By contrast, Lord Oadby was short and portly, with a balding head, small, lascivious eyes, and a big red nose, the color of which. Sir Lindael was sure, stemmed from an overindulgence
in drink. Decked out like a garish Yule, Lord Oadby was garbed in a crimson silk cloak lined with green and an equally crimson satin doublet slashed with silver. His trunklike calves were encased in green hose, and he wore a pair of crimson shoes that curled up at the toes and from which hung tiny silver bells that tinkled as he, for all his bulk, minced along, a liberally scented, white lace handkerchief waving in one hand. The master-at-arms had no doubt that Lord Oadby was very wealthy and well placed at Court, for he could hardly have purchased the children's wardship otherwise; but nevertheless, the faithful knight was not impressed. He sighed to himself and shook his head. Hard times lay ahead, he feared, for he did not think that Lord Oadby would prove to be the equitable master the late Earl of Rushden had been. Akeady, Lord Oadby's leering, piglike eyes were roaming over the serving wenches appraisingly as he strutted and preened like a fat peacock before them; and for the first time in his long life at the castle. Sir Lindael saw fear on the maids' faces. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to God that Isabella was only five years old.
Upstairs, the two youngsters clasped hands even more tightly and gazed at each other with solicitude.
"Oh, Giles, he's even more horrid than I imagined," Isabella breathed, for she had not missed the way the usually friendly serving wenches had shrunk from Lord Oadby's rapacious assessment. "And that dreadful woman with him! Oh, Giles, do ye suppose that's his wife?"
"Nay," rejoined Giles, who was bright and had gleaned much from listening to the knights of the keep. "She's but his whore, 'Sabelle. God's wounds! He has brought his whore here to take our mother's place!"
In the children's eyes, this was an insult far worse than the one that had been delivered about their home: for their mother had been the most beautiful and gracious of ladies, and they had loved her dearly.
"Oh, Giles," Isabella whimpered again pitifully, her eyes filled with shame and fury at her helplessness to prevent this disgrace to their mother's memory. "What are we to do?"
"Nothing, 'Sabelle," her brother answered, his voice quivering with anger, his jaw suddenly hard and set, his face shadowed with hate. "We can do nothing, dear sister. But someday, I promise ye, I shall make that bastard pay for the insult he has delivered to us and ours; I swear it!"
"Not alone, dear brother, for I am with ye always in all things.
We must pledge our oath together, Giles," Isabella vowed, her fingers entwining even more firmly with his own. "We must make a pact to stand strong against this evil that has come into our lives and never forget this day."
"Agreed. Our blood on it, 'Sabelle," the boy demanded, drawing his jeweled dinner knife from his belt.
Solemnly, Isabella took her own blade from her girdle and slashed the palm of her hand, then pressed it against her brother's.
"Fiat!" they said as one. "Let it be done."
And in that moment was bom a bond between them they were to share for as long as they lived.
Later, when Isabella and Giles were summoned to the great hall below to meet their warden and his mistress, the defiance that had so strongly gripped the children earlier was carefully concealed behind masklike faces. When they were presented, Isabella dropped a small curtsy, and Giles gave a slight bow—both politely but without deference.
"Here, now. What's this?" the Countess drawled, lifting one wickedly arched black brow at the youngsters' greeting, which she considered lacking in courtesy. "Do ye understand to whom ye are being introduced? This is Lord Perceival Renfred, Earl of Oadby."
"Aye." Giles nodded coolly to the woman. "And I am Lord Giles Ashley, Earl of Rushden."
"It seems ye are well versed as to your status in society," Lord Oadby interjected sourly upon being reminded that Giles's rank was as great as his own.
"My father was a man who knew his worth, my lord," Giles replied softly, "and I am my father's son."
"Aye, I can see ye are indeed," the Earl observed, his eyes iiarrowing speculatively as he recalled the lad's renowned and mighty sire.
The boy was his father's spawn all right: Rushden—and all it stood for—to the core. Frownmg, Lord Oadby continued his unfavorable perusal of Giles. The Earl heartily despised children, though he had been the warden of many. He had found the role worthwhile, as he had reaped a vast harvest from very little seed. As with his past positions, he had purchased the Ashleys' wardship primarily because Rushden was a rich estate, and he fully intended to cram his purse with as much of its gold as he could steal without the King's knowledge. That the lad before him would doubtless someday discover his perfidy and seek to right
the injustice did not trouble Lord Oadby. He had akeady murdered one ward who had proven a nuisance. The Earl would not hesitate to contrive such an accident for Giles, should it become necessary to do so. Arrogantly, Lord Oadby dismissed the boy from his mind and turned to study Isabella.
A tempting little morsel, the Earl decided, though 'twould be some time yet before she was ripe for the picking. He licked his lips at the thought. There was nothing like the sweet taste of a budding maiden's innocence, and Lord Oadby, who had quickly found this one of the more pleasurable aspects of being a warden, had had his share of unspoiled fruit. The young boys given into his care might grow to manhood and call him to account for his misdeeds if he had not managed them cleverly, but the young girls were helpless against him. Ashamed and horrified, the maids whom the Earl had forcibly dishonored had not dared to cry out against his wicked treatment of them, lest their disgrace at his hands be revealed. Afterward, Lord Oadby had always been kind enough to arrange suitable matches for them, and he had even taken the time to instruct the ungrateful wenches on the art of deception that might be practiced on their wedding nights to fool their unsuspecting husbands. Only one maid had ever been brave enough to threaten him with exposure, and the Earl had quietly sold her to a Moorish whorehouse. He had made a tidy profit and had informed the King that the girl had died in Spain of some lingering complaint. Lord Oadby had shrugged. A pity the climate had not, after all, as the physician had suggested, proven beneficial to her health.
Now, he spoke to Isabella.
"And ye, my lady, are ye as well versed as your brother?" the Earl queried.
"I am my father's daughter, my lord," Isabella answered, parroting Giles's earlier response.
Lady Shrewton sniggered at the reply, and Lord Oadby smiled blandly.
"And your brother's sister, 'twould seem," he remarked thoughtfully, then waved his handkerchief in dismissal. "Well, be off now, the both of ye. I fear the journey here has tired me more than I'd thought," he explained, glancing slyly at the Countess, who winked in return, "and I must refresh myself with a little nap."
Isabella and Giles said no more, glad to escape from his unwelcome presence.
At first, life at Rushden Castle went on much as it had before, and Sir Lindael breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he had been wrong about Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton after all. Although the faithful knight continued to dislike the two, the old master-at-arms, not having access to the records of the keep and not being able to read in any event, could not see that the new warden intended the children or the estate any harm. Indeed, it seemed the Earl and his mistress went out of their way to be pleasant to all. They always had a flattering word for even the lowest of servants, none of whom realized that Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton were cleverly gleaning every bit of information they could about Rushden and the weaknesses of its inhabitants. The Earl and Countess had played this game before, and they knew their moves well. Those whom they could not win through cajolery, they would intimidate through fear, but first, they must know enough about all to be able to gain the upper hand in any situation. Thus, it was only later, when Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton were certain the household was firmly under their control, that things slowly but surely
began to change.
In the beginning, the occurrences were such small ones, they might easily have gone unnoticed, had not the children's suspicions of their warden and his mistress already been aroused. Not adept at intrigue, Isabella and Giles complained about the incidents, and when the matters were easily explained as trivial oversights, the youngsters were made to look foolish and unappreciative of their warden's and his mistress's efforts on their behalf.
Lady Shrewton did not know that Isabella craved cinnamon sticks; they would have been ordered, despite the cost of the precious treat, if the Countess had only been told. Why, hadn't Lady Shrewton purchased'the girl a very expensive doll just last week? (It had actually been only a straw baby won by the Countess at a fair, which the children had not been allowed to attend. Isabella had thrown the tacky thing down a garderobe into the cesspit below.) Lord Oadby was not aware the dead tree by the stables was Giles's imaginary ship. The Earl would never have had it chopped down for kindling wood to warm the cool nights in his chamber otherwise. (Though informed by the blacksmith that it was Lord Rushden's favorite place to play. Lord Oadby had said it was an eyesore and must be removed.) How silly of Lady Shrewton to have given Isabella that bolt of puce material. Of course, the color was all wrong for the girl. (The cloth had been moth-eaten besides.) How absentminded Lord Oadby was. It was he who had borrowed Giles's solid gold-and-silver chess
set and had forgotten to return it. (The boy had found it buried beneath a pile of clothes in the Earl's coffer.)
As time went on, and such happenings became bolder and more frequent, there were those at Rushden who began to realize how they had been duped by Lord Oadby and Lady Shrewton, but by then, it was too late. Those who dared to protest were informed they were no longer welcome at the castle and were turned out without so much as a tuppence. Those who stayed saw the futility of dissent and, though they loved Isabella and Giles, could do little to help them.
The youngsters themselves learned to remain silent about the treatment they suffered, bitterly swallowing their pride and hiding their burning desire for vengeance behind the still, expressionless faces they showed to their warden and his mistress. Eventually, the Earl and the Countess carved a secure little niche for themselves at Rushden and, having gained confidence in their ability to outwit any who questioned their actions, grew almost brazen in their pilfering of the estate. Together, they greedily lined their pockets with Rushden's gold, paying less and less heed to Isabella and Giles until the children were almost forgotten.
And like wraiths, the youngsters were content to remain in the shadows, watching and waiting as they pressed their palms together and whispered fiercely, "Fiat."
Chapter Three
The Coast, England, 1470
IT WAS DARK THAT SEPTEMBER WHEN THE SHIP THAT had lately sailed from France slipped up the coast of England to deposit her passengers upon the soil of their homeland. The men glanced about warily as they disembarked, for they were traitors to their King, Edward IV, though one among them had helped to put him on the throne. The lord they called the Kingmaker, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, stood silentiy for a time as he surveyed the country he had loved—and betrayed. Briefly, his heart ached as he remembered how gloriously, so many years ago, he and his cousin Edward had once marched into battle together to wrest the Crown from King Henry VI and claim it as Ned's own. Then the image of Bess Woodville filled Neville's mind, spoiling the picture recalled from the past, and his lip curled. Bess Woodville, a commoner, widow of Sir John Grey, a mere knight—and Ned had secretly taken her to wife! The King's Grey Mare, the courtiers had dubbed her upon learning of the marriage. But Neville had not laughed. He had been made to look a fool when the betrothal with France's princess, which he had been arranging for Ned, had had to be abruptly broken
off. By God, the ignominy of it all It was not to be borne, and Neville had not borne it. He had turned his back on the man whom he'd made a king and had fled to France to plot and plan Ned's downfall. Henry still lived, imprisoned in the Tower, and his wife. Marguerite of Anjou, was now Neville's ally. He had made one sovereign. He could make another. Aye, Neville would go into battle with Ned again, but this time, they would not fight side by side.
Isabella understood little of the war that continued to rage between the Yorkists and the Lancastrians for control of the throne, though had she known then how it would someday affect her life, she might have paid more attention to the sober discussions she sometimes overheard. As it was, who wore the Crown meant nothing to her. She was too beset by her own problems to worry over worldly ones.
Glancing about cautiously to be certain she was unobserved, she slipped into the stables, which served as her place of refuge now, and, sighing with relief at finding herself alone, sank down upon a pile of hay. There, she hugged her shins tightly and laid her head on her knees as tears welled up in her eyes and ragged whimpers rose in her throat. Earlier, she had stifled her grief and misery bom of Lady Shrewton's cruel remarks and sharp slaps. Now, Isabella let the great, racking sobs come. Oh, why had she ever been so foolish as to take one of the apple tarts that Cook had made for the Countess's dessert this evening? Oh, if only it had not been so long since the girl and Giles had eaten anything but plain meat, bread, and cheese, Lord Oadby having deemed these staples good enough for his wards. Oh, if only the treat had not been so tempting.
Isabella's mouth watered even now as she recalled how the fresh sweet aroma of the baking pastries had wafted into the courtyard, enticing her to the kitchen. There, Cook had taken one look at the girl's face, filled with longing, and, pitying her, had brusquely pressed one of the steaming tarts into Isabella's hands.
"Go on, m'lady. Take it!" Cook had snapped abruptly to cover her true emotions, then had muttered, "What the Countess don't know won't hurt her, and there's some of us at Rushden what's still got eyes in our heads, even if we pretends we don't. We got our own selves and families to think of, m'lady, and the rest are a pack of fools what lets a little cheap flattery blind 'em to what's going on beneath their very noses." Cook's lips had clamped
together sternly, and, shaking her head, she had rattled her pots and pans with a great deal more violence than had been necessary. "Now get on with ye, m'lady. Can't ye see I've got work to do?"
Deeply touched, Isabella had given the astounded Cook a grateful hug of understanding before turning and racing blindly from the kitchen.
It had been the girl's misfortune to run directly into Lady Shrewton.
"Ye stupid brat!" the Countess had shrieked. "Why don't ye watch where you're going? Here. I'm talking to ye, wench." She had grabbed Isabella and shaken her roughly when, after mumbling her apologies, the girl had attempted to slip away. "What have ye got there... behind your back? What are ye trying to hide from me?"
"Noth—nothing, my lady."
"Let me see. Why, 'tis an apple tart." Lady Shrewton's eyes had narrowed with suspicion. "Where did ye get this? Well, speak up, wench! I asked ye a question."
And Isabella, remembering Cook's kindness to her and realizing that Cook would suffer too if the truth became known, had said, "I—I stole it, my lady, from the kitchen, when Cook wasn't looking."
The Countess had boxed the girl's ears smartly, then, meanly, had snatched the as-yet-uneaten treat from Isabella's hands. Smiling spitefully, Lady Shrewton had deliberately dropped the pastry onto the ground and crushed it into the cobblestones with her foot.
No one had ever laid a hand on Isabella in her life. Dazed and shocked beyond belief by the Countess's hateful blows, too hurt to even care about the loss of the tart, the girl had fled to the stables, Lady Shrewton's shrill laughter echoing jceringly in her ears.
Now, the scrape of hinges made Isabella glance up quickly and hastily brush the tears from her eyes. A sudden shaft of sunlight flooded the stables as the door swung open wide, then the ray was blocked by the large bulk that soon filled the entrance. 'Twas Sir Eadric, one of her brother's knights. He had always treated the girl
with the utmost gentleness and respect, so she had no fear of him and crept from her hiding place to see what he was about.
Carefully, the knight reached into his hunting jacket and withdrew a small rabbit. Though the animal quivered slightly in Sir Eadric's grasp, it made no attempt to escape.
Why, it's hurt, Isabella thought, realizing one of the creature's
legs was twisted so it dangled at an odd angle. Hurt and suffering—like me.
The knight crooned softly to the injured beast but was apparently at a loss as to what to do, so the girl made her presence known and asked shyly if she could be of assistance. She had often accompanied her mother when Lady Rushden had made her rounds to care for the ailing crofters. Sir Eadric did not miss the tearstains, which streaked Isabella's cheeks, or the dirt from the straw, upon which she'd huddled, that now soiled her gown. Something had upset the child and sent her scurrying for a refuge, no matter how unfitting; and he did not have to look far to guess the cause.
"Here, my lady." The kindly knight knelt down and handed her the downy, trembling rabbit, which seemed to so enchant her, then took a handkerchief from his pocket. "You've mussed your face and dress." He wet the square of linen in a nearby barrel of water, then washed her up a bit, talking quietly to her all the while. Finally, he asked, "What brought ye here to the stables, my lady? 'Tis no proper place for a lass of your breeding."
"Lady—Lady Shrewton spoke harshly to me for a small misdeed," Isabella said as she stroked the frightened creature in her hands, marveling at the softness of its fur.
Rose of rapture Page 3