Mary’s heart pounded. She had hardly been subtle. But the urge to flee was one she now could not resist.
And Isobel beamed. “Of course; why did I not think of it? You are a lady, and no lady could tolerate those filthy clothes for long. I am happy to give you something of mine.”
Clad in an ice blue tunic and a silver girdle, silver hose, and dark blue slippers, her purple mantle lined in squirrel, Mary slowly descended the staircase with Isobel. As the morning had passed, they had become good friends, and Mary regretted using her. Isobel was clever, witty, and headstrong, and she reminded Mary in no small way of herself. There were more similarities between them as well, for, like Mary, Isobel had been raised with a batch of brothers by powerful yet fond parents. Mary thought that if circumstances were different, their friendship would blossom when the child matured into an adult.
But of course, that was not to be.
Mary tensed. The Norman was below, and she could clearly hear his voice as they went downstairs. He was immersed in affairs of the estate in the hall below with his chamberlain, his steward, and both of his brothers. Mary listened to his strong, slightly husky tone. Apparently he was with a tenant as well, one who now was asking for some small boon.
Would she be allowed to leave the keep with Isobel?
With some encouragement from Mary, Isobel had offered to show her her pony, which happened to be from the Hebrides, not only a group of western islands belonging to Scotland, but the place of her uncle Donald Bane’s exile. Mary had accepted. Undoubtedly this would be her one and only chance to escape before nightfall. Mary did not want to think further than that, about what awaited her if she did not succeed in escaping now. There seemed to be a thick lump in her chest.
Isobel grasped her hand firmly. “Do not be afraid of him. He is not as bad as you think.”
Mary wet her dry lips. “I am not afraid of your brother, Isobel.”
Isobel appeared skeptical.
“But I am quite certain that your brother will not allow me to go with you out of this keep.”
Isobel snorted. “He will if I ask him!”
Determined to be calm and not give away her scheme, Mary followed Isobel into the hall. Gaily Isobel ran to her brothers. While Geoffrey greeted her with some joke that made her giggle, Stephen ceased his directives abruptly, favoring Mary with an interested and speculative stare. She was aware of the admiration in his gaze as he eyed her clad in his sister’s fine clothes. “A vast improvement, mademoiselle,” he murmured.
Mary tensed her jaw, refusing to hold his regard. Her heart was beating so wildly, she was afraid he could hear it, and guess that all was not as it seemed.
Isobel interrupted. “I want to show Mairi King Rufus, Steph. Can we? Please?”
Thinking of escape, waiting for his reply, Mary was sweating.
Stephen barely looked at his sister. “Interested in ponies?”
“I adore horses,” Mary managed.
Stephen eyed her for another lingering moment, then patted Isobel. “You may go.”
Isobel shrieked and hugged him, then flew across the hall. Mary turned to follow, unable to believe her luck, feeling his gaze on her, burning holes in her back.
“Beware,” he said softly, ominously. “You will not be able to leave Alnwick, mademoiselle, in case you happen to think otherwise.”
Somehow he guessed her intentions, somehow she did not miss a stride. But nothing was going to stop her now, nothing.
Outside, Mary was pulled along by Isobel, who chattered away. Mary did not pay her attention. Had he really surmised that she intended to escape? Or were his last words merely a warning? Surely if he guessed her plans, he would not allow her from his sight!
They traipsed along to the stables, Isobel skipping ahead while Mary, her throat dry and her pulses skittering, began to look for an opportunity to seize. She began to lag behind isobel, which was not difficult as the child raced on.
The bailey was as crowded as it had been yesterday when Mary had first entered its confines. A bevy of laundresses were washing clothes in a huge cistern, other servants were moving purposefully to and fro, on business for their master, the blacksmith was still at work, his anvil ringing, and a shepherd had brought a small flock within, no doubt for the cook pot. His herd was milling everywhere, creating more confusion and more noise. Two small, shaggy dogs were taking frantic pleasure in chasing their charges while the shepherd ran to and fro, chasing first a ewe, then a lamb. Two knights were riding through the portcullis.
Far ahead of her now, Isobel paused, calling, “Can’t keep up? Want to race?” Laughing, she took off at a run.
Mary came to a halt, watching the child disappear in the throng of bondsmen and freemen. She looked around carefully, but no one was observing her. Abruptly she darted into the long shadows of the knights’ hall, where she paused.
She was out of breath, trembling with fear and excitement. Quickly she raised her cloak, pulling it up over her head. Two men in leather hauberks, wearing swords, strolled past her. Mary looked away from them. One of them waved at her, Mary waved back.
Her heart pounded. She had been assumed to be Isobel—her plan was working.
Mary glanced around. Her gaze settled on the carpenter and his apprentices, unloading a wagon of lumber near the small building that they were constructing. It was apparent to Mary, as the oxen remained hitched, that the wagon’s work was not done for the day. Mary sucked up her courage and left the safety of the shadows. Keeping her face downward, she approached. Her steps slowed. Mary stepped closer to a mountain of stacked wine caskets. The men finished unloading the lumber and returned to their work, while the carter climbed back onto his seat. The wagon was now empty, except for a tarp which had previously protected the wood from any rain.
