He suspected his indifference was the draw; also, he wondered if John was behind it. That troublemaking hellspawn. Giles thought John held a grudge against Isabella and was probably trying to repay her in kind for the expression of revulsion she had given him on their wedding day. John nursed his grievances overlong – Giles should know. He gave her a conciliatory look. “Come now, give me a smile and cry peace.”
“My lord.” Isabella dipped her head in obedience; what choice had she?
He stayed her as she went to turn away. “Isabella, it would mean much to me if you would come willingly.”
She gave him a wan smile, for how could she tell him it was John she feared? John, handsome, suave and utterly loathsome. She felt nauseated as she remembered how, having decided to honour their wedding with his presence, he had then demanded a kiss from the new bride – and not a decorous one. The memory of that kiss had tainted the remainder of the day and made her dread the coming night even more. She never wanted to set eyes on him again, and now… Ah well, the die was cast, and she must accept it or risk raising Giles’ ire.
“I will need a court gown, my lord.”
“I’ll escort you to the cloth merchant myself. We’ll take the boy; your maid can have a care to him. A visit to the market will be a fine treat for him.” Giles was willing to do his part to bring a softening back to her face. In truth, he had wondered whether Eleanor would keep her promise to him, wondered which heiress she would find him. He need not have worried. Isabella, newly widowed, had been biddable, sweet-faced and mild; although now she was gaining trust in him, she was starting to show some spirit, test the boundaries. He minded that not. In truth, at first she had been so docile, it had been like living with a puppet. She was obedient, compliant and utterly colourless. Clearly, being married to Baldwin had taught her to hide her real nature. Beneath that mouse-like exterior, he was just beginning to glimpse the true woman – a woman with a bewitching smile, an earthy warmth. Giles had grown to have an affection for her, which was starting to blossom into something deeper.
He smiled at Isabella. “We need only be present at court a few days. We will stay with Ralph and Maude until after Whit Monday. We can travel with them.”
Isabella’s own smile became more generous, less dutiful. At least she wouldn’t be left alone while Giles’ other obligations kept him from her; she should have trusted he would have a care for her. She would make him a new tunic. Maybe deep red wool with gold thread. And for herself? She had a fancy for pale blue with silver lozenges of ‘broidery, but Maude always wore those colours, knowing they complemented her soft blue eyes. Besides, blue was expensive. Mayhap something in bright tawny with saffron thread? It would suit her own colouring and brown eyes well. And perchance, with Giles at her side, she would find some pleasure in this trip. It would be a delight to have a new gown. She turned a sunnier face to Giles and took heart at the warmth of his response.
Dickon leaned against Jehane’s ample bosom, clutching the neck of her shift with one hand, chewing on the thumb of his other hand, eyes wide as he took in the sights and sounds. A roar scythed through the air, and he pressed his head into her neck as a chained bear swiped at a hound, which whimpered and then lay still. Isabella, alert to his fears, removed him from his nurse and settled him on her hip. “Go, Jehane. I’ll take him.” She smiled at Dickon’s nurse. “You may take some time for yourself.” She slipped her a coin. Jehane grinned broadly, showing her missing eye tooth, and bobbed a curtsy before disappearing into the throng.
Isabella soothed her small son, who was now bawling in earnest, buying him a sticky sweetmeat from a stall, successfully distracting him. At least the day, for once, was fair, and boards, on which their pattens clacked loudly despite a covering of straw, had been laid down to cover the mud.
The mass of people swirled like some disorganised dance, though Giles’ men kept Isabella and her women from being jostled.
Hawkers yelled, children were cuffed by exasperated stallholders as they whined and begged for alms, and music drifted over from where a small group of jongleurs were playing pipes, tabor, shawm and rebec. Isabella bounced Dickon in time to the rhythm, and, fears forgotten, he waved his sweetmeat, laughing.
Giles turned from the swordsmith, where he had been admiring a weapon with an amber-topped pommel, its blade intriguingly engraved. “You’ll not need me, I think. Adam, take charge of my lady’s purchases, if you please.”
Adam, Giles’ youngest hearth knight, who’d been hoping to find his own amusements, inclined his head and turned grudgingly to Isabella, his lips set in a thin, tight line which made his displeasure clear, until he realised Beatrice was to accompany them. His eyes lit up; Beatrice was comely and young. She batted him a glance, blue eyes half hidden by her long lashes, and instantly, his sulky air abated.
Isabella made for the mercer’s stall where, passing Dickon over to Mahelt, her senior maid, she began to finger the fabrics. Picking out a fine wool in a deep red, she watched as the mercer cut the lengths she required. Dickon should have a tunic in the same, she decided.
She admired the silks and brocades with Beatrice then discarded them for the less expensive, more practical wools, and searched for the shade she favoured, but the aurnolas reminded her of the flesh of a trout, the greens were too dark, and the paler shades, she feared, might make her appear sallow.
She winced at the reddish-violet the mercer held out and shook her head at an over-bright popinjay blue. As she dithered over one in her favourite shade of bright tawny, she felt a hand on her arm. Giles had returned, and now, he took the bolt of cloth from her, handing it back to the mercer. He pointed at a much more finely woven fabric in a deep, rich blue-green verdulet, which the stallholder lifted down and spread out with enthusiasm, his eye on a better sale now.
Isabella gave Giles a sidelong glance. He met her eyes. “You need not retain too tight a grip on my finances, sweeting. This would look well on you.”
Isabella was torn between the pleasure of wearing it and the desire to remain unremarked by John, should he be there. No doubt the colour would suit her only too well; she did not wish to attract John’s notice. She hovered, drawn by the fabric, pleased by Giles’ generosity but unsure how to respond.
Giles noticed her hesitation and, assuming she was mentally calculating the cost, he handed over the price himself. “I would not want you thinking I hold you too cheaply, Wife.”
Still, she paused, and he tried to quell the impatience he felt. Why did she continue to hold part of herself back? Surely, he had proved he was no Baldwin. Exasperated, he handed over the package to her maid and was moving away when her hand reached out and grasped his. He turned back to her, and she smiled tremulously, saying, “Thank you, my lord. You are kind.” His irritation disappeared as swiftly as it had come, and he caressed her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers before leaving her to make the rest of her purchases.
Isabella and her maids had been sewing all afternoon. Her eyes ached, for the sky had clouded with rain yet again, and they were working by torch and candlelight. Two court tunics for Giles were already hanging on the clothes poles, one in dark red wool, the other in a deep vert, the shade of a yew needle, ready to be embellished with braid and embroidery, and her own gown was nearly finished. She put down the cloth and stretched, arching her back, then picked up her work again, admiring the fine texture of the fabric, holding it up against herself and trying to see her reflection in the disc of polished metal Mahelt was holding up to her.
Beatrice, who had been plying her needle with decreasing enthusiasm and many sighs, brightened visibly and put down her own sewing. “Shall I fetch wine, my lady?”
Isabella considered. “No, Beatrice, I think not; I have the headache.” She rubbed her temples. “I think a willow bark tisane would be a better choice. And Beatrice?” Her maid raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Be wary of Adam. I know he has charm, but he is inconstant. And for all his flattering words, he will marry higher than you, my d
ear. I am sorry, but it has to be said, for I would not have you taken in by his cozening ways.”
Beatrice flushed and bit her lip. Isabella reached out and touched her hand. “I know you think I’m meddling, but I have a care for you. He will hurt you, and your parents would not be pleased to find you paying the price for his pleasure. There are fish aplenty in the sea and far better than he, for all he is a knight. I promise you, you will be better not setting your eyes on him. The knight truly only marries the maid in the jongleur’s airs, not in real life. We shall find you a husband, dear Beatrice, and one who’ll be kind to you. Adam will not wed you.”
She released her hand, and the maid scuttled away without saying a word. Isabella sighed. It would be necessary to have words with Giles over Adam, for she would not have her maids compromised. She was fond of Beatrice, even though the girl was dizzy with dreams. Closing her eyes for a moment, she gave thought to the young men of their household. It was best she made a match for Beatrice before the girl got herself into trouble. Filbert, their steward’s son, might be a possibility. Twenty, well-favoured, and showing no preference for her other maids, she thought she had caught him casting sly glances in the girl’s direction. It would be worth finding out if Oswin, his father, was agreeable. And Beatrice was not a bad match for Filbert. Fifteen, comely and of a respectable background.
She gazed at the dreary scene outside the solar, made more dismal by the slightly greenish hue of the glass panes, one nail tapping on the stone sill. The window had been a wedding gift from Giles’ brother; whilst Isabella’s dower had added considerably to Giles’ income, a glass-paned window would have been beyond their means. It added consequence, and Isabella delighted in having the one window which need not be shuttered against the cold.
Nibbling the tip of her fingernail, she considered. Yes, it might work. She would endeavour to turn the girl’s thoughts in Filbert’s direction. Adam would not marry her, that was certain, but Isabella was not sure how far his flirtation would take him. Beatrice was not to be used and cast off. She would speak to Oswin once she had approached Giles.
The wind blew a flurry of rain against the panes, the draft that filtered through making the candles gutter. Isabella shivered, calling for braziers to be lit as she thought more on her plan.
Beatrice was far more eager to be wed than she herself had been, but that was likely because her father would give her some say in the matter. He was a kindly man so, as long as Beatrice did not look too high or low for her station, would be unlikely to balk. Filbert would be an excellent choice.
In Baldwin’s household, she had been allowed no responsibility, mostly left to her needlework in the bower, surrounded by maids who had no real care for her, a grim, sour-faced mother-in-law, rigid with disapproval, and a husband whose only interest in her was to grace his table and appease his appetites.
As she mused, Giles came in, towelling his wet hair and shaking himself like a dog. “In truth, I shall develop webbed feet if this rain does not soon cease,” he grumbled. Unable to throw off the nervous habit of her time with Baldwin, she jumped to her feet ready to assist him, but he waved her away.
“No, lass, no need to get you wet too; I’m drenched through and chilled to the marrow.” He threw the cloth he’d been using to dry his hair onto the floor. “Ah, it’s useless. I may as well dunk my head in the tub along with the rest of me and be done with it.”
Isabella dismissed her maids; now would be her best opportunity to speak about Adam and Beatrice. Giles pulled off his sodden clothing and wrapped himself in a warm mantle while he waited for the servants to bring in the tub. Isabella poured him wine and picked up the garments he had scattered heedlessly over the floor rushes.
When the tub was hauled into the room, Isabella supervised its filling, scattering herbs into the steaming water. Giles sniffed appreciatively as the fragrance of rosemary drifted up, then dropped his mantle and stepped into the large half barrel which he had ordered padded around the edges, groaning with pleasure as the warmth seeped its way into his bones. Isabella fetched the bay-scented soap she saved for him and began to rub it into his hair.
“Ah, Bella, that feels good.” He wriggled his shoulders and, after sluicing his head, she moved to knead the knots out of them. Her fingers had cramped while she sewed; she hadn’t noticed how cold they were getting, and now, the hot water felt soothing to her also.
“If this rain does not let up, I fear for the harvests again this year. The ground was still sodden from last year. Another poor yield will bring much hardship.”
Isabella still found it disconcerting to have things like harvests discussed with her. Whenever she had timidly ventured an opinion to Baldwin, he had backhanded her and instructed her to mind her distaff. She enjoyed times like this with Giles but still found herself tongue-tied. God grant he didn’t think her a lack-wit. She racked her brain, trying to think of something intelligent to say, then remembered she needed to speak to him about Beatrice and, by reason of that, Adam.
“Husband,” she began. Giles raised his head and caught at her hand as she continued to work on his shoulders.
“Enough, my love. Whilst I am enjoying your efforts, I would rather speak to your face. Come, pull up a stool, and sit in front of me.” He grinned, wanting to invite her into the tub with him, but forbore; she would be shocked. “Mayhap you’re wishing we’d bought the thicker wool after all. If this weather continues, you’ll be chilled in that fine fabric.”
Isabella smiled. “My pride will keep me warm. The colour is beautiful; I thank you for it, my lord.”
Giles put his head on one side, considering. “Isabella, will you not try to call me by my given name more often, at least in private? Formality is all well and good in public, but I sometimes feel you do not even remember how I am called.”
Isabella flushed. Giles sighed. Was she embarrassed or angered? He was trying to be patient, trying to give her time, but she was still like a nervous filly on occasion.
Why was she biting her lip like that? He was about to speak again when she flung up her head and looked him full in the face with those dark-honey coloured eyes of hers which so enchanted him.
“My l…” As he flashed her an exasperated glance, she stopped and tried again. “Giles?”
“You see, it was not so hard.”
She smiled absently at him. “Giles, I need to speak to you about Adam.”
He narrowed his eyes, and she quailed. It did not escape his notice. “Do not be so fearful, Bella; I’m not angered with you. What has that scapegrace been doing now? Which of your maids is he bedazzling?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You know?”
“I know Adam. The lad is oversure of himself, although I think there’s no real harm in him. I’ll watch him if that would please you.”
Visibly sagging with relief, her lips curved into the generous, open smile which he was beginning to see more often these days.
How much had it cost her to come to me? he wondered. Still, we are making progress.
“Thank you, my l…” He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she laughed. “Giles, then. You see, I am learning, my husband.” Rising from her stool, she pushed up her sleeves. “Shall we return to the other important matter?” She moved behind him, and then, Giles felt her small, firm hands kneading his lower back muscles and gave himself up to the pleasures of his bath.
CHAPTER THREE
It had been dry for three weeks. The gloom that had been almost constant since Saint Guthlac’s day, in early April, was lifting as the ground began to turn from a thick morass into something more firm. Still muddy in the bailey but dry in places, a brisk wind had helped take some of the moisture from the earth, and the sunshine had lifted everyone’s spirits. Even Isabella was looking forward to the trip more than she was dreading it now.
She loved Maude, Giles’ brother’s wife, as though she was her own sister. Maude, it was, who had first made her feel she might be able to trust Giles.
She was
in her twenties, a little older than Isabella, ten years younger than Giles, and considerably younger than her husband, Ralph. Maude was the one who had enveloped her in a hug of welcome at their wedding and whispered in her ear how fortunate she was to have a good man this time, for Maude had known of Baldwin.
Giles’ sister, Petronilla, had also greeted her warmly and called her sister, but there was more of an aloofness about her which Isabella could not find her way through. It didn’t help that Isabella hid her own feelings. Only Maude had been able to penetrate her shields. Maude, who for all her ethereal beauty and her cool silvery-blonde colouring, had a tangible warmth which thawed the ice from Isabella and drew her to let down her guard. She treated Giles like a favoured brother, standing on tiptoe to kiss him and cuffing him over pretended slights. Isabella had been nervous of Giles’ brother, Ralph, to start with, for his bluff geniality had repelled her, but when she saw how he treated his wife, she thawed to him as well.
Isabella’s spirits rose higher at the thought of the week they would spend there before proceeding to court. At court, Giles would not be able to stay beside her, protecting her, but with Maude to bear her company, she might be able to face even John.
The ride was pleasant. Giles, astride Troubadour, his favourite horse, was in high good humour, and Isabella was completely at ease on her dainty grey jennet, Merlin. She turned a laughing face to him as he teased her over her new gown, and even ventured to taunt him for his vanity about his new tunic. They rode ahead of the entourage of men and maids, and, without the constant company, Isabella began to respond in kind to Giles’ gentle flirtations.
Far behind them, unnoticed, Adam rode with a scowl, for Isabella had sent Beatrice back to her parents for the time they would be gone, and the maids who accompanied her today were wiser to his antics than she. Doubtless, he would be in a better mood once they arrived at Oakley. Maude was his sister and had a decided tendency to favour her younger brother. For certѐs, she would mend any fraying seams for him, probably provide him with new clothing, mayhap even a mantle. Though he would have to refrain from flirting with her maids – her spoiling of him did not go so far as turning a blind eye to that.
A Promise to Keep (Out of Time Book 2) Page 2