Rose of rapture Page 13

  "Oh, come, Waerwic. Ye speak ill of my Lady Isabella only because Brangwen has soured ye for all women. My Lady Isabella was but pleasant—"

  "Nay, she is a witch—like all the rest! Ye do not believe me?" Warrick had asked, then laughed shortly when his brother had remained silent. "God's wounds! She threatened to slay me this eve."

  "What?" Caerllywel's eyes had widened with disbelief, theni narrowed. "Nay!"

  "Aye, 'tis true. The Lady Isabella pulled her knife and swore she would kill me or set her brother's men to the task. Doubtless, that is what really happened to Lord Oadby. Oh, aye, she is a pleasant maid indeed, brother," the Earl had sneered, "one who, at the slightest provocation, is likely to stab me whilst I sleep or command her brother's men to arrange a fatal 'accident' for me."

  "Nay, I cannot believe that of her, Waerwic. One who sets her hand to healing does not murder in the dark of night." Caerllywel had suddenly stared at his brother accusingly. "Ye must have frightened her—deliberately!"

  "Oh, aye." Warrick had smiled wolfishly. "I told her we were to be wed, then intimated what I expected from our marriage. I very much fear my sweet bride is not at all looking forward to sharing my bed."

  "But—but why on earth did ye set about to terrify the girl, Waerwic? Surely, there was no need for such."

  "I do not aim to be saddled with a wench who knows no fear of me, Caerllywel. Had I dealt with Brangwen as I should have, she would have been too afraid to cast her eyes upon another man and would yet be mine."

  "Nay, even that would not have held her, and my Lady Isabella is not Brangwen, Waerwic," his brother had reminded him grimly.

  "Perhaps not, but they are alike nevertheless—all of them! Deceitful, lying bitches, one and all—good for one thing only! And fools are men who cannot see the rotten black hearts that lie beneath their facades of outward beauty!"

  "Waerwic, Waerwic. Ye are wrong, wrongl One wench played ye false; 'tis true. But 'twas her nature, brother. She was sick and evil. Our mother warned ye of it from the start, but ye would not listen. Even had ye threatened Brangwen with death, she would have laughed in your face and lain with her executioner before your very eyes! My Lady Isabella is not like that, Waerwic. She is a woman to be won with love and treasured, methinks; and once her heart is yours, 'twill have no room in it for another man—I know it! Waerwic, Waerwic! I pray ye: Do not allow your hatred of one wicked maid to blind ye to the attributes of a wench who is naught but gentle and good. Ye will regret it, and bitterly, I promise ye."

  "Thou art a fool, Caerllywel."

  Warrick's mouth curled with contempt as he remembered the words of last night this morning. His brother was a fool. The Earl had been right to frighten Isabella. Already, she behaved more modestly, her eyes downcast at her plate instead of flirting with Caerllywel.

  That Isabella had not been teasing his brother the previous evening had not occurred to Warrick. He had no sisters and was not close to any woman. Thus, he had not recognized that Isabella's manner was that of a girl who had been raised primarily by and among men and so conversed easily with them, without the coyness or restraint that would have marked another woman. Indeed, because of her deep love of animals and Lady Shrewton's mean behavior toward her, Isabella had spent far more time in the stables than the sollar. She could stitch a wound like no other, but when it came to embroidering a sampler, her skillful fingers grew awkward and clumsy. She could boil herbs for an unguent, but when it came to steeping petals for perfume, she invariably spoilt the mixture. She could cradle a beast in her lap for hours without moving, but when it came to sitting at her studies, she fidgeted after a few minutes. She could carry on a lively discussion with the knights of the castle, but when it came to talking with the maids of the keep, Isabella was at a loss, for their interests were not her own.

  But the Earl knew none of this and would not have believed it if he had. He had become too accustomed to thinking of women

  as mere bodies to warm his bed—to be dismissed with a handful of coins or a pretty bauble if they had pleased him, a few sharp words and sometimes a slap or two if they had not.

  Warrick pushed away his plate and rose to his feet.

  "I intend to ride out over the estate today. Do ye wish to accompany me?"

  He had directed the question to Caerllywel, but Isabella did not know that.

  "But of course, my lord," she answered politely, looking up at him with some surprise. "I have already given instructions for my mare to be saddled. Sirs Eadric, Thegn, and Beowulf will escort us, along with whomever of your own men ye may choose."

  If Caerllywel's head had not been throbbing so badly from the ale he had drunk last night, he would have chortled aloud at the expression on his brother's face. In Warrick's mind, women did not meddle in the business affairs of men, and so Isabella had inadvertently insulted him again.

  "Madam"—the Earl spoke coldly, disdainfully, wishing to put the impudent witch in her place—"I am sure there is no need for » ye to trouble yourself in such a manner. The services of your chief baihff will be quite adequate, I assure ye, as I am certain he knows far more about the management of your brother's lands than ye."

  "I—I do not think so, my lord. Indeed, he will find it quite odd that I do not accompany ye. However"—Isabella quickly desisted, not wishing to provoke him—"if that is your desire ..."

  "Aye, 'tis," he informed her loftily, and nothing further was said as the girl left the hall to send a messenger for the bailiff.

  But Master Potter, when summoned and told why he had been called from his duties, protested vigorously, shaking his head.

  "My lord, I have a bad leg," he whined, "and 'tis difficult for me to ride any great distance. When 'tis necessary I oversee the farthest reaches of the estate, I travel by cart. Sometimes, it takes many days just to get from one point to another. Ye will do better to take the Lady Isabella. 'Tis she who keeps the account books anyway, and she is the only person, besides Lord Rushden, who knows the true worth of his lands. That, I assume, my lord, is what ye wish to know, is it not?"

  "What do ye mean—the Lady Isabella keeps the account books? Do ye not see to the matter yourself with the aid of a clerk?"

  "Oh, nay, my lord. The Ladies of Rushden have always kept the records and known as much of the castle's affairs as the Lords themselves. The Rushden charter, my lord, permits descendance

  to females if there be no legitimate male issue to inherit. For this reason, the daughters of Rushden are-as learned in many areas as its sons are. In my time, my lord—with the exception of when Lx)rd Oadby oversaw the estate and prevented the Lady Isabella from taking her rightful place as its mistress—there has never been a daughter of Rushden who could not hold and manage the keep as well as any of its sons."

  Warrick inhaled deeply and thought if he heard Caerllywel laugh—even once—the Earl would slit his brother's throat. Fortunately, Caerllywel must have suspected this, for he made no sound, although if Warrick had spared him a glance, he would have seen his brother's eyes were filled with merriment.

  "Master Potter, I desire ye to fetch the Lady Isabella here to me at once," the Earl ordered grimly.

  "Aye, my lord."

  Presently, Isabella appeared, her hands clasped demurely before her, her eyebrows raised in gentle inquiry. Warrick was not deceived. He suspected that beneath her outward demeanor, Isabella was secretly laughing at him. With difficulty, he quelled the strong desire he had to box her ears and silently cursed her for a witch.

  "My lord?" she queried.

  "I—I have changed my mind, my lady," Warrick stated stiffly. "I desire ye to ride out with us after all."

  "Very good, my lord," Isabella responded smoothly.

  "And cease 'my lording' me. There is no need for it when your rank is as great as my own, and ye are to be my wife besides! I have a name; 'tis Warrick. Use it hence, madam!" he snapped wrathfully.

  Christ's son! The wench sought to make a fool of him at every turn!

 
; The soft light that shone always in Isabella's eyes died, and her heart sank with despair at his words.

  Oh, Lionel, my love, my dearest heart and soul!

  "As—as ye wish, my—Warrick," the girl replied at last, her voice so low, they almost didn't hear her.

  Neither the Earl nor Caerllywel missed the sudden shadowing of her face before dumbly she turned away from them and once more left the hall. Caerllywel threw his brother an angry glance, but Warrick only stared back at him coolly until the younger man swore under his breath, then abruptly followed Isabella from the chamber. The Earl frowned, watching with narrowed eyes as his brother caught the girl's arm and bent to speak to her. Reluctantly,

  she ceased her blind, hurried stride, earnestly gazing up at Ca-erllywel as he talked. Then she shook her head slightly and tried bravely to smile, but it was a pitiful attempt at best. Fuming inside, Warrick joined them and, with a single dark look, curtly put an end to their conversation.

  There was another tense moment of anxiety as Isabella's little grey mare, Cendrillon, was led forth, and the Earl's strong hands closed around the girl's waist to assist her into the saddle. His fingers were like a steel band, deliberately possessive, as though to remind her she belonged to him and not to Caerllywel—or any other. And as with the previous evening, Isabella found Warrick's touch strangely disturbing to her. Briefly, the girl saw his eyes gleam with that odd light of desire that had frightened her so last night, and she trembled slightly as she gathered up her reins.

  "I—I am ready, my—Warrick," she said.

  Only then did the Earl release her to swing up onto his own mount, a huge brown destrier with a golden-cream mane and tail. Slowly, they cantered beneath the iron portcullis and over the' drawbridge to the terrain beyond, Caerilywel and the rest following behind.

  The day had dawned brightly and was now clear, for the early morning mist had long since lifted, though here and there, dew-drops sparkled still, like prisms, upon the spring grass. Before the small party, the road stretched out in a ribbon that wound its way through the forests and fields, just beginning to bloom. The branches of majestic oaks and sturdy pines intertwined with those of the tall ashes and slender poplars, forming canopies of multicolored green above the gnarled limbs of the spreading yews and thick, tangled gorse, at whose bases a riotous cascade of wild roses, gillyflower, ferns, and moss grew. Acres of newly planted wheat, oats, and barley gleamed in the sunlight and rippled in the slight breeze that stirred now and then, whispering softly to the crofters who dotted the countryside, hoes and scythes in hand. In the distance, cattle mooed lowly, and sheep and goats bleated on the hillsides.

  All about him, Warrick saw nothing but signs of prosperity, cleanliness, and health: for Isabella had put her months as mistress of Rushden to good use, righting many of the wrongs that Lord Oadby had perpetrated, despite the Duke of Gloucester's pointed warning to him. After her previous warden's death, the girl had found that although, on the surface, Rushden seemed well cared for, its tenants had been even more badly treated than she and

  Giles. Isabella had been horrified upon learning of the hardships the villeins had endured, and she had set about to ease their lots as best she could, winning the crofters' love and gratitude. Now, they hailed her warmly when they spied her, laying aside their hoes and doffing their caps with respect.

  Several women worked alongside their men in the fields, but others tended the neat vegetable patches the Earl saw behind every single cottage. Older children aided their mothers at this task, but the little ones, Warrick noted, played under the watchful eyes of a few young maids.

  He turned to Isabella questioningly.

  "Why are they not all in the fields, where even the youngest of them ought to be?" he asked, his voice disapproving. "And who gives them leave to plant gardens for themselves and care for them when there is other work to be done?"

  "I do," Isabella answered calmly, "as my father did and his father before him and his father before him. Our ways here at Rushden are different, my lord."

  "So I see," the Earl remarked dryly.

  "My lord—Warrick—the manner of life ye observe here has long been the custom at Rushden—despite Lord Oadby's many wicked and miserly attempts to change it," the girl added coolly, and Warrick, wisely, did not miss the hint. "Our tenants are well cared for and take pride in their work. I ask ye, my lord: Of what use is a villein who has been beaten and starved into submission, who is likely to run away, rebel, or fall prey to any number of illnesses and die? Of what use is a child who, put to work in the fields at two, is likely to be emaciated and malformed at eight and dead at fifteen? Of what use is a crofter who, having managed to survive the hardships of such a childhood, grows to manhood angry and resentful or broken in spirit and bereft of pride? I tell ye such tenants are of value to no one, Warrick; and I was hard pressed to right the many wrongs that Lord Oadby did to break the spirits of my brother's people." Again, there was a warning in her words.

  "Your ways encourage them to have ideas above their stations!"

  "Perhaps, but what is a man without hope and dreams? Do ye not see what a rich estate is Rushden? Do ye think 'twould be even half as wealthy if our ways here were otherwise? Nay, 'twould not be, methinks. There would be cruelty beyond measure and crime without end. Those who could not bear it would flee; those who stayed would suffer; and thus, Rushden would suffer

  HO REBECCA BRANDEWYNE

  too, as it did during Lord Oadby's time. Now—I'll warrant that one of Rushden's villeins does the work of three on another estate—and does it better and does it willingly, with a gladness bom of love and security. There is not a man here who must wonder whether or not he will have enough food to feed the hungry mouths of his children. There is not a man here who must cheat the castle of its rightful due or steal from his neighbors in order to survive the winter. 1 have seen to that. 'Twas my ancestors' belief that a man was bound more surely with honey than vinegar, my lord, and so it has been here at Rushden. There is not a man here who would not freely and happily lay down his very life for me if I asked it. Can ye say the same of your own crofters?"

  The Earl thought of his own tenants, a poor and bedraggled lot who worked sullenly and watched him slyly out of the comers of their eyes. He thought of his own estate, Hawkhurst, a cmm-bling-down min, which produced little and was grossly encumbered by debt, despite his own personal wealth. The contrast with Rushden was not pleasing, and he was consumed with envy and wrath that this small slight girl at his side mled a domain where the villeins met one's eyes without fear, where the fields were greening richly beneath the spring sun, and where the herds were vast and well tended. She was only a woman. How did she know of such matters? 'Twas most unseemly. A wench's place was at her spinning wheel or embroidery frame in the sollar—or beneath a man in bed. Warrick felt like a fool in the face of her knowledge and wealth, the fact that she was succeeding where he had failed.

  That his failure was due primarily to his not spending any time at his estate only rankled him further. He had no one to blame but himself for the current condition of his lands and castle. Like his father, he preferred life at Court and in battle, retiring to his domain only upon receipt of his steward's messages that matters could be neglected no longer. Even then, like his father, Warrick spent more time hunting than overseeing his estate. No wonder the number of his tenants lessened each year, as more and more of them dared to forsake their small plots and brave the world in hopes of finding a better lot.

  The Earl set his heels to his stallion's sides and galloped on ahead, not tmsting himself to speak, but now determined to make more than just the cursory examination of Rushden that he had originally planned.

  At the village, he was met with further evidence of how well Rushden was mn. Even the dirt roads were clean, the garbage

  and offal being periodically removed and used to fertilize the fields. The priest and the bailiff were summoned to show him their ledgers, and one old man among the crowd that had ga
thered to view the new warden tugged on the priest's robe and asked in a querulous voice if the village folk should fetch their papers.

  "Papers? What papers?" Warrick inquired suspiciously.

  "Why, the papers the Lady has the priest write for us to show we have paid what is due the Lord," the man answered simply.

  "He means his receipts, Warrick," Isabella explained as she reached the throng. "At harvest time, each villager and tenant is given a receipt for the revenues he has paid to the Lord. That way, a new priest or bailiff cannot force the people to pay again what they have already fairly paid once. 'Twas my father's idea. The times are hard, what with the civil war and not knowing who may wear the Crown tomorrow; and 'tis not right for the commonfolk to suffer for the quarrels of the nobility."

  "Aye." Warrick's golden eyes narrowed. "That, at least, I can understand, for the Welsh too have long been afflicted by such. The Ashleys have always been Yorkists, have they not?"

  "Aye, since the beginning of the civil war. And ye, my lord?"

  "I, madam?" The Earl raised one eyebrow mockingly and smiled strangely.

  His brother laughed.

  "Waerwic is always for the winning side, my lady," Caerllywel said.

  Isabella was shocked.

  "Why, that's terrible! Have ye no honor?"

  "I am half-Welsh and a bastard besides, madam," Warrick drawled, his tone a trifle bitter. "What kind of honor would ye expect me to have? I am a savage—or worse—or so I have been told."

  Isabella turned those fathomless grey-green eyes upon him.

  "Even a savage must have some code of honor," she noted softly. "Without such, a man is nothing."

  The Earl's nostrils flared whitely, and for a moment, Isabella thought he would hit her with his whip; then, his jaw set, he hauled on his reins and spurred his horse forward, galloping out of town.

  Isabella bit her lip in despair.

  "I have angered him, and 'twas not my intent," she said.