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  "Nay. 'Tis homd, horridV the girl wept in agreement, glad to have found a friend. "Oh, please, won't ye help me get out of here?"

  "Oh, aye, my lady, I'll help ye all right," the harridan cackled slyly, sidling closer. "I'll help ye right over the edge!"

  Some primitive instinct warned Isabella at the last moment as the stranger suddenly lunged at her, attempting to force her over the stone wall into the pit. The girl screamed, and screamed again, as frantically she struggled with her assailant; but no one heard her terrified cries over the raucous revelry of the throng. Even Ragnor's shrill shrieks as he flapped his wings and dug his sharp talons painfully into Isabella's shoulder to retain his balance attracted no attention, much less any assistance. Why, the woman was mad! Horribly deranged. The girl didn't even know her, and yet, the harridan was trying to kill her!

  "Oh, why? Why are ye doing this?" Isabella wailed.

  "Ye stupid slut!" the stranger, whom the girl had, at first,

  though her savior, spat as she saw she was not going to be able to push Isabella over the edge of the barricade. One hand curled like a claw about Isabella's arm. Terribly frightened by the woman's strength, and fearing the crazed harridan might still succeed with her murderous plan, the girl tried desperately to yank away; but her assailant refused to release her. "Ye cast me out to suffer the rest of my life in poverty, and yet, ye don't even recognize me!" the stranger sneered accusingly.

  "Why should I?" Isabella asked, trying to humor the madwoman and playing for time, praying someone would observe her distress and come to her aid. "I'm certain I've never seen ye before in my life. As for casting ye out—I wouldst not have been so cruel. I am afraid ye have mistaken me for someone else, madam."

  "Nay, you're the one who has made the mistake, my lady. But I'll have my vengeance on ye yet!" The harridan's grip on Isabella tightened hurtfully, and her dark orbs, barely visible behind her veil, narrowed as she slithered even nearer to hiss evilly in the girl's face. "Ye never guessed 'twas me, after Percy died, who set the reivers to raiding your lands, did ye, my lady? Oh, I was clever, so very clever," the stranger chortled. "I knew the boy. Ham, held a grudge against Sir John—for Percy and I had made it our business to know all there was to know about Rushden—and 'twas easy enough to assemble a group of rough men without scruples and instruct them to approach the lad for information. I didn't even have to tell the reivers what to do afterward. They would have destroyed ye, in time, ye know, had it not been for Lord Hawkhurst and his brother."

  "Lady—Lady Shrewton!" Isabella gasped, recognizing the woman at last.

  "Aye, 'tis I all right. I'll warrant ye thought you'd seen the last of the likes of me, eh, my lady? As I believed I'd seen the last of ye, ye bitch! I thought for certain that old dog would kill ye."

  "Dog? What dog?"

  "Why, the mad dog, my lady, the one ye found that day upon the road. It belonged to my husband. I went back to him, ye know, after ye cast me out to starve. I had nowhere else to go. He set me to work in the kitchen like some common churl, the bastard, as punishment for my leaving him. But I fixed him right enough. He was like ye, a soft spot for animals but none for me.

  "One day, he came home from hunting, with that sorry old hound cradled in his arms. The beast had been bitten by a mad

  fox, he said: and though he knew the dog would most likely go mad too and die, my husband couldn't bear to slay it, for 'twas his favorite hound. He told his squire to tie it up in the stables instead and keep a close watch on it. Only if the madness had possessed the animal would they kill it. Ha!" the insane Countess jeered. "He should have slain the beast immediately, the fool! But thanks to his kind heart, he didn't. I saw my chance, and I took it.

  "That night, I poisoned the whoreson's stew; a most fitting end, I told him before he died, for 'twas a dish I'd cooked myself in the kitchen where he'd sent me. After he was dead, I crept down to the stables and coaxed the hound into a cage. Then I stole a drunken tinker's cart and, disguised as a peddler, hied myself to Rushden Castle, where I intended to leave the dog outside the keep for ye to find. But the crofters told me their lady had gone to her manor house, Grasmere; curse my luck. I was halfway there when I saw Lord Hawkhurst's banners and realized he was escorting ye home. Quickly, I drove the cart off the road ^ and turned the hound loose. I knew it wouldn't get far, for I'd never fed it, and 'twas weak with famine. Then I hid in some bushes and watched to be sure ye discovered it. When ye bent down and touched it, I believed 'twas the end of ye, and good riddance!

  "Thinking my revenge complete, I made my way to London, hoping to find some sort of employment, me. Lady Shrewton!" The Countess gnashed her teeth with rage as the girl listened in growing horror. "I'd squandered all the gold and jewels that Percy had given me, and my husband had left me nothing, the son of a bitch! And though I'd tried to find a new protector, no one would have me. I was too old and used up, they said, me, who'd been such a beauty once—before ye turned me out to grow haggard and aged! I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw ye today in the marketplace. That stupid dog must not have been possessed by the madness after all, eh, my lady?"

  Isabella shivered uncontrollably as she recalled the terrible sickness she'd somehow managed to survive.

  "Oh, my God," she breathed, attempting once more to escape from her captor; but still. Lady Shrewton held her fast. "Oh, my God."

  "I followed ye back here, to the palace," the Countess went on ruthlessly. "When I realized ye were heading toward Lion Tower, 1 bought a ticket to view the royal menagerie. Now, ye whore, you're going to pay for what ye did to me—and Percy

  too, for I always suspected ye had something to do with his death, ye know, though I could never prove it."

  "You're mad!" Isabella exclaimed. "You'll never get away with this!"

  "Oh, aye, I will," Lady Shrewton wickedly assured the girl. "'Twill seem a most unfortunate accident, your falling into the pit, just as Percy fell. What a heyday the lions will have with ye, my lady. 'Twill indeed be a most fitting end for ye, just as my husband's demise was. You'll be torn to shreds by three of the beasts ye love so well, and I—I shall be standing up here watching—and laughing."

  Again, Isabella gasped. Then, her terror spurring her on, giving her a strength she hadn't known she possessed, she wrenched herself free of the Countess's viselike grasp, at last, and ran, pushing her way wildly through the crowd, not caring that she actually struck people in order to get by.

  So desperate was she to get away, the girl never saw the tall dark man who had overheard the entire exchange, who now bent to speak to Lady Shrewton, then took the Countess's arm and steered her deftly through the milling mass until they were lost, swallowed up by the throng. The man smiled wolfishly as he glanced back to be certain they had been unobserved. He had no use for Lady Shrewton at the moment, but he was a master of intrigue and deception, and he never passed up an opportunity to acquire something that might prove of valuable benefit to him in the future. As long as she obeyed him, he would find a place for the Countess in his household until he had need of her. If she gave him any trouble, he would kill her, as he had slain countless others in the past.

  As though the devil himself pursued her, Isabella fled blindly through the long, twisting corridors of the palace, not caring that the courtiers stared, open-mouthed with curiosity and amazement, at the sight of her. Lord Thomas Grey, Marquis of Dorset, remarked loudly that his uncle Anthony, Earl Rivers, must be chasing the girl, for surely that was enough to make any maiden flee. And although this was not the case. Lord Anthony Wood-ville. Earl Rivers, the Queen's brother, being extremely handsome and very much admired, still, the cavaliers tittered with amusement and called to Isabella to come hide in their chambers.

  Heedless of their laughter, she ran on.

  By the time she had reached her own room, the girl had a stitch in her side and was gasping for air. Briefly, she leaned

  against a wall for support while she caught her breath; then she burst into the ant
echamber of her room.

  Upon spying her highly distraught state, Caerllywel, who had been serenading Jocelyn with his lute (and quite badly, although she was pleased just the same), instantly sprang to his feet in alarm.

  '"Sabelle! What's wrong?" he demanded to know as her maids scurried forth to attend her.

  Clucking and fluttering about her like a brood of hens, they inspected her for damage to her person, gasping with shock as they viewed her gown, which Ragnor had torn with his sharp talons, and the blood seeping slowly down her breast from the wounds made by the hawk's claws. Until now, Isabella had not even been aware of the painful gashes. Dazedly, she glanced down at herself as old Alice shrieked.

  "Oh, my lady! Just look what that wicked bird has done!"

  "Nay. Nay, 'twas not Ragnor's fault," Isabella protested and frantically waved away the nanna's ministrations. "Caerllywel, where is Warrick?"

  "Here, my lady," her husband answered, to her relief, himself, appearing from their bedchamber in response to the clamor that filled the room. Upon seeing she had been hurt, he strode immediately to her side. "What is it, sweetheart? What has happened? By God, if one of the courtiers has laid a hand on ye—"

  "Nay, 'tis not that. No man has touched me," the girl assured him. "Oh, my lord, something dreadful has happened! I must speak to ye at once in privacy."

  "Of course, sweetheart," Warrick said, concerned and not in the least discomfitted by his brother's raised eyebrow upon hearing the endearment for a second time. "Come."

  He led her to their bedroom and, much to the disappointment of Caerllywel and the maids, firmly closed the door.

  "Now"—the Earl spoke, turning to his wife and gently taking her hands in his—"tell me what is wrong, 'Sabelle."

  "Oh, Warrick! 'Tis so dreadful, so incredible, that even now, I can scarcely believe it," the girl cried, then proceeded to inform her husband of what had occurred. "Oh, Warrick, 'twas horrible, so horrible," she reiterated once she had finished her tale. "And there's—there's something more I must tell ye besides, my lord." Isabella bit her lip, knowing it would be foolish now to withhold the truth of her previous warden's death. "'Tis—'tis about Lord Oadby...."

  "What about him, my lady?"

  "He—he didn't really lose his life in a hunting accident," the girl blurted out in a rush, fearing her courage to speak would otherwise desert her.

  Warrick inhaled sharply, as though he had suspected as much.

  "How did he die then, 'Sabelle?" he questioned. "Did ye set your brother's men on him?"

  "Nay, oh, nay!" the girl denied this fervently.

  "Tell me the truth, sweetheart," her husband ordered. "I cannot help ye if I don't know precisely what I'm dealing with."

  "Oh, Warrick, 'twas indeed an accident. Truly, 'twas. It happened in the stables, at Rushden, where I keep my menagerie. Lord Oadby discovered me there one night, and he—he tried to—to—"

  "Rape ye, 'Sabelle?" Warrick's mouth tightened whitely with anger at the thought.

  "Aye. I was in the loft, and I couldn't escape from him. I fought him, and—and during the struggle, he lost his balance and fell over the edge of the loft. He—he struck his head on one of the stall doors below. It broke his neck; he was killed instantly. Hysterical, I went to the keep and wakened my brother; and together, with Lionel, we made it seem as though Lord Oadby had suffered a hunting accident."

  Isabella was so upset, she didn't even notice how easily, naturally, Lionel's name had come to her lips. But Warrick did and was momentarily pleased she had not faltered over her previous lover's name. Then he turned his attention back to his wife as breathlessly she went on.

  "Lord Oadby had—had badly mistreated Giles and me, ye see, and we despised him for it. He had forced his whore's presence upon us, had fed and clothed us as though we were common paupers, and had lined his purse with much of Rushden's gold. For all this, Giles and I had—had sworn to have our vengeance upon him; and we—we were afraid the Earl had friends at Court who would blame me for his death and bring the King's wrath down upon us."

  "No one would have done so, 'Sabelle," Warrick told her, setting her mind at ease. "But 1 can well understand your actions. Ye were young and frightened. Well, there's naught for ye to fear now, sweetheart. I'm here, and I'll protect ye. I shall set about at once to discover Lady Shrewton's whereabouts and see she is brought to justice for her crimes. And if she accuses ye of murdering Lord Oadby, ye need but repeat the story ye have

  just told me. The Earl was well known at Court and little liked. None will doubt your tale of his demise, I assure ye. In fact, I doubt that Edward will even care what really happened. Now. Give me a smile and a kiss, my lady, then let me call Alice and the others to treat these gashes." He examined the tiny wounds made earlier by Ragnor.

  Glad, truly glad, for the first time, that Warrick was her husband, Isabella complied easily with his request, smiling as she moved gratefully into the warm, protective circle of his arms and lifted her lips to his. He kissed her deeply, lingeringly, forever, it seemed, before slowly drawing away, his golden eyes dark with desire. For a moment, he studied her intently, as though he meant to take her to bed; at last, sighing slightly with disappointment at the thought that her hurts must be tended first, he turned and shouted for her maids.

  For many weeks afterward, following that dreadful day, Warrick searched diligently for Lady Shrewton; but finally, grim with worry, he was forced to tell Isabella the evil Countess had mysteriously disappeared.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ISABELLA HAD BEEN AT COURT FOR OVER TWO

  months when Giles, at last, arrived. The King's sister Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, had come home to England for the first time in twelve long years; and her family, including Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had gathered at Edward's palace in Greenwich to welcome her home. Instead of taking up residence there, with his liege, Giles had begged Richard's leave to stay at the Tower with Isabella. Kind, as always, the Duke had given his permission.

  Upon discovering which chamber Isabella and Warrick were lodged in, Giles, knowing she was not aware he was in the city, had decided to surprise his sister by showing up unannounced to visit her. Now, as he entered the room's antechamber, he laid one fmger to his lips to silence the delighted cries of the maids who flocked around him in greeting. Instantly, guessing his intent, they fell still. His eyes dancing, Giles tiptoed across the room and knocked softly on the door to Isabella's bedchamber.

  "Aye, come," she said, and as he opened the door a crack and peeked in, she cried. "Giles! Oh, Giles!"

  Laughing now, he strode inside as Isabella tlung herself across the room and into his outstretched arms.

  "Oh. Giles!" she said again as she embraced and kissed him.

  "I did not know ye were here. Why didn't ye write to me, and tell me ye were coming?"

  "I wanted to surprise ye."

  "Dear brother, 'tis so good to see ye. And ye look so well," she noted, observing that the shadows that had haunted his eyes over Catriona's death and his slaying of her clansmen were gone. "But how came ye here? I thought ye were in Scotland. Is Gloucester with ye? Come. Sit down, and tell me everything that has happened since last I saw ye. Have ye bathed and eaten? Mathilde, Edith," the girl called to the smiling maids hovering just outside the door, "prepare a bath for my brother, please. Alice, Jocelyn, fetch some ale and a light repast for us. So"— Isabella turned back to her brother—"what are ye doing in Lx)n-don?"

  "Her Grace the Duchess of Burgundy has come home to England to visit. Naturally, Richard wanted to see her. He is with her now at Edward's palace in Greenwich," Giles explained. "I begged my lord Duke's permission to lodge with ye in the Tower, and of course, he gave it."

  "Oh, Giles, how wonderful!" the girl exclaimed. "Then ye will be with me for some time. How glad I am of that and that ye must not leave right away. So tell me. Didst speak with Gloucester of your fears that ye wouldst be unable to serve him with your whole heart and soul?"

&nb
sp; "Aye, 'Sabelle."

  "And 'tis all right, then?"

  "Oh, aye, dear sister. Ye were so right about him. He was so kind to me. Though he had many more important things to do, he gave orders that he was not to be disturbed, and he listened to me well into the wee hours of the mom as I poured out my story to him. Then he laid his hand upon my shoulder and told me that no man with compassion ever joyed in war, though he did his duty and well: for battle did naught but bring suffering and death, even to those who triumphed in the end. Richard said he often lay awake at night, thinking of those whom he had slain. He told me 'twas natural to feel remorse at the taking of a life, that only a monster wouldst be unmoved by the deed. Then my lord Duke ordered me to put my mind at rest, saying I was the best of squires and soldiers; and then, oh, 'Sabelle! He bade me kneel, and he knighted me!"

  "Oh, Giles, I am so happy for ye." Isabella's eyes shone with joy for her brother. "How I wish I had been there to see it."

  "Aye, Lionel was most put out when he discovered I had beaten

  him in the race for our spurs." Giles laughed, then sobered as he realized what he had said. He was silent for a moment, then went on softly. "I'm sorry, 'Sabelle, so very sorry. I know—" He broke off abruptly and ran one hand raggedly through his hair. "I know ye loved him, that ye had hoped to wed him—"

  "Aye, but that is all in the past now, Giles. Do not think ye have wounded me by speaking of him, for I have done my best to put him from my heart and mind; and each day, the hurt he did me grows less painful, though still, sometimes, I do ache inside," the girl confessed.

  "To his credit, Lionel—Lionel told me what he'd done, 'Sabelle; and though I cannot forgive him for it, I understand what drove him to deceive ye. He—he wanted ye so desperately, and he thought he could find some way out of his betrothal to Gilliane Beaumaris; but he could not. God only knows why he didn't tell ye the truth when he learned he could not free himself. I guess he loved ye so much, he couldn't bear your scorn and so continued the charade, still hoping to discover some means of making ye