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Chapter Five
Ivy
After breakfast, Ivy found herself without anything to do and felt restless. Castor was busy trying to ingratiate himself with the household staff, especially with the head steward and the Captain of the Duke’s personal guard. All Ivy could do was roll her eyes and shake her head. She was sure the men Castor was trying to cozy up to could see through his transparent attempts to better his position.
With nothing better to do, Ivy thought she would take in the town that sat outside the walls of the castle. She knew they had a market that was far larger and livelier than the one they had in Elix. The market was one of the only reasons she enjoyed coming to York since she could find interesting and exotic things not available on their small barony.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
Ivy turned and found herself face to face with Brixton and frowned, thinking she had given him the slip in the warren of corridors inside Castle York. Brixton was one of her brother’s most loyal soldiers, and the man he had assigned to guard her person and keep her safe. He was not a bad man, but she did not particularly enjoy having a shadow everywhere she went.
He was also sometimes a little too familiar with her for Ivy’s liking. Indeed, he sometimes acted as if she belonged to him. Standing tall, the man was broad through the shoulders and chest, tough and battle-hardened. His hair was dark but graying at the temples with deep-set dark eyes and lines etched into his bearded face. He was handsome in a grizzled kind of way, but he was twice her age, and she was not attracted to him in the least.
“I am going to take in the market if you must know,” she snapped, not in any mood to deal with him today.
“Afraid not, My Lady,” he said. “Your brother left me specific instructions that you were to stay on the castle grounds.”
Ivy waved him off. “You are welcome to stay on castle grounds with my brother,” she said. “It is not often I get to York, and I plan on taking advantage of it. I am going to the market.”
“But My Lady, your brother--”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you stay here and find him,” she cut him off. “And you can tell him personally, just how quarrelsome I am being.”
“My Lady, I really must insist--”
“Enough!” Ivy roared. “I am done talking about this. I am going to the market.”
Without another word, she turned and strode down the corridors, marching with a purpose until she reached the doors leading to the antechamber and then to the path that led down the small hill to the bailey. A cool wind swept through the grounds, and Ivy pulled her cloak about her shoulders a little tighter. The men who were working in the bailey cut glances at her as she crossed to the main gate.
She passed beneath the sally port and cast a glance over her shoulder and rolled her eyes when she saw Brixton trailing behind her. Not that she thought he would actually allow her to leave the keep alone. But at least he had not tried to force her to stay inside the castle walls. That would have led to an ugly confrontation she did not want to have. All she wanted was to take in the market and do some shopping.
Ivy raised her chin and pretended he wasn’t actually behind her. She walked into the town of York and threaded her way through the crowd. When Brixton attempted to clear the crowd out of her way, she shot him a look that could have soured milk. He fell back and walked behind her after that, a flash of irritation etched upon his features.
Ivy rounded a corner and found herself at the edge of the marketplace. She paused for a minute and took it all in, a small smile pulling the corners of her mouth upward. It was at least twice the size of the marketplace in Elix, and from where she stood, she could see vendors hawking goods Ivy knew she could not find back home.
The crowd was thick, and Ivy had to turn this way and that to keep from being jostled and bumped into by people not paying attention to where they were going. Ivy felt frenetic energy in the crowd, though, as people dashed this way and that. The voices in the crowd were loud as men and women hawked their wares, and others were in loud negotiations over this and that. Ivy could not help but smile as she enjoyed the nearly chaotic energy that saturated the place.
As she passed by a booth, Ivy inhaled the rich aroma of something cooking over an open fire. She’d just had breakfast, but the food smelled so good, she couldn’t help herself. Stepping over to the stall, she gave the woman behind the counter a warm smile.
“That smells wonderful,” Ivy said. “What is it?”
“It’s lamb in me family’s special fig sauce in a bowl of bread, m’lady,” she replied. “Can I pour ya a cup?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “It smells too good to pass up.”
“Aye, that it is,” the woman grinned. “Ye’ve got exquisite taste.”
Ivy gave the woman a few shillings and accepted the bread bowl. She found a less occupied spot and sat down on the end of the bench and rolled her eyes when Brixton sat down on the opposite side. His eyes were wary as he scanned the crowd, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword.
“It is not as if we are in hostile country, Brixton,” Ivy chided him. “We are in York. I hardly think assassins will be falling from the sky to kill me.”
Brixton shrugged his broad shoulders. “I am quite certain Duke Hamilton and his daughter thought the same thing. And yet, here we are.”
Ivy tucked into her bowl of food, frustrated that she could not refute his words. She knew what he said was right. So rather than argue a losing cause just for the sake of arguing, she filled her mouth with food instead. And she was glad she did. The fig sauce was divine, and as flavor exploded in her mouth, she moaned with pleasure. Ivy ate silently, making a point of ignoring Brixton entirely.
As she ate, her mind turned to the burly Scotsman. She hated to admit that she had been wrong about him. After learning he had been appointed by the Baron of the West March to look into the attempted assassinations of the Duke and Gillian, she had been embarrassed. She had treated him like a servant yesterday and had spoken to him harshly. Even now, thinking about it made her cheeks flush with heat.
She was terribly worried about Gillian - an innocent bystander who had apparently been caught up in these evil machinations by accident. Ivy had only met Gillian a handful of times at various events at York over the years, but she liked the woman enormously. Ivy appreciated Gillian’s straightforwardness and intelligence. She thought Gillian was tough, strong, and courageous - more courageous than she had ever been, that was for sure.
Gillian seemed to have a fire inside of her that burned bright and caused Ivy to admire her. Knowing she was now lying in bed, possibly fighting for her life, broke Ivy’s heart. She was glad that somebody was looking into it and made her a little bit ashamed of her brother, who was simply here to be seen by others and to curry favor with the nobles rather than actually trying to help find the would-be assassin.
As she thought of Gillian and the assassin, her mind drifted to thoughts of the big Scotsman. Fin. He barely spoke to her over breakfast and still seemed annoyed that she had taken him to be a household servant or tableman. As she thought about it, Ivy supposed that she could not blame him for that and thought she should make a point of apologizing to him. Ivy did not want him to think ill of her.
As she thought about him, her cheeks warmed. She had to admit that he was a handsome man. Tall, with wide, sloping shoulders, arms as big around as her thigh, and a body that was taut with corded muscle. His hair was a dusty shade of brown, and he wore it in a braid that hung just below his shoulders. His eyes were a dark shade of brown that were warm and rich and made her heart stutter inside of her chest. Fin’s skin was dusky colored from having spent quite a bit of time in the sun.
He was a very handsome man. Ivy could not deny that. And with images of him still floating through her mind, she finished off the last of the bread bowl, savoring every last bite of food. No sooner had she swallowed it than she felt stuffed beyond the point of reason. She groaned, but this time it was for an entirely different reason.
Ivy stood up and laid her hands on her belly, so full she feared she might be ready to burst at the seams. Either that or she might get sick. She took several deep breaths, trying to clear her mind. And as she stood there looking out at the crowd, she saw the big Scotsman and his man weaving their way through the crowd. There was no mistaking his size or the thick beard that clung to his face.
As she followed him with her eyes, her stomach lurched, and she felt the warmth growing inside of her. And it gave her an idea.
