Rose of rapture Page 17

  to the denseness of the old woods that clustered upon the wild, windswept moors that stretched for miles in all directions.

  The house itself was built of dark grey stone and was three massive stories square, flanked on either side by smaller wings. With its four machicolated towers, the widow's walk, and the lofty turrets that sat upon the comers of the wings, it resembled a castle. The front was lined with long, narrow casement windows, with diamond-shaped, lead-glass panes that shone like prisms when touched by the summer sun, reflecting a thousand dancing rainbows upon the lawn, which shimmered like some fairyland when the morning dew lay yet upon the grass. Between the windows, trellises climbed the walls, and roses—white roses—grew intertwined upon the lattices, lifting their fragile, fragrant petals to the sky.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as the stout oak doors of the manor house were flung open wide, and she stepped into the hall. She was safe. Naught could harm her here—or so the girl thought. She did not know that it would be here, at Grasmere, that not once, but twice, the course of her life would be changed for all time; and she would have no choice in the matter.

  Giles came, at last, in response to the letters that Isabella had written to him—the first to inform him of their new warden's identity, and the second to beg her brother to come to her at Grasmere with all haste. With him came Lionel, her love.

  Still, as always, it was to Giles's arms that Isabella moved first, for her beloved brother would always hold a special place in her heart, set apart from other men. She saw he looked older— and tired, so very tired. There were lines of strain around his eyes that had not been there before, as though the years had finally wearied him, dimmed the eager light of youth that had once blazed in his hazel orbs, leaving naught save embers of smoldering sorrow and pain. Where once he had looked outward at the world, he now looked inward instead, as though he had found life wanting and had retreated from it.

  Isabella knew instantly that something had happened to change him, and she was disturbed by the alteration in him, for she had always thought of Giles as a tower of strength. Now, for the first time, she saw her brother as he really was: just a man, like any other; a man who had done his duty, and well, but whose heart was no longer in it. For Giles was somewhere far away, in some comer of his mind where all was sweetness and light, and men did not suffer. Suddenly, the girl knew she could not burden him

  with her troubles. She would only be adding to the pain he was akeady enduring. He would be saddened by her unhappiness, torn apart by the idea that she was to marry Lord Hawkhurst. She loved Giles. She could not bring such hurt to him—not now.

  So Isabella smiled brightly in welcome, and though the lilt of her lips did not quite reach her eyes, her brother did not see that. He saw only that she was as beautiful as always, a haven of peace and serenity, of harmony and grace, in a world that was often ugly and cruel. His hazel orbs filled with warmth as he walked toward her, limping slightly.

  Startled and concerned, the girl ran to his side at once.

  "Giles! You're hurt! Let me help ye!"

  "'lis naught. A broken bone that did not set properly; that's all. I manage very well now."

  "Oh, Giles, ye should have told me."

  Isabella bit her lip with sorrow that he should have been wounded so; and yet, somehow, the lameness suited him, adding a certain poignancy to his romantic nature and appearance. Her heart welled up with love for him. It didn't matter that he was not the pillar of invincibility she had once imagined; in her quiet way, she had always been strong enough for them both. Fervently, Isabella enveloped her brother in her arms and kissed him sweetly, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

  "Oh, Giles, 'tis good to see ye," she said.

  "And ye, dear sister," he replied.

  She longed desperately to ask him what was wrong, but now was not the time or the place. So instead, she turned to Lionel, her love, her glorious golden god of the moonlit meadow.

  But curiously, Lionel's blinding brilliance had been dimmed too for the girl in the year since she'd seen him, been tarnished in some manner she could not explain. He was as handsome as ever, surely, but somehow, he seemed lacking when, unbidden, Warrick's dark, masculine image; his cold, chiseled countenance; and his hard lean body filled her mind. Isabella lowered her gaze quickly, lest Lionel should guess her guilty thoughts as he bowed and kissed her hand.

  "Art not glad to see me, 'Sabelle?" he asked softly, startling her back to the present.

  "Of course," she assured him. "Welcome to Grasmere." But even to her ears, the stilted words sounded like an obedient child reciting by rote.

  She turned away, thereby missing the sudden, troubled frown

  that marred Lionel's features and his speculative gaze as he and Giles followed her into the house.

  Isabella studied her brother quietly, worriedly. He had said little throughout supper, scarcely even commenting on their new warden or the state of Rushden's affairs. It was as though Giles could not bring himself to concentrate on the matter, and once more, the girl had the feeling that his mind was far away. She waited silently for some explanation for her brother's subdued manner, but at last, when none was forthcoming, she broached the subject herself.

  "Giles, what is wrong?" she asked gently. "Thou art not yourself. What has happened, dear brother, to change ye so?"

  To her horror, a ragged sob burst from Giles's throat.

  "Oh, 'Sabelle," he whispered, turning away so she would not see the agony upon his face. "How can I tell ye when, even now, it pains me so to speak of it?"

  "What is it, Giles? What is it?" she questioned fearfully. "Art ill?"

  "Aye." He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then ran his hand through his hair carelessly, almost tearing at the silvery strands. "But not in the way ye imagine. I am sick; 'tis true. But the ache is here, in my heart, 'Sabelle." He struck his chest with one clenched fist, then sighed wrenchingly again, trying to master his emotions. After a time, he spoke dully. "How do I begin.. .and where?" He paused. "'Twas winter, and the first snow of the season had fallen. Oh, Sabelle, ye should have seen it! The naked branches of the trees glistened with icicles, as though they were encrusted with diamonds; and that strange white mist of Scotland hung low and thick over the Borderlands, so the hills seemed almost alive with some enchanting, mythical magic. Even my lord Duke was caught up in the spell.

  "One mom, he woke and, smiling, bade me fetch those closest to him. We would go hunting, he said, for we were low on supplies, and the barbarous Scots had retreated farther to the north. We needed to replenish our stores before following them.

  "Ah, 'twas a grand day, 'Sabelle, the finest of my life: for somehow, I became separated from the rest of the hunting party, and in the forest, I met a maid. A snow queen, she was, or so I thought. How can I explain to ye, dear sister, the feeling that came upon me when first I saw her? 'Twas as though an arrow pierced my heart, for I loved her ft-om the first moment of our meeting."

  "Aye," Isabellc murmured, understanding. "Twas thus for me with Lionel."

  "Her name was Catriona," Giles went on as though the girl had not spoken, "and she was a Scotswoman. Oh, aye, we knew, from the beginning, that there was no hope for us," he answered the unspoken question in his sister's eyes, "but still, we dared to dream, for she too had somehow been touched by love. For over a fortnight, while my lord Duke tarried in the area, gathering supplies and preparing to do battle yet again, Catriona and I met in the woods and walked and talked and made love beneath the snow-laden branches of the pines. She must come away with me, I told her, though the life of a camp follower would be hard. 'Twas no longer safe for her in the Borderlands: for if her family discovered her love for me, they would kill her, thinking her dishonored by an enemy—"

  His voice broke, and suddenly, the girl knew what was coming.

  "Oh, Giles, nay!" she breathed.

  "Oh, aye, 'Sabelle. Ye do not know the Scots. They are indeed a most heathen race, and the clans are
laws unto themselves. Why, the chiefs of families are regarded almost as kings! Can ye imagine? 'Tis as though civilization has left them untouched, for they are always feuding with each other, as well as with us, and they make battle with the crudest of weapons, 'Sabelle. Why, I've scarcely seen even the meanest of bombards among them! And what little black powder they have managed to acquire, they use improperly, so more often than not, they blow their own men to bits. God's blood! How someone as precious as Catriona came from those savages, I'll never know."

  He was silent for such a long time after that that Isabella, though by now having guessed the end of the story, prompted quietly, "Go on, Giles. Finish it. 'Twill do ye good to speak of it. What happened?"

  He inhaled sharply, as though it had suddenly become difficult for him to breathe, but at last, he nodded and continued.

  "I went back for her, as we'd planned, the day we were to leave; and I found her there, in the forest, a dagger through her heart." And though Isabella had prepared herself for this, still, she gasped. "Aye"—Giles's mouth twisted bitterly. "Her whoreson Scots clan had slain her. Oh, 'Sabelle!" he suddenly cried out. "She was so beautiful, even in death, like some sleeping fairy princess lying there in the blood-reddened snow! I dismounted and knelt to touch her, still daring to hope she didst yet breathe and not knowing her menfolk waited there for me. They

  charged at me from the trees, the murderous cowards. I drew my sword, blind with grief and rage.. .oh, such rage, dear sister, as I hope never to feel again. The urge to kill overwhelmed me. I slew them one and all. I even struck down one man's destrier. The beast staggered and fell upon me, breaking my leg. The pain brought me to my senses at last, and I was sickened unto death by the carnage I had wrought, for Catriona would not have wished it... would have been appalled by it "

  Giles fell silent once more. Anguish for her brother tore through Isabella like a sharp blade. She bit her lip and blinked the tears from her eyes, trying to think of some words of comfort to offer. Finally, she took his hand in her own and held it tightly, recalling what Giles had told her one day at their parents' graves.

  "I am sorry, dear brother, so very sorry. But methinks that Catriona would not have wished for ye to grieve so for her, Giles," the girl said.

  "I know. 'Tis just that—that her death was so senseless, and I thought of what ye once told me years ago, in the stables, when ye said something about war being so senseless, with men dying and women being left alone to mourn. I—I paid it no mind at the time; I was too young and thoughtless to see the wisdom of your words— But, oh, 'Sabelle, how right ye were! 1 can glory no more in war, and the thought frightens me. Of what use am I to a man like my lord Duke if 1 cannot serve him with my whole heart and soul?"

  "Oh, Giles. Hast talked with Gloucester of this? Dost truly think he joys in battle? Dear brother, how wrong ye are if that is what ye believe. He does his duty, aye, and does it well; but he suffers for it all the same, Giles. One has but to look into his eyes to know 'tis so."

  "Ye seem so certain of that, 'Sabelle."

  "'Tis because 1 am, dear brother. I say again: Speak to Gloucester of your fears. He will understand."

  "'Twould comfort me greatly if I knew that to be so. Thank ye, 'Sabelle, dear sister. I knew ye wouldst help me, for ye are truly the most gifted of healers. Surely, God will smile upon ye all your life."

  "Have no fear for me, Giles," Isabella reassured him quickly, more determined now than ever to keep him in ignorance of her own unhappiness. "1 am content. Sleep now, dear brother. Sleep, and let peace fill your heart and soul."

  Quietly, she left the hall, signaling to Sirs Eadric, Thegn, and Beowulf that they should take Giles upstairs now, and put him

  to bed. Exhausted by the wine he'd drunk and the telling of his story, his eyes had aheady closed, and his breathing had become deep and even.

  " 'Tis the first time I have seen him rest well since it happened," Lionel remarked, joining Isabella. "I knew he did but need to speak of it; but the Scotswoman's death grieved him beyond measure, and then the shock of the killings... Godamercy, 'Sa-belle! I do not know how he managed to slay them all, for there were five of them, and Giles was but a squire alone against them. Gloucester was for knighting him at once for the deed, but Giles would not hear of it. He said 'twas no brave act at all but the work of a madman, and my lord Duke did not press the matter, saying that Giles needed time to heal. 'Twas why Richard sent him here, I think, in response to your summons, and bade me accompany Giles. Gloucester believed 'twould do your brother good to get away from the fighting for a while."

  "Aye," Isabella agreed. "The Duke is truly a most kind and sensitive man. Methinks when ye return, if Giles will but speak to Gloucester of the fears with which he is beset, Richard will understand and set my brother's mind at ease."

  "Would that I could do the same for ye, dearest heart," Lionel professed and took her hand. "Come, 'Sabelle. Walk with me upon the moors, and tell me what is troubling ye. 'Tis something more than just the change in Giles that ails ye, I'll warrant."

  "Aye. Oh, Lionel, something dreadful has happened, and though I prayed for Giles's arrival and assistance, I see now that he must not be burdened with my troubles on top of all else he has suffered."

  "Nay, ye are right, of course, but can ye not tell me what is wrong, dearest heart? Whatever 'tis, I shall try to make it right. I love ye, ye know."

  "I know," Isabella stated ardently, for she wanted so much to

  beUeve it was true. "That is what makes it so hard Oh, Lionel!"

  the girl suddenly burst out. "I am to marry Lord Hawkhurst!"

  "Nay! It cannot be true!" Lionel was stunned by her announcement.

  "I assure ye 'tis," Isabella told him bitterly. "The King has ordered it and has already signed the betrothal contracts binding me to Warrick."

  "Oh, 'Sabelle, nay. Nay!"

  But even as he spoke the words, Lionel's body was pervaded by a small sense of relief: for though he had attempted to disentangle himself from his commitment to Lady GilUane Beaumaris,

  he had failed. He sighed as he thought of his father's wrath upon receipt of the letter informing Lord St. Saviour that he wished to have the contracts with the Lady Gilliane annulled so he might wed Isabella instead. Lord St. Saviour had replied curtly that Lord Devizes, Gilliane's father, was his oldest and dearest friend, that the marriage had been arranged since birth, and that 'twas impossible for the contracts to be broken. How dare Lionel even suggest his father do such a thing? 'Twould be the deepest possible insult to both Lord Devizes and the Lady Gilliane! In fact, Lord St. Saviour had continued, he believed 'twould be best if Lionel would ask Gloucester for a leave of absence and return home immediately in order that the wedding might take place as soon as possible.

  Even now, Lionel's sojourn at Grasmere was but a postponement of his marriage vows. As soon as he left the manor house, he must continue his journey to St. Saviour-on-the Lake, where, at the neighboring estate of Devizes, he would be wed.

  He had dreaded breaking the news to Isabella and seeing her love for him turn to contempt. Now, he need not tell her after all. Her announcement, as unwelcome as it was, had spared him the humiliation of making his own. Still, Lionel was not content. Isabella was his, by God. The thought of her marrying Lord Hawkhurst angered him, even though Lionel could not wed her himself.

  "Oh, 'Sabelle"—he hugged her close so she might not see the expression on his face—"to lose ye before ye are even mine..."

  "I know, I know. I thought perhaps ye wouldst speak to Gloucester. He loves ye well. Mayhap he would attempt to persuade the King against the match if ye asked him to."

  "I shall try, dearest heart, of course, if that is what ye desire. But I do not have much faith that such a plan will succeed. Lord Hawkhurst is one of Edward's favorites, and ye are indeed a prize worth having, 'Sabelle."

  "The Earl does not want me; he has said as much. 'Tis only by the King's command that he weds me."

  "He is a fool th
en." Lionel spoke bluntly, the wheels in his mind chiuning furiously. He might yet prevent Isabella's marriage—but then, what of his own? "Oh, 'Sabelle, if only—"

  "What, my love? If only what?"

  "Nothing. 'Twas nothing. Do not despair, dearest heart. I shall find some way out of this sorry tangle for us; I promise ye that. If it takes a lifetime, I shall make ye mine, somehow, one way or another."

  He turned her lovely countenance up to his then and kissed her, claiming her lips demandingly, possessively, as though to be certain he would leave his mark upon her. Feverishly, Isabella clung to him, molding herself to him, willing him to set her afire as Warrick had done. But although Lionel ravaged her mouth savagely with his tongue in a manner designed to delight and excite her, Isabella felt not even the inviting warmth of awakening she had known with him before. She was too scared.

  At Lionel's touch, Warrick's dark, hawklike image had flitted through her mind, filling her with a cold, frightening dread at what the Earl would do if he discovered her perfidy, and she found she could not respond to Lionel because of it.

  Oh, my love, my love! Warrick has spoilt even moments such as these for us, she thought bitterly.

  She drew away, the back of one hand pressed to her lips, as though to eradicate the feel of Lionel's mouth upon her own.

  "What is it, 'Sabelle?" he queried, his deep blue eyes puzzled and glittering slightly with rage, for he had sensed her lack of response to him. "What is wrong that ye seek to deny what we , both desire?"

  She shook her head a little, as though to clear it, and turned away.

  "'Tis Warrick," she explained dully. "Already, he has come between us."

  "Why? How? What do ye mean, 'Sabelle?" Lionel questioned wrathfully, then inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing in sudden understanding. "He has made love to ye, the bastard! He has already taken ye and—"