Rose of rapture (5 page)

"Thank ye, Sir Eadric," she said simply.

He cleared his throat gruffly.

"Fetch Thegn and Beowulf, my lady," he instructed. "They can build a cage whilst we set this young rabbit's leg."

Thus was what later came to be called the Lady Isabella's menagerie bom and with it a love the girl was to know for the rest of her life.

As he had planned, the Earl of Warwick caught King Edward IV by surprise, and His Grace, unprepared for battle, fled to the dukedom of Burgundy, where he hoped to obtain aid from its duchess, his sister Margaret, in regaining his throne. Neville,

swelling with the thrill of triumph, marched into London and there released a much-befuddled Henry from the Tower and restored him to the Crown. All of England reeled under this shifting of monarchs, for they loved Edward, their golden god, under whose reign they had prospered; and King Henry VI, son of Katherine of Valois, was quite insane, being tainted with the Valois madness. A saintly, simpleminded man, he spent more time on his knees than on his throne, allowing whatever power he might have wielded to fall into his wife's grasping hands. As Queen Marguerite was despised by the English people, they clamored for their beloved Ned's return, preferring even his common Woodville witch to the royal French bitch of Anjou whom Henry had wed.

That year of 1471, Edward sailed for home and at Bamet, just north of London, met his cousin Neville in battle for the last time. The traitorous Earl of Warwick, seeing his cause was lost, cowardly attempted to flee the battlefield. Edward's men caught Neville at the edge of a forest, and in moments, the mighty Kingmaker lay dead. 'Twas a glorious victory, and none reveled in it more than Edward's brother Richard, Duke of Gloucester, who, at eighteen and fighting his first major battle, had brilliantly commanded one entire wing of Edward's army.

From Bamet, the men marched northeast to Tewkesbury and there soundly defeated Marguerite, slaying her young son (who, some said, was not Henry's true heir anyway, but the product of Marguerite's illicit affair with Edmund Beaufort, the old Duke of Somerset). Marguerite herself was sent home to France in disgrace, and Henry was taken captive to be imprisoned once more in the Tower.

Far away, at Rushden, Isabella heard only secondhand accounts of the fighting, excitedly reported to her by her brother, Giles,, who brandished his dagger wildly, as though it were a sword, and vividly described the battles as though he had been present when they had occurred.

"Just think, 'Sabelle," he marveled, "Gloucester is only eighteen and already one of the finest military commanders in all of England! Oh, can ye not imagine what a sight he must have been... swinging his mighty battle-ax; his voice ringing out over the field, urging his men on; his banner, with its white boar, rippling splendidly against the sky? God's wounds, but 1 wouldst give my life to serve such a man as he!"

"Oh, Giles," Isabella sighed, "how can ye joy in the thought of war? When I think of those men who must be senselessly

wounded or slain, it sickens me; and my heart aches for the women in their hves."

Her brother leaped down from where he had been standing upon a pile of hay, as though it had been a hill from which to survey a battlefield below.

"Ye do not understand, 'Sabelle. Tis the way of a man to fight and die. 'Tis only cowards like fat old Oadby who cower in their keeps. Why, I doubt if he has ever even entered a tourney!" Giles sneered with disgust and contempt.

"Probably not," Isabella agreed, reaching for another handful of nuts to feed to the small, bushy-tailed squirrel that sat before her, its dark eyes sparkling as it stretched out its little paws eagerly to receive the treats. "What do ye say, Jasper?" the girl asked, holding up one of the nuts. The animal chattered brightly, and Isabella laughed. "Aye, thank ye." She nodded, delivering the earned reward.

As the creature greedily bit into the nut, the girl examined the tiny wound on its body, where it had been viciously bitten during a fray with another squirrel. The injury was healing nicely, and after satisfying herself that it required no more attention, Isabella turned back to her brother.

"The morning grows late," she noted. "We must hurry if we are not to be tardy for our lessons with Master Jaksone."

As Lady Shrewton had made it quite plain that Isabella was unwelcome in the sollar, where the women of Rushden gathered to engage in such feminine pursuits as embroidery and spinning, it had become the girl's custom to haunt the schoolroom with her brother. Master Jaksone, the tutor, would, in any event, have taught her how to read, write, and cipher; and though he found it odd that she was interested in other areas of study as well, he had no objection to her learning and instructed Isabella compe-tendy, just as he did Giles.

Other than her menagerie, which had now grown to a sizable collection of assorted beasts, her lessons with her brother were the only bright spots in the girl's life. Except for Cook and old Alice, her nanna, Isabella had no female companions and learned nothing of the womanly virtues and duties of a chatelaine that would have been taught her, had her mother lived; but if she realized she was lacking in the training that ought to have been bestowed upon her, the girl no longer cared. Though still unhappy, she had grown accustomed to her strange life; and in many ways, it suited her fey nature far better than another would have done.

Chapter Four

Rushden Castle, England, 1473

"ISABELLA! ISABELLA, WHERE ARE YE?"

The girl crouched down in the grain bin into which she had climbed earlier and did not answer. She would not come out! she told herself fiercely. Never! Not even if Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton beat her would she ever leave this hiding place, this safe refuge she had found in which to lick her wounds. They were even more cruel than she had ever imagined, the Earl and the Countess. They were sending Giles away from her this very day! Isabella brushed angrily at the hot tears that streaked her cheeks, her grubby little fists drawn up tightly into clenched balls. How could they do this to her? Didn't they understand that her dear, beloved brother was all she had in this world? The girl wished she were dead. She would never come out, not as long as she lived!

"Isabella!"—the shouting continued, then the voice called again, much lower, "'Sabelle, please come out."

She lifted the lid of the grain bin slightly so she could see. 'Twas Giles, and he looked as though he'd been crying as well.

The sight of him tore at her young heart. He was so fair. She

might never see him again!

At last, certain he had come alone, she clambered out of her hiding place and brushed herself off. Her brother did not see her, at first, and started to walk away, his shoulders hunched forward dejectedly.

"Giles!"

He turned then and, as she ran to him, lifted her up in his arms, swinging her high into the air. For a moment, they clung to each other tightly. This was the worst day of their lives.

"Ye naughty wench! How dare ye hide from me?" her brother scolded through the tears he dashed away savagely as being unmanly. "Especially with the Duke here and waiting? Christ's son, 'Sabelle! Do ye not realize he's the second most important man in all of England! Lord Oadby is fit to be tied."

"I don't care! I don't care! Oh, Giles, I cannot bear for ye to be sent away!" Isabella wailed woefully in response. "1 shall be all alone here, and I shall miss ye so very much—"

"And I, ye, dear sister." Gently, he set her down, releasing her hold on him, although he kept her hands in his. He kissed them tenderly, then chucked her under the chin. "Ye know I wouldst not leave ye, 'Sabelle, had I any choice in the matter; but 'tis the way of things. I am of an age now to be fostered, and only think, dear sister, what it means to escape from this place and to be with Gloucester! Oh, 'Sabelle, 'tis my wildest dream come true!"

His voice had risen, and his eyes now shone with excitement at the prospect. Isabella was hurt. Why, it was almost as though her brother were glad to be going away from her!

"Try to understand, dear sister," Giles pleaded, seeing her face and knowing he had wounded her with his last words. "There is a whole world out there, beyond Rushden, waiting for me. I want to see it. God's blood, 'Sabelle! I cannot go on here! Each year does but grow worse, and I cannot bear it!"

"Then take me with ye!" she begged. "Oh, please. Do not leave me behind! We shall explore the world together, as we have always done. Do ye remember the time we found the badger with the blind eye? And the hedgehog with the crippled paw? Oh, take me with ye! Please, dear brother."

"Oh, would that I could, dear sister, but I cannot."

"Is it—is it because ye love me no longer, Giles?"—her lower lip trembled pitifully. "Has this Duke of Gloucester taken my place in your heart then?"

"Oh, nay, 'Sabelle!" he reassured her fervently. "How couldst ye even think such a thing? There is no one I love more than ye. But to escape from Rushden. And to follow the brother of the King! Oh, dear sister. 'Tis indeed a rare honor, beyond all my wildest imaginings. Oh, "Sabelle, ye should see him! He is all that I dreamt—and more. If I do well under his tutelage, I shall become a knight of the first order. Do ye not wish to be proud of me?" he demanded.

"I have always been proud of ye, Giles," the girl answered softly. "Tis only that this parting from ye saddens me beyond measiu"e. Ye are all I have left. Whatever shall I do without ye?"

"Ye will manage, 'Sabelle. Somehow, ye will manage. Ye are strong inside, mayhap, in your quiet way, even stronger than I. Ye have borne more bravely our life here at Rushden than I ever have."

"Nay—"

"Aye, dear sister, for your heart is still filled with love, in spite of the hardships we have suffered, and mine holds naught but hate. I wouldst be free of Rushden so I might seek solace someplace as ye have done here in your menagerie. Oh, 'Sabelle, do not despise me for that!" He suddenly crushed her to him fervently.

"Nay, I do not. How could I?" She hugged him tighdy in response, choking down, with difficulty, the lump that rose in her throat.

"Look at me, dear sister," the boy ordered gendy, sensing her distress. "I want to engrave your beloved face into my memory, as ye must mine, for I do not know when we shall meet again. I expect, when I return, ye will be all grown up, 'Sabelle, a beautiful young chatelaine with dozens of courtiers at your feet," he jested lightly, trying to cheer her.

"Grown up, perhaps, for ye will be gone a long time, I fear," Isabella said gravely. "Years, Alice told me. Oh, Giles, 'twill seem like forever! But there will never be anyone for me but ye," she claimed ardendy.

"Ye say that now, dear sister, because ye are unhappy. But someday, a fme lord will come riding up to Rushden to seek your hand and your heart, and ye will run eagerly to his arms, swept away by love. He will be your world then, 'Sabelle, not me. That is how it should be."

"Nay!" she cried out in protest.

"Aye, dear sister. Wait, and see."

"'Tis true, then? Ye do not jest?" the girl queried anxiously,

her little countenance crestfallen with pain and disappointment.

"Aye, 'tis true. Why, surely, ye thought to be wed someday, 'Sabelle, just as I shall be."

"Nay, I had not thought it."

"Ye are young yet. That is why."

"Well, if someone must take your place then, Giles, I want ye to choose him for me. I'll have no man ye do not favor, and I—I do not trust Lord Oadby to judge wisely and well, with thought to my happiness in the matter."

Her brother's nostrils flared with anger, for he knew she spoke the truth, and the idea of his sister being made miserable in her marriage roused him to fury.

"'Tis a bargain, then, I promise ye," the boy vowed. "When I return, I shall bring with me the most handsome courtier in all of England. He will pay homage to your loveliness and strew roses at your feet!"

"Oh, Giles." Isabella smiled with pleasure at the thought, then sobered once more as the moment passed. "Ye—ye will write to me, will ye not?" Her voice broke. "Promise me," she whispered.

"Aye, of course, I shall."

"And—and perhaps ye will come home at Christmas?"

"If Gloucester gives me leave to do so, why, then, nothing could keep me away, dear sister. Mayhap 1 shall even have a husband for ye then," he teased. "Come. I dare not risk keeping the Duke waiting any longer. He is doubtless akeady wroth with me as 'tis, and I've no desire to start off my fosterage on the wrong foot. Please, weep no more, 'Sabelle. This parting from ye is hard enough as 'tis, and I wouldst not have your sweet face filled with sorrow at bidding me good-bye. Canst thou not give me one smile, dear sister? I have kept the second most important man in all of England waiting in order that I might see ye one last time before my leaving."

Isabella made an attempt at brightness, but her heart ached heavily in her breast all the same as she and her brother walked out into the courtyard together. There, Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton were standing impatiently, along with a huge entourage of men. The Earl's porcine visage was red with anger and embarrassment at having been unable to control either of his wards before His Grace the Duke of Gloucester, Richard Plantagenet, brother of the King. What on earth must his grace be thinking? Lord Oadby glanced surreptitiously at the Duke's face, but nothing of Gloucester's thoughts showed upon his dark countenance.

"I am indeed sorry for the delay, your grace," the Earl apologized for the hundredth time, wringing his pudgy hands together worriedly. "Tis just that since the deaths of their parents, the children have been unnaturally close and—"

"I quite understand, my lord," Richard said coldly, his deep slate-blue eyes flicking with contempt over the Earl's fat figure.

A toady, the Duke thought. How could Ned have given such important wards into the care of a man like Lord Oadby? Why, the Ashlcys are one of the most powerful families in all of England and have served the Yorkist cause honorably and well. 'Tis an insult for a man such as this groveling pig even to set foot on Rushden. 'Tis just as well I am taking the boy away. The lad's late father would turn over in his grave if he knew his son was being reared by this unfit churl.