2. THREE BITES BEFORE CALAMITY
Three bites before calamity
The lights of Ellsdale were like a welcoming beacon, guiding the girls and their weary horses into harbour. The golden light pouring from the blacksmith’s windows seemed to Isobelle to be the brightest of all.
Amos stood in the doorway, outlined by the warm glow of the lanterns, wiping his hands on his apron.
Gwen slipped off Achilles without a word, running the last fifty yards to throw herself into her father’s arms. He wrapped her up, lifting her clean off her feet as Isobelle slipped down from her mare’s saddle, took Achilles’s reins – though really, the warhorse knew exactly where he was going – and followed her knight towards the cottage where she grew up.
‘Now, where’s the other—’ Amos was looking past Gwen, and caught sight of Isobelle in the shadows, his smile warm and sure.
‘There she is. You just leave the horses there, lass, I can see to them while you two get settled. You’re looking well, the road has given you some colour.
’ And before Isobelle could react, Amos had scooped her up in a hug every bit as vehement as the one he’d given his daughter.
As he released her, Isobelle’s hand automatically went to her hair, but there was nothing to be done about it, and with a helpless smile that admitted the fact, she surrendered to the atmosphere of giddy, joyous reunion.
‘I’m looking forward to washing some of the colour off,’ she said, laughing. ‘And the scent that goes with it.’
Gwen’s father snorted and ushered them both inside. ‘You’ll stay, won’t you? We wondered if you might be along one of these evenings.’
Gwen sighed, her smile weary but warm. It always gave Isobelle a strange feeling to see it – she could not remember ever smiling at her parents that way. Or, indeed, of either of them hugging her the way Amos had done.
‘We’re supposed to go back to Darkhaven Castle without detour,’ Gwen admitted. ‘But we figured no one would know that we spent our last night here instead of on the road.’
Stepping into the cottage was like stepping into the warmth of summer sunshine, and it seemed as though the ache in Isobelle’s lungs eased just a little as she inhaled the scent of the dinner simmering over the fire.
She wondered if Gwen’s suggestion of spending a night in Ellsdale before returning to the castle had anything to do with what they expected to find on their arrival; maybe Gwen just wanted one more night before they found out whether Whimsitt had intercepted the letter.
The cottage had changed, and it wasn’t only because Amos had pulled himself free of the morass of his grief, or because he had extra interior decorating funds, thanks to the sales of his little Sir Gwen figurines.
No, this place was showing a woman’s touch.
There were flowers on the windowsill, new curtains, a cushion on the armchair the blacksmith usually took his rest in.
After the evacuation of Aberfarthing, Amos had taken in a refugee – as had many of the Ellsdale villagers – and it was clear she had made her mark.
Gwen stopped in her tracks, eyes widening. She’d seen the same changes Isobelle had. ‘Oh, curses – I forgot that Bess was in my room! I was just so eager to visit. We can’t stay here, I’m not about to evict her.’
Gwen’s father hesitated, and then said mildly, ‘Your room’s free, don’t worry. Bess isn’t using it anymore.’
Gwen’s face lengthened, her expression as easy for Isobelle to read as a sheet of parchment. ‘Oh no, Dad … she moved out? But I thought she was so helpful with the shop, and she seemed so nice. What happened?’
Isobelle gazed with interest at Amos, who, under duress, had the same endearing tendency as Gwen to look around at anything in the room except the person he was talking to.
‘Er, no, she hasn’t moved out,’ Amos muttered, somewhat red in the face and glancing back at the doorway to his own room. ‘She just … isn’t using your room anymore.’
Gwen looked blank, a little furrow appearing between her eyebrows. ‘I don’t understand.’
Isobelle, heroically suppressing her laughter, took Gwen by the arm and led her on. ‘Come on, Sir Gwen, let’s go put our things in your room.’
Amos said nothing as the two of them climbed the ladder, and once they were up in Gwen’s room, Isobelle’s knight whirled around with a whisper. ‘Did he mean that Bess is in his …?’
‘I believe so,’ Isobelle agreed solemnly. ‘I suppose ours wasn’t the only business partnership that—’ But then she caught sight of Gwen’s face. ‘Oh, Gwen. Does it bother you?’
Gwen bit her lip, her whisper softer still. ‘I just … I’ve never seen a woman living here other than my mother.’
Isobelle reached for her hands. ‘Would you wish him alone forever? Would she?’
‘No,’ Gwen murmured. Then, firmer, ‘No, of course not. Only … how long has this been going on? Why didn’t he say anything when we were here last? Didn’t he trust me to …?’
Isobelle wrapped her arms around Gwen’s neck to pull her in tight – and if it was mostly to comfort her, perhaps it was also so she could bury her face against Gwen’s shoulder and hide her own expression.
‘Sometimes it’s hard to tell the truth to the ones we love,’ she said softly, thinking of Gwen’s secrets about her fight with the dragon.
‘When it feels like the world would end, if they didn’t understand. ’
Dinner was glorious, and Isobelle got to eat exactly three bites before calamity arrived.
Isobelle and Gwen were seated around the table with Amos and Bess, and on the scale of so you’re sleeping with my father conversations, the whole thing was really going very well.
Isobelle prided herself on her ability to find a helpful conversational topic in the stickiest of social situations, and she had managed to get Gwen and Bess bonding on the issue of Amos dropping all his laundry on the floor.
Amos watched them with a grin, then turned to Isobelle, expression softening. ‘You look tired, lass,’ he said. Amos never stood on ceremony with Isobelle, which she appreciated more than she would have expected.
‘We rode hard to get here before nightfall,’ Isobelle replied. Then, catching Amos’s steady gaze and thoughtful expression – god, this must be where Gwen had learned that look – she sighed. ‘It’s always hard, riding back to the castle.’
Amos glanced over at his daughter, who was still chatting animatedly with Bess. ‘Gwen said you’d written to your parents asking for their help. Do you expect a reply soon?’
‘For all we know, it’s waiting for us there now.’ Isobelle poked at a bit of turnip on her plate.
Amos didn’t miss much. He reached out and patted Isobelle’s hand. His was large and calloused, yet it was always a surprise how gentle and dexterous it was. The hands of an artist, not just a labourer. ‘Chin up, lass. You’ve nothing to fear. There’s nothing a parent wouldn’t do for their children.’
Isobelle felt a great lump rise in her throat, and she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her mind railed against his comforting words. But you never dumped Gwen with a guardian and left the country indefinitely, she wanted to protest. But at the same time, her heart seized on that scrap of hope.
And then the moment was shattered.
A peremptory thumping at the door was their only warning – though warning it was, for no villager would ever bang on it in such a fashion – and then the door flew open, the night air rushing in to set their warm lanterns flickering and chase away the smell of the stew.
Two castle guards clanked in to take up positions on either side of the door, and the stocky figure of Hugh Grimshaw, Darkhaven’s master-at-arms, came stalking after them. He paused in the doorway where he was framed to best effect. It was, Isobelle reluctantly conceded, most dramatic.
‘As I expected,’ he said in the low growl that had earned him the nickname Master Mastiff from his men – not that any of them would have been caught dead repeating it within his earshot. ‘Lady Isobelle, you are hereby ordered to return to Darkhaven Castle.’
All three heads at the table swivelled towards Isobelle, and though her heart was thumping, she delicately patted at the corners of her mouth with her handkerchief before she replied.
‘We are having dinner, Master Grimshaw, as one must every night. Please do come in – if you leave the front door open like that, you will draw the smoke out of the fireplace, and it will be most unpleasant.’
She knocked him off balance enough that he took a step forward, and one of the guards, after a nervous glance at Isobelle, leaned sideways to carefully shut the door behind him.
Poor Bess’s face had gone white – it was only a few months ago that she’d been among the women thrown into Darkhaven’s prisons for ‘disturbing the peace’ when she’d come to warn Lord Whimsitt that a dragon had destroyed their town.
But Grimshaw didn’t even glance at her, his eyes were fixed on Isobelle.
‘You were under orders to return to the castle immediately upon completion of Miss Gwen’s patrol,’ he said.
The words sounded respectful, but in truth they served simply to emphasise that he had never used the title the people did for Gwen.
He’d never be caught dead calling her sir.
‘You ought not to give Lord Whimsitt more reason for displeasure.’
More reason?
Isobelle glanced at Gwen, whose face was grave and tight. Isobelle could tell Gwen’s thoughts had leapt to the same place hers had.
Was this armed escort back to Darkhaven Castle simply because they’d detoured from their plan and visited Gwen’s father … or was it because Whimsitt knew their plan to escape his control?