The Maiden Abduction

257 Pages·2016·0.86 MB·English

by  Landon Juliet

The Maiden's Abduction by Juliet Land
Makes any time special
Historical Romance . rich, vivid and passionate Silas leapt to his feet,
his voice biting with exasperation.

"In God's name, woman, will you listen to what I have to say before you?"

Before three words were out, Isolde was up and facing him, eye to eye.

"No, in God's name I shall do no such thing, sir! I do not need you to make any
plans for me, nor do I need your assistance to reach York."

Her eyes were wide open and, this time, furiously unflinching.

Fascinated, Silas stuck his thumbs into the girdle that belted his hips.

"There now, wench, you've been wanting to let fly at me ever since you got here,
haven't you? Feeling better now?"

"You mistake the matter, sir. I haven't given you a moment's thought."

She swung away from him and stalked towards the door, but in two strides he
was there before her, presenting her with the clearest challenge she had ever
faced. The look that passed between them, so unlike the enigmatic exchange at
suppertime, was of unbridled hostility on her part and total resolution on his.
THE MAIDEN'S ABDUCTION

Juliet Landon

MILLS &-BOON' ^<s
Chapter One

A crest of rooftops edged the distant horizon and, beyond them, a narrow sliver
of shining sea suspended the last light of day above the dark, wine-rich tide that
wafted its own unmistakable scent across the moorland. The three riders halted,
held by its magic.

"Is that it?" Isolde whispered.

"The sea? That shining?"

The young man at her side smiled and eased his weight forward out of the
saddle.

"That's it. Wait till tomorrow, then you'll see how big it is. Can you smell it?"
He watched her take a deep lungful of air and hold it, savouring its essence.

She breathed out on a laugh and nodded.

"So that's Scarborough, then.

What a trek, Bard. "

"I told you we'd get there in one day. Come on."

"Only just." Isolde turned to look over her shoulder, searching the rosy western
sky and darkening wind-bent hawthorns.

"You don't think they'll?"

"No! Course they won't. Come."

The third rider pursed her lips, holding back the're tort which would have
betrayed to her mistress a certain distrust of Bard La Vallon's optimism. A
pessimist she was not, but this wild goose-chase to Scarborough was hardly the
answer to their problem, such as it was.

For one thing, she did not believe Isolde thought any more of La Vallon than she
had about any of the other bold young lads who sought to make an impression
month after month, year after year. Nor was it a yearning to see the sea that had
drawn her all the way from York in one day, though she was as good in the
saddle as any man. Mistress Cecily stayed a pace or two behind them on the
stony track, caught by the pink halo shimmering through Isolde's wild red curls,
as fascinated by the girl's beauty after nineteen years as she had been at her
birth. The stifled retort gained momentum at each uncomfortable jolt of the
hardy fell pony beneath her. Of course they'll come after us, child, once they
discover which direction we 'we taken.

As if in reply to her maid's unspoken words, Isolde called to her, holding a mass
of wind-blown hair away to one side, "They'll think we've gone back home,
Cecily, won't they?"

"Course, love. That'll be their first thought. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

Sensing that the matronly Mistress Cecily was about to contribute some
unnecessary logic to the serenity of the moment. Bard drew Isolde's attention to
the Norman castle silhouetted against the sea over to the left of the town, making
Cecily's reply redundant.

It had been this same Bardolph La Vallon whose untimely interest in Isolde had
caused her father. Sir Gillan Medwin, to pack her off in haste to York and there
to remain in the safekeeping of Alderman Henry Fryde and his family. No
explanation for this severe reaction was needed by anyone in the locality, for the
feuding between the Medwins and the La Vallons spanned at least four
generations, and the idea of any liaison between their members could not be
evenly remotely considered. As soon as the days had begun to lengthen in the
high northern dales and the sun to gain strength above the limestone hills, the
reprisals had begun again: the stealing of sheep and oxen, the damming of the
river above Medwin's mills, the firing of a new hayrick and, most recently, the
near-killing of a La Vallon tenant.

On discovering that his daughter Isolde had actually given some encouragement
to the younger La Vallon, Sir Gillan had acted with a predictable and terrifying
swiftness to put a stop to it, not only because of the enmity, but also because the
likelihood of Bard La Vallon's reputation as a lecher exceeding his father's was
almost a certainty. Between them, Rider La Vallon and his younger son had
fathered a crop of black-haired and merry-eyed hairns now residing with their
single mothers in Sir Gillan's dales' villages. How many were being reared as La
Vallon tenants, heaven only knew, but Sir Gillan did not intend his daughter to
produce one of them. Though his second wife had died scarcely seven weeks
earlier, in the middle of June, he was willing to lose his only daughter also, for
her safety's sake.

Mistress Cecily sighed, noting how the slice of silver in the distance had
narrowed, darkening the sky still more in sympathy with her concerns.

"Nearly there, Cecily. Hold on," came Isolde's assurance.

"Yes, love."

She had not expected the young swam to come chasing after them, nor did she
believe that Isolde had cared one way or the other until she had come to realise
what lay behind her father's choice of Henry Fryde as her guardian, a choice that
took the form of Henry Fryde's twenty-three-year-old son Martin. Then, Isolde's
need for any form of rescue as long as it came quickly was justifiable: even the
motherly Cecily had no quarrel with that. So, when two days ago young Bard
had appeared behind them in the great minster at York during one of the
Mercers' Guild's interminable thanksgiving ceremonies, the hand that had
clutched hers had made her wince with the pain of it.

"He'll take us away from here, Cecily," Isolde had whispered to her that night, in
bed.

"Back home, you mean? He'd not--' " No, not back to my father. I'd not go back
there now. You'll never guess what he's done. Bard told me today. "
"Who's done? Bard, or your father?"

"My father. I think he's taken leave of his senses," she added.

"Why, what is it?"

"Bard says he's taken his sister."

Cecily frowned at that, unable to overcome the confusion.

"Felicia?"

she ventured.

"Yes, Bard's younger sister, Felicia. Father's taken her."

"Where to?"

"Home. To live with him. He's abducted her, Cecily. And do you know what I
think?" She was clearly set to tell her.

"I think he intended it when he sent me here to York because he knows that
Rider La Vallon will stop at nothing to get her back. No one's ever done
anything quite as extreme as that, have they? He must have known that if I were
there, they'd do their utmost to get me. And heaven help me if they did. I'd be a
mother by this time next year, would I not? All the same, I think it's an over-
reaction, taking a La Vallon woman just because Bard showed an interest in me.
He's old enough to be her father, after all."

"She's twenty-one."

"Young enough to be his daughter, Cecily."

"Mmm, so you think going off with Bard La Vallon will make everything all
right, do you? I don't."

"No, dearest." In the dark, Isolde softened, kissing the ample cheek of her nurse
and maid, the one who had helped her into the world and her mother out of it at
the same time.

"But it's a chance to take control of my life, for a change, and I'll not let it slip.
He sent me here to be groomed for marriage to that lout downstairs. You know
that, don't you?"

"Yes, that's fairly obvious."

"And would you marry him, dearest?"

The snorts of derision combined to render them both speechless for some time
and, when they could draw breath, it was Isolde who found enough to speak.

"Well, then, the alternative is to get out of this awful place just as soon as we
can."

The question of ethics, however, was one which could not easily be put aside.
Cecily manoeuvred her white-bonne ted head on the pillow to see her companion
by the light of the mean tallow candle.

"But listen, love. That young scallywag was the reason your father sent you
away in the first place, and you surely wouldn't disobey your father so openly,
would you? And what of Alderman Fryde? Think of the position it will put him
in. After all, he's responsible for you."

There was a silence during which Cecily hoped Isolde's mind was veering
towards filial duty, but the answer, when it came, proved determination rather
than any wavering.

"Alderman Fryde," Isolde said, quietly, 'is one of the . no, the most
objectionable men I've ever met. I would not marry his disgusting son if he
owned the whole of York, nor shall I stay in this unhappy place a moment longer
than I have to. Did you see Dame Margaret's face this morning? "

"Yes, I did."
"He's been beating her again. The second time this week. I heard him."

"You shouldn't have been listening, love."

"I didn't have to listen. And that chaplain was smirking all over his chops, and I
know for a fact that he's been telling Master Fryde what I said to him in
confession about Bard."

"No ... oh, no! He couldn't. Wouldn't!"

"He has, Cecily. I know it. He's a troublemaker."

There was another silence until Isolde continued.

"Bard has a cousin at Scarborough."

"A likely story."

"I believe him. He says we'll be able to stay there awhile and see the sea. He
says they'll be pleased to see us."

"The cousin is married?"

"Yes, with a family. I cannot go home, Cecily dearest, you know that."

She had heard disapproval in the flat voice, the refusal to share the excitement
for its own sake. Cecily liked things cut and dried.

"I

cannot. Not with Bard's sister a prisoner there and my father fearful for our
safety. God knows what he's doing with her," she whispered as an afterthought.

"Never mind what he's doing with her, child. What dye think young La Vallon's
doing with you'] Has it not occurred to ye once that he's come all this way to
avenge his sister? I don't know how your father can explain the taking of a
man's only daughter, even to prolong a feud, but allowing yourself to be stolen