Betrothed (2 page)

She
ran to the kitchens, reviewed the menus with the cooks and the gamekeeper and
ordered all of the mattresses in the east wing pounded and the bedclothes aired.
Floors would be swept; fixtures dusted, hearths cleaned, fires laid for cool
spring nights.

When
she had put everyone to work, she slipped away to her own room, small and dark
with only a tiny window for light and fresh air. It contained a narrow cot, a
small table and one chest. Since her father’s death, she no longer resided in
the family wing but closer to the servants’ quarters.

Now
she had no time to retrieve dried flowers from the weavers’ shed or to dye the
linen. She barely time to embroider golden embellishments for the black
garments already stashed. All must be ready so she could work into the night.
With luck and plenty of toil, she could be on her way before the sun rose.

Opening
her chest, she surveyed the rich colors of the skirts she no longer wore in the
great hall. She loved the rainbow of garments she could not carry with her. The
gown she searched had been her favorite, worn with pride and confidence as she
played hostess for her widowed father. The color was the most important. She
found it near the bottom.

Ruthlessly,
she rent its seams and smoothed out the panels. Once at her destination, there
would not be the need for a vivid wardrobe. It was good she had grown
accustomed to wearing drab gray and serviceable black

Isabeau
cut strips from the amber skirt, placed the cloth against the black livery and
tacked it into place. There was no time for matching stitches, or for
perfection. The Bennington livery must be recognizable from a distance. The
disguise only had to last a two-day journey. Yet it couldn’t appear too shabby
if she was truly a Bennington man. The earl apparently took pride in not only
the skill of his people but in their appearance as well. She would take a
needle and plenty of thread with her to make repair.

Huddled
over her needlework, she tried to remember the first time she realized she
would need a disguise to affect her escape. Startled, Isabeau pricked her
finger when she heard the bells marking the time. She hurried. She must arrive
at the evening meal in time so as not to cause comment. Quickly she stashed her
work out of sight. There was little chance her room would be searched in her
absence but she didn’t want to leave any evidence for a casual inspection.

Although
she was late, she ran to the kitchens first. If Simon happened to choose to eat
in the great hall, he would see her enter from the kitchens as if she had been
readying the manor for the visitor.

Stopping
outside the door, she caught her breath and smoothed her hair with a shaky hand
and then she slipped quietly into the organized chaos of the evening’s meal.

Isabeau
had gone no more than two steps when a raspy voice growled behind her.

“Just
where have you been, Missy?” Blanche tugged on Isabeau’s sleeve.

“I
have been seeing to the preparations for Simon’s guest. You know that.”

 “Do
I?  What I know is that you flitted from tower to stables, giving out
lists of busy work that will surely raise the dust for ages. But of you, I see
neither hide nor hair.”

Isabeau
looked steadily into the sharp gray eyes. “I have not left the manor grounds.
There is much work to be done. Simon wants all to be perfection for his guest.”

“And
who might that be?”

Isabeau’s
voice trembled. “Lord Kirney.”

Blanche
stiffened and clutched at her crucifix. “That devil’s bastard is
returning?  Your lord father, bless his soul, would run that foul serpent
through rather than have Olivet further defiled.    

“Simon
seems to have grown quite fond of his lordship.” Isabeau shivered at the memory
of Lord Kirney’s last visit. She had heard rumors, whispers—but they always
stopped when she stepped within earshot. Decadence surrounded her brother,
permeated the manor and thickened even more when the neighboring knight
visited.

Now
Simon was planning something. The light in his eyes had a calculating look when
he watched her. She realized he had begun to control his blows so as not to mar
her face with bruises. Lord Kirney was behind the change in behavior.

She
would rather deal with the bruises than Kirney.

“What
have you been doing, child?” Blanche’s voice was laced with concern. “You
haven’t been doin’ mischief, have ya?”

“I
assure you, I’ve done nothing wrong.” Isabeau touched the older woman’s worn
cuff.

“You
know how much enjoyment Hisself gits from hurting you. ‘Tis a game he plays. He
relishes his power by hurting those around him.

“He
needs to remind everyone that he is now the Lord of the Manor,” said Isabeau.

“That
he does.” Blanche nodded in agreement and then leaned closer. “But his real
pleasure comes from hurting you.

In
her darkest moments, Isabeau imagined her brother hated her because of her
birth. Why, she couldn’t fathom. As a female, she was no threat to the Olivet
title. She had a dowry from her mother but everything else was entailed.

Isabeau
swallowed. “I don’t know what to do except...” She stopped her confession. She
couldn’t involve Blanche in her plans in any way.  

Blanche
slipped her arm around Isabeau’s waist and gave a quick squeeze. “I pray God
will preserve us. For now, take your place in the great hall. This evenin’
Simon chooses to my lord us lessers with his company.
“
‘Twouldn’t
do for him to think you dally in the kitchen to avoid him.

 She
gave Isabeau a small push towards the great hall. Isabeau raced for the door.
The rumble of many voices and the growls of hungry dogs assaulted her ears. She
slowed before she crossed the sill and sedately edged into the room to take her
place at the far end of the main table.

Simon
was already seated in the grand chair he had crafted after their father’s last
illness. The chair to his left was smaller and empty as usual. Syllba, his
wife, had never taken her place at the main table. The manor’s lady dined in
her chambers.   

Simon
had acquired the habit of resting his head beneath the carved floral cornet.
The ornate carving on the tall back was perfectly situated to give the
appearance of a crown sitting over Simon’s head.

Of
habit, Isabeau nibbled at her food and bit her tongue. She kept her chin
lowered in subservience should Simon glance her way, but her eyes continuously
scanned the room. All seemed orderly this eve.

Low
words spattered around the tables but she spoke to no one and no conversation
was directed towards her. Over the months, all learned to avoid retribution.
Her brother had succeeded in making her lonely in the midst of the crowd. She
missed the camaraderie

Isabeau
sighed with relief when Simon pushed off his throne and made his way to the
corner stair on unsteady feet. Dinner had passed without incident. When she
heard a whispered “Praise God,” she realized she hadn’t been the only one with
such worries.

Immediately,
the atmosphere lightened. Conversation became animated. Isabeau actually heard
a peal of laughter come from a far table. Taking a final sip of the diluted
wine Simon had decreed was suitable for her consumption, she stood and began to
gather the leftovers.  

Isabeau
glanced up in time to see a blonde serving girl quietly making a path along the
west wall. The maid had almost reached the exit that led not towards the
kitchen but to the side stairs.

“Carrie?”
Isabeau called softly.

The
girl jumped as if she had been struck and then froze, turning toward Isabeau.

“Yes,
milady?” Her mouth quivered before she answered.   

“Could
you assist me?”

“
milady
?” The girl’s voice broke.

Isabeau
gestured towards Simon’s pewter plate as she hefted a platter herself. “Help me
carry the leavings to the kitchen.”

She
didn’t wait for an answer, hoping Carrie would follow her. She worried about
the fear in the girl’s voice. Isabeau didn’t remember Carrie being so timid or
jumpy. When she had approached Dibble about sending his oldest daughter to the
Manor for a kitchen maid’s position. The girl seemed willing and excited. No
more tending the fields with her younger brothers. Of course now, the climate
within Olivet Manor had changed.

Isabeau
sensed the girl following behind and gave a sigh. Lately, she never knew which
of the Olivet people would ignore her instructions. Simon had made it plain
that Isabeau no longer held

She
placed her burden on one of the dry sinks and waited for Carrie to follow suit.

“How
is your family?  Are they well?”

Isabeau
saw Carrie’s blue eyes glitter. “They be fine.”

“Oh.
I just wondered, as I have not seen Dibble in quite sometime and he used to visit
Smitty every Sunday eve. I don’t remember seeing your mother attending any
church services for a couple of months.”

Carrie
opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. She licked her lips before speaking.
“They have both been extremely busy with the spring tilling and sowing. Mama
has had to help Poppa in the fields now that I am no longer there.”

Isabeau
had the distinct feeling Carrie wished to say something completely different.
“When I offered you a place at the Manor, I had no idea that it would cause
your family hardships. I would understand if you need to return to the
cottage.”

“No!”
The denial exploded out of Carrie’s lungs as if she had endured a physical
blow. Then she softened her voice to explain. “No. My brothers are growing into
their chores and my mother is increasing again. There is no longer a place for
me at the cottage.”

“I
see,” Isabeau answered -- though she didn’t understand at all. She could almost
feel the girl shutting down. There were few options for a young woman in any
station but was life at Olivet that much better than a small cottage with a
loving family?

Isabeau
resisted the temptation to delve into the situation. She didn’t have time to
break through the barriers Carrie had erected. “Grab a couple trays. The two of
us can give Marley a hand at cleaning up after the horde. I am sure more of the
tables have emptied.”

“Yes,
milady.” Carrie took two trays turned towards the great hall with a sigh. She
shook her head and then returned to fulfilling her own goals. “Marley? 
Please see that a pack of food stuffs—enough for at least two days of healthy
appetite—is prepared for the earl’s messenger. He has to leave before first
light so if you could prepare the rations tonight he won’t be under foot in the
morning.”

 Marley
waved her plump hand from her place next to the hearth. “As you wish, milady.”

Isabeau
smiled and waved back. She had confidence that Marley would fit enough food in
the pack to last a week. The woman had a soft spot for any male she considered
a growing strap of a boy and Malak certainly fit that description. Some traits
couldn’t be squelched by Simon’s tyranny.

Entering
the hall Isabeau could hear scattered pools of low conversation. The room was
settling for the night. Several dogs nosed in the rushes seeking scraps. A
small dog ambled down the center of a table sniffing and lapping for crumbs.
Shrugging, Isabeau turned to find Carrie clearing the master table. Sliding
passed her, Isabeau started at the far end, working towards the center. They
reached Simon’s place when disaster struck.

Tripping
over one of the hounds, Isabeau bumped the wine jug. Unfortunately, it was the
first meal in months in which Simon had failed to drain it in one setting.
Isabeau grabbed for the vessel but unfortunately couldn’t prevent the puddle of
red liquid from dripping to the rushes. Carrie scuttled to help mop up with a
cloth she had tucked in her apron.

 “Damn
you, Izzy!” Simon yelled from behind them. He’d returned to claim his wine.

Both
of the girls paled and twisted to face Simon.

“You
clumsy bitch. You wasted the good stuff.”

Isabeau
braced herself for the blow. She could see it in Simon’s eyes. She was already
on her knees, a perfect target. She sucked in her breath and clamped her teeth
as Simon raised his hand. She felt the rush of air as Simon’s hand sailed
passed her cheek and found his target on Carrie’s jaw. The blow propelled
Carrie to the floor.

“Jesu! 
Simon, why?  I was the one who spilled the wine.”

Carrie’s
trembling hand covered the reddening mark on her ashen face

“Why?”
Isabeau repeated. In her agitation, she didn’t remember to use the subservient
address her brother preferred.

Simon
looked down at Isabeau, not bothering to conceal his hatred. “Because I can.”
He pointed to Carrie. “You girl; I am sure Lady Syllba is waiting for ya.”

He
picked up the carafe and thrust it in Carrie’s direction. “Fill this on yer
way.”