'll have no coward as my wife. Ye shall not hide from him but stay, and let him see ye do not wear your heart upon your sleeve for him."

"As—as ye wish then, my lord. Tell me: Is—is that his wife?" the girl asked, gazing at the woman who accompanied Lionel.

"I believe so."

"She—she doesn't look very happy, does she?"

"Nay, madam, she does not. Rhys told me 'twas well known the Lady Gilliane had no desire to marry the heir of St. Saviour— or any other man, for that matter. She is very religious and wished to enter a convent."

"Then I am sorry for her," Isabella said as she studied the Lady Gilliane covertly. "For I do not think that Lionel has treated her as kindly as ye have me, Warrick."

And indeed, this was the truth. Lady Gilliane Valeureux, n6e Beaumaris, was absolutely terrified of her husband. Small, brown, and plain, she reminded one of a shy, frightened mouse and looked just as scared as she stared about the great hall, thoroughly miserable and ashamed.

Earlier, though she and her maids had tried their best to win his approval, Lionel had been, as usual, highly displeased by her appearance. Angered, as always, by just the mere sight of her, he had shouted at her meanly and, after dealing her several sharp slaps for being so stupid and unattractive, had curtly ordered her to change into a decent gown. But Gilliane had had nothing more appropriate. Upon being informed of this, Lionel had ripped open the lids of her coffers and yanked out every one of her dresses, wrathfully flinging them about and trampling on them in disgust when he saw she had spoken the truth. He had then alternately raged at and abused her for over an hour for not having had sense enough to purchase some garments suitable for Court; and Gil-hane had been too intimidated by him to point out that he had given her no money with which to do so. Now, she was even more dejectedly aware that her dull drab attire, which resembled a nun's habit, was hopelessly out of place among the stylish, brilliantly colored clothes worn by the rest of the Court ladies; and though she was trying very hard not to cry, she was petrified she would burst into tears at any minute. That would be disastrous, for Lionel would surely beat her again without mercy once they had reached the privacy of their chamber. She yearned fervently to slip away unnoticed, but she knew her husband would refuse his permission for her to leave the great hall, and so she said nothing of her desire. Instead, she attempted to concentrate on the conversations going on about her and wished desperately that she were not so ugly and slow-witted.

In truth, Gilliane's plainness stemmed far more from her natural timidity than anything else, for her countenance was not disagreeable. She had a pair of fine, soft brown eyes that could

glow quite beautifully upon occasion (though she seldom raised them long enough for anyone to discover this fact), and her upturned nose was set above a gently curving mouth that gave evidence of her sweet nature. Her round cheeks were fair and dusky-pink in hue, and her brown hair curled about her face in a touchingly childlike manner that was really most fetching, had Lionel but taken the time to observe it.

She was not at all stupid. On the contrary, she was, in reality, very intelligent and highly learned, for she had spent most of her life studying diligently in preparation for the day when she hoped to seek her vocation at the cloister near her father's keep. Gilliane had not believed that Lord St. Saviour, upon being told of her religious aspirations, would still insist on her betrothal to his son, or that her father, Lord Devizes, would actually force her to wed Lionel Valeureux. She knew it had been only to join their lands: for though Lionel was his father's heir, Gilliane's father had none. The Devizes charter prohibited women from inheriting. Unless Gilliane were to bear a son, her father's estate, upon his death, would be forfeit to the Crown, leaving her virtually penniless. But the girl had not cared. Had she entered a nunnery, she would have had no need of riches. The small income she would have received would have sufficed.

"Look!" Gilliane was startled out of her reverie by Sir Andre Montague's cry. '"Tis the Rose of Rapture. Come, Edmund. We must discover whether or not she is wearing Geoffrey's bouquet. If she is not, then we have won our wager!"

Feeling more conspicuously malapropos than ever, Gilliane gazed after the hurriedly departing courtiers, who were jesting and laughing as they made their way toward one of the loveliest women she had ever seen in her Itfe. Hesitantly, Gilliane laid her hand on her husband's arm, then ventured tentatively to ask,

"My—my lord, who is that lady there? The one to whom Sir Andr6 is speaking?"

Lionel felt as though someone had hit him hard in the stomach when, frowning, he glanced impatiently at the woman his wife had been curious enough to dare to question him about.

Isabella. Oh, God, Isabella!

His heart caught in his throat, for she seemed even more beautiful than he had remembered. For just an instant, his golden visage was naked with pain and hunger; and Gilliane, by his side, gave a soft little cry of pity.

"Why, ye love her, my lord," she breathed in sudden understanding. "That is why ye despise me so."

"Aye, ye simpleminded strumpet," Lionel snarled down at her, his hand tightening on the chalice of wine he was holding. "For once, ye got something right."

Gilliane cringed at her husband's hateful words, but still, she dared to inquire again after the woman's identity.

"But who—who is she, my lord?"

"Lady Isabella Tremayne, Countess of Hawkhurst," Lionel replied tersely, a muscle working in his jaw. He took a large draught of the liquor, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "And the whoreson son of a bitch with her is her husband, Warrick, a half-Welsh bastard," he sneered, then gave a short, ugly laugh, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously. "I wonder how she likes his bed, the witch!"

Sir Andre Montague, returning in time to overhear this last remark, spoke.

"If ye are referring to the Rose of Rapture, the answer to your question is, apparently, quite well indeed. Lady Hawkhurst has eyes for no one but her husband, much to her would-be cavaliers' dismay. Though the courtiers have wooed her most relentlessly, she has scorned all their attempts to win her favor. Even so, they still persist in their attentions to her and have even begun wagering amongst themselves as to who will be the man fortunate—or foolish—enough to cuckold Lord Hawkhurst."

"Why, that's terrible!" Gilliane uttered, shocked.

"One of the Court's favorite pastimes, Lady Gilliane, I'm afraid," Sir Andre stated somewhat dryly.

Well, I'm no fool, Lionel thought as he took another long swig of wine from his cup. But if I'm clever, I might get lucky.

Isabella, standing by her husband's side and talking to her brother and Lord Montecatini, shivered suddenly as she saw the way in which Lionel's eyes were raking her body—and before his wife too, the poor girl.

"Is something amiss, Lady Hawkhurst?" the Count queried, raising one dark brow curiously.

"Nay, 'twas naught," she assured him quickly, knowing both Warrick and Giles had guessed the cause of her distress but were too protective of her to comment upon it before the Italian. She gave a little laugh. "For a moment, I thought I spied Sir Geoffrey Twyford coming this way, and I feared he meant to reproach me for not wearing his bouquet, thereby causing him to lose his wager with Sirs Andre Montague and Edmund Lacey."

Briefly, Lord Montecatini studied Isabella thoughtfully, aware she had not given him the real reason behind her sudden discom-

posure. Then, from beneath half-closed lids, he gazed surreptitiously about the room to ferret out the true cause of her unease. Neither Lord Lionel Valeureux's glittering blue eyes hungrily devouring Isabella, nor the Lady Gilliane's misery escaped the Count's detection. He perceived too that neither Lord Hawkhurst nor Lord Rushden had favored Lord Lionel with more than a curt nod of recognition, indicating that they were not on the best terms with the heir of St. Saviour. Inwardly, the Italian smiled. The Fates had indeed been most kind to him of late.

"Twas most foolish of Sir Geoffrey to have made such a wager in the first place," Lord Montecatini continued smoothly. "He has no one to blame but himself for the losing of it, for any fool can see ye have eyes for no one but your husband." He turned to the Earl. "Ye are indeed a most fortunate man. Lord Hawkhurst."