The Baron's Bounty (8 page)

“Ye shouldna have left them there,” she snapped. “Now I’m without an escort.”

“You won’t need one once we’re married. I’ll be your escort, so there is no use for the guard.”

“And what aboot yer own man, Shadwell?”

“He knows my schedule. Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve left him behind on a port. He’s had to find his way back from almost every port up and down the coast. Just this past March I left him in Scotland and it took him a week to get back, I swear. He’ll find his way home. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

“My lord,” broke in the squire, following them up to the sterncastle as well. “In all fairness, you changed your schedule and didn’t tell a soul. For all we knew, you were supposed to marry Lady Isobel on the beach before we headed back to Sandwich.”

“Thet’s right.” Isobel lost her balance as the ship listed, and grabbed out and held onto Conlin’s arm. “We werena supposed to leave til then.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s right. Well, the way I see it, you are to blame for the change in schedule,” said Conlin.

“She is?” The squire looked at her curiously. “How so?”

“Aye. How so?” She removed her hands from his arm and crossed them in front of her chest.

“Because, Lady Isobel, I wasn’t planning on having to go out in a storm to save you, nor did I know you’d take so long to choose a pair of shoes to wear.”

“I’m no’ e’en sure they are the right ones,” she said, moving her skirt aside and turning her feet to see the shoes better. “If I’d kent we were sailin’ so soon, I woulda chosen the boots thet come up past me ankles fer more support. Or perhaps the ones with the thick soles, or me favorite ridin’ boots thet lace up to me knees.”

“Really?” The squire looked amused. “So . . . how many pairs of shoes do you have, Lady Isobel?”

“Don’t ask.” Conlin warned his squire but it was too late. Toft had opened a bag of worms and got Isobel rattling on and on about senseless shoes again. He knew she wouldn’t stop talking all the way back to Sandwich. It was going to be a long ride home.

He looked over his shoulder at them, and his squire made a face, silently begging Conlin for his help.

“Toft, get up to the lookout and keep a watch for bad weather.”

“Aye, milord.” The young man nodded his thanks and took off at a run to do as ordered.

“Bad weather?” Isobel sidled up next to him. “There’s no’ a cloud in the sky anymore,” she so graciously pointed out.

“Aye,” he agreed. “But you can never be sure. The weather is as fickle as a scorned woman,” he told her with a grin.

“Ye jest didna want him te talk te me aboot me shoes, did ye?”

“Now, now, Lady Isobel, why would you think that? Doesn’t everyone want to hear about shoes?”

He was being sarcastic, but the girl used it as an excuse to open up the silly conversation once again. He made his way down the sterncastle trying to get away from her, but she quickly followed. With her rattling on and on about things that didn’t matter in the least, he now regretted saving his squire from her idle jibber jabber. Now he was the target of her attention, and he knew that no man on his ship was going to escape the chatter of the crazy MacEwen woman now.

Chapter 6

By the time Conlin returned to Sandwich it was already nightfall, and he’d promised his daughter he’d be home in time for supper. He anxiously released the lines to lower the sails, helping his crew since it was taking way too long. He was already behind schedule and that didn’t sit right with him.

Conlin made his way to the side of the ship, throwing a mooring line overboard to dockworkers waiting to tie the ship to the pier.

Toft followed on his heels. “What will you do about the girl, my lord?”

“What about her?” He grabbed another mooring line, tossing it over the side of the ship to awaiting hands below.

“Are you really going to marry her though she isn’t your betrothed?”

“She’s a proxy. Our marriage will be false, because she is only standing in for her cousin. But before I marry anyone, I need to have a writ of confirmation, so we’ll see.”

The boarding plank was slid into place, and when he made his way to the pier, his daughter, Rose, was standing there waiting for him with her handmaiden at her side.

“Father, you missed the meal,” she said, sounding very disappointed.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it couldn’t be helped.” He reached out to touch her chin, but she turned her head the other way.

“Sir Albert hired a jongleur to entertain us after the meal. You missed that too.”

“I understand, Rose, but I told you, it couldn’t be helped. There was a storm at sea, and a ship went down and I had to look for survivors.”

“Oh. I see.” She crossed her arms over her chest, looking just like her late mother when she pursed her lips and raised her chin in the air. Her bright blond hair was the total opposite of Conlin’s hair of midnight black. And though his eyes were a steel grey, her eyes were bright bluish-green like the sea he adored. He adored his daughter as well, but since the death of his wife, Skena, three years ago, Rose seemed to want nothing to do with him.

“I brought you something from Great Yarmouth,” he told her, digging into his pouch and pulling out a leather bracelet with a clasp. It had a metal etching of a nautical design fastened to it. He held it out and she peeked out from the side of her eye.

“I don’t want it.”

“Come on, let’s see how it looks.” He fastened it onto her wrist, and thought he’d see a smile when she raised her hand to examine it – but it didn’t happen.

“I don’t like it.”

“I know it’s not the same as the one your mother had, but I thought –”

“I hate it!” She tugged it off her wrist, yanking it so hard it broke. Then she threw it with all her might out into the water.

“Lady Rose,” said her handmaiden, taking the girl to her bosom. Rose started to cry.

Conlin’s heart about broke. He thought for certain this time he’d gain the love of his daughter that he’d lost that day so long ago. But he could see it obviously wasn’t going to happen.

“Time for bed,” he said in a low voice and stormed off past them and headed down the docks wishing now that he had been on time for supper as he’d promised. He wished he would have stayed on schedule, but now the damage was done and there was no way he was going to fix the problems between them.

Isobel stood at the top of the boarding plank watching the young girl throw something into the water. Then Conlin stormed down the pier and the girl rushed away crying.

“Lady Isobel, do you need help down the plank?” Toft stood behind her, trying to get by.

“Nay,” she said, making her way to the pier with Toft right behind her. “Who was thet young lass?”

“Young lass?” Toft looked down the pier at Conlin and the girl who were walking far from each other. “Oh, do you mean Rose? That’s Conlin’s daughter.”

“His . . . daughter?”

“Aye. His wife died three years ago, and his daughter has hated him ever since.”

She hadn’t realized Conlin had a daughter, and neither did she know he’d been married and lost a wife. Catherine had told her none of this. But then again, she and Catherine rarely spoke, so she shouldn’t be surprised. Or perhaps Catherine didn’t know either.

“How did it happen?”

The squire gave her an odd look. “The way it usually happens, I suppose. In bed.”

“Nay!” She hit him playfully on the arm and he smiled. She smiled too. “I’m talking aboot the deith o’ his wife.”

“Oh, that. Yes.” Toft escorted Isobel down the pier and she was glad since Conlin had just left her alone on the ship. “She died in childbirth along with Conlin’s son.”

“She did?” She turned to look at him. “So does he have more bairns then?”

“Bairns?” The squire gave her another odd look. “Oh, you mean children. Naw – not anymore.”

“Any . . . more?” She had a feeling this wasn’t going to be happy news.

“The baron’s wife gave him six children through the years but none of them besides Rose lived past a few years. Some of them were even stillborn.”

“Thet is so sad.” She watched Conlin mount a horse that the dock stableboy brought to him, and he rode away without even looking back at his daughter. “I can see why the lassie seems te hate him. He just left and did naught te see te his daughter’s needs.”

“She refuses to let her father help her do anything. She is twelve and knows how to ride better than any boy, so Conlin knows she’ll get back to the castle on her own. Besides, that’s not why she hates him.”

“Really?” She turned and looked at Toft, and being the curious girl that she was - she had to know more. “Tell me more. Why does she hate him?”

“I don’t know for sure since the baron never told anyone. He’s very private. But I do know that she somehow blames her father for her mother’s death.”

Isobel thought about her own parents. She’d blamed her father for her mother’s death while growing up as well. That’s why her father had sent her to live with her uncle. She realized later in life that her anger was misdirected, but by then it was too late. Her father had died too, and she hadn’t been able to tell him that she didn’t really blame him – and that she loved him.

Conlin’s horse turned around and headed down the pier right toward them. She was surprised to see him coming back in this direction.

“Lady Isobel, you’ll ride with me to Briarbeck Castle, and you’ll not say a word about anything until we get there. Do you understand?”

She looked over to Toft and he just nodded slightly, giving her the signal not to anger the baron anymore than he already was at the moment.

“Aye milord, I understand.”

He held out his hand and she took it. He helped her atop the horse in front of him instead of in back of him like most nobles would make the second person ride. She sat sideways with her feet hanging over the edge of the horse, feeling cramped in the saddle made to ride astride.

“I canna ride this way.” She hitched up her skirts and quickly threw one leg over the pommel, now sitting astride like a man.

He was sitting off the saddle and directly on the back of the horse, as the saddle only had room for one. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and gave the reins a swish, commanding the horse to move forward. She felt his sturdy chest pressed up against her back and the heat of his groin warmed her to the point of burning up. She thought about marrying him though it would not be a real marriage. She also wondered what it would feel like if they kissed again. But before she could ponder the situation, the young girl named Rose rode up next to them.

“Father, who is this woman?”

“Me name is Isobel MacEwen,” she said before he had a chance to answer.

“I said . . . not a word,” he warned her in a low whisper against her ear. His cheek rubbed against the side of hers when he spoke and she could feel the scratchiness of the stubble on his jaw.

“You’re going to marry her, aren’t you?” The girl looked as if she were going to cry again.

“Rose, we’ll talk about this later, now go back to the castle.” Conlin kept his voice void of emotion.

“I don’t want a new mother! You lied to me, father.”

“I said – we’ll talk later.”

Isobel’s eyes drifted down to the girl’s feet pushed through the stirrups, as she too rode astride. She wore toggle latchet ankle shoes made of soft leather, with a dark blue top-band whipstitch around the outside of the shoes. The thread looked to be made of hemp and then dyed if she wasn’t mistaken. They looked to be very expensive.

The girl rode off, followed by her handmaid on foot, and Isobel couldn’t help herself. She called out after the girl, even though the baron had warned her to be quiet. “I like yer shoes, Lady Rose.”

The girl just turned her head and looked at her as if she thought Isobel were addled. Then she kicked her heels into the sides of the horse and sped away.

Isobel smiled, thinking she had to get a closer look at some of the girl’s other shoes. She wondered just how many pairs of shoes the girl had. She felt all happy inside until she heard Conlin growl into her ear again.

“Proxy or not, I swear if I hear you mention shoes one more time, I’ll board you on a ship and send you straight back to Scotland so fast your head will spin.”

She just smiled, because somehow right now, that very idea seemed to please her.

Chapter 7

Isobel awoke early the next morning, having gone straight to bed at the insistence of the baron after they’d returned to Briarbeck Castle. It seemed that when his schedule was disturbed or when he got into a tiff with his daughter, everyone in the castle paid the price.

She’d heard from the new handmaiden he’d assigned to her that Conlin was a nice man but only when things were going his way. He didn’t like problems and lived his life in routines. He thought everyone else should live that way also.

She’d also heard from the cook she met on her way to the garderobe this morning, that everyone felt as if they were walking on eggshells and never wanted to make the man upset. He’d had so much disappointment in his life already with the death of his children and also his wife, no one wanted to see him unhappy.

She threw open the shutters and took a deep breath of crisp morning air as she got her first good look at the castle courtyard. Servants scurried around busily, and the serfs from town were lining up at the door to the kitchen with baskets in their hands, waiting to use the castle’s ovens to bake their bread.

Alewives gathered at the well to hear the daily gossip, and the falconer walked through the courtyard with a hawk on his arm. A jester had a crowd of children around him as he juggled wooden cups, and the washwomen loaded up the back of a cart with baskets of clothes to be brought to the river to wash.

She looked atop the battlements and saw the guards watching over the side of the battlements. Two of the guards seemed to test the portcullis, lowering it and raising it again by use of chains and a pulley, testing it out.

The sun had just started to rise but already Conlin was in the practice yard sparring with his steward, Sir Jackson. She could see the practice yard well from her second floor window.

Conlin was bare-chested, and with every swipe of his sword his body turned and glistened in the sun. His muscles bulged and stretched in ways she didn’t think possible. He was good with a blade. Much better than her uncle or any of her uncle’s soldiers. She watched as he raised it over his head effortlessly, swiped it from side to side, and even turned a full circle, coming back with the sword in both hands to block an overhead blow from his steward.

He unarmed the man three times, then handed his sword to his squire and walked over and wiped his face in his discarded tunic.

She could see he was a man who knew how to use a weapon, and started to doubt that he’d lower himself to pushing a king over the side of a cliff. Nay. If he wanted to kill a king, he’d have used his sword - not killed him in a cowardly way. Wouldn’t he?

Toft sat down atop a wooden barrel and started cleaning the blade with a rag. She couldn’t hear what they were saying and wanted to know what Conlin talked about with his men since it surely wasn’t about shoes. She was curious by nature and wanted to get to know more about the baron. So she dressed quickly and made her way out into the corridor, intending to go to the practice yard to eavesdrop.

But as she passed a chamber, she heard the muffled sound of crying from within the room. She stopped outside the door, and listened. The crying was soft but she’d heard it. It almost sounded as if it were being muffled by a pillow. A chambermaid walked past and Isobel stopped her.

“Can ye tell me whose chamber this is?”

The woman looked at her suspiciously. “And who might you be?” The old woman squinted one eye, obviously having heard her Scottish burr and deciding to proceed with caution.

“I’m Lady Isobel MacEwen o’ Fife.”

The lady didn’t respond.

“I’m the proxy sent te marry the baron.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry m’lady.” The woman almost dropped her linens when she curtseyed, holding onto her skirt with one hand. “I didn’t know. Please don’t tell the baron I spoke so disrespectfully to you.”

“Get up,” she said, helping the old woman stand. “Ye didna ken. Now jest tell me who is inside this chamber.”

“That is the baron’s daughter’s chamber. Lady Rose,” she said, and bowed once again.

“Thank ye.” Isobel nodded, thinking the woman would leave. However, the woman didn’t move. “Ye may go,” she added, and the woman curtseyed one last time and finally left.

“Och, and they say I’m the crazy one.” She’d never had people bowing to her or respecting her in such a manner. She’d always acted more like her cousin’s handmaiden, and had never been treated half as well as she’d already been treated here. Back home, her friends were mainly the servants.

“Lady Rose?” She rapped her knuckles softly against the thick oak door. Not hearing an answer but instead continuous crying, she boldly turned the latch to find it unlocked. So she entered the room.

Sure enough, the girl she’d seen yesterday lay fully clothed atop her bed, crying into the pillow. Her handmaiden was nowhere to be found. Isobel walked over to the bed and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Lady Rose?”

“Oh!” The girl jumped up to a sitting position on the bed, holding her hand to her heart. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I heard ye cryin’ and wanted te make sure ye were all right.”

“You’re that – that lady my father is marrying, aren’t you?”

“I’m no’ marryin’ him – no’ really.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and made herself comfortable.

“You’re . . . not?” Rose wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She was a small girl for twelve years old, and from what Isobel could tell – acted more like a child than the young woman she really was. Isobel reached over and patted her hand.

“I’m only a proxy.”

“A . . . what?”

“I’m standin’ in fer me cousin, Lady Catherine, who is the one really marryin’ yer faither.”

That didn’t seem to sit well with the girl and she started to cry again.

“What’s the matter?” Isobel asked. When the girl didn’t answer, she suddenly understood why the baron wanted to get married so quickly and right there on the beach at Great Yarmouth. “He didna tell ye he was betrothed, did he?”

“Nay,” the girl admitted, and Isobel’s heart went out to her. She spied a washbasin across the room and got up and wet a cloth and wrung it out in the cool water. She hurried back and handed it to the girl.

“Wash the tears outta yer eyes and let’s talk aboot this.”

“I – I’d like that.” Rose gingerly took the rag and wiped her eyes while Isobel sat back down on the bed.

“I heard aboot the deith o’ yer mathair and I’m sorry. But Rose ye need te understand thet it isna right fer yer faither te stay single so long.”

“He has me,” she said, looking up with wide eyes the color of the sea. “He doesn’t need another wife.”

“O’ course he does,” she said, getting up and grabbing a boar’s-bristle brush from the table and walking back to the bed. “Ye see, a man needs a lassie – a grown-up lassie, in his life too. And jest becooz he’s gettin’ married again, it doesna mean he stopped lovin’ yer mathair.”

She ran a brush over the girl’s hair as she talked.

“It’s my father’s fault that my mother died.”

She stopped brushing and sank down onto the bed next to the girl. “How could ye say thet, lass?”

“Because it’s true. I wanted to stay here and help my mother through the birth of my baby brother, but my father took me away instead. If we had been here – he could have saved her and my brother. I know he could. But we weren’t here and so they died.”

“Blethers, thet is the silliest thing I’ve e’er heard. Yer faither isna a healer is he?”

“Nay,” she answered, playing with the cloth, looking downward. “He’s a puppet of the king.”

Every word out of this girl’s mouth seemed to surprise her. She reminded Isobel a lot of herself at that age. “Now what kind o’ talk is thet?”

“It’s true. He puts the king first and does what he wants. His loyalty lies with him, not me.”

“Thet is his job, Rose. He is a Baron o’ the Cinque Ports and many men answer te him, and in return he answers te the king. Thet’s the way it works. I’m sure ye ken thet.”

“His job is to be a father as well, yet he is never here for me. And every time he returns from overseas, he brings me a gift, thinking it’ll make it all better.”

“I saw what ye did with thet nice leather bracelet he gave ye.” She continued to brush the girl’s hair. “It wasna verra nice te throw his gift inte the sea.”

“He’s trying to replace something, but it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.” She pushed away and fell back on the bed and crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. She was a lot like her father.

“Replace what?”

Before the girl could answer, the door burst open and Conlin marched in with the chambermaid right behind him who still held the linens in both hands, close to her chest. She obviously had run right out to the practice yard to tell Conlin that Isobel was in the room with his daughter. They were both out of breath as if they had been running, and she even saw a drop of sweat trickle down Conlin’s bare chest.

“What’s going on in here?” His eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a straight line.

“We were jest talkin’,” said Isobel nonchalantly, standing up and placing the brush on the table.

“It is not appropriate for you to be in here.”

“Why not?” She wondered why he was acting so protective. Or was it that he had something to hide and didn’t want her to know? “I hardly think it is appropriate fer ye te enter a lady’s chamber without a tunic, while ye’re dirty and smellin’ like the practice yard. Save thet fer yer knights.”

The chambermaid gasped at Isobel’s brashness and turned around and ran down the corridor.

Toft ran up next and stopped abruptly when he saw Isobel in the room. “She’s in Lady Rose’s room?” He sounded shocked, and Isobel wondered how many people the chambermaid had told. Soon, half the castle would be at the door.

“O’ course I am in the room, or are ye all blind?” She turned back to Rose. “Come along, Lady Rose. Let’s take a walk down te the kitchens and see if we can find some smoked herring or perhaps some leftover pigeon pie.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Conlin. “The meal is already over and supper isn’t scheduled until later tonight.”

“But I’m hungry,” said Rose in a small voice.

“So am I,” added Isobel with a nod of her head.

Conlin crossed his arms over his chest and looked directly at his daughter. “Then you, young lady, should have joined us in the Great Hall as is proper instead of hiding in your chamber and not allowing anyone to enter like you’ve done for the last sennight every time we have a meal.”

Isobel felt Rose grab onto her skirt and move closer.

“Ye did that?” Isobel looked over to her, surprised to hear of this action.

“I usually have my handmaiden bring my food to my room and I eat alone,” said the girl.

“And that’s why I’ve dismissed your handmaiden and assigned her to Lady Isobel instead,” said Conlin. “From now on, you’ll not have someone to do your bidding. You will join the rest of us, and if you need anything you will learn to get it yourself.”

“What? Father, how could you?”

“I dismissed the handmaiden last night,” said Isobel. “Becooz I dinna need one either.” She placed her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“I see,” said Conlin with a stiff upper lip.

“Now, if ye’ll excuse us, this wee lass needs some food afore she starves.” She nodded towards the girl.

“She wouldn’t be such a
wee lass
if she ate meals with the rest of us like is expected.” Conlin raised a brow, and then let out a sigh. “All right then. That’s fine for now, but if she wants to eat, she’ll need to start coming to the dais at the scheduled time for her meals as is proper.”

Isobel could see a problem here. Rose seemed to clam up when her father entered the room, and she really couldn’t blame her. The man was charming when he smiled, but when he didn’t get his way he acted like a child – not much different than the way his daughter acted.

“Well, I’m sure Lady Rose will do thet from now on. Now excuse us - we’re goin’ te the kitchen.” She grabbed the girl’s hand and headed to the door.

Conlin pushed his squire aside and stepped in front of them, and crossed his arms over his chest once again, blocking the door. “Isobel, if you wanted to eat, you shouldn’t have overslept. I’m not sure what they do in Scotland, but here were are up before dawn, and eat at first light.”

“First light?” She had never eaten that early in her life. “I doubt thet even the cock eats thet early.”

She heard a muffled giggled from Rose, but didn’t dare look at her right now. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to the girl when Conlin was in such a sour mood.

“What were you two talking about?” Conlin almost sounded worried.

She knew if she told him the truth, he wouldn’t like it. He was a private man, as the squire had told her, so she couldn’t let on that she was meddling in his personal affairs. She looked over to Rose and the girl seemed scared of her own father. This wasn’t good at all. She couldn’t get Rose in trouble by telling of their conversation. So she said the only thing she knew that would repel the baron, even if it did get her sent home on a ship by his own hand.