The Maiden's Abduction

by Juliet Landon

  your resentment while a bunch of goggle-eyed lads get to look at your

  body? Is that how love goes nowadays? Does he have to give you the

  moon before you show him some affection, or have your attractions gone

  to your head of a sudden? Well, you've indulged your pride and look

  where it's got you. Nowhere! " Cecily hustled about, red-faced and

  bursting with indignation.

  "If I'd been him I'd have dropped you in the canal to cool you off,

  young lady. Instead of that, he's too much of a gentleman and probably

  too confused even to remonstrate with you.

  And I'm not surprised. He's not the only one who's confused. " She

  stamped out, slamming the door and too far into her tirade to notice

  the tears that coursed down Isolde's cheeks.

  Shaking, and almost blinded, Isolde sat with the little hound on her

  lap while it licked obligingly at the warm, salty drops. She thought

  of her maid's description of Silas and how he must be as confused as

  her to see the one he called his woman exposed to the stares of

  strangers when she had shied away from his lightest touch, even while

  she burned for it. Did either of them have any idea how much that

  statement of independence had cost her?

  Crossing to her writing-box, she lifted the lid and paper to remove the

  pendant he had given her, clasping it with some difficulty around her

  neck and arranging the largest pearl to lie in the cleft that she knew

  had held his attention that morning. Then, carrying the Little Thing

  under one arm, she tiptoed out of the room, closing the door quietly

  behind her and entering Silas's room as softly as she had done

  before.

  The white bed-curtains moved in the breeze from the window and the

  reflection of ripples danced across the oak-beamed ceiling and down one

  wall. A deep mustard-and-blue silk carpet covered with intricate

  patterns hung on one side, matching in colour the beautiful blond fur

  rug over the bed. There was a stool with carved sides, a deep chest, a

  small table with rolls of parchment and a silver sconce of great

  ingenuity that held at least eight candles.

  As she had done on that previous occasion, she drew one of his white

  pillows to her face and, placing the little hound on the fur, inhaled

  its scent. Her nose was useless and tears still pricked at her eyes,

  so she lay with the pillow in her arms and her new pet in the bend of

  her lap, knowing that Silas would now have returned to Goldenhand

  Street. Then she slept.

  She came awake slowly as the ground beneath her began to give way; the

  sky darkened with threatening clouds and a chill wind cooled her

  body.

  Silas's large frame leaned above her, carefully drawing away the pillow

  and scooping the Little Thing on to the floor. His fist beside her

  shoulder bore his weight as he lowered himself to sit by her, regarding

  her with serious dark eyes that, in shadow, she could not read. His

  voice, however, was softly teasing, deep and dark like the river pools

  she had just been visiting.

  "So, you've come to me at last, have you, maid?"

  "Silas," she whispered. Her arms came up to reach for him as they had

  never done before, though yesterday they had come close and, as if he

  knew the significance of that simple act he slid his arms beneath her

  and pulled her across his lap, meeting her mouth with his and slaking a

  thirst that had grown more intense with each passing night.

  Tears welled up again.

  "I'm sorry, beloved. I let you down."

  "You've been weeping? There's no cause to weep, sweetheart."

  "I was so glad to see you." She tasted his skin, took his ear and hair

  between her lips, breathing him in in deep lungfuls. But he caught

  them before they could stray further and kept them prisoner until he

  had taken his fill again, swinging her across the bed so that he could

  pull her under him as they had been on his narrow cabin bed. His

  fingers on her throat found the pearl pendant.

  "You said to bring it back." She smiled.

  "Wilful little baggage. But I have your measure now, my lass."

  "And how much longer could you have waited, sir?"

  "Oh, I could easily have waited two more seconds."

  She smiled.

  "Yet you returned to Goldenhand Street?"

  "No, I didn't. I've been here all the time. Popped in here a couple

  of times to watch you as you slept."

  "Truly?"

  "Truly. You'd better start believing what I say. Why did you go to

  Hugo's? Simply to thwart me?"

  "Yes. It was stupid of me. I wish I hadn't Cecily was furious. If

  I'd known..." She turned her head away, recalling the scene and her

  acute discomfort.

  "If I'd known what I was going to see, I'd have arrived sooner."

  "Those women, you mean?"

  "No, maid. You."

  "Oh." She placed her hand over his mouth but he held it away and,

  lowering his head to her throat, teased the soft skin with his lips and

  tongue over the pale triangle made by her gown, deep into the place

  where her chemise called a halt. He had ventured so far only once

  before, when she had protested violently, hanging on to her virginity

  for dear life. But here, on this bed, it seemed only natural that he

  should taste what he had gazed upon with such obvious hunger.

  He reached her lips again and she felt the full weight of his body as

  he rolled her sideways, cradling her against his chest and rocking her,

  gently.

  "Nice," he murmured against her mouth.

  "I've hung pearls on it, seen it, tasted it. Now, am I allowed to hold

  it?" His lips kept hers well occupied while his hand searched the soft

  fabric of her bodice and, taking advantage of her raised arm that lay

  upon his shoulder,

  caressed in practised sweeps that quivered something low down within

  her. Then, giving her no time to consider, he held her arm away behind

  her back, slipping the gown off her shoulder as Hugo had done but this

  time releasing the full roundness of one beautiful breast to his

  waiting hand. He held it, tenderly, looking into her half-closed eyes

  for some reaction.

  "Well?" he whispered.

  "You're not going to fight me off, maid?"

  She made a sound in her throat that began as a word and ended as a

  sigh, and he knew that she could not answer him.

  "I want no one to see this other than me," he said.

  "This belongs to me. So, are we agreed on that now? At last?"

  She understood what he was asking of her. He had already said that she

  was his property, to her and to Bard, but lacking her agreement his

  assertions had had a one-sided ness that she knew would not satisfy him

  permanently. Her own attempts at independence had not been exactly

  successful, nor had they been aided by her bodily need of him, which

  now burned beyond her control. Was it time for her to yield, to give

  as well as to accept? She could not remain still under his searching

  hand.

  "Property?" she whispered.

  "Your woman, or your lady?"

  Refusing to compromise, his reply was prompt.

  "All three. You are
a hostage; that makes you my property while I hold

  you. And while I guard you against other claims you are my woman. When

  you become my consort, to be with me wherever I need you, then you will

  be my lady.

  You are intelligent and courageous and very fair, and I want you by my

  side and in my bed, Isolde. I have never asked as much of any other

  woman, nor have I ever taken any other woman against her will. But I

  took you because it was a chance I could not miss, and now I need your

  agreement before I proceed any further. "

  "You took me so that you could revenge yourself on my father and so

  that you could upset Master Fryde, didn't you? Surely anything else

  takes second place to that?"

  His hand halted.

  "What makes you think I want to upset Master Fryde?"

  "I heard you and Bard talking out on the quay that evening."

  He watched her eyes in silence, then said, "What else?"

  "That Dame Elizabeth must not know I'd been staying with him at York.

  So I took care not to tell her. Why, Silas? What has he done? -' "We

  were talking about you, sweet maid. I'll tell you some time about the

  other matter, but don't think you can wriggle out of an answer by

  changing the subject. Well?"

  "As a hostage, I can understand being your property. Your woman, too,

  for that matter. But does a man like you take a lady to his bed and

  risk getting a child on her? And does an unmarried mother ever get the

  chance to marry decently after that? Or does she hide away in a

  convent, perhaps, and fade from memory? Yes, Silas Mariner, I am

  intelligent enough to have thought of that. I will be your woman and

  your lady because I

  cannot hold you off any longer; you must already know that. But I

  think I deserve some guarantee of a future, perhaps when all this

  bargaining is over and done with? " She saw that she had struck a note

  of conscience, and waited for an answer while he restored the shoulder

  of her gown to its former position, arranging the neckline with careful

  fingers.

  "While you are a hostage, sweetheart," he said, rolling her back into

  his arms, 'the position will be unpredictable, for your father could

  release Felicia at any time and oblige me to release you in turn. I

  would have to comply with that because that's what I've agreed to do,

  though if you were to tell him that you prefer to stay with me, then

  that would change things. That would be something you, as a dutiful

  daughter, would have to agree with your father. He might forbid it.

  "

  "But what about...?"

  "Yes, I'm coming to that. I'm asking you to become my mistress because

  that's the most dignified position I can offer you until the problem of

  ownership is settled. There's nothing shameful about being a man's

  mistress. Married, you cease to belong in law to your father, and then

  I lose my bargaining power, and that's not the object of the

  exercise.

  The idea is to take something he holds dear and keep it until he

  returns what he holds of mine.

  "If you should have a child, sweetheart, that child will belong to

  me.

  It will be a La Vallon and your father may not have it, not for

  Felicia's exchange nor for anything else. "

  "You believe he'd want it?"

  "Feather-headed woman!" He kissed her nose.

  "Of course he'd want it.

  His first and only grandson? A young La Vallon being brought up in his

  household? Think how that'd rile my father, especially as it would be

  his only grandchild, too, by me, his eldest son. But it would not come

  to that. Any child I get on you belongs to me, and I should not return

  you then, Isolde. You'd have to stay, like it or not, and Felicia's

  freedom will be out of the question. "

  "So your bargaining power, as you call it, would be my child."

  "My child. Ours."

  "And I'd still be your mistress."

  "Mistress, wife, whatever you choose. You too become my property then,

  for all time."

  "And you are proposing that I enter into that kind of agreement,

  knowing that such events might follow?" She did her best to keep her

  voice even.

  "Yes. Is it such a risk?"

  "Yes, sir. It's a very great risk. It's risking Felicia's happiness

  as well as mine. But what's the alternative, if I don't like the idea

  of becoming your mistress?"

  "I thought we'd agreed on that, more or less."

  "Did I? I didn't know I had."

  "Well, you agreed to be my woman and my lady. That's as near as

  dammit."

  "Mmm..."

  Silence.

  "Well, maid?" He took her chin and tilted it towards him.

  "You said you'd not force me. You said it on the ship, remember?"

  "Yes, I remember. You're afraid I might rush you?"

  "I'm not afraid."

  "Yes, you are. Courageous in most things, but not in this."

  Another silence.

  "How many women have you had?"

  "God in heaven! You want me to list them?"

  She snorted.

  "No, thank you. If it's that many, you must know your way about."

  His chest heaved, and he rolled on top of her, kissing her neck.

  "You want me to give you a demonstration before you decide? Is that

  it?"

  She caught his hand just before it reached her knee.

  "No, I do not!"

  She squirmed, but he held her still.

  "Silas, what you're proposing is... look, let me go home now. This has

  gone on long enough."

  "No, it hasn't started yet. Now, are you going to accept or not?"

  "Silas..."

  "No. Listen, sweetheart. Listen to me." He caught her again as she

  swerved.

  "Any day now they'll be coming."

  "Who'll be coming?"

  "Your father's deputies. Fryde's men. One after the other they'll

  come to threaten, bargain, try to steal you, perhaps. I can keep you

  much safer if we're of one mind on this, and if you trust me. We don't

  have to be enemies, Isolde."

  "I'm not your enemy, Silas La Vallon. You know that I'm not that. But

  I cannot approve of your methods."

  "I'm not asking for your approval, but for your acceptance and trust.

  This is life, Isolde. Such things happen. It's unfortunate when women

  are caught up in their families' feuds, but at least you're safe with

  me. You know I'll protect you. "

  She put up a hand to caress his face, unable to resist the persuasion

  in his deep, husky voice.

  "Yes, I do know. I told my father so in my letter. Indeed, I may

  already have given him the impression that I'm not as unhappy as I'm

  supposed to be."

  "You didn't tell him that I beat you daily?"

  "No." She smiled, just before he kissed her.

  "I'll try not to let you down again, truly, I'll try not to embarrass

  you. Only... I think you may be disappointed in... in..."

  He smiled at what she could not say.

  "In you? In your lovemaking? Nay, that's the very last thing that

  concerns me, my lovely mistress," he said, noting the flush that rose

  at his use of the new title. He placed a warm hand over her neck,

  swee
ping it over her breasts and waist, sending a tremor into her

  thighs.

  "I shall not be disappointed.

  We'll take it slowly, eh? No hurry. " His kiss was tender and, when

  he lifted his head, she saw the softened expression of satisfaction in

  his eyes. His hair fell in silken swathes that he swept back with his

  fingers, and the cleft in his chin barely responded to the inquisitive

  pressure of her forefinger.

  "What's that for?" she whispered.

  "To keep your attention, maid."

  "It doesn't work then, does it? What time is it?"

  "Suppertime. Can't you smell it?"

  "My nose isn't working too well, either."

  "Then take my word for it. My brother will be home soon, and he's

  bringing Paulus Matteus with him for the meal. He wants to meet

  you."

  "God's truth!" She pushed away from him, tangling in her skirts as she

  pushed a way off the bed.

  "What are we doing here like this when we have guests for supper? Why