The Baron's Bounty (16 page)

“Well, everyone says she a shrew. They also say she’s crazy. But Isobel is nice. She’s not a shrew or crazy, she’s kind and smart and –”

“Stop it,” he commanded, no longer able to bear the pain. Everything his daughter was saying was true, but there was naught he could do about it. “I’ve made an alliance with Laird MacEwen. Lady Catherine will be my wife and your new mother, and not Isobel. Do you understand? She is just the proxy and will be leaving soon. No matter how much you like her, nothing is going to change.”

“No, I won’t let you marry the Shrew.”

“Stop calling her that! I told you, I’m already married to her.”

“No, you’re not. You’re married to Isobel.” She pushed his hands from her shoulders. “You’ve consummated the marriage and you sleep with her each night. She is my new mother, and no one else.” She ran off, leaving him standing there with his mouth open. So she knew that he and Isobel shared a bed after all.

The music silenced and everyone stopped dancing. He looked up to realize they were all staring at him. This was horrible. And it was all because Isobel wanted him to dance with his daughter.

He caught her eye and she looked stunned. Then she ran out after Rose, and he turned and made his way out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard. He needed to get away and think and would go up to the battlements where he could be alone. He climbed the stone stairs two at a time, feeling the bite of the air blowing through his hair.

He couldn’t be mad at his daughter, and he couldn’t be mad at Isobel either. He knew in his heart that both of them were right, and he was the one in the wrong here. He’d made a mistake – an alliance that he thought was going to benefit his people and his daughter. Mayhap he wouldn’t be feeling this way right now if Isobel MacEwen hadn’t come into his life. Because he wanted more than anything for Isobel to be his true wife.

Chapter 17

“Rose, where are ye?” Isobel walked through the corridor, and then started up the stairs thinking the girl had gone to her chamber. Then she stopped, held up a finger, walked back down the stairs and hunkered down to look into the shadows underneath the stairway. “I ken ye’re in there, now come on out.”

“Nay,” came a little voice from the darkness.

“All right, if ye’re no’ comin’ out, then I’m comin’ in.” She hiked up her skirts and sat down on the ground and scooted into the shadows under the stairs. “Ye canna jest run away e’erytime ye get into an argument with yer faither.”

“I don’t want him to marry the shrew.”

“Her name is Lady Catherine and ye need te speak of her in respect, jest like yer faither said.”

“Aye, milady.”

“But I have te agree, me cousin is a shrew!”

She heard the girl laugh. Rose crept out of the shadows slightly, and when she did Isobel heard a thunk. She looked down and saw one of the pairs of her new shoes. “Ah, this is where ye hid them. I’m no’ surprised. I think I’ll wear these now. They look like fun.” She removed the shoes she had on, and put on the new pair. They were short drawstring leather boots with silver hobnails around the bottom where the shoe met with the hard leather sole.

“You’re fun, Isobel and I don’t want you to leave.”

“I dinna want te leave either,” she said, pulling the leather laces of the shoes together. “But ye see, I have no choice. I’m no’ goin’ te stay here and watch yer faither take me cousin te his bed.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

That took her by surprise and she found herself dumbstruck. She did have feelings for Conlin, but who was to say if it was love or not. Before she could even answer, her attention was taken by people going up and down the stairs.

“Have you seen the baron?” came Toft’s voice, as his feet stopped right in front of their noses. He had come down from above stairs and was talking to someone who was going up.

“He’s gone out to the battlements to get some air.” It was Shadwell’s voice. And he had on yet a different pair of boots. She wondered if the man liked shoes as much as she did.

“Thank you.” Toft hurried off with a light pitter-patter of feet on the stairs.

“Wait, I’ll come with you. I need to talk to him myself.”

“Lady Isobel –” started Rose.

“Shhhh,” said Isobel, holding a finger to the girl’s lips. “I need te listen.” Shadwell descended the flight of stairs, and Isobel listened carefully to his walk as he made his way over the stone corridor and headed toward the courtyard. It was too hard to hear his footsteps, as a group of children ran up the stairs at the same time, giggling and laughing. “Och, I still dinna ken.”

“What are you doing, Lady Isobel?” asked Rose.

“I’m listening te people’s footsteps.”

“Why?”

“Becooz I’m tryin’ te find the footsteps I heard the night the Scottish king was murdered, but ye canna say anythin’ aboot this te anyone, Rose.”

“I won’t. But what kind of footsteps are you hoping to hear?”

“I’m no’ sure. I’m searchin’ fer someone who drags their feet, and walks quickly, then slowly as if they canna make up their mind.”

“I’ll help you find the murderer,” said the girl, sounding very excited.

“Ye do thet, Rose. But please dinna mention it te yer faither. I dinna think he’d like the idea.”

“What are we going to do about you and my father?” Rose took the shoes that Isobel had changed out of, and pushed them into the shadows.

“What do ye mean?”

“I know you love him. If we can make him fall in love with you too, then mayhap he’ll marry you instead.”

“Rose, ye ken thet isna possible. I told ye, I am only a proxy.”

“Then mayhap something will happen that will change things. My father is a powerful baron, and I’m sure he could be married to you instead of Lady Catherine if he really wanted to.”

“Do ye really think so?” Isobel felt a surge of hope, wondering if what the girl said was true. Conlin was a baron and favored by the king. He was also very wealthy and powerful. With wealth and power came many privileges indeed.

“I think so.”

“To answer yer question, Rose – aye, I think I do love yer faither. But I dinna think he loves me. I think he is still in love with yer mathair, and becooz of it, he may ne’er be in love again in this lifetime.”

“I love my mother too,” said the girl. “But nothing is going to bring her back. My father needs to move forward with his life or he is going to miss out on a very special woman – you.”

“Thank ye, Rose. But I dinna think anyone can make yer faither realize thet.”

“I can,” she said sounding sure of herself.

“How? Ye dinna even talk with him.”

“That’s because we’re hardly every together. He’s always too busy with other things.”

“Mayhap ye’ll get yer chance te talk te him after all. The three o’ us are goin’ te Canterbury at the end o’ the week, and we’re even goin’ te sleep outside on the ground.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up in excitement. “Then I’ll have my chance to make him fall in love with you after all.”

“Nay. No one can make anyone fall in love with another person, and I dinna want ye te even try. Thet’s somethin’ thet just happens naturally. Ye’ll understand this someday when ye meet a boy ye like.”

“I do like a boy right now.”

“Ye do? Who?” She looked into the girl’s eyes, surprised to hear this.

“I like Toft.”

“Toft? The baron’s squire?” She couldn’t help but giggle.

“He’s funny and cute, and just the kind of man I’d like to marry someday.”

“Rose, nay,” she said shaking her head. “Toft is a nice boy, but I’m sure yer faither is goin’ te want ye te marry someone who is wealthy and strong and powerful just like himself. Someone who can take care o’ ye and protect ye.”

“Lady Isobel, Toft will be all those things someday. Besides, that sounds like the kind of man you want to marry. I just want to marry someone who makes me happy.”

“I want thet fer me, too,” she said, rubbing a hand over the girl’s back. “Believe me Rose, I want te marry someone who’ll make me happy too.”

Chapter 18

Several days later Conlin still hadn’t made amends with his daughter. Once again he found himself walking the battlements, thinking about how troubled he’d been lately.

Every day he more or less avoided talking to Rose since he didn’t know how to make things right between them. And every night he slept with Isobel curled up in his arms, as if she were his own wife. It was driving him mad! Between the two females - one who wouldn’t talk to him, and the other wouldn’t stop talking, he was at his wit’s end. Isobel seemed to always be chattering about some nonsense having to do with shoes, but to be honest he was never really listening.

“My lord, my lord,” came Toft’s shout from down in the practice yard. “The men are ready to spar now.”

“Aye,” he said, making his way across the battlements, almost tripping on something sticking out from behind part of the stone structure. He bent down and picked up – a pair of shoes. “Isobel!” He looked at the shoes in his hand and shook his head. Then after making sure no one was watching, he tossed them over the battlements and heard them land with a loud splash when they hit the water in the moat. “Well, it’s not like she hasn’t taken shoes from the moat before,” he told himself with a chuckle and headed down from the battlements to work out some of his pent-up tension.

He didn’t know how much longer he could keep to his deal with Isobel of not coupling with her. He should by right make her sleep somewhere else, but he enjoyed sleeping with her in his arms every night. Or perhaps he enjoyed torturing himself, because he’d been so hot and hard for her that he’d had to leave and walk the battlements in the middle of the night just to cool down. Never in the past three years since his wife died had he found it so difficult to think of anything but coupling.

“My lord,” said Sir Jackson as soon as he entered the courtyard. “I was in town today to pay your bill at the cordwainer’s, and I found it to be quite a substantial amount.”

“Aye, Toft had my shoes repaired, and I’m sure it cost more than usual since they are made from Cordoba leather.” He continued to walk briskly, passing by the falconer outside the mews and the kennelgroom brushing the hunting hounds. They both nodded to him as he passed.

“I’m speaking of all these other charges, my lord.” His steward held a piece of parchment in his hand.

“Just pay it and don’t bother me. You are my steward, that’s your job.” He continued to walk.

“But the total is extreme, my lord. It comes to one mark six pence.”

“What?” Conlin stopped in is tracks and turned around. “God’s teeth, what are you talking about? At that amount I could have shoed my entire staff of servants. Let me see that.” He grabbed the bill from his steward and studied it. “I see the charge for the repair on my boots, but what are all these other charges? They seem to all be for – women’s shoes.”

“Aye, the cordwainer said your daughter and the proxy came in to buy shoes.”

“I told them they could each get a new pair of shoes – one new pair.” He shoved the bill back into the steward’s hands. “Not a bloody dozen!”

“Did you want me to have a talk with them, my lord?”

“Nay,” he said, entering the courtyard to see Toft and several of his knights already sparring and using the quintain as well. “Don’t mention it to them. The women are both very temperamental lately. I’ll confront them about it when the time is right.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Get in line, Sir Jackson, as I’m sparring with all of you today. I’ve got a lot of pent-up frustration to release, so you’d better be on your toes.”

“Of course, my lord.” Sir Jackson left to ready himself. Conlin saw Toft sitting near a pile of hay at the edge of the practice yard shining his sword.

“Toft, I thought you said the men were ready.” Conlin sat down next to him. He looked up to see his daughter sitting in the lists watching. He wondered if she’d come to see him practice. This thought pleased him. Throughout the years, she had never done this before.

“Aye, they are and so are you now.” He handed Conlin his sword.

“How long has my daughter been sitting in the lists?”

“Ever since I got here, my lord.”

“Has she said why she’s here?”

“Nay, I have no idea.” He shrugged his shoulders as he spoke, then looked up and waggled his fingers at the girl. She smiled and waved back. Conlin realized she wasn’t looking at him, but rather at his squire. Odd. He wondered why.

“Grab your sword, squire. You’re the first I’ll spar.”

“Aye, milord.” Toft did as told, and once out on the field, Conlin started with some simple sparring. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Rose was watching, then he used some of his signature moves and had Toft unarmed and down on the ground with the tip of his sword at his throat in a manner of minutes.

“Toft, how many times have I told you to watch that wide swing of yours?” Conlin pulled his sword away from Toft. “You’ll need to practice that or you’ll be of no use to me on a battlefield.”

“I will, my lord.” He jumped up and grabbed his sword and stepped to the side as Conlin went on to best two more of his men. He was about to spar with Sir Jackson when he glanced over and saw Rose at the edge of the practice field in the holding area, talking with Toft now.

“Hold up, Sir Jackson!” Conlin held up his hand and turned and made his way toward his daughter. He noticed Rose’s face turn ashen as soon as she saw him coming. She started to walk away but he called her back. “Rose, come here.”

“Yes, Father?” She clasped her hands in front of her and bit her bottom lip.

“You are not allowed on the practice field and you know it. It’s much too dangerous.”

“She wasn’t really on the field,” said Toft in her defense. “She was just helping me to prepare the staves for the jousting practice coming up.”

“That’s the utmost nonsense I’ve ever heard. If you can’t prepare the weapons without the help of a child, then you are not doing your job as my squire.”

“I’m not a child, Father!” Rose put her hands on her hips when she spoke, reminding him a lot of Isobel right now. “And Toft is right. I’m not actually on the field so I am in no danger.”

“All right, Rose. Just watch me practice from the lists from now on. Go on now.” Conlin lowered his voice and motioned to the lists with his head.

“I’m not here to see you practice.” She glanced over to Toft when she said it.

“Then why are you here?”

Her eyes were big and round. She glanced over at Toft once again and then back to him.

“Rose, there ye are.” Isobel walked up with a big smile on her face and for a moment he forgot what he’d even been talking about. She looked beautiful in her new gown and walked with a new spring in her step today. Matter of fact, she looked taller for some reason. She’d even been wearing long ribbons in her hair tied with fresh flowers trailing down her back. The scent of lavender wafted through the air when she walked up, giving the stench of the sweaty practice yard a new breath of fresh air. “I’m on me way te town and wanted te ken if ye’d come with me.”

Rose started to go, but Conlin cleared his throat and stopped her. “Are you forgetting something, young lady? We were in the middle of a conversation.”

“Ye were?” Isobel glanced over to him. “I thought ye were here te practice.”

“I am practicing. I’m sparring with my men.”

“It looks te me like ye’re jest standin’ around with nothin’ but clishmaclaver spillin’ from yer lips.”

“Isobel,” he said in a low warning voice.

“Father, may I go with Isobel to town?” asked Rose. He’d get no information out of his daughter now that Isobel was here, and figured it was better if she left or she’d just distract him. Both of them would.

“Fine,” he said and turned back to the practice yard. Then he had a thought and called back over his shoulder. “Just be sure to stay out of the cordwainer’s shop.”

He put his sword down on the wooden bench. Feeling very hot, he took off his tunic and threw it on the bench next to him, but it fell to the ground into the hay. He reached down to get it and noticed something sticking out of the hay. “What’s this?”

“What’s what, my lord?” Toft looked over, now shining his own sword.

Conlin reached into the hay and pulled out another pair of women’s shoes. He held them up and then looked over his shoulder at Isobel and Rose walking away, talking excitedly about something. He threw them to his squire, who almost dropped his sword trying to catch them.

“Get rid of these,” he growled, and went back to the practice yard. His frustration had grown and he wouldn’t be surprised if he were here all day trying to diffuse it.

* * *

A little while later, Isobel stood with Rose at the dressmaker’s shop, almost crying out when she saw how beautiful Rose looked. She was wearing the gown they’d ordered for her. It was made from amber velvet and had a wide golden girdle – or belt around the waist. From the long tippets trailed thin veil-like wisps of cloth that reminded Isobel of the wings of an angel. They’d also bought her another new pair of shoes from the cordwainer’s and these had spring heels – stacked leather on the soles that would lift her up and made her taller, just like the ones Isobel was wearing right now.

“Ye look beautiful, Rose. Jest like a young lady.”

“Are you sure my father will approve of this gown?” Rose looked down at the laced bodice. The laces were pulled tightly, showing off the girl’s small but newfound cleavage.

“O’ course no’, but I ken someone else who will.” She smiled, and Rose blushed. The dressmaker was measuring the hem and when the man walked out of the room, Rose stepped down off the raised platform and ran across the room, tripping on her long gown. Isobel reached out and caught her and they both laughed.

“I think I’ll need to learn how to walk not only in these shoes but also in this new gown. I’m not used to the sleeves being so long either.”

“They’re called tippets, me lady,” said Isobel causing Rose to look up.

“You called me . . . my lady.”

“Becooz thet is who ye are. Ye are a lady and from now on, I think I’ll call ye me lady.”

“I like that.” Rose smiled, lighting up her entire face, causing her to look more like a young lady than she ever had.

“So are ye goin’ te tell me why ye were at the practice yard today?”

“I was there to see Toft, and I think you know it.”

“I do. Ye do realize yer faither almost found out too. Ye need to be discreet.”

“Why? You aren’t discreet with my father.”

“Well, thet is different. I’m no’ the baron’s only child.”

“He treats me like a child and I don’t like it.”

“Then ye need te no’ only look like a young lady but act like one too.”

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Havena ye learned from yer mathair and the other ladies o’ the castle?”

“A little, but not much. Most of the time that I was supposed to be sewing in the ladies solar or learning my lessons, I was in the mews watching Toft help feed the birds. Or I was up on the battlements when Toft was in the garrison cleaning my father’s armor.”

“Ye need to listen te yer faither and stay away from the practice yard and especially the garrison. Those are no places fer a young lady te be.”

“Then when will I be able to talk to Toft?”

“I’ll make sure he comes with on our trip, if ye’d like.”

“I would.” She stood up straighter and took hold of her bodice and pulled it lower.

“Ye’d better keep it higher fer now, Rose.” Isobel reached out and pulled it back up. “After all, we dinna want yer faither te drop deid on the spot when he sees ye lookin’ like this.”

“Can I wear it back to the castle, Isobel?”

She shook her head, thinking Conlin would explode if he saw his little girl with cleavage right now. She was sure he had no idea Rose even had any at all. “We’d better wait til the trip te spring this on him,” she said. “After all, we dinna want te upset him afore we’re well on our way te Canterbury.”