“You are very beautiful, my lady.”
Mary took a bite of oven-warm bread. “Not half as much as you,” she said earnestly.
Isobel tossed her head, looking pleased. “They say I am a great beauty. Do you think it’s true?”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Real beauty comes from within,” she heard herself say, quoting her mother exactly. Then she grinned. “But you are indeed a great beauty. However, my mother has always said that vanity is a sin.”
“Who is your mother? Is she very pious?”
Mary started. Isobel gazed right into her eyes, unblinking. Mary wondered if she could possibly be trying to discover her identity, or if she was just succumbing to her natural curiosity. “How old are you, Isobel?”
“Not much younger than you, I daresay,” Isobel said quickly. “I am ten.”
Mary knew Isobel did not mean to insult her, but her size, which always made people assume her to be younger than her age, had always dismayed her. “I amalmostseventeen. Far older than you.”
“Old enough to be wed.”
“I am a maid.” Mary thought about her captor for the first time since Isobel had entered her chamber.
“You are so small, not much bigger than me, that from a distance, one would think you a child.”
“And you are very tall for such a young girl.”
“Undoubtedly my husband will be much shorter than I.” Isobel laughed at the idea. “But I do not care what he looks like, as long as he is powerful and strong.”
Mary stared at Isobel as her earlier statement sank in, her heart jumping.She and Isobel resembled each other.
“Stephen is powerful and strong,” Isobel said rather coyly.
Mary did not respond. She did not even hear Isobel. Her mind whirled. It was true. She and Isobel had similar appearances. Not only were they about the same height and size, they were both fair and long-haired. Mary thought that, in shadow and from a distance, a man would not be able to tell the two of them apart, not if Mary bound her small breasts and wore Isobel’s clothes.
“Lady—is something wrong?”
Mary was quivering with excitement and fear. She gazed blankly at Isobel. “I beg your pardon?”It was her duty to escape.
Isobel repeated the question, but Mary did not listen. Instead, she knew that it was more than her duty to escape, it was a necessity. For in time, whether it be a day or two or even a week, Stephen de Warenne would learn from his man Will or other spies about the disappearance of Malcolm’s daughter. He would instantly comprehend that she was the Scots princess.
“Madam?”
Mary jerked to attention. “I am sorry, I did not sleep well last night, and my concentration wavers.” But her mind raced on. Somehow she would have to borrow Isobel’s clothes and get into the bailey, and as there was no way she could do so by walking past her captor or his brothers, perhaps when Isobel went out, she could join her. And once in the bailey, without escort, thought to be the young girl, there would be opportunities for escape. There must be.
Isobel was asking, with a sly smile, “Don’t you like my brother now?”
Mary realized that Isobel was waiting for a reply. With an effort she recalled the question. Then she comprehended the child’s meaning—that after last night, a night she had spent in Stephen’s chamber, she must have some fondness for her captor. Her eyes were wide and she stood up. “No, Isobel, I am sorry to say that I do not!”
Isobel started. “But how is that possible? All the maids I know pray for him to take them into his bed. And afterwards, they are always very pleased—indeed, they pray he might notice them again.”
Mary folded her arms very tightly against her chest. “I suppose he—Stephen—takes ladies to his bed often.”
“Very often,” Isobel said, not quite smiling. “But not ladies, just kitchen maids and strumpets. You look peculiar.”
Mary said nothing. She walked over to the window slit and stared out of it. She decided that she would attempt to escape immediately. She hugged herself harder.
“Do you not find Stephen handsome?”
Mary refused to answer. She was having trouble dislodging an unwelcome image from her mind, of Stephen and some hussy in a torrid embrace. She gripped the rough stone ledge. Her back was to Isobel. “Isobel, as we are the same size, is it possible you might find me a garment that is more pleasing to look upon than these poorly mended rags I now wear?”
Isobel blinked.
