The Maiden's Abduction
Page 3
wealth and, sensing the two women's unease and extreme tiredness. Dame
Elizabeth insisted that further questions should be left until they had
refreshed themselves.
"I always keep at least one room for guests," she said, leading them
out of the hall towards a flight of stairs.
"It's a large house, but we seem to fill it with ease nowadays."
"Your sons are a credit to you. Dame Elizabeth," Cecily said,
following the lantern across a landing wide enough for several
makeshift beds.
The proud mother threw a smile oy&r her shoulder.
"I was carrying my little Francis when I lost my husband. A pity they
never met; they're so alike. A great comfort. And Silas, of course.
He's something between a father and an older brother to them, but I
agree with you.
Mistress Isolde, that one La Vallon at a time is more than enough for
any woman. I'll try to keep him out of your way, if I can. Ah, here
we are. Thank you, Emmie. "
A genial maid was laying out linen towels on the large canopied bed.
She swiped a flat hand across the coverlet, bobbed a curtsy, and
stepped through the door which was little more than a hole cut into the
panelling.
Their shadows closed about them, and dissolved as they met the light
from within that revealed a potpourri of floral colours spilling over
the bed and on to the ankle-deep sheep's fleece at one side.
After their days of mental and physical discomfort at York, the
contrast was almost too much for Isolde, and her impulse was to embrace
her hostess, who patted her back and assured them that hot water would
be brought up and that supper would be ready as soon as they were.
Side by side, Isolde and Cecily sat upon the rug- covered chest at the
end of the bed and looked about them at the details of comfort: the
tiny jug of marigolds, the embroidered canopy of the bed, the cushioned
priedieu in the corner and its leather bound book of hours.
Isolde placed a hand upon her cheek, still confused.
Cecily placed a finger to her lips.
"Keep your voice down," she whispered.
"These walls are like paper."
Isolde nodded. She had no intention of making the La Vallon brothers
party to her thoughts.
"Did you know that there was an elder brother?"
"Yes, I knew. He was sent off when you were about six."
"Doesn't appear to think much of his brother."
Cecily's greying eyebrows lifted into her closefitting head-dress.
"No, and nor do I. He was no more sure of a welcome here than we were,
and he had no business putting you in this position. Or any of us,"
she added.
"And we can't stay more than one night. We must leave here tomorrow.
One La Vallon is bad enough, but two of 'em is dangerous, and that's a
fact."
"I'd have left tonight if I'd had my way."
"Tomorrow. First thing." Cecily held up the finger again.
"Now, don't you go being rude to that Silas. That would embarrass Dame
Elizabeth and her sons."
Isolde's face tightened as she poked one toe at the basketwork
pannier.
"Monster! Did you notice his short jerkin? Hardly covered his
bottom."
The finger crooked and touched Isolde's chin.
"So, you had time to notice his bottom, did you? Come in!" she called
to the door.
"Wait!
I'll open it for you. " A maid waited outside to escort them to the
hall.
Accordingly, Isolde's eyes were held well away from glimpses of heavily
muscled buttocks to pay increasing attention to the array of food
which, after their unsavoury days in York, was a feast worth sharing,
even with monsters. The hall had been set with tables and was now busy
with servants who arranged white linen cloths, pewter plates, silver
knives and tall glass goblets. One man, older than the rest, stood at
the huge silver-covered dresser, letting wine chortle merrily out of
casks into pewter ewers, while the younger Brake- speare threw soft
tapestries over the benches behind the table.
"We don't stand on ceremony at suppertime," Dame Elizabeth said, coming
across to meet them.
Ceremony or not, it was the best meal Isolde had had in weeks, only
slightly marred by being seated next to an over-attentive John
Brakespeare on one side and an unnecessarily possessive Bard on the
other, whose hand seemed unable to find its way from her knee and thigh
to the table. Finally, in exasperation, she took his hand forcibly in
hers and slammed it heavily upon the table, thrusting a knife between
its fingers. By some mischance, this was noticed by the elder La
Vallon who, at that moment, had leaned forward from three places down
the table to speak to his brother. But although she sensed the
exchange of significant looks between them nothing was said, to
Isolde's intense relief.
Under the watchful eyes of the steward, dish after dish was presented
to the table, for the family had now swollen to include Dame
Elizabeth's father and the other members of her household. Served by
two apprentices and four kitchen servants, this made a household as
large as the Frydes', a surprising revelation which gave Isolde some
indication of Dame Elizabeth's success as a merchant. There was
cabbage, onion and leek soup served with strands of crispy bacon,
chicken pasties, cold salmon and fresh herrings in an egg sauce,
mussels, whelks, cockles and oysters, cheeses, figs and raisins,
manchets of finest white flour and crusty girdle breads yellowed with
saffron for dipping into spiced sauces. It was the first time Isolde
had eaten fresh herring.
"They come from Iceland," John told her.
"Silas brings them."
She would have liked to ask where Iceland was, but instead she mopped
up the thick almondy sauce and wondered reluctantly which morsels to
leave on her plate for the sake of politeness. The wine was of the
finest, and her inclination was to watch the pale honey- coloured
liquid bounce again into her glass from the servant's ewer, but
something warned her to beware, and she place a hand over the rim, at
the same time becoming aware of someone's eyes upon her, drawing her to
meet them. From a corner of her eye, she noticed Dame Elizabeth lean
towards her aged father, the servants' white napkins, the glint of
light on glass and silver, but her eyes were held by two steady dark
brown ones beneath steeply angled brows, and for a timeless moment
there was nothing in the room except that.
No sound, no taste, no touch, no delicious smell of food. Then she
remembered to breathe and found it difficult, for her lungs had
forgotten how until her glance wavered and fell, her composure with it,
and the bold stare she had practised so often upon younger men too far
away to recall.
She turned to Bard, but he saw the signs of weariness there and took
her hand.
"Bed, I think. Enough for one day, eh? We'll sort out what's to be
done tomorrow, shall we?"
"We must go early," she said with some urgency.
"Go?"
"Yes. Go back. Bard. Just go. Early."
He blinked, but kept his voice low to her ear.
"He'll probably be going off tomorrow, sweetheart. Let's wait and see,
shall we?"
She sighed, too weary to argue.
The warmth of the summer evening and the clinging heat of Cecily's
ample body next to hers overrode Isolde's tiredness and forced her out
of bed towards the window that chopped the pale moonlit sky into
lozenges. Only the wealthiest people could afford to glaze their
windows, and even the strips of lead were expensive. The catch was
already undone; as she knelt upon the wooden clothes-chest to push it
open wider, men's voices rose and fell on the still night air, below
her on the quay. She leaned forward, easing the window out with one
finger, recognising Bard's voice and its deep musical relative.
"Has it not occurred to you, lad?" Silas was saying, impatiently.
"She was with that--' " I know who she was with. I have a house and
servants in York who keep me informed of what's happening while I'm
away. But have ye no care for Elizabeth and her lads? Have you any
right to put her entire household at risk by chasing down here with
her? God's truth, lad, you're as thoughtless as ever where a bit of
skirt's involved. "
"That's not fair, Silas. He's not all that dangerous, surely?"
"Have you ever met him?"
"No. I saw him in the minster, though."
"Then you'll have to take my word for it that Elizabeth had better not
be on the receiving end of his attention. Nor must she know exactly
who the lass was staying with, or she'll be worried sick."
"Who will?"
"Elizabeth, you fool. Who dye think I mean? It's her safety I'm
concerned about. Your lass has little to lose now, has she?"
"I wouldn't say that."
There was a silence in which Isolde knew they were laughing.
"You must leave tomorrow. Bard, at first light."
"But I've told her--' " I don't care what you've told her. You leave
at dawn and get back to York. I won't have that maniac chasing down
here to reclaim either the girl or his bloody horses, just because your
braies are afire. "
"Silas, it's not just--' Bard protested.
"Ssh ... all right, all right. I suppose you can't help it if you take
after Father. If I'd stayed longer I might have been the same. God
knows."
"But what the hell are we going to do in York, Silas? Can we stay at
your house?"
"I'll help you out, lad. I've thought of a plan. Foolproof. But
you'll have to trust me, both of you."
"I do, Silas, but I can't vouch for Isolde."
A breeze lifted off the water and sent a dark line of ripples lapping
at the harbour wall and Isolde's skin prickled beneath her hair.
"Come inside. I'll tell you about it."
She waited, then tiptoed back to the bed and sat on its soft feathery
edge until her mind began to quieten.
Chapter Two
Isolde's resentment, dormant only during the short bouts of sleep,
surfaced again at the first screeching calls of the seagulls that
swooped across the harbour, rising faster than the sun itself. From a
belief that she was taking control of her life, she now saw that, after
only a matter of hours, it was once more in someone else's hands. The
two La Vallons, to be exact. Not a record to be proud of.
In her heart, she had already made up her mind that a protracted stay
at the Brake- speares' house was impossible, a decision that Bard's
brother had endorsed in no uncertain terms, but to be packed off so
unceremoniously back to York like a common servant--a bit of skirt, he
had said--was humiliating to say the least. First a thorn in her
father's side, next a potential trophy for a half wit and now an
embarrassment.
Well, she would return to York with the remnants of her dignity, but
not to stay. There was Allard at Cambridge, for instance, the older
brother who had never once failed to mention on his visits home how he
wished she'd go and keep house for him. A student of medicine in his
final year at the university, he lived in his lodgings where time to
care for himself properly had dwindled to nothing. Allard would
welcome her and Mistress Cecily, for hers was as kind an older brother
as anyone could wish for. Sean, their fifteen- year-old half-brother,
was like him in many ways, studious and mentally absent from much of
what went on around him, too preoccupied with copying books borrowed
from the nearby abbeys to remember what day it was. Isolde did not
know whether Sean had been distressed by his mother's recent death or
whether he had merely put a brave face on it for his father's sake. He
was not one to disclose his state of mind, as she did, and she had
often wondered whether his books took him away from a world in which he
felt at odds. If she regretted leaving anyone, it was Sean. Who would
wash his hair for him now? Or his ears and neck, for that matter?
Should she return home, after all?
If she had thought to impress them by her dawn appearance, fully
dressed and ready to begin her exodus unbidden, the wind was removed
from her sails by the sight of a household already astir, well into its
daily preparations and not a hint of surprise at her eagerness to be
away. The plan outlined to Bard last night by his overbearing brother
no doubt concerned what he was to do at York, once they arrived, and
was of no real interest to her at that moment. So when he drew her
forward into a small and comfortable parlour hung with softly patterned
rugs and deep with fresh rushes, she was not best pleased to be joined
by Silas La Vallon,
especially in the middle of a kiss that was neither expected nor
welcome.
A servant followed him with a tray of bread rolls, cheese, ale, a dish
of shrimps and a bowl of apples, one of which Silas threw up into the
air, caught it without taking his eyes off the hastily separating pair,
and noisily bit, enjoying Isolde's confusion as much as Bard's almost
swaggering satisfaction.
Isolde scowled and took the mug of ale which the servant offered,
observing Silas's ridiculous sleeves that dripped off the points of his
elbows as far as his knees. His thigh-length gown was a miracle of
pleats and padding that accentuated the width of his great shoulders,
and in place of last night's pointed shoes he wore thigh-length
travelling boots of softly wrinkled plum-coloured leather edged with
olive-green, like his under-sleeves.
With a mouth full of apple, he invited her to sit and, with another
ripping crunch at the unfortunate fruit, sat opposite her and leaned
against the patterned rug.
Feeling the discomfort of his unrelenting perusal, she turned her
attention to Bard and, with a businesslike coolness, said, "What is all
this about, Bard? We've a fair way to go, remember, and Mistress
Cecily has barely recovered from yesterday."
Bard swung a stool up with one hand and placed it near hers, sitting
astride it.
"Yes, that's one of the reasons why Silas has agreed to help us out,
sweetheart," he said, taking one of her hands.
"We think it would be for the best if Mistress Cecily was given time to
recover while I take the horses back to York alone."
Without taking a moment to consider, Isolde countered, "Oh, no. We
shall not stay here. I'm resolved to leave immediately."
Silas intervened, having no qualms about getting straight to the point
and being less daunted by Isolde's fierceness.
"No, not to stay here, mistress. We all know you can't do that."
"Thank you," she murmured, throwing him a murderous glance.
"I shall take you and your maid to York by ship, I've--' " That you
will not'. "
"I've got to go there to unload some cargo, and I've--' " No! "
"I've told Bard that it'll take a few days, four at most, depending on
the wind, to get up-river past Hull to York. Then I'll drop you off
with your maid and baggage, and you can--' " No! I said no:
Silas slapped the half-eaten apple hard on to the bench at his side and
leapt to his feet, his voice biting with exasperation.
"In God's name, woman, will you listen to what I have to say before