House of Dreams by Brenda Joyce

Author:Brenda Joyce
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-04-04T04:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

ISABEL

FOURTEEN

STONEHILL MANOR—JULY 1550

He had finally come.

Her uncle, the earl, who had exiled her to this place seven years ago, was waiting for her.

Isabel crouched behind a tree, knowing she must go in, but unwilling to move. Her heart beat with excruciating speed. A dozen soldiers wearing the earl of Sussex’s colors were swarming about the yard—her yard—all boisterous male camaraderie. Her servants were nowhere to be seen, not that Isabel blamed them. The soldiers looked tired and mean. She had little doubt that they had come from the North. Just weeks ago thousands of rebels had gathered at Sittingbourne to protest high wages and scarce food, and vast forces had been dispatched to overcome them.

“Isabel!” Lady Helen was calling her.

Isabel sighed. She was not very fond of her companion—her uncle had chosen his wife’s cousin to attend her years ago, just after the loss of her family. Helen was a shrew, even after all the years they had spent together. Isabel also suspected her to be a spy. She surely reported on Isabel’s behavior to her benefactor. Not that there was much to report, for in seven years, living amongst the east Sussex forests and dens, she had become not much more than a retiring country mouse.

“Isabel!”

She could not delay this meeting. She stepped out from behind the tree.

Helen stood in the middle of the yard; she saw her and cried out. “Of all days, today you’ve been picking berries?”

Isabel squared her shoulders, raised her chin. She was bare of foot, and she gripped her apron so the blackberries would not tumble to the ground. “He did not advise us of his visit.”

Helen’s dark brows arched. “You will be haughty, as well? Let me remind you, my lady, he is your guardian, but he has forgotten your very existence, until now. Because you be old enough for a husband.”

“I have hardly forgotten the facts of my life,” Isabel said. She kept her head high as she walked through the milling men and horses, ignoring a few lecherous winks and equally rude suggestions. In spite of her bravado, she was afraid. She had to make a favorable impression upon her uncle. Her entire future depended on it.

Helen swatted one mail-clad arm. “She be Sussex’s niece. Mind your manners, lout!”

Isabel hardly heard Helen as she shoved open the heavy front door.

The earl was in the hall, pacing with some irritation, and he was not alone. Two knights accompanied him. Isabel hesitated, for he had yet to see her, engrossed as he was in deep conversation. If only she had a chance to run to her rooms and don appropriate clothing.

The earl of Sussex suddenly halted in midstride. He stared at her and Helen coldly. “We asked for wine. Where is it?”

Isabel curtsied, sinking to the floor. Since the manor where she lived was nothing like Romney Castle—it had originally been built as a hunting lodge—the stones were rough and hurtful beneath her feet and even her nose, which she touched to the ground.

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