Voices quieted, and Gavin stepped forward. Sometimes it hurt Isabel just to gaze upon such masculine beauty. It caused stirrings within her that would be best left dormant.
“It’s no mystery, Your Majesty. The bishop had a word with me, and I had a word with the earl. It was he who had a change of heart, and you must ask him, if you wish to know why.”
Mary looked skeptical and stared at Gavin for so long, Isabel wondered if she would refuse the opportunity. He must have wondered too, because he said, “Madam, have you never heard the expression, ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’?”
“Ah, the given horse, n’est-ce pas? I should simply be grateful. And I am. Convey my thanks to Shrewsbury.” She turned her gaze on the others. “We shall be merry, eat our fill, and enjoy the dying days of autumn.”
“Oh, I do hope the day will be fine!” Alice said.
“It shall be,” Mary said. “I decree it!”
An evening of cards and a rare early bedtime revealed how eagerly they were all awaiting the day to come.
It rained in the morning, and Isabel assumed their outing would be postponed. But by ten o’clock, the shower had passed and the sun shone strong and bright. An air of anticipation prevailed, and along with it, high spirits. Isabel dressed carefully, after consulting with both Frances and Ann, in petticoats with a slashed skirt, and an emerald green bodice embroidered with gold threads. She walked with the queen and her entourage to the stables, where they were to meet the men.
“Are we walking to the river?” Isabel asked.
“Non, ma cherie, we shall ride.” Mary smiled. “We could walk, but then we would have less time to enjoy ourselves.”
Isabel sighed. “I do not ride, Your Majesty. I shall go on foot and meet you by the river.” This was the cause of much laughter among the other ladies.
With ridicule dripping from her voice, Cecily said, “Aye, we shall see you approaching as we are leaving. That is how long it will take you to walk.”
“Do not be ridiculous, Bel. You shall ride with one of the men,” Mary said.
Isabel felt her face growing hot, but nodded. She hoped it would be Gavin, but he was intent upon the queen as they approached. He helped Mary to mount, then directed guards to position themselves so there were two at the head of her horse and two at the rear. Gavin and Philip Blake climbed onto their mounts and moved to either side, at a slight remove from the others.
Gavin paid Isabel absolutely no attention. She may as well have been a tree. Or a rock.
The other ladies mounted with the assistance of grooms, while Isabel waited for somebody to notice her. Lady Shrewsbury clucked her disapproval. “We must see to riding instruction for you, Isabel,” she said in an annoyed tone. “How your parents could have been so neglectful of your education in womanly pastimes I cannot fathom.”
“Mistress,” a small voice said, and Bel turned to see who it was. A young, ginger-haired boy, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, stood there holding the reins of an ancient-looking horse. Isabel could hear the others sniggering, and she wanted more than anything to simply turn around and walk back to the lodging. But that would make her seem an even bigger fool.
“Is this horse for me?” she said to the boy.
“Aye, mistress. I’ll help you up.”
The animal was so short, Isabel feared her feet would touch the ground. Once she was seated, the boy told her to hook her right knee over the pommel. It felt awkward, but she did it. Then he adjusted the stirrup for her left foot. “I’ll lead the horse for you, mistress. Her name’s Birdy. She’s a sweet lass.” At that, the women burst into full-fledged laughter. The men were talking to Mary, and to each other, possibly planning a strategy for protecting the queen if it should come to that, and Isabel didn’t think they were paying her any mind.
She looked at the boy. “Very good. Excellent. And what is your name, if I may ask?”
“Arthur, ma’am.”
“I’m ready, Arthur.”
Lady Shrewsbury signaled, and they set off. In addition to the men surrounding Mary, there were guards at the front and rear of their party. Isabel wasn’t sure what they feared, but they certainly seemed prepared for the worst. Some of the guards carried lances. All the men wore rapiers, and no doubt had daggers concealed somewhere on their person.
The ladies soon lost interest in Bel, and although she still clung tightly to the pommel, she began to relax and appreciate her surroundings. Trailing after Arthur, Birdy proved sweet and docile. Heading north, they kept to a trail that led downhill in a meandering fashion, and before too long, Isabel heard the water gurgling in the river. Soon they crossed a stone bridge, the horses’ hooves clattering loud enough to scare pheasant and grouse from their hiding places.
“Why are we crossing to the other side of the river?” Isabel asked.
“You’ll see,” Arthur said. And indeed, she did. On the Tutbury side, the riverbanks were steep, but on the opposite side, the terrain sloped gently downward. There was a wider expanse of grass, which meant more room for them to spread out. And for their horses to graze. Arthur helped Isabel dismount. The ground seemed to sway beneath her at first, but after a few steps, she felt steadier.
Servants were spreading coverlets out on the grass and unloading food and drink. The ladies stood in a circle chattering, but Isabel didn’t bother to join them. Instead, she began walking south, following the flow of the river, breathing in the fresh, crisp air. Guards were posted on both sides of the river. They moved back and forth, turning in slow circles, surveying the landscape. Before long, she heard someone calling her name and swiveled around. Arthur was running toward her.
“Mistress, they want you to come back. There’s going to be games and such.”
Oh, perfect. Another means of humiliation.
“I’ll be there in a moment, Arthur, thank you.”
“Bel!” Mary said as Isabel approached. “The men are running foot races. You don’t want to miss the competition, do you?” Bel sighed in relief—nothing would be required of her except to watch.
Sure enough, some of the men were marking starting and finishing lines with fallen branches, while the others waited. Gavin and Blake walked along the course, picking up and tossing aside anything that might trip up one of the runners. When they finished, they walked over to the ladies. “We need prizes for the winners,” Philip said.
“What do you suggest?” Mary asked.
“A kiss from the lady of your choice, Your Majesty,” Gavin said. The women tittered. Isabel rolled her eyes.
“What do you think, ladies? Shall we allow this?”
They all squealed in delight, except for Isabel. Really, she would much prefer exploring her surroundings than standing around watching overgrown boys display their physical prowess. The men began shedding their doublets, and she revised her opinion. Perhaps this would be more enjoyable than a walk after all. Isabel followed the other women, who were gathering along the course.
Arthur served as the starter. In the first race, several of the guards and sentries and Philip Blake competed. Isabel was surprised to see that being fleet of foot wasn’t the only skill needed. The men shoved, tripped, and grabbed each other—anything to gain an advantage—and the women laughed and cheered them on. Philip eked out a win despite all the trickery. As was to be expected, he requested a kiss from Mary, and she obliged him with a chaste peck on the cheek. He smiled, bowed, and walked back to the men.
The next group lined up, Gavin among them. Isabel couldn’t take her eyes off him, and she cheered loudly. Embarrassed, she checked herself. She did not want to be subjected to more teasing. Halfway down the course, one of the other men tripped Gavin, and he fell, sprawling headlong. In the blink of an eye, he picked himself up and flew toward the finish line, passing several other runners. When Gavin drew close to the one who had tripped him, he grabbed the man’s shirt and yanked. It was enough for Gavin to win.
Isabel watched as Gavin made himself presentab
le for his kiss. He smoothed his shirt, wiped his brow, and ran a hand through his hair. Then he walked toward them. He was looking right at Isabel and seemed to be heading directly for her. She could barely breathe. Would he kiss her in front of all these people? Oh, how she wished he would!
At the last moment, he veered off toward Cecily, and Isabel’s heart plunged.
“Mistress, a kiss, pray.” But in contrast to the innocent kiss Philip had bestowed upon the queen, Gavin pulled Cecily toward him, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her on the lips. Her friends laughed and applauded, as did the men who were watching.
Isabel was crushed.
In truth, there was no justification for feeling hurt. Gavin never flirted with her, as he did with the others. He kept her at arm’s length during their evening entertainments. It was only when they were alone that he seemed to open up to her. But the way he’d kissed Cecily, her nemesis, wounded her nonetheless. So ardently, as though he savored it. Well. Most likely, he did. When he’d kissed Isabel, it had only been to distract the sentries.
The races continued, and when Philip won a second time, he claimed his prize from Isabel. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then whispered, “I’ve been waiting to do that.” She was taken aback. A little thrill raced through her. He was a handsome, dashing man, and he’d been hoping to kiss her, Isabel Tait. That made her smile, even though she wished it had been Gavin doing the kissing.
Finally, Mary called a halt. “Enough! It is time to eat. Come, let us sit, and enjoy our repast.”
Isabel watched Gavin disappear down the riverbank. In the middle of filling a plate for Mary, she heard the others jeering and whistling. Bel looked up to see Gavin wading into the water. He’d removed his boots and rolled up his hose. Stooping down, he splashed water on his face and under his shirt, which was now soaking wet and clinging to his body like a second skin. Whistles, taunts, and gibes rang out from the men and some of the women, but he ignored them. He disappeared again, finally emerging at the top of the bank, fully dressed and grinning.
“Quite a show, Cade,” Philip shouted.
“At least I won’t stink, like the rest of you,” Gavin said, shrugging. The others laughed good-naturedly.
Isabel, mesmerized, was still staring at Gavin, clutching the plate she’d been preparing for the queen. He came to her and said, “May I join you, mistress?”
She nearly dropped the plate. “This is, erm, for the queen,” she said, tripping over her words.
“I’ll fill plates for us both, then,” he said.
“Aye. I’ll just give this one to Her Majesty.” She hurried over to the queen, worried she might ask Isabel to sit with her. But she was engrossed in conversation with Philip and accepted the plate without comment.
Gavin waved, and Isabel sat down beside him on one of the coverlets. He’d chosen a spot away from the others, for which she was grateful. He quickly sliced pieces of fowl and devoured them, then made short work of cheese and bread. “Your pardon,” he said around munching. “Running made me ravenous.”
Isabel laughed. “I imagine it would. Whereas I’ve done nothing more strenuous than stand and cheer.” She chewed on a slice of fowl, then tore off a piece of bread.
“You bestowed a few kisses, I noticed.”
“Aye, but not as energetically as you.”
“Ha. I probably should not have done that. Which was precisely why I did.”
Isabel gave her head a shake, not understanding.
“Never mind,” he said. Using a fork, Gavin dug into a salad of lettuces and citrus. He devoured his food with such gusto, she could satisfy her own appetite by merely watching.
He set aside his plate and knife. “I’m going to refill my tankard. May I get you more ale, Bel?”
“Nay, I’m not yet finished with mine.” She watched him walk away, thinking once again how much pleasure she took in his body. If that made her no better than a doxy, so be it.
Chapter Eight
Before refilling his tankard, Gavin visually checked the guard positions. The first sentries had been relieved, and the replacements were all in position. More than once, locals had tried to capture Mary. One time near Carlisle. He wished now he’d asked Ryder about that. He and his father must have had a part in thwarting it.
He thought better of consuming more ale and instead made his way back to Isabel. When he reached her, he stretched out a hand. “Come. Let’s walk.” He wanted to make sure everything was as it should be. He had an uneasy feeling, based on nothing specific.
She grabbed hold of his hand and got to her feet. They set off walking along the river, and Gavin let his eyes roam the wooded slopes on either side. They would provide excellent cover for a band of determined men.
Isabel, picking up on his uneasiness, said, “Are you worried, Gavin?”
“It’s probably nothing. There have been several attempts to rescue Mary by local families of the old religion, so we must be watchful.”
“Hmm. Has the queen been involved with any of the perpetrators?”
He snorted. “Mary? No. She seeks help only from other monarchs.”
“You say that so scornfully,” Isabel said.
He glanced down at Bel, with her innocent eyes. “I’m only speaking the truth. A band of locals who have no clout with anyone would not benefit her. They might get her home to Scotland, but what good would that do? The factions there are warring with each other. If she fell into the wrong hands, it could be disastrous. They held her prisoner before, you know. George helped her escape and make her way to England.”
“George? The man who serves her here?”
“The very same.”
“And Elizabeth imprisoned her when she set foot on English soil.” Isabel began to say more, but hesitated.
“Go on,” Gavin said. “I’m listening.” Indeed, he very much would like to hear what lies Mary had been filling Isabel’s head with.
“Mary misses her son. I think she wants nothing more than to be reunited with him.”
“Is that so?”
Isabel did not register the sarcasm. “She showed me a miniature of him. She has not seen him for so long.”
She brought that on herself.
How could he draw Isabel out? In her short time here, she’d become Mary’s confidant and may have valuable information. Not that she would recognize it as such. He needed to appear sympathetic. “I can understand why she dislikes living here, separated from her son, and from her people as well.”
“She hasn’t mentioned that specifically.”
“Ah.” Because she doesn’t give a damn about the Scottish people.
“Mary seems a bit obsessed with her health, as you know,” she continued. “She blames her complaints on the foul air.” Isabel chuckled. “It does smell disgusting around the castle grounds at times, but in my opinion, her ill health is due more to her imprisonment than anything else. Even though she’s surrounded by people, she’s lonely. And melancholy.”
Gavin was taken aback that Isabel understood this, since she’d had so little time to assess Mary’s situation. She made the same point as Lesley. Nevertheless, most of Mary’s troubles were self-inflicted. As the Scots queen, she had dived helter-skelter into one crazy scheme after another. From one man’s bed to the next. Usually without weighing the consequences to herself or her son.
He gazed down at Isabel, who was speaking again and tugging on his sleeve. “Are you listening, Gavin?”
“Of course.” He captured her hand and looped it through his arm.
“She told me about her marriages, how she’d been widowed twice. The tragedy with Lord Darnley. You must admit, her life has been quite sad.”
“What did she say of Darnley?”
“That he was killed in an explosion. She loved him, Gavin. She wanted to be there with him, but her advisors forbade it, thank heaven.”
Probably because he had the pox. They did not want to risk him passing it to her. Gavin believed Mary hadn’t wanted to be
anywhere near Darnley at that point because she’d been conspiring to murder him.
But he couldn’t say that to Isabel. “Did she tell you about Bothwell?”
“A bit. She said she was forced into a marriage with him very soon after Darnley died.”
He would not fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle, because it was not likely Isabel would believe him. That Darnley hadn’t been killed in the explosion, but had been strangled. That Mary had been heavy with Bothwell’s child—rumored twins—at the time of her marriage to him. If he mentioned the queen’s failings, Bel would defend Mary and likely become Gavin’s adversary. He did not want that, for any number of reasons. Not the least of which was how much he enjoyed her company. He steered them into a stand of oak and ash. He wanted to caution Isabel not to believe everything Mary said, but he needed to be tactful about it.
He stopped walking and gently turned her to face him. Isabel gazed at him, her look suspicious. “I am glad you have found a friend in Mary, and she in you. Only, based on her history, be aware she’s known to play fast and loose with the truth at times.”
“About what?”
“Her husbands, for one.”
“Are you saying—”
“I am not saying anything in particular. It is a caution, that is all. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
She studied him, her unusual amber eyes intent upon him, and her gaze softened. He cupped one side of her face with his hand. It fit perfectly into his palm. Her skin was silken. Soft and lush. “Has a man kissed you, Isabel? Before me?”
He could feel her trembling slightly. “Never, sir.”
“Then let’s try it again. This time not as a ruse.”
Her sweetly feminine scent was intoxicating, her mouth lush and inviting. Slowly, Gavin lowered his head and gently brushed her lips with his own. He’d barely gotten started when he heard a disturbance. Shouts. Horses. Screams. Jesu, and here he was, attempting to steal a kiss from Isabel, and about as far as he could be from the queen.
Game of Spies Page 7
