Page 10 of Lord of Loyalty

Chapter Six

Isobel was sitting in the walled garden, admiring the budding fruits on an espaliered apple tree. No one was forcing her to do anything at present, so she could luxuriate in the perfumed air and let her thoughts wander where they would. Hubert had gone out—she’d seen him go, dressed in all his slashed and silken finery. Avice Quill had also left the house, with a basket over her arm and, if she stopped at the Three Tuns as was her wont, she’d not be back for an hour.

Isobel had heard Flinders lock the door between the garden and the house—doubtless so he could be with his kitchen wench again. There was a second door, from the garden to the street behind, but she’d never yet found it unlocked. It was of no matter—she liked the garden, and time spent by herself within it was rare, special. However, melancholy was never far away. In winter, most of the plants would fade and die, as would she if she didn’t escape by then.

Her mind and her memory were failing. She was sliding away into nothingness—what had gone before was a blur. What was to come was ceasing to have any importance.

Little wonder she was unsettled. With great effort, she’d pieced together snatches of conversation from the past few days, and now knew—most of the time—that Edward, her brother, was no more. But how could she mourn him as he deserved, when sorrow and love had died within her?

Despite his protestations, she couldn’t believe Hubert cared about either her dead brother or herself. He had plans of his own, and she wasn’t expected to interfere in them. If only she had the wit or wile to escape! Yet whenever she tried to concentrate, her thoughts drifted away, to be overlaid by immaterial things. Why were the drapes red when she recalled them being blue? Where was her harpsichord, if she’d ever had one? What had happened to the sword she’d been given, or had that been a dream?

Leaving her turf seat, she strolled towards the poppy bed. They were pretty and colorful, but deep down, she hated the flowers, wanted to wrench them from the soil and trample them underfoot. But she would suffer if she harmed the poppies. That had been made abundantly clear by her cousin.

A scrabbling noise made her look up, startled. It was coming from the other side of the creeping pear tree that trailed up the old brick wall. Before she could react, a man had leapt down onto the path and clamped his hand over her mouth.

Instant rage made her bare her teeth to bite, but a voice spoke in her ear, one she thought she knew.

“Isobel. It is I. Be not afeared—I’m a friend, not a foe.”

She stilled, forcing herself to calm, and was released. Turning around slowly, she recognized the handsome face that went with the voice, the light blue eyes and tawny hair beneath the rakishly-angled velvet cap.

“Orpheus! You’re wearing a different hat today.”

His face brightened. “You remembered. That was well done, Mistress Marston.”

She lowered her eyes. “An insignificant detail. Forgive me—I have no recollection of your name.”

The man swiped brick dust from his upper hose, then doffed his cap, bowing low. “Sir William Cavendish. It is a lot to remember for a lady with the brain fever. I answer to Will. Much simpler.”

She imagined burning his name in her memory, like a brand mark. Hopefully, it would then stay there.

“Why did you jump over the wall?” She could remember seeing him with a limp. Or had she imagined it?

He grinned broadly. “Demi-gods never use gates. Nay, pay me no heed. We both know I’m no Greek hero. In truth, I was told by that man, Flinders, you were out, but I was unconvinced. So here I am.” His smile faded. “I wanted to ask you some questions and see how you fared.”

Her heart raced faster. If only she could keep her mind clear long enough to tell him. In a massive feat of concentration, she managed to say, “Help me.” She repeated the words silently to herself, lest she lose them, or forget the urgency of her need.

“Of course. What sort of help do you need?”

“Help me—” She rolled her eyes, infuriated with herself. It shouldn’t be this hard to convey an important request. “Help me… to escape.”

He’d laugh at her now, for sure. She wore no chains, and no ropes bound her. Yet she’d made herself out to be a prisoner.

Will whistled out a breath. His face darkened. “It is as I feared. A thousand poxes on that slimy toad, Pike.”

Merciful heavens! It sounded as if he believed her. She must drive her point home. Gazing around for inspiration, she spotted the billowing ranks of poppies. Grasping Will’s hand, she dragged him towards them.

“There.” She pointed. “The poppies are poisoning me.”

She clung to his hand, searching his face, willing him to understand what she could not explain.

And then it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Whatever had aroused her feelings of urgency diminished, and she looked out across the garden, at nothing in particular.

Will’s warm hand closed over hers. “If I have this aright, Pike has some reason for deliberately driving you out of your wits. What manner of man would prey on a helpless, harmless female? None that deserves the name of gentleman, that’s for sure. Tempted as I am to throw him in the nearest horse trough, I must get you somewhere safe while I get to the bottom of what is afoot here.”

Being somewhere safe sounded appealing, but this fair man was a stranger. Or was he a friend, and she’d just forgotten?

Suddenly his head snapped up. She heard the sound at the same time, the front door of the house slamming, followed by heavy footsteps on cobbles.

Flinders.

The man called Will took her hands and looked deep into her eyes. “We have to go. Now. Do you trust me?”

An impossible question to answer when she was so confused. But if it came down to a choice between Flinders and this man…

There was only one answer she could give if she wanted to escape.

“I trust you.”