“No. Only sad her little dog is gone.”
Bel finished her meal while Dorothy prattled on. Most of it was gossip, requiring little attention and very limited responses. Which allowed Isabel to focus on Gavin and what they had discussed. Because of her “accident,” his fears had ratcheted up, and she could no longer deny that removing themselves from Sheffield was of the utmost importance.
When she saw an opening, she interrupted Dorothy’s never-ending litany of gossip. “I am bored and restless in here by myself,” she said. They gathered up a few of her things and helped her down the hall to the queen’s chambers.
Chapter Nineteen
That evening Gavin deflected questions about Isabel, and by the next day, interest in the incident had waned. He visited her several times during the day, and on one of those visits, she announced her intention of attending dinner that night.
They were taking a pass about the room. Isabel was champing at the bit after two days of confinement. “I’m not sure that’s wise,” he said. “Are you feeling well enough?”
“Much improved. I don’t deny my ribs are still sore, but my head has quit aching. Besides, isn’t it best if I act as if I’ve not been completely traumatized?”
“There will be questions.”
She cut him off before he could go on. “I’ll repeat exactly what I told Dorothy. That I remember nothing until I woke up. ’Tis not far from the truth.” She’d curled her hand into the crook of his elbow, and now she gazed up at him.
At that moment, his world shifted.
When had she become so important to him? God’s heart, spending so much time with her seemed like the normal way of things. If he didn’t see her several times during the day, couldn’t confide in her, couldn’t touch her, couldn’t breathe her, he would be immeasurably…less.
He loved the lass. And his body responded.
“If you are well enough to dress and come to the evening meal, perhaps you are well enough for other…activities,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. Her gaze did not waver.
Framing her face with his hands, he set his lips on hers. She smelled of roses, fresh and inviting. He licked the seam of her mouth, but she needed no urging to open to him. To his delight, she offered him her tongue, blatantly stoking his desire for her. Groaning low in his throat, he said, “What are you doing to me, Isabel?” It came out rough, and anguished. He steered her toward the bed, and they dropped onto it still clinging to each other.
He kissed her, sliding his hands down her bodice until he reached her breasts. There was something infinitely sensual about teasing a woman’s nipples through a fine, soft fabric. And Isabel liked it, lifting her chest so that her breasts fit fully into his hands.
Just before the door opened, they heard voices in the passage. God’s mercy, what was he thinking? Losing his head with Isabel in her chamber, when women paraded in and out throughout the day. He leaped to his feet and put some distance between himself and the bed—from Isabel—and folded his hands loosely before his fully aroused cock.
Dorothy and Ann, the lady’s maid, entered. Before either could speak, Isabel said, “I would like to bathe, dress, and come to dinner tonight. Ann, perhaps you can help me? Dorothy, could you choose my apparel? I don’t feel up to it.”
“You must be on the mend, in that case,” Dorothy said. “Of course, we will assist you however we can.”
“Until later, then, ladies,” Gavin said, making for the door. Ann and Dorothy had set about their work. He caught Isabel’s eye and winked, and her smile lit up her lovely face.
If only persons unknown weren’t trying to murder them, Gavin would be a happy man. He felt ready now. Ready to ask Isabel to be his wife. An idea that would have set him back on his heels a mere few weeks past. He exited the building and strolled toward the great hall, noticing a wagon in the inner courtyard and several men removing the canvas cover. Who in hell were they? He swore under his breath. Shrewsbury apparently had issued a blanket invitation to anyone who sought access to the castle. Didn’t he realize how dangerous it was?
After they’d dispensed with the cover, the men surrounding the wagon began removing some unusual garb. A chain mail shirt, a fool’s cap and bells. Women’s apparel. This could only mean one thing. Mummers.
Gavin stopped in his tracks. So they were to entertain tonight? He eyed the conveyance. Was it large enough to conceal both himself and Isabel? It would be an ideal way to sneak out without anyone being the wiser. He walked over to have a word with them.
A few minutes later, Gavin was standing in front of Shrewsbury. He’d not yet had an opportunity to tell the earl of his suspicions regarding Isabel’s fall. The man had conspicuously absented himself from the company of Mary and her ladies since his wife had accused him of having an affair with the Scots queen.
“What is it, man? I need to finish here and dress for dinner.” Then, looking somewhat guilty, Shrewsbury said, “How fares Mistress Tait? I understand she suffered an accident.”
“It was no accident, my lord,” Gavin said. And then he told the earl everything he knew about what had happened, beginning with Lesley’s threat against Isabel. Sometime during the recitation, the earl had motioned to the chair and Gavin sat down.
Shrewsbury steepled his fingers, gazing over them at Gavin. “You cannot be certain, though, can you? It sounds as if her memory is foggy.”
Why was the man’s first inclination always to refute every bit of information Gavin presented to him? It was frustrating. Worse, it was counterproductive. Gavin liked the man, but he was too indecisive, and it made him ineffectual. With that realization, he determined his course of action.
“Add everything up, and we have an escalation of their scheme, whatever it is. To seize the throne? Or perhaps it is simply to spirit Mary away to Scotland. Whatever it is, they’re not afraid to do what is necessary to accomplish their goals.” Shrewsbury continued to stare at Gavin, but he did not respond.
“I’m taking Isabel to safety, because the situation has become too dangerous for her. I cannot spend every waking hour protecting her. Once I’ve removed her from Sheffield, I’ll await orders from Nicholas Ryder. If he wants me back here, I’ll return. I thwarted one attempt to kill me, and I can do so again if I must. But I will not risk Isabel’s life.”
“Well,” Shrewsbury said, leaning forward and dropping his hands to his desk. “I cannot stop you. But have you considered other alternatives? We could assign guards to her. She would never be alone, night or day.”
“To do so would mean tipping our hand to Lesley. He’s aware of our suspicions, but he can only guess the extent of our knowledge. We may as well come out and accuse him of attempting to murder Isabel, and who knows what would happen then? They are growing bolder, sir. The killing of poor Simon and the attempt on Isabel’s life prove it.”
Shrewsbury, an arm propped on the desk, laid his head against his palm and sighed deeply. “What would Lesley hope to accomplish by killing Isabel?”
“He knows Mary confides in her, and he can’t be sure of what those indiscretions may have been. Killing Isabel would eliminate that threat.”
Merciful God, saying that out loud made his gut churn. “I’m going to offer the mummers coin to smuggle us out in their wagon. If I pay well enough, they’ll do it.”
The earl nodded, and Gavin was thankful he would not stand in the way. “How shall I explain it to Mary and company? Won’t both of you disappearing be suspicious?”
“I’ve thought about that. Say that Isabel sickened during the night, and we thought it best to take her home. To her mother’s.”
Shrewsbury gave him a sly look. “And is that in fact your destination?”
“No. But if anybody is inclined to follow us, it will be good to let them believe it is.” Gavin rubbed his forehead. “I hope nobody will associate our leaving with the mummers’ departure.”
“What is your route?”
“The mummers are heading to Huddersfield, then on t
o Skipton. Carlisle will be our final destination, near where Ryder lives. We’ll get there on our own.”
Shrewsbury’s brow furrowed. “You have a long journey ahead of you. I can do one thing to help. I’ll send a messenger to Skipton Castle, to Lady Anne Clifford. She is the widow of the Earl of Cumberland and a relation of mine. At least for a night or two you will have fine accommodations.”
“Thank you, my lord. Could you send the messenger on my horse, Brutus?”
The earl barked a laugh. “Of course.” Sobering, he said, “You’ll be missed, Cade. I’ve grown to depend on you. I mislike the idea of dealing with all this subterfuge by myself.”
“Have you received any word from Cecil? Are there any new developments concerning Ridolfi and the other players?”
The earl shook his head. “I assume they are watching and waiting and gathering evidence where they can.”
Gavin got to his feet. “We must ready ourselves for dinner. Isabel is going to be there, and I’ll speak to her afterward about our…escape.” He exited Shrewsbury’s office quickly, leaving the man looking pensive and subdued.
…
“Ah! Vous etes belle!”
When Mary glimpsed Isabel, she gathered her up in a hug and welcomed her back to the festivities. “You are well, ma chere Bel?”
The queen’s heavy perfume aside, she was. “Oui, Your Majesty. I am sore, still, but what could I expect, tumbling down the stairs as I did?” Isabel hoped she sounded as if she blamed her own clumsiness for the fall.
“She’s covered in bruises,” Dorothy said. Isabel’s cheeks flamed and she was grateful that only the ladies were close enough to hear the comment. Should she mention Bisou? Gavin had told her he had not come home. But the mood was festive, and it did not seem like the right time. She would wait for a private moment with the queen.
“Gavin was certainly worried about you,” Alice said. “He questioned us as though he believed one of us had shoved you down those stairs. Even Her Majesty was not exempt.”
There was an awkward silence, and Isabel tried to come up with an appropriate response. The idea he’d worried about her touched her heart, but at the same time, made the current situation more fraught. “He is a man who looks for explanations,” she said. “I suppose he didn’t wish to believe the most logical one—that I simply lost my footing and fell. As you are all aware, I’m not known for my poise and grace.”
That drew laughs, for once good-natured rather than mean-spirited. Some of the guests, both men and ladies, approached to wish Isabel well. Oddly, Frances kept her distance, standing away from the others and sipping wine. She had not helped to nurse Isabel, nor had she visited. Distracted by a prickling at the nape of her neck, Isabel thought no more about it after Gavin entered the room and stood beside her.
“Isabel. How do you fare?”
Only a little more than an hour ago, they had been clinging to each other in a sensuous dance, the mere memory of which made her skin tingle. He well knew how she did. Gazing at him, she perceived he was quite serious, and she concluded she’d better play along. “I am well, sir, I thank you.”
“You gave us a scare, mistress,” Philip said. “Have you remembered anything more about how it happened?”
Isabel had not expected the question to arise so soon. If she made light of the accident, it would sound too cavalier. Yet she needed to bolster the impression she had been at fault. “I recall stepping outside and a gust of wind nearly knocking me over. And wishing there was a railing to hold on to. I must have started down, but I cannot remember.”
“The wind may have disturbed your balance,” Mary said.
“Aye. My feet tangled together and that was that. And then I woke up in my bed, battered but whole.” Her heart thumping, Isabel put on an earnest expression. “I offer my sincere thanks to everybody who came to my aid, and to all of you who have been nursing me these past few days.”
“We are grateful you’ve returned to us,” Mary said. “Enough of misfortunes and adversities! Let us proceed to our meal.”
The talk at dinner centered around the mummers and their performance. “It has been a long time since we’ve been entertained,” Alice said. “Thank you, Lord Shrewsbury.”
“It was not my doing, but my wife’s. You must thank her.” Everybody turned their attention to Lady Shrewsbury. The poor woman seemed so glum of late, but now she smiled softly. She did not look at the gathering around the table, but directly at her husband. An understanding seemed to pass between them, and Isabel was glad to see it.
For once, she had been seated next to Gavin. During the meal, he leaned over and said quietly, “I must speak with you. During the entertainment, I will stand at the back of the hall. When I slip out, wait a few minutes and do likewise. I’ll be waiting for you in the passage.”
She had time only to nod in acknowledgment. Blake, on her other side, asked her about Bisou and told her he believed the dog had been frightened so badly, he was hiding somewhere.
Isabel wished he’d not mentioned Bisou. Whenever she thought of the little creature, tears pricked her eyes. “I fear he cannot survive too much longer in the cold, and without food,” she said.
“Perhaps he’s more of a hunter than we imagined.”
John Lesley was in his usual spot next to Mary. But something was different. The queen virtually ignored him throughout the meal and spoke instead to Dorothy’s husband. This confirmed Isabel’s opinion that the queen was either angry with Lesley or felt threatened by him. Had she decided not to take part in Lesley and Norfolk’s schemes?
The tempting array of food on offer made Isabel’s mouth water. She consumed her share of veal pasty, haunch of venison, artichoke pie, and assorted sweetmeats and pear tarts. Because of the entertainment, they did not linger at the table as they usually did. Servants cleared away the food and moved the tables aside. Some of the men, including Gavin, pitched in to help create a makeshift stage for the performance. More citizens of Sheffield arrived and the hall grew stifling, for the Yule log was still burning in the massive hearth.
One of the players introduced the evening’s entertainment, and before he’d even finished, the fool appeared and frolicked around him, his belled cap ting-a-linging. Flute and drum played an accompaniment to his prancing. In a moment, the play began. It was much the same as others Isabel had attended. A heathen knight slays a virtuous Christian hero, and a doctor soon appears and revives him. Isabel did not need to pay close attention to laugh in the right places.
She was seated toward the rear of the hall, surrounded by the other ladies. Surreptitiously, she glanced about the room and found Gavin standing against the wall, a bit farther back. When the mummers were about halfway through the performance, she noticed he had slipped out. After waiting a reasonable length of time, she did likewise. “I am going to get a breath of air,” she whispered to Cecily.
“I’ll accompany you,” she said.
“No, stay and enjoy the performance. I’ll only be a few minutes.” Cecily nodded, and Isabel took her leave.
Gavin was waiting in the shadowed passage, and reached out a hand when he glimpsed her. He led her to his chamber, and once he’d confirmed nobody was lurking about, closed the door.
Grasping her upper arms, he said, “It is time, Isabel. We will leave with the mummers tomorrow.”
Of course, she’d known this was coming. Now that it was upon them, she was reluctant. But it was time to summon her courage. Somebody had tried to kill both her and Gavin. They had survived, Gavin with his wits and she by dumb luck. How much longer would luck prevail? “What should I bring?”
He looked surprised, as though he’d expected an argument. Letting go of her, he said, “Your warmest clothing, sturdy boots, gloves, and a cloak. There will be very little room for any extras in the wagon.” Gavin rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve informed the earl.”
“You trust him?”
“Completely. Shrewsbury will say you sickened in the night and wishe
d to go home to Derby.”
“They’ll wonder why we did not travel in the carriage.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps, but that is the least of my concerns. Meet me outside by the mummers’ wagon before dawn. They will be expecting us.”
When Gavin stopped speaking, they could hear raucous laughter coming from the hall. “We should get back before the performance ends.” He turned toward the door, but she stopped him. “Gavin.”
Searching her face, he said, “What is it?”
“We should ask Mary to join us. To escape with us. That way we can save her from becoming embroiled in a plot not of her making.”
“No.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. “Just ‘no.’ Is that the best you can do? I am asking a serious question.”
Gavin paused, hands loosely on his hips. “Bel, I understand your desire to help Mary. But we don’t know the extent of her involvement in this. Not to mention, it may look as though we abducted her.” When Isabel did not respond, he elaborated further. “Mary travels with an entourage. How do you think she would fare in a wagon with only you and me for companions? And she is wedded to a life of luxury. Why, she couldn’t get along without her plate and tapestries and silver goblets—not to mention her extensive wardrobe.”
Isabel sighed. “You have a point.” If only she had told Gavin about the conversation she’d overheard between Mary and Lesley, if she’d shared everything Mary had confided to her, maybe he would agree. But she’d promised not to, and now it was too late.
Standing at the door, Gavin pulled her close for a quick kiss. “Have I said what a brave lass you are?”
She rewarded him with a smile, albeit a lukewarm one.
“You go first,” he said. “I’ll follow in a few minutes.”
Chapter Twenty
Never had Isabel been more grateful for her private chamber. In the small hours, after a sleepless night, she dressed and then collected a clean smock, extra bodice, and a fresh pair of stockings. She crammed everything into a small traveling bag, along with her copy of Christine de Pizan’s writing and a miniature of her father. When she was a young girl, her mother had gifted her with it. As far as she could recall, the miniature was the only gift her mother had ever given her.
Game of Spies Page 20