The Maiden's Abduction

by Juliet Landon

  didn't you wake me?"

  "I did," he said, adding in an undertone, "I think." The well-timed

  agreement gave Isolde a new framework upon which to build her tangled

  emotions. Never one to do things by halves, she accepted the role as

  mistress of the house as the occasion demanded, it being akin to the

  one she had just vacated at home and therefore not new in that sense.

  What was different was the confidence that cocooned her like a

  luxurious garment worn with more pride than ostentation, the former

  sinfully permeating every pore at Silas's bellow of laughter as he led

  his guests from the table to a shady corner in the garden. He had

  changed at the speed of light into a chestnut-brown brocade patterned

  doublet with gold tracery around each motif and this, with the frill of

  white at his neck, accentuated his dark good looks as no vibrant colour

  could have done. He was every inch the sober but affluent merchant.

  She had only to look at him to feel her knees turn to water, and to

  pity the diamond merchant who had wanted him as his son-in-law.

  She understood, as soon as they met Paulus Matteus at the water gate,

  the reason for his choice of Silas, for the two men were compatible in

  everything but age and, possibly experience.

  Myneheere Matteus was older than Isolde had expected, which put into

  perspective the resentment of his beautiful daughter when her father

  had not been able to secure for her what she had badly wanted. In his

  youth, he would have been handsome and bold of feature, though now his

  chins were multiple and his heavily lidded and lined eyes were dark

  with the softness of indulgent fatherhood. Beneath the upturned

  flowerpot of dark red felt, his grey hair was at odds with the

  beetle-black eyebrows which looked to Isolde as if they'd been stuck on

  in a hurry. But he was gracious, having nothing of his daughter's

  shrewishness, and his acceptance of Isolde as Silas's mistress was

  respectful, courteous, even fatherly.

  Isolde was particularly interested to see whether the merchant's

  approval of Bard La Vallon was also -genuine, but found nothing to

  suggest that Bard had spoilt his chances in any way. He was, in fact,

  more subdued and rational in his contribution to the conversation than

  Isolde had ever seen him, and it was obvious to her that he was taking

  the acquaintance seriously.

  It was for selfish reasons to do with his own future, however, that

  Bard was anxious to prevent Paulus Matteus from discovering about

  Silas's abduction of Isolde or about their feuding families, for the

  sudden possibility of a close relationship with the diamond merchant

  had caused him to revise his earlier plan to discredit his brother in

  revenge for his own loss of Isolde.

  The indulgent father must hear no scandal about either of them now, and

  Bard wished that he had kept Ann- Marie as innocent of the situation as

  she had been before. Moreover, he knew that Paulus Matteus was far too

  well-mannered to make any enquiries about how Isolde came to be Silas's

  mistress instead of his wife. He need not have been concerned; Isolde

  wielded the facts like a juggler, leaving both brothers breathless.

  To Isolde, Paulus Matteus was making a reply.

  "No, mistress. Alas, I was widowed two years ago."

  "I am sorry for that, sir, but you have a lovely daughter and

  connections with the Duchess's court. Her eventual marriage will be a

  credit to you, I'm sure."

  He smiled without showing his teeth.

  "Yes, though she liked the idea of marrying your Silas at one time, you

  know. Did the rogue tell you that?"

  "No, did she really?"

  "But Silas is constantly on the move and I'd have been sad for her to

  live so far from home. Your families... they know each other in

  Yorkshire?"

  "Oh, yes, indeed. They've been acquainted since they were born,

  almost. My father had someone else in mind for me, but Silas had other

  ideas." She shot a sly glance at Silas whose eyes widened

  fractionally. She could see Bard turning an apricot over and over as

  if deciding what to do with it.

  "I suppose one might also say it was..."

  "Well, you know, that's what happened to my late wife and I. Her

  parents had other ideas, too. They didn't want a merchant's assistant

  for their daughter, so I abducted her. Not against her will, I might

  add."

  "You mean it, sir?" Isolde stared.

  Silas and Bard blinked.

  Matteus crossed his gown-clad legs and chuckled at the memory.

  "Yes, I did. Ran off with her to Antwerp to live with my employer and

  that's how we started our life together. Of course her father came

  chasing after us but there was nothing he could do about it. Lost four

  infants, then came Ann-Marie. Then her father relented and we got

  married. In that order. Unconventional, but that was the way of it.

  We didn't do too badly, after all." He grinned again, lifting his chin

  to fondle the jowls beneath.

  Isolde placed a hand lightly upon the merchant's arm.

  "Excellent," she said.

  "Now we only have to wait. So, the only difference between our

  situations, then, is that I was abducted unwillingly, kicking and

  screaming all the way across the North Sea." Merrily, her laugh made

  nonsense of the scene.

  Matteus's large hand covered hers on his arm.

  "Hah! Is that so, mistress? Does she tell the truth. Mistress

  Cecily?" He turned to Cecily, laughing, but Silas intercepted the

  reply.

  "Mistress Cecily remembers only the first and last days of the voyage,

  sir. Everything else was a blank. But I can tell you there was no

  kicking or screaming. Mind you..." He began a mock search of his

  arms.

  Matteus noted Bard's polite smile.

  "And you were sent to bring them both to their senses, were you, young

  man?"

  "Something like that, sir. I think Isolde's father sadly overestimates

  my influence over either of them."

  "A token, lad," Matteus said, kindly.

  "A token gesture. Parents have to do it to prove that they've tried.

  I'll find you a place in my office. See if you like the business, eh?

  Ann-Marie has taken a liking to you and she's got a good eye, my

  daughter has. A good eye."

  With fortune hammering at his door. Bard could not maintain his

  vexation with Isolde after the cordial supper at which some of the

  crooked facts had straightened themselves out most satisfactorily.

  Even so, he felt it would have been easier if she had told him how it

  was in the first place, without all that maidenly coyness. He took

  advantage of Silas's last private words with his guest.

  "A most accomplished performance, Isolde. May I call you " sister"

  now?

  Pity you could not have made the same effort to convince me, too. It

  would have saved me some embarrassment, wouldn't it? "

  "You mean you'd have left the kitchen lass alone?"

  "Oh, for pity's sake! Kitchen maids are fair game for anyone, and she

  wasn't exactly unwilling. You know what I'm talking about. I even

  asked
you point blank, but you skirted the question time and again

  until I'd made a fool of myself. Did that give you some pleasure?"

  "No, Bard. Forgive me. I should have made it quite clear to you how

  things were but... well... you see, the situation is new to me, too.

  And I still find it difficult to see myself as your brother's mistress

  when I disliked him so at first. Don't take it too hard, please.

  These are not exactly the most normal of circumstances, are they? And

  you'll do better with a Matteus than you would with a Medwin. Think of

  all those diamonds. " She watched the lift of his eyebrows.

  "I would have liked a Medwin, Isolde, but perhaps I'm too greedy.

  Ann-Marie told me that Silas relies on her father for trade, but he

  doesn't, does he? "

  "Oh, dear. She told you that? The minx. No, it's nowhere near the

  truth. And did you tell her a few of your... er... exaggerations?"

  "Well, yes and no. I told her what I believed at the time."

  "Which was?" Isolde's heart sank.

  "That you couldn't stand the sight of Silas."

  "And?"

  "That you were in love with me."

  "Desperately, of course."

  "Yes, of course desperately. You see, you should have said."

  "So it looks as if you're going to have to explain to her that things

  have moved on."

  "You couldn't pretend...?"

  "No, dear Bard." She hung a brace of cherries over his protruding

  ear.

  "If you think I can pretend to loathe Silas whenever she's around,

  forget it. Life's difficult enough as it is. Go back to her and

  explain my fickle nature. She'll believe it. Then sweet-talk her as

  you used to do with me."

  "You remember?"

  "Of course I remember. How could I not? But for you I'd not be

  here.

  Nor would you. "

  "That's true. But what makes you think she'll believe you to be

  fickle? You are friends, are you not?"

  Isolde could afford to be generous. She could also imagine quite

  clearly how sick she would feel if Silas were to reject her in favour

  of another woman.

  "Yes, love. We are friends. I'd even go so far as to tell her of your

  worthiness, in case she's missed anything."

  "Heavens, lass. She saw me for scarce an hour, but she makes up her

  mind faster than any woman I've ever met." He removed the cherries and

  ate them with some complacency.

  "A good eye, has Ann-Marie," Isolde whispered, her eyes glinting,

  understanding only too well the other woman's line of reasoning.

  "Ah, Myneheere Matteus. You must go already?"

  "Alas, lady, it's going to be a race against the curfew, as it is. I

  don't want to be dragged before the burgomaster in the morning to

  explain myself. I've just been reminding Silas of the pageant on

  Saturday and Sunday. I'd like you to be my guests, watch the

  preparations from the burgomaster's house."

  "The same one you'd rather not be dragged before?"

  "The very same. Mistress Isolde," he beamed.

  But for the approaching hour of curfew, Isolde would have persuaded him

  to stay longer, if only to delay the time when her last obstacle would

  yield, an event which Silas believed she feared and which Bard believed

  had already happened, while Cecily believed she should have been less

  precious about it from the start. She herself believed that the fear

  he suspected was more a natural reticence to yield her last possession

  to a La Vallon, of all people.

  The curfew bell had long since died away with the last lingering light

  when, through her pillow, Isolde heard the sound of Silas's door

  closing. With a sigh, she turned over, sliding a hand over her breast

  as he had done and nothing that the gesture lacked the assurance of

  his, for it did nothing to remind her of the strange ache she had felt

  then. She was half asleep when his hand returned to brush lightly over

  the sheet and then, as she half-turned towards him, to slip searchingly

  on to the bare warmth of her waist and rest in its valley.

  "I thought you'd forgotten," she said, sleepily.

  "Forgotten this?" he said quietly, his deep voice rumbling against her

  ear. His hand moved upwards over her breast, neck and face, deep into

  her hair.

  "Nay, lass. This is something no one could forget." His hand delved

  into the loose tangle of her curls, cupping her head in his palm and

  lifting it to meet his own so that, even if she'd been so minded, she

  could not have evaded the path of his lips that followed her throat

  down to where his hand had been a few moments before.

  "Nectar," he whispered into the soft mound of her stomach.

  "Thou art like honey, Isolde. Like a ripe luscious plum filled with

  sweetness. Will you give yourself to me? Can I have you now? All of

  you?" As he spoke, his hand slid softly into the cleft between her

  thighs, changing the word on her lips into a gasp.

  "Link your arms around my neck. Hold on." She was lifted high up into

  the darkness against his naked chest and carried along the passageway

  to his cool room where the bed, scented with lavender, was peeled back

  in readiness for them.

  "We don't want Mistress Cecily charging in thinking you're having

  nightmares," he growled, laying her down.

  "And, talking of intruders, look who's come to join us." A fragile

  body leapt on to the sheet beside her but was scooped up and deposited

  on the rush matting.

  "Thank you. Little Thing, but she won't need your assistance. Stay

  there and dream of big gaze hounds

  They lay as they had done on the ship that had brought them here,

  almost able to experience again the rocking and the rhythmic whoosh of

  the sea as it speeded past, and Isolde was content to succumb to the

  slow caress of his hands, which now had licence to roam without

  hindrance. In a blissful state of surrender, she absorbed the

  wholeness of him along her body, exploring the taut muscles, the swell

  of his shoulders and thighs, the startling hardness of his arms and

  back which previously she had only guessed at. She listened, smiling,

  to his soft-spoken praises of her first evening as his lady, to his

  pride in her elegance and wit, her adroit handling of the merchant's

  story, her exquisite social graces. Quite a step, he teased her, from

  their first tempestuous meeting.

  She whispered into his neck, feeling the dense forest of hair above her

  nose.

  "I hated you on sight. You didn't want me there, did you?"

  "I wanted you here, maid, like this. From that moment I wanted you in

  my bed here, under me. You knew it at the table, didn't you?" He

  pulled her under him with a hand beneath her hips, and for a brief

  moment let her feel the full weight of him on her body and the

  sensation of his skin almost enclosing her.

  "You did well to fight me off, sweet maid, but now the time of

  reckoning has come. I'll take no more delays."

  "Silas... you know... ?"

  "Shh, of course I know. It's all right. We'll go slowly... slowly...

  like this." Matching his hands and lips to his words, he gently coaxed

  her
body's responses as if by magic, stroking and fondling in leisurely

  forays over surfaces which, until now, she had thought of as only

  functional, never as a source of delight or pleasure. Seduced by his

  lingering touch, she allowed herself to be rolled on to her stomach to

  expose her back to the caress of his lips on her neck and shoulders

  while his hands explored as if to make good the times she had held him

  away. When she could bear the suspense no longer, she swung round to

  reach for his hand, taking him by surprise.

  "Kiss me ... please ... kiss me again." Her plea was intercepted and,

  with every sense craving fulfilment, she came alive against his mouth,

  consumed by her own hunger. Pressing and lacing herself around him,

  she sought new experiences of her own devising without knowing how they

  would be received or how to restrain them, and it was almost with

  relief that her frenzy provoked Silas into taking control again,

  wrapping her in his arms and kissing her until she was breathless.

  Then, with masterly skill, he stoked the flames of her desire with the

  penetrating caress of his hand between her thighs that brought her to

  the very brink of rapture,

  until she felt helpless, like a boat adrift. She opened herself