Rivals for the Crown (24 page)

Rory and Kieran stayed with her while the others went below. She fought her panic as the ship began to move toward the sea. For one mad moment she clutched the rail, wondering if she should
throw herself from the ship and return to land. What had possessed her to agree to be here, with two men she'd only just met, traveling into the unknown? And what had possessed her mother to arrange it?

"What made ye refuse to go north with the king?" Rory asked, his tone mild.

She stared at him for a moment. "I didn't. I was told to stay behind."

"But.. .we talked with Alis de Braun. She said ye refused. De Boyer was as surprised as we were. So we came back to London to find ye."

"You came back to London because I wasn't with the king? You rode all the way back to London to find me?"

"Aye. I was worried about ye. I thought ye must be ill."

"Rory, you rode back to London to find me?"

"Aye. I told ye that we did. D'ye not believe me?"

She put her hand over her mouth, not sure whether she would laugh or cry, then took a deep breath to calm herself. "I do. It is what has happened in the last days that I cannot believe! I have been let go by the king and I do not know what I have done to cause it, and my mother accuses me of the vilest
behaviour
. My own mother! And yet you, who I do not know at all, was worried on my behalf? I am overwhelmed."

She wiped a tear from her cheek. "You are most kind. I feel so alone. I know my grandmother loves me, and she is distraught that I am leaving. This morning she wanted to come with me, but how could I let her, when she can hardly climb her own stairs? I had to argue with her and tell her I would be fine. But I don't know how I can be. I feel set adrift in a sea full of serpents, and I don't know what I did to cause this. And you are kind to me!" She put her hands over her face and sobbed.

Rory wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to his side. "Whist, lass, ye are set adrift. Ye're on a ship, remember?"

She laughed against his shoulder, then sobbed more. At last she pulled away from him, mopping her eyes and nose with her handkerchief and trying to be calm. The sailors around them watched her with wide eyes and glances at Rory. Kieran stared into the distance, pretending to ignore them. And Rory smiled at her.

"Think of it this way. Ye're off to see a part of the world ye've never seen before. Now look, lass, London's already behind us. When was the last time ye sailed out to sea this way?"

"Never. I've been on the ferryboats on the river, but never on a ship, and never at sea. I've never even seen the sea."

"Not seen the sea?" His smile widened. "Then ye have a grand adventure before ye, Isabel. Ye'll love it, I'm sure of it. Ye'll love

the roll of the ship and the feeling of the wind in yer hair. We grew up onboard ship, Kieran and me, and my brother Magnus, and all five of Kieran's sisters. I dinna think I've ever met anyone who's not been on a ship. So, first lesson. Stay on deck as much as ye can." He glanced at the sky. "And dinna travel in the winter, when the storms come. At least ye'll not have as far to go as we will. We'll be going all the way to Leith and ye'll get off at Newcastle."

She brushed aside the hair the wind had blown about her face, meeting his gaze. "I won't get off at Newcastle. I'm going to Berwick."

She lost track of the stops the ship made. Southend, Harwich, Hull, Yarmouth, Scarborough, Whitby. She did not even know in which order they'd been where, for she'd spent most of the voyage hanging over a wooden bucket, losing each meal she'd forced herself to eat. And she was not alone. They'd been battered by storms the entire journey, and all of the passengers, save Rory and Kieran, had been ill, leaving the cabin they all shared noxious and almost unbearable. She had no idea how long she'd been aboard, whether it was days or years. She settled into a mood of endurance. She would live through this—and never in her life would she go aboard a ship again.

"I told ye that ye'd love the roll of the ship," Rory teased her while they waited in one of the ports.

"Aye, ye've seemed to be enjoying yerself grandly," Kieran said.

She threw him a baleful glance, then smiled. "You have been very kind. I do not know how you both have managed to stay so cheerful with all of us so ill."

"Ye'll notice," Rory said, "that we do slip out now and then. The captain doesna mind. If we fall overboard, what's one less Scot?" He studied her face. "I've not seen ye in the light since we left. Yer face and neck look much better."

"They feel better. It's like a dream," she said softly. "All that happened in London.. .it's as though it happened to someone else, not me."

"And here ye are, an experienced sailor now," Kieran said, smiling.

She laughed. "I can think of nothing worse than being on a ship again." She ached all over; not a part of her did not feel
pummelled
. "I'm dreaming of a bath and putting on clothing that is not damp."

"What are ye thinking?" Rory asked. "Ye're going to Scotland in the winter. Ye'll be damp until April, and then the spring rains will come."

She laughed again, looking at his profile, the strong jaw, those blue eyes and all that blond hair. And his mouth. What was she thinking? he'd asked. Nothing she could tell him. She smiled.

"You have a gift, both of you," she said, "of making me feel like I will heal. You've seen me in many of the worst moments of my life. And yet, somehow, you make me believe I will survive."

"Ye will, lass, I swear ye will get past this," Rory said, those impossibly blue eyes serious now. "Are ye sure Rachel will take ye in?"

"No, I am sure of nothing. But I hope she will, at least for a while, until I can find a way to make a living. It will be far better than waiting in an inn in Newcastle for my father. What if he never came for me?"

"Yer father?" Rory's eyebrows raised. "I thought he was dead."

"I.. .1 did tell you that. I apologize for my lie. It was simpler. For years I thought he was dead. I only discovered who he is a short time ago. I do not know the man. I do not want to know him."

Rory and Kieran exchanged a look.

"My father's name is Lord Lonsby. He fathered me in London, but he had a wife and children already and never married my mother. Who, as you saw, is quite bitter. She wrote to him nonetheless, asking him to find me in Newcastle. But I won't be there, so he will not find me, even if he does come."

"What will ye do then?"

"I can sew. I shall become a seamstress. I will find work somewhere, even if I have to sweep the streets."

"No one sweeps the streets in Berwick," Rory said. "A'right, then, we'll get off in Berwick as well, aye?" He looked at Kieran for agreement.

Kieran's smile was wide. "Aye. There's a lass there, serving ale, whose name I do remember."

They laughed together. Isabel smiled, although she was not sure why.

"You do not need to, sirs. I will find Rachel's family myself."

"Lass," Rory said. "Kieran is almost as anxious to see Rachel as ye are. We'll get off in Berwick and stay a bit."

"Thank you," she said, then looked at the port city. "I wonder how many people in this place have their own sad story. Surely many of them have tales much worse than mine."

Rory leaned against the railing and followed her gaze. "I havena told ye about my family, have I?"

"A bit," she said.

"Aye, well, whenever I'm feeling put upon, I think of what they went through. It all started in the summer of 1263."

She listened raptly while he talked of how his parents had met, of the slaughter of innocents at Somerstrath. Of the battle his father had fought against the Vikings. Of his and Kieran's aunt Nell, and all she'd been through.

And then Kieran told her of his father's abduction as a boy and eventual rescue by Rory's father, Gannon. How his father had in turn rescued Kieran's mother from captivity and brought her back to the Isle of Skye, where now he was building her a castle to live in.

They were wonderful stories, and, in comparison, her struggles seemed insignificant. Perhaps life was meant to be full of struggle. Perhaps those whose life was untroubled could never know the real joy of peace.

"And they're happy now, your parents?" she asked. "Your aunt Nell and uncle Liam? All of your family? Do they never think of the past?"

"I'm sure they do," Rory said. "But, aye, they're happy. And ye will be again, Isabel. I swear it. Life willna always be like this."

She was allowed out on deck as they sailed up the River Tweed, and looked up at Berwick's
earthen works
and the wooden stockade that rose above it, enclosing the city. This would be her home, she told herself. She was relieved when she stepped ashore again, but suddenly the enormity of the changes in her life struck her, and the squalor and crowded streets just within the city gates did nothing to

relieve her anxiety. Whores called to Rory and Kieran from open doorways and yet, mercifully, a short distance later, respectable homes lined the narrow streets. The castle rose high on the hill above the town, and she took a moment to look at it, then shut out the memories of her life at court. That was the past.

"Here it is," Rory said, stopping before an older building.

Over the door a freshly painted sign bore the name The Oak and The Ash. The steps were wide and clean, and a window jutted into the street, allowing her to see a room crowded with people. The inn stretched high above the street, its shutters painted and white walls clean. The door opened and two men left, delicious aromas following them into the street.

"Come, lass," Rory said and picked up her case again.

The inn was warm, for which she was grateful. The foyer was neat, a tall table in the corner, behind which Jacob de Anjou stood, talking with a customer. To her left was a large room filled with tables covered with food and cups, the air filled with the conversations of the patrons. At the far end a large fireplace roared with flames, and women bustled through the crowd with trays laden with food. A blond girl turned with a smile from serving ale to a dark-haired man, and she looked at Isabel, her eyes widening.

"Isabel!" she cried, drawing the attention of all in the room. "Father, look, Isabel de Burke is here! Rachel! Someone get Rachel! She will not believe this!"

Jacob looked up then, his expression going from surprise to welcome. "It is you! Isabel, what are?..."

And then Rachel was there, shrieking, her arms open wide as she rushed forward, her mother at her heels. "Isabel! I did not believe them, but it is you!" She clasped Isabel to her, laughing and crying at the same time, then leaned back. "What happened to you? Why are you here?"

"Oh, Rachel!" Isabel was sobbing now. "I need your help!"

"Anything," Rachel said, then spun around to Jacob. "Father? Mother?"

"Anything," they said together. "Welcome, Isabel."

"Only for a few days," she told Rachel's family. "Until I can find lodgings of my own. And a position. I can sew," she said with a rueful smile. "If you will help me to find a place to live, I will be grateful."

"Isabel," Jacob said. "You may stay with us."

"No. I thank you, but no, I cannot. I have made enemies of powerful men. If they were to come to Berwick, looking for me, and find you.. .it is unthinkable that I would put you in danger in such a manner. I cannot."

Rachel's mother laughed. "We are no longer in England, child. And look around you. Does this look like the sort of place kings and bishops visit? We are invisible in Berwick. Stay here, with us. We could use your help."

"But—"

"Isabel," Jacob said. "We have been talking. If you are willing, you could help us solve a problem. We need someone to serve and to help Gilbert attend to the patrons when we have our Sabbath. I'm sure you understand how loath we are to bring strangers into our midst. You need a safe place to stay. We need another pair of hands. You may stay, of course, even if this plan does not please you. But we would prefer that you worked for your bread."

"But the danger—"

"If it exists, we will face it when it comes. Are you willing to help us?"

"I am more than willing to work! Simply tell me what I must do. And how long I may stay."

"If you will smile," Jacob said, "just once, for us, you may stay forever."

Isabel smiled tremulously, looking from Jacob to Rachel's mother, who leaned across the table to take her hand.

"You have been a good friend to our Rachel, Isabel. Let us now be a good friend to you."

"I thank you," Isabel said, dangerously close to tears. "And I will stay."

"No thanks are necessary, but it's always nice to be thanked." Rachel's mother folded the edge of her shawl. "Your grandfather helped us. Did you know that? He owned the house we lived in. Jews could not own property, as you know. He let us live there all those years and never once raised the rent. Your grandmother never failed to say hello to me. She encouraged your friendship. This is rare, Isabel, and we were grateful. We still are. So if there is thanks to be given, it is ours, and we are glad to repay the debt."

"I did not know that," Isabel said, her smile wistful. "What good people you are. You are good people."

"We are." Rachel's mother rose to her feet. "Now, let's find you something more practical to wear. You look like one of the queen's ladies, not a tavern wench. Let's change that."

"I'm ready," Isabel said, rising as well.

Rory and Kieran stayed for four days. They spent their days talking and spending time at Berwick Castle, where William Douglas ran a well-managed fortress. Many of the young Scots assembled there, doing just what Rory and Kieran had set out to do—gather information. It was there that they learned of the Scottish people's