Читать книгу His Lady of Castlemora - Joanna Fulford - Страница 11

If she had entertained any hopes that his lordship might oversleep next morning, Isabelle was disappointed for when she neared the stables he was already there, the horses saddled and ready. Hugh was with him and, she noted with disfavour, so was Murdo. Seeing her approach they turned towards her, causing Ban to look round. He greeted her with a smile. Somehow she managed to reply with the usual courtesies. Then her gaze went to the horses.

‘You are before me, my lord. I hope I have not kept you waiting.’

‘Not at all. You are prompt.’

To avoid the searching gaze she moved towards the bay mare, stroking the velvety muzzle and running a practised eye over bridle and saddle, satisfying herself that it was in good order.

‘Allow me.’

Lord Ban came to the mare’s near side and held the bridle while she mounted. Once she was safely ensconced a strong hand slid her foot into the stirrup, lingering briefly on her ankle. Only too conscious of his touch, she avoided his eye and occupied herself with the arrangement of her skirt.

He left her then and went to mount his own horse, a powerful and mettlesome chestnut which he reined in alongside her a few moments later. Murdo and Hugh fell in behind leaving Lord Ban’s men to follow at a respectful distance.

‘Quite an escort,’ she remarked. ‘Are you expecting trouble, my lord?’

‘A precaution only. It is unwise to ride alone in these troubled times.’

Isabelle reddened and threw him a sideways glance but his face gave nothing away. Even so the rebuke had been plain. He wasn’t going to let her forget about what had happened. The knowledge that she deserved it didn’t help. However, she would not rise to the bait and touching the horse with her heels cantered on ahead.

The mare had a smooth even gait and a soft mouth that responded to the lightest touch of the rein. A long open stretch of turf beckoned and she gave her mount its head. Immediately the spirited creature leapt forwards, flying hooves skimming the ground, mane and tail streaming. Revelling in the speed neither horse nor rider paid heed to the thudding hoofbeats behind. The chestnut drew level and catching a glimpse of its rider’s anxious expression, Isabelle raised an eyebrow. So he thought she was out of control, did he? His lordship made a good many assumptions about her. It was time to dent his self-assurance a little. Leaning forwards she urged the mare on.

Ban realised then that his earlier alarm had been unfounded. Isabelle hadn’t lost control at all. Furthermore he realised he was being tested. The long greensward led into a copse and the narrow track meant he had to rein back, following in the mare’s wake. Ducking low branches and jinking round bends in the path, they sped on. The mare took a fallen log in her stride and fifty yards later leapt a dry streambed. The chestnut followed suit, never altering its stride. Then, as they neared the edge of the copse Ban saw it, a great tree uprooted by an ancient storm, the centre section of its trunk lying across the path. It was high and solid. Isabelle didn’t hesitate. Heart in mouth, he watched the mare gather herself and leap, soaring over the obstacle into the open land beyond.

Setting his jaw, Ban collected the chestnut a little. The big horse stood back and took off, clearing the jump with ease and landing safe beyond it. Then for the first time Ban let the animal have its head. The chestnut responded, lengthening its stride. Almost two hands bigger than the mare and far more powerful, it steadily narrowed the gap until eventually they drew level again.

Isabelle looked round, her face registering surprise for a moment. Then it was gone. She pulled up a little further on, he following suit. The blowing horses snorted, their great muscles trembling with effort and excitement. Ban, catching his own breath, was torn between reluctant amusement and annoyance for the anxiety she had caused him. That innocent expression didn’t deceive him for a moment. The vixen was thoroughly enjoying herself. Moreover, the pace had heightened the bloom on her cheeks and brought a lovely sparkle to the hazel eyes. Strands of hair, loosened from the sober braid, played around her face in an artless halo that enhanced the suggestion of innocence. It was also unwittingly alluring and conjured more erotic thoughts. Ever since the episode at the burn they’d continued to tease his imagination. With an effort he suppressed them and nodded towards the mare.

‘How do you like her?’

‘Very much.’ Isabelle patted the glossy neck. ‘It’s like riding the wind.’

‘In truth I thought you were. Do you always set such a pace?’

Her face registered apparent concern. ‘Was it too much for you, my lord?’

For a second or two he was speechless with incredulity. Then he fought a desire to laugh. If they’d been alone, he’d have exacted a penalty for barefaced cheek. It was a pleasing notion, but unfortunately they weren’t alone. Instead he asked, ‘Where did you learn to ride like that?’

‘From my father, and a groom called Hamish.’

‘They taught you well.’

‘So I think.’ She turned her attention to the chestnut. ‘That is a fine animal. What is he called?’

‘Firecrest.’

‘It suits him. Did you break him?’

‘I did, but he was a rare handful.’

‘I can believe it.’

Before he could make any other observations their companions hove into sight, reining in nearby.

‘How do you like the mare, Sister?’

‘I like her well,’ replied Isabelle, ‘as I was just telling Lord Ban.’

‘She can certainly move, eh, Murdo?’ said Hugh.

‘Indeed she can,’ replied the other. ‘All the same, you took a dangerous risk, my lady.’

His tone was perfectly level but she heard his unspoken disapproval. It irked her. He had no right to criticise; he had no rights over her at all, nor ever would have.

‘I did not ask you to follow, Murdo. You were always free to go around the obstacle if you felt it too dangerous a challenge.’

Her brother drew in an audible breath and chuckled appreciatively. ‘Oho! A hit! Most definitely a hit.’

The master-at-arms inclined his head. ‘My lady’s wit is sharp.’

For a moment the dark gaze glinted as it met hers, his expression quite unmistakable. Isabelle lifted her chin in silent defiance even though, inwardly, she regretted letting her temper get the better of her. She knew she had annoyed him and that it behoved her to be more careful; Murdo was not possessed of a forgiving nature and it didn’t pay to cross him.

Ban had observed that brief exchange and felt his curiosity stir. The tension between the two was evident. He wondered what lay behind it. Apart from a brief introduction he’d had little to do with the man thus far, but Ban was fully aware of his presence none the less. From the seating arrangements at the table the previous evening it was apparent that Murdo enjoyed a privileged position in the household, as though he were a member of the family rather than a servant. However, such things were not uncommon. A rich household might well take in poorer relations and find a place for them. In this instance an influential place, he thought, but then a capable man who worked hard might do much to better himself.

He had no doubt whatever that the master-at-arms was capable; he’d met too many fighting men not to recognise the trait. In combat Murdo would be ruthless and deadly. He was also a natural leader. To judge from the way his men acted around him he evidently commanded their respect, no mean feat when the men themselves were hardened mercenaries. Castlemora’s reputation had been well earned. Perhaps too Murdo saw it as part of his role to be protective of Lady Isabelle even if she did resent it as interference. That would explain much. The more Ban thought about it, the likelier it seemed.

Before he could dwell further on the matter the party set off again, albeit at a more sober pace, and the conversation turned to other things. Isabelle didn’t speak to the master-at-arms again or even look in his direction, and the remainder of the ride passed without incident.

When, about an hour later, they returned to Castlemora, Archibald Graham came out to meet them. Then he looked quizzically at Isabelle.

‘Well, how did the mare go?’

‘Very well, Father. She has speed and stamina as we thought.’

‘Good. Perhaps you will find the time to ride the others.’

She returned a non-committal smile and dismounted. Lord Ban followed suit and came to join them. Standing so close to him now she was forcefully reminded just how much taller he was and how strong. Thence it was but a short step to recalling their first meeting. The memory burned. Glancing up she saw him smile as though he somehow divined her thought. Of course, that was impossible. Even so, her face, pink before from the fresh air, became a much deeper shade.

Apparently unaware of her discomfiture her father turned to Ban. ‘I trust you enjoyed your ride, my lord.’

‘Very much, sir.’ He looked at Isabelle. ‘Who would not in such company?’

Her father beamed. Isabelle thought he’d look a lot less gratified if he knew the truth. They made their way indoors for the sun was hot and the cooler air of the hall was a welcome contrast. Graham bade the servants fetch refreshment and then poured the ale with his own hands before offering his guest a cup.

‘It is most pleasant to have company again.’

‘You are kind,’ said Ban. ‘In truth Castlemora is a most delightful spot.’

‘Thank you.’ Graham clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I am glad you think so. I trust you will not find our hospitality lacking.’

‘I am sure I shall not. One day I hope to have the honour of returning it.’

‘If my health were better I’d like nothing more.’ Graham threw him a wry smile. ‘However, this hot weather is most tiring I find. It only seems to aggravate my condition.’

‘I am sorry to hear it.’

‘Never mind, I have strength enough to show you round Castlemora, if you would like it.’

Ban regarded him in concern. ‘I beg you will not over-exert yourself, my lord.’

‘No such thing,’ replied the other. ‘I’d be delighted.’

‘Then I thank you.’

Isabelle’s heart sank as she watched them head for the door, feeling certain this wasn’t just about showing their guest around. Her father almost certainly intended to talk business and it had nothing to do with horses.

Strolling to the end of the orchard the two men stopped to survey the view beyond.

‘A fine prospect,’ observed Ban. ‘Truly Castlemora is most happily situated.’

‘Aye, it is.’ Graham smiled. ‘And I’ll leave it to my son stronger and richer than ever it was when I became laird.’ He paused. ‘But it is not of my son I would speak, as I think you know.’

Ban remained silent, waiting. Now they would come to it. He was quite ready, knowing what needed to be said. It wouldn’t be an easy conversation but it must be unambiguous. There could be no room for misunderstanding.

‘As I told you,’ Graham continued, ‘my health is not of the best. It is my ardent wish to see my daughter married again before I die.’

‘A laudable aim, though I hope your lordship will live many years yet.’

‘That is not likely I fear. The pains in my chest come more often now. It is a penalty of age.’ He paused. ‘As I intimated, your coming here is not just about bloodstock, though indeed the horses are very fine.’

‘It is of Lady Isabelle you wish to speak.’

‘My daughter’s first marriage was ended untimely, a circumstance none could have foreseen.’

‘A hunting accident, wasn’t it?’

‘Aye. A stray arrow from the thicket.’ Graham shook his head. ‘The culprit was never found. Most likely it was a poacher who fired without looking carefully enough, and then panicked and fled when he realised what he had done.’

‘That is quite possible. The fellow must have known he’d hang otherwise.’

‘At any rate it was a bad business and it has left Isabelle vulnerable.’

‘Did she not wish to remain among her husband’s kin?’

‘To be honest, there was little love lost between Isabelle and her late husband’s mother.’

‘I see.’

‘When the match was arranged it seemed good but subsequently …’ Graham paused, eyeing his companion warily, as though deciding how far to commit himself. Then he took a deep breath. ‘Subsequently I have had cause to repent the alliance. The Neils refused to return the balance of my daughter’s dowry.’

Ban stared at him. ‘Refused?’

‘Aye, God rot them.’

The news gave Ban pause, though not for the reasons his companion might have thought. He didn’t care about the gold. The point was that if Isabelle had only a small dowry it greatly reduced her chances of making an illustrious second match. At the same time her father wanted her off his hands. The strengthened tie with Glengarron began to look like a convenient pretext; the real reason was more concerned with the bridegroom’s own lack of expectations. Such a man could not look too high for a wife. The more he thought about it the more certain Ban became. The realisation brought with it a raft of mixed emotions. It was a bitter reminder of what had been lost, but, at the same time, this match offered a glimmer of hope—for his house at least.

‘She will still have a dowry of course, though it will not be as great as I’d have liked,’ Graham went on. ‘In spite of my representations the Neils have refused to return any part of the original portion. Until they can be persuaded otherwise that is how the matter stands.’

‘On what grounds did they refuse?’

‘On the grounds that there was no issue from the marriage.’

The question Ban had carried in the back of his mind now loomed large. However, it was a sensitive matter and he chose his words carefully. ‘No issue because the child died, perhaps?’

‘There was no child. My son-in-law was often from home in the king’s service. No doubt he thought he had time aplenty to sire heirs.’

That threw up more queries in his companion’s mind. Why would a newly married man leave his bride’s bed, particularly when the bride looked like Isabelle? Even the king would not demand such a sacrifice, unless for dire political emergency. As far as Ban was aware there hadn’t been any of those in last year or so. There was more to this matter for certain. While he didn’t think that Graham was trying to mislead him—the man had been frank thus far—he knew they hadn’t got to the truth yet either. Perhaps that resided with Isabelle herself.

‘It surprises me that Neil should have shirked so serious a responsibility,’ he said.

‘He was a fool.’ Graham hesitated. ‘Isabelle will breed, my lord.’

‘Will she?’ Ban didn’t want to antagonise his host but at the same time he had to make his own position clear. ‘You know my family history so I need not repeat it now,’ he continued. ‘The essential point is this: as the last surviving male member of my line it is imperative that I get heirs to continue it.’

‘Of course it is. I understand that.’

‘Then you will also understand that I need to be sure.’

Graham frowned. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’

‘A secret betrothal. Later, if matters turn out as planned, the arrangement would be formalised publicly.’

‘It is not without precedent but it would not be easy to keep the matter quiet.’

‘You may rely on my discretion.’ Ban paused.

‘It’s a risk.’

‘A calculated one, since you have already said you are certain of a favourable outcome.’

‘If I agree to this I expect the matter to be expedited with all possible speed.’

‘As soon as you like.’

For a moment Graham was silent, formulating his thoughts. Ban made no attempt to push him. The proposal was not without precedent and the circumstances were unusual. At the same time he knew that he wanted Isabelle Graham; had wanted her since the day he met her. However, physical desire was one thing; he couldn’t afford to lose sight of the bigger picture. He had a duty to his family, to the souls of his murdered kin. He had to be sure.

At length Graham nodded. ‘A secret betrothal it is then, for the time being.’

‘The only remaining question is whether the lady will agree to the arrangement.’

‘Isabelle will be ruled by me.’

Ban wasn’t surprised. It was a father’s responsibility to find a suitable husband for a daughter, and her duty to accede to his choice. If Graham spoke with such confidence it was because he knew Isabelle respected his judgement. Privately Ban wondered what her true feelings would be. Would she accept him willingly or would she secretly consider such a match beneath her? Beatrice had considered it beneath her. Of course, he’d been much younger then, and inexperienced, so smitten with a lovely face that he’d failed to see the character behind. That had not become apparent until he declared himself and asked for her hand …

For a moment she stared at him. Then she laughed. ‘Marry you?’

At first he mistook the nature of the laughter, taking it for surprise. ‘Aye, why not?’

‘My father would never permit me to marry a Sassenach lord.’

‘I will speak to him, talk him round.’

‘It’s not just that,’ she replied.

‘Then what? I have wealth enough.’

‘But where are your lands, my lord?’

His smile faded. ‘They were stolen from me.’

‘And you have no prospect of regaining them.’

‘I will get more.’

‘How? You do not wield the kind of influence that would gain you an estate.’

His jaw tightened. ‘I’ll find a way.’

‘That might take years, if you ever succeed. I cannot waste my life waiting on the event.’

‘Would it be a waste then, Beatrice?’ He paused. ‘We would be together.’

‘To live in the hedgerows?’

‘Hardly that. I can support you in comfort.’

‘But you cannot give me position.’

‘Does that matter so much?’

‘Of course it matters. My father is rich and powerful, the laird of fair estates. Should not my husband be the same?’

‘I cannot blame you for wanting it,’ he replied.

‘Well then.’

‘I thought … I hoped that your feelings for me were strong enough to offset that.’

Beatrice smiled coldly. ‘You rate yourself too high, my lord, if you presume to think so. I am not so negligent of the duty I owe to my family and my name as to throw myself away on a mere nobody.’

Stung now, he was goaded into retort. ‘The Thanes of Heslingfield are not nobodies. They come from a proud and ancient line.’

‘But where are they now? They have no power, no influence. They are nothing.’

Brian pushed the memory aside. He’d been a fool and paid the price for it. The naïve and idealistic lover was long gone and in his place was a grown man who knew the world he lived in. This offer was an opportunity, one he’d little thought to have. It would provide a foundation on which much might be built—in time.

‘We have an agreement then,’ he said.

Graham smiled and held out his hand. ‘You’ll not regret it.’

Ban clasped the offered hand and hoped the words were true.