The Baron's Bounty (14 page)

“Of course, my lord. Sorry, my lord. I forgot your shoes at the foot of your bed and just wanted to collect them and put them in your wardrobe since I know how fussy you are about keeping your things neat and tidy.” He rushed over and picked up the shoes and Isobel followed him across the room.

“I saw those exact shoes on the feet o’ the murderer the night the Scottish king was murdered.”

“What did you say?” Toft looked up in confusion.

She reached out and pointed at the shoes. “Those shoes are one o’ a kind are they no’?”

“You know they are,” said Toft holding them up proudly. “The cordwainer designed them especially for Lord Conlin. Aren’t they a handsome pair?”

“Toft, please leave,” growled Conlin. “You are not helping matters any.”

“Nay, let him stay,” she said, wanting someone else present. “Toft, ye told me those are the baron’s shoes and thet they got soiled and ripped the night the baron was in Fife. The night o’ the storm when he was supposed te meet with Catherine.”

“That’s right,” he said with a nod of his head. “So are you saying you think the baron murdered the king?” He started laughing.

“I was hidin’ in the bushes and saw the murderer’s feet only. The murderer wore those exact shoes.”

“Then it can’t be the baron,” said Toft. “The baron has had these shoes for six months but has never yet had the opportunity to even wear them.”

“That’s right,” said Conlin crossing the room toward them. The sound of his heavy, even gait echoed in her brain. “I don’t even know if the shoes fit.”

“Then how did they get ripped and soiled?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’m afraid that was my fault,” Toft told her. “I accidentally left the baron’s travel bag on the docks that night. Someone stole it and he lost not only the shoes but his cloak and surcoat as well.”

“A long black cloak and a surcoat with the emblem of the Cinque Ports upon it?” she asked.

“That’s right,” said Conlin as he took the shoes from Toft. “Why?”

“Because that is what the murderer wore that night.”

“It’s obvious, my lady, that somebody stole my things and donned them to kill the king.”

“So ye were with Toft all that evening?” She had to make sure he was telling the truth.

“Oh, nay, he was alone,” said the boy. “I ventured out to try to find the travel bag, which was eventually found. The clothes and shoes were lying next to it near the cliff above the harbor. Or so Shadwell said. He’s actually the one who found it.”

“Shadwell?” She pondered the thought. Things were getting more complicated by the minute.

Conlin interrupted. “Allow me to try on these shoes because I can tell now by looking at them that they will not fit. I told the cordwainer I have wide feet, but I swear the man never listens. He had to widen my last pair of shoes twice.”

Conlin sat on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes, and tried to don the boots, but they did not fit. “Point proven, my lady,” he said, giving the boots back to Toft and putting his other shoes back on.

“So sorry, my lord,” said Toft. “When I ordered the boots for you, the cordwainer measured Shadwell’s feet since he was with me. I thought you two looked to wear about the same size.”

The baron got up and walked back across the room. She listened to his walk once more. “So you see, Lady Isobel, I am not your murderer after all. So next time you write a letter telling someone I am a suspect, you’d better get your facts straight first.”

“Ah!” She suddenly realized that his heavy, precise gate was not at all what she’d heard that night from the killer. The killer had uneven steps and dragged his feet. Even so, the killer’s steps were lighter than the baron’s. “Ye arena the killer, I ken it now and am so sorry, me lord.”

“Apology accepted.” He looked over to Toft. “Take the shoes to the wardrobe and then get on out of here. And don’t say a word of this to anyone.”

“Of course not, my lord. Toft hurried off to the solar, swishing his feet in the rushes that covered the floor as he went. Suddenly she remembered something. That night, the killer had swished at the leaves with his feet, almost as if he’d done it on purpose.

“Toft?” she called out.

“Aye, my lady?” He turned back to her.

“Nothin’,” she said, shaking her head.

He continued to the solar. This time he walked with more purpose, and the light swishing of his steps was not to be heard.

He left the room and Conlin walked over to her with the letter in his hand. “I don’t think we want anyone to read this, do we?” He went to the hearth and tossed it into the fire.

Isobel watched it burn, the edges smoldering and turning in until it crumbled away as ashes.

“I will help you find the killer,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “But you need to tell me everything.”

“I told ye what happened. Thet’s all I ken.”

“It must have been very frightening for you.” He reached out and pulled her into his arms, and she let him do it.

“It was.” She leaned her head against his chest. “I’m sorry I thought it was ye.”

“I’m sorry you just didn’t ask me about it in the first place.”

“I’m frightened,” she said, feeling very shaken because of her thoughts of this harrowing incident.

“Then stay here with me tonight.” He reached out and ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it down, making her feel calmed. “I’m sorry about the other night, my lady. I swear if you stay with me I won’t call out anyone’s name again but yours.”

He reached down and gently pressed his mouth against hers. She closed her eyes, reveling in the softness of his lips from such a hardened warrior. She kissed him back, and that’s when she felt his hands trailing upward getting closer to the sides of her breasts. She knew where this was leading, and had to stop it.

“I canna couple with ye again, me lord. I am only a proxy!” She pushed his hands away. “Lady Catherine is yer wife now, no’ me. Ye’ll have te wait and couple with her when she arrives.”

He took a step back and looked her in the eyes. She saw the need and want showing not only in his eyes but his entire body. If he kept looking at her like that, she would change her mind and pull him down onto the bed herself.

“Fair enough,” he said softly, nodding his head. “But at least stay here with me. We can hold each other and I promise I will not take you unless you want me to.”

She considered saying no, but then he took off his tunic and that glorious bare chest stared her in the face. He walked over and pulled back the coverlet on the bed, and quickly removed his braies and slipped under the covers.

“There is room enough for two, Izzy,” he said, patting the bed beside him.

“What did ye call me?” Her heart almost stopped. That was the name her father had called her when she was younger. She loved it, but he’d stopped doing it once her mother died, and she left to be fostered by her uncle.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I won’t call you that again.”

“I won’t stay unless you do.” She smiled at him and he smiled back.

“Take off Skena’s clothes, Izzy. Tomorrow I’m going to have them all carted away. And if we ever do make love again – I assure you I will have released her and moved on. I know now that you were right in being angry when I called out her name. You are also correct in your assumptions of why I coddle Rose.”

“I understand yer hardships and yer pain, me lord.” She removed the gown quickly and this time removed her shoes as well. She stood there only in a thin shift, feeling herself shiver from the cold. “Ye are right in movin’ on. It is the best thing te do fer no’ only ye, but also fer Rose.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do.”

“Then move on, I shall. Now come here and let me warm you, before you freeze to death. And while we’re sharing the same bed, I’d like you to call me Conlin. But only in private.”

“I understand me lord.”

“Izzy, what did you say?” He cocked his head and looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Conlin,” she answered, and made her way to his bed. He welcomed her with open arms, and she sank down into the covers and laid her head against his chest as his arms encompassed her.

“I am not a killer.”

“I ken thet now.”

“I don’t like people to think I’m a mean bastard either.”

She laughed. “Ye are. Especially around yer daughter.”

“I suppose I am,” he said in thought. “I never wanted Rose to hate me – it just happened. I thank you for taking her under your wing and getting her to laugh again.”

“I like Rose,” she said with a yawn. “She reminds me o’ meself at thet age.”

“Then I have that to look forward to? A daughter who will turn out just like you?”

“Thet’s right,” she said, her eyelids so heavy that they closed as she spoke. She snuggled up to Conlin, feeling warm, safe and protected. Now she was ashamed that she had ever thought he could be a murderer. He was kind, loving, and gentle beneath his rough exterior.

It felt right being in his arms. She felt like she really was his wife, just like Muriel said. It saddened her to think that Catherine the Shrew was someday soon going to be lying with him in his bed in this position instead. She envied her cousin right now, because she wanted more than anything to have a family, a husband, and a home.

Nay. She shook the thought from her head. She wouldn’t think of that, she told herself because it would only make her unhappy.

“Good night, my Izzy,” he said, placing a small kiss atop her head. He ran a hand over her hair endearingly. As she drifted off to sleep, she heard him say something that she would never forget.

“I think I’ve made a big mistake,” he whispered. “If only you were my wife . . . and not just the proxy.”

Chapter 15

The next week went smoothly as Isobel visited with Muriel and the twins, with Rose right there at her side. Conlin and Nicholas had kept busy at the docks, as there were many ships pulling in and out of the harbor and many merchants there for the trade fair. She’d slept with Conlin each night in his arms, but all they did was kiss once in a while, and honestly that didn’t even feel right now that she knew he was really married to Catherine.

“Rose would like a pair o’ shoes like these,” said Isobel, looking at the turned-welt shoes with the decorative ladder-lacing up the back, as she stood in the cordwainer’s shop in town. Turned shoes were made inside out, and then turned. A leather sole was added and a welt – or leather strip was sewn between the shoe and the sole.

Rose watched with excitement. Conlin had told Isobel to choose a pair for herself as well as for Rose. Muriel was along with them now just enjoying the day.

“Of course,” said the cordwainer, scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. “Did you want the same shoes for yourselves then, my ladies?”

“Oh, nay, I’m not getting any shoes today,” said Muriel with a shake of her head.

“Then how about for your babies?” The cordwainer tried hard to make another sale. Everyone knew the babies didn’t need shoes at this young age.

“No, but thank you,” said Muriel in a pleasant tone. “So Isobel, which will you choose?” Muriel adjusted baby Nicholas on her hip. Her handmaiden sat on a bench with baby Nelda. “Mayhap you’d like those instead.” She pointed to a pair of shoes.

“Nay. I already have many pairs of turned shoes as well as boots. I think I’d like something . . . different.”

“Like what?” asked Rose, playing with the shoes.

“I’d like a pair of pointed toe shoes, but made from two-toned Cordoba leather. Like the ones you made for the baron,” she told the cordwainer.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my lady, but that leather has to be ordered and it takes months to get it. Will you be staying in England long so you can wait for it?”

“Nay.” She shook her head, reaching out and picking up an awl from the cordwainer’s toolbox, inspecting it. “I will be leavin’ as soon as me cousin arrives.”

“Isobel, I don’t want you to leave,” whined Rose.

“I’m sorry, but I have te,” she told her. “I’m no’ yer faither’s wife. Dinna forget I’m only his proxy.”

“I don’t want another woman to be my mother. I want you.” Rose reached out and hugged her, and Isobel looked up to Muriel for help.

“Rose, why don’t you come help me take care of the babies while Isobel is getting measured for a pair of shoes?” Muriel held out her hand to the girl. “I’ll even let you feed the babies if you’d like.”

“Really? All right.” Instead of having a temper tantrum, Rose rushed off to the other side of the room to tend to the babies. Isobel looked up and mouthed the words thank you to Muriel before the woman went to join Rose.

“Cordwainer, tell me somethin’,” she said, looking back at the old man. “Have ye e’er made another pair o’ shoes fer anyone like the ones Toft picked up fer the baron?”

“Oh, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “Those were one of a kind. The baron is very choosey, and wanted them constructed in a specific manner. It was very time-consuming and took many days of hard work to make them. They were also very expensive. No one but the nobles would even be able to afford those shoes.”

“Thank ye,” she said, looking over to the shoes he had on display in the front window. “Which o’ these will fit me?”

He leaned over with his measuring string and put it against her foot, then walked over and grabbed a pair of ankle high button-front boots as well as a pair of soft side-strap shoes made from vegetable-tanned leather. “Either of these would fit you fine,” he said. “Or I have three more pairs in the window for you to consider. Would you care to try them on?”

“Nay.” She waved her hand through the air. “I dinna think so.” His smile turned to a frown and he started to walk back to the window to return the shoes to the display. “Actually, while I’m waitin’ fer ye te make me a pair similar te those o’ the baron’s, I’ll jest take all o’ them te hold me over.” She walked over and grabbed the shoes from his hands, then bent over and started scooping the other shoes from the window as well.

“All of them?” His eyes moved back and forth as he watched her collecting the shoes.

“Aye. And I’ll take these and these as well,” she said, picking up two smaller pairs of shoes and then plopping them all down on the counter. “Rose might want te change her shoes a few times a day, so she’ll be needin’ more as well.”

“Of course, my lady,” he said with a large grin. “And will this be on the baron’s bill then?”

“O’ course,” she said with a laugh. “Now wrap up all the shoes but one pair, which I’ll wear right now. We’re headed o’er te the docks next and I want te look guid fer the baron.”

“Which shoes would you like to wear?” He scratched his head as he surveyed the large pile on the counter.

“It doesna matter,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll be wearin’ all o’ them today anyway, so just choose one pair and I’ll start there.”

“Aye, my lady,” he said, hurriedly pulling out a large burlap bag to pack up the shoes.

Muriel walked over to see what was going on. “Isobel, the baron told you to get one pair of shoes for you and one for Rose only. I heard him say it as we left the castle this morning.”

“Then he’ll only see one pair,” she said, taking the large bag from the cordwainer. “I’ll hide the rest in various spots around the castle. He’ll ne’er notice which shoes I have on. Men don’t put importance on these types of things.”

“Can I help you hide them?” Rose asked excitedly, and walked over with one of the babies in her arms. She was very good with children and Isobel was sure she’d make a good mother someday. She was already acting more mature since she’d been around the children.

“O’ course ye can,” she said, ruffling a hand over the baby’s downy hair. “Now let’s go pick up the gown I ordered from the dressmaker and head back.”

“Oh good, I can’t wait to see it,” said Muriel. “But you realize my brother and I could have made you a gown in less than half the time.”

“Well, the baron needs his wife te look guid, even if I’m only a proxy,” Isobel stated. “Mayhap I’ll need another gown te go with all me shoes.”

“Isobel, my brother, Isaac, weaves and I spin wool,” Muriel told her. “We both sew clothes as well and I’ve even made garments for all the nobles back in New Romney. Mayhap before you go back to Scotland, you’ll come visit me in New Romney and let me make a gown for you as well.”

“I’d like thet,” she said, feeling a newfound warmth in her heart. It felt good to have a friend. It was something she wasn’t used to, and would miss very much when she did go back to Scotland.

* * *

“Shadwell, how was the trip?” Conlin stood on the pier with Lord Nicholas, waiting as his First Mate descended the boarding plank. The Lady Bellacose was once again docked and safely home, and he was only too glad to see his ship had come through the trip unscathed. It had been a full week, and he was starting to think the men would never return.

“My lords,” said Shadwell, bowing to both Conlin and Nicholas. “The trip was a success, but Laird MacEwen and his daughter, Lady Catherine, were not happy when the guard told them about the letter from Isobel that you confiscated.”

“By the rood, why didn’t you stop Elliot from saying anything?” Conlin didn’t like this news.

“I didn’t even know about the letter, my lord. If I had known, I would have surely done my best to stop his idle chatter.”

“Where is Elliot?” asked Nicholas, looking up at the ship, shading his eyes with his hand from the sun.

“He stayed in Scotland, my lord.”

“He didn’t come back as Isobel’s escort?” This truly surprised Conlin.

“Nay, milord. He said you told him she didn’t need an escort anymore since she was married to you. Plus, he must have known that you’d be angry about the letter. He decided to stay with Laird MacEwen and his daughter and come back with them on their ship instead.”

Conlin didn’t even want to think of that. “When will they set sail for Sandwich?”

“I’m not sure,” answered Shadwell. “It seems Lady Catherine is ill quite often, so it will depend on her health I suppose.”

“So . . . did you see my new wife?” Conlin couldn’t help but wonder what Lady Catherine looked like.

“I did.” Shadwell nodded, but said no more.

“Does she live up to her name of Shrew and Horseface?” asked Nicholas blatantly, with a huge grin on his face. Conlin scowled at him.

“It is not my position to judge her,” said Shadwell, being smart with his answer. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to the crew and the ship now, my lords.”

“Aye.” Conlin dismissed him, but as he walked away, he called out. “Shadwell – just tell me . . . does Lady Catherine look anything like her cousin, Lady Isobel?”

Shadwell stopped and turned around slowly, and both Conlin and Nicholas just stood there silently, waiting to hear his answer.

“No one could match the beauty of Lady Isobel, my lord,” he said wisely. “But Lady Catherine is . . . just as beautiful . . . in her own way.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Conlin growled. Shadwell just smiled and headed away.

“Ah, here is my wife and children now,” said Nicholas, spotting the women and babies in the cart at the foot of the wharf. “Conlin, I wish you well with your new wife as well as your unruly daughter, but I must be on my way back to New Romney now.”

They clasped hands and when they pulled away, Conlin’s eyes roamed over to Isobel dismounting the wagon with Rose. She had a huge burlap bag in her arms, but Conlin didn’t pay much attention to it. Instead he was watching the way the sun glimmered off her chestnut hair. She wore a new gown made of forest green, with a russet panel peeking out from the front. It looked to be made of soft spun wool. Gold lace trim lined the long tippets as well as the scooped neck of the bodice. She looked very beautiful indeed.

Wearing her own clothes now, she looked nothing like his late wife, and for that he was glad. She had her hair pulled back with a long russet ribbon that trailed down her back, and even had a flower in her hair. She looked like a princess, and all he could think about was how he’d held her in his arms each night as he slept. He found himself wanting more than anything to make love to her again.

But that would all be over soon. As soon as Catherine arrived, Isobel would leave and he’d never hold her or kiss her again.

“Romney, I think I made a mistake and married the wrong girl,” he told his friend.

“Then do something about it,” said Nicholas.

“Like what? Her uncle now thinks I’m married to his daughter, and by right I am. For all I know he may even think I murdered their king. In Isobel’s letter she was asking if Catherine had told him about the murder. My guess is, she probably did.”

“Nay, I don’t think so,” said Nicholas. “If so, why would he even send Isobel to England in the first place?”

“Mayhap he had ulterior motives.”

“Like what?” Nicholas looked up in concern.

“I don’t know, my friend, but anything is possible. After all, their ship went down in a storm.”

“That was an accident.”

“Was it?” Conlin didn’t know what to think anymore.

“He might not have found out about the murder until Isobel left Scotland. In that case, the shipwreck was just an act of nature and naught else.”

“True. Or, he might still not even know the king’s death could have been planned.”

They walked to the end of the pier, and Conlin had a thousand thoughts running through his head. It was a storm that took the ship and most the lives of those on board. But now that he thought about it, any lord would have checked the winds and weather before he sent his ship to sea. Or would they? After all, Conlin had done the same thing – sailing out into a storm on purpose. Twice now, actually. Once while leaving his betrothed in Scotland, and the other while trying to save her on the sea. Mayhap Laird MacEwen was just a lot like Conlin and had schedules to be maintained and wouldn’t let anything get in the way. Or was he?