Rose of rapture (7 page)

It was startling in the girl; it would be spellbinding in the woman.

Someday, my lady will suffer for those eyes, Alice thought sadly, for despite all the harshness she has endured in her life, she knows little of the cruelties of the world.

And it was true. Those at the castle who, over the years, had

come to know and love her thought of Isabella as a fragile child, needing to be protected from the unkindnesses that would have wounded even those made of sterner stuff. In a tacit, well-meaning agreement bom of pity for her unhappy existence, they had done their best, within the limits of their abilities, to shield the often lonely girl from those things they had realized instinctively would hurt her.

For the most part, after Giles's leaving, she had lived a solitary life, wrapped up in her lessons and her menagerie; and because of this, the sweet and caring disposition that had been hers since birth had somehow managed to survive. But for all her gentleness of character, Isabella was not without strength and temper. It was simply that her strength was the quiet kind, which stems from within, like a candle glowing in the darkness or a willow bending in the wind. And her temper arose rarely for herself but rather in answer to the injustices perpetrated by others against all of God's creatures. Having known suffering, the girl could not bear to see it in others, and she would battle like a small fury against it.

But no thought of life's heavy burdens weighed upon her soul this day, and so Isabella was as bright and carefree as the fey nymphs and sprites to which others often likened her. Her laughter gurgled forth in a melody that might have belonged to the pipes of Pan; and old Alice roused herself from her silent musing, at last, at the girl's sudden cry of joy.

"He comes, Alice! Giles comes!"

The men were tired and dirtied with the stains of travel, but there was not one among them who would have complained to the Duke who rode at the head of their cavalcade. Their silence arose not from fear, however, but from love. The Duke grieved inside for his dead brother George, and none who followed him would have added to his pain by voicing discomfort. So they pressed on and said naught.

Presently, ahead in the distance, they spied their destination. Stem and tall, Rushden Castle loomed before them. With its thick, grey stone walls, machicolated battlements, circular watch-towers, and deep moat, it was much like any other stout, inland keep. But it was a fortress that had served the Yorkist cause— and served it well—and for that alone it was a welcome haven to the eyes of the men.

There, they would be greeted warmly and be served the best the castle had to offer—and without the thinly veiled mdeness

that often characterized those keeps whose sympathies lay secretly with the Lancastrians. At Rushden, no eyes would watch the men covertly with sly resentment, grudging each mouthful of the intentionally poorly cooked food they consumed. There too, the bathwater would be warm, the soap soft, and the maids pretty. The men would lie upon clean rush pallets in the great hall and sleep soundly, with no fear of stealthy intrigues or the itch of hordes of lice and bedbugs to disturb their slumber.

Perhaps, after supper, Lionel could be coaxed to sing, and some of the ache in the Duke's heart for his dead brother would lessen with the ballads. There would be dancing, and mayhap acrobats and jugglers would perform and the fool tell a merry jest that would bring a smile to the Duke's lips and lighten his dark eyes, which were now haunted with sorrow.

As the men neared the keep, they saw the Duke's oblique words of warning to Lord Oadby and Lady Shrcwton had been wisely heeded, for the vast acres of land were well kept, the crops, well tended. The crude, thatched cottages of the crofters were plain but built sturdily, and each boasted a small vegetable > patch. The villeins themselves were, for the most part, clean and healthy; the garments upon their backs, although neatly mended in places, bore few signs of ragged neglect. When the retinue passed, the men hoeing the fields halted their work, bowed, and doffed their caps with respect; several beamed cheerfully and called happy greetings to the young Lord of Rushden.

"Welcome home, my lord! Welcome home!"

The women laid aside their baskets to drop pretty curtsies and smile shyly at the party on horseback while children scampered gaily alongside the road.

At the sight of them, the Duke of Gloucester roused himself, smiled, and tossed the bolder brats a scattering of silver coins. The youngsters whooped with excitement as they dashed to collect the shillings that glittered brightly in the dirt.

Aye, the men were glad the Duke had thought to sojourn at Rushden Castle. Even the most weary spirits lifted as the cavalcade quickened the pace of its steeds and hastened onward in orderly progression.

Like a flash of quicksilver, Isabella fairly flew out of her chamber, dashed down the long corridors and curved stone staircase to the great hall below, and shot through the massive oak doors to the inner bailey that barricaded her brother's keep.

It seemed forever before the entourage she had glimpsed in

the distance drew near, at last, and called their lord's name to the sentries.

Faster, faster! the girl chanted silently as the iron portcullis was slowly cranked up on creaking chains. Never before had it taken so long to raise! Next came the barrier at the inner gatehouse, then there were perhaps a hundred men or more massing in the courtyard, their armor flashing brilliantly in the sun, their horses' hooves ringing out sharply over the cobblestones. But Isabella had eyes only for one.

"Giles!"

How tall he had grown and how fair. He was no longer the boy she remembered but a young man now. His silver-blond hair gleamed almost white in the summer sun, and his hazel eyes sparkled in his tanned face as they caught sight of her. His lips curved into an answering smile of delight before he shouted '"Sabelle!" in reply and dismounted with a single leap, tossing aside the reins of his steed carelessly as he ran toward her.

"Dear brother, art well? Have ye won your pennon? Art really a squire? Didst truly bring me a present?"

She bubbled over with questions as she flung herself into his outstretched arms and felt them close around her tightly; and he laughed and said, "Aye, and aye, and aye, and aye." And all was once more right in the world.

After a time, they drew apart, and her brother studied her in a way that made Isabella blush faintly with shyness and expectation, aware of the changes in her own body as well as in Giles's.

"You're beautiful, 'Sabelle, as beautiful as I knew ye wouldst be," he told her finally, and her lovely little countenance shone with pleasure and adoration at his praise.

"I quite agree, Giles."

Isabella glanced up at the rich timbre of the voice that had spoken and immediately sank into a deep curtsy as she extended one hand.

"Your grace. Rushden Castle is again honored by your presence."

"The little maid I recall is all grown up," the Duke of Gloucester noted as he raised her to her feet. "Hast remembered your prayers, my lady?"

"Aye, indeed, your grace. How could I have forgotten?"

"I am glad," Richard stated, then turned to greet Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton, who were standing apprehensively to one side.

The years had not been kind to the greedy Earl and Countess.

Lord Oadby's gluttonous figure had grown to monstrous proportions, and he suffered from gout. Lady Shrewton's once seemingly attractive face now sagged with wrinkles she attempted to disguise beneath layers of paint, and the flirtatious moue she made as she swept the Duke her curtsy appeared only grotesque.

"Welcome to Rushden Castle, your grace," the Earl greeted Gloucester nervously. "All is in readiness for your grace."

"Ye and Lady Shrewton having been given ample warning of my arrival this time, no doubt," Richard responded dryly. "Well, we shall see."

Then he strode inside, pointedly ignoring the Countess. She shot the Earl a quick, frightening glance, her face looking as though it were going to crumble beneath its thick mask of powder; then she stared over at Isabella to be certain the girl did not appear to be lacking in any respect to which the Duke might have taken exception. Lord Oadby's pig eyes followed those of his mistress, and he licked his lips slightly at the sight, for he seldom saw Isabella. She took care to keep out of his way. Well, well. The fey little bitch had grown up to be quite an enchanting maid. The Earl filed the thought away for future reference, then took Lady Shrewton's arm, hustling her inside after Gloucester and whispering orders curtly in her ear.

Isabella never even noticed them. She was still gazing raptly up at Giles, who was smiling down at her teasingly.

"Well?" the girl asked breathlessly, scarcely able to contain her anticipation. "What is this present of yours, dear brother? Ye have sent me so many already—the fan, the carillon, the bolt of silk—that I cannot imagine what I am still lacking. In truth, ye have been far too generous, Giles."

"Nay, those were but trifles. Think back, dear sister, to the day of our parting. Was there not a promise given then?"

Isabella thought hard for a moment but could not recall—

"Wait! Aye, I remember now!" she cried. "Ye promised to bring me the most handsome courtier in all of England and said he would strew roses at my feet!"

"And I have found, demoiselle, that Giles is a man of his word." Lord Lionel Valeureux, heir to the earldom of St. Saviour-on-the-Lake and Giles's foster brother, bowed low and laid a bouquet of white roses at Isabella's feet.

For the first time in her life, the girl was struck dumb. No mere mortal, this, but a young god, descended from the sun, surely! Even her brother, who was all things in Isabella's eyes, dimmed a little before the blinding brilliance of the man before

her. He was tall and well built; his muscles were hard yet supple from the past six years of training for knighthood. He wore the Gloucester livery, but the royal-blue satin cloak lined with gold, which swirled down from his shoulders, bore rosettes upon which were the badges of lions—the St. Saviour coat of arms—instead of Richard's white boars. His doublet too was of rich material, also royal-blue in color and slashed with gold. A sword hung at his narrow waist. Gold hose of the finest weave and high, black leather boots adorned the strong legs he had planted in a cocky, self-assured stance.

His skin was as dark as honey; already, his handsome visage showed the shadow of a beard. His windswept blond hair was the gold of captured sunlight, and Isabella found she longed to reach up and touch it—just once—to see if it was as soft and silky as it seemed. His nose was straight; his lips were full and sensual; his jaw was square, determined. And his eyes—oh, Jesu —his eyes! Wide set beneath thick blond brows and lined with blond lashes, they were as blue as the summer sky—like his hair, a legacy of his Norman ancestors' centuries of intermarriage with the Saxons.

Isabella looked into those eyes—and was lost.

She felt as though she were soaring on the wings of the wind, for she discovered she was breathless with exhilaration. Her heart raced too frantically in her breast, and her mouth was so dry, she could scarcely swallow. Giles had chosen well indeed!

Lord Lionel continued to gaze down at her, inhaling sharply as he felt his loins quicken with hot desire. Giles had not told him how strangely haunting the girl's beauty was. In that moment, Lionel wanted her and determined to have her, never dreaming it was to become an obsession that would last as long as he lived.

Isabella managed to recover her manners and her tongue at last, bringing him to his senses as she spoke.

"My lord." She swept him a slight, graceful curtsy and retrieved the flowers he had laid at her feet.

Once again, he bowed low, this time over her hand, his lips just brushing her fingers, in the fashion of the Court.

"Enchante, demoiselle," he drawled, his blue eyes glittering with appreciation and desire.

Isabella blushed prettily.

"Je suis aussi, seigneur." Her voice was so low, he almost didn't hear her words.

And so simply did Isabella's love for Lord Lionel Valcureux begin.

* * *

Ah, what a feast there was that evening! Rushden's servants had outdone themselves. Proud of their lord—if not his warden— they would not see Giles shamed again before one of such importance as the Duke of Gloucester by setting a niggardly table or being slow to carry out their duties. They hurried swiftly to and from the cookhouse, their arms heavily laden with platters and pitchers. No less than five courses were laid before the guest of honor (though Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton groaned secretly at the expense).

Ten fat suckling pigs had been slain and roasted in their dripping juices, each mouth stuffed with a single shiny red apple that gleamed softly in the brightly blazing candlelight. Twenty plump, freshly killed chickens and twenty geese apiece had been baked and glazed with special sauces. There were trenchers piled high with beef, mutton, venison, goat, and rabbit that had been brought from the cool larder. Grilled fish—pike and carp and perch— lay upon skillfully arranged beds of lettuce garnished with large chunks of moist lemons, smaller cherries and berries, raisins and nuts, and slices of hardboiled plover eggs. Great tureens of lamprey eels and all manner of vegetables steamed alongside hot bowls of thick cream gravy, which waited to be ladled upon slabs of good rich bread. Meat and fruit pies and a selection of tarts to tempt even the most jaded palate were wheeled in on carts laden with other assorted pastries and sweetmeats, as well as red currant jelly and quince preserve. All this was washed down with tankards of cold ale and chalices of the best wine chosen from Rushden's dark cellars. There were, in addition, three subtleties presented to win the Duke's favor, each of which signified some aspect of the Yorkist battle for the Crown.

The first was an artfully crafted cheese display called Three Suns, which represented the three suns that Edward had seen in the sky before winning the throne. All cheered as they saw the three huge rounds of yellow cheese that depicted the suns. Then there was a crystallized fruit dish announced as The Crowning, which showed Edward being crowned King and that was met with appropriate shouts of "Fiat! Fiat!" And fmally, there was brought forth a towering white confection, shaped like a rose and flowing with honey, which was heralded as York Forever and to which all raised their cups in toast.