WolfeShield, page 11
That’s when the man’s demeanor changed.
It was difficult for the proud man to be humiliated in his own domain, by guests no less, so he reluctantly told her that Lady de Wolfe had demanded the boiled beef only for herself and her ladies. They were not to give it to anyone else, she had instructed, putting Odo in a tight spot. That beef was meant for pies the cook was going to make, so once Isabeth heard about her guest taking food that wasn’t hers, her determination that she should try to make some peace with Marian vanished.
She wasn’t sure why she’d been foolish enough to entertain those thoughts in the first place.
Assuring Odo that he could use the beef no matter what Marian said, she left the majordomo in the entry and headed towards the south wing where Marian and her ladies had been housed. Smaller rooms, but they were comfortable, although she was certain Marian didn’t think so. The more she walked, the angrier she became. Up a flight of steps to a landing and then up another small flight of steps that took her to the smaller southern wing where there were four small chambers.
The first thing she heard was singing.
It wasn’t very good singing, either. Someone was trilling a tune and unable to stay on key. There were sconces lit along the stone walls, lighting the way as she followed the sounds of the singing, which she soon realized wasn’t singing as much as it was gasps of delight that turned into high-pitched groans. The groans became a tune.
It was all quite strange.
The sounds were coming from the last door on the left. This was a chamber that had a view of the moonlit sea but it could also be a very damp chamber. Perhaps someone was ill with all of that strange noise that was emanating from the chamber. Hearing those gasps and groans had her puzzled, so much so that she didn’t bother to knock. She simply lifted the latch, which wasn’t locked. More singing, more gasping.
Isabeth stuck her head in.
What she saw shocked her.
God knows, given what she knew about Lady de Wolfe, it shouldn’t have. But it did. Marian was laying on a small bed, her skirts around her thighs as a man’s head disappeared between her legs. As she watched in disbelief, the man lifted his head and she could see that it was the knight that Marian had been flirting with on the journey to Ravenscar. His face and mouth were in between Marian’s legs, clearly feasting on her private parts, and Isabeth only knew that because Dyce had done it to her, many times. She knew exactly what was happening.
Outrage filled her.
The door slammed back on its hinges.
“Shame on you,” she hissed. “Shame on you for doing this… this with a man who is not your husband! How dare you use my home to conduct your unsavory activities!”
The knight, startled, leapt to his feet but ended up stumbling and went down to one knee as Marian sat bolt upright, pushing her skirts down. Her features were wide with shock.
“You!” she gasped. “You were spying! You had no right to spy!”
It was a weak protest at best, but Isabeth was livid. “Everything my husband told me about you is true,” she hissed. “He said you had more men in your bed than a London prostitute and now I can see that he was correct. Know that I will not provide a chamber for you to engage in your affairs, Lady de Wolfe. Whatever illicit activities you participate in, do it somewhere else. It will not be here.”
The knight was on his feet again, backing away from Isabeth and trying to make his way around her so he could make a break for the door, but she whirled on him.
“And you,” she seethed. “What is your name?”
The man was young, good-looking, with dark hair and dark eyes. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him until now and she could see that he was handsome. “Gaspard,” he said in a heavy accent. “Gaspard de Maurienne, my lady.”
Isabeth cocked an eyebrow at him. “I want you to go to the stables,” she said through clenched teeth. “Go there and stay there. Do not leave until I come for you. Do you understand me?”
The knight nodded, once, and fled as Isabeth turned to Marian, who was just climbing off the bed. Never in her life had she felt such contempt for another human being and after a moment of staring at her, she simply shook her head.
“Do you know why I came here tonight?” she said, disdain in her voice. “I came to speak to you about your women and the way they have been treating my servants. I had hoped to have a civil conversation with you and tell you that your ladies are not welcome to abuse my servants, but it seems that the filth they are has trickled down from you. You are pure, disgusting filth, Marian. I want you out of my home immediately.”
Surprisingly, she had nothing more to say. She was so disgusted and shocked from what she had seen that more words of condemnation wouldn’t come. She turned for the door, but Marian stopped her.
“Where are you going?” she demanded. “To tell my husband?”
Isabeth paused, turning to look at her. “Would I be telling him something he already knew?” she asked. Then, she shook her head. “Nay, lady, I will not dirty my tongue by speaking of what I saw unless I am forced to. But you… you will leave now. You will tell your husband that you are leaving this night. If you do not, then I will tell him that I have banished you and I will tell him why. Therefore, you will tell him that you are leaving voluntarily.”
Marian was trembling with rage, with turmoil. Her dark eyes narrowed. “What do you know about anything?” she muttered. “What do you know about me and my life? Of life in general? You live in a pathetic little outpost in a dirty little town and I will not be judged by you. You are nothing more than a peasant.”
“Better a peasant than a whore,” Isabeth said quietly. “No matter where you come from or how fine your family, you are nothing more than a common whore. You should be ashamed of yourself but, clearly, you are not. You’re no better than the women who service the soldiers. More than likely, that is where you will end up someday.”
Marian’s lips were working as if she wanted to say something but she couldn’t quite bring it forth. But that was only momentary. One minute, she was standing a few feet away and in the next, she was grabbing Isabeth’s arm and digging her fingernails into her tender flesh.
“You know nothing,” she hissed at her. “Keep your mouth shut or you will pay the price.”
“Let me go.”
“Do you understand me?”
“I will tell you once more to let me go.”
“You do not give orders!”
Isabeth didn’t stay another word. She lashed out her free hand and struck Marian in the face with an open palm, sending the woman staggering sideways. There was blood on her nose as she brought her head up, her eyes wide with accusation and outrage.
“I give orders in my own home,” Isabeth said steadily. “Touch me again and I will defend myself. Now, I have told you to leave. If you are not gone in an hour, I will be forced to tell your husband what I saw. Is this in any way unclear?”
Marian was cornered. Frightened, angry, and cornered. She wasn’t used to anyone contradicting her wishes and rather than respond, or attempt any kind of a rational reaction, she grabbed the first thing within arm’s reach and threw it at Isabeth, clipping her on the shoulder. She’d thrown a pewter cup that still had a little wine in it from earlier in the day. The cup clattered to the floor and what was left of the wine sprayed onto Isabeth.
After that, the fight was on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What are you going to do?” Christian asked softly.
Ronan eyed his cousin. They were in a small outbuilding where visiting knights were usually housed, according to Odo, but it was cramped and uncomfortable and dark but for a couple of fat tapers burning on the table in the tiny common room. That’s where Ronan had found Christian when he’d entered the outbuilding, sitting in that teeny common room, trying to repair a nasty scratch on the leather of his expensive boots. He’d told Isabeth he’d find Marian, but he hadn’t.
He’d gone looking for Christian instead.
“I do not know what I am going to do,” he replied. “Chris, I came here because of Dyce and for no other reason than that. I had to bring Marian – you know that. I could not have come alone with Dyce’s widow.”
“I know.”
Ronan threw up his hands. “All I need is for something to get back to my father, or worse, Marian’s father,” he said. “You know how that man smothers everything in his world. Edmund de Grey controls everything and what he cannot control, he still tries to control. It has been that way for ten long years and if he thought, for one moment, that I was somehow being unfaithful to Marian with the widow of a good friend, he would go to war against my father. He would not even ask questions – he would simply show up at Roxburgh with an army.”
“I know,” Christian said patiently. “Roe, you have done nothing wrong in this case but you risk looking like a weakling if you do not do something about Marian. Lady de Brito is right – you cannot have your wife turn Ravenscar into chaos. That is not fair to Lady de Brito.”
Ronan shook his head slowly. “Nay,” he said. “It is not.”
“Which brings me back to my question,” Christian said quietly. “What are you going to do?”
Ronan stood there a moment, refusing to look at him. He seemed more interested in the floor than in providing an answer. When he did speak, it was soft with regret.
“I have tried, Chris,” he said. “You know I have tried. I have been trying for ten years, but she will not… she does not…”
“She’s a bitch in heat,” Christian said frankly, but he held up his hands quickly in apology. “I know I should not say it, but that’s all she is, Roe. She was like that before you met her, when you met her, and after you married her. Edmund de Grey thought that marrying her off would keep her from jumping into men’s beds, but that has not worked. You tried to keep her happy, but she is the kind of woman who will never be happy with just one man. She should have never married at all.”
Ronan sighed faintly. “But she did marry and I am the one who is saddled with her,” he said. After a moment, he shook his head. “When Dyce was killed and his wife mourned him deeply, do you know that I was jealous? If I die tomorrow, no one will mourn me so deeply. Not like a wife should mourn a husband. Certainly, my family would mourn me. My friends would mourn me. But my wife… she will dance on my grave and throw a feast, a joyful feast, celebrating my death. That is what Marian will do. She will not weep one tear for me.”
Christian snorted, an unhappy sound. “Uncle Blayth should let you get an annulment,” he said. “Or a divorce. You can, you know. You can provide proof of adultery. Your daughters, as pretty as they are, do not look like you in the least. Everyone knows they are not your children.”
Ronan shook his head before the man was even finished speaking. “You know I cannot,” he said. “I would be risking the entire House of de Wolfe against the House of de Grey and we need them like they need us. It is out of the question.”
Christian was disgusted on his behalf. “So you are the sacrifice,” he said. “The human sacrifice to have a strong alliance with a major northern family.”
“It seems that way.”
“That’s because it is that way,” Christian said. Then he paused as an idea came to him. “Roe… I just thought of something.”
“It is probably nothing I haven’t already considered.”
“Have you considered making the woman so miserable that she’ll seek the divorce?”
Ronan nodded wearily. “Of course I have, but it is impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because it will anger Edmund de Grey and he’ll march on Roxburgh.”
“But our army is bigger than de Grey’s,” Christian reminded him. When Ronan continued to shake his head, Christian grew annoyed. “So you are a martyr for the rest of your life because you let your wife do as she pleases? It makes you look like a weak fool, Roe. You let that woman walk all over you.”
“As my father has told me, it is better than ruining an important alliance.”
“What would it take for you to stand up to your father and tell him that you are divorcing Marian no matter what he says?”
Ronan lifted his shoulders. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “Nothing. Something. Anything. I simply do not know.”
Christian could see how defeated Ronan was and he blamed the man’s father. He was the one who had brokered the marriage and who forced Ronan to remain trapped in a miserable affair. It wasn’t that Christian didn’t understand the importance of politics for he most certainly did. He was a de Wolfe and they were schooled in such things from an early age. It was more that he hated to see Ronan – big, handsome, gentle, but also quite deadly Ronan – be made a fool of by a woman who wasn’t worthy of him. Marian de Wolfe was no better than a common whore and everyone knew it.
But Ronan couldn’t, and wouldn’t, do anything about it.
It was a terrible situation in so many ways.
“As you say, Roe,” he said, resigned. “But know that I do not like the way that woman treats you. I never have. No one does. She’s simply not worthy of you.”
“So you’ve said.”
“It’s true.”
“Then who is?”
Christian rolled his eyes at the question. “I seem to remember several young women who would have been very grateful to have been Lady de Wolfe,” he said. “Who was that lass from Sedburgh? Iris or Heather or something?”
Ronan smiled weakly. “Wintersweet,” he said. “Wintersweet de Leia. A lovely woman.”
Christian grinned. “One of many who would have fallen at your feet at the first mention of marriage,” he said. “But instead, you had to marry the harpy. It is one of life’s unexplained horrors as far as I’m concerned.”
“Mayhap so, but you needn’t keep reminding me at every turn,” Ronan said. “There is nothing I can do about it, so just… stop.”
“But…”
“Please, Chris. I need your advice, not your condemnation.”
Christian finally put up a hand in surrender. “Very well,” he said. “I am sorry. I do not mean to make you feel bad. I simply do not like what she does to you.”
“Nor do I. But scolding me does not help the situation.”
“Then what advice do you need that I’ve not already given you?”
That was a good question. Ronan already had the man’s advice and he knew what he should do – send Marian out of Ravenscar. But his father had him so paranoid about creating an incident that would alienate the House of de Grey that it was easier to ignore the problem than to act on it. That’s what Christian didn’t seem to understand.
Ronan wiped his hands over his face, wearily.
“I suppose I know your thoughts on the situation,” he said. “I suppose I should…”
He was cut off when a soldier suddenly entered the outbuilding, slamming the door back on its hinges. Light from the moonlit night streamed in through the doorway.
“My lord,” the soldier said. “You must come. There has been a fight.”
Ronan frowned. “You do not need me to intervene,” he said. “Where are the sergeants?”
But the soldier shook his head. “Not a soldier’s fight, my lord,” he said. “Your wife. You must come.”
Ronan was out of the outbuilding in a flash.
*
Marian’s ladies, who she had evidently sent away so she could carry on her tryst with the young French knight, returned in time to see Isabeth with a fire poker in her hands, whacking Marian on the arms and back with it as the woman tried to run from her. That had been all they needed to go after Isabeth and try to fight her, but Isabeth was in the flight or fight mode at that point. Seeing Marian’s ladies rush towards her, she began swinging the fire poker with a vengeance.
It was clear from the beginning that neither Marian nor her women were used to anyone fighting back. They reigned with terror wherever they went, slapping and shoving and making demands, so the fact that the chatelaine of Ravenscar fought back was something of an anomaly. They weren’t sure how to respond other than to try and slap her, but Isabeth was in panic mode. All of those heightened emotions during early pregnancy were in full bloom as she found a target for her anger, her fear, and even her grief.
Marian was that target.
Her ladies couldn’t get near her as she cowered in a corner and screamed. Isabeth had brained one of the ladies on the side of the head and she was on the floor, dazed, as the second lady stood out of range and bellowed at her. All Isabeth could do was order them to leave, to go far away from Ravenscar. But they had no intention of leaving so it was a screaming match as Isabeth stood with her back to the wall, poker raised as the women screeched at each other.
Servants and soldiers began arriving.
Odo was the first one to appear to settle the situation, but he ran directly into the woman who was bellowing at Isabeth. She shoved at him, thinking he had come to harm her, and he stumbled back through the door. That brought Isabeth with her poker and she struck the woman with it, defending Odo, and ended up cracking her across the neck and jaw. She fell to the ground, next to her dazed comrade, as Marian screamed from the corner at the top of her lungs.
No one seemed quite sure what to do. Isabeth was panicked, with a poker as a weapon, two women were down, and Marian was simply screaming incoherently. That was how Ronan found the group as he stood in the entry, trying to figure out what in the world was going on. But his gaze immediately moved to Isabeth, who was the only one armed. It looked to him as if she had attacked Marian’s women, but he sincerely couldn’t believe that. Not without provocation.
He called to her, forcing her to focus on him.
“My lady,” he said steadily. “Lady de Brito? What has happened here?”
Marian, seeing her husband, rushed towards him but that brought panic from Isabeth, who thought she was being attacked again. She began swinging the poker wildly, forcing Marian to retreat. Even Ronan retreated out of range of the waving poker.
