Rose of rapture (41 page)

The work at Hawkhurst was progressing well too. The inside of the castle was now complete, and the shoring up of the defenses was coming along nicely under Sir Sevan's watchful eye. The chapel had been restored, much to Father Francis's delight, and Mass was now said daily. By Christmas, all the villeins would have new huts and, come spring, vegetable patches as well, Warrick having given his permission for the planting of these. At first, Isabella had feared he might refuse to allow this, but upon her asking him about it, he had merely raised one eyebrow and smiled wryly.

"This is your home now, 'Sabelle," he had told her. "Ye are free to do whatever ye please with regard to managing the estate. As ye are aware, I have paid scant attention to my keep. In fact, I am surprised ye even consulted me at all, knowing what a shambles I have made of my inheritance."

"Ye have spent most of your time at Court and in battle, Warrick," the girl had said quickly, "and have had no wife to serve as chatelaine here at Hawkhurst. Ye are not to blame for that."

"Aye, I am, and well I know it. Twas just that I became accustomed to a different way of life and scarcely thought of Hawkhurst as my home. I did not intend to marry, and so there seemed to be little point in pouring my hard-earned gold into the fortress."

"I have kept a careful accounting of my expenditures, my lord," Isabella had reassured him hastily. "Though many of the repairs have been costly, your purse has not been cheated, I promise ye." Then she had blurted out in a rush, "And I—I shall pay for the cinnamon sticks I ordered for the larder, if ye wish, for I—^ I confess they were a trifle dear."

How he had laughed at that, laughed until she had grown almost angry and asked him what was so funny.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. 'Tis just—just that ye looked so—so guilty, like a child caught stealing cookies from a jar. Keep your money, 'Sabelle. I have not accused ye of trying to impoverish me, and I am hardly a pauper besides. And even if I were," he had gone on casually, his eyes half-closed, "dost think I am such an ogre, I wouldst deny ye your favorite treat?"

"Nay, of course not!" Isabella had retorted indignandy. "Indeed, Giles says ye are overly generous, my lord!"

He had merely smiled strangely at that.

Thinking of that grin now, the girl frowned. Warrick was up to something, but what, she had no idea. At last, she shrugged, dismissing the matter. Whatever it was, she had no cause for complaint. She had gotten her way about nearly everything concerning Hawkhurst—with two exceptions. Her husband had forbidden her to enter the stables, saying his men-at-arms would be shocked; and despite all her pleading, he had sent Sirs Eadric, Thegn, and Beowulf back to Rushden, telling her they were Giles's knights, not his.

"But they're mine," she had protested, tears in her eyes. "They've been with me since childhood. Giles has given them

permission to serve me as long as they wish. Oh, Warrick, please," she had begged, "don't send them away!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he had apologized but had remained firm in his decision just the same.

And Isabella, not wishing to destroy the progress of her marriage, had bit her lip and quietly turned away. Still, she'd found the loss of her trusted men-at-arms difficult to accept and had been deeply hurt when Giles, upon learning of the matter, had refused to sympathize with her. It had been the first serious disagreement of their lives.

Now, as the girl spied her brother, she called out to him warmly, sorry for their quarrel.

"Giles!"

"Good afternoon, dear sister," he greeted her, sweeping off his hat and bowing. "Making your rounds, I see."

"Aye. I want to be certain the crofters are happy with their new cottages."

"How could they not be? The huts you're having them build are probably the finest houses they've ever owned."

"I hope so. At any rate, they do seem to be pleased. Some of the tenants who left Hawkhurst are even returning now. Oh, Giles, I'm so glad. Everything is going well, isn't it?"

"Aye. Ye should be proud of yourself, 'Sabelle. Hawkhurst looks like a different keep now."

"Do ye—do ye think that Warrick is pleased?"

"Of course. How could he not be? Which reminds me: He and Caerllywel have fetched the Yule tree from the forest. Warrick said ye must come, and tell them where to put it, lest the servants think he is attempting to take over your management of the fortress."

"Oh, Giles." Isabella smiled. "He is taking an interest in things at last, isn't he? Sir Bevan told me that Warrick had made all kinds of improvements on the ideas we had for the restoration of the castle's defenses."

"Aye. I'm going to instigate some of them at Rushden when I return. Thank God, I decided to stay at Hawkhurst until spring. When I think of how cold Scotland must be right now, it gives me the shivers! I'll warrant that Richard and his men are a foot deep in snow."

Isabella sighed.

"Dear brother, I know ye miss Rushden and Gloucester even more, but do not talk of our parting, Giles, It saddens me so.

Doubtless, Warrick and Caerilywel will go back to Court when ye leave, and I will be left here all alone."

"I would not be too sure of that, 'Sabelle, if I were ye. Warrick appears to have every intention of remaining."

"Oh, I hope ye are right."

"Wait and see." Giles grinned. "Now, come. The Yule tree awaits us."

It was with much difficulty and shouts of laughter and encouragement that the enormous pine tree, which Warrick and Caerilywel had felled in the woods and brought home in a cart, was finally erected in the great hall. But at last, it stood proud and tall before them, and they all gathered around to trim its branches. There were garlands of paper chains; strings of raisins and cranberries; delicious candy canes and fat gingerbread men (which Caerilywel said looked just like Warrick's roly-poly bailiff, for which Isabella reprimanded him sternly, saying that Master Isham couldn't help his looks, to which Caerilywel replied he had no doubt the bailiff had been gorging himself on all the missing livestock, and he certainly could help that!); a hundred candles at least; and a shining silver star for the top. When that was done, they hung their smaller presents on the bedecked pine boughs and stacked the larger ones underneath. Then the Yule log was lit in one of the hearths, where it would bum till Christmas Day was over. All the while, they sang carols, Warrick and Caerilywel teaching Isabella and Giles several old, traditional Welsh melodies. Isabella especially liked the gaiety of one in particular.

Deck the hall with boughs of holly, Fa la la la la, la la la la. 'Tis the season to be jolly, Fa la la la la, la la la la. Don we now our gay apparel, Fa la la, la la la, la la la. Troll the ancient Yuletide carol. Fa la la la la, la la la la.

See the blazing Yule before us, Fa la la la la, la la la la. Strike the harp, and join the chorus. Fa la la la la, la la la la. Follow me in merry measure. Fa la la, la la la, la la la.

While I tell of Yuletide treasure, Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Warrick said he would have liked the tune a lot better, had Caerilywel not been inspired, by the second verse, to grab up his lute and accompany them, making a mbst fearful din.

"If ye insist on playing that instrument, brother"—the Earl spoke dryly—"I wish you'd learn how."

Before Caerlly\yel could retort to this remark, Jocelyn stunned everyone into silence by declaring she had thought Caerilywel's playing superior. Isabella and Giles choked with amusement on their wassail punch, and Warrick rolled his eyes with disbelief, claiming only a woman in love could have been deaf to all the discordant, jarring notes struck by his brother upon the strings.

To this, Jocelyn blushed and artlessly rejoined, "Well, I'll warrant he might have done better if he hadn't danced while he played," sending them all off into peals_of mirth again.

Christmas came at last, so different from the year before, when the dark cloud of Isabella's sickness had hovered over them. This season, they were filled with laughter as they sang and danced and played games. The men chased the women around and caught them several times under the mistletoe (as they did not try too hard to escape). Then all ate the Yule feast and opened their gifts. Finally, the boughs of the tree were bare, and nothing remained on the floor beneath its branches.

From where she knelt amid the scattered ribands and wrappings, Isabella glanced up questioningly at Warrick, for her husband alone had given her no present. He leaped to his feet and held out one hand to her.

"Come," he said.

Slowly, puzzled, she followed him from the keep, Giles, Caerilywel, and Jocelyn trailing behind them.

Outside, the night was a grey haze of shimmering moonbeams and flurrying white snowflakes. Isabella gasped, for the fortress appeared almost like some enchanted, magic castle in the darkness. All around the battlements, hundreds of torches had been lit and gleamed in the mist, casting a glowing halo about the keep, making it seem as though it were ringed in gold. Warrick's men-at-arms, dressed in shining armor, stood to attention on the ramparts, and the villeins had gathered in the courtyard, many with their heads bowed.

Isabella was awed by the sight and would have addressed them

all, for she was certain that never before had they known a night such as this; but Warrick restrained her, saying,

"Not yet, sweetheart."

It was not until she realized he was leading her to the stables that she thought she understood. The Earl had arranged a living nativity to be performed, she guessed. But she was wrong. Smiling, yet curiously anxious for her approval, Warrick flung open the door at one end, and Isabella stepped inside. Her hands flew to her face, and tears filled her eyes.

"Oh, Warrick," she breathed, stunned. "Oh, Warrick!"

The entire section of the stables had been painstakingly turned into a menagerie for her; and there stood Sirs Eadric, Thegn, and Beowulf, grinning broadly, with Isabella's animals from Rushden all about them. Tinker, her goat, was there; Matey, her raven; and Jasper, her squirrel; and all the rest, looking as at home as though they had lived there all their lives. Eagerly, the girl embraced them, bubbling over with joy as she talked to, petted, and examined them all to be sure they were truly real. Then, recalling her manners, she hugged her faithful knights, who had transported the creatures to Hawkhurst.

"Oh, Warrick," she sighed once more with happiness as she turned back to her husband. "'Tis the best Christmas of my life. However did ye manage to keep all this a secret?"

"Well, 'twasn't easy, sweetheart," he told her, "what with ye turning the whole place upside down. But everyone helped: Ca-erllywel, Giles, Jocelyn, all the knights and servants and crofters. 'Twas the devil of a conspiracy, but somehow, we managed it. Didst not think it strange how all the tenants insisted ye visit their new cottages?"

"Aye, but I thought 'twas merely because they were so proud of them."

"Well, they were, but also, we had to get ye out of the castle and yet keep ye from the road as well so ye would not see the beasts arriving. Each time ye would go to a new hut, the villeins would give a signal, and the knights would bring yet another cartload of animals up the hill. Why, it took one whole trip just to get that stubborn goat up here. He refused to get in the cart and finally had to be led up. We were frantic ye would sec."

"Why, that must have been the day that old Berta insisted I stay to tea and positively talked my ear off!" the girl accused.

"Aye." Warrick grinned. "'Twas. She told me she had no doubt ye thought her the village idiot; she babbled so, scarcely even knowing what she was saying; she was so afraid you'd leave

at the wrong time. She said 'twas only the fact that ye were too pohte to interrupt and take your departure that saved us from discovery. She vowed she was never so relieved in her life as to see, from her window, the knights' signal that the course was clear."

"Well, I wondered"—Isabella spoke, laughing. "For there she was, just chatting away; then suddenly, she jumped up and told me she had to fix supper and practically thrust me out of her cottage!" The girl giggled again, then sobered. "And Giles, dear brother." She turned to her brother. "How wroth with ye I was at your letting Warrick send my knights away. However did ye stand me?"

"Well, 'twasn't easy, 'Sabelle," Giles confessed. "In fact, I was so upset, I almost spoilt everything by telling ye the truth. But as Warrick and Caerllywel threatened to throw me off a cliff if I did, I managed to keep my mouth shut."

"I thank ye, Warrick." The girl's voice was earnest as she gazed once more at her husband. "I thank ye more than I can ever say for the gift ye have given me this eve."

Then she hugged him tightly and kissed him until Sirs Eadric, Thegn, and Beowulf cleared their throats and shuffled their feet awkwardly at being present at such an intimate moment.

After that, they went outside to join the others, who broke into song at the sight of them. As the last notes of the carol died away, all knelt to receive Father Francis's blessing; and Isabella wept silently with joy, knowing this special night would live in her heart forever.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

SPRING TURNED SLOWLY TO SUMMER THAT YEAR OF

1481, as gradually the buds that earlier had been only a promise blossomed into reality. Upon the mountains, alongside the rivers and rills that crept through rocky passages, fir club moss lay like a soft, green velvet carpet, innocently but deceptively hiding the sharp, dangerous crags. Upon the wild, windswept moors below, bracken as gold as the sun bowed and rippled gently with the breeze like a vast, shifting sea. In the marshy valleys, the decaying scent of peat that filled the deep stretches of mire mingled pungently with the fragrant white flowers and aromatic berries of the bog-myrtle that bloomed there also. In the wooded plains, the branches of the old oaks, tall ashes, and slender poplars came to life again, throwing once more into the shade the feathery pines that had reigned supreme in the forest all winter. All about Hawkhurst, the barren fields that had lain fallow were now bursting with acres and acres of ripening grain. Upon the hillsides, small but sturdy herds of cattle, sheep, and goats grazed contentedly, the tinkling chime of bellwethers, answered by gentle bleating, the only sounds that disturbed the peaceful, sweeping terrain.