Tori Phillips - Three Dog Knight

“I only meant—” Isabel began, but Thomas cut her off.

“You drip poison from every pore, and have broken this evening’s good company,” he continued, his words spewing forth without control. “You will not fling mud at those who partake of my hospitality, and who are under my protection. Since you have forgotten your place in my household, methinks ‘tis time for you to return to your father’s castle.”

He paused as he gulped for air. He looked at the shocked faces around him. Stones and bones, damn his unruly temper! The fair beauty at his side must think she has landed in a nightmare. To keep himself from venting any more spleen, Thomas grabbed a chicken wing and stuffed most of it into his mouth.

“More wine?” Andrew asked cheerfully.

* * *

Isabel’s ears rang with Thomas’s last words. Across the table, Mary grinned at her elder’s discomfort. Plague take the little chit! What the brat needed was a good whipping. Isabel gripped her wine goblet as if she held Alicia’s long neck between her fingers.

Go back to Bedford Chase? Back to the chaos where she would be but one more face around the table? Share her bed with a quarrelsome sister—or two? Isabel gritted her teeth. Never! She choked down the bile that rose in her throat. There must be a way to remain at Wolf Hall, and to turn Thomas’s heart from ice to fire for her. The food in her mouth tasted of ashes, while her thoughts tumbled from one idea to the next. She did not taste the poached pears at the end of the meal. Her preoccupation with her troubles shattered when Thomas suddenly rose.

“Mistress,” he muttered to the thin woman on his right. “Would you like to see the garden?”

The creature laughed, then replied, “‘Twould be a great pleasure, my lord. They do say that the soul of a home is reflected in its garden.”

What drivel! Isabel curled her lips. She must win her way back into Thomas’s good graces this very night, before his threat of banishment hardened into iron resolve.

She forced a light laugh. “You have hit upon the mark, Thomas! ‘Tis a fine evening for a twilight stroll amid the…” Rot it all! What was in bloom at the moment? She hated anything that got her hands dirty, especially mucking in a garden. “Roses!” There had to be roses.

Thomas cast her the briefest of looks. “Start packing,” he snapped. Blue fire flashed in his eyes.

Isabel shivered within her mourning dress. William had often warned her about his younger brother’s temper, but she had rarely seen it in full blast. Now she realized that she should have been more careful. Damn William! Why did he have to die and leave her in such a wretched situation? Wolf Hall was her domain by right.

Before she could utter another word, Thomas and the woman swept from the hall. The pack of hounds followed behind him, as usual. Mary sniggered.

“Do you need help, Isabel?” she asked with illcontained glee. “Methinks ‘twill take you all night to fill your trunks with your finery.”

Leaning over the table, Isabel glared at the horrid child. “If you do not leave the hall this minute, I will pluck out your hairs one by one until you are bald!”

It gave her satisfaction to see the brat pale. Without another word, Mary rose, then dashed up the stairs. At the landing, she paused.

“Since I expect you to be long gone before I wake up tomorrow, sister-in-law, I wish you a pleasant journey. May your way be plagued with ruts and rain!” she yelled. As a final insult, the little wretch stuck out her tongue. The servants clearing the tables did not bother to conceal their grins.

“May your bed be filled with lice!” Isabel retorted after Mary’s fleeing figure.

She wished she could scratch out that little cat’s eyes. Thomas spoiled his sister entirely too much. No wonder the child had such atrocious manners. She patted her gray veil in place. Mary would change her tune once Isabel became the Countess of Thornbury. She gulped a deep breath of air. First, she must become the Countess, and to that end she must use her wiles against that hulking simpleton, who had not the wit to know when he was being hoodwinked.

She stalked out of the hall with its simpering horde of menials. By the time she returned to her chamber, she had hit upon a workable plan—indeed, it was her only hope.

Meg stood in the middle of the room with her arms full of colorful gowns. “Do…do ye wish me to start packing these, my lady?” she whimpered.

Isabel resisted the impulse to box the idiot’s ears. “Nay, Meg. I am not going anywhere.”

“But…I heard my lord say—”

Isabel interrupted her with a wave of her hand. “But he will change his mind very quickly, Meg. You will see anon. Soon I will be the true mistress of this heap of stones.” She sat by the low fire, and stared into its red-hot embers.

“How so, my lady? Sir Thomas sounded—”

“He is like that great worthless dog of his—all bark but no bite.” The more Isabel contemplated her plan, the more brilliant it shone in her mind.

Meg drew closer. “How now, my lady?”

Her mistress allowed a smile to curl her lips. “I shall plead my belly,” she murmured, more to herself than to Meg.

The maid’s jaw dropped. “Wh…what, my lady?”

Isabel looked directly into Meg’s bovine face. “I will tell my esteemed brother-in-law that I am carrying William’s child. Thomas cannot send me away from Wolf Hall if I am carrying the next Cavendish heir.”

Meg’s eyes grew rounder. “But ye’re not expecting, my lady. Yer last monthly flow was but a fortnight ago.”

Isabel cocked her head. Best to scotch this snake now before it grew too big to contain. “I fear you mistook the date, Meg. ‘Twas two months ago, before my husband sickened and died.” Meg shook her head. “Nay, my lady, I remember—” Like a fork of lightning, Isabel reached out and slapped the stupid girl. “Think again, Meg, if you value your place as my maid. I would hate to have to send you from Wolf Hall for telling lies. Everyone knows that liars also steal. What would happen to you if one or two of my jewels went missing? ‘Twould be the gallows for you, for certain sure.”

Meg gulped. “I do not lie, my lady,” she gibbered. “And all your jewels are safe and sound in your coffer. I swear by the cross, ‘tis true.” Two large tears rolled down her moon-calf face. “Please, my lady, do not turn me out. I have done ye no harm.” She threw her apron over her head, and began to wail in earnest.

“Peace, you fool. Leave off your tears, and listen.” When Meg’s sobs subsided, Isabel continued. “I tell you, I am pregnant by my Lord William, and none shall gainsay it. Do you mark me?”

The maid nodded. “Aye, my lady. You are with child.”

Isabel smiled her satisfaction. She nurtured her little seed of deception. “I beg you not to mention this news in the kitchen, Meg. I have not yet told Sir Thomas. I have only just discovered it myself.” “Aye, I give you my word, my lady.” Ha! A vow as strong as water. By morning, the whole castle will know of the new heir. Now to seal the falsehood. Isabel stretched, then yawned. “By my troth, I have a most marvelous craving for some sweetened cream and wafers. Do fetch me a bowlful, Meg. I feel I must have it or die.”

“Aye, my lady.” The silly maid all but flew to the chamber door. “I will bring you the sweets in a trice.”

Isabel held up her hand. “And mind you, not a word of my condition to anyone.”

“My life upon it, my lady!”

Isabel laughed softly to herself as she listened to Meg’s footsteps tripping down the passageway. She rubbed her stomach. It was true that her womb was empty. Isabel furrowed her brows. Nine years in bed with lusty William, and not even a miscarriage to show for it. Her father, the Earl of Bedford, had an army of children by Isabel’s late mother. Even now, he filled the nursery with more puling waifs by his poor second wife. With such a sire, how could Isabel possibly be barren? She pushed away the very idea. It must have been William’s fault.