Katherine’s back straightened, affronted.
Isabella touched her arm. “Let it be, Kat.”
Colyne offered Duncan wine while his betrothed shared a quick kiss with her clansmen and Jamie as well. Bredach stood on tiptoe then, and her arms went round Colyne’s neck, his hands resting on her tiny waist as they shared their New Year’s kiss.
“Methinks the matter ended now,” Isabella said quietly.
It was days later, on the morning of Twelfth Night, that Isabella finally saw her chance to slip away.
Her skirts spread behind her in her haste, her gaze darting about to be sure she was not marked by any. The castle folk were caught up in preparations for the night’s celebration. Caitrina would be busy for hours with preparing for the weddings. Kat and William had only just been drawn into a game with some of the MacLaulachs and no one else would think to look for her.
About to enter the outer hall, Isabella stopped short, her fingers pressed hard enough against the jagged stone to bruise them.
Colyne and Bredach were there, playing with masks belonging to the mummers Colyne had engaged. Colyne held a silly one—a comic mask with a large nose and chin and red ribbons for hair and beard—over his face and sent Bredach into peals of laughter.
He looked a fool but Colyne cared for nothing but his betrothed now. No request of Bredach’s too silly, no demand too much, and he would have everyone else cater to her as well. Even Kat was called upon to arrange Bredach’s hair and poor Jamie especially bore the brunt to fetch and carry for the girl.
Isabella backed away, her nails biting into her palm as she fought to control herself. Only when the castle folk slept could she risk curling up around her shattered, splintered heart. Later, safe in full darkness, she could let herself lay broken again, her hand pressed against her mouth so that none would hear her weep.
She dared not cross here and time was short. She changed direction, and skirted the great hall to reach the solar instead. There were no illnesses, beyond the troubles brought on by too much drink, and she breathed a sigh of relief to find the space unoccupied.
Heart hammering, Isabella closed the door behind her. There must be something in Caitrina’s books about how a woman could know if she were with child.
And how to get rid of that child if she were.
Isabella’s hands trembled as she lifted the first book. Would a surgeon write of such things? But surely if John of Arderne took time to discuss sewing up a fissure in a man’s backside, he would address the matter of a woman who carried a child she could not bear?
Carefully, she thumbed the pages, her eyes scanning the text.
Colyne had come to her bed weeks ago. Was it simply too soon to tell?
I have not lost the contents of my stomach—not even once! All women do so in early pregnancy so I cannot be with child.
Glancing at her belly before she bathed, she had not marked any change. Dressed only in her shift at night, she laid her hand there but could detect nothing. She sometimes missed her time by a week or more and she had been a maiden then, so perhaps her late courses meant nothing. Her breasts were sore as they always were before she bled. Surely her courses would come on shortly.
Isabella flipped frantically through the first book. The surgeon made much of cheering the patient and making small jokes. He detailed the mechanics of sewing cuts and cutting limbs but there was nothing of women or childbirth.
He will marry her tonight. Marry her!
Isabella bit the inside of her cheek. She would have a lifetime to weep over him but very little time to find what she needed here.
None would notice her absence tonight at Twelfth Night, not with the excitement of the Feast of Fools and the weddings.
Why is the queen so long in coming to settlement? Surely she cannot think the ransom so dear as that!
She wished Caitrina and Ihone well but to have to bear—
She hefted the next book. If only she could ask Caitrina! But even if she could broach the topic in a way that would not raise the girl’s suspicions she could not seem to catch Caitrina alone for a moment.
God’s bones, there must be something!
While teaching Isabella, Caitrina shook her head over having used the last of her pennyroyal. Isabella’s stomach sank to learn that the very herb needed to bring on her menses had been wrapped up neatly in the solar, but now was depleted. Spring would replenish Caitrina’s supplies, but it would be far too late by then.
Voices rose from the hall. Isabella hurriedly shut the book and shoved it back in place.
She turned back just as Caitrina entered with Bredach.
“The solar is here,” Caitrina was saying over her shoulder. “I should think ye may find it becomes yer favorite in—”
Seeing Isabella, Caitrina broke off. “I did not think to find any within, lady.”
“I thought to tidy a bit here, while everyone is occupied preparing for Twelfth Night.” The words sounded weak and Isabella hoped observant Caitrina did not see her hands shaking.
There was no help for it. Isabella looked at Colyne’s lady.
By the gentle light of the solar’s glass windows, Bredach was astonishing. Isabella felt shamed by how she itched to rake the girl’s flawless skin with her nails till the blood ran.
Bredach was busy looking around the room as if taking its measure and determining how she should prefer the furnishings when it was hers. It took her a moment to notice Isabella’s stare. Her pink bow mouth pursed, but she hesitated. The girl had either forgotten Isabella’s name or never bothered to learn it. Bredach smiled a bit uncertainly and looked at Caitrina, eyebrows raised in question.
Isabella gritted her teeth. I am an earl’s daughter! I will not let this chit see me undone!
“I am Lady Isabella Beaufort.”
“Oh, aye,” Bredach replied, her voice sweet and girlish. “I remember now. The English lady who sang for us. Colyne said ye may be here for a time.”
Bredach swept forward, a graceful maid in the full bloom of her youth. Chagrined, Isabella realized she stood half a head taller than the girl as well.
“As Colyne does think of ye as a guest, sae shall I,” Bredach said warmly. “We would have ye think of this home as yers until ye go on to yer own.”
“Thank you,” Isabella managed.
“There is sae much planned for tonight,” the girl continued. “To celebrate Caitrina’s marriage.”
Bredach glanced at Caitrina and blushing, mumbled, “I mean, our marriages.”
Isabella’s mouth felt stiff. “I fear I should be poor company. I beg you excuse me if I do not attend the Twelfth Night celebration.”
“Dinna be silly,” the girl said artlessly. “Ye canna forgo Twelfth Night! I have nev’r known sae merry a place as this—i’faith every hour one of joy and mirth!”
“No doubt we are simply possessed of different temperaments. I expect I am far too dull and reserved for such—exuberant—company.”
The girl seemed to ponder that and the sound of a male voice reached them.
“I canna think, but the lasses must be here about somewhere. I dinna see them below stairs…”
Isabella recognized Jamie’s voice and, feeling her heart thud in her chest, saw Colyne at his heels.
He stopped short upon seeing her.
Bredach glanced back and a look of delight—of a young girl joyfully in love—overcame her face. If anything, the glow of adoration made the Scottish girl almost too beautiful to look at.
Isabella’s legs weakened to see Colyne blinking at Bredach as the girl fairly skipped over to him.
A man entranced, indeed.
“I have seen much of the castle, Colyne,” Bredach said. “I think of it already as home.”
Isabella could see him swallow as Bredach hooked her arm in his and for a moment leaned her cheek against his shoulder.
“And look,” Bredach continued, nodding toward Isabella. “I have spoken with the English lady you hold prisoner. She is
nae as fearsome as ye would all have me think.”
“I believe,” he replied, managing to find his voice after all, “ye may be thinkin’ of Mistress Katherine.”
He looked at Isabella. “Are ye well, lady?” he asked in his warm burr. “I have nae spoken with ye since Hogmanay.”
For a moment there was no one in the room but him.
Have you forgotten all, Colyne?
The kiss you stole? How the boy won a coin when ’twas you who brought a blush to my cheeks? That once you lay trembling in my arms and nothing in the world mattered, save you?
Have you forgotten?
For I find I cannot.
“I thank you, I am well,” Isabella replied, surprised to find her voice did not shake. “But eager to join the court. Have you come to agreement with Her Majesty?”
Bredach tugged at his arm and he blinked, turning to look at her.
“I have told her to come make merry with us for Twelfth Night.” She looked to Jamie and Caitrina. “You must tell her sae as well.”
“Aye, do come, lady,” Jamie echoed, giving Isabella a cheerful smile.
“Colyne has hired minstrels to play for us and promised the finest of feasts for Twelfth Night.” Bredach pouted up at him. “Colyne, bid her come tonight!”
Colyne shifted his feet.
“Aye,” he said tautly with a spare glance at Isabella. “As the Lady Bredach says, ye must come.”
“Aye, o’course, you will,” Caitrina put in quickly, her forehead creased, her gaze pleading. “You must be there to bless me marriage or ’twill mean ill luck for us.”
Isabella’s stomach knotted and she swallowed hard. “Of course, I will come,” she said faintly.
Caitrina smiled in relief. “I will look for ye, lady. But we have much to do till then.”
In a few moments Caitrina bustled the others out and pulled the door shut behind her.
Isabella trembled. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing quickly, willing herself to wait, counting off the beats of her heart.
Wait, oh, wait. They should be near to the stairs by now, and almost far enough away so none should hear. Just another—
Isabella seized one of the pots. She fell to her knees, already doubling over, and in the next moment was suddenly and thoroughly sick.
The sun continued its journey across the sky; every heartbeat brought closer the time when Colyne would make his marriage vows.
Numbly, she allowed Katherine to help her dress. Kat chatted cheerfully as she set about arranging Isabella’s hair and adorning her with jewels. Isabella stared sightlessly into the polished mirror as Katherine worked.
Her courses were late, true, but that had happened before when she was still a maiden. Perhaps the incident earlier today was but a passing stomach upset. It might have been so. Perhaps she was simply ill, a winter cold coming on. Her throat was a bit sore and she had not slept well of late.
But if—
She stared into her own eyes, wondering if she possessed the courage to throw herself from the tower to the courtyard below.
“Poppet?”
Isabella blinked, realizing that it was likely several minutes since she had responded in even the most cursory way.
“Yes, Kat?”
“Poppet, what’s the matter?”
She must not tell Kat—not tonight, not moments before they were expected to appear at Twelfth Night and witness the marriage of the man who had seduced her.
“My imprisonment wears ever heavier on me, Kat. I long to escape this place.”
Katherine clucked her tongue.
“I do not doubt it! I myself am bored unto death with the monotony and the simpleness of the pleasures to be found here! Naught but cows and sheep and those that tend them for society! I must say Christmastide has been a welcome distraction and Sir William excellent company but I too long to return to the refined ways of court.” She threw a disdainful look at their tiny, sparse room. “And to have proper living quarters again!”
“Has Sir William spoken with …” If she said his name, she would break into pieces, “… the chieftain?”
Katherine sighed, shaking her head. “He has. The MacKimzie says settlement with the queen has not yet been reached. He suggested that as winter is upon us we may need to resign ourselves to joining the court in the spring.”
Isabella’s spirits sank further at the news. She had hoped freedom near. Something must be done. If the worst were true, she could not remain imprisoned here, her belly growing more evident. By spring there would be no hiding it. By summer she would be forced into confinement, possibly in this very room, to bear his child.
She shuddered inwardly. She would be lucky to find any marriage and what of the child? Would he even acknowledge it? Who would care for it? Love it? Would it too be taken from her? Would he hand the babe off to a cottier to raise and have no more thought of it?
She followed Kat on dragging feet to the feast. The musicians were playing, the hall bursting with light and cheer. At the start of Christmastide the clans mingled with trepidation but they now mixed freely. There was much toasting and many would be in their cups before long.
The young couples were assembled at the high table as usual now, lively and joking. Despite her sick heartache, Isabella could summon some small happiness for Caitrina. She had never seen Caitrina so perfectly joyful. In that moment Caitrina met her gaze and Isabella found it within her to return the Scotswoman’s smile.
Ihone raised his cup to drink to Caitrina, toasting her beauty and goodness, which set many a man toasting his lady. Sir William made a fine speech to Katherine, making her blush with pleasure as he praised her mildness, her sweet voice, and gentle ways.
Finally all eyes turned to Colyne seated beside Bredach.
Bredach straightened expectantly but Colyne seemed at a loss, half smiling like the besotted fool he was.
The length of silence was growing awkward as Colyne looked round the room, seemingly trying to summon words.
He smiled suddenly and raised his cup. “To the most beautiful lass in England and Scotland!”
Isabella felt the blood drain from her face, and the company gave a cheer. Bredach pinkened with pleasure as Colyne toasted her and drank deeply of his cup.
The cheerful faces, the warmth and merriment of the company, froze and the colors suddenly drained away to nothing—
They were inside now. Hold the door! The queen fell against her. She knew him! His hair glowed like fire. Pain exploded in her chest as he plunged the knife down.
No, no!
“Poppet?”
Isabella felt a fine line of perspiration break over her forehead and upper lip as the hall snapped back to focus. She gripped the table and her eyes flickered about the room as she struggled to calm her breath.
None, save Katherine, noticed her distraction. Even Angus, likely the only one trusted to sit beside her, had not paused in his conversation to look her way.
“Poppet, are you all right?”
Isabella concentrated on Katherine’s face.
“I am faint. I must return to our room,” she whispered. “When think you I might slip away?”
Katherine looked about.
“After the marriage vows are spoken, they will serve the bean cake I expect,” she murmured. “By then, there will be a great movement about as the feast begins, and I think none shall mark if you are here or no.”
Isabella nodded, quickly taking a sip of her ale, her hand shaking.
Caitrina and Ihone again stood before the company, each wearing their best. Caitrina’s golden hair was glorious in the candlelight, her face alight with happiness, and Ihone’s adoring gaze never left her.
There was no nervousness, only the full glow of a happy pairing. They said the vows in turn before their many witnesses, binding them and the clans by ties of marriage and, in the coming years, ties of blood as well.
This time the kiss between them was not chaste and the company, Isabella included, gave a
cheer.
It was time. Isabella kept her hands clasped in her lap, willing herself to bear this.
Finally, when she heard nothing, she looked up only to see that the couples were again seated.
Her stomach churning, she looked to Angus beside her.
“Does your lord not marry tonight?”
Puzzled, Angus glanced at the table where Colyne and Bredach sat.
“Is he nae married already? Malcolm said as much.”
Of course, Isabella thought numbly. Public declaration was not required to make a marriage, only the vows. He could have made those vows days ago, either before his clansmen as witnesses or in the privacy of a curtained bed, and she would never have known.
Some of Bredach’s earlier words filtered back to her—and made her blush. How she had encouraged Isabella to think of their home as hers, how she said that they would celebrate Caitrina’s marriage and then caught herself to add in her own.
The pain of it was worse than Isabella could have imagined. She looked unseeing at the slice of the Twelfth Night cake served her. Eating the cake signaled the beginning of the feast; in a few moments she could slip away.
She would not have thought to ask if he were married, and none would think to tell her.
Isabella ate without tasting, her heart a dull hammering in her chest.
Could he not even have told me?
She bit into something hard, and startled, she automatically pulled it from her mouth. Had she been thinking clearly, she would have hidden it in her hand. She would have pleaded with Kat or Sir William to take her place. Instead, stupidly, she held it up to see what it was.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“Ach, ye have the bean!” Angus cried. “Lady Isabella is the Abbott of Unreason!”
Every eye turned to her and Isabella looked around at them in dismay as they cheered her.
Why had this happened to her, this year of all? To be served the slice of cake with the dried field bean and be declared Abbott of Unreason?
Angus was already urging her to her feet and pushing her toward the high table, where Colyne smiled broadly and relinquished his seat, offering it to her with a flourish. Mortified, Isabella sank into the chair—still warm from his body, his scent, so like sunshine in a field, still lingered—and found herself beside Bredach, who smiled and applauded her.
Another Man's Bride Page 19
