Rose of rapture (38 page)

High above, upon a cliff that ascended stonily before her and fell away starkly on the other side in a sheer drop to the sea below, Hawkhurst Castle loomed over the girl, as dark and forbidding as the rocky crags among which it was set. Its tall, powerful towers gleamed ominously against the horizon, its machicolated battlements cutting a cruel, jagged scar across the firmament as a sudden flash of lightning lit the sky. The massive grey fortress had no moat, for there was no need of one. There was no way to gain access to the keep other than by the single road that wound almost dangerously up to the ridge upon which the castle perched like a brooding hawk and whence it had drawn its name.

Isabella's breath caught in her throat as she eyed the fortress despondendy, for there was nothing welcoming about those stem, gloomy walls, which seemed so different from Rushden's protective barriers. No wonder Warrick had spent so little time here in the past. Besides having crumbled, in places, to wrack and ruin, there was an air of disquiet about the keep that even the bravest of souls must have found unnerving.

The girl swallowed hard as the stout iron portcullis was lowered on rusty, creaking chains behind her to clang shut with a sudden, eerie bang. They were passed through the inner gatehouse, then Giles and Caerllywel were lifting her down from her mare to follow Warrick into the castle.

"Do not look so terrified, 'Sabelle," Caerllywel whispered encouragingly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "For all its strange appearance, I assure ye that Hawkhurst has no ghosts. 'Tis merely that the fortress is very old—'twas built during the time of William the Conqueror—and the Tremaynes have been notoriously careless about its upkeep. Waerwic, I'm afraid, has proven no better than the rest at maintaining his inheritance. Like his ancestors before him, he has preferred life at Court and in batde to Hawkhurst."

"'Tis no wonder," Isabella said with a little shiver as she glanced about somewhat apprehensively.

The great hall in which they now stood was huge and might

have been overwhelming in its magnificence, had any effort been made to care for it. As it was, smoke from the torches had stained the walls with black blotches of grimy soot; the sconces themselves looked as though they had not been cleaned in decades. The once-beautiful tapestries had faded with time; many were moth-eaten, rotten, and hanging in tattered shreds. The trestle tables, which no one had bothered to dismantle after the midday meal, were badly scarred and were layers deep in dust besides, as were the benches ranged haphazardly alongside them. The floor was almost knee-deep in filthy rushes, new reeds having been laid down without first removing the old ones. The musty air stank with the foul odor of the decaying straw, which was made even ranker by the scraps of molded food and other offal that had infiltrated the rushes over a period of time. Isabella was certain the putrid reeds hid virtual armies of roaches, maggots, lice, and bedbugs, as well as the rats her ears discerned rustling through straw.

"Marry-go-up," she breathed with dismay.

Warrick, who had overheard the remark, had the grace to flush slightly with shame at the condition in which his bride found his home—now her home too. For the first time in his life, it dawned on the Earl just how dirty and sorely in need of repair Hawkhurst really was, especially when one compared it to Rushden, as Isabella and her brother must be doing. Isabella was plainly horrified by the keep; and though less shocked than his sister (for he had sojourned at bachelor households in the past and often found them less than clean), Giles was startled as well. Even Caerllywel was too embarrassed to meet his brother's eyes. Really! the yoimger man thought. The least that Warrick could have done was to have sent word of their coming so his servants might have prepared for their arrival. After all, it was not as though the Earl were still a bachelor. He had a wife to think of now.

Warrick realized this also, but he told himself he did not care what they thought. Isabella's feelings, especially, were not important to him. But nevertheless, in a sudden fit of anger at his lack of foresight, his hand swept out to knock several silver chalices from one of the tables. The cups clattered to the floor, stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Christ's son!" he swore wrathfully, then shouted for his steward. "Farrell! Farrell, where are ye?"

"Coming, my lord. Welcome home, my lord. Sir Caerllywel, how good to see ye again." Master Farrell bowed and smiled, apparently unafraid of the Earl's temper. "I trust ye had a pleasant

journey, my lord; but then, of course, ye did not. How could ye have done so in this rain? So tiresome. Perth, Anson. Light the hearths—and quickly—so his lordship and guests may dry themselves. Mary, Leah. Bring food and drink," the steward directed, then turned back to Warrick. "Not knowing how many guests, if any, to expect when the sentries announced your arrival, my lord, I had only your chamber prepared. If ye will excuse me now, I will go and have Sir Caerllywel's room made up, as well as chambers for the Lord and Lady." He indicated Giles and Isabella respectfully, waiting expectantly to be presented,

Abrupdy, Warrick recalled his manners.

"I'm sorry, Farrell," the Earl stated stiffly. "Isabella, Giles, this is my steward. Master Farrell. Farrell, this is my wife, Lady Hawkhurst, and her brother. Lord Rushden."

If the steward was surprised by this announcement, he did not show it, though Isabella was certain he could not help but think that Ragnor, ruffling his damp feathers upon her shoulder, and her own wet, bedraggled appearance combined to present a very strange picture indeed. Farrell merely bowed once more and politely welcomed both her and Giles to Hawkhurst.

"I'm afraid ye find us in a sad state, my lady," the steward apologized somewhat anxiously. "Had we but known ye were coming... His lordship is so seldom in residence, ye see, we do not maintain very many servants here. However, no doubt that will be changed now, and we shall be able to set matters to rights."

"I'm sure we shall. Master Farrell"—Isabella spoke warmly, for though she had, at first, suspected the steward of gross neglect and incompetence, she recognized now that his hands had been tied by her husband's total lack of interest in the estate.

"Are my brothers here, Farrell?" Warrick inquired abruptly, tersely changing the subject.

"Nay, my lord. Lord Madog returned to Gwendraeth some time ago, taking Sir Emrys with him."

"And my mother?"

"She is not in residence either, my lord."

"Thank ye, Farrell. That will be all for now."

By now, the men-at-arms who had escorted them on their journey had joined them in the great hall, and the huge, central stone hearths had been lit and a plain but hearty meal brought. Isabella was glad to see the food at least was decent. Before sitting down to dine, she moved gratefully to one of the fires that now burned cheerfully, dispelling some of the fortress's dank

and dreary atmosphere. The autumn wind and rain had chilled her more than she'd realized. As she stretched her hands out to the blaze, Giles came to stand beside her.

"Sweet Jesii, 'Sabelle." His voice was low. "I do not know how Warrick came to let his keep fall into such a shambles. It certainly looks as though ye have your work cut out for ye. I almost wish I had not asked Gloucester's permission to accompany ye here. Methinks I would as lief be battling the Scots as trying to help ye set this place to rights, especially when Warrick is so wroth with ye."

"Oh, Giles. Ye know 'tis not my fault."

"Aye, I know. God damn Lionel! I could kill him! If only Warrick would listen to reason."

"Ye and Caerllywel both attempted to persuade him of my innocence in the matter and failed. 'Tis hopeless, Giles. Warrick will never believe I didst not betray him. Oh, Giles. What am I to do? I tried so hard to win his favor, and he had begun to care for me a little; he said so. Now everything is ruined. He will never trust me again; and where there is no trust, there can bo no love."

"I know, 'Sabelle. I'm sorry. Do ye wish me to take ye away from here? Ye have your manor house, Grasmere, and ye know ye will always be welcome at Rushden."

"Nay, dear brother, though I thank ye for your offer. My place is with my husband, no matter what. I have made my bed; now I must lie in it. Only ... do not leave me so very soon. Stay with me... for just a little while."

"I shall, dear sister. Do not thmk otherwise; and remember, when I go, that Caerllywel is also your friend."

"Aye, but I must not impose on him, Giles. He wouldst be so torn between Warrick and me. I could not bring such pain upon him."

"Ye are so kind and good, 'Sabelle. I do not understand how Warrick can believe ill of ye."

"He was hurt, Giles, and the wound went deep. I can understand that. 1 am only sorry I couldst not heal him."

That night, Isabella lay alone in her chamber, waiting. But Warrick did not come to her. She heard him pacing restlessly in the room next to hers, but though he paused several times before the door that lay between them, he chd not open it. Finally, toward dawn, he sought his bed. Still, he did not sleep and, at last, at sunrise, rose and ordered his horse to be saddled.

Isabella's heart sank as she heard him give the command to

his squire Rhys. Then she realized, from his conversation with his other squires, that he was but going hunting; and her spirits lifted a little. At least he was not returning to Court—not yet.

Hurriedly, after she was certain he had gone, she summoned her maids and bathed and dressed, for there was much to be done at Hawkhurst. As she ate her breakfast, the girl pondered the matter thoughtftilly, writing down a list of those things she had already observed were needed. Then she went downstairs and called all the servants into the great hall.

"I am your new mistress. Lady Hawkhurst," she informed them for the benefit of those who had not met her yesterday and who were eying her curiously. "And this is now my home." She paused to let this sink in, then continued. "I know that, for many years, ye have been without a chatelaine, so I will make no comment on the condition in which I discovered Hawkhurst Castle yesterday upon my arrival. But I will say that I do not ever expect to fmd it in such a state again. So if ye wish to remain here—and I hope ye do—ye must accustom yourselves to several changes. I plan to start immediately to set this keep in order. It has been sorely neglected, so there is a great deal of hard work to be done. I shall expect ye all to do your fair share of chores. If ye perform your tasks well, ye will be rewarded. If ye do not, ye will be dismissed. Now—I want ye each to step forward, one at a time, and tell me your name and position. After that, I will give ye your instructions."

But though she waited expectantly, no one moved forth. Instead, they stood silently, staring at her.

"Come. Why do ye delay?" the girl asked impatiently. "Ye will not fmd me a cruel mistress, I promise ye."

"Begging your pardon, my lady." Farrell cleared his throat hesitantly. "But—but the servants—they—they are afraid "

"Afraid of what. Master Farrell?"

"The—the hawk, my lady."

"Why, that's ridiculous! Surely, they have seen hawks before. Why, I know for a fact that my lord owns several."

"Hunting hawks, my lady, to be sure," the steward agreed somewhat nervously. "However, that bird doesn't appear to be— to be tame, my lady," Farrell observed, then took a hasty step backward as Ragnor suddenly flapped his wings and let out a shrill cry, his round yellow eyes gazing fiercely at the steward.

Isabella suppressed her desire to laugh and stroked the hawk's head gently to soothe it. Then she coaxed the bird upon her wrist and held him up high for all to see.

"This is Ragnor," she said. "He was given to me as a wedding

present by His Grace Edward, the King." Noting that this announcement was received with appropriate awe and respect, Isabella went on. "Ragnor's wing was broken, and though I set it, and it has now mended, for some reason unknown to me, he is still unable to fly. I assure ye he will not hurt ye. Now—let us get on with our work."

It was not to be expected, of course, that the keep could be set to rights in a single day, for cenmries of neglect had taken their toll. But Master Farrell, a good man who had long despaired of his master's inattention to Hawkhurst, saw Isabella as a godsend; and the girl was able to make a tolerable start. In addition. Sir Bevan, the master-at-arms, was only too eager to describe the "shocking" state of the armory and the "well nigh indefensible" condition of the castle walls and to take Giles, when he rose, on a guided tour of the fortress to point out these "unpardonable" deficiencies. No sooner had they departed than the chief bailiff. Master Isham, appeared with a long list of grievances about the keep's farmlands, herds, and tenants.

"I do not scruple to tell ye, my lady, that if there is a single, bushel of grain to be discovered in the storehouses, 'twill be a miracle," he sniffed. "And if there is a cow or sheep to be found, God will indeed have smiled on us. Most of the villeins have run off, and indeed, one can hardly blame them, for I would not house so much as a goat or a pig in one of their cottages!"

Though she sympathized with him, Isabella, with a stem eye, silenced the bailiff: for despite Warrick's appalling mismanagement of his inheritance, it was not Master Isham's place to criticize the Earl.

"Bring me the account books and a list of the keep's inventory this afternoon. Master Isham," the girl directed. "If the ledgers have been maintained as badly as the rest of the fortress, I have no doubt 'twill take ye and your clerk that long to put them into some semblance of order."

The bailiff drew himself up stiffly at this, but as he flushed a dull red, Isabella knew her accusation had hit home and was able to dismiss him without further qualm for her rudeness.

There then came, somewhat shyly, the castle priest. Father Francis. Wisely, he spoke no word against his master but instead quietly lamented the fact that Mass had been reduced to a Sunday morning service (when it ought to have been said daily), because the stained glass windows of the chapel were broken, permitting the most fearsome draughts to enter, and the pews were so badly splintered, it was actually dangerous to sit on them.