Gavin ordered a bath for them both. As he slipped into the hot water, inevitably he remembered when Isabel had bathed him and what had happened afterward. His cock stirred. She was probably relaxing into her own bath at this very moment.
Enough. He would see her at dinner, and perhaps afterward they could speak privately.
Coincidentally, they exited their chambers at the same time. Isabel had donned a burgundy gown he’d never seen before. When he asked her about it, she said, “It was laid out on my bed. Jane said one of the servants left it for me, but had offered no explanation.” She laughed. “I was thrilled to have something clean and comely, even if it had been worn before by some other lady.”
Gavin offered his arm. “It’s lovely on you. The color goes beautifully with your hair.” She smiled up at him, making his heart leap. Isn’t that a good sign?
They made their way through unfamiliar passageways to the dining chamber. Sitting close together, they sampled each dish on offer, but neither of them ate much. They talked, and it seemed almost as if they’d never quarreled. That he’d never hurt her with his sharp, cutting words.
Avoiding talk about the fire, they focused instead on good memories. They laughed about her arrival at Tutbury. Isabel confessed how humiliated she’d been. And to his delight, she said, “You were very kind to me. Carrying me up the stairs. Encouraging me when you saw the others laughing behind their hands. Teaching me to dance that first night.”
She was letting him back in, if only a little. He smiled broadly. Gavin itched to take her hand, but not yet. It was too soon to make any assumptions about her feelings. “That was the night it all began.” Isabel looked puzzled, so he elaborated. “Mary. Lesley. Everything. I kissed you outside Mary’s chambers. Remember?”
She eyed him askance. “So the guards would not know what you were really up to.”
He grinned sheepishly. “You haven’t told me how your questioning of Mary went. Ryder hadn’t informed me of it, you know. Of what he had planned for you.”
“I don’t believe he thought of the idea until after you left.”
“You’re wrong about that. It was in the letter I delivered to Cecil from Ryder. Cecil read it out loud to me. He also told me Frances had been identified by Lesley as the insider who was working with him.”
Isabel looked down, cleared her throat, then fixed her liquid eyes on Gavin. “Is that why you came back?”
“Of course. After meeting with Cecil, I understood it had to have been Frances who’d pushed you down the stairs. I should have figured that out long before, but so many other things happened. My attention was diverted.”
“You asked about my meeting with Mary. She was accusatory, and evaded answering my questions directly. When she did respond, she contradicted statements she’d made to me in the past. For the first time, I realized she was lying—about so many things.”
“What was the critical point?”
“I asked her why she had not informed Shrewsbury when Lesley told her of the plot. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t answer. And that was that. I told Ryder everything.”
“I knew you would see the light if given a chance.”
Her eyes darkened, and he realized he’d made a mistake. His comment sounded smug and self-serving. Damnation.
“Make no mistake, Gavin. I still have sympathy for Mary. Although I believe she was invested in the conspiracy, her claim of being manipulated by Norfolk and Lesley rings true. She had a long history of powerful men ruling her, from the Duke of Guise to the Earl of Bothwell, and many others in between.”
So Isabel would defend Mary to the end. Her face had taken on that feisty, stubborn look. She threw down her napkin. “I too have been manipulated by men for much of my life. Or perhaps ‘controlled’ is a better word. God knows, that includes both you and Ryder.”
With that, she stood and ran from the room.
…
Isabel slammed her door shut and latched it. She sat on her bed and lowered her head into her hands. She was being defensive and overly sensitive, but couldn’t seem to stop herself from overreacting with Gavin. Would they never make peace? Were they doomed to misunderstand each other forever?
A rap sounded at her door. “Isabel? May I speak to you?”
“Go away,” she said, feeling certain more talking would only lead to further misunderstandings.
“Give me a chance. At least hear what I have to say.”
Isabel’s head came up, yet still she wavered. Would it do any harm to hear him out? She walked over and lifted the latch. He was standing there, a look of desperation on his face.
“Thank you. May I come in?”
Opening the door, she motioned him toward the settle. He did not sit, but simply stood before the hearth, gazing at her. A fire blazed behind him, and she noticed he was wearing a purple velvet doublet and fine hose and canions. He looked very handsome indeed. How had she missed that at dinner? Because she’d been thinking only of herself. Because she was full of anxiety.
“Can you forgive me, Isabel, for my foolish accusations? None of which I truly believed. The idea that you could be bribed by Mary—I knew it was absurd, but I was looking for something, anything, to explain your unflagging loyalty to her. It was cruel and unjust, and I am heartily sorry for saying it.”
Isabel did not yet trust herself to speak. She feared she might ruin the moment. When she said nothing, he carried on. “You have been my partner in all of this. You listened patiently to my confidences, you offered sympathy when Simon died, you tried to understand, even when I withheld crucial information. I trusted you completely, and I still do.”
Well. Now they were getting somewhere. She felt an almost irresistible desire to throw herself into his arms.
Her voice shook. “I didn’t mean what I said, either. About you using me to get information—”
“For the sake of complete honesty between us, I did do that at first. Oh, I liked you, I was attracted to you, but in my mind, where was the harm in also finding out what Mary had told you? But that ended rather quickly. It wasn’t long before you were all I thought of. Night and day. After the raid at the river, I knew I loved you.”
“But you kept pushing me away.”
“Because of my fears about marriage. I was a fool.” He gestured with his hands to emphasize the point.
She waited.
“The world—this world we’ve been residing in—is a dangerous place, my love. Loyalties change at a moment’s notice. That was why I said what we meant to each other was private and must be kept separate from the roles we were playing. But, as you so wisely pointed out, it all got mixed up together. That is why I brought you here. To physically separate us. Here we can see each other clearly. Here, I know beyond a doubt that you are all I care about. All I treasure and love.”
Isabel, tears streaming, gave up trying to control her urge. She flung herself into Gavin’s arms. “Oh, Gavin. I am sorry for being so wrongheaded and stubborn about Mary.”
He held her tightly. “Don’t apologize. In many ways, you were right about her. One can be fully aware of her trickery and still find much to sympathize with. But let’s not talk of Mary.”
Gavin set his lips on Isabel’s, kissing her with an urgency she’d not felt from him before, with a tenderness that bespoke a hunger he’d been aggressively suppressing. He raised his head long enough to say, “I’m sorry for saying I was through with you. I’ll never have enough of you.”
He kissed her again, and she opened to him, feeling as if they were discovering each other anew. Something inside her yielded, offering up emotions she’d been guarding. No more holding back. After a moment, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedside. “You’re wearing far too many layers, Isabel.” He spun her around to unfasten her gown and corset, then unhooked her petticoats, and they dropped to the floor with her other garments. All the while her chest was tightening, her core was burning, and her knees had simply deserted her. She fell against him, and he
lifted her onto the bed. Then he began to undress.
Isabel watched unashamedly. Off came his doublet and smock, canions and hose, ultimately revealing a body shaped by years of labor. She would wager most men of nobility would pale in comparison. In seconds, he was beside her in the bed.
Gavin drew her against him, so their bodies joined snugly together and their limbs entangled. For a moment, they remained that way, and Isabel marveled at how well they fit. Her head against his shoulder, her breasts against his chest. His organ pushed into her belly, and she never wanted to let him go.
He began to kiss her again. First her mouth, and when he’d tasted his fill, he trailed kisses down her neck and chest, until he found her nipples and suckled one, then the other. Her pleasure building, Isabel smoothed her hands over Gavin’s chest and up and down his spine. She wanted to learn every inch of him, to explore the span of him. Where he began and where he ended. Surely this act, this coupling, signified the ultimate knowledge of each other.
Gavin worshipped her with his hands, stroking lightly over her arms, breasts, buttocks. Until finally he spread her legs and found the folds concealing her most intimate place. Isabel was ready for his touch. He caressed her with one finger, spreading her liquid heat. Gasping, bucking, she raised her hips to increase her pleasure. That seemed to please Gavin, who growled low in his throat. When she was at the breaking point, he withdrew his hand and rose above her.
“Now, Isabel. Now, sweeting.” He positioned himself at her entrance and slowly pushed inside her. Then he began the slow, intimate dance of thrusting and withdrawing. She said his name, over and over, “Gavin. Gavin.” And, “Don’t stop. Pray do not stop.”
In another moment, she came apart with unspeakable elation so intense she wept. It was more than physical pleasure. It was a melding of their souls. He covered her body with his own and held her until her sighs and gasps lessened. And then he found his own completion, throwing his head back and crying out. Gazing down at her, he said, “I cherish you, my sweet Isabel. Don’t ever leave me.”
She framed his face with her hands. “And I love you. With all my heart.”
He drew her against him, and they fell into a doze. Isabel did not know how long they slept, but eventually Gavin stirred. She loved the feel of his breathing, his chest pressing into her with every inhalation. “Awake?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Have you a robe? I want to talk to you, and we can’t be naked. Far too distracting.”
Isabel chuckled. “I believe there is one hanging on the pegs.”
Gavin climbed out of bed and quickly pulled his shift over his head. He retrieved the robe and helped her into it. “Let’s sit here,” he said, gesturing to the settle. He stirred the fire to life, then added a log before joining her.
Gavin took her hands in his. “Will you be my wife, Isabel?” She started to answer, because she had no qualms and knew her heart. But he stopped her. “Wait, hear me out before you say anything.”
She nodded and he continued. “I know I’ve compared you to Anna in the past. It was wrong of me. You’ve made me feel whole again. You’ve made me want to live again. Before you, I wasn’t sure I would ever regain my confidence, my zest for life, even my passion.” He paused for a moment, looking unsure of himself. “What do you think?”
She laughed. “What do I think? Nothing would make me happier, Gavin. I can’t imagine my life without you.”
Smiling, he held out the necklace, the one he’d given her which she had returned. “Will you wear this, as a symbol of our betrothal? And of our love?”
Isabel turned so he could fasten it for her. “I hated giving it back. Make no mistake, it’s mine now. I won’t be returning it again.”
“I would never let you, my dearest Isabel.” He drew her into his arms and soon they found their way back to the bed.
Isabel’s heart was so full, she thought it might burst. She had longed to escape the ties binding her to her old life. Never had she expected to find a man like Gavin. Never had she expected to find love.
“I’d like to see you wearing nothing but the necklace, sweeting,” Gavin whispered.
Isabel laughed and shrugged off her robe.
Epilogue
Isabel and Gavin had decided to travel to his home in Scotland for their marriage. His family, he persuaded her, would be ecstatic and would welcome her unconditionally. Isabel hadn’t needed much persuading. After Gavin had told her about his family, and how his mother would love her as a daughter, she’d longed for that connection.
Before they left Buxton, they enjoyed soaking in the thermal baths, dining opulently, and walking about the town and countryside. They spent hours talking, each one finding the other endlessly fascinating. “Do you hope for children, Isabel?” Gavin asked her one day.
“I never thought I would be married, so I haven’t seriously considered it.”
He looked a bit distraught. “I would love some bairns,” he confessed.
“Then my answer is yes. But you’ll have to help me. I’ve never had the example of loving parents.”
At last, they were ready to go. Gavin had already written to his mother. Isabel had been putting off writing to her own mother, but could avoid it no longer.
11 January 1571
New Hall, Buxton
Dear Mother,
I am writing to inform you of my pending nuptials. I met a wonderful man, Gavin Cade, during my time at Tutbury. He has proposed to me, and we are traveling to Scotland for our wedding. His mother is Scottish, his father, English.
I trust you are now wed to Peter Fleming, although I have heard nothing from you since my leave-taking.
Please inform my brothers of my marriage.
Yours sincerely,
Isabel
Isabel left the missive lying on the desk while she packed, and Gavin read it. “Are things so bad between you? This letter is so cold.”
“Truly, Gavin? I considered writing one line: ‘I am traveling to Scotland to be married.’ My mother’s only reaction will be gratitude I’ve been taken off her hands. She believed I would return to Derby after my stint at Tutbury, and she’d be forced to find me a husband. This should make her quite happy.”
He set the letter down and grasped her arms. “Let’s invite your family to the wedding.”
She wrenched out of his grasp. “No! My mother would find a way to spoil the day.” She gave a brittle laugh. “She would not come, Gavin. I know it seems unfathomable to you, but she dislikes me intensely.”
“So you have said, and I am sorry you have such a mother. Nevertheless, I think we should invite them. You’re probably right that she will not come, but what about your brothers?”
Isabel thought it over and grudgingly admitted she would like Andrew to be there.
“Do you have his direction?”
“I do.”
“Excellent. Once in Scotland, I shall write to him—to all of them—myself.”
After an exhausting but uneventful journey, they arrived in Melrose, Gavin’s home. His mother seemed beside herself with joy, opening her arms to enfold Isabel. She was a tall, sturdy woman with chestnut hair the color of her son’s, although hers was now streaked with gray. Gavin had gotten his blue eyes from his father, however, who also greeted her warmly, if not quite as effusively. Over the next week, Isabel met the entire family. Gavin’s brothers, Paul and Mark, and their wives and children. And an assortment of aunts, uncles, and cousins.
The banns were called, the wedding date set. Gavin’s mother and sisters-in-law were making her gown. They sat her down one day and announced her hair needed a good trimming. Isabel sat very still while Judith, Paul’s wife, plied the scissors. Bisou jumped about her feet, as though protecting her. Isabel could not remember the last time anyone had cut her hair. Afterward, she loved the way it looked. So did Gavin. Whenever they had a private moment, he buried his face in her hair, lifted handfuls of it to his lips, and told her how beautiful it was. “Could w
e steal away to the hay loft?” he asked her one day.
“Gavin! We’d be caught, and besides, it’s freezing.”
“I’m teasing you, Bel. But God, I miss you.” He cocked his head at her. “You seem relaxed and happy, more so than I’ve ever seen you.”
He was right. “Because I am,” she said. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and it will all have been a beautiful, fleeting dream.”
At last, her wedding day arrived. Isabel had steadfastly refused to reveal anything about her gown to Gavin. The warm appreciation in his eyes told her it had been worth it. The dress was aubergine velvet, slashed in front to show fine white petticoats. The sleeves attached separately, and the bodice, although modest, exposed an expanse of white skin.
To Isabel’s delight, Gavin was wearing a kilt, the plaid of his mother’s clan, with belt, long socks, and a sporran at his waist. She was nearly overcome by how handsome he looked. It was customary in the Cade family that the bride and groom walk to the church together. Isabel stepped forth and took Gavin’s arm.
“You are so beautiful, Isabel. Thank you for marrying me.”
Isabel, tears in her eyes, said, “Thank you for asking me.”
As they approached the church, or kirk, as they called it, Isabel spotted a familiar face. “Gavin! Andrew is here.”
“I know, love. I wanted to surprise you. It wouldn’t have seemed right if no family of yours came.” They paused so Isabel could greet her brother.
“Isabel!” Andrew hugged her, cautiously. “I don’t want to spoil your gown. You look lovely, sister.” He turned. “And this big brute must be Gavin.” He held out his hand, but Gavin ignored it and wrapped her brother in a hug.
“You’re a lucky man, Gavin Cade.”
“I know it well.”
And then they entered the kirk and spoke the vows that would unite them for life.
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