The Baron's Bounty (9 page)

“We were talkin’ aboot shoes,” she said and smiled at Rose. “Rose, mayhap after we eat, ye can show me yer shoes and I’ll show ye mine.”

“You will?” asked the girl.

“Aye, I have a whole trunk full and I’m sure some o’ them will fit ye. We’ll have te get te them fast tho, since yer faither is goin’ te give away all me shoes te the servants.”

“Father, you aren’t really going to do that are you?” Rose looked up to him with wide eyes and Isobel swore she saw a muscle twitch in the Conlin’s jaw. He looked over to her, and Isobel just smiled. He obviously was not amused with her antics.

“Nay, Rose, of course not.” He seemed to push the words from his mouth, and at that moment she realized his weakness. He couldn’t disappoint his daughter. Even with all his threats, she guessed he never carried a one of them out where his daughter was concerned. And whether the girl realized it or not, Rose had learned how to control him. She’d called her father a puppet of the king, but Isobel could clearly see that Rose was really the one pulling his strings.

“He also is going to send me back te Scotland on a boat now since I mentioned shoes,” she told Rose, realizing she could use this weakness to her advantage. While she had thought she wanted to return to Scotland, she changed her mind. She was curious about Rose and Conlin – and what really happened to Conlin’s wife. Nay, she didn’t want to leave quite yet.

She noticed the aggravation on Conlin’s face, and that made her smile even more. Mayhap two of them could pull his strings after all.

“Father, you can’t send Isobel away. I like her.”

The moment seemed to last forever as Conlin’s eyes interlocked with Isobel’s. Any other woman would have looked away, but she met him in challenge. She saw despair in his silver eyes and also discontentment. His resolve was weakening and she felt success when his gaze softened and she saw him close his eyes for a second and nod, because she knew she’d won.

“Of course she’s not going anywhere,” he told his daughter.

“Ye see, I’m goin’ te stay.” She raised her chin triumphantly.

“That’s right,” added Conlin. “She will be staying at Briarbeck Castle for now because Isobel and I are going to be married this morning.”

“This mornin’?” Now it was her turn to have her strings pulled.

“That is the reason you’re here, isn’t it?” He smiled triumphantly this time.

“Aye,” she said and could hear the shakiness of her own voice.

“But you’re not really marrying her, it’s just pretend,” said Rose, wanting confirmation.

Conlin let out a deep breath and uncrossed his arms. “She’s a proxy, Rose. Do you know what that means?”

“I do, Father. Isobel told me.”

“Talking about shoes, were you?” he said under his breath to Isobel, raising an eyebrow in the process.

“Shoes, and a couple other things.” She once again reached out and grabbed Rose’s hand. “Come along, Rose. I canna wait fer ye te try on some o’ me shoes.”

She stepped around Conlin and his squire and pulled the girl along with her as she walked out the door. She only stopped for a moment when she heard Conlin’s voice from behind her.

“You’ll be sure to find that writ of confirmation while you’re rooting around in the trunk.” She didn’t want to turn around to face him, because if she did, he’d see it in her eyes that she’d been lying. There was no writ in the trunk with the shoes. Her guard had it on him, and she wasn’t even sure he hadn’t lost it in the shipwreck. It would probably never be found and the baron would end up sending a missive back to Scotland, and have to wait for an answer. That could take months, and she knew it would really throw off his schedule.

“We’ll take a look,” she said and hurried down the hall with Rose in tow, wondering just how angry he’d be when he found out from her guard that she’d been lying. But Shadwell and Elliot still had not found their way back from Great Yarmouth yet. With any luck, perhaps they’d never make it back to Sandwich at all.

Chapter 8

Conlin spent the morning on the docks, overseeing trade being exported and imported between fishermen, nobles, and merchants. Ships from up and down the coast had docked in his harbor, and he went about his duties of overseeing his Collector and Controller of Customs to make sure they were properly taxing the goods for the king, and each applying their half of the seal to the receipts.

Since his friend, Baron Nicholas Vaughn had recently had problems with corruption on his docks, all the barons of the Cinque Ports had been watching things closely.

Conlin’s personal fleet consisted of fifteen ships of all shapes and sizes. Since King Edward didn’t have a royal navy, he depended upon his barons to provide him with ships that would assist him in times of need for fifteen days out of the year. With the other merchants and fishermen who inhabited his port, Conlin could easily have the fifty-seven required ships at a spur of the moment to service the king whenever needed.

The fishermen and merchants who gave their ships in service to the king were granted privileges in return – such as being able to fish and dry their nets on the beaches of Great Yarmouth at the herring festival once a year.

The barons were also granted extra favors such as being able to keep any bounty from shipwrecks found in their waters.

Conlin thought of his bounty from the shipwreck. He did manage to snag a few things of real value, but he had no need for trunks of worthless shoes. And his biggest bounty that was proving to be more of a burden that it was worth was Isobel MacEwen, the crazy Scottish woman he’d fished out of the sea.

“My lord, isn’t that Shadwell and that Scottish guard?” Toft came running up to Conlin’s side, still holding Conlin’s travel bag. He pointed, and Conlin first noticed Baron John Montague’s ship docking, and on the deck stood Shadwell and the guard named Elliot.

“Aye, and it’s about time they got back here.” Conlin handed the tally sheets he’d been surveying to his Collector of Customs and headed down the pier toward the ship.

“Tally ho!” shouted John, waving a hand in the air from atop the rigging. Conlin shaded his eyes from the sun and looked up to see his friend halfway up the mast, clinging to the rigging like a damned spider weaving a web.

“Hastings,” he called out to his friend. “I can see now why it took you so long to return my men. Get down from there you fool, that is the work of lackeys.”

“I was bored,” he called out, and then proceeded to make his way over to the main mast. Wrapping his arms and legs around it, he slid down the pole and landed on the deck.

“Keep that up and you’ll have slivers in your arse, and I’ll laugh harder than anyone,” said Conlin with a smile.

John walked over to the boarding plank just being put into place, and hurried down to greet Conlin. “Sandwich, I’m tired of cleaning up your messes. But I will admit these two made great drinking partners once you and Romney rushed off because of your women. Ahh, it does feel freeing not to have a female tied to my side.”

“Isobel is not my woman, and had naught to do with me leaving Great Yarmouth in a rush.”

John walked over and greeted his friend with a shake of hands. “I was speaking of that daughter of yours, but now that you mentioned the Scottish lassie, where is she?” He stretched his neck and looked up and down the wharf.

“Baron Sandwich, is this ship here for trade?” asked the Tidesman, checking in the ships as they docked.

“Nay,” answered Conlin, dismissing the man with a wave of his hand. “The only goods they’re unloading are two men who can’t seem to follow a bloody schedule.”

“Aye, milord,” said the man, going down the pier to the next ship coming to dock at the harbor, checking the list in his hand.

“Baron,” called out Shadwell, hurrying down the plank with Elliot at his side. “We would have returned yesterday, but Baron Hastings insisted we stay and drink with him another day.”

“Aye,” answered the Scottish guard. “I hope Lady Isobel hasna been a burden, milord.”

“Lady Isobel, I like that name.” John always seemed to like any woman’s name that was thrown at him. Unfortunately, the girls didn’t flock to John the way they always seemed to do with Conlin. John instead was an odd bird at times, scaring away any woman that was worth her salt.

“Where is Lady Isobel?” asked Elliot. “I should go te her. She may need me.”

“Lady Isobel, I’m sure hasn’t even missed your presence,” said Conlin. “That is, she’s been busy talking to my daughter. They are in the solar at this very moment, looking at that damned trunk of shoes that I wish I’d never fished out of the sea to begin with.”

“Aye, Lady Isobel treasures her shoes,” agreed the guard.

“It’s no treasure. And I swear if the letter of confirmation from Lady Catherine wasn’t in it, I would have dumped the whole mess into the sea.”

“But it’s no’,” said Elliot. “Why would ye think that?”

“What do you mean?” Conlin was getting the feeling that Isobel hadn’t been honest with him.

“I’ve had the letter o’ confirmation with me all the time. I’ve kept it in me hat, and thankfully it wasna ruined when I ended up in the sea.” He removed his hat and took a parchment out from within it.

“I thought Lady Isobel said the letter was in her trunk,” Toft so kindly pointed out.

“That is what she said.” Conlin was starting to see that the wench was sly as well as disobedient.

“Mayhap she’d just forgotten,” came John’s suggestion.

“Highly unlikely,” mumbled Conlin.

“Lady Isobel ken I had it,” relayed the guard. “Matter o’ fact, it was her idea I hold onto it since she thought she might lose it.”

“Let me have it.” Conlin held out his hand. The guard handed it over to him. It was a piece of vellum folded over and sealed with wax and stamped with the signet ring that showed the badge of the MacEwen clan. A stump of a tree with several branches and leaves sticking out was the emblem of the MacEwen’s. Stamped in the wax was the clan name as well as the word Reviresco, which was the Latin word for resurrect, revive, or to grow strong again.

Conlin wasted no time in opening the document, and scanning the contents. It was written in ink and somewhat smeared from having been dunked in the water.

“What does it say?” Toft looked around Conlin’s arm, trying to see it.

“Aye, what does the Shrew of the Scots have to say?” asked John with a chuckle.

“It’s not from Lady Catherine,” Conlin said as he continued reading. “It seems it is from Old Man MacEwen himself.”

“Aye,” said the guard. “He wrote the writ and sealed it and I’m not even certain Lady Catherine ever saw it at all. I’m not sure why he’d do such a thing.”

“I can see why.” Conlin just shook his head when he read the latter part of the letter.

“Let me see it.” John snatched it out of his hand. Conlin just waited for John to start up with his antics, but instead he read the letter silently and just whistled. “You lucky dog!”

“What is it?” Toft tried to reach for the parchment, but John handed it back to Conlin over the boy’s head.

“Shadwell, see to the docks for me, will you?” Conlin put the letter in his pouch. “And take Elliot with you.”

“I am Lady Isobel’s escort,” the Scottish guard protested. “Me Laird will have me heid if I dinna watch o’er her.”

“There’s no need for an escort, because in a few hours Isobel will be married to me – as my proxy.”

“You’re really going to go through with this?” Toft had a silly grin on his face as usual.

“I haven’t a choice. If I want to keep my alliance with the MacEwens, I need to marry the proxy until Lady Catherine arrives.”

“Well, I think the whole fake marriage is a farce,” said Toft.

“Not as much of a farce as you think, right Sandwich?” John smiled and winked.

“Baron?” Toft looked at Conlin in question.

“Squire, fetch the priest and have him meet me in my chapel anon. Because I have a feeling when my little Scottish lassie finds out what’s really in this letter she’s going to try to escape, and I can’t let that happen.”

Chapter 9

Isobel dug through the trunk of shoes, pulling out one after another, showing them to Rose who seemed to be genuinely interested.

“This is me pair of satin slippers thet me cousin, Catherine, gave me when she wanted me te dance with one o’ the clanmembers at the last banquet instead of her havin’ te do it.” They’re a little wet, but I dinna think the saltwater has ruined them.”

“What about these?” Rose picked up a pair of shoes that had toes so long that there was a string at the end to tie them up to the knee.

“Oh, those,” she said with a giggle. “I got those from Catherine when she wanted me te take her place on a huntin’ trip. She said the thought of seeing dead animals made her ill. They’re not easy te walk in, but look, the insides are lined with leather and they have an inked sole.” She held them up and showed the girl the bright red soles.

“And these? What are they for?” Rose picked up the wooden pattens and made a face. They were thick blocks of wood with a leather strip and buckle atop each.

“Ye ne’er wore pattens?” asked Isobel in surprise.

“Nay. What are they?” Rose turned the wooden clog over and over in her hand, trying to figure it out.

“Lassie, ye are too sheltered in this castle if ye dinna ken that these are worn o’er one’s shoes in order no’ te step in muddy streets or fields o’ manure.”

She started laughing, and Isobel felt good that she could bring joy into the girl’s life.

“Ye dinna believe me, do ye?”

“I don’t think anyone could really walk in these,” said Rose.

“Jest watch me.” Isobel stepped up onto each of the shoes and buckled them in place over her own leather flat shoes. Then she clomped around the room, managing to make the young girl laugh again.

“Did Lady Catherine give those to you too in order to get you to do her bidding?”

“She did,” Isobel admitted. “She didna want te walk through town te pick up her latest shoe order, so I used them and went fer her. Did ye want te try them on?”

“Could I?” Rose jumped up eagerly, and helped Isobel remove the shoes. Then Isobel put them on Rose’s feet and the girl tried to walk and almost fell. They both laughed.

“Easy, take it slow.” She grabbed Rose’s arm and they made a circle around the solar, both of them laughing uncontrollably since the pattens were too big for Rose’s feet.

“Ye look like a horse trudgin’ through mud,” said Isobel, collapsing onto the bed, holding her stomach since she was laughing so hard.

“Do I look like a puppet on a string like you?” Rose waved her hands around, made a face, and wobbled her head, trying to look like a puppet.

“What?” Isobel stopped laughing.

“You are Catherine’s puppet just like my father is a puppet of the king.”

“Nay, I’m no’,” she said, not wanting to admit aloud that what the girl said was true. She was a puppet of Catherine’s, and somehow it hadn’t bothered her much until Rose pointed it out.

The door to the solar opened, and Rose suddenly stopped laughing. Isobel looked over to see Conlin standing in the entranceway.

“Rose, take those off before you fall and break your neck.” Conlin hurried over to help his daughter do it.

“Oh, leave her be,” scolded Isobel. “We were havin’ fun.”

Conlin was down on his knees and looked up from the corner of his eye as he removed the pattens from the girl’s feet. “I have something else for you to do, Isobel, and somehow I don’t believe you’ll think it is fun.”

“Really?” She stood up and took the pattens from him and held them to her chest. “What?”

Before he could answer, his squire ran through the door with a priest right behind him.

“Baron, I found Father George right here in the castle and he said he has time to marry you and Isobel right now if you want.”

“Marry?” Isobel’s heart about stopped. She had been hoping to stall the wedding until Catherine showed up and married the man herself.

“Should we go to the chapel, or did you want to marry her right here?” The priest pulled his Bible out from under his robe.

“Nay, we canna marry,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why not?” Conlin stood up, towering over her. She felt a heat engulf her.

“Becooz.” She looked down to the trunk and had a thought. “I didna find the letter o’ confirmation from Catherine in the trunk after all. It musta fallen inte the sea. So ye see, there is no proof I am really supposed te be yer proxy.”

“Isn’t there, now?” Conlin reached into his pouch and pulled out the writ, and held it up in front of Isobel’s face.

“W- what’s that?” Her eyes fastened to the parchment and Conlin almost laughed at her surprised expression.

“It’s the letter o’ confirmation from yer uncle,” came a voice from the doorway. She looked up to see Elliot standing there with Shadwell at his side.

“Elliot, you’re back!”

“They are,” said Conlin, still holding the letter out to her. “And it seems you’ve conveniently forgotten that you told your guard to hold the letter. Good thing he still had it.”

“Aye,” she answered and looked over to Rose who was no longer laughing either. The life had seemed to be sucked right out of the girl as soon as Conlin entered the room. “Guid thing.”

“Did you want to read it?” He held it out to her.

Her shaking hand went out to take it, then she pulled it back. “Nay. I have no need.”

“Oh, but I think you’d better.” Conlin all but wagged it in her face. “It seems your uncle has some strict rules, and if we don’t abide by them, he says he is going to send his men to attack our shores.”

“What? How? Why? I thought the whole idea o’ the marriage was fer an alliance. Why would he threaten te attack ye?”

“Because he’s crazy like the rest of the MacEwens,” mumbled the squire.

“Toft, quiet,” warned Conlin. “I don’t like wagging tongues. Now we will abide by Laird MacEwen’s wishes, because I cannot risk my daughter or my people’s lives. The Scots have been known to surprise attack the English lately, and I won’t have my castle, my people, nor my lands endangered just because I didn’t do things as scheduled.”

“You and your schedules!” She snatched the missive from his hand and opened it and began to read it aloud. “Lady Isobel MacEwen, my niece is being sent as the proxy who will –”

“Please read it to yourself,” Conlin commanded, and his eyes darted over to his daughter.

She followed his gaze, but didn’t understand. “All right,” she said slowly, wondering what was in the missive that Conlin didn’t want his daughter to hear.

Her eyes scanned the page and she gasped when she got to the bottom.

“What does it say?” asked Rose, standing on her tiptoes trying to see the letter.

Isobel quickly gave the letter back to Conlin, not enabling the girl to see it. “It jest says thet I must marry your faither. Thet’s all.”

“Oh,” answered Rose.

“Toft, do what you can to dig up something suitable for the proxy to wear to the wedding,” Conlin said with no emotion at all in his voice.

“Aye, milord,” answered the squire.

Isobel didn’t want to look at Conlin right now. She couldn’t. So instead, she looked over to Rose and forced a smile. “Would you like to be my flower girl?”

A pout darkened the girl’s face. “I don’t want my father to get married.”

Isobel hunkered down and held the girl’s hands in hers. “Rose, we dinna have a choice. Yer faither is only doin’ it te protect ye, dinna ye understand?”

“But you’re not really marrying him. It’s just pretend,” the girl said, wanting confirmation.

Isobel’s eyes darted up toward Conlin, and he silently shook his head, warning her to stay silent.

“Thet’s right, lassie. I am only a proxy,” she said, pulling the girl to her chest in a hug.

She looked up once more to Conlin, and suddenly everything was different. He looked dashing and daring, and very dangerous indeed. And though she’d kissed him and even enjoyed it on the day he’d saved her life, now the thought of kissing him again had her shaking in her shoes.

But she couldn’t show fear now, or his daughter might find out the truth. Catherine had pulled her puppet strings one too many times, but this was preposterous. Now for some reason her uncle was pulling her strings as well, because the missive stated that Elliot would come back to Scotland alone after the wedding and tell her uncle if the rules had been followed. That is, his ridiculous rules of her not only being a proxy and having to marry the baron, but also being a proxy to her cousin Catherine in consummating the marriage as well!