He must have unassailable reasons for believing they may be in danger, but whatever those were, he was keeping them private.
The annoying reminder that she also had facts at her disposal which she hadn’t mentioned to Gavin hovered at the back of her mind. Mary had revealed things to her in confidence, and she could not breach that trust. Could she? Gavin would, in the blink of an eye, if it meant pursuing his agenda for the crown. To be fair, protecting the Scots queen seemed also to be a high priority for him.
Perhaps Isabel should speak to Mary about her concerns again. She would need to confess she’d overheard her conversation with Lesley, and Bel could not predict how the queen would react to that. But if Mary was being coerced into something she really did not wish to do…shouldn’t Bel urge her against it? When Bel had advised caution previously, however, it had not been well received by the queen. She’d become defensive, self-pitying, and ended up crying.
It was a conundrum not easily solved. Isabel would simply need to wait and see what the following days would bring. She could not credit that anything nefarious was in the works during Christmastide, however.
That evening after a meal featuring an elaborate Christmas pie—turkey stuffed with a goose stuffed with a chicken stuffed with a partridge stuffed with a pigeon—they gathered in the great hall and the cooks brought out the mince pies. Besides the usual members of Mary’s circle and their guests, neighbors had been invited to share the pies and the Wassail bowl. This merrymaking was a tradition Isabel’s family had never observed, and the number of people milling about was making her head spin. She glanced around for Gavin, but didn’t see him. He’d sat between the two female guests at dinner, Anne Ramsey and Jane Vere. Mistress Ramsey was somewhat silly, and Bel had heard her giggles pierce the undertone of conversation more than once. Jane Vere, on the contrary, was a quiet girl, not more than fourteen or fifteen. Isabel, to her dismay, was wedged between John Lesley and Alice’s husband, Henry. She marked him immediately as a rake. He looked at her with hungry, lust-filled eyes, and at one point, she’d had to remove his hand from her thigh. The only conversation he’d managed during the meal was, as he gestured toward a platter of roast capon, “Those thighs and breasts are quite plump, eh?” Said with a waggle of his bushy brows. Perhaps Alice’s liaisons were a bit more understandable now.
John Lesley, after a curt, “Mistress Tait,” said nothing else, but had spoken, in a voice too low to hear, only to Mary.
As Isabel wandered about the hall, she heard laughter break out whenever somebody was caught beneath one of the kissing boughs. Not paying attention, she was startled when a strong hand tugged on her arm and forcefully dragged her forward. At first she didn’t recognize the man. Reminded of her talk with Gavin, fear stabbed at her. But when Alice, Cecily, Dorothy, and Frances all popped up beside her, hooting with laughter, she guessed what was about to happen. Bel tried to free herself from the man’s grasp, but it was futile. Underneath a nearby kissing bough, Alfred, the guard she’d described earlier to her friends, kissed her soundly, in a much more familiar way than she could countenance. She tried to break free, pushing her hands into his brawny chest, but it was no use.
“Unhand her!” The hall suddenly hushed. She recognized that commanding voice. The burly guard, accustomed to following orders, complied immediately, and Gavin pulled her to his side. He was looking at the poor fellow with murder in his eyes, while off to the side, the ladies who’d orchestrated the whole thing tittered.
“It were just a prank, Master Cade,” he protested.
“Not a very funny one,” Gavin growled.
“Gavin, why don’t you kiss Isabel?” It was Cecily, of course. Cries of, “Kiss her, kiss her!” went up. Isabel had never seen him look so rattled. Instead of satisfying the playful goading of the merrymakers, Gavin grabbed her hand and led her away from the crowd.
“Not up to the challenge, eh, Cade?” That taunt came from Blake, but Gavin steadfastly ignored it, as well as others just like it.
“Where are we going?” Isabel asked as he resolutely pulled her along.
“Just away. Away from all these drunken louts.”
…
After a moment, they reached the passage, lit at intervals with rush lights. It was empty save for a few guards. Starved for fresh air, he sucked in deep breaths and hurried Isabel along toward his small private chamber.
She protested. “Gavin, no. We can’t be in here alone.”
“We can. We were alone when we left the hall. No doubt they’re all convinced we’re going someplace to kiss in private, since we refused to do so in public.”
“But still…”
He was losing patience. “Isabel, we were alone in your chamber last night, and you didn’t make a fuss about that. How is this different?”
“That was less conspicuous. Few took note of our leaving. Tonight, everybody did.”
Raking an impatient hand through his hair, he said, “If you are so concerned about the opinion of those people, most of whom aren’t worthy of your consideration, we shall leave the door open. Will that help?”
“Very well. I suppose nobody can impugn my virtue that way.”
“Pray, sit down.” He poured them each a glass of wine and joined her on the settle. Trying to marshal his thoughts, he sat silent for a moment. He had wanted to ask Isabel about her past. Find out what had caused her to believe men were nothing but weak-willed aggressors, and this was his opportunity. “When we first became acquainted, I told you I was a good listener. Will you do me the honor of telling me about your home and your family, Bel?”
Silence enveloped them while she considered his request. Her reluctance was unmistakable, yet he did not believe she would refuse. “My father died before I was born. I would give anything to have known him.”
Gavin squeezed her hand. “I am sorry you never had the chance.”
She shrugged, as though it hadn’t mattered. “It is not uncommon. Many people suffer the same loss. In my case, it was made worse by my mother’s second marriage to a despicable man.”
Isabel glanced over at him, as though waiting to see if she should continue. He nodded and said, “Go on.”
“My mother bore two sons with him, Thomas and Andrew. Although austere, my life was not that different from that of any other child of my class until my half brothers were old enough to have a tutor. I was six or seven by then, and they were a few years younger.”
An age-old story. A cruel tutor who did not hesitate to use the whip. “The man was cruel to you and your brothers.”
“No. Only to me.”
“And your mother and stepfather did not intervene?”
“The tutor was my stepfather, Nathaniel Hammond.”
“Oh, Isabel.” He tried to draw her into his arms, but she wouldn’t permit it.
Her voice trembling, she said, “Let me finish. It is not a pretty story, and ’tis best gotten over with quickly.”
She did allow him to hold her hand, clutching his as though he were her salvation. “When I first began my lessons, it was bearable, although if I erred with my letters or numbers, he punished me. But in those early days, it was standing in the corner, or making me sit facing the wall. I’d had the foolish notion I might help him with the boys, but when I suggested it—that was when he administered my first beating.”
Jaw clenched, Gavin said, “How old were you?”
“I can’t be certain. Those years have blurred together, but seven or eight, I think.” When he tried to ask another question, she protested. “No, don’t say anything, Gavin. I may not have the strength to continue if you interrupt.”
Feeling dread pool in his gut, he nodded.
“The real trouble began when he added Latin to our lessons.” She hesitated, looking bashfully up at him. “I was a quick study. I am not saying so to be prideful, but that is the truth of it. The boys were slower. They were both bright, especially Andrew, but I was older and adept at learning. Latin particularly appealed to me.
I loved the order of the language. The cases and declensions. My stepfather detested me for it, for catching on faster than his own sons. If one of the boys missed an answer, he would turn to me, and if I answered correctly, inevitably a punishment would follow. I caught on and began feigning wrong answers. But then he punished me for that, too.”
Isabel had been on the mark when she said this was not a pretty story. Hearing it was making him want to hit something. Someone. “What were the punishments?”
“He forced me to lift my skirts and whipped me about my ankles with a willow switch. Gradually, as I grew older, he made me lift my skirts higher and higher. I-I began to believe he took some perverted pleasure from it. From seeing my bare ankles and calves and causing me pain. I tried not to cry, because the lashing went on longer and harder if I did. I learned to hold it in. He made the boys watch. Once, when Andrew defended me and refused to watch, he received a sound beating. He did not protest again.” She laughed bitterly. “Thomas, by the look on his face, enjoyed the whippings as much as his father did. I have never liked him because of it.”
Gavin did not believe Isabel was aware of it, but tears were streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto her bodice. He fished for a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Your mother. Did you tell your mother?”
Isabel wiped away her tears and dabbed at her nose. “I was a little girl. Of course I did. I begged her to help me, to put a stop to it, but she always refused. She said I was a disobedient child and must learn to show proper respect to my stepfather and to God. To this day, she argues that my recalcitrance and defiance made her marriage difficult. That if her husband did not like me, I was to blame.”
“Come here, sweetheart.” Gavin hoped she would allow him to hold her. He wished he could take away the hurt she had suffered. She would carry the scars forever. Surprising him, Isabel hurled herself into his embrace and sobbed on his shoulder.
“I am sorry he’s dead. I would love to kill him,” he said, stroking her hair.
Between sobs she choked out, “After my stepfather died, my mother couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Within days of his death, she announced her plans to marry another man, my stepfather’s lawyer. And she instructed Thomas to find me a husband. That was why I was so happy to accept Lady Shrewsbury’s offer and why I cannot bear the thought of going back.”
Gavin patted her, shushed her, until gradually she quieted. He desperately wished to make the horrible memories fade, but felt powerless to do so. Isabel drew away from him, and reluctantly, he let her go.
“Are you close with your family?”
He chuckled. “Aye. I am my mother’s favorite. All my kinsmen, even Mother herself, say it’s true. We all work in the family business, which is provisioning military garrisons. There are plenty of those along the border.”
“What about your father?”
“He was away a fair amount, making deliveries or picking up supplies. He only knew what my mother chose to tell him. If he’d learned of the mischief my brothers and I got up to, there would have been hell to pay.”
She canted her head to one side. “You are obviously well educated, Gavin. You could not have spent all your time getting into trouble.”
“We had tutors. My father insisted.”
“How did you end up here, assisting Shrewsbury?”
“It is a long story, but suffice it to say, this is not work I intend to continue doing.”
The melodious sounds of musical instruments and singing rang down the passage. “We should return to the hall,” Isabel said.
Gavin stood and raised her up beside him. “My mother would love you, Isabel,” he said. “She would treasure you, as you deserve. What you experienced is not…the usual way children are treated by their parents.”
She nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Thank you for saying that. A mother’s love—that would be a new experience for me.” Holding hands, they found their way back to the holiday celebration, singing carols and dancing into the wee hours.
…
Isabel had been avoiding breaking her fast with Queen Mary because she had not decided if she should speak to her about what she’d overheard. The morning after Christmas, though, Mary was dining alone in the small chamber adjacent to the living area. When Isabel entered, the queen motioned to her. “Bonjour, Bel. I am glad to see you.” Isabel curtsied and sat down, while Mary signaled to one of her attendants to bring an extra plate of food and a tankard of ale.
They ate in silence for a time. There was the usual fare of bread, cheese, and figs, and to Bel’s delight, a special offering of mince pie. All the while, her conscience carped at her.
Don’t be such a coward, Isabel Tait. Now or never.
“Your Majesty, may I speak to you about something?”
“Oh, do not say it is about Gavin! Alors, I am not somebody who should advise about matters of the heart.”
Isabel laughed. “No, it is not about Gavin.” She lowered her voice because George Douglass was hovering about, as well as other retainers. “A few days past, I was in your chamber unpacking some of your personal items, when I overheard a conversation between you and John Lesley.”
Mary took a swallow of ale. Her eyes were guarded, but at least she hadn’t lost her temper and shouted at Isabel. Yet. “And did you not feel it incumbent upon yourself to remove from the room, so that you would not be party to a private discussion?”
Isabel cleared her throat. How to answer that? All things considered, it would behoove her to be honest. “I did not care for the tone of his voice. Nor his words. It sounded as though he was threatening you, and at the time, I thought you should not be alone with the man.” Not exactly a lie, but not the truth, either.
“You believed you could protect me?” Mary leaned forward and lowered her voice. “How…quaint. Don’t be such a little fool, my dear. Lesley is my most trusted ally, and has been so for many years. You should not insert yourself into matters which do not concern you.”
So Isabel was not to be forgiven so easily. “I apologize, madam. Clearly, I misinterpreted the situation. Pray forgive me.”
Although Mary smiled, her eyes were hard and her expression distant. “Have you ever noticed that piece of embroidery?” she asked, gesturing toward the wall. It was one Isabel had seen many times and pondered over. The inscription was in French rather than in Latin. En ma fin est mon commencement. In my end is my beginning. Did it mean that Mary, despite years of adversity, would be freed and live to rule another day? Or did the “beginning” refer to her son? That after both she and Elizabeth died, he would inherit the throne?
“I begin to believe that my little James is the future. I gave him life, and he will carry on after I am dead. After my cousin is dead. That is truly the only thing that matters.” She bowed her head briefly. “You see, Bel, I have little hope for my own future. That I will ever be free.”
Perhaps it was not too late to ask her to be wary. But before Isabel could gather her courage enough to speak, Mary had risen and left the table. Bel thought she had never seen the queen look so sad, and her heart broke for this woman, so full of contradictions. She had been robbed of the life to which she was born. And of so much else.
Was Mary saying she was willing to risk everything, even her life, because her son was the only thing that truly mattered?
Chapter Eighteen
After the queen left, Bel made a half-hearted attempt to finish her meal, but she’d lost her appetite and no longer felt like eating. In fact, the only activity that sounded appealing to her was a walk. The weather continued to be bitterly cold, but if she dressed in her warmest garb, she would manage. Stopping by the queen’s chamber, she asked Dorothy if she could take Bisou with her. Holding the little dog in her arms, she went to her own chamber to prepare for the out of doors. Bisou jumped up on her bed while she donned a woolen cloak, a thick scarf, leather gloves, and heavy boots.
When Isabel was ready, she called to Bisou, but he seemed loath to follow her. Perh
aps he did not like the cold. To her surprise, he growled when she tried to pick him up. A low, barely audible rumble. Despite his reluctance to leave his perch on the bed, she lifted him into her arms and said, “Come, little stubborn one. You cannot avoid going outside.” Isabel wished the queen would make her a gift of the pup, but there was absolutely no reason why she should. Especially now, when Bel had poked into her private business and received a reprimand for it.
After exiting her chamber, Isabel traversed the short distance to the door. She would use her “private stairs.” Much more convenient than walking all the way back through the passage and down the main stairs, only to be stopped by the guards. Unconsciously, her thoughts turned to a blue-eyed, strapping man with chestnut hair. Gavin had been so kind to her last night. She was torn about denying his request to depart Sheffield. Perhaps she should reconsider. Isabel opened the door, and a blast of cold air hit her, stealing her breath. Bisou started to whimper. “What is it, scamp?”
Isabel stood in the doorway, and a feeling of unease gripped her. She sensed a presence behind her. Was that why the dog had been whining and growling? She spun around, but glimpsed only inky darkness. Eager to get away, she placed a foot on the top step. From behind her, a steady, firm hand settled on her back and shoved. Immediately, Isabel lost her footing and went down, tumbling in a jumble of arms and legs all the way to the bottom.
…
“Isabel! Isabel, wake up.” Gavin patted her cheeks and sprinkled water on her face. After several minutes, during which he could barely breathe, she began to come around. Her amber eyes opened, but quickly closed again. He thought perhaps the light was bothering her. “Close the drapes.” Someone, probably Blake, did so.
Game of Spies Page 18
