‘So you denied it.’
‘Certainly I did, for her sake as well as my own, and yours.’
‘And he believed you?’
‘It’s in his own interests to believe me. He relies on me for messages to get safely and secretly to their destinations. He’s far more inclined to take my word against young Fryde’s any day, and he’s well aware of Fryde’s corruption amongst the Merchant Venturers. As soon as I heard you’d gone with Allard and William, I went straight to Antwerp where my carrack was berthed and came across to York; there the Venturers told me that Fryde’s affairs were being investigated in great detail, both within the company and by the city council. The message I took to them from the Duke has instructed them that Fryde is now forbidden to trade in Flanders for good. He’s ruined, sweetheart. He’s getting a taste of his own medicine, at last. And not before time.’
‘His poor wife.’
‘Don’t grieve for her: she’s left him.’
‘Left, Silas? Oh, where?’
‘Gone back to her parents. Best decision she could have made.’
‘Is it, Silas?’
He knew what she was asking him. He had come with her father from York, having met him quite by chance at the Merchant Venturers Hall. They had talked, amicably, with no trace of the feuding that had dogged their ancestors, and Sir Gillan proudly admitting that it was Felicia and her mother who had engineered a meeting between him and Silas’s father that had ended in laughter and reminiscences instead of recriminations. Yet Felicia stayed with Sir Gillan, as Silas had known that she would. He would have to explain before she could see for herself.
She took his cleft chin between her fingers and slowly nibbled her lips towards his. ‘Answer me, Silas Mariner. Is it best for a woman to return to her parents, as I intended to do? Or is there another way?’
His reply was prevented for some time, and when he raised his head as if to listen, she mistook his words of warning for a reply. ‘The tide’s turned, love,’ he said.
Her hair stood on end. ‘What?’ she whispered.
‘Look. The shrimpers are coming back. The tide’s moving in. We must move, too.’ A quick glance at her eyes showed him how her emotions were on a knife edge, and instantly he picked her up, holding her fast against his chest with a fierceness which would have been impossible for her to misunderstand. ‘God’s truth, woman!’ he whispered. ‘Are you doubting me still? I’ve not come all this way just to take you back to your father. Did you think I had? You’re mine! You always were and you always will be.’ A sharp whistle brought the bay stallion back to him and, making a pad for her of his shirt, he sat her before him on the saddle, holding her securely with one arm. It was what she had dreamed of.
With the wind at their backs, he told her of the love Felicia and Sir Gillan had always had for each other and of how she had confided only in her mother and to himself on a solitary excursion to York. Her so-called abduction had been a desperate attempt to resolve an impossible situation in the light of his father’s predictable refusal to release his daughter.
‘So the decision to send me to York was to spare my embarrassment, or theirs? Didn’t my father think I’d understand?’
Silas kissed her forehead. ‘Probably not,’ he murmured. ‘But nor did he want you getting all cosy with Bard, nor would he have sent you to Fryde if he’d known what he was getting up to. He didn’t know about Elizabeth’s husband, who was my father’s brother’s son.’
‘Yes, I knew he was your cousin, but I didn’t know what had happened until Elizabeth told me. But does my father intend to take me home, Silas?’
‘He did, but not any more. They understood the message I sent them from Brugge, as I knew they would, but he believed it had not worked out when he received yours a few days ago. But I’ve asked his permission to woo you, sweetheart. That’s been missing, hasn’t it? And it’s upset you, I know. It was undignified. So, when I’ve wooed you properly, then I shall ask you to marry me, because your father’s agreed that I’m a proper husband for you. There, does that sound more civilised? Nay…nay, lass. Don’t weep again. Ye’re not breeding, are you?’
‘Yes…yes, Silas.’
‘Are you saying yes to the idea, or to…? God in heaven!’ He reined the horse in and took her face in his hand, searching her limpid green eyes for the answer. ‘You are?’
‘It’s too soon, but I think I may be. Does it complicate matters, Silas?’ She sniffed, wiping a tear off on to his bare chest. ‘Will it have to be a shorter wooing now?’
‘Sweetheart, I know my timing is not half-bad, but this time it’s damn near perfect, isn’t it?’ His laugh reflected all the joys of their reunion, ending with a bass whoop that lifted the stallion’s head and those of the nearby shrimpers. ‘The wooing will have to be curtailed, I fear, but will that be so very uncomfortable for you, my darling girl?’
‘Not so uncomfortable as those days since I left you, beloved. I wished a hundred times a day that I’d told you of my love for you while I had the chance, but pride and jealousy got in the way and I deserved to suffer. I’ve never known a pain like it, Silas. It blinded me. How could I be so stupid when I knew even before we left this harbour that I loved you? I want to bear your child, Silas. And above everything I want you to be proud of me.’
‘I am, my love. I was in Brugge, too. That reminds me; the Duke asked me for you.’
‘And you told him?’
He tightened his arm around her as the stallion took the steps up to the quay. ‘I told him no, in the circumstances. I dare say he’ll understand when next he sees you, eh?’
But one whose understanding could not be relied on was young John Brakespeare. The sight of a half-naked man holding an obviously emotional and dishevelled young woman before him on his saddle-bow clattering into the courtyard could mean only one thing, when everyone knew how she had fled from his forcible abduction only last month.
Pushing young Francis aside, John ran to Isolde with arms outstretched, lifting her down before either of the riders had realised that the look on his face was of hostility rather than concern. ‘Go inside,’ he told Isolde, swinging her away to one side. ‘My mother will tend you while I see to this.’
‘What?’ said Isolde. ‘See to what?’
The quizzical half-smile missed John by a mile as he turned his attention to Silas who, swinging his leg over the horse’s mane, was in mid-flight when John’s punch hit him in the ribs. Momentarily, Silas doubled, warding off with his forearm John’s next unexplained attack, but the young man saw only what was there before him, his rival with a tearful Isolde. He lunged again.
Torn between laughter and incredulity, Silas grabbed his shirt from the saddle and whipped it hard across John’s head as the lunge went wildly astray. ‘What in pity’s name’s got into you, lad?’ he snapped. Stepping neatly behind John, he brought his forearm across the lad’s throat, forcing the head back against his chest. ‘What’s all this about, eh?’
Isolde, half-inclined to laugh at these antics, now saw something of the problem in John’s furious expression, and she came forward with an attempt to explain. But Silas scowled at her with a shake of his head, mouthing ‘Go!’ and with a sharp look at the doorway commanded her to reverse the direction of Dame Elizabeth at the same time. With a lift of her eyebrows, she obeyed, and saw how Silas released John with a push that sent him untidily into the stable door.
He swung round to face Silas with the low sun streaming into his blue eyes, spitting with anger. ‘Get out of here, Francis!’ he snarled at his younger brother. ‘And shut the door. This is men’s business.’
‘All right,’ Silas said, ‘so you have a problem; I can see that. But men’s business can usually be discussed rationally before violence. Blows usually come afterwards, you know, John. And I’m not so very bad at understanding, am I?’
Not to be outdone regarding the proper dress for a fight, John was stripping off his shirt. ‘Then it’s time you tried some of your well-known under
standing on the lady, cousin. She made it quite clear last time you were here that she wanted none of you. Yet you took her to Flanders against her will and obviously made her so miserable that she couldn’t wait to escape you. Now, you come chasing after her again, and while my back is turned, you…you…’ he pointed at Silas’s magnificent torso ‘…well, look at you! No wonder she’s in tears. No wonder she wants nothing to do with you.’
‘Has she told you exactly what happened in Flanders?’
‘No, she cannot bring herself to speak of it, but she’s moped ever since she’s got here, and anyone can see—’
‘No, John. There you’re wrong, I’m afraid. If anyone can see what a woman’s thinking from one moment to the next, he’ll have to call himself God. They’re not like men, lad. That’s the first lesson you’ll have to learn.’
‘You cannot deny it, Silas Mariner! You cannot deny that Mistress Isolde couldn’t stand the sight of you when you first met. Even I could see that.’
‘No, I can’t deny that. But that’s now several weeks ago, John.’
‘Weeks, months!’ he yelled. ‘What’s the matter? She’s still in tears at the sight of you. You don’t change a woman’s heart in weeks, do you? Even you can’t do that, surely? You shall fight me, cousin. I’ve sworn to protect her against you and I shall rescue her from your clutches. Come on, fight me!’ He balanced himself with fists aloft.
One would have had to look closely to see Silas’s reaction: a slight tightening of the cheeks, a fractional lowering of the eyelids.
John was now in full spate. ‘She’s told my mother what happened, and my mother’s given her comfort, so the least I can do is to offer her my protection. Put them up, man!’
At that moment, the door into the courtyard opened quietly to admit Sir Gillan who, summoned by Francis, hoped to mediate in the dispute. He stood with his back to the door as one who had seen this kind of thing before. ‘Master John is the challenger?’ he enquired.
‘Yes, sir. I am,’ said John, glowering.
‘He is, sir. Should I accept the challenge?’
‘If the lady’s honour is at stake, then I believe you should, La Vallon. Is that the case?’
‘No, sir,’ Silas said.
‘Yes! Yes, it is! You know damn well it is. She does not want your attentions forced upon her. She’s been happy to accept mine while—’
‘Ah, I see,’ Sir Gillan said. ‘Then I see nothing for it but to fight for the lady. You are well matched. Are you ready, both of you? Do you accept me as referee?’
‘Sir Gillan.’ Silas frowned. ‘If you can persuade John to listen to me, I’m sure this can be settled without the need for violence. The lady doesn’t want this any more than we do.’
‘Speak for yourself, sir!’ John said. ‘If you’re afraid, say so!’
Silas sighed. ‘Tch! I accept the challenge. Come, let’s get it over with.’
‘The first to land three clean punches is the winner. Now, set to,’ Sir Gillan called.
Within doors, Isolde could hardly believe what was happening. But Dame Elizabeth was philosophical about her son’s need to prove himself in the eyes of adults. ‘Silas won’t hurt him, my dear,’ she said, hugging Isolde to her. ‘He knows what it’s all about, and so does your father. They’ll see he’s not injured any more than he needs to be. It’s his pride that’s suffering most.’
And in that she was right, for although John’s education in the ways of women was not completed in the fifteen minutes that followed, his pride was salvaged by knowing that Isolde was lost to him not by default but by force of circumstance.
Watching for Sir Gillan’s signal, Silas put an end to it with only the minor disfigurement of a cut lip and a bruised eyebrow for John and some sore ribs for himself. The bucket of cold water was then the prelude to a cooling-off during which Sir Gillan tended the young man and gave him some much-needed fatherly advice about the wayward workings of women’s hearts, citing his own Felicia as an example rather than Isolde. From him, John took it to heart and was obliged to shake Silas’s hand with a good grace.
Silas eased a hand over his ribs and pulled on his much-mussed shirt. ‘Another couple of inches, young man, and I shall insist on swords instead of fists. Are we friends again?’
John nodded, moving his jaw from side to side with his hand. ‘What’s Mistress Isolde going to think?’ he said, thickly.
Lifting an eyebrow, Silas gave him a gentle thump on the shoulder. ‘If you ever discover what Mistress Isolde thinks,’ he said, ‘you might let me and her father know, because you’ll be breaking new ground. Now, lad, let’s go and eat, eh?’
What Mistress Isolde thought about Silas’s house on Coney Street in the city of York was not so difficult for anyone to see. They had taken their leave of Dame Elizabeth once again, tearfully and with much affection, but in complete agreement that it would not do to linger, all things considered. Now, an added delight was to meet Felicia La Vallon, who had been staying in York since her brother’s departure with Sir Gillan the day before, and the tension that Isolde and Felicia had half-expected from each other dissolved at their first meeting, having so much more in common than their unusual relationship. They were to each other like the sisters neither of them had had.
The house was large, built around a courtyard and tastefully furnished, and staffed by three men and a woman who were overjoyed not only to see their master in love at last but to know that they would be living in York, with some months in Brugge during the summer.
In an upper chamber hung with autumn-red carpets, they watched a September gale lash the windows and bounce across the wide river that passed the end of the long garden. Silas’s hands gently caressed her belly, his lips nudging at her neck. ‘Scarborough too, eh? In the spring, perhaps?’
‘You’ve lost Elizabeth, love. You know that, don’t you?’
‘To William? Yes, that was the general idea. I’d been wondering how to get them together for years. I’ve never known anything fit so well into place as that, and now he’s established in Westminster, she’ll go to him, I know it. The boys are ready to run the place now: John’s longing to be left in charge.’
Isolde turned herself into his arms. ‘And I hear that my brother Sean spends all his days in your father’s library. I hope he doesn’t learn bad habits.’
‘What habits, wench?’
‘Abducting people?’
‘No! He’ll not learn how to do that. That’s a La Vallon specialty, remember. Reserved for difficult cases. Have you decided to marry me, lass?’
She took his hand and held it again over her womb. ‘Both of us?’ she whispered. ‘You want both of us, Silas Mariner, for the price of one?’
‘Priceless,’ he said. ‘I have nothing to offer except myself and what you’ve seen. It’s an unfair bargain, lass, but I beg you to accept me. Mistress, lover, wife or what you will. Name your terms.’
‘Wife, dearest heart. Silas Mariner’s lady, if you please.’
She would have elaborated, but Silas lifted her and laid her with care on the great tawny-coloured velvet bed with its cover of gold-patterned brocade. He loosened her hair and took it greedily into one hand, letting it trickle through his fingers like red gold-dust. ‘Mine,’ he said, watching her green eyes half-close with desire. ‘Mine. A real live Medwin.’
Epilogue
One month later, Silas and Isolde, Sir Gillan and Felicia were married at the little family church in Medwinsholme and, by coincidence, their firstborn sons were born within a week of each other the following May.
Young Sean went to join his brother Allard in London as assistant to William Caxton and his new wife Elizabeth, who had one daughter named Mary. Eventually Caxton’s assistant, Wynkyn de Worde, carried on his master’s printing business at the Sign of the Red Pale in Westminster, established in 1476. Deiric Bouts, who was ill in Leuven, died that same year and Hugo van der Goes was committed to The Red Cloister again, where he died a few years later. But the Portin
ari altarpiece, about which he was so concerned, was finished by then, shipped to Florence, and was acclaimed as a masterpiece, although Thommaso Portinari bankrupted the Medici bank by his misuse of their funds.
In 1477, the year after Silas and Isolde’s wedding, Hans Memlinc fought for the Duke of Burgundy, was wounded, but returned to Brugge where he produced many exceptional pieces, some of which can still be seen there. The Duke of Burgundy was killed that year, but his widow maintained a glittering court at Mechelin, her need of Silas Mariner’s exotic merchandise and Caxton’s books being greater than ever.
Bard La Vallon took to the diamond trade like a duck to water and stayed in Antwerp with his wife and seven children, three more than his elder brother. But then, that was only to be expected.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3988-3
THE MAIDEN’S ABDUCTION
First North American Publication 2004
Copyright © 2000 by Juliet Landon
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
Juliet Landon Page 22