A glance at William shifting uncomfortably on his pillows showed that the argument and her endless talk had been of no help to him either.
Isabella’s face went hot.
Quickly she bent her head to kiss Katherine’s cheek. “Of course. I will leave you for a bit and let you sleep.”
Kat nodded.
Isabella stood and addressed Caitrina. “Please send word if Katherine has need of me.”
Caitrina, looking a bit surprised to have won after all, nodded.
Kat’s eyes were already closed, and if she was not already asleep, she would be in moments. Isabella gathered her cloak and gloves and left the warmth of the sickroom as quietly as she could, her cheeks burning with shame.
Isabella paused to throw her cloak around her shoulders and realized she had not the faintest idea what to do with herself. In England, she might have gone hawking or settled down with the Duchess’s ladies to gossip, flirt with the gentlemen, or enjoy any number of pleasant distractions offered to her.
All at once she felt the weeks—possibly months—stretching before her as she awaited the payment of the ransom. A prisoner in this lonely Highland castle. The thought settled on her like a cloak gone wet with sleet and snow.
With no better thought in mind she went below stairs and settled upon visiting the stables. She reached them easily, and offered a smile to the stable boy she found within. He was a skinny, awkward thing, freckled, with the too-large hands and feet of an adolescent boy about to sprout. He had been busy at cleaning tack but stopped upon seeing her. She greeted him but he stood still, looking pop-eyed at her. She spoke again, still in Gaelic, but slower.
“Is my palfrey here?”
“Aye,” he managed to get out. “But I canna let ye have her.”
“I understand. I simply want to see her.”
The boy shook his head emphatically.
“It’ll be me hide if I let ye, lady. The laird himself said he’d have me whipped from one side of the castle to the other if I handed ye the reins.”
Isabella’s mouth tightened. Was the palfrey not here? She could think of another woman who would be pleased to help herself to the expensive mount.
“I do not intend to ride. I simply want to see she is well cared for.”
The boy stared at her as if debating the wisdom of allowing her that close to a means to escape.
“Surely I may look at her?”
Abruptly Isabella pushed past him into the stables, striding forward to peer into each pen as she passed. There were many horses in the stable, some eating, some looking over the stall doors.
“My lady!” the boy cried, racing after her.
“Ah, there you are!”
Cobweb looked contented in her stall, well fed and watered. Isabella smiled and gently stroked the horse’s nose with her gloved fingers.
“I wish I had a carrot for you,” Isabella said. The horse nickered softly.
The world around her—the castle, the cold, Cobweb, the stable boy shifting nervously at her side—blanched.
Keeping Cobweb to a walk, she twisted around to look anxiously behind her at the castle. The snow fell gently around them, and a man, his face and form hidden with a Highlander’s cloak, rode with her …
“What’s this now?” a gruff voice demanded.
The present snapped back into focus. Startled, Isabella turned to see a scowling barrel of a man striding toward them.
The man’s thin ginger hair tuffed beside his florid face. His frown seemed permanently etched in the lines of his face. She wondered if he had smiled a single time since he was this boy’s age.
“I tried to stop her, Da,” the boy cried, his voice breaking.
Isabella felt a rush of pity as the child cowered.
“’Tis true, he did try to stop me,” she agreed, facing the man squarely. “But, as your son knows, the laird ordered I am to have the liberty of the castle as long as I do not cross the bridge. So of course he allowed me to see my horse.”
Isabella’s words seemed to befuddle the man and she took quick advantage.
“What is your name?” she asked the boy.
The boy hardly spared her a glance, as if fearing his father would cuff him if he looked away. “Dougal.”
“Well, Dougal, I shall tell the chieftain how helpful you have been. And how you deported yourself as a credit to his household.”
The boy wrung his hands, but he stammered his thanks.
“You have a fine son,” Isabella said to the stable hand. “He is the very image of noble character. You should be very proud.”
The man blinked and shifted his feet.
“Thank ye,” he said uncertainly.
“See to it he alone tends my horse,” Isabella said. “For I will have no other see to her.”
The man glanced at the boy and offered him a tiny nod of approval that straightened the boy’s back.
With a final smile at the boy, Isabella left them.
Once back in the courtyard she sighed. She had not truly hoped to ride, and knowing the visions were back slumped her shoulders.
She had grown thirsty and a bit hungry as well. Likely she could find someone in the great hall to serve her, but impulsively she went to the kitchens.
Kat would, had she been up and about, forbidden her the place. She was a woman soon to be married, not a girl. A lady should call the cook to her, not enter the kitchens herself.
The heat hit her as soon as she entered. The fireplace took up an entire wall and meats were being roasted there for the evening meal. Kitchen boys were set to turning the spits, wiping at their foreheads, some stripped down to their braies. The heat had Isabella pushing the hood away from her face and opening her cloak as she looked around with interest.
“Here ye are, lad.”
Isabella turned her head to see a very elderly woman shuffling across the kitchen, carrying a plate.
Seated at the table, looking as eager as a child anticipating a treat, was Colyne MacKimzie.
The elderly woman set the plate before him and patted his cheek.
“There’s yer honeycake, lad. Now eat it up.”
Just then the MacKimzie caught sight of her and his cheeks flushed pink. The sheepish look abruptly ended her anxiety on seeing him again. Isabella leisurely pulled off her gloves and made her way toward him.
“Good day to you, my lord,” she said pleasantly.
His blush of embarrassment made him look younger, and she smiled to see him shift in his seat.
“Lady Isabella,” he replied, acting as if he had not just had a treat placed before him and his cheek caressed like a toddler. “I thought ye would be in the solar.”
“Your sister has declared me a detriment to her patients’ recovery. I am banished from the solar for the time being.”
“She will care for yer Katherine well, dinna fear.”
“May I join you?”
She widened her smile, fully enjoying having the upper hand for once. He was well nigh to squirming but he nodded, so she sat on the bench opposite him and, as if she had just noticed it, looked down at the treat before him.
“Why, what is this?”
“Oh,” he replied, looking down at the cake as if he had no idea how it came to be there, “honeycake.”
“I have never sampled it. Is it very fine?”
“I doubt a lady of the court would find it so.”
Isabella looked at him sidelong. “Do you know much of court ladies then?”
“I fought in France against the English,” he replied, and then, seeming to regain some of his confidence, smirked. “And did indeed meet many ladies of the French court.”
“But none that could bake a honeycake?”
“Morag has made them for me since I was a boy,” he said defensively. “She is verra proud of her baking.”
“So, for her sake alone, you partake. I’faith when she placed it before you, I thought you had a mind to clap your hands together.”
His face
reddened to the hairline and she laughed. It was almost worth being kidnapped for.
“Come, I do but tease you! Truly I wish to sample it—if you will share.”
He looked somewhat mollified by her tone and pushed the plate closer to her. She broke off a bit with her fingers.
“It is delicious,” she said honestly. Moist and finely crumbed with subtle flavors of spice and honey; she could not help looking regretfully at it as she pushed the plate back toward him.
He put the plate between them.
“Go on, then.”
She began to demur, but he said with mock-sternness, “There’s been pitched battles fought over Morag’s cakes. I’ll nae offer twice.”
Isabella glanced between him and the cake before eagerly breaking off another piece.
He leaned forward, his arm resting easily on the table as he took some for himself. She was struck by his graceful movements, unusual for a man so tall. He looked up and she flushed to be caught staring.
“I came in search of apple wine or ale,” she said quickly. “Is there any to be had?”
He fetched wine for her himself.
“Ye dinna come to dinner again,” Colyne commented, offering her a cup.
“No,” Isabella replied, licking the sweetness off her fingers like a child. “Pity your sister did not cast me out a bit earlier. I could eat a score of these.”
In response, Colyne caught the attention of one of the cooks and soon there was mouthwatering roasted beef before her, thick slices of bread and cheese, and fruit preserved in honey.
Isabella delighted at the impromptu feast set before her, and then noticed she was the only one being served.
“You are not eating?”
Colyne smiled. “I had my dinner. Go on, then.”
The bread was fresh, hearty and filling, the beef still hot from the spit, and the cheese well made.
“Simple fare, and not what you are accustomed to, I’d wager,” Colyne said.
“I’faith, my lord, you set a fine table,” she protested around a mouthful of delicious bread, than gave a short embarrassed laugh at her own poor manners. “And ’tis too many hours since I broke my fast!”
She took a sip of wine and found it excellent. “Well, this is very fine! Did you bring it from France?”
“Aye, ’tis fine indeed.” He lifted his cup. “Ye brought it and I thank ye.”
Understanding dawned and she scowled. “You raided my dowry goods?”
He laughed. “Ye were nae sae angry when I caught ye on the road as ye are over a bit of wine. Still, I dinna regret it.”
“Kidnapping me or stealing my wine?”
“Either.” He toasted her. “Both are well worth the trouble.”
Isabella shot him a look as he drank deeply and returned to her meal.
“Do ye long for England, lass?”
Isabella gave a humorless laugh.
“Oh, I shall never see England again. I could have gone to France, mayhap, if not Scotland, but I dared not remain at Henry’s court any longer.”
“Won at the joust, did ye? Knocked the Lord Protector from his horse and landed the poor man on his arse in the mud?”
Despite herself, Isabella laughed. “Nothing so public, I fear.”
His gaze sharpened. “Somethin’ private, then?”
She looked away. “I caught the eye of the king.”
“The eye of the king? Henry’s only a lad! He’s what, fifteen?”
“Nearly sixteen and fond of the ladies of the court. The new fashion of leaving off a veil to show a necklace has him blush to see a lady’s throat.”
Isabella glanced around. The servants seemed about their own business and paying them little mind but still she lowered her voice.
“A gentleman of the court—lucky not to be banished for it, mind!—paid women from the city to entertain the king as a jest. They pulled off their gowns,” she bit her lip to keep from laughing at his shocked expression, “and danced bare-breasted for His Majesty. Henry was so overcome with blushes he cried ‘Fie! Fie! For shame!’ and ran from the hall!”
He laughed. “Ach, pity Fortune did nae see fit to make me king, I should have been a goodly one! So poor young Henry caught sight of ye bare throat and was overcome?”
His eyes lingered on the skin there.
It was a moment before she found her voice.
“Yes, at midsummer. I was a maid of honor to the Lord Protector’s wife.”
“Ye dinna wait upon the English queen?”
Isabella gave a short humorless laugh. “A step down that’d be! The queen is banished from the court, treated less like a French princess than a cast-off mistress. Now that her husband is King Henry’s heir, Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester, is first lady of the land. ’Twas her I served.”
“So Henry noticed ye, fond of court ladies as he is.” His gaze was piercing. “Or were you more to him?”
“I was not his mistress!” she flared. “Henry is a pious king and is nigh on stuttering from shyness. He paid me many compliments—too many!—and once gifted me a brooch from his very tunic, in full view of the court and under the very eye of the Duchess!”
“Yer an earl’s daughter, cousin to the Scottish queen. Could ye nae be the English queen, if ye had a mind to it?”
“Queen? Me? I should like as not find myself locked in the Tower on charges of witchcraft—or dead of poison at the Duchess’s hand!”
“Witchcraft?” He gave her a half smile. “Well, I dinna put it past ye.”
Isabella felt the blood drain from her face. “Do not jest of such things.”
“Ach, ye canna mean it in any case,” he scoffed. “For a lad’s infatuation?”
“Eleanor was Humphrey’s mistress when she was his wife’s own waiting woman. She had Jacqueline cast aside, their marriage annulled, and the poor lady disinherited, so Gloucester could marry her instead. Do you think a woman like that would let me, and a boy with a head full of love sonnets and a codpiece full of seed, stand in her way?” She made a face at his scandalized expression. “I was one of Eleanor’s maids of honor at Bella Court. One of her proclaimed favorites, her ‘lamb’ she called me. I saw her face when the king offered me his brooch. I tell you, she hated me. Henry might as well have put the executioner’s axe to my neck himself!”
“Would he nae protect ye, bein’ so fond of ye?”
“Who would, if it did not serve him! A friend is but an enemy lying in wait for the wheel of fortune to lift them up and lower you down.” He raised an eyebrow at her and she felt herself flush. She had not meant to reveal so much of her mind to him. “You do not know the ways of the court.”
He gave a short laugh. “I’faith, that’s the truth! But here ye sit, prisoner in the Highlands and nae the Tower, surely it’s a wee bit better?”
“Better that you want only my coin, not my life.” Isabella sighed, looking into her cup. “And when I return, I will marry Douglas, who is noble and handsome and who, with my dowry, will be wealthy as well.”
“No wonder he’s all a rush to marry ye.”
“You would think he would not be. My betrotheds meet sad ends. I was first betrothed at the age of seven and am yet to be wedded.”
“Seven!”
“It is not uncommon.” She tilted her head to look at him. “Katherine told me the Scots frown on arranging marriages so young, but Princess Margaret was betrothed at two.”
“Aye, such happens at the court but I canna see treatin’ a kinswoman of mine so!”
“My family was anxious I should make a good match as early as possible. I am old to be unmarried still. My own mother was dead in childbed when she was three years younger than I am now.”
He refilled her cup. “Who are these many betrotheds that ye have brought to such terrible ends?”
“Not many, only two. Douglas is still hale and hearty, as far as I know.” Isabella cupped her hands around her goblet. “I was first promised to the Vicomte de Bourges, whom I never met but I was
presented to his uncle. The man ascribed to his nephew such extraordinary qualities of nobility and grace, such bravery and elegance, such handsomeness and charity, that the Vicomte was plainly none of those things. In any case, he died before I reached thirteen. At fifteen I was betrothed to Lord Henry Harver, whom I did meet in France. Henry fell in service to the king a few weeks later. Or perhaps died of old age, as he was nearly fifty years older than I, and well nigh toothless to boot. And now,” she shrugged, “I will marry Lord Douglas.”
“Unless his fortunes change too.” Colyne smirked. “With such luck, who knows who will be standin’ beside ye when ye finally arrive at the kirk door?”
She crinkled her nose at him and turned back to her meal.
“Are ye really angry about the wine?”
She looked up to see him regarding her seriously. “I cannot say I am pleased. Those goods are meant as a gift to my husband and to establish my household. I may already be more trouble to Lord Douglas than I am worth.”
His head came up a bit at that. “Do ye think he’ll nae ransom ye?”
“I expect that depends on what you ask. If the payment to release me greatly diminishes my fortune it negates the reason for him to marry me.” She laughed bitterly. “Are you afraid after all your trouble, you will not be paid?”
“Nae, I dinna worry about that.” He took a deep draft of his wine. “I hope ye find some happiness here while ye wait. Should ye have need of anything, tell me and I’ll see to it.”
She thought to point out that she should not have to ask for her own property, but she bit back the acerbic words. “Thank you.”
He tilted his head. “Can ye nae call me by name?”
“Of course,” she replied, taking a sip. The wine really was excellent and it was not as if Lord Douglas would miss it. “MacKimzie.”
Amusement and annoyance mixed in his expression. “I will know nae peace with you here, will I?”
“Ask less for ransom. ’Twill win you a swifter peace.”
“It might. But methinks I can make do without peace awhile.”
Isabella sighed inwardly. So much for urging him toward making fast settlement. “On that matter, what is your demand for my return?”
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