The Baron's Bounty (13 page)

Chapter 13

The wagon rolled into town, and Isobel still wasn’t quite sure where Conlin was taking them. Toft drove the cart, and Conlin rode atop his destrier next to them. Rose was in the back of the wagon, being jostled around as they rode over the bumpy road.

“Are we there yet?” asked the girl from the back, her voice sounding shaky as they came to a stop.

“Ye can ride in the front on the way back,” Isobel told her, climbing out of the cart as Conlin dismounted and tied up his horse. He walked over and held out his arms to help his daughter next, but Rose wouldn’t have it. Instead, she reached out for Isobel, who helped her to the ground instead.

“Thank you, Isobel.” Rose didn’t even look at her father.

“Rose, ye are too big te have someone help ye down. Ye need te start actin’ more like a grown-up.” She looked over to Conlin who had an odd look on his face that she couldn’t decipher.

Things were bustling in the town of Sandwich, and it looked to Isobel as if there were a trade fair in progress. The streets were crowded and all the guilds had their wares set up outside the front of their shops. Several people walked by, bowing and greeting the baron. A small entourage of women eying up the baron gathered in a circle by his horse. In a matter of minutes, everyone was crowding around them trying to sell their wares to a noble. And of course, all the women who were following him were giggling and blushing, obviously not knowing or caring that he was now a married man.

“Good Baron, let me interest you in some new trappings fer yer horse,” said a man who walked with a limp.

“Nay, thank you,” he said, looking forward. He took a hold of Isobel’s elbow and pulled her with him down the street. Rose followed. “Toft, keep an eye on my horse,” he called out, making his way through town.

He didn’t let go of Isobel as they walked, and it made her feel uncomfortable because his grip was a little too tight for her liking. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was angry about something.

“A flower for your lady?” A woman with blackened teeth who was holding a basket of long stemmed carnations, held one up to the baron.

He stopped and let go of her arm. “Aye, I think a flower would be in order for the little lady.” He dug into his pouch and handed the woman a coin and took the flower from her. His eyes met Isobel’s and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. Never had a man given her a flower before. He had bought her one and was about to give it to her in front of everyone. Mayhap he wasn’t so bad after all.

But that thought left her quickly, when he turned and handed the flower to his daughter. “Here you go, Rose. Since I know you don’t like roses, I got you a carnation instead.”

Isobel watched as the girl’s eyes turned downward, and she made no attempt to take the flower from him. The moment was awkward indeed, and everyone was watching. If the girl made a fuss it was going to be very embarrassing for the baron. So Isobel did the only thing she could.

“Oh, Rose, this will look so bonnie in yer hair.” Isobel took the flower from the baron and broke off the stem, sticking the flower under the ribbons that encircled the girl’s head. “So,” she said, playing with Rose’s hair, not looking at the baron. “I’m wonderin’ where yer faither is takin’ us?”

“Father, where are we going?” Now that Rose had asked, of course he would answer. He always answered his daughter’s questions. It was just Isobel’s questions he ignored – like when she’d asked him six times already where they were going, on their journey to town.

“We’re here now,” he said, leading the way into the front door of a dressmaker’s shop. Isobel guided Rose into the shop and stepped in behind her.

“Oh, yer faither is goin’ te buy ye a new dress,” said Isobel excitedly.

“It’s not for her,” said Conlin. “Rose has her personal clothier back at the castle who makes her clothes. We’re here so you can get measured for a gown and stop wearing all of Skena’s clothes.”

“Oh. I see.” She noticed Rose getting upset when he mentioned her mother’s name. “Rose, honey, look at those cute bairns thet lassie is holdin’,” she said pointing across the room. “Let’s go take a look.”

“Muriel? What are you doing here?” Conlin stepped in front of them, making it to the woman before them.

“Lord Conlin, it’s so nice to see you.” The woman handed one of the babies to a nursemaid and then reached up, standing on her tiptoes to give Conlin a kiss on the cheek. Immediately, Isobel felt a surge of jealousy flow through her.

She bent over and whispered to Rose. “Is thet a friend of your faither’s?”

“That’s Muriel and the twins!” Rose ran over and hugged the woman as if she knew her. “Can I hold the babies?” She jumped up and down as she waited for her answer.

“One at a time,” said Muriel. “Did you want to hold Nicholas or Nelda first?”

“Nelda,” said Rose, and the woman gave her the baby.

“Sandwich, there you are,” came a voice from the door. Isobel turned to see Conlin’s friend, Baron Nicholas from New Romney duck through the door as he entered. She remembered seeing him at Great Yarmouth. This woman must be his wife since one of the babies was named Nicholas. “I saw that huge horse and squirrely squire of yours down the street and knew you had to be here somewhere.”

The men greeted each other, and Nicholas took the baby boy from the nursemaid and held him up proudly. “Isn’t Nicolas getting a nice head of hair?”

“This is a surprise, as I didn’t see your ship in my harbor.” Conlin’s eyes trailed over to his daughter holding the baby. “Rose, give the baby back before you drop her.”

Rose scowled at him and handed the baby back to Muriel.

“We didn’t come by sea but by land,” Nicholas told him.

“That’s right,” added Muriel. “Since the twins started crawling, it’s dangerous for them to be aboard a ship. So we took the cart instead.” Then Muriel looked over to Isobel, seeming to be the only one who even noticed her standing there. “And who are you?” she asked with a kind smile.

Before she could even answer, Conlin did it for her. “This is Isobel MacEwen. From Scotland.”

“I see.” Muriel’s eyes roamed over to her husband.

“They were just married,” said Nicholas, bouncing his baby boy in his arms.

“Well, congratulations. I’m Muriel Draper,” said the woman with a smile. “I am married to Lord Nicholas, and these are our children.”

“The bairns are lovely,” said Isobel. “But Conlin and I arena married.”

“No?” Muriel looked very confused.

“She’s his proxy,” Nicholas spit out before Conlin could say a word.

“A proxy? I don’t understand.”

“The baron is betrothed to me cousin, Lady Catherine,” Isobel told her. “She wasna able te make it, so she sent me in her place.”

“You poor thing. How awful.” Muriel handed the baby to the nursemaid and walked over and put her arm around Isobel.

“Muriel is a spinster,” Conlin told her. “Perhaps she can help you decide what type of gown you’d like the dressmaker to construct for you.”

“Aye, I’d love to. Spinning wool and making clothes is what I do.” Muriel brought her to the other side of the shop where the shopkeeper showed them several bolts of cloth.

“I wish I could wear the plaid o’ me clan,” she told Muriel, not liking any of the fabrics.

“I’m sure Lord Conlin could arrange that for you.”

“Just decide on something quickly, as we need to get back to the castle,” Conlin called out from across the room. One of the babies started crying, and Muriel excused herself to go to it.

“Father, can they come to the castle? I’d love to play with the babies,” she heard Rose ask Conlin.

“Aye,” answered Conlin. “Of course. Romney, you and your family are welcome to stay with me for as long as you’d like. And while you’re here I’ve got something of utmost importance to discuss with you that I’ve just discovered.” He patted the pouch at his side and Isobel wondered what he meant. She hadn’t seen nor heard of anything at all that seemed important since she’d been in Sandwich. The only thing that was truly important is that she found out if Conlin had murdered the king or not.

Not a half hour later, Isobel walked alongside Muriel after ordering her new gown. Conlin and Nicholas led the way, and Rose chatted with the nursemaid, oogling over the babies.

“How old are ye bairns?” asked Isobel.

“Just over six months now,” Muriel told her. “So, tell me how you became a proxy. I couldn’t imagine being married to someone but not really married at the same time.”

“It’s worse than ye’d think, becooz I had te consummate the marriage as well.”

“What?” Muriel stopped in her tracks with her mouth and eyes wide open. She lowered her voice. “So you coupled with Lord Conlin?”

“Aye. Isna thet what consummatin’ a marriage means in England? It is in Scotland.”

“Mayhap I shouldn’t have felt so sorry for you after all. Every woman up and down the coast has dreamed of warming the bed of Lord Conlin de Braose.” She pointed out the small entourage of women following the baron down the street just to prove her point. “Especially since he’s been single for the last three years. Oh, Isobel, tell me all about it.”

“There’s naught te tell.” She watched a juggler walking down the street juggling eggs as he walked. Rose ran over to see him, and her father hurried over and pulled her away. “I married him, we coupled, and thet’s all there is to it.”

“So when is your cousin coming to England to take the place of being his wife?”

“Hopefully soon. I sent a missive te me uncle and told him I no longer want te be a  proxy. I feel as if I’m a puppet on a string. Between me cousin, me uncle, and Lord Conlin, I canna remember who I really am.”

“I understand, Isobel. My brother and I had to learn to survive by ourselves when my father passed away. I was only a spinster – a mere merchant’s daughter, but I ended up as Nicholas’s personal clothier to pay back my father’s debts.”

“So ye werena a noble and yet he married ye?”

“That’s right.” She nodded and smiled. “Sometimes things happen that you don’t expect, nor can you really explain. I wouldn’t be surprised if somehow you ended up as Conlin’s wife instead of Catherine.”

“Why would ye say thet?”

“Because I see the way he looks at you. Like a man who’s in love.”

Her heart jumped when Muriel said that. “I dinna think the baron loves me, becooz he still loves his deid wife.”

“And so should he,” she answered. “I would expect naught else from a man like him. But Isobel, you are here and she is not. And if you’ve already married him and consummated the wedding for your cousin – as far as I see, you are already his wife.”

Isobel didn’t answer, because her eye caught on something in the window of the next shop. It was something she’d been searching for now for the last six months. “Those shoes!” She pointed to a pair of men’s boots in the window that looked exactly like the ones she’d seen on the murderer. “I need te go inside.” She rushed into the shop, and Muriel followed. She ran over to the window with her heart beating furiously. She picked up the boots to examine them, and when she did, a hand reached around and snatched them away from her.

She spun on her heel to see Toft standing there with the boots in his hand and his usual smile on his face.

“Toft, what are ye doin’?

“I’m running an errand for the baron,” the boy answered. “He sent me over here to pick up the boots he was having cleaned and repaired.”

“Those are the baron’s boots?” Her heart almost stilled to hear this.

“Aye,” he said, turning them in his hand to admire them. “He actually bought them six months ago right before we went to Scotland. They got soiled on the trip from the storm and ripped as well.” He tossed a coin to the cordwainer and headed to the door. “They’re one of a kind and the baron has taken a liking to them, so he’ll be happy to have them back. They’ve been here for months because I keep forgetting to pick them up.” He reached out and knocked himself in the forehead. “If I forget once more to pick them up, I swear the baron will have my head.”

“For months?” She ran after Toft as he hurried back to the cart.

“That’s right. I brought them to the cordwainer’s shop in March, right after we returned from Scotland when he was supposed to meet Lady Catherine but she didn’t show up. He was so angry because we ended up setting sail in the middle of a storm because of that, just to stay on schedule.”

“March,” she repeated and stopped in her tracks as Toft continued to the cart where the rest were waiting. March was when King Alexander was murdered. And the squire had just told her that they were there on the exact night that it happened.

She knew who the murderer was now . . . because she had the shoes to prove it. Lord Conlin de Braose was the man who murdered the Scottish king!

Chapter 14

Conlin and Nicholas shared a flagon of wine, sitting in front of the fire in the Great Hall after the meal was finished. Nicholas had one baby on each knee, and since they were both teething, they were gumming his fingers.

“You have your hands full there, Romney,” said Conlin, leaning back on the wooden bench and stretching his legs toward the fire. He cradled his goblet of wine in both hands.

“Not as much as you do with your new proxy.” Nicholas nodded toward Isobel at the other side of the room. She had her skirt hiked up, and her foot was on the bench as she showed Muriel her shoe. Then Rose did the same thing, mimicking her actions.

“Rose!” Conlin shouted across the room. “Put your foot down and act like a lady.”

“But Father, your new wife is doing it, and she’s a lady.”

“She’s not,” he called back.

Isobel put her foot down and her hands went to her hips. “I am too a lady, or did ye forget?” She stared daggers at him across the room.

“I meant - not my wife, not . . . oh forget it.” He waved a hand through the air and took a big swig of wine.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately, but ever since Isobel showed up, Rose has been more unruly than ever.”

“I meant Isobel.”

“Oh. Yes, she certainly is . . . something.” He glanced back at her again. The music had started up in the gallery overhead and a musician was cranking out a cheery tune on the hurdy-gurdy. He cranked the wheel on one side of the instrument and used his fingers to pluck the strings that were similar to a lute, but much longer. Isobel clapped her hands to the music, then took hold of Rose’s hands and swung her around as they danced.

“What is she doing now?” He put down his goblet on the table and started to get up.

“Relax, Sandwich, they’re just having fun. It seems you have forgotten the meaning of the word since Skena’s death.”

“Aye, I suppose you are right.” He sat back down and looked to the ground. “I never even got to dance with Isobel at the wedding.”

“Then go dance with her now.”

Conlin looked over to Isobel who was turning circles on the dance floor with Rose. Both of them were smiling and laughing and it reminded him of the days when his own wife was alive and how she’d always made sure everyone in the castle was happy. He missed those days. And he really liked the way Isobel had brought laughter back into Rose’s life. He wanted to dance with her, really he did, but he couldn’t. It was too dangerous. “I . . . can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” The babies started to fuss and Nicholas jostled them up and down on his legs making an irritating noise trying to sound like a horse.

“Damn it, I can’t! If I so much as take her in my arms I’ll want to couple with her again. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since we’ve lain together.”

“That good, was it?”

“Aye.” He downed the rest of his wine, and stared into the bottom of the empty goblet. “That good.”

“Then why don’t you do it again?”

“Egads, she’s a proxy, Romney. I never should have coupled with her in the first place, but her uncle insisted in his missive that we needed to, or else our alliance would be broken.”

“I see,” said Nicolas with a smile. “Holding out for the Shrew are you?”

“Don’t even remind me.” He rolled his eyes and motioned for a serving boy to fill up his goblet again. The boy filled his goblet as well as refilled their flagon of wine and left.

“Here, this will take your mind off the girl.” Nicholas took one of the babies and plopped it onto Conlin’s lap. Conlin’s arms went around the little boy instinctively and the baby reached out and started to suck on his finger. It felt good to hold a baby again, especially a little boy. Conlin missed his own children, and had never even gotten a chance to hold his newborn baby boy before it was laid into the ground.

This only made him feel worse, and he motioned for the nursemaid. When she came over he handed the baby to her. Nicholas did the same with his baby daughter.

After the woman left, Nicholas picked up his goblet and took a deep draw, then put it back and stared at Conlin. “I know you too well and can tell there is something else bothering you, my friend.”

“Aye. There is something, you are correct.”

“So tell me what this important matter is that you wished to discuss with me earlier.”

Conlin’s eyes flashed over to the other side of the room. When he was sure Isobel was distracted with the babies, he pulled the missive out of his pouch and handed it to Nicholas. Nicholas scrutinized the outside of it, put down his goblet, and opened the letter to read it. “God’s eyes, what is this?”

“It’s the letter Isobel wrote to her uncle and was having the guard deliver to him in Scotland. I’m glad I intercepted it.”

“I can’t believe what I’m reading. He held the letter in one hand and looked up to Conlin. Is it true?”

“If you mean the part about her saying I could have killed the Scottish king, nay. Of course not. But as for the king being murdered – I think we need to find out just what she knows and what she’s hiding from us.”

“This is preposterous. If the king’s death wasn’t really an accident like we’ve been told, this could turn very ugly indeed.”

“Especially if they think it was caused by an Englishman. That would mean war.”

“Hah!” Nicholas handed the letter back and shook his head. “I’m sure none of us were there at the time. They can’t pin this on the English.”

“I was there,” he said, looking down and putting the parchment back into his pouch.

“Nay. You were on a trade up north at the time if I’m not mistaken.”

“I stopped at the port in Fife for a few hours that night, as I had planned on meeting my betrothed, though she never showed.”

“What are you saying, Sandwich?”

“I’m saying that I was docked right near where the king went over the cliff to his death.”

“Well, surely you have witnesses that can vouch that you never left the docks?”

“Nay. I went alone up to the lighthouse to meet Catherine. When she didn’t show I left in anger, risking the storm at sea just to get out of there and keep to my schedule.”

“So . . . it looks like you ran. Even risking your ship being taken in a storm.”

“Aye. That’s what it looks like.” He glanced over to Isobel and just shook his head. “I wonder what makes her think it was a murder that night and not an accident like was reported?”

“You need to find out, Conlin. Because if she knows something and told others and you look like you could have been involved – I’d hate to even think what would happen.”

“I can’t allow my name to be attached to the death of the king of the Scots.” He pushed up from the bench, not looking forward to what he had to do. “I will do anything to protect my daughter, my lands, and my people, as well as not sully the name of King Edward in the process. I swear to God, no crazy Scottish wench is going to put me in such an awkward position. I’ll do whatever I can to stop this rumor, and bid the devil if Isobel thinks I’m dangerous, then that’s the side of me she’s about to see!”

Isobel was enjoying herself for one of the first times since she came to Sandwich. Rose had taken a liking to her, and she also loved making a new friend in Muriel, as well as being around the babies. She’d never had siblings. And while her uncle had other children, they were much younger than her. The only one she grew up with that was her own age was Catherine. And God knows that being around Catherine was anything but pleasant.

She was about to pick up one of the babies when Conlin shot across the room and his fingers closed around her wrist.

“We need to talk.” He dragged her away before she could even say goodbye to her new friend.

“Ye’re hurtin’ me,” she said, struggling against his hold as he dragged her up to his solar and pulled her inside the room. He slammed the door and threw her down on the bed. He headed over to the fire on the hearth, lit a twig and brought it over to light the nighttime candle that was in a tall iron holder next to the bed.

“You betrayed me.” He blew out the fire on the twig, throwing it down on the table. Then he pulled something out of his pouch. Isobel pushed up and sat on the bed with her feet dangling off the end. The last time she’d been in his bed they’d made love. She didn’t want to think about that right now.

“I dinna ken what ye mean.”

“This!” He held out a letter – her letter to her uncle if she wasn’t mistaken. She snatched it from his hand and opened it to verify that her suspicion was true.

“Nay.
Ye
betrayed
me!
Ye not only opened a sealed letter but ye kept it from getting to me uncle. How could ye?” She squinted her eyes and crinkled her nose and shoved the letter back against his chest.

“I am the one asking the questions here.” He held the letter in one hand and paced back and forth as he spoke. “What do you know about your king’s death and why are you trying to involve me? Do you want another battle between the English and the Scots? Rubbish like this is going to cause an all out war, young lady. I’m only too glad I intercepted it before it got to Scotland via my own ship nonetheless.” He waved the letter in her face now.

“Stop talking te me as if I’m yer daughter.” She stood up and stepped away from him. “Neither of us is a child and it’s time ye stop treatin’ us thet way.”

“What?” He couldn’t believe that was the part seeming to bother her the most.

“I’m a lady if ye havena noticed, and Rose is twelve yet ye treat her like she’s six.”

“I do not.” He continued to pace.

“Aye, ye do. Why do ye think she doesna even like ye?”

“She doesn’t like me because she blames me for her mother’s death.”

“Then do somethin’ aboot it. Talk te her and explain how ye feel. And fer God’s sake let her grow up. Most girls her age are being fostered at another castle or even betrothed by now.”

“She’s not going anywhere. It’s too dangerous.”

“Ye canna shelter her fer her entire life.”

“I need to watch over her. She’s all I’ve got.”

“Then mayhap ye ought te stop pushin’ her away and bring her closer into yer life instead.”

His brow furrowed and he almost seemed to consider it for a second but then he threw down the letter on the bed and shook his head. “Stop changing the subject. You’re trying to control me.”

“We’re both naught but puppets on strings, so get used te it.”

“Isobel, what do you know about your king’s death? Tell me now, and stop changing the subject.”

“I ken fer a fact he was killed that night, becooz I was alone in the woods after me horse ran off.”

“What? Why?”

“Becooz I was comin’ te meet ye at the lighthouse. Catherine wouldna go out in the rain and she was sending me instead.”

“Why would you agree to go?”

“Becooz she gave me somethin’ I wanted.” She looked down at her feet.

“Shoes again! Seriously?”

“Shoes are important,” she retorted.

“Not in my opinion, they’re not.”

“I heard two people arguin’ thet night and then heard the king’s body crashin’ o’er the side of the cliff.”

“Go on.” He stopped his pacing and listened intently.

She didn’t want to tell him everything, in case he really was the murderer. “Thet’s it.” She looked up and forced a smile.

“You’re lying, Isobel, now tell me the truth before I have to shake it out of you.” He took a step forward and she moved so quickly, she fell to the ground. When she picked her head up, those damned shoes were at the foot of the bed right in front of her face. Her body tensed and the fear she’d felt that night once again engulfed her – the shoes bringing her to a frenzied state.

“Get up,” he said, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet.

He was going to kill her, she knew it. She felt his hold on her arm and she had to get away. She wouldn’t let him kill her the way he’d done to her king.

“Let me go!” She struggled against his hold.

“Isobel, stop it.”

“Dinna hurt me, please.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I dinna believe ye.” She reached down and bit him on the hand.

“Ow! What do you think you are you doing?”

He let go and she picked up her skirts and ran to the door. Her heart beat furiously, and she heard the sound of his heavy, even footsteps as he made his way across the room, coming after her, probably with his dagger raised to plunge through her heart. She yanked at the door at the same time someone opened it from the other side, and was knocked backward, ending up in Conlin’s arms.

“So sorry, milady, I didn’t know you were there.” Toft stood there with one of his silly expressions on his face until he saw what was going on. “Did I interrupt something? Is there something wrong?”

“Aye,” said the baron, righting her and letting go. “Now get out of here, Toft.” With his hold went his protective warmth and she was confused. Why wasn’t she shaking in fear after being so close to him?