The Scarlet Lion (11 page)

   "She complimented you in her chamber yesterday," Isabelle said, attempting to recover her ground. "She said to me that your love of music has an Irish soul."

   William cocked a sceptical eye. "Did she indeed?"

   "My father had no ear for music and it was one of his worst sins in her eyes. He said it all sounded like cats mating in a cauldron."

   Amusement twitched his lips. "He had a fine sense of humour to compensate though—not that I knew him well, but on the few occasions we did meet, he was good company." He made the final knot in the prayer beads and, setting them aside on the coffer, gave her his full attention. "I suppose your mother and I have the pleasure of music in common. God knows, I've been a courtier for long enough. If I cannot weave my way through my own family concerns and keep my hide intact, then I deserve to be flayed."

   She laid her palm against his cheek. "I know your tolerance has been tested," she said in a conciliatory tone, "but it is hard for her. When last she saw me I was a child and now I return to her a grown woman with a powerful husband. She once had that herself and now it has gone—she is fighting to find a new position that retains at least an echo of glory. I would ask you to bear with her out of kindness, if not affection."

   "I will bear with her out of love for my wife whom she bore and out of duty," William replied. "I doubt I could do it for kindness." He kissed her fingertips and changed the subject. "Now that we're alone, I want to talk to you about something else. I've been thinking. As well as the religious houses, what would you say about founding a new port on the River Barrow? From what I have seen, Leinster has potential but we need more trade, more settlement."

   Isabelle looked at him, a spark of interest kindling. "Go on," she said.

   "There's a place I have in mind. The channel is deep enough to bring goods upriver and ship them out without having to dock in Waterford. It will cost silver in initial outlay, but bring profit in the long run. We would control the docking fees. All the rents and revenues would be ours and we could use them to develop other projects."

   Isabelle gazed at him in admiration. Founding a new town on Marshal-held lands would boost their revenues and their influence. It was inspired. Many people, her mother included, underestimated William. They thought him little more than a genial soldier, a man who had won his success with a ready smile, the brawn of his sword arm, and an unfair share of luck, but his nature was more complex than that and he had a fine mind. He was quietly ambitious and nobody's fool when it came to fiscal matters. If he was open-handed to his men and his personality generous, then such generosity was founded on an astute grasp of finance and a balanced hand on the earldom's purse strings.

   "Won't the King object? We will be adding to our revenues by taking from his."

   He waved aside her caveat. "He owes me for rallying the English barons to his cause. I have no doubt that Meilyr will have something to say, but he'll object to anything I do as a matter of course. We need to arm ourselves to deal with him, and anything that strengthens our personal grip on Leinster and adds to our revenues is welcome."

   "Then I think it a fine notion," she breathed. The fact that he was prepared to do this, to shoulder the burden and responsibility when for so long he had resisted coming to Leinster, sent a fierce pang through her, compounded of love, pride, and desire. She leaned towards him, almost touching his lips with hers. "Perfect," she whispered. "When were you thinking of beginning?"

   "Why not now, on the morrow?" Threading his hands through her hair, he took up her invitation, kissing her again and again. Through the bedclothes, she could feel that he was as aroused as she was. The talk of expansion was a potent aphrodisiac. She pulled off her chemise, peeled back the sheet, and straddled his thighs.

   He groaned as she sheathed him. "My love, we will have to confess this in the morning, you do know that."

   "Father Roger will absolve us," she said huskily. He closed his eyes and hissed softly through his teeth. Outside a bitter wind whistled against the castle walls and smacked rain against the shutters, but the hangings enclosed their bed in warmth and intimacy. Isabelle undulated languorously like a summer sea and enjoyed William's exploration of her skin, his fingertips performing a subtle spiral dance that wove from breasts to belly to the place where their bodies joined. It was a sin to take such slow, licentious enjoyment from intercourse, and a double sin to indulge in the lewd and unnatural practice of allowing a woman to place herself over a man, thus upsetting the whole order of nature—but the forbidden made it all the more piquant. She bit her lip with lust and pleasure, and heard the catch in William's breathing. Feeling the tension shuddering through him, she smiled seductively and tossed her hair in a wanton gesture.

   His swallow was audible. "Christ, Isabelle," he said hoarsely.

   She licked her lips. "What?" she asked. "Tell me." She knew that he was on the brink and was so close herself that it couldn't last beyond a few more strokes.

   He seized her hips and held her still. "You might get with child," he gasped. "Unless you want to take that risk, let me at least spill outside you. It won't cost more than an extra paternoster to add to my confession."

   His words shivered through her, adding a recklessness she knew she might regret in the morning, but for the moment, it only served to enhance her desire. Besides, from the swollen tenderness of her breasts and the fact that she had felt mildly nauseous this morning, she suspected they might be bolting an empty stable door. "What God wills will be." She pushed down on him hard once and again and, through the lightning flickers of her own pleasure, felt him arch and break deep inside her.

***

On a hill, above the ground cleared for the new town, Isabelle drew rein beside William and patted her mare's neck. Although the horse was smooth-paced and docile, Aoife had clucked her disapproval that a woman burgeoning with child should be riding at all instead of staying in her chamber with her spinning and needlecraft. Defiance was half the reason Isabelle had chosen to come out and watch the ground being cleared and the plots laid out for the new port on the River Barrow. Not for all the gold in Baye would she admit how sick and faint she was feeling, especially as Aoife had insisted on accompanying her, declaring that if her daughter was foolish enough to go riding and her husband not disposed to prevent her, then someone sensible needed to be on hand to deal with the consequences.

   In the four months since their arrival in Ireland, the relationship between William and Aoife had reached a grudging stalemate. They avoided each other when possible, and managed to be civil when not, but there was no affection in their private thoughts concerning each other. William said little enough to Isabelle, but she sensed his irritation and knew he considered Aoife to be manipulative and interfering. Aoife for her part was suspicious and resentful of her son-in-law, giving him little credit even when it was due. "When your father was alive" and "If my husband were here now" were constant refrains of comparison in the bower, and William invariably came off worse. Torn in both directions by guilt and duty, Isabelle strove to keep the peace but sometimes it exhausted her.

   Aoife joined them now, determinedly pushing her dappled gelding between Isabelle's palfrey and William's powerful dark bay. Until that moment his stallion had been standing quietly on a slack rein as William ranged his gaze over the bustle of labourers and masons toiling on the project, but now it lashed out and snapped at the intruder. The grey skittered in panic. Uttering a curse, Aoife slashed her short leather whip across the sensitive end of the bay's nose. Startled, unaccustomed to such treatment, the stallion shied and tried to bolt, with William fighting to stay astride and in control. Isabelle's palfrey put back its ears and although normally a placid beast, its hooves danced a drumbeat of agitation. Isabelle tugged on the rein, intending to draw clear of the fracas, but the palfrey's hind leg skidded on the wet turf and it stumbled, pitching Isabelle from the saddle.

***

The smell of burning feathers brought Isabelle to her senses. Coughing at the acrid stench, she stared around, disoriented. She was lying on a pelt-covered bed bench in a timber long hall, similar to the one at Kilkenny, but not as large or well appointed. New too, for the smell of sawn and shaped timber lingered in the air. A cauldron was suspended over a firepit and a woman in a plain woollen gown was stirring the contents with a ladle. The door was propped open to let in daylight and she could hear voices outside, including William's, and the stamp and snort of horses.

   "Daughter." Aoife leaned over her, lines of anxiety furrowing her brow.

   Isabelle struggled into a sitting position and took the cup. "Where am I?"

   "You fell from your horse and fainted," Aoife said, suddenly looking censorious. "I said you shouldn't be riding in your state. That stallion of your husband's is a menace. We brought you down to the town and he has sent for a physician." She sniffed. "God knows why. This is women's business; we don't need a man poking his nose where it isn't wanted."

   "I am all right." Isabelle started to push back the covers, but Aoife stopped her with a firm hand on her arm.

   "You need to rest. Who knows what damage you might have done."

   Isabelle compressed her lips but did as her mother bade. It was true that she felt queasy and tears were not far away.

   "Just lie still," Aoife said in a gentler voice. "I'm here to look after you."

   Moments later William arrived, accompanied by a man wearing the dark bonnet of a physician. Hastening to the bed, William took Isabelle's hand and kissed her cheek, then her lips.

   "Thank Christ," he said. "You are all right?"

   She nodded and swiped her brimming eyes. "It was nothing."

   "I do not call it nothing." Aoife glared at William and the physician. "Tell my foolish daughter she should not be gadding about on horseback when she is with child. Tell her that if she had stayed in her chamber with her women this would never have happened."

   The physician looked taken aback.

   "It would never have happened but for your determination to push yourself between us," William snapped, his usual courtesy worn to the bone.

   "She is my daughter.
Mine!" Aoife retorted, baring her teeth
. "Someone has to have a care for her welfare because plainly you do not."

   William's chest expanded. "My wife well knows the care I have for her." His voice was husky with the effort of controlling his anger. "And it doesn't involve treating her like a witless girl."

   Aoife puffed herself up, preparing for battle without quarter, but Isabelle reached out from the bed and caught her arm. "Peace," she said. "Please, I would have peace between you.

That is what would benefit me the most…"

   William looked at her and then at Aoife. "As you wish," he said curtly. "I have no more desire for strife in our household than do you." He nodded to Aoife, touched Isabelle's cheek, and, with clamped jaw, strode out.

   Aoife shook herself like a hen ruffling indignant feathers. She stood reluctantly to one side to let the physician look at Isabelle. "Your father was the same. They don't understand the affairs of women."

   Isabelle closed her eyes. "William is my husband," she said with weary patience. "I will not have you causing discord between us."

   Aoife bristled. "Is that what you think I am doing—causing discord?"

   "Yes, Mother, I do. You may have my well-being at heart, but so does he. I am a part of this; I wanted to come today. William would have had to lock me in my chamber to stop me."

   Her mother fell silent and went to stand before the hearth. The physician made a swift assessment of Isabelle and, satisfied that all was well, advised her to rest and—with a swift glance towards Aoife's rigid spine—not to go out riding.

   Aoife turned back to her. "You will be leaving Ireland soon," she said abruptly. "Your husband is like a swallow preparing to fly. He did not want to come in the first place and now that spring is in the air, the vassals spoken to, and this new town under way, he is restless to be gone. By his lights he has fulfilled his obligations. There is nothing here to make him stay…to make you stay." Aoife crossed to the bed and touched Isabelle's cheek. "Daughter, I know there is friction between your lord and myself. It does not take a fool to see he would rather couch down with vipers than dwell with me, but I have a desire to see my other grandchildren, including the one you carry in your womb." A wheedling note, filled with pathos, entered her voice. "It is many years since I saw Striguil, and I would set eyes on it once more. Could your husband be persuaded to relent his opinion of me and bring me with you?"

   Isabelle looked dubious, imagining William's response to such a suggestion.

   "I worry so much for you in your condition."

   Isabelle shook her head and laid her hand over her belly. "It is only the sickness of the early months."

   "Carrying and bearing children is a time when every woman needs the support of other women and if one of them is her mother, so much the better," Aoife said firmly.

   Lacking the energy to argue, Isabelle closed her eyes. "I will speak to William," she said, "but you must swear to me that you will hold your peace and not pick quarrels with him."

   Aoife's smile lit up her face, making her look almost winsome. She signed her breast. "I promise on the holy bones of Saint Brendan," she said with such sincerity that Isabelle almost believed her.

                             *** "What else could I say?" Isabelle asked as she and William strolled along the banks of the Barrow that evening. They had opted to stay in the new port overnight and sleep in the long hall. Behind them followed an entourage of his squires and her ladies, but to all intents they were alone. Aoife had— prudently for once—remained behind by the fire, although the look and the tilt of her head to Isabelle as she set out had been eloquent.