The Baron's Bounty (7 page)

“I do like these, as they’re verra comfortable,” she said with a nod, then looked over to the others in the trunk. “Howe’er, I think I need the silk embroidered ones fer a weddin’. Tho they’ll need te be cleaned first.”

“Nay.” He slammed the lid of the trunk shut, almost clipping her hand in the process. She jumped backwards, dropping the pair of shoes he’d given her. “You’ll wear those, and we’ll stop wasting time. Now put them on, and let’s get moving.”

“Och, ye dinna hafta sound so angry aboot it.” She scooped them up and sat on a chair and started to don them. “I’ll wear these fer now, and then I’ll change me shoes after the ceremony and wear me dancin’ shoes at the banquet.”

“It’s a simple wedding on the beach, and there’ll be no banquet since you are only a proxy. Now, you’ll wear those for everything, and have no others. There’s no need for more than one pair of shoes. What you need are some clothes.”

“What do ye mean?” She looked up slowly as she finished donning her shoes.

“Guard,” he called out, and one of his men entered the room, followed by another.

“You called, my lord?” The men both bowed, keeping their eyes away from Isobel’s nearly naked body as was proper.

“Take this trunk out of here anon.”

“Aye milord.” The guards picked up the trunk and started toward the door. Isobel’s eyes grew wide.

“Where are they takin’ it?” She jumped to her feet.

“Take it back to my ship,” he instructed the guards.

“Oh, ye’re goin’ te have it delivered te me chamber once we get te Sandwich. Guid.”

“Nay. I’m going to take it back to my castle and divide the shoes amongst my servants.”

“What?” Her brows snapped together. “Nay. Ye canna do thet. They’re mine.” Her head whipped toward him, back to the trunk, and then back to him again.

“Lady Isobel, nobody needs that many shoes.”

“Well, I do! They are me things, and I willna let ye take them from me.” She reached out for the trunk, but Conlin grabbed her arm and held it at her side until the guards had left the room and started down the hall.

“I thought we’ve been over this already,” he continued. “The bounty I found at sea is mine, so I can do what I want with it. The shoes are worthless, but the servants will like them since they wear-out their own shoes so fast that they sometimes even have to go barefoot.”

“Those shoes arena fer peasants and servants.” The smile he’d witnessed earlier had disappeared from her face. “They are shoes made by the finest cordwainer in Scotland. They are worth twice the amount o’ all of the clothes I lost in the shipwreck.”

He chuckled amusingly. “They’re just shoes. God’s teeth, you sound as if you’ve just lost the Crown jewels the way you’re carrying on. Actually, I don’t know why I’m even bothering hauling them back to Sandwich. I should just tell the guards to leave the trunk here. Or mayhap I’ll throw it overboard and leave it as bounty for someone else.”

“How dare you!” She stuck her nose in the air and looked like she wanted to kill him. It was crazy, but the girl seemed to really care about the bloody shoes. “You canna do thet.”

“And why not?” He found the whole scenario intriguing and looked her right in the eye. He’d thrown down the gauntlet between them and challenged her to pick it up. And she did.

“Because . . . because the writ o’ confirmation from Lady Catherine sayin’ I am her proxy is at the bottom o’ the trunk.”

“Really?” He didn’t believe her for a moment, but mayhap he should check before he disposed of the trunk just to make sure.

“How do ye e’en ken I’m really a proxy and no’ jest sayin’ thet? It seems te me ye’d be better off with some proof. Fer all ye ken, I could be a servin’ wench tryin’ te be married off te a rich baron.”

He pondered the thought. She made a good point. He did want some confirmation that she was Lady Catherine’s proxy before he married her. For all he knew, her infatuation with shoes could be because she was a poor serf and had never had shoes on her feet before. He had to make sure.

“All right. We’ll find you some clothes to wear and make you up properly, and we’ll go take a look in the trunk to find that writ of confirmation before I have Father George marry us on the beach.”

She held onto her drying cloth tightly, and nodded her head. She looked ridiculous wearing shoes and basically naught else. “That’ll be fine,” she said with a stiff upper lip. And with the tone of her voice, he got the distinct feeling that her shoes meant more to her than the fact she was standing in as a proxy and about to be married to a baron of the Cinque Ports.

He nodded in return and made his way to the door, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into by aligning with the Scots. Because between the horror stories of Catherine the Shrew, and by the odd way this one was acting, he was starting to wonder if every Scot was addled and totally out of their minds.

Chapter 5

“Sandwich, are you telling me you’re really going to go through with marrying a girl who is so addled she has a love affair with shoes?” Nicholas looked over the top of his tankard of ale as he spoke.

Conlin sat with the other barons at a table in the crowded pub. He noticed the looks the people of Great Yarmouth were giving the Barons of the Cinque Ports. The barons of Dover and Hythe had already collected their fish and nets and left with their crews this morning just after the storm. None of them were really welcome here, and Conlin knew it. The people of Great Yarmouth held no love for any of the king’s men who were granted special favors.

“She says she is Lady Catherine MacEwen’s cousin and proxy, but I am waiting for proof before I actually have Father George conduct the ceremony.” He looked over to see the priest eating at a table amongst villagers. They seemed to accept him fine since he was a man of the cloth.

“Where is the wench?” John stabbed his eating knife into a hunk of meat from the bowl of pottage they all shared in the center of the table. “She is comely, I’ll give her that.”

“I had my steward buy her some clothes in town and sent the pubmaster’s wife up to the room to help her dress.”

“What about the writ of confirmation?” Nicholas picked up a spoon and scooped up some food as well. “Did you find it?”

“Not yet.” Conlin put down his tankard of ale. Not even the massive amount of ale he’d had while waiting for Lady Isobel to show was going to stop the pounding in his head. He thought of his daughter at home and what she’d think of him marrying a proxy. Hell, she didn’t even want him getting married at all. That’s why he’d decided to do it in Great Yarmouth and do it fast. Then he wouldn’t have to put up with the girl’s tantrums that would most likely ruin the wedding and embarrass him to no end.

“My lord.” Shadwell bolted through the door of the pub and hurried up to the table.

“Shadwell, what is it?” asked Conlin. “Do you have the writ of confirmation I asked you to find?”

“There seems to be a problem, my lord. You see, the trunk has been put at the bottom of the cargo, and to open it we’ll need to remove the rest of the trade, as well as the barrels of herring, the nets, and an array of other items.”

“Then do it.”

“My lord – it will take quite a while. And I know how you like to stay on schedule.”

“Who puts hump-backed chests at the bottom of a pile?” he asked, shaking his head.

“It was your squire’s suggestion, my lord. He thought the water leaking out might ruin the other goods.”

“Well then, it’ll have to wait.” He pushed his tankard away from him, and got to his feet. “I want to leave for Sandwich immediately, so prepare the crew to cast off as soon as the girl gets here.”

“Of course my lord.” Shadwell bowed and hurried out the door.

Conlin signaled to his steward and squire who were lingering around the table occupied by Father George. They hurried to his side.

“Sir Jackson, get the girl and bring her down here anon, even if you have to drag her by her hair to do it.”

“My lord?” Sir Jackson looked up in question. “Is the wedding about to take place?”

“The wedding will take place back in Sandwich.” He threw a few coins on the table for the pubmaster, even though nobles ate for free. “If we don’t leave right away we’ll be behind schedule.”

“Aye,” said John, stuffing one last piece of meat into his mouth. “And we all know how ornery you get if your schedule is interrupted.”

Conlin just ignored his friend, because he knew it was true. It was one of his quirks. He liked things to run smoothly and schedules to be maintained.

“I’ll get the girl, my lord.” Sir Jackson bowed, and then headed up to the second floor.

Conlin’s squire leaned forward. “My lord, I’ve heard some of the dockmen of Great Yarmouth talking, and I think you should know what they’re saying.”

It was noisy in the pub, and Conlin had things on his mind and wasn’t really paying attention. “Speak up if you have something to say, Squire. And from now on, stop telling my crew how to load the cargo.”

“Aye, my lord. So sorry about that.” Toft raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders. “Just trying to help.”

Nicholas finished eating and pushed the bowl away. “Not back for pub food.”

“It’s the girl, milord,” Toft continued, trying to get their attention.

“The girl? What about the girl?” Conlin busied himself checking his weapon belt.

“She’s known to be –
crazy
,” he said behind his hand as he spoke.

“Lazy?” Conlin pulled his dagger from his waistband, wiped it off in his sleeve and replaced it. “Aye, I can see that, as she can’t seem to be on time.”

“Nay, not lazy, milord,” said Toft, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “She’s . . .
crazy
,” he said, putting his hand up to his mouth as he said it once more.

“She likes daisies, does she? So does my wife, Muriel.” Nicholas pushed up from the chair and walked over to join them. “She planted an abundance of them just outside my solar window back in New Romney. You really should see it.”

“He didn’t say daisies, he said she’s hazy from her spill in the ocean.” John licked his lips, savoring the last of his meal. Then looking satisfied and full, he got to his feet as well.

“Not daisies, and not hazy,” said the squire, looking from one baron to the other.

“Squire, speak up already,” Conlin told him. “We have a schedule to maintain and I’ll not have you wasting any more of my precious time. You normally can’t talk without shouting, so what is the problem?”

“Aye, spit it out, boy,” added John. “What is it?”

“Crazy!” the squire said in a loud voice. “I said the Scottish lass is known to be crazy, just like the rest of the MacEwen’s. She is as addled as her cousin, the Shrew of the Scots so I hear.”

The sound of a slamming door was heard, and all conversations in the pub stopped suddenly. Conlin looked up to see Isobel standing on the stairway dressed in a long taffeta russet gown, looking very beautiful. Her hair was dried and braided, and coiled around each ear. She even wore a small headpiece – a metal circlet that looked as if it were for a lady. He wondered how much his steward had spent in town, not that it mattered. Conlin as well as the rest of the barons were not at a loss for money.

“Who thinks I’m crazy?” Isobel started down the stairs slowly. She was followed by Sir Jackson and the pubmaster’s wife.

“Lady Isobel,” said Conlin, feeling like this was going to be a problem. “Come join me, please.”

She took two steps, and looked over the rail at one of the villagers sitting at the table. “Do ye think I’m crazy?”

The man shook his head and jumped to his feet. “Nay, milady.” He grabbed his wife and they hurried out of the pub. Isobel got to the bottom of the stairs and slowly walked toward a table of fishermen next.

“How aboot ye?” She leaned over and looked the poor fisherman in the eye. “Do ye think I’m addled?”

“Nay, I don’t,” said the man, keeping his eyes focused downward at the table.

She took a step away and then turned back and shouted, waving her hands in the air like some sort of deranged witch. “Ahhhhhhhh!” she screamed, gaining everyone’s attention if she didn’t already have it.

The group of men jumped up and ran out the door so fast that chairs fell over and bowls and cups clanked to the ground. Commotion started, and people stirred. Mothers gathered their children into their aprons protectively. They all looked at her as if she were insane.

Then Isobel started laughing hysterically.

Conlin knew if he didn’t do something soon, this was going to turn into a very bad situation.

“That’s enough!” In two strides he was next to her, escorting her out of the pub. She laughed and laughed, holding her side, and though her laugh earlier sounded enticing, this time it only irritated him. What was he dealing with here? Were the MacEwens really addled? And why was he the last to know about it, if it were true?

“Thet’ll teach them te talk aboot me behind me back.” Isobel was able to keep up with him this time since she had clothes on her back and shoes on her feet.

“I don’t like the game you’re playing,” he warned her. He pulled her along so fast she almost stumbled. Once they made it to the docks, he headed directly for his ship.

Isobel noticed they weren’t headed toward the beach where he said the wedding was supposed to take place. Instead they were headed for the pier, and she was sure – to his ship. She wondered if there had been a change in plans.

“Did ye find the writ of confirmation in the chest?” She knew he hadn’t because it wasn’t there. She’d only used that as an excuse to stall the wedding and save her shoes.

“It is buried under my other cargo, so we’ll just go back to Sandwich and open the trunk there.”

She sighed a breath of relief. At least her shoes wouldn’t be thrown into the sea. Now she’d also have some time before the wedding. After the dream she had, she was starting to wonder if the person who killed King Alexander was Scottish and not English. Was the dream something that really happened in the past that she’d forgotten about? Or was it just her own fears of the baron being a killer coming out in her sleep? She wasn’t sure and had no time to think about it. As soon as they got to his ship, he hauled her up the boarding plank and gave his crew the command to cast off.

“Hold up, Sandwich!” John shouted out and came running down the pier after them, with Nicholas at his side. Behind them were Conlin’s steward, the priest, and his squire.

“You’re going to leave half your crew behind,” added Nicholas.

“They know my schedule and that I wait for no one.” Conlin made his way to the sterncastle, leaving Isobel standing there.

“Hurry,” she called to the others over the side of the ship. The dockmen were just starting to pull the boarding plank away when Isobel stopped them. “Please wait for them,” she told the men. She then looked back toward the pub and saw Shadwell walking with her own guard, Elliot. “Blethers, this man is the crazy one, no’ me,” she said to herself. She took hold of her skirts and made her way up to the sterncastle, ready to give the baron a piece of her mind.

“Baron, ye have te wait. Me guard as well as one o’ yer own men are still back at the pub.”

“They’ll have to catch a ride back to Sandwich some other way, I’m afraid.” Then he called out to his crew. “Cast off!”

“Baron, Shadwell hasn’t returned to the ship yet.” Toft climbed up to the sterncastle like a monkey, and stood at their side.

“Thet’s what I told him,” Isobel exclaimed.

“They know my schedule. We’ll not wait.” He hurried down to the center of the ship to help his crew raise the sails, and Toft and Isobel followed. “Sweat the lines and hurry it up.” He jumped up and grabbed the lines, and leaned his body inward with all his weight. He tugged on the already tight lines, and then pulled them back as far as he could, pulling every bit of slack from the rope.

Isobel watched in awe, noticing his muscles bulging under his tunic as he pulled back on the lines to make them taut. The man was strong and a feast for her eyes as he worked alongside his crew on the ship. She couldn’t drag her gaze away from him.

Then he fastened the line around the short wooden pin that served as an anchor so the lines wouldn’t slip. Once that was done, he handed the excess rope over to his squire to coil it properly so it wouldn’t become tangled.

“Milord, this goes so much faster and easier with Shadwell here.” Toft took the lines from him, and used his nimble fingers to make three circles all touching each other inside one larger one. Then he picked up the rope, slipping it over the end of the wooden pin.

“Shadwell knows I don’t tolerate tardiness.” Conlin gave a few more commands to his crew, and the ship started to move.

“Hurry, he’s goin’ te leave without ye!” Isobel stepped up atop a wooden box and started waving her arms wildly, trying to gain her guard’s attention. “Ooooooo Eeeeeeee!” she cried out, acting addled again. She managed to gain Shadwell and Elliot’s attention, and they started to run toward the docks. But it was too late, because the ship was already set in motion. She lost her footing with the movement of the ship, and waved her arms wildly, trying to regain her balance. “Ahhhhhhh!”

“Get down from there. You’ve now got everyone on shore staring at you as well. Conlin put his hands around her waist and lifted her down off the box and settled her gently on the deck next to him. She looked up into his eyes and saw irritation as well as danger within them. His silver eyes drilled into her and she felt his displeasure all the way down to her belly. “Now sit down before you fall into the ocean again.”

“Aye, me lord.” She did as instructed, and Conlin hurried back up to the sterncastle. She craned her neck and looked over the side of the ship to see Shadwell and Elliot rushing down the pier, shouting and waving their hands.

“Don’t leave without us, my lord.” Shadwell came to an abrupt stop at the end of the pier.

“Lady Isobel,” shouted Elliot.

Conlin just stared straight ahead out to sea and commandeered his ship out of port and headed toward Sandwich. She got up and rushed up the stairs of the sterncastle to join him.