Rose of rapture (4 page)

Lady Shrewton sniggered at the reply, and Lord Oadby smiled blandly.

"And your brother's sister, 'twould seem," he remarked thoughtfully, then waved his handkerchief in dismissal. "Well, be off now, the both of ye. I fear the journey here has tired me more than I'd thought," he explained, glancing slyly at the Countess, who winked in return, "and I must refresh myself with a little nap."

Isabella and Giles said no more, glad to escape from his unwelcome presence.

At first, life at Rushden Castle went on much as it had before, and Sir Lindael breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he had been wrong about Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton after all. Although the faithful knight continued to dislike the two, the old master-at-arms, not having access to the records of the keep and not being able to read in any event, could not see that the new warden intended the children or the estate any harm. Indeed, it seemed the Earl and his mistress went out of their way to be pleasant to all. They always had a flattering word for even the lowest of servants, none of whom realized that Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton were cleverly gleaning every bit of information they could about Rushden and the weaknesses of its inhabitants. The Earl and Countess had played this game before, and they knew their moves well. Those whom they could not win through cajolery, they would intimidate through fear, but first, they must know enough about all to be able to gain the upper hand in any situation. Thus, it was only later, when Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton were certain the household was firmly under their control, that things slowly but surely began to change.

In the beginning, the occurrences were such small ones, they might easily have gone unnoticed, had not the children's suspicions of their warden and his mistress already been aroused. Not adept at intrigue, Isabella and Giles complained about the incidents, and when the matters were easily explained as trivial oversights, the youngsters were made to look foolish and unappreciative of their warden's and his mistress's efforts on their behalf.

Lady Shrewton did not know that Isabella craved cinnamon sticks; they would have been ordered, despite the cost of the precious treat, if the Countess had only been told. Why, hadn't Lady Shrewton purchased'the girl a very expensive doll just last week? (It had actually been only a straw baby won by the Countess at a fair, which the children had not been allowed to attend. Isabella had thrown the tacky thing down a garderobe into the cesspit below.) Lord Oadby was not aware the dead tree by the stables was Giles's imaginary ship. The Earl would never have had it chopped down for kindling wood to warm the cool nights in his chamber otherwise. (Though informed by the blacksmith that it was Lord Rushden's favorite place to play. Lord Oadby had said it was an eyesore and must be removed.) How silly of Lady Shrewton to have given Isabella that bolt of puce material. Of course, the color was all wrong for the girl. (The cloth had been moth-eaten besides.) How absentminded Lord Oadby was. It was he who had borrowed Giles's solid gold-and-silver chess

set and had forgotten to return it. (The boy had found it buried beneath a pile of clothes in the Earl's coffer.)

As time went on, and such happenings became bolder and more frequent, there were those at Rushden who began to realize how they had been duped by Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton, but by then, it was too late. Those who dared to protest were informed they were no longer welcome at the castle and were turned out without so much as a tuppence. Those who stayed saw the futility of dissent and, though they loved Isabella and Giles, could do little to help them.

The youngsters themselves learned to remain silent about the treatment they suffered, bitterly swallowing their pride and hiding their burning desire for vengeance behind the still, expressionless faces they showed to their warden and his mistress. Eventually, the Earl and the Countess carved a secure little niche for themselves at Rushden and, having gained confidence in their ability to outwit any who questioned their actions, grew almost brazen in their pilfering of the estate. Together, they greedily lined their pockets with Rushden's gold, paying less and less heed to Isabella and Giles until the children were almost forgotten.

And like wraiths, the youngsters were content to remain in the shadows, watching and waiting as they pressed their palms together and whispered fiercely, "Fiat."

Chapter Three

The Coast, England, 1470

IT WAS DARK THAT SEPTEMBER WHEN THE SHIP THAT had lately sailed from France slipped up the coast of England to deposit her passengers upon the soil of their homeland. The men glanced about warily as they disembarked, for they were traitors to their King, Edward IV, though one among them had helped to put him on the throne. The lord they called the Kingmaker, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, stood silentiy for a time as he surveyed the country he had loved—and betrayed. Briefly, his heart ached as he remembered how gloriously, so many years ago, he and his cousin Edward had once marched into battle together to wrest the Crown from King Henry VI and claim it as Ned's own. Then the image of Bess Woodville filled Neville's mind, spoiling the picture recalled from the past, and his lip curled. Bess Woodville, a commoner, widow of Sir John Grey, a mere knight—and Ned had secretly taken her to wife! The King's Grey Mare, the courtiers had dubbed her upon learning of the marriage. But Neville had not laughed. He had been made to look a fool when the betrothal with France's princess, which he had been arranging for Ned, had had to be abruptly broken

off. By God, the ignominy of it all It was not to be borne, and Neville had not borne it. He had turned his back on the man whom he'd made a king and had fled to France to plot and plan Ned's downfall. Henry still lived, imprisoned in the Tower, and his wife. Marguerite of Anjou, was now Neville's ally. He had made one sovereign. He could make another. Aye, Neville would go into battle with Ned again, but this time, they would not fight side by side.

Isabella understood little of the war that continued to rage between the Yorkists and the Lancastrians for control of the throne, though had she known then how it would someday affect her life, she might have paid more attention to the sober discussions she sometimes overheard. As it was, who wore the Crown meant nothing to her. She was too beset by her own problems to worry over worldly ones.

Glancing about cautiously to be certain she was unobserved, she slipped into the stables, which served as her place of refuge now, and, sighing with relief at finding herself alone, sank down upon a pile of hay. There, she hugged her shins tightly and laid her head on her knees as tears welled up in her eyes and ragged whimpers rose in her throat. Earlier, she had stifled her grief and misery bom of Lady Shrewton's cruel remarks and sharp slaps. Now, Isabella let the great, racking sobs come. Oh, why had she ever been so foolish as to take one of the apple tarts that Cook had made for the Countess's dessert this evening? Oh, if only it had not been so long since the girl and Giles had eaten anything but plain meat, bread, and cheese, Lord Oadby having deemed these staples good enough for his wards. Oh, if only the treat had not been so tempting.

Isabella's mouth watered even now as she recalled how the fresh sweet aroma of the baking pastries had wafted into the courtyard, enticing her to the kitchen. There, Cook had taken one look at the girl's face, filled with longing, and, pitying her, had brusquely pressed one of the steaming tarts into Isabella's hands.

"Go on, m'lady. Take it!" Cook had snapped abruptly to cover her true emotions, then had muttered, "What the Countess don't know won't hurt her, and there's some of us at Rushden what's still got eyes in our heads, even if we pretends we don't. We got our own selves and families to think of, m'lady, and the rest are a pack of fools what lets a little cheap flattery blind 'em to what's going on beneath their very noses." Cook's lips had clamped

together sternly, and, shaking her head, she had rattled her pots and pans with a great deal more violence than had been necessary. "Now get on with ye, m'lady. Can't ye see I've got work to do?"

Deeply touched, Isabella had given the astounded Cook a grateful hug of understanding before turning and racing blindly from the kitchen.

It had been the girl's misfortune to run directly into Lady Shrewton.

"Ye stupid brat!" the Countess had shrieked. "Why don't ye watch where you're going? Here. I'm talking to ye, wench." She had grabbed Isabella and shaken her roughly when, after mumbling her apologies, the girl had attempted to slip away. "What have ye got there... behind your back? What are ye trying to hide from me?"

"Noth—nothing, my lady."

"Let me see. Why, 'tis an apple tart." Lady Shrewton's eyes had narrowed with suspicion. "Where did ye get this? Well, speak up, wench! I asked ye a question."

And Isabella, remembering Cook's kindness to her and realizing that Cook would suffer too if the truth became known, had said, "I—I stole it, my lady, from the kitchen, when Cook wasn't looking."

The Countess had boxed the girl's ears smartly, then, meanly, had snatched the as-yet-uneaten treat from Isabella's hands. Smiling spitefully, Lady Shrewton had deliberately dropped the pastry onto the ground and crushed it into the cobblestones with her foot.

No one had ever laid a hand on Isabella in her life. Dazed and shocked beyond belief by the Countess's hateful blows, too hurt to even care about the loss of the tart, the girl had fled to the stables, Lady Shrewton's shrill laughter echoing jceringly in her ears.

Now, the scrape of hinges made Isabella glance up quickly and hastily brush the tears from her eyes. A sudden shaft of sunlight flooded the stables as the door swung open wide, then the ray was blocked by the large bulk that soon filled the entrance. 'Twas Sir Eadric, one of her brother's knights. He had always treated the girl with the utmost gentleness and respect, so she had no fear of him and crept from her hiding place to see what he was about.

Carefully, the knight reached into his hunting jacket and withdrew a small rabbit. Though the animal quivered slightly in Sir Eadric's grasp, it made no attempt to escape.

Why, it's hurt, Isabella thought, realizing one of the creature's

legs was twisted so it dangled at an odd angle. Hurt and suffering—like me.

The knight crooned softly to the injured beast but was apparently at a loss as to what to do, so the girl made her presence known and asked shyly if she could be of assistance. She had often accompanied her mother when Lady Rushden had made her rounds to care for the ailing crofters. Sir Eadric did not miss the tearstains, which streaked Isabella's cheeks, or the dirt from the straw, upon which she'd huddled, that now soiled her gown. Something had upset the child and sent her scurrying for a refuge, no matter how unfitting; and he did not have to look far to guess the cause.

"Here, my lady." The kindly knight knelt down and handed her the downy, trembling rabbit, which seemed to so enchant her, then took a handkerchief from his pocket. "You've mussed your face and dress." He wet the square of linen in a nearby barrel of water, then washed her up a bit, talking quietly to her all the while. Finally, he asked, "What brought ye here to the stables, my lady? 'Tis no proper place for a lass of your breeding."

"Lady—Lady Shrewton spoke harshly to me for a small misdeed," Isabella said as she stroked the frightened creature in her hands, marveling at the softness of its fur.

"Oh, she did, did she? Well, mayhap the Countess be having a bad day, my lady. Lord Oadby rode out early this mom and has yet to return," Sir Eadric offered by way of explanation.

"Perhaps," the girl dismissed the subject, wanting to put it from her mind and having become far more interested in the tiny rabbit. "How came ye by this poor animal, sir?" she queried.

The knight smiled a trifle sheepishly.

"I was hunting, my lady, and found the dumb beast just sitting at the edge of the woods. When it made no attempt to run from me, I was curious and approached it. I saw 'twas wounded, and— begging your pardon, my lady—'twas so small a creature, I just couldn't bring myself to slay it. I brought it here, thinking to somehow mend the injury, but I confess I am at a loss as to how to proceed. I'm not much of a hand at treating wounds and the like."

"I will help ye, sir," Isabella told him gravely. "The rabbit's leg is broken, I fear. If we could but fashion a little splint of some sort..."

"Aye, 'twas what I had in mind too, but how can we keep the poor animal still long enough for the break to heal? It cannot be hopping about in this condition."

"We—we might build a cage for it here in the stables, sir,"

the girl suggested timidly, not knowing whether or not this would

be allowed.

"Aye, my lady." Sir Eadric nodded thoughtfully. "But then, who is to care for the beast? I've chores enough as 'tis, my lady."

"I—I could see to its needs, sir," Isabella offered. "I've little enough to do and will scarcely be missed."

The knight was silent for a moment, then stated firmly, "Young though ye be, ye are mistress here at Rushden, my lady. Ye have but to order a thing, ye know, and it shall be done."

Isabella cocked her head at this, considering.

"I—I do not think so, sir," she replied at last. "Else Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton would be gone from Rushden, for I do not wish them here. All is so changed since they have come."

"Aye, but 'tis a matter that will be righted in time, my lady. When ye and the young Lord are older, we shall see to it. Still, for now, 'tis best to be patient and proceed with caution. 'Tis a wise hunter who stalks his prey carefully and waits for the right time to strike."

Isabella gazed at him steadily at that, but Sir Eadric had begun' to whittle a splint from a piece of wood and was not looking at her. Nevertheless, she understood quite well what he was saying to her, and her heart gave a little lurch of gladness.

"I will remember ye are my friend, sir," she declared softly.

"Ye have many friends here at Rushden, my lady. Never think ye do not."

She thought of Cook, and suddenly, the girl realized she and Giles were not so alone after all. There were others who also had their suspicions about Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton and were simply biding their time, watching and waiting, as Isabella and her brother were. A lump rose in her throat at knowing she was still beloved by those at Rushden.