He entered her slowly, pausing, waiting for a signal from her. He got one when she said, “Gavin. Pray do not stop again.” She grabbed his buttocks and squeezed, lifting her hips, begging him. He eased the rest of the way into her passage. It fit him like a fine kid glove. “Are you all right?”
“Aye. Yes, I believe so.”
He waited a moment before he began thrusting. Dear God, she felt like heaven. He was on the verge, but determined to wait for her. When she was close, he wedged his finger between them, into her folds, and caressed. She came with stunning alacrity. One final, powerful thrust, and he withdrew from her body, spilling his seed onto the drying cloth. A guttural cry emerged from deep within him, manifesting an intensity of feeling he’d never experienced before. He lowered his body so that he covered hers, wanting to hold her close before they separated. Isabel encircled him with her arms and held him tightly.
In a moment, he rolled off and said, “Are you all right, sweeting?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so.” Smiling, she ducked her head, her shyness suddenly returning. “Gavin? Why did you…do that? At the end?”
Chuckling, he tucked her against his side. “We are not married, sweetheart. I do not wish to get you with my child.”
Not yet.
They fell into a languorous sleep, but at length, Gavin rose and began to dress. Sleepily, Isabel said, “What are you doing?”
“I’ll sleep with the men downstairs. No troublesome questions to deal with that way. But first, I’m going to bathe the little varmint. Do you wish to help?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It was onward to Skipton the next morning. Isabel was giddy and not the least inclined to curb her elation. She remained in a feverish delirium of love. Sitting by Gavin in the wagon was torture because she couldn’t keep her hands off him. When they could be confident no one was looking, they stole frenzied kisses and clung to each other. Then Bisou would jump in their laps and lick their faces, making them laugh. But she thought they might laugh at anything, given the blissful mood they were in.
“How long is our journey today?” she asked Gavin.
“Another lengthy day, I’m afraid. We’ll probably arrive just before nightfall.”
At midday, they stopped at an alehouse. Men, horses, and dogs lingered outside. “Come, let’s go in and find something to eat,” Gavin said. “You must be as hungry as I am.” Isabel followed him to the taproom. They sat at an ancient-looking table and the alewife walked over and asked what they wanted. “Pottage, bread, and two tankards, if you please.”
It was then that Isabel noticed a man staring at them. Though she’d never seen one before, she recognized him for a beggar. His smock and jerkin were in tatters, and his long, lank hair hung in strings down to his shoulders. The alewife stopped to speak to him.
“Off you go, Rennie. I don’t want the likes of you bothering our customers.”
“It’s one of them I need to speak to. Only take a minute.” He had a roughly hewn crutch under one arm, and he pointed it toward them.
“Gavin, look. That man wants to speak to us.”
Gavin motioned him over. “We may as well see what he wants.”
When the fellow reached them, Gavin pointed to a chair. “Pray, be seated, sir.”
He glanced about, as though he thought maybe Gavin was addressing somebody else. Finally, the man sat. His eyes were rheumy, and from the odor wafting toward them, he hadn’t washed in weeks. Perhaps longer.
“What may I do for you? Would you like food? Ale?”
The man waved a dirty hand. “Nay. I’ve some information you might be interested in.” His voice was surprisingly high pitched.
“You don’t say,” Gavin said, skeptically. “How many folks hear the same from you?”
He leaped to his feet so quickly, Isabel started. Never would she have guessed he could move so fast. “Hold,” Gavin said, drawing a shilling from his purse.
When he glimpsed the coin, Rennie dropped back into his seat. “Don’t like having me honesty questioned, that’s all.” He reached for the money, but Gavin jerked his hand away.
“First, let’s hear what you have to say.”
Scratching his chest, Rennie began to speak. “There was some men askin’ about you earlier. I heard ’em.”
“Did they identify themselves? Were they wearing livery?”
The other man shook his head. “Nay. Never said who they were. No livery.”
“How can you be sure they were asking about us?”
He chortled. “They said as ’ow you’d be with them mummers. And you fit their description. Big, tall fellow, and a pretty lady with dark, shiny hair.”
Isabel froze. Unidentified men were trying to track them down. How had they known she and Gavin would be traveling with William and his troupe of mummers?
“What else?” Gavin was trying not to show it, but he was worried. She could tell by the way his eyes had gone cold and his words were clipped and concise.
When Rennie only shrugged, Gavin asked another question. “What direction did they take when they left?”
“I’d like that coin now, if you please. Then I’ll tell you.” Gavin flipped it to him. He caught it and held it tightly in his fisted hand. “Skipton. They headed toward Skipton.” He rose just as the alewife brought their meal.
“You have my thanks,” Gavin said. Rennie beat a hasty path to the door.
In a low voice, Bel asked, “What does this mean, Gavin? Who do you think is following us?”
“Lesley’s men, most likely. Along with some of Norfolk’s people.”
“How could they have known where to find us?”
“It was always a possibility. Either someone saw us, or they put two and two together when our departure coincided with that of the mummers. I’ll speak to William about leaving.”
A cacophony erupted in the inn yard, and at the same time, Isabel saw Rennie, who was still hovering near the door, turn back and look at them, smirking. Peering out the window, she gasped and grabbed Gavin’s arm. “They’re here,” she said.
…
Gavin quickly assessed the situation. “Come with me.” He and Isabel rushed to the table where William and his troupe were seated. The mummer, sensing trouble, looked up. “We have company,” Gavin said. “Armed men who mean us harm. You’d best leave now if you don’t wish to be caught up in the fray.”
William cut him a look that said, “What do you take us for?”, causing Gavin to smile despite the dire situation. In seconds, more than ten men burst through the door and drew their swords. Gavin unsheathed his rapier and said to Isabel, “Hide in the kitchen. It’s you they’re after.”
“But I want to help you.”
The last thing he needed was an argument. “You don’t have a weapon. Pray, do as I ask. Now, before they see you!” He could see she was frustrated, but in the end, she turned and ran. Most of the customers had departed, but a few stood their ground, including the mummers. Gavin had no idea how they’d fare in a fight, but he appreciated their support.
The leader of the armed men swaggered over to Gavin and said, “Where’s the lady? We have orders to take her.”
“Orders from whom?” Gavin was a good head taller than the fellow, but he was muscular and looked strong enough to best most men in a fight.
“No concern of yours.”
“She’s not here,” Gavin said, stalling for time.
“I’d prefer to do this the easy way. Turn her over. Now.”
With that statement, any hope of settling this amicably dissolved. Gavin lunged, so did the other man, and their blades met, hilts locking. Chaos broke out as the mummers also engaged, along with other men left in the tavern—the sort who loved a good fight.
Gavin and his opponent both jumped back, circling one another. Then it was lunge, jab, dodge, until at last Gavin backed the other man into the wall. The fellow cursed, having no room in which to wield his
weapon. With one blow, Gavin knocked his attacker’s sword to the floor and ran him through with the point of his rapier. One down.
He spun around, noticing that William was in trouble. He was fighting off two men, one of whom was poised to stab him. Charging over, Gavin slammed the side of his rapier against the man’s shoulders, leaving William free to go after the other assailant. Out of the corner of one eye, Gavin noticed a couple of the attackers walking toward the kitchen, and his blood went cold. In the split second his attention had been diverted, his opponent managed to slice into his side. Ducking further blows, Gavin planted his feet solidly and kicked the man in the stomach. He dropped to the floor.
The mummers were holding their own while the fighting escalated and ebbed. Several of the attackers were down. Gavin bent, twisted, dodged, all the while stabbing and slicing with his blade, desperately wanting to finish off the remainder of them so he could find Isabel. He was barely aware of the pain from his wound, nor the blood trickling down his side. The room was clearing out. Some had fled, others would not live to do so again.
Parrying blows from the last attacker, Gavin lunged. Their rapiers clashed in a vicious dance of sliver blades. In the end, he caught his opponent in a weak moment, swung his blade, and knocked the man’s weapon to the floor. He turned tail and ran.
William and his troupe stood by, mopping sweat from their brows and sheathing their weapons. “Thanks to all of you,” Gavin said, “they’re either dead, wounded, or gone. Are any of you injured?”
“A few cuts and bruises, but otherwise I think we’ll live,” William said. “Eh, fellows?”
Gavin smiled. “These were not the first men you’ve had to fight.”
William looked as if he were trying to suppress a grin. “Nay. When you travel as we do, you encounter quite a few bands of thieves and murderers. Never any like these, though.”
Gavin knew what he meant. Well-outfitted and well-armed men, who claimed the authority to remove Isabel. One of the mummers piped up. “You’re injured, sir. You should have that wound seen to.”
“I will, but first I must find Isabel. William, would you tell the alewife I’ll pay for the damages?” Striding toward the kitchen, it occurred to him that the two men who’d headed for that direction had never re-emerged. At least, he didn’t think they had. With the chaos, he may not have noticed. God’s blood, if there was a backdoor, they may have abducted Isabel and made off with her.
A shock awaited him. When Gavin entered the room, the first thing he saw was Isabel and one of the tavern wenches. They were sitting on kegs playing hazard, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. The cook and another servant were standing at a long oak work table chopping carrots, onions, and leeks. And the two attackers who’d gone in search of Isabel? They were on the floor, hands and feet securely tied. On closer inspection, they both seemed to be unconscious.
He shook his head in wonderment. When Isabel noticed him, she sprang to her feet. “Gavin! Are you all right?”
“Little you care, madam, in here gambling.”
“Humphrey, the pot boy, brought us reports of the fighting. So, you see I knew you had vanquished the enemy. We were dicing to pass the time.”
“And how came you to unman these two and tie them up?”
The cook spoke up. “I clonked one of ’em with a pot. The lady tripped the other, and ’e lost ’is footing and dropped like a stone. An awful blow to ’is ’ead, it was.”
Humphrey stepped forth and said, “I tied ’em up.”
Gavin started to laugh, then clutched his side. Now that he was assured of Isabel’s safety, his own pain reared its ugly head. Isabel noticed. “You’re hurt. Come, sit down, and let me have a look.”
In truth, Gavin was feeling rather woozy. Some of the mummers helped him upstairs to a chamber, where Isabel, assisted by the alewife, stitched his wound, applied salve, and forced him to drink a nasty-tasting potion. He slept throughout the remaining miles to Skipton.
…
Isabel shook Gavin awake as they crossed the drawbridge and waited for the guards to raise the portcullis. The mummers were expected, so there was no trouble with their admittance. They drove through the outer courtyard, the wagon wheels clanging on the cobbles, and halted once again, this time pausing until the huge oak doors swung open.
Gavin sat up and groaned. “You are in pain,” Isabel said.
“It could be worse.” He looked about, as though expecting someone to greet them. “Shrewsbury was sending a messenger, who should have reached Skipton before us, to inform them we were on our way.”
But Isabel did not see anybody other than a few stable boys who were helping unhitch the horses. Gavin lifted their bags down and insisted on carrying them, even though Isabel assured him she was perfectly capable of managing her own. Bisou ran about sniffing, and after a moment, she swung him into her arms. Torches were flaming at the top of a set of curved stairs. A good sign. Perhaps they were expected after all. Gavin moved slowly, and she guessed every step pained him. Just as they reached the top, the oak door opened and a servant beckoned to them.
Inside they passed under an arch and climbed a set of stairs. At the top, in a well-lighted gallery, a woman awaited. Stepping forth, she said, “I am Lady Anne Clifford. Welcome to Skipton Castle.”
Gavin bowed and Isabel curtsied, studying their hostess. She was a handsome woman, somewhere in her forties, with a long, narrow face. A fine linen bib covered her bosom. Her burgundy gown was slashed to reveal white skirts, and a French hood sat upon her head like a crown. How disheveled they must appear to her after their days on the road! And Gavin having just been in a fight.
But Lady Anne proved most kind. “Follow me. I will take you to your chambers. You’ll wish to bathe before dinner.” She could have asked a servant to do this, but undertook the duty herself. She set a brisk pace, and Isabel had to hurry to keep up. After showing her to a small chamber, where a bath was being readied, Lady Anne said, “I’ll return in a moment, Mistress Tait.” She walked on down the passage with Gavin trailing after her.
True to her word, she very soon reappeared on the threshold with a young female servant in tow. “This is Dorcas, who will be your lady’s maid while you stay with us. Dinner will be served in an hour. Dorcas, pray show Mistress Tait to the hall when she’s ready.” After smiling kindly at Isabel, she left.
“Would you like to bathe first and then have a rest before dinner?” Dorcas asked.
“Aye, thank you.” After helping Isabel undress and climb into the copper tub, the maid left her alone to enjoy her bath.
Inevitably, Isabel’s first thought was of bathing Gavin. She sank down into the hot water and envisioned it. How she had slid the washing cloth over his chest and legs. She had touched every part of him. Isabel had no regrets and hoped Gavin didn’t, either. Had she been wrong to surrender her virginity to him? It felt quite the opposite. Like the truest, finest thing she had ever done. And the most exciting. Merciful heaven, she was becoming aroused. It would behoove her to turn her thoughts to something less…titillating.
Isabel wished she had more time to linger in the bath, but the water was already cooling and she wanted to rest before Dorcas returned. She dried off, donned a robe which had thoughtfully been provided, and climbed onto the bed. Without intending to, she fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the young maid entered and said she must dress for dinner.
When they entered the passage, Gavin was waiting, and Dorcas escorted them both to the banqueting hall. “How are you feeling?” Isabel asked.
“My wound is throbbing and painful, but nothing a few glasses of wine won’t cure.” He smiled good-naturedly, but she could tell he was uncomfortable. Dorcas motioned them to go ahead of her, and they entered the hall, where Lady Anne was sitting on the dais. It was a magnificent space, with a hammer beam ceiling, tall mullioned windows, and an enormous hearth. A Yule log was still burning, hissing and crackling and warming the hall. Their hostess rose to greet them.
/> “It was our custom to entertain friends, neighbors, and other guests on New Year’s Eve, but my husband died last year. We are still in mourning.”
“It was kind of you to receive us on such short notice,” Gavin said. “How did you come to invite the mummers?”
“The performance is for the town. The good people of Skipton should not be deprived because of our loss. Pray, be seated.” Servants filled their wine goblets, and with the first sip, Isabel felt some of the day’s worries fall away.
“My son George is staying with the Earl of Bedford, his guardian, for Christmastide,” Lady Anne said. “He is barely thirteen, and I did not want him to sacrifice holiday celebrations. He suffered enough loss this year.”
“That was kind of you, my lady,” Isabel murmured.
Lady Anne smiled. “George is a high-spirited youth. When he comes of age, I doubt he will be satisfied with playing lord of the manor. Adventure is what he craves.”
“’Tis a wise mother who has such an understanding of her son,” Gavin said, grinning.
“How were your travels?” Lady Anne asked, her face a perfect blank.
Isabel kept her silence. She had no idea what the lady knew of their situation. When neither she nor Gavin spoke up immediately, Lady Anne said, “The earl told me a little of your troubles. Not the particulars, mind you.”
Gavin drank from his goblet. “Most of our journey was without incident. However, when we stopped a few hours outside Skipton, a band of men attacked us. God be thanked, we bested them. With the help of the mummers, I should add.”
“The entertainers will be well taken care of, with hearty food and drink. I assigned them to the guest lodgings.” She paused to drink from her goblet.
“You have guards in the watchtower, my lady?” Gavin asked.
“Always. Are you expecting further trouble?”
“I doubt they would attack again so soon, but we should be prepared.”
Game of Spies Page 22