The Maiden's Abduction

by Juliet Landon

  doing?"

  "Barging into a lady's bedchamber?"

  "Like you, you mean?" Bard looked pointedly beyond them to the deep

  indentation on the velvet- covered bed.

  "Did you have to bring her all this way for that? Couldn't you have

  managed a quick one at Scar?"

  Silas's hand shot out like a bow from an arrow, gathering up a bunch of

  the grimy shirt beneath his brother's chin and pushing it backwards

  until Bard lost his balance against the wall. He was no match for

  Silas's greater strength.

  "Shut your mouth, lad," Silas growled, 'or you'll be swallowing your

  teeth for supper. You wouldn't know it, but this is a lady's

  bedchamber and this--' he tipped his head towards Isolde '--is a lady.

  And this is my house. Keep a civil tongue in your head. "

  Furious still. Bard took hold of Silas's wrist in both hands.

  "Let go!" he snapped. It needed no examination to see that the voyage

  had not agreed with him in any sense, that he was desperately tired,

  lacking in food and ready for a thorough cleansing. His usual healthy

  colour had paled at the constant truancy of his stomach, and the

  optimistic bounce that women found so attractive was sadly deflated.

  Nevertheless, his eyes lit at the sight of Isolde who, flushed from

  breast to forehead, became instantly desirable to him though she was

  obviously mortified by his untimely appearance.

  She was also mystified.

  "What are you doing here, Bard? Don't pretend you knew nothing of this

  plot. I'll not swallow that kind of tripe."

  "What plot?" Bard said irritably, pulling at his neckline.

  "The plot to revenge your family for Felicia's abduction, of course.

  What else could I mean? "

  "I don't know of any plot, Isolde. I've come to take you back because

  I'll not have big brother Silas taking my woman from under my nose.

  He's duped me once, but he'll not do it again. "

  "I'm not your woman," Isolde retorted.

  "I'm not anybody's woman!"

  "You expect me to...?" He caught Silas's eye and glowered with burning

  resentment, running a hand wearily through his unkempt hair.

  Silas intervened.

  "This discussion can wait, I think, until you've had some attention.

  You smell like a drain, lad, and you're not going to talk much sense

  until you've had some sleep and food."

  With a look of horror. Bard clapped a hand to his mouth.

  "No, not food. A mug of ale will do. Ah, it beats me how you can

  stand all that sailing. The floor's still rocking."

  "When did you reach Sluys?"

  "Early this morning. Cargo of timber and lead. Nowhere to sleep. What

  a nightmare!"

  "Come on, I'll find you a bed." Silas went to the door to call for

  Pieter, but Bard's anger still boiled and bubbled over again before

  Silas could restrain him.

  "Do you realise that I've chased all this way after you, Isolde? I

  thought you'd surely be as glad to see me as you were at York. I

  waited there for the boat, and you all the while thinking I'd hatched a

  plot... and he told you... what did he tell you?"

  "Later," Silas said, thrusting him into Pieter's arms.

  "Go on. I'll follow. We'll clear the matter up later."

  "You were going out?" Bard mumbled.

  "Still are, if you'll do as you're told. Go on." He closed the door

  and turned to Isolde.

  "Wait for me. I'll get him some clothes and see him comfortable, then

  we'll be off."

  "He waited at York. He didn't know, did he?"

  "Isn't that what I told you?"

  "I didn't believe you."

  "That seems to be a habit of yours."

  "Can you blame me?" She looked away, unable to hold his eyes and

  intentionally making no reference to what she had been about to do when

  Bard interrupted. A moment or two later, and who knew what he might

  have seen?

  "You think it's safe to leave him here while we're out?"

  "Pieter and Mei will be here. He'll be asleep in half an hour,

  anyway.

  I doubt he'll wake till morning. I'm not going to lose the chance of

  being seen out with you, my lady, just because I have a brother

  visiting. "

  Misunderstanding, she bridled.

  "No, indeed. That wouldn't do, would it? Today's theme seems to be

  about men needing women, for one reason or another. Mostly to do with

  pride, naturally." She cradled the Little Thing in her arms.

  "You are not flattered that your conquest has traipsed all this way to

  get you back? Most women would be."

  "Bard is no conquest," she flared.

  "He's angered by your treachery, that's all. Who wouldn't be? But I

  cannot understand why you didn't tell him in the first place. It would

  have saved him a journey."

  "Yes... well, I must admit to being surprised at his doggedness, though

  I can sympathise with his infatuation."

  "Thank you. Infatuation. Well, well. You know about that, do you?"

  He raised an eyebrow.

  "At my age? Surely. Show me a man who doesn't."

  "And you are not annoyed that he's turned up?" She longed for him to

  say, even to imply, that he was.

  "Not at all. It's inconvenient, I suppose. But his being here making

  cow's eyes at you won't alter my plans one bit unless you convince me

  that you want to return to England with him. Then I'll probably have

  to revise the situation. Do you?"

  "Do I what?"

  "Want him to take you back home?"

  She beat her brain for something to wound him with. Quickly.

  "Well, not until I've seen my new gowns, anyway."

  A smile hovered and flew away with a quick shake of his head.

  "Good try, maid," he said, softly, 'but it won't do. I told you, I'm

  not bargaining, and nothing's changed since then. "

  "I'm sorry. That was unmannerly of me. Please forget I said it."

  "I'm extremely deaf on that side on alternate Mondays," he said, with a

  smile.

  "Wait a while. We'll be away as soon as I've seen to him."

  Being reasonably certain that the English merchant known as Silas

  Mariner would be about his business on this Monday afternoon, Ann-Marie

  Matteus gave her doting father a dutiful peck and thanked him for

  taking her in his skiff as far as the Marinershuis and, yes, she would

  be ready to be collected in an hour or so. Dear Isolde, she said,

  would be pleased to see her new friend again in a strange town, so far

  from home. They had so much in common.

  Her maid, as skinny as Cecily was stout, helped her up the steps and

  through the gate which was not as familiar to them as they would have

  liked. Not recognising the young lass left alone to keep watch while

  Pieter and Mei were otherwise engaged, Ann-Marie demanded to speak to

  Mistress Isolde Medwin, and the lass, already halfway seduced by the

  handsome young Englishman in the kitchen, soon found her place usurped

  by one who would present more of a challenge, at least.

  Bard had come through the cleansing ceremony with flying colours and,

  until the secondary diversion, had been ready to eat before sleeping.

  In Silas's shirt and hose, with points hastily re-tied, he presented
/>
  less than a courtly appearance whilst resembling, in the most marked

  manner possible, something from Ann-Marie's wildest and most erotic

  dreams. Consequently, he found his tongue before she did.

  He spread his hands and assumed his most beguiling apologetic face,

  ready to tackle an English-Flemish explanation.

  "No Mistress Isolde.

  Only me. I regret. " His hand flattened on his chest, reminding him

  that the shirt was almost open to the navel. He looked down at himself

  in mock dismay, knowing that her eyes would follow to the exaggerated

  but fashionable bulge, the braguette, below his waist. Then he bit his

  lip in pretend embarrassment, his eyes brimming with laughter and the

  certainty of eventual conquest.

  The inexperienced and vulnerable Ann-Marie had little immunity against

  masculine wiles as blatant as this. The young men at court were fops,

  but this one was minus the obvious trimmings and she was wide open to

  any semblance of solace to her wounded pride, in whatever form it was

  presented.

  "You are English?" she said.

  "From England?"

  Bard smiled his most charming smile and left the hand on his breast.

  "Ah! What a relief! I thought I might have to speak Flemish, or

  French, or whatever. Your English is perfect, damoiselle. Where did

  you learn it?" He took her elbow and led her as if she were

  thistledown across the warm stone paving of the kitchen courtyard to

  the plot where Isolde's benches remained in position. Still in his

  stockinged feet and with his hair darkly damp and unruly, he sat at a

  respectful distance so that she would have a good view of his calf

  muscles and wrists, the gleam of his skin and the sunlight in his

  wicked eyes.

  The young kitchen lass, not completely giving up hope, brought out the

  cold food and wine that he had been going to eat, and, with extra

  goblets for Ann- Marie and her maid, it was not long before he was

  accepting mouthfuls like a bird from a captor's hand, flavoured with

  her pity for such a frightful journey.

  "You came to take Mistress Isolde home? That was an act of great

  courage, sir, but if she is visiting your brother, why should she wish

  to return home? She made me believe she was content here in Brugge."

  Bard shook his head, sadly.

  "That's what she would say, with him by her side, isn't it? What else

  could she say? That he's abducted her?"

  "What? Abducted? Silas would not do anything like that."

  "You don't know my brother as I do, damoiselle," he said, opening his

  mouth for another piece of chicken.

  "It's to do with our family's honour, you see, and there he's quite

  ruthless, as the eldest. He has to be seen to be taking some action.

  It was inevitable."

  "What was?"

  As if reluctant to explain, he sighed and looked away, but not for

  long; he had seen the glint of diamonds in the golden coils of her

  collar.

  "Our families are enemies," he said, unfolding the story with a

  touching hesitancy and milking it for every ounce of pathos. When he

  had finished, he noticed a tear glistening in the corner of her eye,

  ready to trickle down her nose.

  "Why, what is it, dear lady?" he said.

  "It's not for you to weep, but me. Isolde has always been in love with

  me, and can't stand the sight of my brother, yet it's no use letting

  the situation worsen. I have to try to persuade him to let her go. It

  may take some time, but I must make the effort."

  "And you? Are you in love with...? Oh, forgive me. I should not have

  asked that. What must you think of me? No, don't answer. I have no

  right to know."

  "I shall answer you, just the same." Bard was well practised in The

  Art of the Sigh: this one came from the 'alas' shelf.

  "I thought I was in love, damoiselle, when we were at home and

  undiscovered. Now I realise that, since she's been with my brother, my

  heart is moved more towards tenderness than love. I'm duty- bound to

  relieve her distress;

  even though she's a Med- win, I bear the family no grudge, as Silas

  does, nor do I believe my sister to be in any mortal danger. But when

  Isolde places all her hopes in me, as she did in York, what can I do

  but help? "

  Ann-Marie wiped the tear away now that it had been noticed.

  "He was to have been mine," she whispered.

  "If only things could return to the way they were before all this

  happened. If only I'd known of her distress when we met, I might have

  been able to show her more kindness."

  Bard stared at her.

  "Your pardon, damoisellel You say that Silas and you...?"

  "Yes, it's true. My father and Silas do business together, but he'd

  certainly withdraw his support if he thought Silas was not going to

  keep to his promise of marriage. It was to have been in two years,

  because of my being engaged on the Duchess's affairs, but the agreement

  was made last year."

  "And your father? He's a merchant, too?"

  "Diamonds," she whispered, with downcast eyes.

  "We live in Antwerp.

  I'm the only daughter. "

  Even Bard had heard of Antwerp's diamond trade.

  "Is that what Silas trades in? He relies on your father, does he?"

  "Completely. It would be the end of him. My father must never know of

  this business, sir. You won't tell him, will you? He believes Silas

  to be above reproach."

  "So you still hope to marry him, damoiselleT Ann-Marie dabbed again

  with a pretty embroidered handkerchief.

  "Like you, sir, I'm beginning to have doubts after hearing of his

  treatment of Isolde, but I shall do as my father bids me. Poor Isolde.

  So brave.

  If she were to lose your love, the feeling of rejection might tear her

  apart. "

  "Yes," said Bard, meaning nothing of the kind. From what he'd seen as

  he burst unexpectedly into her bedchamber, Isolde's impending rejection

  was not the issue, but her virginity. That had been intact when he'd

  last seen her, and very highly she had held it. If that scoundrel of a

  brother had changed that state of affairs, then he deserved all that

  was coming to him, for Isolde's precious commodity had been the reason

  for the pursuit to both York and Brugge.

  It could not have fallen better into place if he had orchestrated it

  himself. Bard mused as he pleasured the kitchen lass as soon as

  Ann-Marie had left. Fortune was certainly on his side here in Brugge,

  showing him a way to get even with Silas and also the distinct

  possibility of taking both Isolde and the diamond heiress without

  either of them being any the wiser. Meanwhile, refreshed in mind and

  spirit, it needed only sleep to complete his physical needs, with no

  one to silence about his new conquest except the maid, and that was in

  hand. When Pieter and Mei appeared some time later, the maid was

  busily plucking a goose and, when Silas and Isolde returned. Bard was

  fast asleep in his small room at the back of the house, replete in

  every sense.

  Isolde had been polite to Hans Memlinc's chattery wife but had no
t been

  assailed by her in the studio, where only Hans and his apprentices had

  been at work, and though she had been fascinated at the time by the

  processes involved, she could now concentrate on little except Bard's

  unexpected appearance. Silas might think of it as an inconvenience,

  but to her it was a catastrophe that kept pace in her mind with how

  pleased she had been to see him in York, how quick to flee with him.

  Rarely had she missed a chance to show Silas how unwilling she was to

  stay here; now he would expect her to behave consistently in Bard's

  presence unless, of course, he knew the secret workings of her heart on

  that issue also, which she could hardly doubt after his remarks about

  bargains and gifts.

  They had sailed home through the sleek brown water that dived beneath

  low bridges and cut a path through tall anonymous buildings, and he had

  lain his hand over hers, whispering.

  "Don't worry about it. We'll sort it out one way or another."

  She had not asked how he knew what was on her mind but, by her silence,