After the Storm (19 page)

"I'm Rolf of Gesthowe." The man spoke to Reynard rather than to her. He Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

pointed at her. "I've come to marry the whore of Lilydrake."

Sir Reynard hit him again. The man staggered, but didn't go down. "I thought I told you to apologize," Reynard said.

Rolf rubbed his jaw. "For what?"

"For mistreating Lady Isabeau."

"I'll treat my wife any way I choose."

Rolf looked at her, the same way a very hungry man looked at a very large plate of food. It made her want to run for the gate despite the numerous folk standing around willing to support her. She fought the urge to panic and glared back at the man.

"I'm not your wife," she pointed out. "And neither you nor the priest is welcome at my castle."

"My castle," Rolf corrected her. He looked back at Reynard. "Who are you? If you're another one of her lovers I suppose I'll have to kill you."

"Another one of my—" Libby sputtered. Fury replaced her alarm at the man's attitude. She took an angry step forward, but was stopped by a stern look from Reynard.

"I am not the lady's lover," Reynard told Rolf firmly. "Nor is any man. I don't know what the priest told you, but Lady Isabeau is beyond reproach."

Rolf rubbed his bruised jaw. He eyed the sheriff with a certain amount of respectful caution. "You'll swear to that?"

"I will."

"As will I," Henry piped up. "Lady Isabeau is all that is modest and chaste."

Libby wouldn't have sworn to that herself, but she was glad the men rushed to assert her honor. "Thank you."

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Rolf glanced from Father John to Reynard to her, then back at Reynard. He looked confused, but about half convinced. "What about the outlaw?"

"What about him?" Libby asked, belligerent despite Reynard's warning frown.

"The wolfshead held her prisoner before all our eyes," Henry asserted. "There was no chance for him to sully her purity in any way. We would have hunted him down like a dog by now if he'd raped her."

Father John laughed. "She would have welcomed—"

"Quiet, priest," Rolf ordered. He rounded on Father John. "If you've made a fool of me before my betrothed I'll have you beaten."

"Remember who talked the king into giving you Lilydrake," the priest snarled back. "I can find another to take your place easily enough."

"I'm here and I'll—"

"You've already let the wolfshead take your sword. Will you let the Welshwoman take your ba—"

Libby put her fingers to her lips and whistled loudly. "Excuse me!" she shouted.

When she had their attention she demanded, "Just what the devil is going on here?"

Rolf went down on one knee before her. "Lady Isabeau," he proclaimed, "the king has seen fit to reward my service to him with the fief of Lilydrake and your hand in marriage." He snatched her hand from her side and kissed it.

She snatched it back. "What?"

"I can only apologize for my rude words and actions." He gave Father John a dirty look. "I was led to believe false charges against you."

"What has the king got to do with this?" Marj asked as she stepped quickly forward. "Daffyd ap Bleddyn is master of Lilydrake."

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"The king's father gave Lilydrake to the Welsh mercenary," Father John answered. "Since the Welshman does not hold the fief himself and his heir is unwed, the king claims the right to take the woman in ward and gift her to the man of his choice."

Libby gaped at Marj. "Can he do that?"

The historian licked her lips nervously. She nodded. "He can do it, my lady. It is a great honor, actually," she added.

Libby remembered Lady Sibelle saying something like this could happen. She just hadn't paid any attention at the time. That was before she'd realized how much the locals could influence her life. As if having Bastien's amnesia to deal with wasn't bad enough, now she was being given away to a stranger by the king. So much for observing rather than impacting on the local culture. It looked like she was the one having to absorb the impact.

"Ouch," she said, and tried to think rather than follow the impulse to either laugh or cry hysterically. She noticed that Father John was looking smug. She looked at Rolf of Gesthowe and knew why. He didn't look like a Rolf. A Rolf should look like a wisecracking, piano-playing Muppet, not an ugly imitation of Meatloaf.

Father John, who hated her for no good reason, was delighted to have found the nastiest lout he could hunt up for her future husband.

Rolf, however, was also looking at her with a puppy-dog adoration that was as surprising as it was sudden. Now that he'd been assured of her chastity, he was gallantly on his knees to his lady fair. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he seemed.

Maybe he believed in this chivalric ideal stuff. Maybe she could work with this.

She steeled her nerves and queasy stomach and dropped a light kiss on the man's sweaty forehead. "Welcome, my lord," she proclaimed as sweetly as possible.

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"Now that I know your errand I can but humbly thank you for your earlier greeting, shocking though your kiss was to my untried senses." She looked at the priest and was pleased to see that he was frowning. Then she batted her eyelashes at Rolf. "Please rise, good sir."

"You're laying it on a little thick, aren't you?" Marj whispered to her in English.

She glanced at the worried historian. "Trust me."

"You've got a plan?"

"A cunning plan," she answered, though it was just barely forming in the back of her mind. "Cunning plans run in my family." And running was just what she had in mind, but she had to make a few arrangements first.

She noticed that both Reynard and Henry were staring at her. She turned a persuasive smile on both of them while Rolf lumbered to his feet. "Our guest is tired and in need of refreshment," she said. "And no doubt he has brought news from court. Why don't you men join him for a hot bath in the laundry shed?"

Henry gave her a skeptical look, but she shooed her erstwhile suitor forward.

"Please. And you too, Sir Reynard."

"I could use a bath. And a new sword," Rolf added. "We were attacked by robbers in the forest."

Reynard stepped forward. "Bastien's men?" He took Rolf's arm and directed him toward the wash house. "Come, friend, we have much to talk about."

Libby sighed with relief when Henry and Father John followed after the other two. She hoped they'd have a nice long soak and a nice long talk. She needed some time. She turned to the two women who were staring at her. "I think we need to prepare a feast for our guests."

"A feast?" Marj asked.

Libby nodded. "With lots of wine. What's the flavored stuff called? That wine Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

mixed with herbs drink?"

"Hippocras," Matilda answered.

"Right. Hippocras. Matilda, dear," she said sweetly, "you did bring a box of herbs from Passfair, didn't you?" The girl nodded. "Good. Let's go have a look at your supply, shall we? I think I want to brew a little something special for my
dear
betrothed." A little something the Wicked Witch of the West would be proud of, she thought as she lead Matilda back toward the tower.

"I don't think poppy is one of the ingredients in the mixture, my lady."

"This is how we do it in Wales, dear," Libby replied as she stirred the large pot of warmed wine. "It's very soothing. Pour a little more in, why don't you?" The girl looked dubious, but complied. "That should do it." Libby carefully removed the pot from the brazier.

While Matilda watched she poured the mixture into several stoneware beakers, then called a servant in to take them away. "Make sure these are only served to high table," she ordered. "Is the evening meal being served?"

"Yes, my lady," the woman answered, then left the tower room quickly to serve the hippocras before it got cold.

"You better go down and join Henry," Libby told Matilda. "I'll be down after I've made myself beautiful for my lord."

"Shouldn't I help you change?"

"No, no. I'll be fine," Libby wondered why her voice was so calm. If this didn't work she didn't know how she'd escape from the castle without resorting to pyrotechnics and possibly small arms fire. She didn't want that. She didn't want to have to make a run for the timegate where they'd arrived. She wanted to escape into the forest, not go back to her own century to evade marriage to Rolf of Gesthowe. She had other plans, plans that had nothing to do with Time Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Search's rules and regulations, or even her own desperate needs. She had a mission, and his name was Bastien of Bale. "Go along, dear," she urged Matilda.

"Henry will miss you."

Put that way, Matilda was eager enough to leave her alone. Libby sighed with relief when the girl was gone. She was also delighted that Marj [ones was already outside keeping an eye on Father John as Libby had asked her to do.

Being alone gave Libby a chance to make up a small bundle of necessary supplies.

After she locked the dogs in the tower she took her stuff downstairs with her and managed to hide it inside the horse paddock without anyone noticing her presence in the bailey. Once satisfied with her preparations she made her way to the eating pavilion and took her seat beside Rolf. His cheeks were flushed as though he'd drunk quite a bit already.

He grasped her hand the moment she sat down, and gave her fingers a rough squeeze. His gaze on her was ardent and hopeful. She made herself smile winningly at this evidence of his affection.

"Come, share the wine with me, my lady," he urged and held out the silver cup they were supposed to share.

"But one sip, my lord," she answered, with her eyes modestly downcast. "To pledge my troth." She took the cup and tipped it to her lips, but was careful not to drink.

He sighed loudly. "Prettily done."

She noticed that Henry's head was already resting on the table. Matilda was looking concerned, but the girl wasn't crying as she took a sip of the wine. Sir Reynard was turning his cup round and round in his hands. He looked thoughtful. Libby did not take that as a good sign. Father John was drinking his Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

wine. For once he was quiet, his attention on the refreshment rather than on preaching the evils of the female sex.

"What cheerful company," Libby said, and got a warning look from Marj. "A toast," she added, and took a cup of ale from a server as she stood. She turned an adoring gaze on Rolf. "Drink deeply, good people," she said to the company, "in celebration of my good fortune." You too, Reynard, she added to herself, as a few cheers and shouts of congratulations went up in answer to her words.

Rolf staggered up, put his arm around her waist and quickly downed the drugged wine in his cup. The other men followed his example, even Sir Reynard. Rolf sat down quickly when he was finished. Within moments Father John had tipped backward off his bench. He was snoring almost before he curled up under the table.

"I think there was too much poppy, my lady," Matilda ventured. And yawned.

"Yes, it would seem so," Libby agreed. "Oh, dear." She put her hand on Rolf's shoulder. "I'm so sorry." Rolf slumped forward, face down in the food-laden trencher. Libby patted him on the head.

"Poppy?" Reynard asked, voice heavy and slow.

"I must have made a terrible mistake."

"I'll say you have." He raised a reproachful finger, or tried to. His hand fell heavily back into his lap before he could repeat the gesture, then his eyes closed and he joined the other sleeping men, with his head resting on Marj's shoulder.

Libby noticed that Joe and Ed were also dozing and Marj was very, very woozy.

She'd be out any moment now. Good. She didn't want to incriminate anyone else from Time Search in the trouble she was going to get involved in.

She rubbed her hands together with satisfaction. "I thought they'd never go to sleep." She looked at the servants and soldiers who were staring at the odd Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

goings-on at the head table. "These people need to be put to bed," she ordered, thinking for once that there were advantages to being obeyed without question.

"See to it. I'm going down to the church to pray," she added as an excuse to leave the castle. "I expect to find my lord comfortably settled by the time I return."

Which will be about the same time hell freezes over, she added to herself as she headed swiftly for the stable.

When he tried to think about it logically, Bastien didn't know why he was doing this. He'd made his way to the shelter of the abandoned church without thinking.

After pausing in the sanctuary to wait for darkness before making his next move, he stopped running on instinct and began to use his brain. Or, he tried, but thinking about Isabeau didn't come as easily as reacting to her.

Logic had nothing to do with his response to Isabeau, it never had. He kept wanting to protect her, then he thrust her into danger, which was no more than she deserved, but that wasn't true either. All he knew was that he dreamed about her when he slept, and thought about her when he was awake. His reaction to her beauty was simple enough, plain, basic lust. His reaction to her personality was complicated, unpredictable, maddening. Adding more madness to his already addled senses was the last thing he needed.

He sat on the low step below the altar, rested his hands on his knees and murmured, "But here I am." What he needed, he thought, was less of a reason for his being at Lilydrake than a plan of what he was going to do next. Then he heard the thud of a horse's hooves as a rider crossed the square. He wondered if he was about to face Rolf, or Sir Reynard, and made ready to fight.

The last thing he expected was for Isabeau to walk in the door and say, "If I told you my belt was throbbing for you I don't suppose you'd understand what I meant, would you?"

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He relaxed tensed muscles and looked down at her waist. He had noticed her belt before. What thief would not take note of such a finely jeweled piece of goldsmith's work? He stood up and came slowly toward her. "It must be worth a hundred marks," he said.