The Baron's Bounty (22 page)

Chapter 27

Isobel watched as the shore got further and further away. Her heart broke to be leaving England. She would miss Rose. She never even had the chance to say goodbye. And she would miss Conlin most of all. She loved him, and it was so hard for her to walk away. Still, he hadn’t seemed like he was interested in doing anything to try to get out of the marriage with Catherine and be with her instead.

“I’ll miss ye,” she said softly with a tear in her eye. She’d done the only thing she could by leaving, she told herself. There was no way she would stay there and be miserable each time Conlin took Catherine into his arms. She wanted to be the one in his arms, and all the shoes in the world couldn’t make that pain go away.

“Dinna worry. We can come back fer the weddin’,” said Laird Angus, coming to her side.

“What weddin’? Ye mean Catherine’s? She’s already married, thanks te me.” She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked upward to see him. His tall frame moved slightly, blocking the sun. That’s when she noticed how wrinkled he looked and how much gray was in his hair and beard.

“Nay, no’ hers, mine.”

“Yer weddin’? Who are ye marryin’? Please dinna tell me Conlin agreed te yer betrothal with his young daughter, Rose?”

“Nay,” he laughed, laying a hand on her shoulder. Her muscles tightened under his touch. “I thought ye kent, Isobel. Yer uncle has made an alliance with the MacDonald clan.”

“What are ye talkin’ aboot?” She moved away from him, which caused his hand to slip off her shoulder.

“Ye’re me betrothed, Isobel.”

“What!” Her eyes opened wide and she felt her throat tighten.

“I ken ye are soiled becooz ye bedded the baron, but I told yer uncle if he added more te the dowry, I’d take ye as ye are.” He walked up and cupped her chin in his hand. “Ye are so much more curvy and delicious than the baron’s daughter. I like this arrangement better.”

“Nay! Get yer hands off o’ me.” She pushed his hand away. “I’m no’ marryin’ ye. Ever.”

“The betrothal has been made, lassie. We will marry within the month. We can come back te Sandwich fer a visit if ye’d like. Thet way ye willna miss yer friends.”

She turned her body and held onto the wooden rail of the ship, keeping her back rigid. She felt as if she were going to retch. Had Conlin known about this? Was that why he didn’t try harder to get her to stay? Either way, she knew now that it didn’t even matter. She didn’t want to marry Laird Angus MacDonald, and she wouldn’t. If she had to swim all the way back to Sandwich she would do it, just to get away from a man she didn’t want nor love. But she would get back to Sandwich if it were the last thing she ever did. And once there she would tell Conlin that she wouldn’t give up until she was his wife, no matter what it took.

“She looked down to her new shoes and suddenly realized that Catherine must have known about this all along. She wanted Isobel away from Conlin. She wouldn’t be surprised if this betrothal was all her idea. Well, Catherine wouldn’t control her like a puppet on a string anymore. This was the last time her cousin would ever dangle shoes in her face and get her to do her bidding. She could live without shoes, but she couldn’t live without Conlin. She needed to do something about it right away. If she went back to Scotland with Laird Angus, her life would be over forever and she would never see the man she loved again.

* * *

Conlin paced the solar, frustrated as all hell. He’d not only been unable to stop a murder from taking place right inside his castle walls, but he also let the girl he loved sail out of his life forever.

“Sandwich, tell us again about these – shoes?” Nicholas picked up his tankard of ale and raised it to his lips. Muriel and the babies were with Rose, and Conlin had sent several nursemaids to help. He wanted only himself and the other two barons here right now. He had to figure this out before anyone else was hurt.

“Isobel saw the king’s murderer’s feet only. The man wore my shoes.”

“Why did he have your shoes again?” John picked at the sweetmeats on the tray and popped one into his mouth, moaning in delight at the delectable taste of the candied fruits.

“I told you, my things were stolen the night I docked at the Scottish port. I was supposed to meet Lady Catherine for the first time, but she didn’t show up. She’d sent Isobel to meet me instead, but her horse ran off and she also was separated from her guards.”

“And your squire found the shoes,” said John.

“Nay, Shadwell found them, but Toft was out looking for them as well.”

“So either of them could be the killer.”

“I highly doubt my squire is capable of such a thing, but I can’t be certain of anything anymore,” said Conlin.

“So, you think the murderer knew the king was there that night?” asked Nicholas.

“Either that, or they ran across him by accident. And whoever that person is, is now walking the floors of my castle.”

“Let’s see the shoes.” John held out his hand and waggled his fingers.

Conlin went to the wardrobe to get them, but they weren’t there. “They’re gone,” he announced, cursing himself for not looking for them earlier.

“Well, who was in the room?” asked Nicholas.

“Lady Catherine was here most the night. However, she did say she stepped out for a while to use the garderobe and find something to eat.”

“So the murderer could have entered then to steal the shoes.” John nodded his head as he chewed.

“Or before Catherine ever got here.” Conlin paced the floor in thought. “Laird MacEwen brought Catherine up here when she started acting oddly during our dance.”

“What do you mean by odd?” Nicholas stood up and stretched. He yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“She seemed to get angry at random people for no reason at all,” Conlin explained. “She even started shouting gibberish at them in a low voice that sounded nothing like her own voice.”

“My wife has her moments as well, Sandwich.” Nicholas waved a dismissing hand through the air. “I tell you, that is just what women do, so get used to it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Were the others near your solar at all?” asked John, popping yet another sweetmeat into his mouth from the tray.

“Aye. Toft normally sleeps here, so all his things are here as well. He comes and goes as he pleases. And Shadwell was here that day, bringing Lady Catherine’s trunks from the ship.”

“So we should watch them both.” Nicholas nodded his head.

“We need to find out who took the shoes and where they are,” said Conlin. “Then we’ll have our culprit. Unfortunately, they are all suspects, as well as all have alibis as to where they were last night. I’m so suspicious right now, that I even suspect Catherine.”

“Your own wife?” asked John with a raised brow. “Do you really think she could have done it?”

Conlin dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. “I wouldn’t put it past anyone anymore.”

The door opened and Catherine walked in, followed by her father.

“So here you are, husband.” Catherine hurried to the other side of the room and sidled up next to Conlin.

“Catherine, not now.” He took her hand off his arm.

“Sandwich, I thought ye’d be more acceptin’ o’ me daughter now thet yer proxy has left.” Laird MacEwen closed the door as he entered. “Especially since she’s gettin’ married.”

“Married?” Conlin’s head jerked upward, and he hoped he’d heard wrong, because the only person he wanted to see Isobel married to was himself. “What do you mean?”

“She’s betrothed to Laird Angus MacDonald,” said Catherine with a smug smile.

“Nay, she’s not. I’d have heard about it if it were true.” Conlin’s eyes traveled from Catherine back to her father.

“She didna tell ye? What a shame, Sandwich.” Laird MacEwen sat down on a chair. “I betrothed her te the laird last night while ye were out tryin’ te avoid me daughter.”

“He wasn’t avoiding me,” screamed Catherine, and Laird MacEwen bounded off the chair and rushed over to comfort her. “You want me, don’t you?” she asked, her eyes looking crazed, and Conlin was almost afraid to answer.

“Me daughter needs her rest,” said the laird, patting her on the back.

“Aye, we were all just leaving.” Conlin led the way with John and Nicholas right behind him. John closed the door and looked to his friends in question.

“What do you make of that?”

“If you mean Isobel’s betrothal, I’m furious.” Conlin stomped down the hall and his friends followed.

“Well, I was talking about Catherine’s outburst, but now that you mention it, what are you going to do about Isobel’s betrothal?” John kept pace at Conlin’s side.

“There’s nothing he can do,” said Nicholas, hurrying to catch up with them. “After all, what’s done is done. Just like your marriage to Catherine. Right, Conlin?”

“Nay. Wrong.” He never felt so furious in all his life. If Isobel thought she could just leave without even telling him about the betrothal, she was sadly mistaken. “Please watch over Briarbeck Castle until I return.”

“Return?” John looked at him oddly. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got a ship to chase down, and I’m sure by now it’s already halfway to Scotland.”

“You’re going after her?” Nicholas sounded amused.

“I am. And when I find her, I’m going to tell her I love her and that I’m going to find a way for us to be married.”

“Really,” said both John and Nicholas together. Then they both laughed as if they didn’t believe he could do it. But he was determined to do just that – or die trying.

Chapter 28

Isobel waited until nightfall, and then she sneaked over to the side of the ship. She watched over her shoulder to make sure the captain and his crew didn’t notice her. It was a foggy night, and it would help her to stay unnoticed. She worked quickly and quietly to loosen the ropes holding one of the shuttle boats over the side of the ship. It landed in the water with a splash, and her heart jumped as she looked back, hoping they hadn’t heard it. The captain and his crew were drinking and in the midst of a game of dice, and didn’t even look up.

She picked up her skirts and hoisted her foot up to the top of the wall of the ship, noticing her new shoe in the moonlight. She took a mere moment to admire it, and then shook the thought from her head. Shoes had been her motivator her entire life, but now they had brought her sadness and trouble. She didn’t want Catherine controlling her like a puppet on a string anymore, dangling shoes in front of her nose like she would dangle a carrot in front of a horse. And Isobel knew she was the only one who could stop it.

“I’ve had enough,” she said, quickly pulling the shoe off and then doing the same to the other. They felt so wonderful in her hands and her heart ached at what she was about to do. She no longer cared, she told herself. She had to do it. It was her only way to be free of this addictive obsession.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she threw the shoes over the side and into the water, and her heart ached as she saw them disappear into the black depths below her.

“What’s thet noise?” One of the crewmembers stood up and looked around.

She quickly hoisted herself up onto the sidewall, preparing to go over. Then she realized she didn’t have oars, and came back and grabbed them, and headed to the wall once again.

“It’s Isobel,” came the captain’s voice. “What is she doin’?”

“Isobel, come here, lassie,” called out Laird Angus next.

“Nay, I’m no’ marryin’ ye. And ye canna stop me from leavin’.”

“Ye’ll ne’er survive in the ocean by yerself, don’t be daft.” Lord Angus started across the deck towards her.

She lowered herself into the boat quickly, sat down, pushed off the side of the ship and used the oars to row away.

“Get the grappling hooks,” she heard the laird call out, and though she rowed vigorously, the sea was unforgiving, and she didn’t get far. Then she heard the thunk of the grappling hook hitting the inside of the boat and she started moving backwards toward the ship as they pulled her in. She reached over and with all her might, pulled at the hook but it was embedded into the wood and she couldn’t remove it.

“Dinna be daft, Isobel. Ye canna survive out on the sea alone,” called out the laird.

“I’ve done it afore, and I’ll do it again. I’m no’ coming back and I’m no’ marryin’ ye.”

Then as if by a miracle, the fog broke and the tall white sails of a ship were seen moving toward them much too quickly.

“Ship on starboard,” called out a deckhand and they all started running about as the barreling ship came toward them.

As it got closer, she recognized the flag in the moonlight. It was the flag of the Cinque Ports.

“Conlin!” She stood up so fast that the small boat tipped, and although she tried to keep her balance, she ended up going over the side and falling into the sea. Water covered her head and her world became black as she started to sink. She held her breath and struggled to keep afloat, panicking as memories filled her head of the last time she’d almost drowned. When she finally broke the surface, she saw that the Scottish ship had moved away, pulling the shuttleboat with it.

“Nay!” she called out, trying to swim for it, but the weight of her wet gown only pulled her under again.

The fear of drowning filled her senses. She panicked, and her breath left her quickly as she struggled to get her head above water. Every time she got close, another wave splashed over her. Just when she’d given up hope of ever coming out of this alive, she felt a tugging at her clothes, and her body moved upward. Her head broke the surface, and she gasped for air. And when she opened her eyes, she saw the most wonderful sight of all.

Conlin was in a shuttleboat of his own, leaning over the side to grab her. He hoisted her up into the boat as if she weighed no more than a feather, though to her she felt heavy, so heavy that she could barely move.

“How many times do I need to fish you out of the waters, my lady?” His smile in the moonlight brought joy to her heart.

She coughed and spit out water, and then lunged forward and threw her arms around his neck. “Conlin, ye came fer me.”

“Aye, Isobel. And no matter what you say, I’m not letting you go back to Scotland with Laird MacDonald.”

“I dinna want te marry him,” she cried.

“And neither will you have to.”

“Have ye talked te me uncle?” she asked, looking into his eyes. His silver orbs twinkled in the moonlight.

“I haven’t yet, but I will. I’ll pay Laird MacDonald whatever it takes to get him to break the betrothal.”

“What aboot us, Conlin? We still canna be together since ye’re married te me cousin.”

“I’ve not coupled with her, Isobel, and neither will I. I’ve decided that I will make an agreement with your uncle, and ask for you to be my bride instead. That way I won’t be breaking the alliance after all.”

“He’ll ne’er agree.” She shook her head, knowing her uncle too well.

“Then we’ll both have to convince him it’s the best thing to do. I love you, Isobel, and I don’t want anyone but you for my wife.”

Her heart about burst from her chest when she heard this, and she pulled him forward and kissed him hard.

“Easy there,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep that up and we’ll both be dumped into the sea.”

“I love ye, too! Thank ye, Conlin,” she said, feeling like she had a new start at life. “This means the world te me.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, picking up the oars and rowing back to his ship. “I said I’d talk to your uncle, but there is no guarantee that he’ll agree to our deal.”

“Then what do we do if he doesna agree?”

“Isobel, let’s take this one step at a time. Now no more questions until we get back to Sandwich. Before we can even think of ourselves, we have a killer on the loose that we need to catch first.”