The Baron's Bounty (5 page)

Chapter 3

The baron’s two strong hands clasped around Isobel’s waist as he lifted her up to climb the rope and wooden slat ladder that swayed back and forth over the side of the ship. Still in shock that she hadn’t drowned and ended up at the bottom of the ocean, she had no time to even ponder the thought that a possible murderer was touching her.

“Up you go, my lady,” came his deep voice in her ear as he guided her to the ladder and didn’t let go until he was sure she was holding on securely.

“Thank ye,” she found herself answering, liking the way it felt to be protected and respected. Back in Scotland, hardly anyone ever called her ‘my lady.’ That title had been reserved for her cousin, Catherine instead.

“My lord, my lord, you saved them! Jolly good,” came the shout of a young man as he hurried down the rigging of the ship like a spider and jumped off from the height of the forecastle, landing steady on his feet like a cat. He had a lithe build and honey-colored hair, and big round, blue eyes that made him look full of life.

The baron boarded the ship, hopping over the high sidewall effortlessly with his boots in his hand. He stood behind her with one hand at the small of her back to steady her as the ship leered back and forth in the waves.

“Egads, squire, stop with the words of praise. An entire ship full of people went to their deaths and I only managed to save two. It’s naught to make merry over.”

“There were only us plus the four men who consisted o’ the crew,” Isobel told them. “Still, it is a horrible thing thet anyone died at all.”

“Two lives saved is better than losing them all.” Another man walked over and stopped in front of her. He wore the tunic of a knight and had an array of weapons fastened at his side. He had small eyes, brown hair, and a stout build. “I am the baron’s squire, Sir Jackson.” He nodded slightly, almost as if he were deciding if he should bow or not. “Are you the baron’s betrothed?”

“Aye and nay.” She walked over to the center of the ship, and took a seat on a raised wooden structure, leaning her back against the main mast. She tried to catch her breath and still her rapidly beating heart. Her escapade left her feeling as if she were going to retch. Her body was drenched with saltwater and she shivered from head to toe. Her teeth chattered, rattling her brain in her head so much that she couldn’t think straight.

“I don’t understand,” said the man, looking over to the baron.

“She’s not Lady Catherine, her name is Lady Isobel.” The baron donned his boots and walked over and opened a lid to a fixture that stored items, taking out a dry blanket. Her eyes focused on his broad, sturdy chest that was bare. His upper arms were large and firm, corded with muscles. His nipples puckered from the cold water, and somehow this intrigued her. His black hair was slicked back from his dip in the sea, and when he turned back to her with the blanket in his hand she looked up to see his steel grey eyes perusing her as well.

“She’s been sent here as a proxy,” he explained. “Or so she says. I’ve yet to see any writ of confirmation.” He stepped toward her and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, gently resting one hand atop her shoulder. She felt heat from his touch, and her body warmed slightly.

“So you’re marrying her instead of the shrew?” The man from the rescue boat spoke as he climbed over the side of the ship.

“That s-shrew you speak o’ so carelessly is the d-daughter of Laird Chisholm MacEwen of Kirkcaldy Castle in Fife, and also me cousin,” she retorted.

“Shadwell, show some respect,” warned the baron. By the smirks of the others, she’d gotten the distinct impression that they’d all poked jests at her cousin because of the woman’s horrid reputation throughout the lands. “Now all of you, get my bounty on board and let’s get Lady Bellicose back to shore.”

“Lady B-Bellicose?” She stood up, fastening the blanket around her as the crew hurried around doing as instructed. “Is there another l-lassie aboard the ship?” She lost her footing and would have probably fallen to the ground if the baron hadn’t reached out and steadied her with his hand on her arm.

His mouth turned upward into a smile, and she felt intrigued. His teeth were straight and strong, and a smattering of whiskers painted his lower jaw.

“Sit down, my lady, before you’re dumped into the sea again. I warn you, I’ll not fancy having to dive back into that cold water to save you a second time. And nay, you are the only – lassie aboard. Lady Bellicose is my ship.”

“You n-named her as if she we a real lassie?” She let him guide her to a sitting position again, and realized he was right in saying she needed to stop trying to stand. She warmed slightly from the blanket as well as from the body contact between them.

“That’s correct. And just like her name, she’s the most aggressive lady I’ve ever met, willing to put up a fight when need be. After all, look how she fought off the storm today.”

Now it was her turn to smile. If he thought the ship was aggressive and liked to fight, he obviously knew nothing about the woman he was about to marry. Lady Catherine was everything the rumors made her out to be, and then some. Catherine had a temper on her one minute, and the next she was shaking like a leaf in fear of a little thunder or perhaps feeling ill like she often did. Well, she wouldn’t give him this information. He could just wait and find out for himself. After all, if he truly was a murderer, he wouldn’t be bothered by such trivial things.

* * *

Just like a fickle woman, by the time they got the ship back to port, the weather had turned and the sun started breaking through the clouds.

Conlin jumped down from the sterncastle, leaving Shadwell at the helm.

“Well done men,” he called out to his crew. He felt a sense of relief to know that they’d returned alive and well. He also felt euphoric that he’d have a chance to see his daughter, Rose, again.

“Sandwich, you returned,” came Lord Nicholas’s voice from the docks. He headed down the boarding plank to meet up with the other barons.

“We feared you’d been consumed by the sea,” said John with concern.

“Well, I’ve returned, but no thanks to either of you.” He greeted them with a clasp of hands and a slap to their backs. Damn, it felt good to be alive.

“I would have come with you if you had really wanted me to,” said Nicholas. “You know I would.”

“I was already in the pub before I heard about your addled mission, so I couldn’t be of any help,” added John.

“Stop it. Both of you. I didn’t need your help.”

“Did you save your betrothed?” asked Nicholas curiously.

“Aye. Where is she?” added John, looking around.

“Get yer stinkin’ hands off o’ me. I dinna need help te walk,” came a woman’s voice from the ship. Conlin looked over to see Isobel standing at the top of the boarding plank with the blanket wrapped tightly around her, and Shadwell trying to help her down to the pier. Her Scottish guard, Elliot, stood behind her wrapped in a blanket as well.

“Is that . . . the horse face?” Nicholas just stared with his mouth open as Isobel made her way down the plank to the pier. She was barefoot, and slipped, but righted herself quickly. When she did, the wind blew open the blanket exposing her rosy, taut nipples poking up from under the wet, white tunic Conlin had given her right off his back.

“If it is, I’ll never look at a horse in the same way again,” added John with a slight whistle.

“Nay. She’s Lady Catherine’s cousin, Lady Isobel,” Conlin told them.

“Good! So is she married?” John looked like a randy boy about to bed his first wench.

“Back off, Hastings. She is Lady Catherine’s proxy, so she’ll be marrying me – for now.”

“Really? What a shame.” John looked sorely disappointed.

“She’s a proxy? I don’t understand.” Nicholas shook his head. “So . . . where is your betrothed?”

“Lady Catherine wasn’t on the ship at all,” he told his friends. He watched Isobel trying to hold the blanket closed with one hand as she bent over and squeezed the water out of her long hair at the same time with the other. “We managed to save only Isobel and her guard. The rest – are dead.”

“Oh!” That took John by surprise.

“I’m sorry,” said Nicholas looking at the ground and shaking his head.

Conlin knew that neither of his friends was fond of the Scots, so losing a shipload of them would probably not cause either of them to lose any sleep. None of the English were fond of the Scots, as they had lost many good men fighting battles against them in the past. Conlin’s betrothal to a Scot had raised a few eyebrows and caused whispers behind his back, but he didn’t care. He was making this alliance to secure his lands as well as to help his daughter. At twelve years of age, Rose needed a mother to talk to, and would not even confide in Conlin with her problems anymore.

The Scottish guard came down the boarding plank next followed by Conlin’s squire, Toft. They walked over to join Isobel.

“What about the bounty?” asked John. “Did you manage to at least save that?”

“Aye.” Nicholas perked up. “It’s our privilege granted by the king.”

Conlin couldn’t believe his friends. They almost sounded as if they thought they’d be getting part of the bounty. He could have laughed aloud, after neither of them went to any extreme to try to help him collect it.

“I’ve collected several trunks, some barrels of wine and food, and some boxes which contain – I have no idea what they contain, actually.”

“We can help you find out,” added John, sounding a bit too eager.

“The bounty is mine since it was found on open water and I’m the only baron who risked my life to try to save those aboard the ship,” Conlin reminded them.

“Of course, of course.” Nicholas looked away again. “And it seems your biggest bounty is standing barefoot and wrapped in a blanket.”

“What about the dowry? Was your betrothed’s dowry that was promised to you aboard the ship?” John was always excited about wealth and treasure.

“Lady Catherine’s dowry wasna on the ship,” Isobel announced, overhearing their conversation. She walked over to join them, followed by her guard and Conlin’s squire. “And it’s jest like a Sassenach te care aboot bounty more than the lives thet were lost today.”

This silenced both his friends better than Conlin had ever been able to do with words of his own.

Isobel studied the barons with a daggered perusal and continued to speak. “Baron Sandwich, I’d like the trunks and anythin’ collected from the ship te be delivered to me anon.”

“I’m sorry, but the bounty is mine,” Conlin told her.

Her eyes snapped upward and over to him, and now he was the one on the receiving end of her daggered eyes. Those little specks of ochre and green in her hazel orbs turned as dark as the foreboding sky.

“But - they are me things. I brought them with me from Scotland.”

He heard John and Nicholas sniggering behind their hands.

“The king has granted his barons of the Cinque Ports the boon of keeping any flotsam or jetsam from shipwrecks that is collected from waters of the respected ports. So you see, my lady – you are wrong. And once again I repeat, the bounty is mine.” Conlin thought that would silence the wench, but he was wrong.

“Och! I dinna believe this clishmaclaver.”

The other barons broke out in laughter now. Her angered gaze flashed over to them and the tension was so thick between them all that Conlin could have reached out and cut it with his blade. His friends immediately coughed and cleared their throats and looked the other direction.

“Have I said somethin’ te amuse ye?” She looked at John and Nicholas with a raised brow. “Becooz if so, I’d hope ye’d share the jest so we could all cackle like hens together.”

“Nay, nothing is amusing at all,” said Nicholas with a quick shake of his head.

“That’s right,” chimed in John, clearing his throat. “Nothing at all.”

“Then I’d like te finish discussin’ this issue with Baron Sandwich, and ask thet ye hold yer tongues.”

Conlin knew he needed to intervene. “Isobel, if I must point out, you are speaking much too freely to the other barons and need to show respect for your superiors. Now I warn you, that you are the one who needs to still your tongue.”

By the look on her face, Conlin knew she wasn’t used to being talked to in this manner. If she was truly a cousin to Lady Catherine, then he was sure she was used to ordering others around instead. The sooner she learned she couldn’t do that on English soil, the better.

“I’d better get back to my ship and check for damage from the storm,” said Nicholas, heading away.

“Me too,” added John. As they walked away, Conlin heard John whisper to Nicholas. “If she’s not the shrew, I’d hate to meet the real one.”

Conlin reached out and guided Isobel by the elbow as he turned away from the docks. “Come, my lady. I’ll take you to town where we can find you a proper gown to wear for the ceremony as well as a pair of shoes.”

Isobel stopped in her tracks and quickly pulled away from Conlin. “Ceremony? What ceremony?” She hoped she’d heard him wrong, but by the look in his eye as he turned back toward her, she knew she hadn’t.

“Lady Isobel,” said Elliot from behind her in a low voice. “I think the baron is speaking about . . . the wedding ceremony.”