The Baron's Bounty (19 page)

“My lord, I heard some fierce growling coming from the lake. I feared there was a wild animal nearby and so I checked on Rose to see that she was safe.”

Isobel disappeared into the tent without saying another word, and Conlin couldn’t help letting their conversation upset him.

“Don’t worry about anyone’s safety but your own,” he said, heading into the tent as well.

“Are you sleeping in there as well?” Toft asked.

“Aye.”

“Oh, good idea. So will I.” He got up to follow, but Conlin blocked the door and just shook his head.

“I’ll be watching over the ladies, not only tonight but every minute of the day.”

“My lord? I don’t understand.”

“Sleep on the ground and watch the fire, squire. And keep in mind – that growling animal you heard is closer than you think, so watch your step.”

Chapter 21

Two days later, Isobel rode into the gates of Briarbeck Castle with Conlin, Rose, and Toft at her side. Their trip to Canterbury had been wonderful. She’d made love with Conlin in the lake and didn’t regret it at all.

Of course, she did feel as if God were looking down scowling at her when they visited the massive, but beautiful Canterbury Cathedral. Its stained glass windows were something not rarely seen because they were so expensive. The vaulted ceilings seemed to go straight up to heaven itself. Even the shrine of Thomas Becket inside the church was worth seeing with the Regale ruby displayed from France, and all the rosaries and trinkets left by pilgrims who visited the shrine.

She had been in awe to hear that Conlin had married his first wife in the cathedral. She could only dream of someday having a glorious wedding like that! But then again, she was a soiled woman now and no nobleman would want her. She’d given up all hope of someday being married to a noble the day she agreed to be her cousin Catherine’s proxy.

There was a large crowd of people gathered in the courtyard when they entered, and she wondered if perhaps there was some sort of trade fair happening right there inside the walls of the castle. That is, until a group of people walked out of the Great Hall following Sir Jackson, and she knew at once what was going on. She recognized the MacEwen green and blue plaid. She spied her uncle, and her heart about stopped. Then she saw her cousin, Catherine, walk out and all the servants crowded around her. The alewives at the well whispered behind their hands, and suddenly Isobel felt like an outcast.

“Uncle!” she cried out.

“Laird MacEwen,” said Conlin, quickly getting off his horse. Toft ran over and grabbed the reins. Rose dismounted as well, but Isobel felt sick to her stomach and stayed atop the horse. She froze, unable to move. This was the day she had been dreading more than anything, and now it was here whether she liked it or not.

“Baron Sandwich, we arrived this morning, and ye were nowhere te be found. Is this the way ye greet yer new wife and her faither?” Her uncle’s words cut to the bone, and if Conlin hadn’t reached up to help her down, she would have never dismounted.

“Izzy,” he whispered. “Is that your cousin?”

“Aye,” she said, but that was all. She couldn’t bring herself to say another word.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant, but felt it was only words to comfort her. He knew as well as she that it wouldn’t be all right. Far from it. Now that Catherine was here, she was Conlin’s wife, and that meant that Isobel was naught more than his mistress.

“Come meet yer new bride, Sandwich,” said the Scottish laird motioning with his hand to his daughter. “Isobel come greet yer cousin.”

Isobel didn’t move. She just couldn’t. She didn’t want to greet Catherine because right now she envied her cousin for being married to Conlin. She wanted Conlin as her husband, but nothing in the world could make that happen now. She had sold her soul to the devil the day she made a deal with Catherine to be her proxy. Now because of her decision, Isobel would spend the rest of her days living in hell.

“Come with me,” said Conlin, taking her by the arm, but Isobel pulled away and did not go with him. Instead, she walked over and put her arm around Rose’s shoulder as they watched from afar.

Conlin felt as if he were going to be sick. He hadn’t expected this so soon. He thought he’d have time yet. Or at least he had hoped he’d have time to sort out his feelings for Isobel and try to decide what he was going to do.

He’d just spent three of the best days of his life with Isobel and his daughter. But there was no time to bask in glory because now he was expected to let Isobel disappear from his life forever because he was married to the Shrew of the Scots.

He walked up and greeted the laird, and got his first look at his true bride. Comely, but not nearly as attractive as Isobel. Catherine had blond hair piled atop her head, and was quite a bit taller and more rounded than Isobel. Her face had large features, and her shoulders were much wider than most women’s. Her waist was thicker as well.

Still, she wasn’t ugly, and he wondered just why everyone called her a shrew and horseface behind her back. She was dressed in a beautiful gown made from velvet and silk, and oddly enough she was not wearing the MacEwen plaid.

“This is yer wife, Lady Catherine of Fife,” said the laird. “I’m sure ye’ll want te greet her properly.”

Conlin did as any knight would. He took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth. “My good Lady Catherine, so nice to finally meet you,” he lied through his teeth. He kissed her hand and almost got knocked in the face when she pulled her hand away quickly.

“Don’t kiss me in public! It’s not appropriate,” she snapped, wiping off her hand in her gown. She didn’t speak with a Scottish burr either, but rather sounded like an Englishwoman

Conlin stood upright, noticing everyone in the courtyard watching silently. He didn’t know what to do. “I’m sorry we weren’t here to greet you. I was in Canterbury with my daughter and Lady Isobel.” He turned and motioned for them both to join him. Isobel grabbed Rose’s hand and they walked forward slowly. Toft looked on from behind.

“Isobel why were you in Canterbury with my husband?” sniffed Lady Catherine.

He saw Isobel’s eyes grow wide and knew he had to intervene. “She was with to tend to my daughter,” he said, which only made the shrew laugh. And when she did, he saw teeth – lots of teeth that stuck out much like those – of a horse. He groaned inwardly. Now he knew the origin of the derogative name.

“Isobel can’t take care of anyone’s child. She knows nothing about such things,” said Catherine. “She only cares about shoes.”

Conlin’s daughter spoke up before Isobel had a chance to defend herself. “That’s not true! Lady Isobel is wonderful and is going to be my mother - not you!”

“Rose, hush,” said Isobel, and Conlin noticed her face becoming flushed.

“Rose, please be respectful to Lady Catherine,” Conlin warned his daughter.

“Guard!” The laird waved his hand through the air, and Elliot walked up to join them. Then the Scot looked over to Conlin. “My guard tells me thet ye’ve used the proxy te consummate the marriage te my daughter, Catherine, so congratulations. We willna be attackin’ yer lands after all.”

“What?” screamed Catherine. “Isobel, you bitch! You bedded me betrothed? How could you? You are trying to steal my husband.” She walked up and grabbed onto Conlin’s arm possessively.

“Catherine, I swear I didna ken aboot it until I saw the letter Uncle Chisholm wrote.”

“What letter?” spat Catherine.

“The one Elliot had when our ship went down in the storm. Catherine, I was almost drowned.”

“Well mayhap you should have been, because you have done something so horrible that I will never forgive you, Isobel. I despise you!”

“Now, now, Catherine, calm down,” said her father. “I only gave the order fer yer sake and te seal the alliance.”

Conlin saw the tears in Isobel’s eyes and also the anger on Rose’s face. He tried to go to them, but the shrew held onto his arm tightly, digging her long talons into him. He stayed where he was since he didn’t want to make a spectacle in front of the crowd.

“Perhaps we can all retire to my solar where we can discuss matters in private,” suggested Conlin.

“I don’t want her for a mother.” Rose crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s a horrible person.”

“Rose, still your tongue,” warned Conlin, trying to silence the girl.

“I won’t! And stop treating me like a child.”

“Stop acting like one, and I will,” he told her under his breath.

“I hate you, Father!” Rose ran off crying, and Isobel threw him a nasty glance and then took off after Rose. Toft just stood there staring at him, as well as everyone else in the courtyard. This was going from bad to worse.

“I hear from Elliot thet ye confiscated a letter te me from me niece.” Laird MacEwen took a step closer.

“Sir, if you’d please. We’ll discuss matters in the privacy of my solar.” He looked over to Toft. “Why are you standing there, squire? Take the horses to the stable and get back to your duties.”

“Yes, my lord.” Toft rushed away to do as ordered.

“Steward, send a serving wench up to my solar with some wine and a platter of cheese. I’m sure our guests are parched and hungry from their travels.”

“Aye,” said Sir Jackson, heading away to do as told.

“Please follow me, my laird, and lady.” Conlin tried not to look at Catherine as she stuck to his arm like a bloodsucking leech. He felt a drop of sweat trickle down his chest beneath his tunic. This was the worst day of his life.

“I’m anxious to consummate the marriage myself,” whispered Catherine. “And I assure you, it’ll be much more exciting than bedding that bitch, Isobel. So let’s not make this meeting in the solar last too long.” She opened her mouth and laughed, and all Conlin could see were those long horse teeth.

The last thing he wanted was to couple with this woman. Things had changed lately, and he knew he’d never be able to take her to his bed now. The only one he wanted to make love with was Isobel. His heart belonged to her, and he considered possibly even breaking the alliance before he would actually couple with Lady Catherine.

Aye, this day had just gone from bad to worse, and he didn’t see it getting better anytime soon.

Chapter 22

Once in the solar, Conlin felt as if he could talk more openly to Laird MacEwen without everyone in the castle watching his every move.

“Thank you, you may go now.” He nodded to the serving wench who had just filled goblets of wine for each of them and laid them on the table next to a tray that held several different types of cheese.

The wench curtsied and headed out of the room. That left Conlin, Laird MacEwen, Catherine, and Elliot in the solar.

Catherine held on so tightly to his arm that he felt trapped and as if he couldn’t breathe.

“So how was the proxy, Sandwich?” Laird MacEwen helped himself to a goblet of wine.

Conlin wasn’t sure what he was asking, nor how to answer.

“
Lady
Isobel,
he said stressing her name, is a wonderful girl, and I’d think since you are her uncle you would be more respectful and not call her
the proxy
.”

“Isobel is nothing,” said Catherine, looking up and squinting her eyes at him. “She’s an orphan and doesn’t deserve to even have a title.”

Conlin was getting ready to respond to that, when there was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” he called out, and the door opened and Toft’s head peeked around.

“Baron, Shadwell is here and says he needs to speak to you anon.”

“Fine, come in.”

Toft opened the door wider and both he and Shadwell entered the room.

“Baron, Laird,” said Shadwell, bowing his head as he addressed them both.

“What is so important that it can’t wait, Shadwell?” Conlin used this opportunity to pry Catherine’s fingers from his arm. She glared at him. He walked over and retrieved a goblet of wine and handed it to her. “For you, my lady.” She smiled, showing her teeth again, and Conlin almost liked it better when she just glared.

“Excuse me, my lord, but there is another ship that is flying the Scottish flag wanting to dock in our harbor.”

“Is it a merchant ship?” Conlin picked up a goblet of wine as he spoke.

“Nay, milord,” answered Shadwell. “That is why I came to tell you. It seems they are neither merchants nor fishermen and I’m not sure why they’re here.”

“Those are my friends,” said Catherine, taking a sip of wine. “I’ve invited them to come stay for a spell at my castle.”

“
Your
castle?” Conlin blurted it out before he could think what he was saying.

“Aye,” said Laird MacEwen. “Catherine will be livin’ here with ye now thet ye’re married, so she has the right te invite anyone she wants te her new home.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, downing the wine, not wanting another problem on his hands.

“Sandwich, Elliot tells me ye’ve already betrayed me where the letter is concerned.”

“He does, does he?” Conlin picked up another goblet of wine and downed that too.

“Excuse me, Laird, but I dinna believe I said anything aboot betrayal,” said Elliot looking very nervous. “I only said there was somethin’ in Isobel’s letter thet he didn’t want ye te see.”

“I have an alliance with you, MacEwen, and I can trust that you will respect it as much as I,” Conlin told him. “I did not betray you. I kept the letter until I was able to talk with you about it myself, since it seemed as if I were being suspected of possibly murdering your king.”

Laird MacEwen almost choked on his wine and coughed several times. “Isobel said thet in the letter?”

“Not exactly. It seems she’s been a witness to King Alexander’s murder the night he fell over the side of the cliff.” Conlin purposely said this aloud, and watched the reactions of the others.

“Murder?” asked Toft, shaking his head with a shiver, looking like a dog shaking off after a bath. Shadwell kept his face stone-like and just stared at the ground. Catherine put down her wine and for the first time left his side, walking over to stare out the window. And Elliot wiped beads of sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

“So . . . she saw who did this te our king?” asked the laird.

“Nay,” he said, not wanting Isobel to be endangered. “She did not see the face of the murderer so she has no idea who it was.”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t allow the ship in our harbor after all,” said Shadwell. “Or at least not until after the murderer is found.”

“Nay. Ye can trust me daughter’s friends.” MacEwen shook his head. “I’ll vouch fer them meself. Besides, I’m sure Isobel is just imaginin’ things. There was no murder. It’s been proven that King Alexander got separated from his guards thet stormy night and his horse threw him. That’s all thet happened, I assure ye.”

Conlin hesitated before answering. He didn’t like the reaction of anyone in that room to what they’d just heard. But he’d purposely mentioned the murder when they were all present, since he knew that everyone in the room had been on Scottish soil that night, and could have stolen his shoes and clothes and used them as an alibi to kill the king and pin the murder on him. Still, it made no sense since it had been six months and no one had come forward to accuse him. Aye, he had to use their presence here to his advantage to try to find the killer before the tides turned and he somehow got blamed for the dastardly deed.

“I suppose you’re right. I’m sure she’s just made a mistake since she was lost and alone and very frightened in the storm. All right then.” Conlin nodded, hoping he was making the right decision. He looked over to Shadwell. “Allow the Scottish ship to dock, but make sure a Tidesman boards and stays with them until further orders.”

“Aye, milord.”

“Toft, go find Rose and make sure she is all right since she’s run off.” Then as an afterthought he added – “Actually find Isobel and have her tend to Rose instead. Also, nobody in this room is to repeat a word of what you’ve just heard concerning the speculation of King Alexander’s death or you will answer to me personally. Do you all understand me?”

“Aye,” the men all answered one after another.

“Lady Catherine?” he asked, raising his chin to see her standing across the room.

“I told you my cousin is addled,” she replied. “I would never repeat such a lie.”

“How about you, Laird MacEwen?”

“Sandwich, this is insanity. Talk like this is going te get people killed and wars started. O’ course ye’ll no’ hear a word aboot it comin’ from me lips becooz I ken it is no’ true.”

“Go then,” Conlin said to the men with a nod.

Shadwell, Toft, and Elliot left the room quickly. Catherine still stood gazing out the window, and the laird eagerly filled his goblet from the flagon on the table and downed it in two gulps.

“So did you wish to continue talking about the letter?” asked Conlin, watching MacEwen’s reactions. He looked up to Conlin and their eyes met, but he didn’t look away.

“How do I ken ye arena the king’s murderer, Sandwich?”

“I thought you just said the whole idea was ridiculous and that the king’s death was an accident,” Conlin pointed out. “If so, why would you even be asking me such a thing?”

Laird MacEwen put down his goblet and nodded slowly. “Ye’re right, Baron. But o’ course I jest had te ask. Now if ye’ll excuse me and me daughter, we have guests te greet on the wharf.”

Conlin watched as the two of them left the room together. He felt more now than ever that they at least knew something about the king’s death that night that they weren’t sharing. And part of him felt down to his very bones that someone who had been in his solar during this conversation could have very well murdered the king.