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 and, with a businesslike coolness, said, ‘What is all this about, Bard? We’ve a fair way to go, remember, and Mistress Cecily has barely recovered from yesterday.’
Bard swung a stool up with one hand and placed it near hers, sitting astride it. ‘Yes, that’s one of the reasons why Silas has agreed to help us out, sweetheart,’ he said, taking one of her hands. ‘We think it would be for the best if Mistress Cecily was given time to recover while I take the horses back to York alone.’
Without taking a moment to consider, Isolde countered, ‘Oh, no. We shall not stay here. I’m resolved to leave immediately.’
Silas intervened, having no qualms about getting straight to the point and being less daunted by Isolde’s fierceness. ‘No, not to stay here, mistress. We all know you can’t do that.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, throwing him a murderous glance.
‘I shall take you and your maid to York by ship, I’ve—’
‘That you will not!’
‘I’ve got to go there to unload some cargo, and I’ve—’
‘No!’
‘I’ve told Bard that it’ll take a few days, four at most, depending on the wind, to get up-river past Hull to York. Then I’ll drop you off with your maid and baggage, and you can—’
‘No! I said no.’
Silas slapped the half-eaten apple hard on to the bench at his side and leapt to his feet, his voice biting with exasperation. ‘In God’s name, woman, will you listen to what I have to say before you—?’
Before three words were out, Isolde was up and facing him, eye to eye, Bard’s comforting hand thrown aside. ‘No, in God’s name, I shall do no such thing, sir! I do not need you to make any plans for me, nor do I need your assistance to reach York. I am quite aware that your first concern is for Dame Elizabeth and that you are using Mistress Cecily’s fatigue to pull the wool over my eyes. You care no more about her than you do about me, so don’t take me for a fool, either of you. And if Alderman Fryde should come to Scarborough to search for me it’ll be a miracle worth two of St. William’s, because he doesn’t have the wit to look beyond his own pockets. The first thing he’ll do is send home to see if I’m there.’ Her eyes were wide open and, this time, furiously unflinching.
Fascinated, Silas stuck his thumbs into the girdle that belted his hips. ‘There now, wench, you’ve been wanting to let fly at me ever since you got here, haven’t you? Feeling better now?’
‘You mistake the matter, sir. I haven’t given you a moment’s thought.’ She swung away from him and stalked towards the door, but in two strides he was there before her, his head up, presenting her with the clearest challenge she had ever faced. The look that passed between them, so unlike the enigmatic exchange at suppertime, was of unbridled hostility on her part and total resolution on his, but, having no notion of the form this might take, and not willing to try it out there and then, she appealed to Bard for help.
‘Well? Don’t sit there grinning! Tell him to move.’
Bard went to her, having difficulty with his grin. ‘Nay, he’s bigger than me, sweetheart. Come, you haven’t heard the whole argument yet, and what you say is not correct, you know. We both care greatly for your safety, and that’s why Silas’s plan is a sound one. I can reach York much faster than the three of us, without a chance of you being seen by anyone. Silas can smuggle you ashore at York and I’ll meet you there and then you can make up your mind what to do, whether to stay or go on. And Mistress Cecily won’t have to suffer another day in the saddle.’
‘No, she’d be seasick instead. She’d prefer that, I’m sure.’
‘No, she won’t,’ Silas said. ‘We’re only going down the coast and the sea’s as calm as a millpond. The river doesn’t make anyone seasick.’
‘And what about the horses? You can’t make good speed leading three.’
‘Silas is lending me a lad.’
‘Then what, when you’ve got them to York? You take them back to Fryde’s, do you, and apologise?’