"Along with that tart-tongued bird and various other assorted animals who are, no doubt, as ill-mannered as—"
"Their mistress?"
"Oh, nay, my lady!"
"Oh, come now, sir. Has my master-at-arms been telling fables, or did ye not refer to me as your brother's sow this mom?" Isabella inquired and pretended to pout.
"Christ's son! How dare Sir Lindael repeat such a thing? I'll have his head for it—"
"Ah, then 'tis true!" the girl crowed, much to Caerllywel's discomfiture.
"Nay, my lady—"
"Mayhap ye confused me with my brother then, who serves the Boar of Gloucester," she suggested cleverly.
"Aye, that was it!" Caerllywel clutched this straw gratefully, thereby missing the pun that had been intended.
"Oh, come now, sir!" Isabella persisted, her sides now shaking with silent laughter. "Even so, ye would hardly have referred to Giles as a sow, a piglet perhaps—"
Finally, Caerllywel saw the joke and realized she was shamelessly making fiin of him as punishment for the impertinent remark that had been huffily (much to her amusement) imparted to her by the highly offended Sir Lindael.
"Isabella—may I call ye Isabella?—ye are a most tempting and terrible tease," Caerllywel stated firmly, his eyes dancing ruefully. "Doubtless, had your master-at-arms informed ye earlier of my observation, which was made, may I remind ye, before I had seen your true and most lovely self, 'twould have been my
posterior that capricious goat assaulted instead of the undeserving
Waerwic's."
"Aye," she admitted, her eyes twinkling as her natural gaiety gurgled forth at last.
"Poor—poor Waerwic," Caerilywel gasped, joining in her mirth. "I'm afraid he was made the butt of the jest in more ways than one this day!"
At the thought of Tinker ramming into Lord Hawkhurst—not once, but twice! and what Matey had had to say on the subject— Isabella very uncharitably but helplessly went off into another fit of giggles and dared not glance, even surreptitiously, at the Earl, whose face, she was sure, was that of a man who is contemplating murder.
This was indeed the case, for Warrick could not help but overhear these ill-timed remarks of both Isabella and his brother, and he was wondering, quite seriously, whether or not he would be hanged for throttling the two of them with his bare hands. How dare Caerilywel sit there, flirting outrageously with the brazen hussy and so obviously enjoying her company, when he^ knew the maid was betrothed to Warrick?
The Earl steamed inwardly at the thought as he studied Isabella covertly, wondering what kind of wife she would make him. His first impression of her had been wrong. She was beautiful after all, once all that dirt had been washed off, beautiful in a strange, haunting manner he found oddly disquieting.
She's like Brangwen, he thought, or Melusine. His mouth tightened as he remembered the wicked silvery mermaid from whom the Woodvilles claimed descendance. She would bewitch a man, laugh at him, and lead him to his death. Well, she wrll not find me so easily caught in her net, to be speared by her trident. I suffered once for such a wench; I shall not do so again, he vowed.
"Ye will like my brother Emrys," Caerilwyel was saying to Isabella as Warrick brought himself back, with a start, to the present. "He is a healer like yourself, although he practices the art upon people, not beasts."
"Is he to come here, then... Emrys, I mean?" Isabella queried innocently.
"Well, n—nay," Caerilywel stuttered, suddenly realizing his mistake, for the Earl had stricdy forbidden him to speak of the betrothal, which the King had ordered, until such time as Warrick himself decided to tell the girl. "Ye will meet him when— when—"
"Ye babble, brother," Warrick noted wamingly. "Methinks ye have drunk too much ale. Come, my lady." He took Isabella's hand, pulling her to her feet. "I fear my brother is no longer fit company for a maid such as yourself."
She barely had time to bid Caerllywel good night and dip him a slight curtsy before the Earl was leading her from the great hall, his fingers closed about her own so tightly, her hand ached, despite the electric shock that seemed to jolt through her at his touch. Isabella stumbled after his tall, forbidding figure, nearly falling.
"Please, my lord. Ye—ye hurt me, and ye go too fast," she breathed.
Although he stared down at her without reply, he did loosen his grip somewhat and shorten the length of his strides so she could keep pace more easily as they climbed the main stairs and wound through the long corridors of the castle.
The flickering torches along the walls cast eerie shadows upon Warrick's cold, chiseled profile, making him seem like some demon and momentarily scaring Isabella. Where was he taking her? What did he mean to do to her? Oh, why hadn't she held her tongue at supper? Perhaps she had truly enraged him! Did he mean to beat her? Her father had never struck her mother, but Isabella knew other men were not so kind. Mayhap the Earl too was drunk and wanted to—to—
The girl shivered with horror at the last unfinished thought. She remembered Lord Oadby, and without warning, panic engulfed her. Perhaps Lord Hawkhurst was no better than her previous warden. Suddenly, Isabella shrank back, trying desperately to yank away from him.
Warrick turned, cursing under his breath as he hauled her struggling body toward him once more.
"What ails ye, madam?" he asked irritably, once he had stayed her flight. Then, seeing the expression on her face, he laughed softly, jeeringly. "Dost think I mean to ravish ye here in one of these halls? Aye, ye do," he said when she didn't respond. He grinned wickedly, the first smile she had seen from him, his teeth flashing whitely in the dim, wavering light. " 'Tis not my intent, I assure ye," he told her, his glittering eyes suddenly raking her boldly, as though he knew what she looked like unclothed, lingering on the rapid rise and fall of the swell of her breasts beneath her bodice. He lifted a strand of her hair that had tumbled over the ripe mounds. "But even if 'twere," he continued, caressing the tress deliberately, as though to make her aware of his power
over her, "there would be naught ye could do. I am master here now, and 'twould be little enough payment for the insult delivered to me this mom!"
The girl was shocked by his crude words and behavior. How dare he treat her in such a low fashion, as though she were no better than a tavern wench—or worse? She glanced down the corridor uneasily, suddenly very much aware that they were totally alone here. There was no one to defend her but herself.
"How dare ye touch me? Take your hands off me at once!" Isabella hissed, terrified. "My brother's men wouldst slay ye for less than ye have done! I have but to give the command, and ye will die most unpleasantly here at Rushden, with none the wiser as to the truth of the matter. Accidents happen, my lord, even to the most careful of men."
"Do they now?" he questioned softly, dangerously. "And did ye give Lord Oadby fair warning too?"
It was a shot in the dark, but the girl didn't know that. She blanched, sick with fear, as she realized the foolishness of her remarks, then instinctively reached for her dagger, having some desperate notion of slaying the Earl if he had guessed her secret and attempted to expose her.
"Lord Oadby was cruel and often used his spurs most harshly on his horse," she said by way of explanation, praying that Lord Hawkhurst would believe her. Then she shrugged lightly, as though the matter were of no concern. " 'Tis no wonder the poor beast threw him. Now leave me be, my lord, else I shall kill ye myself!" Isabella suddenly wrenched free from him and pulled her blade.
The Earl's yellow eyes narrowed at the quick, defensive gesture and her threat.
"So the rose does have thorns," he purred, his voice silky and low, "and wouldst see me murdered before surrendering her virtue."
"As I wouldst see any man who tried to take me by force," the girl declared fervently, recalling Lord Oadby again.
Warrick stalked toward her until she stood against one wall of the corridor. Then he placed his hands on either side of her so she could not escape, mocking her still and see
ming unconcerned for his life, though Isabella now held her dagger at his throat, albeit somewhat waveringly.
"Are ye so sure I would have to take ye by force, my lady?" he queried, one eyebrow lifting.
He laughed again as she blushed hotly, confused, his very nearness causing her heart to pound violently in the strangest manner. Her fingers, which held the blade, trembled. With a swift movement, he knocked the knife from her grasp and pinioned her arms behind her back roughly so she was pressed against his chest. He caught her hair painfully with one hand, twisting her countenance up to his.
"Are ye so sure, madam?" he demanded again, his lips inches from her own.
"My—my lord, please," Isabella gasped, mortified, "ye are my warden. Surely, the King did not give ye leave to trifle with an innocent maid "
The Earl's eyes glinted oddly at that, filling with cold amusement, anger, and yet a sudden, hot desire as well: for he found the girl's nearness aroused him, and the sense of power he felt at knowing she was helpless against him filled him with a strange thrill of triumph besides. She would not deceive him as Brangwen had done. Warrick would see to that.
"Where ye are concerned, Edward has given me every liberty," he told her, tightening his steely hold upon her possessively, as though to accentuate this. "Aye, every liberty," he repeated.
"What—what do ye mean?" Isabella asked nervously, a slow, ominous foreboding suddenly filling her being.
"Why, only that His Grace has decided ye would make me an excellent wife," he responded sarcastically, his words like a slap in the girl's face.
"Nay!" The cry burst involuntarily from her lips as she stared up at him, numb with shock. "Nay! Ye lie! 'Tisn't true! It can't be true!"
"I assure ye 'tis, madam, much as we both may dislike the matter. Though I did attempt to dissuade him from the match, the King has akeady signed the contracts betrothing ye to me. I had not meant to tell ye yet—or in such a manner—but perhaps 'tis best. Now that ye know where ye stand with me, mayhap ye will be less inclined to play me for a fool."
"I would not do such a thing in any event." Isabella's voice was tinged with a quiet dignity that made him feel slightly ashamed.
Then he remembered Brangwen, and his purpose once more hardened.
"See ye do not, else ye will suffer for it, I promise ye. Which chamber is yours?" he inquired abruptly, releasing her, giving her no time to absorb the awful impact of his words.
"That one," the girl answered dully, blindly pointing out her room, still unable to comprehend the brutally delivered announcement of her betrothal to this man.
No wonder he had dared to treat her as he pleased. She felt as though she had received a stunning blow and been sent sprawling. Her stomach lurched sickeningly, as though the earth had suddenly dropped from beneath her feet. She stood there stupidly, her mind a blank daze until Warrick spoke again, recalling her to the present.
"Then get ye to it, my lady, and tease my brother no more. I find I mislike the idea greatly. Ye are not meant for him."
"Nor for ye, my lord," Isabella choked out pleadingly, her eyes begging him to say he did but jest. "Please tell me 'tisn't true. I do not wish to be your wife—"
"Nor do I want ye as such!" Warrick spat, his nostrils flaring at the insult she had unwittingly delivered to him. "But there is naught to be done. Tis Edward's command."
"Godamercy," Isabella whispered, clasping her hands and pressing her forehead against them, as though in prayer. "Thei) I am lost. Lost," she reiterated, her voice a small, ragged sob.
Helplessly, she looked up at the Earl. This man was to be her husband, would share her bed, would have the right to put his hands upon her and—and—Oh, Lionel. Lionel! She gave another strangled cry of despair.
"Nay! Nay! Ye will never have me," she vowed irrationally.
"It seems ye are certain of a great many things, madam," Warrick sneered, his eyes roaming lewdly over her body again as he returned her dagger. "I have always found 'tis most unwise to be so sure of oneself. As unwelcome as the prospect is, ye shall be my wife, my lady—and in every way," he added crudely, mockingly, his meaning plain. "'Tis the King's wish that I get an heir. That is the whole purpose of our marriage."
"Then—then surely, some other maid would serve as well." Isabella bit her lip. "Ye do not want me, my lord—"
"Not as my wife, nay. But ye are infinitely preferrable to one of Edward's cast-off whores, which is what he offered me otherwise—as though I, Hawkhurst, would be content with some sullied slut! At least ye are a maid"—he paused deliberately, as though waiting to see if she would deny it, then went on more intently—^"and I find the thought of bedding ye does not... displease me.
He laid one hand upon the girl's throat, then let his fingers
ROSE OF RAPTURE lOi
slide slowly down the hollow between her breasts, smiling jeer-ingly at her obvious distress.
"Don't. Please don't," Isabella whispered, the words echoing like a whimper through the hall.
To her surprise, Warrick ceased the sensuous movement, shrugging carelessly, for the point had been made.
"How much time? How much time do I have before we are wed?" Isabella inquired, thinking feverishly.
"I am in no hurry, madam, nor am I in the habit of bedding children. Ye are young yet. A year or two perhaps."
"Once, I thought that was a long time," the girl said.
"And so 'tis, my lady. Who knows what may happen in such a time? His Grace might change his mind; 1 might be slain in battle Though I confess I find these two possibilities unlikely."
"My lord, please. There must be some means of extricating ourselves from this unwanted betrothal. I simply cannot marry ye. I—I love another."
There. She had said it, her true reason for not wanting to wed the Earl: for though he was handsome and rich and a favorite of the King, Isabella did not love him. She loved another, and despite the fact that the impassioned letters the girl had received from Lionel since his leaving had contained no mention of marriage, she still hoped her beloved's intentions toward her were honorable. Aye, surely, they were! She just couldn't believe otherwise. It would break her heart.
Warrick inhaled sharply. His eyes narrowed.
"Then that is your misfortune"—his voice was low and threatening as he responded to her confession. "Don't even think of deceiving me with another, madam, for I shall kill ye if ye do. Remember that—and well—and take no other to your bed, thinking some brave lover will save ye from your plight. I am deadly with my broadsword and will not be betrayed again. Forget this man. Ye are mine," he breathed. "Whether ye wish to be or not—ye are mine. Good night, my lady. Pleasant dreams."
Then he bowed, turned on his heel, and left her.
After he had gone, Isabella scurried to her chamber, slammed the door, and did something she had rarely done in her life: She shot the bolt home—fiercely, as though her very well-being depended on the Earl hearing the echo of the lock sliding shut. Then she leaned against the door, shaking all over, feeling as though she were going to be violently ill.
Married! She was to be married to Lord Hawkhurst! The thought chilled her to the bone. God's blood! She would not do it! She would have Giles's knights slay the Earl at once! Then Isabella remembered she had warned Lord Hawkhurst that he might easily meet his end at Rushden and had aroused his suspicions about Lord Oadby's death besides. She bit her lip, cursing her foolishness. After tonight, the Earl was certain to be on his guard, and too, there was his brother Caerllywel to be thought of—Caerlly-wel, who had been kind. If Isabella gave Giles's men orders to kill Lord Hawkhurst, they would surely slay his brother as well. There could be no chance of Caerllywel investigating the Earl's death and possibly bringing the King's wrath down upon Isabella and Giles.
Dear God. What was she to do? What was she to do?
Oh, Lionel. Lionel, my love! How can I live without ye? 'Tis too cruel! It cannot be!
Isabella pressed her face against the hard wooden door—and we
pt.
Chapter Ten
THE NEXT MORNING, ISABELLA WAS GLAD SHE HAD not acted rashly, for the Earl was polite but withdrawn at breakfast and made no mention of their betrothal. It was inconceivable to the girl that Warrick could sit there so calmly, ignoring her, when their lives had been so disastrously changed. Had he no feelings, this man who had said he would wed her, though he did not wish to have her as his wife? She thought of Lionel and the look on his face when he had sworn to make her his. The Earl had not looked at her like that last night... would never look at her like that.
Oh, God, oh, God, she prayed fiercely. Don't let it be true. Please don't let it be true that this man is to be my husband. 'Tis Lionel I love. Oh, Lionel. Lionel!
Caerllywel too was silent, and Isabella wondered whether it was because of his aching head bom of the liquor he had consumed the previous evening or the fact that he and his brother had quarreled fiercely long after she had retired last night. The girl had heard them arguing, but their voices had been low, and she had not learned anything, despite pressing her ear to her chamber door for what had seemed like hours. The soft tones had not been loud enough to carry intelligibly. Isabella would
have crept down the corridor from her room or sent Alice to spy on the two men, but the girl had been so frightened by Warrick that she had sought comfort instead in the gentle snoring of the old nanna, who slept in the small antechamber of Isabella's room.
The girl would have been only faintly surprised to learn she herself had been their topic of conversation.
"For all her sweet temper, she is no fool," the Earl had growled. "She has eyes that can see into a man's soul, and her ears are attuned to the slightest nuance of his voice. If ye persist in your attentions to her, she will cause trouble between us. I am warning ye, Caerllywel: Keep away from her."
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