Susan Spencer Paul

by The Bride Thief

  They were lined up outside the gates, five lads mounted on exceptionally fine horses that belied the plain, wellworn clothes they wore, which Isabelle realized must be the best that they owned. But these were well scrubbed, as were their wearers, each sitting tall and proud, with neatly combed hair that shone under the sun. The eldest, a handsome blond youth of perhaps ten-and-six years, had a freshly shaven face. When he rode forth to greet them, Isabelle was struck by the boy’s masculine beauty. His eyes were distinctly blue against his blond hair and sundarkened face, and his noble features were solemn and serious.

  “My lord, Sir Justin.” He greeted them with so much ceremony that Isabelle bit her lip to keep from laughing at how greatly he reminded her of Robert, the ever-proper steward of Siere. He bowed his head once, then turned to Sir Christian. “My lord, Sir Christian,” he said with equal eloquence, bowing his head again. Then he turned to Isabelle, and in even deeper tones said, “My lady Isabelle, mistress of Talwar. We welcome you with full hearts and every gladness.”

  He sounded so miserable that Isabelle had to clear her throat to master her amusement before saying, in what she hoped were equally regal tones, “Thank you, Master Kayne.”

  His head lifted at the sound of his name, and his gaze sharpened.

  “Sir Justin has spoken well of you,” Isabelle added quickly, wanting only to put him at ease, “and often. Indeed,” she continued, moving her horse a little farther on, “I believe I know all of you, already, from Sir Justin’s words.”

  The next boy in line was dark-haired, like her brother, Senet, although much larger in both size and muscle, and had a scowl on his face.

  “You are Aric,” she said with a soft smile. “Ten-andfour, and capable with both sword and crossbow.” He was the quiet one, Justin had warned her. A harsh childhood had left the boy suspicious and reserved, but unfailingly loyal to those few people whom he finally came to trust.

  Aric inclined his head, never taking his eyes from her face, and Isabelle guided her horse forward to the next boy, a slender youth with hair and eyes the soft color of a sparrow’s gray-brown wing.

  “And you must be—”

  “John,” the boy answered, his wiry body straightening with taut energy. “John Ipris, m’lady, for wasn’t I born at Ipris Inn, with no better name to make claim to? I’ve seen you before,” he went on without taking so much as a breath, speaking in the thickly accented tones Isabelle had often heard in London. “Walking to Saint Paul’s you was, with a fine-dressed gentleman and lady, and you walking behind, dressed in gray and about as lively as a dead cat, I vow. And wasn’t it cold? God’s teeth, it was. I saw you, all right, plain as a cock’s tail from where I was, sitting under Fleet Street bridge and breaking me fast with a bun I’d swiped. Right there as ready as my own nose, I saw you.”

  Kayne, who had moved his horse forward with Isabelle’s, gave John a stern look, which the younger boy blinked at twice before suddenly coming to himself.

  “Oh,” he said, then straightened again, like a soldier about to greet his commander. “Welcome to Talwar, my lady Isabelle,” he blurted out with rigid solemnity.

  “John has an amazing memory,” Justin said from where he sat, his voice both gentle and proud. “He lived in London for many years before coming to Briarstone, and then to Talwar, and if he says that he saw you once, you may believe that he did.”

  John’s face suffused with open pleasure at his master’s . words, although he correctly kept his eyes forward.

  “I’m certain he must have,” Isabelle agreed. “We did attend chapel at Saint Paul’s, and the walk along Fleet Street from the Strand was our common route. I only regret that I did not see you, Master John Ipris.”

  He did turn his eyes then, briefly, to see Isabelle’s smile and to blink twice again before forcing his gaze forward.

  She moved to the last two boys in line.

  “You will be Ralf,” she said to the eldest, a towheaded youth who appeared to be just over ten years of age. “And you,” she said to the last, a vividly redheaded nine-yearold, “must be Neddy. You are brothers, is this not so?”

  The boys nodded silently, and Sir Christian said, “Their mother, Helen, manages the household of Briarstone.”

  Isabelle turned her horse about so that she could see each boy. They were a ragged lot, but as proud as any knighted men she’d ever seen.

  “I have never had so fine or gracious a welcome,” she said truthfully, “nor have I ever again expected to be treated with such perfect courtesy. We should have the truth between us, so that you may decide for yourselves how we will get on together. For myself, I should like very much to be companionable with one another, and friends, if it may come to that in time. I am no great lady, and would not have you treat me as such. My father was French, and was declared a traitor to the throne of our late King Henry, may God preserve his soul. For the past four years, I have lived beneath my uncle’s hand, as his servant. That is the manner in which John Ipris saw me in London. I am only here at Talwar because of the kindness of your master, Sir Justin, and it is not my intent to play a role that is neither fitting nor right. I am only Isabelle, and only what you see before you now. If we may all be easy and kind with one another, I shall be most grateful. I pray it shall be so for all of you, as well.”

  There was total silence as each of the five boys stared at her, and as Isabelle steadily met their regard. It was a chance she had taken, she knew, and it had probably not been at all what Justin expected her to say, but this was the beginning of a new life for her—an entirely new life, with everything that she had once cherished of her past put aside—and she would not begin it with lies or misunderstandings. She was as much a refugee here as these boys were, and if they would accept her, then there must be nothing but the truth between them.

  Kayne, the one she had least expected to accept her, was the one who moved first. He unsheathed the sword from the scabbard dangling from his waist and held it high.

  “God bless our Lady Isabelle!” he cried, and the others followed suit.

  Justin, his expression filled with pride and pleasure, rode his horse up beside hers and took her hand. Kissing it, he murmured, “Aye, God bless our Lady Isabelle.”

  Her new home was just as he had promised it would be. It was not grand, but it was comfortable and well kept. The manor house had been built after Justin gained ownership of Talwar, and had, he assured her, every modern comfort, from glass windowpanes to tiled floors covered with Spanish carpets to large stone hearths set in the walls. Gazing at the dwelling closely for the first time, Isabelle thought of the home she had lived in during her childhood, her father’s grand estate, Castle Lomas, and of her uncle’s palatial home on the Strand, and she knew, without a flicker of doubt, that she would be more fully content here than she had been at any other time in her life. Here, she and Senet would at last find peace.

  “The boys live in the old keep,” Justin said as he pulled her down from her horse. “In the soldier’s quarters, which they seem to like very well. There is a separate kitchen that was finished more than two years ago, so you’ll need never worry over food being cooked in the house.” Taking her hand, he led her to the manor’s large wooden doors, which were already open.

  They walked in together, and were greeted at once by three women who stood in a formal line beside the entry. Isabelle forced her curious gaze away from the simple beauty of the dwelling’s interior to smile at them.

  “Welcome home, my lord, Sir Justin,” the first said. She was a handsome older woman, her hair a dark gray and her eyes a bright blue. To Isabelle she said, with a bow, “Welcome to Talwar, Lady Isabelle.”

  “This is Mistress Gytha,” Justin said with warm affection. “Gytha manages the household, and has been as good as a mother to all of us.”

  “Mistress Gytha,” Isabelle greeted.

  “My lady,” Gytha said, taking the hand Isabelle offered and holding it tightly. “We’ve praised God these past two days since having
the missive our lord sent, telling us of his marriage. You are a gift sent from heaven, I vow.”

  Next was Meg, whom Justin introduced as the cook, a plump, smiling middle-aged woman whose two front teeth were missing.

  “The best cook in all of England,” Sir Christian declared from where he stood at the door.

  Meg beamed and made a bow. “I’ve made a special meal for this eve, my lady,” she said. “To welcome you to Talwar.”

  “Thank you.” Isabelle set a hand against her stomach. “I am very hungry, and know I shall enjoy every bite put before me, Mistress Meg. I cannot believe my good fortune, to have so fine a husband, and so fine a home, with a fine housekeeper and fine cook.” She glanced back at Sir Christian and the young men, who all stood within the entrance. “And such fine gentlemen for company, as well.”

  She looked expectantly at the girl who stood last in line and, moving forward, put forth her hand. The girl, whose blond head had been cast down, took Isabelle’s fingers and held them, and at last lifted her face, revealing tear-filled eyes. Isabelle’s smile died, and she stared at the pure beauty of the girl, at the wet tearstains on the girl’s face. She had never seen such wretched sadness before.

  “This is Birgitte,” Justin said quietly as he came up beside her.

  The girl’s gaze moved to Justin. Her fingers slackened and fell away from Isabelle’s, and she whispered, “Sir Justin.”

  “Birgitte helps both Gytha and Meg.”

  “I am pleased to know you, Birgitte,” Isabelle murmured, but the girl only continued to stare at Justin.

  “Greet your lady, Birgitte,” Justin commanded gently.

  With a sob, Birgitte did as she was told. “Welcome to Talwar, my lady,” she managed brokenly, and then her sobs overcame her. Covering her face with her hands, she turned and stumbled out of the room.

  “Oh, no…” Isabelle began, thinking to go after the distraught girl, but Justin held her back with one hand on her arm.

  “Nay, leave her be. She will be returning to Briarstone with Chris, I think.”

  His expression matched the seriousness of his words, and Isabelle, fully bewildered, asked, “But why?”

  “It is best,” he said, then smiled at her. “Now that you have met everyone, will you let me show you all of your new home?”

  He took her to her bedchamber first, which was large and airy and had obviously been prepared with meticulous care for her arrival. When he was assured that she was more than well satisfied with it, he showed her his bedchamber, which was joined to hers by a connecting door. Next he took her through the guest chambers—four in all—and even showed her the garderobes, which made her laugh and him blush, when he realized that he was proudly displaying the dwelling’s latrines. He dragged her back downstairs to the large great room that made up most of the lower level, to show her all the wonderful modern features he’d had put into his home.

  The manor house was connected to the elderly keep by a passageway located on one side of the great room. It was built in the same sturdy, modern manner as the house itself, and existed as much for protection as for practicality, Justin explained, showing her where the passage entrance was fitted with iron gates that could be locked in case Talwar became the object of attack by one of the mercenary armies that roamed England, causing so much trouble at smaller estates like Justin’s.

  “The keep is completely defensible,” he said, pulling a lit torch from the wall and taking hold of her hand to lead her into the dark corridor. “If we were attacked, we would move into the keep and seal the passageway. The manor house would be forfeit, but there are enough supplies in the keep to maintain us even for a very long siege. Otherwise,” he added with a smile, “the lads have a good time running back and forth and giving us all a scare when they rush unannounced into the manor.”

  It was something of a shock to move so suddenly from the warm comfort of the manor to the chilly, ancient severity of the keep, especially when the modern corridor gave way to the keep’s dark, unmortared passageway. Torch in hand, Justin led Isabelle along with a quick stride that bespoke his confidence and long familiarity with what seemed, to Isabelle, a gloomy, daunting place.

  “Were there many battles here?” she asked, her voice quickly softening when she heard it echoing off the sootdarkened bricks.

  “Many,” he said, stopping before a wide stone step and holding the torch higher, so that she might see the small, slender opening above. “This is where a soldier would stand to shoot out of the arrow loop. Here he would be out of the way while others used the passageway to run back and forth, carrying weapons and supplies. They are all along here, do you see? Here is another.” He pulled her a few feet along, until they came to another raised step.

  “It is so dark, though,” she murmured. “The arrow loops are the only source of light. Would it not be difficult to fight in such darkness?”

  “Aye, but such small openings provided greater safety, and a man could not crawl in through one. Talwar was not built for comfort, I fear, but for safety and war. It was never once breached, by any enemy.”

  They began to walk again, toward the soldiers quarters where the boys lived.

  “How did you come to own Talwar?” she asked.

  “I won it in a tournament six years ago,” he replied. “Chris and I had come across it while we were hunting two years earlier, empty and ruined, and used the keep for shelter for several days. I thought little of it at the time, beyond feeling a certain sadness that such a fine castle had become so poor with neglect. But shortly thereafter I decided that I must have an estate of my own, for I could not live at Briarstone forever, and I wanted nothing that my elder brother, the lord of Gyer, would give me. Come up here, Isabelle,” he said suddenly, taking her hand and leading her up a narrow flight of stairs that had appeared at the end of the passage. “Careful, my lady. ’Tis very old, and the steps are smaller than most. Are you all right?” He had released her to push open a small door.

  “Aye,” she said, and felt a delightful gust of cool air on her face. “Does it lead outside?”

  “Yes. Come.” Reaching back, he pulled her up and out onto the rooftop.

  “Oh, Justin,” she said with awe, turning about and taking in the beauty of the view surrounding them. “’Tis magnificent.”

  He put the still-burning torch in a holder. “You are pleased, Isabelle?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord. Thank you.” She said the words with heartfelt emotion. “Thank you for giving me such a wonderful home. I shall do everything I can to repay you.”

  He smiled and put his hands on either side of her face, kissing her gently before saying, “I feared that you would find it wanting, for it is not grand as your uncle’s palace, but I love Talwar very well, and can only be thankful that you are content with it.”

  She thought he was going to kiss her again, but he seemed to recall that he had more to show her, for he said, “You have not seen all of it yet. Come.” He pulled her to one side of the rooftop, toward the keep’s inner courtyard. “It is not so fearsome on the inside as it is from the outside.”

  “A garden,” she said with some surprise, gazing down at the large square patch of green below. There were several paths, some trees, and even benches. “It is lovely, Justin.”

  “Our children will like to play in it, do you not think so? There is the well, by the kitchen. Do you see? The water is uncommonly sweet and healthy, may God be praised. And there are more windows here, to give light to the inner chambers. Those are the soldier’s quarters, where the boys live. And there is the chapel. ‘Tis small, but in good repair. Hugo comes four times a year to give a proper mass, but one day we may have a priest of our own, should we prosper.”

  They would prosper, she thought silently. It was one of the reasons he had married her, and she would make certain of it. She would make Justin Baldwin the richest man in England, if she could. He would be able to support and maintain a dozen priests by the time she was done.

  “T
he stables are over here.” He walked to the other side of the roof, pointing down into the walled, grassy bailey. “It was built new, also. Completed but four years ago.”

  “So large,” she noted. “You must have many horses, my lord.”

  He nodded. “Aye, and all good war-horses, suitable as mounts for knights. I could not train the boys so well without them.”

  “What is that smaller building?” She pointed toward the right of the stables. “Is it a smithy?”

  “Aye,” he said with what sounded like reluctance. “’Tis my smithy, where I make my swords and fashion other weapons that we need.”

  She found the idea that he was so skilled thoroughly amazing, but the way that he was looking at her, his expression almost challenging, as if he didn’t wish to speak of the ability to her, kept the thought unvoiced. Instead, she said, “Talwar is all that you claimed it to be. I understand even more fully why you did not wish to lose it. Please tell me the rest of how you came to own it.”

  His gaze wandered toward the hills over which they had traveled earlier, and he rested his arms on the low wall that ran the roof’s length.

  “I had decided that I wanted Talwar because, as I said, I wished to have my own estate, and also because it is close to Briarstone and I liked the idea of living near Chris.” He looked at her. “Of being neighbors with him, as well as friends. He is the only true friend I have ever had, and I value him greatly.”

  “Sir Christian is indeed a fine man,” she agreed.

  “It was Chris’s idea to make an attempt for the property at a tournament. The land and castle, so we discovered, belonged to the duke of Barhaven, and the duke of Barhaven, so we further discovered, was about to hold a tournament, with the grand prize being twelve fine steeds and a purse fat with gold. I did not need the horses, for I had already bred several better at Briarstone, and I had plenty of gold from past tournaments that I had won. But at Chris’s instruction I went to the duke’s estate and participated in his tournament, and when I was declared the winner and about to be awarded the prizes, I said to the duke, before all the assembled, that I would far rather be given Talwar. I have never seen a man laugh so hard or long as that before.” Justin smiled at the memory. “Even so, he was not inclined to give me the land, for he thought it a poor way of rewarding a victor. Then Chris told him that I desired the estate so that I might be able to woo a lady.” His voice had grown wistful, almost sad, it seemed to Isabelle. “And that was true enough.”