Flight From Blithmore (4 page)

“You know that’s not true!” Henry shouted, suddenly on his
feet without realizing he had stood. “You’ve known me since I was an infant!
How can you say such things?”

“Because you are in my house, asking me for my daughter
when you know I would never let you have her. Use your brain! Can you really
imagine me giving her away to you at a wedding ceremony? Should I wear a sack
over my head to hide my face from my peers who attend or pierce my heart with a
dagger to end my shame? If you had half a brain, you’d know that this is the
way things are.”

“Your shame?” Henry yelled at his loudest. “No one respects
you. No one! I’m here willing to do whatever I can to make an agreeable
arrangement for both our families, but you prefer to insult me and my family.
Who is the fool?”

“How dare you speak down to me?”

“How dare you pretend you’re nothing but an old, moneyless
fraud?” Henry replied. “You’ve destroyed the status of yourself and your family
with your greed, your ill temper, and your foolish pride, but none of that has
changed my feelings for your daughter. I love her despite you and your efforts
to keep us apart.”

The whole house fell silent once more. His question hung in
the air, never to be answered. Henry remembered his place and suddenly felt
very foolish. By losing his temper, he had lost all hope. Oslan trembled and
held the remnants of his broken pipe in his right hand.

Henry tried to shunt the anger away by apologizing, but all
he could manage was, “Lord Oslan, I beg you to forgive what I—”

 “You! You!” Lord Oslan roared, though his words had all
the force of an empty man who knew the words Henry had thrown at him were true.
He jumped up from his chair and sprang to the mantle where a large sword was
suspended above to large wooden pegs. Henry stood as Lord Oslan hefted the
metal and brandished it menacingly. “Say those words again and I will cut open
your stomach!”

Henry backed toward the door to the den. He had no words to
say. His focus stayed on the weapon held by Isabelle’s father.

“Norbin!” Lord Oslan shouted. “Get this filth out of my
house!”

Norbin appeared on the side of the den. His eyes studied
the scene warily. “Yes, my Lord. Right away.”

“See him straight out.” The order was more like a growl
than a voice. “And one more thing,” Lord Oslan drawled when Henry had turned
his back. They looked each other in the eyes, and Henry found himself once
again more afraid than angry. “If I see you near my daughter, there will be a
duel.”

Henry nodded, only wanting to leave. Norbin took him firmly
by the arm. In defiance of Lord Oslan, Henry attempted to shake himself free as
soon as they quitted the den, but surprisingly, Norbin’s grip held firm until
they reached the door.

“I could have seen myself out,” Henry said on the
threshold.

“Isabelle will meet you when the candle is lit in the
servant’s chamber,” the wrinkled butler hissed in Henry’s ear.

This news did not raise Henry’s spirits as the large wooden
door closed resolutely behind him.

Four
-

Henry the Fool

Maggie
pushed
a small wooden cart down Shop Street; only two small, wilted heads of cabbage
remained inside. The front wheel wobbled ever so slightly, reminding her that
she needed to ask Henry to look at it. He’d made it, after all. Her brown,
nearly black curls bounced with each step. When she reached the corner of Shop
Street and Richterton Lane, she saw her brother walking toward her. His head
hung low, and in his hand he carried the blue silk scarf she’d picked out for
him.

“Oh
no . . .” she muttered, doubling the speed of her pace. Henry looked up as she
approached, but quickly looked away again. “Are you alright, Henry?”

He
didn’t answer. His fist clenched the scarf, his knuckles white.

“I’m
so sorry.” She choked out the words, fearing that if she said more, she might
cry.

“I
lost my temper, Maggie. Now I can think of a hundred better things
to say
to Lord Oslan. W
hy couldn’t I think of them then? Why did I
need to insult the man?”

“You
insulted him? Why?”

“Because
I’m a fool,” he answered.

“But
you said Isabelle was certain—”

“She
was!”

“You
said—”

“Maggie,
please!”

Maggie
hushed herself. She hated being a nag and was always conscious of it. However,
her need for more information practically demanded that she interrogate Henry
further if he didn’t answer.

“I’ve
messed it all up. Everything. I’ve shamed Mother and Father—well, their
memories, at least.”
He held the scarf up to his chest and
squeezed. It appeared to Maggie as if he were trying to wring out the pain that
infected his heart. “I’ve wanted this day to come for so long and—I—I botched
it.”

They
came to their house. Henry opened the door to the shop so she could wheel in
her cabbages. Then he slammed it shut
behind him.
The
shop was quiet. Maggie remembered that Henry had given the apprentices and
Brandol the rest of the day off to celebrate the occasion.

“What
are you going to do now?” she asked him.

Henry
glanced around the room. “I don’t know. Clean, perhaps. Anything to take my
mind off of . . . .”

The
shop was immaculate. Henry demanded it of his apprentices, the same way Mr. and
Mrs. Vestin had demanded cleanliness of Maggie and Henry. Different woods
rested in careful stacks arranged by size and cut. The apprentices’ work-spaces
were
spotless
,
except for Darren’s, but Henry had given up that fight months ago. Tools hung
exactly as they should. The smell of oil, coal, and dust was heavy, as it had
been all her life. She had so many memories of this shop and of her father and
brother working together, that if she let them,
they could become
as
thick as the smell of a stro
ng wood stain
.

“I
kissed Isabelle for the first time right there,” Henry said, pointing to the back
door. “Right underneath the door frame. She told me—” His voice cut off, and a
look of helpless fury crossed his face, scaring Maggie. In an instant, he
grabbed a small clay bowl filled with chalk and threw it across the room. It
spun through the air creating a thick trail of white dust until it collided
with the far wall. It shattered, and chalk exploded into the air.

“Henry,
I made that for our father!” she rushed across the room but it was useless. The
bowl was in dozens of pieces and far beyond repair.

“Curse
you, you old monster!” His neck turned a bright shade of red as he shouted at
the ceiling. “I dedicated myself to becoming Richterton’s youngest master
carpenter so I could earn the money and respect to win your favor! When other
boys were learning to use the sword or playing fisticuffs or going to inns for
drinks, I stayed home and perfected my craft. Ironic that you threatened me
with the sword, I suppose.”

“He
threatened you with his sword?” She examined his body and clothes, looking for
injury. “Did he strike you? Did you strike him?”

“Forget
it, Maggie. It doesn’t matter anymore.” His face went to his hands. She had
never seen him so distraught. “I should have known better.” He began sweeping
up the mess of chalk and broken clay. While he worked, he told Maggie what had
happened at Oslan Manor.

Maggie’s
face grew red as she listened. “Oh, I hate him! This isn’t right. He knows you
and Isabelle are going to be together—why try and stop it?”

“I
don’t know,” Henry answered in a quiet voice. “Perhaps Lord Oslan believes if
he holds out, someone with money and
title will notice Isabelle and save
the Oslan family from shame.”

“So
she is his investment?”

Henry
shrugged.

Maggie
stood up as if she’d been stung by a bee. “Nothing I say is going to make you
feel better, so I’ll cook you the best meal I know how. Will Brandol or the
other boys be here for supper?”

“I
doubt it.”

Maggie
pursed her lips and clicked her tongue. It was a habit she’d picked up from her
mother, duplicating it perfectly without ever thinking about it. “And Ruther?
What about him?”

“He
is working tonight, so no.”

That
brightened Maggie’s mood. “Good. I can tell he was here earlier today by the
smell. Why you still spend time with him is—”

“You’re
not Mother, Maggie,” Henry reminded her.

Maggie
scolded herself for nagging. “I’m sorry. I—I guess I’ll get started on that
dinner.” She paused in the door frame. “What are you going to do about
Isabelle?”

“Meet
her tonight,” Henry said. “What else?”

“Aren’t
you worried—”

“I’m
more than worried. ” Henry swept the last of the chalk and bowl bits out the
door and onto the street. “I’m terrified. I can’t use a sword. I can’t fight.”
Henry took a deep breath. “And I can’t not meet Isabelle, either. So that’s my
choice. If we’re caught, I’ll defend myself as best as I can.”

Five
-

In the Dark

Isabelle
pressed
her ear against the door to her father’s room, calmly listening for the signs
of his slumbering. Across the hall a thick, wet cough came from her mother’s
lungs. The cough sounded much worse lately. Isabelle lingered at the door to
her mother’s bedroom an extra moment before moving on. Holding her shoes in her
hands, she descended the stairs; her bare feet made no noise. When she reached
the bottom, she dragged her fingernail across Norbin’s door, giving him the
sign to light the candle in his window. With a steady breath, she crossed to
the back of the house and exited through the rear door.

The
grounds behind Oslan Manor sloped gently downward toward the hedge separating
her yard with Henry’s. Isabelle slipped on her shoes and walked the same path
she’d taken even as a young girl when going to the Vestin home for daily
lessons.

She
held her breath until she reached the bushes where the branches left barely
enough space for a full-grown person to squeeze through sideways. It was the
same spot she and James had crossed into the Vestins’ yard in their youth. Like
her father, Isabelle was tall and thin, though, thankfully, she’d inherited all
her other features from her mother. She passed easily through the hedge, but
her cloak billowed out behind her, catching on the branches and then whipping
her legs with each gust of wind.

“Henry?”
she whispered. “Henry, are you here?”

The
only response was the rustling of leaves and the bleating of goats in Henry’s
barn. The wind died down for a few seconds, and she heard the soft thumping and
snorting from Henry’s favorite horse, Quicken, in the stable. The horse poked
his head out the stable door and chewed his food.

Isabelle
headed toward Quicken to pet him while she waited for Henry to come outside.
She didn’t dare go to the back door for fear of her father seeing her
silhouette entering the Vestin homestead. Quicken snorted again into her hand
as she rubbed his long snout. She spoke soothing words to him and glanced over
her shoulder.

She
saw movement in the hedge and covered her mouth. Had her father followed her?
Isabelle flattened herself against the wall of the stable. The shadow in the
hedge became more pronounced and a figure in a dark cloak emerged.

“Henry?”
she asked, recognizing the clothing instantly. She abandoned the stable and ran
across the grass until her arms were around him. Henry hugged her tightly in
return, and the scent of pine and other types of wood filled her. She
associated his scent with so many good things that it made her feel at home.

He
let out a breath of relief as he gave her an extra squeeze. “You gave me a
start. What were you doing?”

“Waiting
for you. What kept you?”

“I
saw the light in Norbin’s window only a moment ago. We must have reached the
hedge at the same time and missed each other.” Henry’s voice was low and his
eyes lacked that spark of life Isabelle normally saw in them. Her stomach
filled with hot guilt.

“Henry,
what happened today was my—”

“It
was I who lost my temper, not you.”

“No,
please, you need to listen. My mother told me she’d made a deal with my father
to convince him to accept your terms for marrying me. She gave me her blessing
to encourage you to speak to him. My father changed his mind.”

“I
changed his mind. I offended him.” A sudden sound made them both jump until they
realized it was a bird fluttering to a nearby tree. “Now I don’t know what to
do.” The defeat in his voice chilled Isabelle more than the gusts of wind. “I
fear what your father may do to me if he finds us together. I fear even more
what he’d do to you. What good am I? I can’t even stand up to an old man.”

Isabelle
cupped his face with both hands. She kissed him and fixed her light brown eyes
on his blue ones. “You have proven to me more than once that while your
strength isn’t in the sword, you are still strong and capable of protecting me.
I’m scared, too. I’m scared of not being with you.” The moon reflected its
light in Henry’s eyes, and Isabelle thought he looked majestic.

The
door behind them opened, and Maggie came out the back door to pump water. She
wore a pretty market dress. Isabelle thought it made her face appear more
elegant and her deep brown, almost black, curls shine more brightly. Among the
local men, Maggie was considered quite a prize. Her even, white teeth and thin
red lips complemented her petite face and frame well. However, she consistently
rejected offers of courtship. Maggie claimed it was because she had no interest
at the moment, but Isabelle believed Maggie refused to be married before Henry.

“I
think she’s spying on us,” Henry whispered.

“Let
her.” Isabelle kissed Henry again.

Henry
grimaced as they pulled away. “I want to say something of comfort, but I don’t
know the words. Part of me wants to hold you as tightly as I can before your
father wrenches you away from me.”

The
wind carried a distant voice to Isabelle’s ears. It belonged to Ruther. In her
mind’s eye, she could imagine Henry’s friend strolling down the street, swaying
gently to the tunes he sang and drinking from his leather flask. Almost on cue,
she heard his words. “And if the dog bites you on the leg . . .” he sang at the
top of his voice, occasionally slurring words together, “bite him right back,
you scurvy scoundrel!”

“What
was that?” Henry asked.

Isabelle
sighed. “Ruther is drunk.”

They
both laughed softly.

“We
need a plan,” Henry said, speaking in his lowest voice. “We’ve always assumed
that when we’re married we’ll live in my home and have my shop. Suppose this
isn’t the case.”

Isabelle
pondered his words before replying. “What you mean to say is ‘what if we have
to run away and you have to start over?’”

Henry
nodded.

“Then
we run away,” Isabelle told him. “We pay someone to make us letters of identity
and start a new life. It won’t be too difficult.”

His
lips pressed on her forehead.

“It
must be a last resort. My mother—” She allowed herself a moment to calm down,
but she felt her cheeks flush as she fought back her emotion. “My mother’s
health is turning for the worse. She already needs constant care. She—she could
be gone tomorrow or the next day or perhaps not for several weeks. I need to be
there for her. Norbin’s getting quite old, and my father will not lift a finger
to help. I know she’ll want to discuss our marriage again with him as soon as
she has the strength.”

“What
can she say to change his mind?”

“She
won’t tell me everything, but I know they’d reached an agreement a week ago,
when I told you to approach him. He plans to demand a large bride price. He
wanted to intimidate you today. Perhaps—perhaps he’s trying to get more out of
the deal than they originally bargained.”

“I’m
so sorry, Isabelle,” Henry said. “I’ll apologize to him.”

“Don’t
you dare!” Isabelle demanded. Henry glanced over his shoulder toward the manor,
but she didn’t care. “The way he treated you is inexcusable. I heard every
word. If I’d known what he planned to do, I would have warned you. I don’t care
if he consents.”

“We
need his consent to—”

“I
don’t care. I’ll run away with you before I’ll see you grovel to him, but first
let me help my mother. She deserves to die in dignity.” Isabelle pretended to
brush a hair into place while wiping away a tear.

“Dapper!
Decided! Deciduous! Defenestration! Deferentially . . . curse it!” Ruther
shouted in his sing-song voice, now much louder than before. His game ended as
they heard him ordering a stray dog to get off his leg. The wind picked up
again, and its whistling drowned out some of Ruther’s profane exclamations at
the “brazen mutt.”

Henry
spread his cloak out on the ground so she could sit without getting her own
cloak dirty. They sat side by side on the grass. The wind’s direction changed
and the tall hedges blocked the worst of it. The moon climbed higher in the
night sky, shrinking as it did so. The night sky was beautiful and cloudless.

“James
is the only person I know who doesn’t fear my father,” Isabelle said, “and it
took him quite a while to become that way. Things will be alright in the end,
Henry.”

He
responded by putting an arm around her. “Do you really believe he would harm me
if he were to find us together?”

“Gallivanting,
gargantuan, gratuitous, gregarious!” bellowed Ruther so loudly that Isabelle
guessed he must be sitting on the stoop in front of Henry’s house now.

“My
father knows I’ll leave with you before I allow him to give me away to someone
else. If we give him a few days to regain his composure, I think he’ll accept
an offer from my mother. If not, I’ll go with you wherever you wish.”

“I
don’t trust him.”

“Henry,
nothing will happen to me. I swear it. We love each other too much to let him
stop us.”

“My
mother was a drunkard!” Ruther began crooning at the top of his voice, “My
father was a corn plucker! Is it any wonder then—”

“Oh
Ruther,” Henry muttered. “Please don’t sing that song.”

“I
turned into a lousy—!”

“Ruther!”
Maggie shouted from a window. “If you don’t quiet yourself right now, I will
beat you with my broom!”

Ruther
fell silent instantly, as did many of the animals in the barn and stable.
Isabelle tried not to laugh, but her chest rose and fell spasmodically. “I love
your sister.”

“She
means what she says.”

“But
I love you more.”

“Good,”
Henry breathed back into her ear.

“I’ve
known since I was a girl that I’m happiest when I’m with you.”

She
could feel Henry’s smile against her cheek in response to her words. They stood
up together, and Isabelle leaned forward so her tall frame could complete the
distance between her lips and Henry’s.

“I’ll
see you soon,” she said over her shoulder as she passed back through the hedge.
“Tomorrow, if I can manage it.”

Just
as they said goodbye, Ruther stumbled into the backyard, raised his flask high,
and tripped onto the grass. He quickly got up and raised his hands to show that
he was fine.

“So
when’s the big day?” he asked.