Rivals for the Crown (23 page)

They'd been fortunate to have a night in their former lodgings, and in a day or so would book passage on one of the ships that plied the eastern coastal ports. The weather had grown worse with every hour, the snow and cold promising to make a December

voyage uncomfortable. But before he left London, he would find out what had happened to Isabel.

She must be ill. He could think of no other reason why she'd not been with the royal party. De Boyer had been as surprised as he when, at the midday meal stop, they'd discovered that Isabel had not been among the queen's ladies. Alis de Braun had walked away from the others, and, lowering her voice almost to a whisper, had said none of them knew why Isabel had refused to accompany them. And that the king was very displeased with Isabel for all she had said against him.

"Why would she have refused to go?" he asked Kieran.

"She must be ill," Kieran said, sidestepping the refuse in the road. "But if she's ill, then why is her grandmother asking us to come to her house after turning us away yesterday? Makes no sense. The lass is bonnie, aye, but ye hardly ken her. Why the fuss over one lass ye dinna even ken?"

Rory shrugged. "I like her."

"She's the only lass who's looked at ye in London is more like it. I'm telling ye, ye need to watch me and learn."

"The only lass. Ye're forgetting..." He couldn't remember her name, the barmaid who had brought their meals every night and made it obvious she was willing to serve much more.

Kieran laughed. "Ah, her. The memorable one. Here we are, in one of the largest cities in the world, and ye see only one lass." His eyes narrowed. "Are ye sure ye dinna have some of yer da's second sight? Are ye having dreams that tell the future?"

"No. Well, a few, perhaps. But I canna remember them later."

"But ye have a sense of them?"

"Aye."

"And Isabel is in these dreams?"

Rory grinned. "Would I be the first man to have a woman in his dreams?"

"No. And not the last. A'right, we're here. Which house is it?"

The boy who had brought them the message from Isabel's grandmother looked relieved to see them. "They're up there," he said, darting up the stairs and throwing open the door to the room they'd visited before.

Isabel's grandmother rose from her chair, her stern expression lightening as she saw Rory and Kieran. "I thank you for coming, good sirs."

There was a woman standing near the window, her face angry, her arms folded across her chest. She looked at Rory, then Kieran behind him, and sniffed, turning her back to them.

"Thank you for coming," Isabel said quietly.

He whirled to find her in the dim corner behind the door. She stepped forward into the light, and he caught his breath. Her face was battered, her cheeks swollen and bruised. Her throat was
multicoloured
, and there, at the side of her slender neck, startlingly clear against her pale skin, was the mark of a finger, the bruise where someone had held her in a stranglehold. He took her chin and looked at her bruises, then into her eyes.

"Who did this? Who did this to ye, Isabel?"

Her lip trembled and he fought his anger, telling himself she was alive. He'd been ready to mourn her, surprised at the grief that had caused. "Who did this?"

The woman at the window turned. "Does it matter? Her grandmother has asked your help and you have come running. I might have expected no less of men who are always prowling. But for my mother to play procurer—"

"Enough!" Isabel's grandmother cried. "My daughter, sirs. Isabel's mother, though one would hardly know it from her behavior now."

"I solved the problem!" Isabel's mother said heatedly.

"You caused a far greater one!" Isabel's grandmother replied. "You did not denounce him, did you? No, you blamed Isabel for his behavior and then you told the world she was dead instead of demanding that she be protected."

"You are a fool if you believe anyone at Westminster will condemn Walter Langton. They would have listened, and repeated the story until all of London had heard it, but no one would stop him. Alis de Braun and Lady Dickleburough would swear that Isabel made those treasons statements. And perhaps she did."

The two women glared at each other.

"Langton!" Rory looked into Isabel's eyes. "It was Langton who did this?"

Isabel nodded.

"I will kill the bastard!"

She laid her hand on his arm. "No. Please, do nothing. It doesn't matter now. My mother is correct. No matter how loudly we protest, no one will stop him. Certainly not now. Part of it is my fault. I said too much. And was unwise to trust certain people at court."

"Which you were well warned about. Now there is nothing that can be done," Isabel's mother said. "No one can reprimand Walter Langton but the king, and the king has far greater matters to deal

with now. Think what you want, all of you. I protected my daughter. I removed her forever from his grasp."

"We canna just let this go unanswered," Rory protested. "Did he?..." He stopped, unable to put into words the images that filled his head, of Isabel, helpless in Langton's grip. "What else did he do to ye?"

"Who are you, sir, that you talk so intimately with my daughter?" Isabel's mother cried, then turned her gaze to Isabel. "He is the one you were seen embracing, is he not? You said there was nothing between you, but here he is again, asking whether Langton raped you as though he has a right to ask that, and calling you by your Christian name. You are obviously well acquainted, or he hopes you will be. What man assists a woman without expecting something in return?"

Rory stepped forward, his temper flaring, but his cousin answered first.

"We do, madam." Kieran stepped forward, bowing low. "We've not introduced ourselves. Kieran MacDonald, madam. And my cousin, Rory MacGannon. Scots, as ye no doubt can tell. We brought yer daughter news from Berwick of her friend Rachel, and were charmed by yer daughter's beauty and manner. Ye speak the truth—we dinna ken her well, nor she us. But, madam, we are Scotsmen and as such always help any who need our assistance. As for Rory, my cousin is both a gentleman and a warrior. He would assist anyone in need, and has done so more times than I can count.

I would hope that Englishmen would do the same were one of our lasses in distress here."

Isabel's mother stared at Kieran, and the others watched her. She raised her chin and nodded, her expression softening. "Well said, sir. I am overwrought perhaps. My daughter has been attacked by a creature so foul as to make my skin crawl. My life these last few hours has been hellish. And now my very livelihood is threatened! What will happen to me if Langton has me turned out?"

There was silence while Isabel and her grandmother stared at her mother, then Isabel's grandmother spoke in an icy tone.

"I am sure you mean to say that you are worried about your daughter and
heart sore
that now you must bid farewell to your only child in order to save her. Is it not?"

Isabel's mother nodded. "Of course."

"Of course," Isabel's grandmother said. "And that, gentlemen, is why I asked you here. When you called earlier, Mr. MacGannon, and left the message that you were once again in London, but sailing north soon, I was glad to hear of it. But I could not speak with you then, for we did not yet know what we would do. But now my daughter has arranged for Isabel to sail north, on a ship that sounds as though it might be the same one you have booked passage upon. I beg your assistance, for which I am prepared to pay handsomely. It appears that my granddaughter must leave London, and I am loath to have her travel to Newcastle alone. May

I hire you to accompany her? She will travel on the Leslie B, which will leave with the morning tide."

Rory gave Kieran a look, pleased that his cousin nodded.

"We will be traveling on the Leslie Bas well, madam," Rory said, hoping they could find the captain and make it so. "It would be our
honour
to accompany ye, demoiselle, if that is yer wish. But do ye really need to leave London?"

"There is nothing for me here," Isabel said. "I have been dismissed from service, and somehow I am responsible for Langton's attack upon me."

"Isabel, enough!" Isabel's grandmother said. "No one believes you are anything but the victim here."

Isabel's mother sniffed loudly and turned back to the window.

Isabel met Rory's gaze. "I am more than ready to leave London. I wish we could leave now, this night. And I will never return."

Her grandmother put a hand to her throat. "Sweet, do not say that!"

Tears stood in Isabel's eyes. "I will miss you terribly, Grandmother! And I know you will miss me. But you will be the only one in all of this city who will."

Her mother whirled from the window. "Oh, poor Isabel. You said you were terrified of the man, but you got into the coach with him, did you not? Even knowing what he was, you let yourself be alone with him!"

"I told you!" Isabel cried. "He got in after me! I did not choose this!"

"You did not ask whose coach it was, did you? Or did you?"

"No. I did not ask whose coach it was, you're right. And that part is my fault. But not the rest, Mother! I did nothing to warrant this, and I will not be made to feel I did!"

"I warned you! I told you what men are, and you pretended to listen, but you did not. Now you turn upon me with ungratefulness."

"No more! No more!" Isabel's grandmother stepped between them, then turned to Rory and Kieran. "I pray you forgive us for what you have seen and heard here this day. Isabel will be at the dock in the morning, sirs. I thank you for your assistance."

Rory bowed. Kieran did the same and they left the room, closing the door behind them. They did not speak as they descended the stairs, but once outside, they exchanged a look. Rory let his breath out in a huff of air.

"Well," Kieran said. "Let's go find the barmaid whose name we dinna remember and see what she's serving tonight."

TEN

The morning was clear, but very cold. Isabel stood near the end

of the dock, her fingers numb and her heart sore. They'd argued for hours after Rory and Kieran had left, but at last she and her mother had made a kind of peace between them. Her mother had gone back to Westminster then, and Isabel and her grandmother had talked the rest of the night, aided by not a little wine. Her grandmother's open unhappiness with her mother had soothed Isabel's wounds somewhat, but Isabel knew that she and her mother would always have this between them.

Not that it would matter. She could not return to London, or at least not until Walter Langton had lost his influence at court, or died. Her more immediate problem was how she would now live. She knew no trade, had no skills.

She could read and write in French, and Latin, and the English that the common people spoke. She could recite lovely poems, even some in Greek—none of which would have any value in her new life. Her needlework was exceptionally good, thanks to years of her mother's training. Perhaps that was it, how she would earn her bread, for she would do just that. She had sold, for a good
profit, the horse given to her by the queen. The money was in a small purse under her skirts. She would use that to live on until she was settled. Her mother might have written to her father, asking him to take her in—at best a desperate plan—but who knew if he would ever get her letter, let alone come to Newcastle to find Isabel? Which did not matter either. She would not be there.

"Good morrow, demoiselle."

She turned to find Rory and Kieran, bags in hand. They were dressed in those strange plaided knit stockings that the Scots wore, which hugged the taut muscles of their legs. Tunics above, and heavy cloaks over all. She wondered for the first time whether her clothing would look as strange to those in her new home. Certainly the silk and embroidered gowns and headdresses she'd been given to wear at court, and even the clothes she now wore, dark and practical for the rigors of travel, would mark her as an outsider. No matter. There was neither time nor coin to remedy that.

"Good morrow, sirs. I am so sorry for all you witnessed last night." Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the memory.

Rory waved her words away, glancing up at the sky, then back at her. "Have ye spoken with the captain, lass? D'ye wish me to do that?"

"No, thank you. I have talked with him and my passage is assured. He tells me the voyage could be stormy and rough."

"I'm thinking the same thing," Rory said. "The wind is strong, even this early, and look at those clouds, the long ones there. Snow. And we're heading north. It could be uncomfortable."

She laughed ruefully. "Nothing could be more uncomfortable than yesterday and last night. I apologize for all of it, for me, and my mother—"

"Och, lass, please dinna. It's over and done with. Yer face looks a bit better this morning. How d'ye feel?"

"As though I am standing at the edge of a cliff and thinking of jumping."

"Dinna even say that," Rory said, his manner grave.

She forced a smile, trying to lighten her tone. "I will reconsider then."

There was no time then for talk, as they were shown aboard the ship with the six other passengers—a young family, and two men who seemed to be traveling alone—and the ship's sails were raised. The ship inched away from the dock and into the middle of the Thames. The sailors showed them to the large cabin in which they would all stay, but Isabel begged just a moment more on deck, and the captain agreed.