Chapter Five #2
The battle lines were forming and Isabeth went on the offensive.
“My lord, I know you are doing what you believe you should do,” she said.
“But I genuinely do not want company right now, not even your lady wife. If I have not made that clear, then I shall do so now. I do not know Lady de Wolfe well and I would feel as if I needed to be hospitable and I simply do not feel like that right now. I do not have the strength. I wish to be left alone.”
She was speaking more firmly than Ronan had ever heard her, indicative of the seriousness of her statement.
But all of this was still new, and she was disoriented.
She didn’t truly know what she wanted, or so he thought.
That was the entire reason he wasn’t leaving right away – women had a tendency to change their minds and he wanted to be there when she changed hers.
“Come,” he said, grasping her by her slender waist and lifting her up into the wagon again. “We must find shelter.”
He didn’t give her a chance to argue with him. He whistled loudly between his teeth, getting the escort moving, and the wagon moved out quickly. Isabeth had been on her knees, knocked onto her bottom when the wagon lurched forward.
The entire escort moved into the village.
The rain was starting to fall a little heavier as they pulled into the little seaside village of Hinderwell.
There was a small district with some merchants and a town well, and the only inn in town sat on the south side.
It was called The Fox and Rabbit, with a hand-painted sign on driftwood over the door.
As the wagon pulled up to the entry, Ronan was waiting for Isabeth, lifting her out of the wagon again and shouting for someone to bring her bags.
Isabeth found herself ushered into the warm, stale inn whether or not she wanted to be.
Fortunately, the common room was only about half-full and the innkeeper nervously ran to the entry door as a knight, lady, and soldiers started pouring in.
The first thing Ronan did was demand a room for the lady and the innkeeper was quick to comply.
He provided a room overlooking the livery yard behind the inn, so it was relatively quiet.
Isabeth was being pulled around by Ronan, who had taken charge in a way Dyce had never had the presence or strength to do so.
It was quite impressive and quite intimidating, but she let him pull her into the rented chamber as a servant wench brought in peat and kindling.
The innkeeper was ordering the servant about in frantic tones as someone brought in Isabeth’s bags.
She only had two of them, satchels made from canvas, and they were tossed onto the relatively big bed.
In fact, the entire chamber was large for a rented room and she unfastened her cloak, looking at her surroundings as she did so.
“I’ll have food and a bath brought to you,” Ronan said, standing by the door. “Is there anything else you require?”
Isabeth turned to look at him. “Possibly Gerta,” she said. But then, she shook her head and tossed the cloak onto a chair. “I suppose not. I’d rather be alone.”
Ronan glanced around the chamber. “It may get cold tonight with the storm,” he said. “I will have the innkeeper send more blankets.”
She stopped him. “Nay,” she said. “I do not require anything further and I think you have done more than enough. In the morning, you may return back to Middlesbrough and I will continue on to Ravenscar.”
She wasn’t deviating from her demands to be left alone. He’d hoped that she would become accustomed to his presence since he was resolute to keep his word to Dyce, but she wasn’t having any of it. She was still as stubborn as ever.
Ronan stared at her a moment before sighing heavily.
“Madam, you will not give me orders,” he said.
“I will not have this conversation with you again, so let me be clear. I understand your wish. I understand that you wish to be left alone. But I made a promise that you cannot force me to break, so stop trying. I will go with you to Ravenscar and I will attend the burial of my friend. If you do not like it, keep it to yourself, for your ungrateful ramblings are becoming tiresome.”
Isabeth’s cheeks flushed a dull red. “I am not ungrateful,” she said. “I simply want to be left alone. Why can you not honor my wishes?”
Ronan’s dark eyes flashed. “Because they are not Dyce’s wishes,” he said.
Then, he jabbed an enormous finger in the direction of the stables where the wagon had been brought to rest. “There is a dead man outside in a pine box, one of the finest men I have ever known, and I will obey his wishes to the letter. Your protests reek of disobedience and ungracious behavior and Dyce would be ashamed of you. Stop acting like a selfish fool and start behaving like the wife of a good and decent man.”
His words were harsh, harsher than they should have been, and her eyes filled with tears.
She turned her back on Ronan and the sounds of her quiet weeping filled the air.
Ronan watched her gently heaving shoulders but he didn’t move to apologize.
He meant what he’d said and she had to know that, once and for all. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Without another word, he quit the chamber and shut the door quietly.
*
“She’s not selfish, you know.”
Ronan had been sitting in the common room of the inn, in a chair that had been placed before the fire.
He’d been staring into the flames for the better part of three hours, drinking ale as the world went on around him.
The ale was particularly strong, locally brewed, and flavored with apples.
He could taste them. But he also tasted straw and whatever else managed to make it into the brew.
But the soft voice behind him had his attention and he turned to see a very old de Brito soldier standing there.
When their eyes met, there was no fear in the old man’s eyes.
Only truth.
“Who?” Ronan said.
“Lady de Brito,” the old soldier said. “I brought her satchels into the chamber. I heard what you said to her. If I was a younger man, I’d call you out for it.”
Ronan was torn between amusement and annoyance. But he could see from the man’s expression how serious he was, which tempered his reaction. He’d said something very brave. Or very foolish. Ronan’s response would determine which.
Therefore, it was measured.
“I do not believe that is any of your affair,” he finally said. “I can handle the lady without any advice.”
The old soldier sighed heavily, scratching his nose. “She’s not selfish, my lord,” he said. “She is one of the most giving and compassionate ladies you’ll ever meet. What you said to her… it was hurtful. She did not deserve it. I thought you should know.”
The old man said it with some emotion, leading Ronan to believe he was somehow emotionally attached or emotionally involved when it came to his young mistress.
Not in a romantic sense, but in the sense of humanity.
Perhaps he’d known her most of her life.
Perhaps she reminded him of his daughter.
Or perhaps he was simply fond of her. Whatever the case, he was astute enough to know that the old soldier wasn’t speaking out of turn.
He meant what he’d said.
“What’s your name?” Ronan finally asked.
“Bibby, my lord.”
“You know that Sir Dyce asked me to look out for his wife, do you not?”
The old soldier nodded. “I do, my lord.”
“Sir Dyce was my dear friend and I gave the man my word.”
“I understand, my lord.”
“Then you must also understand that I am in a difficult position,” Ronan said. “Lady de Brito seems not to want any assistance, but I gave Dyce my word. I must honor my word no matter what she wants.”
The old soldier nodded in resignation. “I know, my lord,” he said. Then, he hesitated a moment before continuing. “May I speak freely, my lord?”
“You’ve been doing a pretty good job of it already.”
The old soldier grunted, a flicker of a grin on his lips.
“She’s afraid,” he muttered. “My lord has taken care of her since she was a young girl. He married her when she was barely of age and he’s been a father to her more than her own father.
I don’t know if the lass knows how to even think for herself because Lord Dyce did her thinking for her, and her father before him.
For the first time in her life, she has to make a decision and she’s afraid. ”
Ronan lifted his shoulders. “Of what?” he said. “The decision for me to accompany her to Ravenscar has already been made.”
Bibby shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, my lord,” he said.
“Lady de Brito is afraid of being a bother. She’s afraid of causing you trouble so she is trying to make the decision not to cause you trouble, if that makes sense.
The lass doesn’t have a selfish bone in her body, I assure you.
She’s very kind and thoughtful of others to the point where it would even be detrimental to herself.
When she tells you that she wants to go home and be alone, it’s because she’s frightened to be a bother. ”
Ronan sighed faintly. “She is not a bother,” he said. “She should not worry about me. If I did not want to do this, I would have told her so. But I do. I want to show respect to my dear friend and his wife by carrying out his final wishes.”
Bibby scratched his head. “Then may I give you some advice?”
“I wish you would.”