wcEND.rtf (15 page)

Finding what she needed, Isabel made quick use of it. She washed herself afterward with cold water, scrubbed her teeth with a wet piece of cloth, and combed her hair with her fingers. Considering Détra'
s
mass of curls, Isabel didn't think a brush could have been of much use.

Isabel had stayed in very modest accommodations before, but the basic necessities were usually available. Suddenly, she realized how little a person really needed to survive.

At least temporarily.

Using a ribbon she'd found among the clothes Maude had laid over the garment chest, Isabel tied her hair at the nape of her neck. That should keep the curls away from her face for a while.

Inspecting the available clothes Isabel realized mere would be no panties or bras in Détra's wardrobe. She picked up a long dress of fine linen with form-fitting sleeves and dropped it over her head.

At that moment Maude returned with the foo
d
— cheese, bread, a pea
r
—
a
nd Isabel began devouring everything, realizing how hungry she truly was.

"I see you have already donned your chemise, my lady," Maude said, picking up a gown from the top of the chest.

Chemise? Isabel thought it a dress. It was quite different from the one Isabel was wearing when she'd awakened in Détra's body yesterday. That one had been of a thicker material and looser like an old-fashioned camisole; this one was sheer and quite soft to the touch. A definite improvement.

The gown Maude held out for her was magnificent. Tight-fitted to the waist, it flowed into a glo
ri
ous skirt with a small train on the back, like a wedding gown. It was of a beautiful chocolate hue with golden threads throughout in a material that looked like velvet, but silkier. Its sleeves were tight to just above the elbow then flowed into a bell shape.

A much too luxurious dress to wear at home.

"How about something simpler?" Isabel asked.

'This is a favorite of yours," Maude said. "It would surely please Lord Hunter."

Was Maude suggesting Isabel should be making more of an effort to please Hunter? Or was the maid simply giving her some fashion advice, as she was probably used to doing for Détra?

As if it mattered what Détra wore, Isabel thought wryly. Hunter was definitely a man in love and in lust with his young wife. And though she'd muddied things up a bit these past two days by rejecting his advances, once Détra returned she could easily pacify him.

And what a sacrifice that would be!

Isabel suppressed the stab of envy, for a moment toying with the idea of wearing the ugliest dress she could find.

Amazed at her pettiness, she shook her head. 'The chocolate gown will do just fine."

Maude shot her a decidedly odd look. Was it the word chocolate that threw her off? So far Isabel hadn't had any trouble with their ability to understand one another, but there were instances when unknown concepts might not be easily understood, as in the case of chocolat
e
—
a
confection nonexistent at this time.

With Maude's help Isabel was soon fully dressed—including woolen stockings and a pair of anklet boots. Remembering what she wore yesterday morning, Isabel shook her head, embarrassed. The wet camisole had probably revealed more than anyone in that place would ever wish to see of the lady of the castle. And the simple gown Isabel wore later without a chemise or stockings had been decidedly inappropriate. No wonder Hunter couldn't keep his eyes off her naked legs. Good God! She must've looked like a prostitute.

It was to his credit that he ha
d
not ranted about her state of dishabille.

The scent of rosemary wafted to Isabel, bringing her out of her thoughts. Maude stood by her side rubbing her hands together with some kind of oil. "What is that for?" Isabel asked.

"For your tresses, my lady. It will give them shine and fragrance and it will help in the taming of the curls."

"Thank you, Maude, but I've already tamed my hair this morning. Some other time maybe." Wearing Détra's scent bothered Isabel. It was foolish of her, she knew, but she wanted to put whatever sense of distance possible between herself and Détra.

"Is there any other scent available?" Isabel asked just out of curiosity.

"Not in this bedchamber," Maude said.

Of course, Isabel thought. She didn't think there would be access to a perfumery somewhere in the castle. It was just a thought.

"If you wish, I shall seek another, but it wi
l
l take time. What is your preference, my lady?"

"Never mind," Isabel said. "If you are ready, I would
l
ike to begin our tour now."

"No veil, my lady?"

"No, Maude. Shall we?"

Isabel followed Maude out of the room and into the dark corridor. Wall torches provided illumination, but with no windows to bring in light, the place seemed to be immersed in perpetual darkness. They stopped outside a door a few feet down from her bedroom. Isabel could hear peals of laughter coming from inside.

"The weaving room," Maude said, opening the door to a room roughly the size of Détra'
s
bedroom.

Unlike the corridor, the room was well illuminated by three rectangular windows with glazed glass panes. Before them two women sat on a pillow-covered bench working on their embroidery, while two others sat behind spinning
wheels on the other side. One woman bent over a table rearranging and cutting pieces of fabric while yet another sat nearby sewing. A small child of perhaps ten years of age sat at the feet of one of the embroidering women. She, too, had a piece of fabric in her hand to which she was dutifully applying her needle.

The last time Isabel had seen that many women together in one room it had been in her former mother-in-law's house at Christmas. Like that day, the happy conversation stopped the moment she entered the room.

The women, ranging from the very young to the quite old, rose as one to curtsy to her. Had they heard of yesterday's events concerning their lady? Had they seen her mad rash half naked through the ha
l
l? Judging by their expectant gazes, they were probably wondering what would be her next folly.

Isabel smiled. The sides of her mouth ached with the effort, though she was getting very good at faking it.

"Good morning," she said, and they all responded in unison.

The young girl approached and offered Isabel her piece of clot
h
—
a
kerchief of some kind, with a pretty vine embroidered on the borders and a giant rose in its center. "Very pretty," Isabel said.

The girl beamed at her compliment. "Grandmother to
l
d me my stitches are not as pretty as yours but I am improving."

The young girl's stitches were surely a lot better than Isabel's could ever be, since Isabel and needles didn't mix at all.

"We
ll
, I think they are very nice," Isabel said, and this time her smile came easily.

"You still have a ways to go, Louise," the old lady by the window said gently. "You must strive to emulate our
Lady Détra, however, whose stitches are the prettiest in the Christendom."

Hoping she'd never have to do a demonstration, Isabel accepted the compliment with a nod.

"Wil
l
you join us this morning, my lady?" the old lady asked as the young girl returned to sit by her feet, leaving the embroidered kerchief in Isabel's possession. "We could use your company and assistance."

"Maybe tomorrow," Isabel answered. "I have some other duties to attend." Good God! She was beginning to sound like them. "In fact, I just stopped by to see if I could find a misplaced needle." She folded the kerchief
,
and not knowing where to put it, tucked it underneath her tight sleeve as her gaze strayed from the women to the room. There were pegs on the wall, a couple of stools here and there, bolts of cloth in one corner of the room, and a small trunk on the floor, probably filled with sewing tools and scraps of material.

"I shall look for it, my lady," Maude said, moving to the trunk.

Isabel stopped the maid. "No, I will look for it myself." Then at Maude's inquiring gaze, she added, "I am not sure you will know exactly what I am looking for."

Isabel opened the trunk, rummaged inside, and then closed it with a thump. Nothing. Of course, what was she thinking? If Hunter was hiding the chalice from her, which she believed he was, he'd find a more original place than the sewing room.

"It is not here," Isabel said, lifting. The women eyed her in silence. "Maybe it is somewhere else."

She wouldn't despair just yet. This was only the second place she had searched in a very big castle. There were still lots of other places to look.

"Carry on," she told the women in her best ladyish manner as she fled the room, followed by Maude.

Thankfully, Maude refrained from commenting about her behavior, which Isabel knew was forced at best, and led Isabel to the round tower where the chapel was situated.

Isabel learned the priest had died last year and they were still waiting for the new assigned priest to arrive. Sometimes it took years for that to happen, Maude had commented. Meanwhile, they had to make do with sporadic visits from neighboring priests who said mass and heard confessions for the duration of their stays.

"Is a visit expected soon?" Isabel asked as she opened an intricately carved box at the center of the altar that guarded a beautiful golden chalice, but not the one she sought.

"It has been a while, though mayhap soon we shall be blessed with one." She shot Isabel a sidelong glance.

"Amen," Isabel said, knowing it would be what Maude wanted to hear, though Isabel and confessions wouldn't make a very good match at this point.

After that, they moved through other rooms sparsely decorated. At a glance Isabel could tell there was no sign of the chalice, and not many places to hide one either.

The upstairs held no more interest for Isabel. Time to move down the staircase and into the great hal
l
, as the big room Isabel had seen yesterday was called. There were tables spread out over the cavernous room, tapestries and banners on the wall, and a big wooden table on a raised dais, but no sign of the chalice. At the far distant wall there was a door, however, that Isabel hadn't noticed before.

"Where does that door lead?" she asked.

"That is the chamber where Windermere's lord meets with his knights to discuss matters of safety and war. It is also where the steward manages the ledgers and rents."

A place where Hunter probably would spend a lot of time. Worth looking into it. Isabel ambled to the door and
opened it. In the middle of the room there was a big table flanked by long benches on either side. Godfrey, the man who had accosted her yesterday on the way to her bedroom from the orchard, sat hunched over a book methodically making annotations on its page.

He rose at her entrance.
"My
lady," he bowed. "I did not expect you. How do you fare?" He glanced at Maude with a little more than casual interest and a little less open concern. Was there something going on between those t
w
o?

"Well, thank you."

"Forgive me, my lady, for not seeking you out this morning," he said. "But I was commanded not to disturb you with castle's matters."

Isabel knew well who had commanded Godfrey, unknowingly helping her dea
l
with a situation she wasn't in the least prepared for. "My husband means to spare me the pain of a headache, and for that I am thankful to him; however, I hope that did not mean you had to deal with a problem you could not handle yourself."

"According to your wishes, I seek to keep you abreast of castle matters."

"We
l
l, for the foreseeable future I would appreciate if you dealt with such matters on your own."

"Aye, my lady," he answered, straightening a little.

Scanning the room for hiding places, Isabel said, "Do not mind me. I am looking for a misplaced object." She moved around the room, opened a box here and there, moved larger objects to look behind them, but again, no magical chalice. She strolled to the table against the wall. Scrolls and maps, a dagger, a half-filled cup of wine, a carafe, and a couple of bloodred apples covered the top in an untidy heap. The memory of a sensual Hunter sinking his teeth in the juicy fruit at the orchard almost made her choke. She swallowed with difficulty.