Rose of rapture (14 page)

Though still uncertain of this, Isabella breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I—I did not know. I thought perhaps he—he might bear a grudge against me and wreak ill upon Rushden for it. Marry-go-up. I shall never forget the look on his face when he strode from the stables. He was so angry, I feared he would strike me! I should not have laughed so; 'twas indeed too bad of me. I am' not usually so unkind, but—but, oh, 'twas funny."

"Aye, indeed, 'twas, my lady. Do not fear. Though he may be mad for a time, I assure ye that Waerwic will not deal injuriously with ye and yours nevertheless. That is not his way. He is hard and arrogant and ofttimes cruel, but he is seldom unjust— stubborn perhaps but rarely unfair. He will not bleed your brother's estate for any real or imagined slights—if that is what ye fear."

"I—I was afraid Giles has entrusted Rushden to my care,

ye see, and I do not take my responsibilities lightly, sir. 1 know that Lord Hawkhurst and I got off to a most miserable start, but I had hoped to make amends—" Her voice trailed off, and Isabella bit her lip.

"And so ye have, my lady. Twice, this day, I have discovered myself dumbfounded at the sight of ye." Caerilywel spoke more loudly, his eyes warming with amusement and desire.

Despite herself, Isabella smiled, her fears temporarily abating.

"I can only hope 'twas because ye found my appearance so improved the second time, sir. 'Twas indeed too bad of ye to invade my menagerie and frighten all my animals. Indeed, now that I think of it, ye are to blame for what occurred this mom!"

"Oh, come, my lady. Surely, ye jest. We did no more than walk inside—"

"Aye, but nevertheless, 'twas the sight of ye that provoked the goat so. Usually, he is the gentlest of creatures—"

"Oh, come, my lady!" Caerllywel repeated.

"Well, I must admit that Tinker has a great dislike for cloaks, sir. Ye see, when he was young, some of the lads thought 'twould be a good jest to bundle him up in a blanket so he couldn't see. Naturally, the poor beast ran about wildly, quite blind with terror, and the nasty imps yelled and beat him with stout sticks on top of it all to prod him along. 'Twas very mean of the boys, of course, and they were severely punished for the prank, but the damage had been done. Tinker was dreadfully frightened and never recovered from the shock of the incident. Now he is ready to attack anything even remotely resembling a blanket. That is why I keep him in the stables."

"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 seeming 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.