She knew, too, that he wanted her, but he held off, proving he was no Richard Martinton. That night she slept beside her son in Thomas’s workshop, on thick straw pallets. Again, without any long explanation between them, Stephen understood her need to be close to Matthew. “It lets him know you are there with him in the night,” he said, tactfully turning the matter about.
“It will not be for long,” Isabella said quickly.
His slow smile steadied her. “I know.”
During the next day and the days that followed, Stephen was attentive and affectionate, giving her light kisses and tiny caresses. After supper and evenings was their special time, out in the hay-barn. To Isabella’s mingled delight and embarrassment, everyone knew it. By the second evening Joanna and Matthew were even opening the workshop door and pointing the way for them, giggling in joint and happy unity.
“I thought we were hurrying to Kent?” she asked, on their third evening together.
Stephen shook his head. “No need for haste now,” he answered mysteriously.
“Then your work?” she persisted.
He stroked her arm, a sweet tingle. “My lord is used to my coming and going. And there have been many saints’ days of late, times of holiday.”
She had forgotten about the holy days, overwhelmed as she was by concern for her son. “Amice says that Sir William sent his servant John to her shop yesterday. Her ‘prentice told the story of her going on pilgrimage and the man went away.”
Stephen nodded. “They will not find us here. Amice’s lad is sensible and he knows how to evade pursuit.”
“But for how long? How long will I have to look over my shoulder to protect my son?” Again the rage was building, hot in her head.
Stephen rolled a little away from her and sat with his feet dangling into the hay loft. “It will not be for much longer, Isabella, I swear it. When you spoke of seals, I knew we had a weapon against them.”
“How so? Men have seals for letters, yes, but what of it?”
“Because one of the more lucrative, secret and illegal trades in London is in forgery. They are forging seals! Why else was Sir William so alarmed when your mother-in-law mentioned them? Why else the secrecy? Making false seals is an evil crime and, depending on whose seals they are copying, it may be treason.”
Ignoring his large scowl, Isabella settled beside him and dangled her legs over the edge. As fast as it came, her anger burned away, to be replaced by puzzlement. “Treason?”
“If they are making forgeries of the king’s great seal, the one that he attaches to his charters and writs, then that is treason.”
Would the family dare? She thought of Sir William’s love of luxury and had her answer. “We have no proof.”
“It will be found, believe me. Tomorrow, I intend to seek an audience with Duke Henry, who has now returned to his palace at the Savoy. When I tell my lord what I suspect the Martintons are doing, his men will raid their workshops.” Smiling grimly, Stephen stretched his arms above his head. “Sir William and the rest will never trouble you again, I promise you.”
Never again, a wonderful thought, so large in scope that she could scarcely believe it. In a fierce spurt of joy she almost forgot where she was sitting. Stephen caught her arm and steadied her.
“I think you should come away from that drop,” he growled.
“I will when you do. Matthew and I will be free to walk in London before we go on to your manor house in Kent?” she added quickly, to divert him.
“If it pleases you.” Stephen trailed a fingertip over her left breast. “Though ‘manor house’ sounds very grand. It is simply a home.”
“A home for all of us.” It was so lovely to be able to say that.
“Yes, it is that.” He rubbed noses with her. “Are you eager to be out and about in your city again?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Would you like to stroll out now, Mistress Angel? The evening is fine.”
Startled, Isabella glanced back at the inviting piles of hay and tried to quell her disappointment and yes, her resentment. “If you like.” She wondered if she sounded sulky.
Keeping her face composed, she watched Stephen swing his legs round and step away from the drop. Copying him, she did not think she had revealed any of her feelings but gasped now as he suddenly snared her in a fierce embrace.
“This is what I like,” he told her, kissing her lips and hands and throat. “I think you do, too, or should I stop?”
“No,” she said quickly, turning so he could cup her breasts. “Do not stop, Stephen, please.”
He lifted her in his arms and laid her down in the hay. He enfolded and caressed and undressed her, saying how very beautiful she was. He told her he loved her, over and over. He coaxed her to undress him and when she called him beautiful, he laughed.
Slowly and very sweetly, they joined. For her, and for the first time in her life, she understood how man and woman could truly be one. Fearing pain and tearing, she knew only dizzying, glorious pleasure, followed by a hot, sweaty, salty tenderness.
And then more, again, much more…
****
That night she and Stephen slept in the hay loft—when they slept at all.
Chapter 10
“I must come with you. Yes, Duke Henry has summoned you, Ste, but this concerns me and mine.”
“Ste” was Isabella’s new nickname for him. Stephen was not sure if he liked it and he certainly disapproved of her idea of flitting with him to the Savoy. He drummed his fingers on his belt and looked down his nose at her. A few days ago, his maddening little wench would have argued or paled when he glowered. Now she merely tapped her foot. A pretty foot, clad in a new boot, but then she was pretty altogether and regaining weight.
“And Matthew?” Surely mentioning her son will stop this mad idea.
Isabella took a deep breath, as if to blow away the eddying breeze that plucked at her skirts and hair. “Amice and Thomas are walking back to her shop today. Matthew and Joanna are desperate to go with them. Please, Stephen, the children are going wild, cooped up like doves in a cote. Let them go out with them. And let me come with you.”
She was hard to resist when she pleaded but he tried. “What if this whole matter goes against me?”
The instant he spoke he knew he had made a mistake. Isabella pounced on it at once. “Then you must not go, either.”
He snorted. “One does not ignore a duke.”
“As your betrothed I should be with you, to support you, Ste.”
No, I do not like Ste as a pet name, but that will keep. This could be life and death. “There may be a trial by ordeal.” He planned to wear chain mail and take his weapons, ready to fight.
Isabella straightened and tilted up her chin, trying to make herself look taller. The rising wind howled behind her as she declared, “I should be the one to undergo it. I heard of the seals. I told you of them. If your duke requires witnesses then he will need to question me.”
“No, I want you safe.” He rubbed the tight muscles at the back of his neck, wishing the weather would whip into a roaring gale, to keep her at home. “Sir William and his kin may be there.”
“I would like to face them. I would like to win over them, just once.”
A score for her and a natural desire but, staring at his determined, breeze-blown angel, Stephen felt an ashy despair. “I could not bear the thought of you or Matt at risk, Isabella. It would hamper me.”
Now she did pale. “I had not considered that. I am sorry.” She looked away from him to the pink dawn seeping round the roof-tops and scratched at her hand, a trick she did when nervous.
“Why can Isabella not go with you?” His sister stepped into the courtyard and closed on them rapidly. “Has she not spent enough time waiting on others?”
Isabella blushed a deep rose but Bedelia was far from finished. “Those wretched Martintons are not God. Duke Henry has more sense than to give them victory. Take her with you to the Savoy, Stevie. You
will both be easier.”
Stephen knew he was beaten. He threw up his hands, biting back the question, “Did you put her up to this?” to his anxious betrothed. Isabella did not do those kind of underhand things. And how would you like to be left behind? Not much. “Very well! Can you walk in those new boots?”
“Yes, Stephen,” said Isabella quickly.
She looked so meek and biddable he wanted to take her to bed again, although they had only just risen from the hay loft. Contenting himself with kissing her, Stephen opened the gate through which they could walk down to the Thames to pick up a wherry. “Come then, before I change my mind.”
****
For the third time that month Isabella found herself at the enormous palace of the Savoy as she and Stephen were escorted by three liveried servants of lord Henry toward the ducal apartments set behind the great hall. One day I might come here and be at ease and happy to admire, but not today. The palace was vast, its grounds sprawling, its servants endless, but what were these things to her? As she and Stephen crossed a courtyard the sneaking breeze snapped at her ankles and nipped her ears, reminding her, though she needed no reminders, of others who had pinched and bullied her.
I may meet Richard’s family here. I must be prepared. She cast her mind back to what Sir William and her mother-in-law had said about seals but could think of nothing new. She felt a squeeze on her hand.
“Not far and not long now.” Stephen, his dark hair twirled by the breeze, gave her a comforting smile. “Whatever happens, you and Matthew will remain together. Duke Henry swore as much to me.”
A glint in his eyes made her gasp. “You compelled the duke to swear this?” she said softly, conscious, though Stephen seemed unconcerned, of those liveried servants.
“I suggested that if he wanted me to testify he should do so.” He laughed at her expression and swung her hand. “Be not so worried, Mistress Angel. My lord is a fair man.” He tugged her closer and dropped a kiss on her trembling mouth. “And he will adore you.”
His green-gray eyes twinkled at her, reminding her of a form of lapis lazuli. And there was something about that brilliant, blue-green stone that was important, that Sir William had said, or done, some action.
She creased her forehead and scratched her fingers, striving to remember. Beside her Stephen dipped his head as they entered a cloistered walk, then sneaked a kiss from her as the shadows briefly hid them.
“Stephen!”
He grinned. “Better than Ste, at least.”
So she would have to find another pet name. And he had done it. He had diverted her and now as she relaxed a little the vital memory shimmered through and she caught it.
“What?” he said.
She shook her head. She could be mysterious.
They turned round one corner of the cloister—straight into three more servants of the duke, bringing Sir William and his party. There were over a dozen of them, Isabella realized with a sickening jolt, and every man armed to the teeth. Her nerves already at screaming pitch, she heard the screech of a blade and saw sparks on the cloister wall as a squire in Sir William’s party clumsily drew his sword.
“Traitor!” roared Sir William, spitting the word as his whole party charged, ignoring and even cutting at the duke’s people in their rush to reach her.
It was madness and Isabella felt it herself. As Stephen leapt forward to shield her, she jumped sideways, screaming, “Here, then, here!” and drew her dagger—the sharp, honed dagger that Stephen had given her.
With yells, bared weapons and whirling arms the gaudy column surged like a sea breaker toward her, but Stephen lunged and shielded her again, his sword arm faster than lightning. One of Sir William’s men screamed and toppled, clutching a gaping, pumping wound in his chest. Another slipped on the blood and crashed against a pillar, crumpling into a dark, twitching heap. Stephen charged a second time and another man screamed, his cry cutting off abruptly as he fell. Backing up against another pillar, Isabella saw a blur of movement from the corner of her eye as a man tried to come at Stephen from his blind side.
“No!” She slashed with her puny knife, ducking as a blade sparked down the pillar toward her. She could not escape its lethal track…
A huge hand clamped round her arm and yanked her away. Stephen whirled and dropped her behind him, roared and took guard again, the cloister echoing with his battle cry.
“Stand fast! Hold!” called another voice, clear and cold. More armed men spilled along the cloister walk, swiftly and efficiently disarming Sir William and his people. Stephen lowered his sword and closed his eyes.
“You have convinced me, Stephen.” Pale, lean and elegant, Duke Henry stalked into his own cloister and took in the scene. “Now I will hear the rest. Within the treasure room, I think.”
Why there, Isabella wondered, before she recollected that Stephen had mentioned that the French King was a hostage within this palace. The duke will not want the king of the French to hear unsavory tales of forged great seals and the London goldsmiths. Her chest tightened at what was to come. However this story of seals spins out, please let the duke believe us. Fast on the heels of that reflection came another; more a clammy feeling of rising panic and a heart-felt plea than a thought. Please, please, let Stephen be safe, Stephen and my son.
Reaction was setting in, from the shock of the fight. Already it seemed a distant event, half a legend. Stephen and I were attacked at the Savoy by the kindred of my dead husband. She shuddered and her jaw would not work as she tried to mouth thanks to her betrothed.
Time felt to have slowed down, but now she realized only an instant had passed. The duke walked up, his dark eyes very kind. To her amazement, he offered her his arm. “My lady.”
“No lady,” hissed Margery Martinson from somewhere behind Sir William. “The morals of a mermaid. She will not keep her latest paramour for long—”
“I will have silence,” the duke said, and now there was.
****
Within the treasure room, Stephen lost no time in standing beside Isabella, a public show of support. I am her betrothed and husband-to-be. Hurt her and you must deal with me. Besides, she was so wan he feared she might faint, especially as she swayed slightly on her feet. He looked at his lord, a silent plea that Isabella be given a chair. Her crazy courage had horrified him and yet it was so much her, loving and caring and passionate. She kept glancing at him now, her blue eyes wary and shuttered, as if she expected him to tear her head off for leaping to defend him.
I am not so unfair, though I admit you startled me. He had surely lost a year of his life in worry when she had pitched herself into the fray. Her own family by marriage, attacking her! What bastards. Striving to keep his temper, he tapped his sword belt. It was a great relief that the duke clearly liked her, but even though he trusted his lord, a worm of disquiet still squirmed within his head. The sooner I get you down to the country, my sweet, the better.
It amused and rather gratified him that she could stand amidst this mort of treasure and still be staring at him, a slow up and down look as if she was checking he was truly unhurt. She flicked a sideways glance at the dark-robed duke, seated on his chair on a small dais at the back of the room, but she spared no looks for Sir William and his allies, nor any for the heaps of treasure ranged round them.
It was hot and stuffy in the packed, windowless chamber, with men and a few women arranged in a semi-circle about the dais, but no one was in danger of dozing.
Attentive as a hound on point, Duke Henry leaned forward. “A seat for my lady Isabella.”
At once a stool was found and brought. Stephen breathed out a long sigh of relief as Isabella sank onto the seat. The duke smiled at her, candle-light glinting on his fair hair. “Will you have a glass of malmsey, my lady? I believe you know wine and I trust you will like this.”
Without waiting for an answer, Duke Henry snapped his fingers and only Stephen understood that his lord’s small frown was due to gout, which plagued him. Everyone e
lse stared at the floor tiles while the message went out through the palace corridors.
Moments later, as he watched a server push through the lines of people to pour the duke and Isabella glasses of wine, Stephen reflected on what Duke Henry had said. So my lord has looked into her background. Is that good? He could only hope it was.
“The wine is fine, my lady?” the duke asked, as Isabella took a sip.
“It is excellent, my lord.” Hearing her gentle, clear answer, Stephen was relieved afresh, less so when his lord nodded and said, “To business, then.”
“We should wait for Sir Nicholas,” said Sir William at once, gathering allies, Stephen guessed. But the duke shook his head.
“You have sufficient with your kindred, Sir William,” he said mildly, adding with more bite, “I do not feel my palace will withstand any more numbers of your goldsmith’s guild.”
“But, my lord, Sir Nicholas is—”
“Late,” said Duke Henry. “We begin now.”
Here we go. Checking his weapons were still good in case he should be challenged, Stephen braced himself, ready to give an account and sink Sir William and his kin forever.
****
The arguments raged and Isabella listened closely, horribly aware that the fate of her son and her own future happiness were at stake. Stephen spoke first, of seals and forgery, of Sir William and his kin so fearful of discovery of their illegal enterprise that they attacked him and her before the duke could hear their account.
“Yet my men have found no sign of any fake seals at the workshops of Sir William,” remarked the duke.
“Because there is none,” Sir William interrupted, and now he launched into a lengthy counter-argument, fixing on her. According to her uncle by marriage she was a liar, an unfit mother and a wanton. “She has seduced your poor armorer by her wiles and by wicked magic,” Sir William finished gravely.
“All lies.” Stephen threw his glove on the floor tiles between himself and the portly goldsmith. “I challenge you or any of your champions.”
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