Page 26 of Lord of Loyalty

Chapter Fourteen

The following morning, Isobel discovered how lonely one could feel, even in a house full of servants. Maybury had departed the previous evening, and she’d seen Jennet brought into the courtyard an hour ago, saddled up for Will. Where was he bound? Had he gone to confront Mathieson? Would he give in and become betrothed to Paulina? And could she bear to remain a moment longer in his house if he did?

Her chamber fronted onto the courtyard, so she was aware of the constant to-ing and fro-ing of his household. Occasionally, she’d hear the clatter of hooves filtering through from the main street, along with shouts, laughter, the braying of asses, the high whistling cries of kites, and the caws of carrion birds.

Servants shuffled softly along the passageway beyond her door, occasionally giving away their presence with the clack of earthenware pots or the jingling of keys. She must dress herself and brave their company, as she was to become one of them.

She went down and broke her fast with Will’s staff, but as she was supposedly foreign, none attempted to speak with her, although their aspect wasn’t unfriendly. It was amusing to listen to speculations about herself which she wasn’t expected to understand, but it isolated her as well. Will was correct—the consensus among the servants was that she had been a camp follower while he was away fighting, and he’d brought her back because of her superlative skills in the bedchamber.

This suggestion caused much ribald laughter, but her face grew hot as a mulling poker. Fearing someone would notice, and realize her English was as good as theirs, she hastened away without finishing her meal.

Fortunately, Goodwife Cooper found her not long thereafter and took her to the housekeeper’s room, where she set her to chopping dried apricots and quinces for marmalade. The fire in the hearth was already lit, and a pitcher of clean water stood ready on the table. Isobel settled herself happily to her task, drawing it out as long as she could, for she found it calming.

She was busy scraping sugar from the loaf when she heard a door slam. Her heart cartwheeled, and she ceased her scraping, ears peeled for any indication Will had come home.

Looking down, she realized she’d scraped sugar all over the table, and Goodwife Cooper was staring at her. An apology leapt to her lips, and then she remembered she wasn’t supposed to know the language. So, when Will came through the door and bade her accompany him, she shook her head and frowned her lack of comprehension.

His impatient gesture made it obvious what was required, so she curtseyed, nodded her apologies to Goody Cooper—who was tutting over the spilled sugar—and raced from the room in Will’s wake. A few yards brought them to a commodious chamber, beautifully paneled in oak, with an empty fireplace and a large window looking onto the street. It sported some heavy drapes featuring ceremonial scenes, which Will pulled across before lighting the candles.

He stood close, and she could smell the leather of his saddle and riding boots, as well as the soapwort he used for washing, smells that were now familiar to her. Scents that made her feel safe.

“Keep your voice low when we converse—I’ll not have my servants catch me in a lie. If anyone comes in, we must speak nonsense to one another but pretend to understand it.”

She rather hoped someone would come in—it would be highly entertaining. Yet there was an aspect to Will’s look that warned her he was not in the mood for frivolity.

“How goes it?” He indicated the settle. “Pray, sit down. How do you feel?” Pulling up a chair, he sat close to her.

“Almost as I used to, although there is an air of unreality—is that a word?—about everything. It is as if the world is blurred about the edges, and the harder I look at a thing, the less I see it. But I’ve managed to eat something, and my body appears to do as I wish it to.” Except when this close to Will. It didn’t behave properly then.

“You look hot—are you feverish again?”

Yes, but not for the reason he imagined. She must learn to control this foolish sensitivity to him. He’d be thinking her as obsessed as Paulina if she weren’t more circumspect.

“Nay, no fever. You’re unused to seeing me a healthy color. Be assured—I’ve settled comfortably into your household. My lack of poppy juice didn’t send me stealing around like a thief in the night, hunting for your brandy-wine. How is your leg today?”

“It has a tendency to ache—I must ask Goody for a salve. So, you no longer feel the need to run away from me, I trust?”

“Not as yet.” She chuckled, then sobered. She’d have to leave eventually, though, would she not?

“I’m glad of it. For if you did, I should be forced to saddle up and bring you back. The stakes for which Pike has been playing are higher than I expected.”

“Indeed?” She leaned forward. “How is that?”

“I’ve spoken to Master Bradshaw. You’re not merely an independent woman of means, with her own house and accompanying goods and chattels—you are an heiress.”

She gaped, looking for the jest in Will’s expression, but the blue eyes were guileless.

“I? An heiress?” Her breath came in odd little bursts. This was incredible.

“You have the house and garden plot, naturally, as well as any funds—though I cannot guarantee Pike has not already sequestered those. But you also have a legacy from your aunt. No, not Hubert’s mother, but another sister, Jane, who died before you were born. She left a substantial legacy to Edward, which will now come to you if the terms of her will are followed. Or will go to your husband, should you marry. You have the right to pass the legacy on to another in your lifetime, should you have no need or want of it.”

It was too much to take in. “Why did Edward never speak of this legacy to me?”

“He ought to have told you, especially when he decided to seek adventure and preferment as a soldier. Lest anything happen to him, I mean.”

“I should not speak ill of the dead, but he should have, yes.” It meant there was enough money to give her a decent dowry and improve her marriage prospects.

Will took her hand and fiddled with the seal ring. She loved the touch of his warm fingers on her skin, though she knew his efforts would be fruitless. She’d already tried butter and goose grease to remove it, to no avail. If only he had worn a ring large enough to wear on his middle finger, all would have been well.