Susan Spencer Paul

by The Bride Thief

  The thought of John made Justin smile. What would they have done without him when they made their plan to take Senet from Sir Howton’s heavily guarded castle? The lad had been years away from London’s streets, yet he retained the essential skills he had learned to survive there. He had slipped unnoticed through the gates—for who would take note of such a slender, grubby youth?—and had shortly memorized the castle’s every detail, from how many men guarded the entrances to the precise location of the castle chambers. By the time he finished mapping it all out, everyone in their party had known where Sir Howton’s weaknesses lay, and how they could be used.

  The stealing itself had gone smoothly, almost laughably so. They had sneaked in one at a time during guard changes, and had blended in with the common castle folk until the evening meal. Then, with Aric starting a fire in the busy kitchen and Ralf throwing pebbles into the great hall’s long windows from a safe distance and Neddy standing at the front gate bawling for his mother, enough soldiers were distracted for John to lead Kayne and Justin to where Senet was chambered. Senet had gone with them readily, speaking not a word and following behind as they crept silently out the kitchen gate, which the guards there had abandoned in favor of putting out the fire.

  An hour later, they had all met at the agreed-upon place, and had mounted up and ridden as far and as fast as they could before stopping out of exhaustion. Justin doubted that Sir Howton had realized Senet was even gone before the next daybreak. Now, if he wished to follow all the way to Talwar and try to retake Sir Myles’s nephew, he would be facing not only the wrath of the throne, but that of the entire Baldwin family.

  The news that his brother Alexander had arrived at Talwar with half his army to assist him in taking Senet had made Justin feel strangely pleased. Remembering all that Isabelle had told him, Justin considered what it meant for his eldest brother to have done such a thing. It was not Alexander’s way to speak of love or affection; he was far better at showing how he felt. They had not had much contact since Justin learned of the part Alexander had played in having him disqualified from participating in the tournaments; indeed, he’d had more discourse with Hugh, since Hugh refused to be ignored. He had not even spoken with Alexander since that time, but had only exchanged short missives with him. To know that his stoic eldest brother had come to help him now meant a great deal, and Justin regretted that he had not been at Talwar to greet him.

  It was clear that Isabelle thought well of the exalted lord of Gyer. She had given him the highest praise possible, saying, “He understands money, and how to invest it. We are going to arrange a courier system between all of the Baldwin estates, including Siere, and I’m to have the deciding of each major investment.” When he laughed, she’d declared insistently, “We shall work well together, I vow, and you will become one of the richest men in England. You’ll see.”

  He chuckled at the memory, and kissed her forehead tenderly. He didn’t care about being wealthy, but if it made her happy to play with money and finances, then so be it. He only wanted her to be content at Talwar; for all of them to be content with the good life to be had here, in this peaceful place, and with all the plenty that God had blessed them with. Life was too short for anything less, and Justin meant to rise every day with the intention of mining the most from it that he could.

  “That’s your pallet,” Kayne said, pointing to the cot directly across from his.

  With a nod, Senet put the pillow he carried in the spot where his head would rest, then unfolded the blanket Gytha had given him and spread it over the thin mattress. He was weary from the day’s long ride, his stomach ached from having eaten such an unaccustomed amount of food during the small celebration feast, and his skin and scalp burned from the torturous lye scrubbing that Meg and Gytha had put him through in order to rid him of lice, but he would not let himself lie down. Not yet. It had been years since he had slept upon a mattress, and he had wished for it too often to grasp the miracle too quickly. This miracle, or any of the others. He was going to take his time. He was going to savor all of it, just as he had dreamed of doing. Then, if it was taken away again, he would at least be able to remember the small details, to appreciate as he had not been able to do before, when he took such comforts for granted.

  The other boys moved about the chamber, putting their things away, some of them stretching out on their pallets with grateful sighs.

  “’Tis good to be home again,” he heard Ralf saying.

  “’Twas good to eat such food again,” Aric said in reply. “What a feast!”

  “Aye,” Kayne agreed. “That it was.”

  “Why did Sir Justin and Lady Isabelle retire so soon?” Neddy asked, yawning. “They hardly ate at all. They didn’t even want any tri-cream.”

  Aric chuckled softly. “’Twasn’t tri-cream they were hungry for, I vow.”

  “S’truth,” John said with a laugh before imitating Isabelle in a high, squeaky voice. “’But don’t you want more ale, my lord?’” His voice dropped to a low, heavy tone meant to copy Sir Justin’s. “’Nay, I don’t want more ale. I don’t want anything but to leave the table.”’ He laughed again. “And didn’t he drag her up and off, after that? Without so much as another word? And wasn’t she red as fire, our good Lady Isabelle? And him all smiling, like it was time for the rents to be paid, almost.”

  “You’re daft,” Ralf muttered, but the other boys laughed.

  Senet stayed where he was, staring down at his pallet, silent. And remembering. He had been as they were, before. He had laughed with his fellows, and talked in such an easy manner. If he closed his eyes, he could nearly grasp the dim memory of when he had lived with the other boys in Sir Howton’s castle. Aye. He had been one of them, and had held a place of honor, not only as the son of a great lord, but as one of Sir Howton’s finest students. He could remember it. Almost. It was the same with everything that had come before his fall from grace. There were shadows, colors, voices, faces…but they were never complete, never finished. He knew he had lived a different life before he lived as Sir Howton’s slave, but it often seemed more like a dream.

  Just as Isabelle seemed like a dream.

  She was his sister—he could recite that fact readily in his mind—but he didn’t really know her. Her face was familiar, her voice was familiar, yet she seemed strange and foreign. He didn’t know what to do with her, what to say. Sir Justin felt more real to him than she did.

  “Here,” Kayne suddenly said from beside him. “You’ll need this until Sir Justin can send to Briarstone for clothes of your own.” A heavy long-sleeved tunic landed on the bed. Slowly, Senet bent to pick it up, nodding once as he fingered a sleeve of the warm garment. His own liceinfested clothing had been left near the river where they first stopped after leaving Sir Howton’s castle. The other boys had given him some of the extra clothes they had brought on the journey to wear until they reached Talwar, and now, having had his bath, he wore some of Sir Justin’s overlarge garments. With a frown, Senet thought of the girl who had brought the clothes into the bathing chamber while he was suffering Meg and Gytha’s scrubbing. She had been smiling when she first entered, her pretty face framed with curls, but one glance at the scars on his chest had sent her running back out, her hands pressed in dismay against her cheeks.

  “Thank you.”

  He furrowed his brow at the sound of the words, at the strangeness of having spoken them. When Kayne’s hand tentatively came to rest upon his shoulder, he tried not to flinch.

  “You aren’t beholden to any of us. Long as you do your share of the work, you’ll have your place and no trouble. We take care of each other here.”

  “Isn’t one of us hasn’t traveled rough roads before,” Aric put in from where he lay on his pallet. “Time is what you need, and time is what you’ll get. Just don’t be a sluggard about it. We all do what Sir Justin tells us, and no complaining. Idle off and you’ll get what you deserve. From us.”

  Senet understood the warning, and, more, he understood
the pride behind it. The knowledge soothed him as nothing after leaving Sir Howton’s had yet been able to do. If work was all that was required of him, then Senet knew he would be safe here. Whatever task Sir Justin required of him, he would perform it tenfold; when these boys expected him to take his place in their ranks, he would not fail them.

  With a breath, he lowered himself to the pallet, feeling the softness of the mattress beneath his weight before lying down flat. In his hands he still held the warm tunic, his fingers unthinkingly squeezing the fabric. He gave way to his exhaustion a few moments later, falling asleep even as his eyelids drifted shut, and slumbered so deeply that he never felt the extra blanket John put over him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  With one final effort, and a loud, unified groan, Justin, Kayne, Aric and Senet at last managed to heave the enormous Yule log into the great room’s massive hearth.

  “God’s feet,” Kayne said, straightening and brushing his hands on his tunic. “’Twill keep the manor warm, i’ faith.”

  “’S’truth,” Justin agreed, chuckling. “It may do more than merely warm us. We’ll be sweating freely during our meals, and longing to stroll out in the snow.”

  “’Twill last until Twelfth Night, methinks,” Aric stated with satisfaction.

  “Aye, and that it will.” Justin clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Mayhap even longer. You chose well, Aric.” As Aric flushed with pleasure, Justin added, “Well done, all of you. Now, go and wash yourselves for tonight’s feast. Your good lady will be displeased, should she find you at table wearing all this filth.” He looked down at his own dusty clothes with a grimace.

  An hour later, having tended to his own cleaning and change of clothes, he went in search of his wife. The manor house was cheerfully decorated with holly and mistletoe—Isabelle and Odelyn, as excited as children, had gathered several baskets full of each from the forest, insisting that all of it be used to decorate the dwelling. Odelyn had the excuse of youth to explain her excitement, but Isabelle’s delight came from celebrating her first Christmas as the mistress of Talwar, rather than as her uncle’s laborer.

  She had changed so much in the past six months that Justin could scarce remember the shy, uncertain lady he had stolen for his bride. She was exuberant now, radiant, and so beautiful and loving that every sight he had of her seemed to make him feel breathless. The boys had long since fallen beneath her spell, and sometimes Justin even wondered if Kayne and Aric weren’t perhaps a little in love with their mistress. Gytha, Meg and Odelyn all thought Isabelle was near perfect, incapable of doing any wrong, and where Justin had once held the place of master of Talwar, Isabelle now ruled supreme.

  He knew where she was, and went directly to the working chamber that had become solely hers. She was sitting at her working table, he saw when he peeked through the door, and he leaned against the frame, contentedly watching as she scribbled in one of her account books. The chamber was warmed by a fire in the small hearth, making it a comfortable, inviting place in which to spend time. Isabelle kept it scrupulously neat and clean, and also simply furnished, with but the most necessary pieces of furniture: a large table on which she worked and four comfortable chairs. There were shelves for her books and atlases, and a large wooden chest where she kept her ink, writing instruments, sealing wax and parchment. One large window gave the chamber natural light during the day, and something for Isabelle to stare at when her mind was occupied with equations. More than once he’d found her just so, staring blindly out the window, and had come to recognize the concentrated look on her face that meant she wasn’t going to hear a word spoken to her until she’d solved whatever troubling problem she was struggling with.

  Since Alexander’s visit of so many months before, she had been in this chamber daily, plotting investments and tallying accounts and being delightedly happy. Justin could only remember one day on which she’d been angered by her financial machinations, when she had come out to the smithy while he was forging a new sword and stopped him with the declaration, “Justin Baldwin! You’re already wealthy!” He’d been amused, at first, that she was angry at something he considered to be so insignificant, but her obvious disappointment at not being able to make him rich had quickly had him putting aside his tools and taking her into his arms. It had taken quite a long while to get her mind off the revelation, but he, being a dutiful husband, had put every effort behind the task. By the time they emerged from the smithy, some hours later, they’d both forgotten their original reasons for being there, and it hadn’t been until late in the night when he woke with a start, remembering the work he’d left unfinished.

  The truth of his wealth had relaxed Isabelle to some degree, especially in regard to him. She no longer seemed to think that he had taken her as his wife for that purpose, and he was glad for it, yet there was still something—a curtain behind which she retreated—that kept her from ever quite fully trusting him. There were times when he thought that, perhaps, she loved him, for she never failed to smile at the sight of him, to greet him as if he were the finest thing in her world, to give herself to him in every physical manner. Not only in their bed, although she was a generous, exquisite lover, but also in conversing with him so honestly and openly, in thinking of his comfort and well-being. She was, just as he had known she would be, a wonderful wife. But there were other times when he wondered if perhaps she was only grateful to him for taking her and Senet away from Sir Myles, if perhaps all she felt was affection and…indebtedness.

  He loved her so much that the simple knowledge of it made his heart ache with thanksgiving and joy—and with a longing to have that love returned. Every day, every moment, it seemed, the words were in his mouth, ready to be spoken, but he was too afraid to let them free. Did she love him? he wondered, gazing at the smooth bow of her neck as she bent over her work. He lifted a hand to rub the sweet pain in his chest. Did Isabelle love him?

  She was to have his child. They had both wept when she told him about it. And then laughed like two giddy children, lying in their bed with their faces together. She was not far along; the child would come during the summer. Her belly had only just begun to swell, and each night, as Justin curved his fingers carefully over the place where his child grew, he longed for the day when he would be able to feel the babe moving.

  He pushed the door wider, and Isabelle, hearing the sound, turned around in her chair. Her face, at the sight of him, lit with a welcoming smile.

  “My lord,” she said, abandoning her work and moving toward him with both hands outstretched. “I saw the Yule log. ‘Tis perfect!”

  She went into his arms and lifted her face, receiving his kiss with the eagerness that never failed to heat him all the way through to his bones. How many men, he wondered, were so fortunate as to have such a willing and affectionate wife?

  “Mmm…” he murmured against her mouth. “If this is the manner in which I am repaid for a deed well done, I shall be chopping down trees and dragging them home to you every day, I vow.” His hand slid across the velvet of the heavy winter surcoat that Alexander had sent her from London until it rested upon her belly. “How is our babe this day, good lady wife?”

  Isabelle covered his hand with her own. “He is most well, as is his mother.”

  “You’ve not suffered your daily sickness? This is the fifth day that it has been so.”

  “I disremember ever feeling better than I do now. Gytha said the sickness would pass after the first few weeks.”

  “May God be praised,” Justin said fervently. She’d been so ill in the beginning that he began to worry that she’d waste away to naught. “We shall have much to celebrate this night.”

  “Aye.” She put both arms around his neck. “Where is Senet? He had no trouble helping you with the Yule log? He looked tired this morn, I thought.”

  Justin made a conscious effort to keep from sighing. After five months, Senet was still foremost in her thoughts, as well as in her worries. The boy had gained in both strength and confidence
, so much so that he and Kayne now contended for being Talwar’s most accomplished student, so much that Justin believed the boy was going to be an extraordinary soldier when he grew to be a man, and yet Isabelle still wanted to protect him as if he hadn’t made any strides at all. It was the thing they argued about most—the only thing, really. She never failed to be angered when Justin required Senet to take his rightful part in what she believed were dangerous exercises, be it sword fighting or battle training or merely spending a full day wearing heavy armor.

  It was well enough for the other lads to partake of such things, she insisted, but not Senet. Senet had suffered, and so must be treated gently; Senet was troubled, and so could not be expected to work so hard. But Senet, Justin knew, wanted every challenge that the other boys were given, and more, and was driven to perform every task better and more fully than the others. Justin doubted that he could force him to stop even if he tried. But Isabelle couldn’t understand the truth of it. Senet was her brother, and she meant to take care of him, whether he wished to be taken care of or not.

  “He had no trouble,” he assured her, “and he did not seem weary in the least. I sent him and the others back to their chamber to prepare for tonight’s feast. We were all dirty after fetching the tree.”

  She nodded thoughtfully, releasing him and moving back toward her working table. “I’ve been worried about him of late,” she said, running her fingers lightly over the last entry she had made in her account book. “Odelyn seems to be quite taken with him, but Senet won’t speak of the matter to me. I know that he is of an age to dally with women, but Odelyn is very dear to me, and I cannot like it if he should…treat her lightly.” She bit her lower lip, reddening at the words, and glanced at him.

  Justin had to think a moment before deciding what to say. The topic was clearly an embarrassing one for Isabelle, and if she knew the full truth, she’d most likely be horrified. Matters between Senet and Odelyn had progressed beyond dallying. Justin had caught them in the stables once, each of them half clothed, and they’d been involved in such a violent embrace that at first he wasn’t sure whether Senet was trying to couple with the girl or kill her. Neither had occurred, since Justin had immediately called a halt to…whatever it was. Odelyn had been flushed and embarrassed at being caught, while Senet had been flushed and thoroughly relieved. After the girl assured Justin that it wouldn’t happen again and ran away, Senet had straightened his clothes and said, angrily, “She’d best learn to leave me in peace. I don’t want her following me about.” It was the most Justin had yet heard coming out of the boy’s mouth, and he’d been so surprised that Senet walked past him and right out of the stable before Justin was able to properly reprove him.