“Are you the Lady Isabel?” one of the men asked. She nodded in the affirmative. The man continued, “I am Sir Harold, My Lady. His lordship asked me to get you, and escort you to his Castle, where you will be safe.”
“I need to talk to my husband, before he leaves,” Isabel stated.
“His lordship rode out to talk to the men. His sister has gone missing, so he will likely be riding out immediately, to try to find a lead on her whereabouts,” Harold said. “I am sorry, but you are going to have to talk with him, later. Right now, you will have to come with us, My Lady.”
Realizing there was no point in arguing with this man, Isabel replied, “Very well, Harold. I will need to get a few things together. Oh, and I will need my maid, as well. Give me a few minutes.”
Isabel rose, and went to the stairs. At the top, she called for her maid, Rosamund. When she reached her bedchamber, she quickly scribbled a note, and sent the maid down the back stairs with it. Isabel then placed several changes of clothing, and some grooming items, into a large duffle. When Rosamund returned from her errand, Isabel informed her that “He”, was sending her to one of his Castles. As the maid was going with her, she would have to pack a few things, to take with. With a quick nod of acknowledgement, the serf hurried out of the chamber. The serf returned minutes later, just as Isabel picked up a small wooden box, off the side table, and placed it, along with the contents of a canister, in the hidden pocket of her gown.
“Are we ready to go?” Isabel asked.
At the maid’s affirmative nod, the two women walked toward the stairs down to the hall, where their escort waited.
Outside the Castle walls, Brant stood with several of his men, listening to how Esme had gone to visit her mother, Peggy. The morning after their arrival, the girl and her maid, were missing. From about three hundred feet away, he watched as Harold, and his men, rode out of the Castle gate with two women. One of the females wore a bright yellow gunna, with a similar colored mantle, wrapped over her head, and around her shoulders. The other woman, wore the gray woolen gown of a serf, but had a gray mantle covering her head, as well. As they started off down the road, a large group of men from the meadow rode out to join them. Brant’s focus returned to his missing sister. Peggy was claiming both, lack of knowledge of her daughter’s disappearance, and grave concern for the missing girl.
When the procession on the road, moved out of sight over a hill, Brant mounted his destry, and rode back to the Castle. He entered the hall to retrieve his sword, dagger, and battle ax, that he found laying on the trestle table. He paused briefly, looking to the hearth, in front of which he had “wed” the Lady Isabel, a woman he would not recognize, if he passed her on the road.
A matronly serf entered, distracting him from his thoughts.
“Would ye like a tankard, Me Lord?” The serf asked.
“No, thank-you,” Brant answered. Then he asked, “Where would I find the serf, Alisa?”
“There is not anyone here by that name, Me Lord,” the woman replied. “Mayhap, she was from the village. A lot of the serfs, come up from the village, when it is needed.”
When Brant nodded and said nothing further, the woman continued on her way. On a side table, between a couple of chairs, he noticed a half-full jeweled chalice. As he ran a finger around the rim, his mind was assailed with the memory of the small figure, in a pale green gown, that had stood beside him right here, in front of the friar. Wearing green to your wedding, was supposed to be a prayer for fertility, was it not? Brant let out a hearty laugh, and the sound seemed to echo eerily, through the empty hall.
Hearing a shuffling noise, Brant turned, to see that Robert had followed him in.
“So, now that you are armed, again, do I need to defend myself?” Robert asked.
“I have not decided, yet, how to get vengeance on you,” Brant answered. “When I do, you will know.”
He brushed past his old friend, intent upon going to the village, and Robert turned to follow him.
In the village, Brant sought out the Burgher, to ask about a maid named Alisa, who might live there. He was told there was no one by that name, in the village. In fact, there were only three or four maids of that age, and none of them, looked like the girl he described. Brant got no indication that either, the woman at the castle, or this man, were being dishonest, about not knowing the girl. He realized that though he was free, he might never see the girl, again. Richard, and Isabel, had large land holdings, and Alisa could have been brought here, from any one of them. Brant returned to the meadow where his men waited, feeling an unexpected sense of despair. There was no denying the girl had gotten to him. Was this what a broken heart felt like?
Brant had thought frequently, about gaining his release from the dungeon. He had planned to take the entertaining girl home with him, but now, he could not even find her. He recalled Robert saying, he thought Isabel, might be gaming them all. She was likely, the only person who knew where the girl was. It was not likely, that his wife was going to help him, find the woman he wanted to keep as his mistress.
As the belief that he would not find any trace of Alisa settled in, Brant issued the order to his men, “Mount up, men. I want to go home.”
Chapter 8
It was the beginning of December, and Brant was getting really frustrated. He still had not found any trace of his sister's whereabouts. He had questioned Peggy, who denied any knowledge, of what could have happened to the girl. He did not believe her denials of involvement, and was having her Castle watched for anything suspicious, but so far, there had been nothing. Inquiries to the villages near Peggy's, had not turned up any sightings of Esme, either. Furthermore, he frequently found himself thinking about Alisa, and wondering what had happened to the girl. There was no doubt, the young serf had gotten to him, he missed her terribly. He had taught her well, and now she was who knew where, likely entertaining some one else. The thought of her with another, bothered him, badly. He had wanted to keep her all to himself, which, part of his mind told him made no sense. Alisa had changed him somehow, in the few months he had been held prisoner. Now Cora, the serf who had been his favorite tart here for years, seemed brash, and lewd, even a little repulsive. He was finding himself very short tempered, and had yelled at several serfs. Everyone seemed to be scurrying out of his way, and that was irritating him, too. Always before, he had been very comfortable here, now his home, seemed empty and lonely. Brant found a good amount of his time, was spent wondering where Esme, and Alisa, were. The later, seemed to cross his mind most often.
The only slightly bright spot, was musing about what Isabel thought, of where he had sent her. It was quite out of the way, and with his people closely monitoring her, hopefully, not much better than his prison. They had said she would reach her majority, in June. In six months, he would see if someone came, to relieve him of her care.
"Riders approaching," Brant heard the sentry announce.
A short while later, Robert and Kate entered the hall, with several other knights. Brant greeted the guests, but largely shied away from, participating in the ensuing conversation. Robert tried several times, to get him talking about one of many battles they had been in, or his youthful misdeeds, unsuccessfully. Finally, he pulled Brant aside, and confronted him.
"What is wrong with you, Brant?" Robert asked. "Everyone says you are grouching, and yelling at everybody. I hear you even yelled at Cora. You always use to find that tart amusing. Although, I never could see why you liked her."