The Maiden's Abduction. Juliet Landon

He was sent off when you were about six.’

      ‘Doesn’t appear to think much of his brother.’

      Cecily’s greying eyebrows lifted into her close-fitting head-dress. ‘No, and nor do I. He was no more sure of a welcome here than we were, and he had no business putting you in this position. Or any of us,’ she added. ‘And we can’t stay more than one night. We must leave here tomorrow. One La Vallon is bad enough, but two of ‘em is dangerous, and that’s a fact.’

      ‘I’d have left tonight if I’d had my way.’

      ‘Tomorrow. First thing.’ Cecily held up the finger again. ‘Now, don’t you go being rude to that Silas. That would embarrass Dame Elizabeth and her sons.’

      Isolde’s face tightened as she poked one toe at the basketwork pannier. ‘Monster! Did you notice his short jerkin? Hardly covered his bottom.’

      The finger crooked and touched Isolde’s chin. ‘So, you had time to notice his bottom, did you? Come in!’ she called to the door. ‘Wait! I’ll open it for you.’ A maid waited outside to escort them to the hall.

      Accordingly, Isolde’s eyes were held well away from glimpses of heavily muscled buttocks to pay increasing attention to the array of food which, after their unsavoury days in York, was a feast worth sharing, even with monsters. The hall had been set with tables and was now busy with servants who arranged white linen cloths, pewter plates, silver knives and tall glass goblets. One man, older than the rest, stood at the huge silver-covered dresser, letting wine chortle merrily out of casks into pewter ewers, while the younger Brakespeare threw soft tapestries over the benches behind the table.

      ‘We don’t stand on ceremony at suppertime,’ Dame Elizabeth said, coming across to meet them.

      Ceremony or not, it was the best meal Isolde had had in weeks, only slightly marred by being seated next to an over-attentive John Brakespeare on one side and an unnecessarily possessive Bard on the other, whose hand seemed unable to find its way from her knee and thigh to the table. Finally, in exasperation, she took his hand forcibly in hers and slammed it heavily upon the table, thrusting a knife between its fingers. By some mischance, this was noticed by the elder La Vallon who, at that moment, had leaned forward from three places down the table to speak to his brother. But although she sensed the exchange of significant looks between them nothing was said, to Isolde’s intense relief.

      Under the watchful eyes of the steward, dish after dish was presented to the table, for the family had now swollen to include Dame Elizabeth’s father and the other members of her household. Served by two apprentices and four kitchen servants, this made a household as large as the Frydes’, a surprising revelation which gave Isolde some indication of Dame Elizabeth’s success as a merchant. There was cabbage, onion and leek soup served with strands of crispy bacon, chicken pasties, cold salmon and fresh herrings in an egg sauce, mussels, whelks, cockles and oysters, cheeses, figs and raisins, manchets of finest white flour and crusty girdle breads yellowed with saffron for dipping into spiced sauces. It was the first time Isolde had eaten fresh herring.

      ‘They come from Iceland,’ John told her. ‘Silas brings them.’

      She would have liked to ask where Iceland was, but instead she mopped up the thick almondy sauce and wondered reluctantly which morsels to leave on her plate for the sake of politeness. The wine was of the finest, and her inclination was to watch the pale honey-coloured liquid bounce again into her glass from the servant’s ewer, but something warned her to beware, and she place a hand over the rim, at the same time becoming aware of someone’s eyes upon her, drawing her to meet them. From a corner of her eye, she noticed Dame Elizabeth lean towards her aged father, the servants’ white napkins, the glint of light on glass and silver, but her eyes were held by two steady dark-brown ones beneath steeply angled brows, and for a timeless moment there was nothing in the room except that. No sound, no taste, no touch, no delicious smell of food. Then she remembered to breathe and found it difficult, for her lungs had forgotten how until her glance wavered and fell, her composure with it, and the bold stare she had practised so often upon younger men too far away to recall.

      She turned to Bard, but he saw the signs of weariness there and took her hand. ‘Bed, I think. Enough for one day, eh? We’ll sort out what’s to be done tomorrow, shall we?’

      ‘We must go early,’ she said with some urgency.

      ‘Go?’

      ‘Yes. Go back, Bard. Just go. Early.’

      He blinked, but kept his voice low to her ear. ‘He’ll probably be going off tomorrow, sweetheart. Let’s wait and see, shall we?’

      She sighed, too weary to argue.

      The warmth of the summer evening and the clinging heat of Cecily’s ample body next to hers overrode Isolde’s tiredness and forced her out of bed towards the window that chopped the pale moonlit sky into lozenges. Only the wealthiest people could afford to glaze their windows, and even the strips of lead were expensive. The catch was already undone; as she knelt upon the wooden clothes-chest to push it open wider, men’s voices rose and fell on the still night air, below her on the quay. She leaned forward, easing the window out with one finger, recognising Bard’s voice and its deep musical relative.

      ‘Has it not occurred to you, lad?’ Silas was saying, impatiently.

      ‘She was with that—’

      ‘I know who she was with. I have a house and servants in York who keep me informed of what’s happening while I’m away. But have ye no care for Elizabeth and her lads? Have you any right to put her entire household at risk by chasing down here with her? God’s truth, lad, you’re as thoughtless as ever where a bit of skirt’s involved.’

      ‘That’s not fair, Silas. He’s not all that dangerous, surely?’

      ‘Have you ever met him?’

      ‘No. I saw him in the minster, though.’

      ‘Then you’ll have to take my word for it that Elizabeth had better not be on the receiving end of his attention. Nor must she know exactly who the lass was staying with, or she’ll be worried sick.’

      ‘Who will?’

      ‘Elizabeth, you fool. Who d’ye think I mean? It’s her safety I’m concerned about. Your lass has little to lose now, has she?’

      ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

      There was a silence in which Isolde knew they were laughing.

      ‘You must leave tomorrow, Bard, at first light.’

      ‘But I’ve told her—’

      ‘I don’t care what you’ve told her. You leave at dawn and get back to York. I won’t have that maniac chasing down here to reclaim either the girl or his bloody horses, just because your braies are afire.’

      ‘Silas, it’s not just—’ Bard protested.

      ‘Ssh…all right, all right. I suppose you can’t help it if you take after Father. If I’d stayed longer I might have been the same, God knows.’

      ‘But what the hell are we going to do in York, Silas? Can we stay at your house?’

      ‘I’ll help you out, lad. I’ve thought of a plan. Foolproof. But you’ll have to trust me, both of you.’

      ‘I do, Silas, but I can’t vouch for Isolde.’

      A breeze lifted off the water and sent a dark line of ripples lapping at the harbour wall and Isolde’s skin prickled beneath her hair.

      ‘Come inside. I’ll tell you about it.’

      She waited, then tiptoed back to the bed and sat on its soft feathery edge until her mind began to quieten.

       Chapter Two

       I solde’s resentment, dormant only during the short bouts of sleep, surfaced again at the first screeching calls