“Oh, no, my lady!” Annie cried. “Mary is damp, and I fear—oh, ’tis all my fault.”
“That she wet herself? Don’t babies normally do that?” Isabel stepped closer.
“Yes, my lady, but the coverlets and blanket beneath her are wet too! What will his lordship say? Oh, I must hurry and bring clean linens.” She set the baby down on the bed, threw open the door and ran.
“Wait!” Isabel called. “You forgot?—”
But it was too late. She was alone. With a baby.
Annie seemed to take forever. Isabel paced, then hovered over the laughing infant, then paced again. A wonderful idea began to take form in her mind.
Annie came running in, barely able to see around the blankets and coverlets stacked high. Mary began to wail.
Isabel took the blankets and set them on a chest. “I’ll do this, Annie. Mary needs you. Go on to bed.”
“But my lady, I can’t?—”
“I am not helpless.”
Annie picked up the baby, but still she hesitated. Isabel calmly began stripping the bed. When she heard Annie leave, she threw the wet blankets back on, and tried to make it up the way she’d seen Annie do it. She stepped back and admired her effort. Bolton would never know until it was too late.
~oOo~
When James returned to Bolton Castle late in the evening, Galway was waiting for him with news of Castle Mansfield. It was the last thing James wanted to talk about, but he knew he couldn’t escape. And Isabel had already gone up to bed.
James led Galway to two cushioned chairs before the hearth. All around them were snores and sleepy grumbles and deep breathing, but they were effectively alone.
Galway hesitated, and James allowed him the time to collect his thoughts. Finally, his captain sighed.
“A few months ago, Lady Isabel disappeared without telling her people where she went, milord. She left only the steward in charge, and he wielded little power.”
“Had all law broken down?”
Galway shook his head. “Surprisingly, no. They have a strong loyalty to her, and have decided she needed to grieve for her father. The stories I’ve listened to these past few days…” He broke off. “She seems to be a legend amongst her soldiers. They actually boast that they can’t beat her.”
“How was the news of our marriage taken?” he asked.
“The steward was relieved,” Galway said. “I think he knew he could never control Lady Isabel. But milord, the condition of Mansfield Castle is primitive, with barely any luxury ye’d expect of an earl. No wonder Lady Isabel is a great heiress. The wealth must be hoarded in coffers or plate, for little was spent on upkeep. Fields lie fallow. Whole villages are deserted or broken down. I could barely stand to be in the great hall for the stench of what’s rotting in the rushes. And the food—” Galway shuddered. “No wonder the poor girl was starving—oh, begging yer pardon, milord, the Lady Isabel, that is.”
James absently waved away any offense. “And the soldiers?”
“Well trained. I think that’s mostly because of the Boltons, milord,” Galway said with a rueful grin. “There was a constant threat of impending war.”
“Impending war? By me?”
“The steward claims it were more under yer father, but apparently Lady Isabel also believed you were ruthless and despicable.” The captain reddened and looked away.
James gritted his teeth. “Had she no woman’s guidance?”
“Her mother died when she was very young, and when he had no sons, her father made sure she would carry on the feud. Apparently she only ate or slept in the castle, and lived to train with the men. They’re fond of her.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Only that I feel Mansfield lands need a visit by you, milord.”
“My thoughts exactly, Galway. Tomorrow prepare for a week’s journey or more. Bring extra food to distribute either along the way, or at Mansfield itself. It sounds like it might be easiest to bribe my way into their favor by appealing to their stomachs.”
~oOo~
