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“No, love,” he said, turning to lie on his back. “Not any more.” She brushed the hair back from his forehead, and he smiled. “My da died just before I left home with the duke. He broke his leg breaking a horse, and a fever set in. The whole manor mourned him.”
The memory still pained him, she could tell, and she kissed him lightly on the mouth. “I should have liked to have met him.”
“Oh, aye,” he said with a smile. “He would have loved you.” He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You would have been embarrassed by the rare verses he would have sung to your beauty.”
“You think so?” she said, laughing. “Your mother must have been a lucky woman.”
“She was a beauty, too.” His expression sobered. “She died when I was three years old, though, murdered by a Saxon raider, so I wouldn’t call her lucky.”
“Simon, dear God,” she said, caressing his hair. “How awful.”
He tried to smile, but it was a poor effort. “They used to say I saw it happen, but I don’t remember it. I just remember afterward feeling like I ought to die as well, that the world had lost everything in it that was good.” He had never spoken of this to anyone, not even his father. But it seemed natural to tell her now. She was looking down at him, her eyes soft and warm with sympathy, so beautiful even in the dark. What would it be like to awaken in sunlight to those beautiful eyes?
He drew her down to him and kissed her, tenderly but deep. “You’re wrong, love,” she said softly when he let her go. “The world can still be good.”
He smiled for her. “I see that.” She lay back down with her head on his chest, her arms around him, and she yawned again. “You should go to sleep,” he told her, pulling her hair free before she was hopelessly entangled.
“I can’t,” she protested, still yawning. “The others will be home soon, and I can’t let them find us like this.” She made herself let him go. “Besides,” she went on, “Orlando will be missing you.”
Orlando, he thought, remembering. Orlando was still locked up in the catacombs, predicting disaster and cursing the vampire’s name, no doubt. The worst part was, he was probably right on both counts. “Oh, I doubt it,” he lied with a smile. “Go to sleep. I will stay awake.”
“No,” she insisted, so drowsy now even this simple word was almost beyond her. “You have to go.”
“I will,” he promised, kissing her bare shoulder. “I will go before anyone comes back.” She smiled but didn’t answer, already asleep. He kissed her cheek, and she barely stirred, a tiny snore making him smile. “I love you,” he whispered, lying down beside her. “I love you, Isabel.”
9
Isabel slept most of the next day because no one bothered to wake her. By the time she came downstairs, the household was well about the new day’s business, almost as if the revelries of the night before had never happened. “Good morrow, my lady,” Hannah said, setting food on the table before her. “You must have slept well.”
“Aye, too well,” Isabel answered, making an effort to sound casual. “Why did no one wake me sooner? It must be past midday.” She had dressed herself with particular care, making certain her gown was neat and her hair was tucked away beneath its kerchief so that to all outward appearances she was the same respectable maiden they had all left behind the night before. But she still felt as if she must be putting off some kind of sinful glow, as if everyone must be staring at her behind her back, gaping at one another in shock to see her transformed to a wanton. Everything about her was different; how could she hope to hide it?
“Well past,” Hannah said with a smile. “Brautus must have kept you up half the night telling war stories.”
“No, he went to bed early.” She took a bite of bread, ravenous in spite of her raw nerves. Indeed, she felt almost shockingly healthy except for being a little sore in spots, but if she thought about that, she really would blush herself scarlet. “We both did.” And surely she must sound strange; to her ears, her voice sounded hollow and false, not like her at all. But Hannah didn’t seem to notice. “I must have just been tired.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if you were,” the maid said, taking up her spinning, “not after all the worry you’ve had lately. You’re a very brave woman, my lady.”
“I’m all right.” I’m in love, she wanted to blurt out. I have a lover; can you believe it? “How was the dance?” she asked instead, covering her snicker with a cough.
“Oh, we had a grand time, as always,” Hannah answered with a mysterious smile of her own. “So grand, in fact, that our Queen of the May has yet to come back home.”
“Susannah isn’t here?” Something about this made her shiver, though she couldn’t have said just why.
“Not to worry, my lady,” Hannah said, twisting her thread with her usual skill, obviously unconcerned. “She took up with some miller’s son with a pretty face and no brothers as soon as we arrived; ’tis no great wonder she had no more time for us. I won’t be surprised if she turns up with a husband before the day is done.” Her spindle full, she pulled off the skein and started on another.
“As easy as that?” Isabel laughed.
“Oh aye, my lady. We common folk don’t have nearly the pomp and trouble finding mates as the nobility,” she said with a smile that held no small glimmer of pity. “’Sooth, we seem to trip over one another at every turning once the time is right.”
“You make it sound so romantic.” Was that what she and Simon had done, trip over one another? He was the only man of her class she had ever known well enough to think of marrying, that was true, but was that the only reason why she wanted him? If he had been shorter or blonder or more cheerful, would she still have loved him, just because he was there? For she did love him, of that much she was certain.
“Romance is for those who can afford it,” the maid said with a laugh. “Minstrels, mostly, and queens. Most of us are happy enough just being easy together, comfortable like. Your parents were the same, as I remember.” She smiled at Isabel again, a wise, motherly smile. “Just you wait, my lady. Someday you will see.”
“You think so?” Isabel said, smiling back, but suddenly, she didn’t feel like smiling much at all. I don’t have to wait and see, she wanted to say; I already know better. But in truth, she did not. If romance was only for those who could afford it, she feared she was deeply in debt. She had no more business throwing herself away on Simon than she did taking a leap over the moon, not when she knew he could never marry her. But I don’t care, she thought, stubborn and defiant. Simon might not care a fig for her; he might be cursed; they might never marry; and she might burn in hell for a harlot after dying an old maid. But today she did not care.
“I do indeed,” Hannah said as Isabel stood up to clear away her bowl. “You will have a fine husband, my lady; I don’t doubt it for a moment.” She didn’t mention Simon, Isabel noticed with a bitter, inward smile.