“How verra intriguing. Most would just snap my neck,” she said. “Like a twig is often how they put it, I believe.”
“Ilsabeth, ye should watch that sharp tongue of yours,” warned Walter.
“Why? If your great plan succeeds, I will soon be dead. If it fails, I will be dead. What difference can it make what I say now?”
“ ‘Tis in the manner of the killing,” said Henry. “I can make it verra painful.”
“That is a skill to be so proud of. Henry, if I am declared guilty of all this fool”–she jabbed a finger in Walter’s direction–“has seen that I am accused of, my death is already destined to be verra painful. Unless the two of you and whatever poor fools ye have drawn to your cause, succeed, I dinnae have to worry o’er who can kill me in the most painful way possible.” She looked at Walter again. “I am certain ye didnae come just to gloat so what do ye want?”
“I wish to speak to Ilsabeth in private, Henry,” said Walter, “if ye would excuse me for just a moment.”
Henry shrugged and, after a final chilling look at Ilsabeth, walked away. “Ye are a fool, Walter,” she told her former fiancé, “to risk everything ye have because that mon wants to be king. He will kill ye as soon as possible after he dons his stolen crown.”
“Of course he willnae,” Walter snapped, “but I didnae come to talk about Henry. Ye do ken what ye are facing, dinnae ye?”
Ilsabeth thought that was a rather witless question. Her insides were knotted with a terror she tried to fight back with every breath she took. In fact, only the anger over how she had been used by this man kept it from overwhelming her until she was no more than a shivering, wretched creature curled up babbling in a corner.
“A knighthood?” She wished she could see the sneer she was giving Walter for she was sure it was one of her best.
“I ne’er truly realized what a sharp, irreverent tongue ye had. No matter, that can be mended. So can this in a way. I ken a way to get ye out of here, Ilsabeth, to free you.”
“Nay, ye dinnae mean to free me. Dinnae try to lie to me, Walter, ye festering scab.” The way his eyes widened was proof enough that her fury was revealing itself in far more than her words. “Ye wish to put me in a wee cottage in France, a mistress ye can force to your will because her only other choice is death. Weel, this woman would prefer the torturous death of a traitor to that.”
“How do ye ken about my wee cottage in France?”
“How do ye think I kenned enough about your plans to run and hide? I heard ye and David, didnae I? I was but yards away when ye sat in that garden and spoke of killing kings, laying false accusations, and saving me from execution by slipping me away to France to await your pleasure.”
“Ye were creeping about my house like a thief, were ye?”
“Oh, go away, Walter. Ye are as doomed as I am. Ye have tied your fate to a mon who beats his own brother nearly to death, who kills his own wives because they give him no sons or just because they irritate him, and who kills his own daughters because he thinks them naught but useless. A mon who killed his own father because he thought the mon had been laird enough and now it was his turn. And ye believe he willnae kill ye? Nay, Walter, ye may be even more doomed than I. Go. Away.”
“I think ye are the fool. Weel, if ye finally come to your senses and choose life, ye ken where to reach me.”
“Aye, in the gutter. Your mother would be so proud.”
She sighed when he finally marched away. Walter just refused to see the monster he had tied himself to. She could only pray that Simon succeeded in ending this plot. The thought of Henry sitting on the throne was too horrifying to contemplate for too long.
Then she frowned and looked toward the direction Walter and Henry had gone. It was not the usual way one entered and left the dungeon. And why had there been no guard with them? There was always a guard when someone came down into the dungeon.
The soft scrape of a boot on stone drew her out of her thoughts. She looked up to find Henry leaning against her cell and smiling at her, that smile that made her fear of her coming execution seem petty. He was back, without Walter and without a guard. The man who wanted to steal the throne, a man all knew had been banished forever from the court, should not be wandering around in the dungeons with no guard keeping an eye on him. Ilsabeth hid that knowledge quickly and eyed him as she would any unwanted guest.
“I think ye could be one who would give me a son,” he said.
Ilsabeth almost gagged, not only at the thought that this man would have to touch her to accomplish that but that any child of hers would be close to such a man. “Let me think. I can stay here and meet the torturous death of a traitor. Or, I could allow Walter to steal me away to play his mistress in France. Or, I could allow ye to breed a child on me. Has a woman e’er had so many wondrous choices? My bounty is overflowing.”
“Your father didnae beat ye enough.” He frowned. “And he has let ye run free for far too long, too. I think ye are twenty, mayhap a year or twa more. Ye should have been wed with half a dozen bairns by now. It is time I had another wife. Ye would do.”
She glanced around wondering if she was actually still asleep. “Do ye or Walter e’er hear what ye say? He wants me to whore for him in France until he tires of me and then he would probably sell me or send me back here to face the same thing I am facing now. Ye speak of making me your wife so that I can breed ye sons but ye must ken that I have heard what happens to your wives and your poor wee daughters. So ye offer me a few years of servitude to ye until I prove I cannae breed a son or ye tire of me whereupon I will be killed. And that after I may have had to watch ye kill a child or two of mine because it wasnae born with the right dangling part. What have I done to make ye and Walter think I am that dim-witted?”
“Actually, I think ye may be very sharp of wit. Too sharp. ‘Tis a dangerous thing for a woman to be sharp-witted but ‘tis something I would like to have in a son of mine. Aye, I believe I will consider this more. The added joy of taking ye to wife and breaking ye to my hand is the knowledge that ye belonged to Simon.”
“Why do ye hate Simon so? What has he e’er done to ye?”
“He lived. He grew up and watched me with my own eyes at every turning and he judged. No one judges me.”
“I see. Weel, it has been a pleasant time talking to ye as I dinnae get many visitors down here, but ‘tis time for my rest. Have a pleasant journey home.”
Henry shook his head. “Enjoy your foolishness as ye will. Ye will soon do as I want.” He leaned very close to the bars and said in an almost friendly voice, “Ye have a weakness, lass. Ne’er forget that. Think hard on what that weakness is and ken weel that I will use it to make ye do as I want, e’en if it means I get a wee bit of blood on my hands.” He started to walk away. “The sweetest blood is said to be that of the tender wee lasses. It runs smoothly and brightly o’er the hands.”
