The Maiden's Abduction. Juliet Landon

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СКАЧАТЬ it difficult, for her lungs had forgotten how until her glance wavered and fell, her composure with it, and the bold stare she had practised so often upon younger men too far away to recall.

      She turned to Bard, but he saw the signs of weariness there and took her hand. ‘Bed, I think. Enough for one day, eh? We’ll sort out what’s to be done tomorrow, shall we?’

      ‘We must go early,’ she said with some urgency.

      ‘Go?’

      ‘Yes. Go back, Bard. Just go. Early.’

      He blinked, but kept his voice low to her ear. ‘He’ll probably be going off tomorrow, sweetheart. Let’s wait and see, shall we?’

      She sighed, too weary to argue.

      The warmth of the summer evening and the clinging heat of Cecily’s ample body next to hers overrode Isolde’s tiredness and forced her out of bed towards the window that chopped the pale moonlit sky into lozenges. Only the wealthiest people could afford to glaze their windows, and even the strips of lead were expensive. The catch was already undone; as she knelt upon the wooden clothes-chest to push it open wider, men’s voices rose and fell on the still night air, below her on the quay. She leaned forward, easing the window out with one finger, recognising Bard’s voice and its deep musical relative.

      ‘Has it not occurred to you, lad?’ Silas was saying, impatiently.

      ‘She was with that—’

      ‘I know who she was with. I have a house and servants in York who keep me informed of what’s happening while I’m away. But have ye no care for Elizabeth and her lads? Have you any right to put her entire household at risk by chasing down here with her? God’s truth, lad, you’re as thoughtless as ever where a bit of skirt’s involved.’

      ‘That’s not fair, Silas. He’s not all that dangerous, surely?’

      ‘Have you ever met him?’

      ‘No. I saw him in the minster, though.’

      ‘Then you’ll have to take my word for it that Elizabeth had better not be on the receiving end of his attention. Nor must she know exactly who the lass was staying with, or she’ll be worried sick.’

      ‘Who will?’

      ‘Elizabeth, you fool. Who d’ye think I mean? It’s her safety I’m concerned about. Your lass has little to lose now, has she?’

      ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

      There was a silence in which Isolde knew they were laughing.

      ‘You must leave tomorrow, Bard, at first light.’

      ‘But I’ve told her—’

      ‘I don’t care what you’ve told her. You leave at dawn and get back to York. I won’t have that maniac chasing down here to reclaim either the girl or his bloody horses, just because your braies are afire.’

      ‘Silas, it’s not just—’ Bard protested.

      ‘Ssh…all right, all right. I suppose you can’t help it if you take after Father. If I’d stayed longer I might have been the same, God knows.’

      ‘But what the hell are we going to do in York, Silas? Can we stay at your house?’

      ‘I’ll help you out, lad. I’ve thought of a plan. Foolproof. But you’ll have to trust me, both of you.’

      ‘I do, Silas, but I can’t vouch for Isolde.’

      A breeze lifted off the water and sent a dark line of ripples lapping at the harbour wall and Isolde’s skin prickled beneath her hair.

      ‘Come inside. I’ll tell you about it.’

      She waited, then tiptoed back to the bed and sat on its soft feathery edge until her mind began to quieten.

       Chapter Two

       I solde’s resentment, dormant only during the short bouts of sleep, surfaced again at the first screeching calls of the seagulls that swooped across the harbour, rising faster than the sun itself. From a belief that she was taking control of her life, she now saw that, after only a matter of hours, it was once more in someone else’s hands. The two La Vallons, to be exact. Not a record to be proud of. In her heart, she had already made up her mind that a protracted stay at the Brakespeares’ house was impossible, a decision that Bard’s brother had endorsed in no uncertain terms, but to be packed off so unceremoniously back to York like a common servant—a bit of skirt, he had said—was humiliating to say the least. First a thorn in her father’s side, next a potential trophy for a halfwit, and now an embarrassment.

      Well, she would return to York with the remnants of her dignity, but not to stay. There was Allard at Cambridge, for instance, the older brother who had never once failed to mention on his visits home how he wished she’d go and keep house for him. A student of medicine in his final year at the university, he lived in his lodgings where time to care for himself properly had dwindled to nothing. Allard would welcome her and Mistress Cecily, for hers was as kind an older brother as anyone could wish for. Sean, their fifteen-year-old half-brother, was like him in many ways, studious and mentally absent from much of what went on around him, too preoccupied with copying books borrowed from the nearby abbeys to remember what day it was. Isolde did not know whether Sean had been distressed by his mother’s recent death or whether he had merely put a brave face on it for his father’s sake. He was not one to disclose his state of mind, as she did, and she had often wondered whether his books took him away from a world in which he felt at odds. If she regretted leaving anyone, it was Sean. Who would wash his hair for him now? Or his ears and neck, for that matter? Should she return home, after all?

      If she had thought to impress them by her dawn appearance, fully dressed and ready to begin her exodus unbidden, the wind was removed from her sails by the sight of a household already astir, well into its daily preparations and not a hint of surprise at her eagerness to be away. The plan outlined to Bard last night by his overbearing brother no doubt concerned what he was to do at York, once they arrived, and was of no real interest to her at that moment. So when he drew her forward into a small and comfortable parlour hung with softly patterned rugs and deep with fresh rushes, she was not best pleased to be joined by Silas La Vallon, especially in the middle of a kiss that was neither expected nor welcome.

      A servant followed him with a tray of bread rolls, cheese, ale, a dish of shrimps and a bowl of apples, one of which Silas threw up into the air, caught it without taking his eyes off the hastily separating pair, and noisily bit, enjoying Isolde’s confusion as much as Bard’s almost swaggering satisfaction.

      Isolde scowled and took the mug of ale which the servant offered, observing Silas’s ridiculous sleeves that dripped off the points of his elbows as far as his knees. His thigh-length gown was a miracle of pleats and padding that accentuated the width of his great shoulders, and in place of last night’s pointed shoes he wore thigh-length travelling boots of softly wrinkled plum-coloured leather edged with olive-green, like his under-sleeves.

      With a mouth full of apple, he invited her to sit and, with another ripping crunch at the unfortunate fruit, sat opposite her and leaned against the patterned rug.

      Feeling the discomfort of his unrelenting perusal, she turned her attention to Bard СКАЧАТЬ