Chattan Bride

Chapter 3 - Part 2

Consumed in thought regarding the equation Dylan had presented her, she came to one conclusion. She was due for a little pleasure. It began by creating a list of things in her head that had been negative events. The death of her mother, the border war with its suffering, the inability of her father to get over her mother's death, her marriage to Alysandir and the way he had treated her at Annie's and finally the poisoning. The positives: her sister was a dear, but a handful. Her father loved her, but was unable to care for himself. Her husband was both kind and terrible. She was so moody lately. Their arrival in Perth was a most welcome distraction. Weekly market was in progress as they made their way onward toward home and Isabel was breathless with excitement. Fair Perth was indeed more than she could have wanted, and even better, though not sweeter, than Bamborough.

First in her duties was to get familiar with all of the staff. Oh, they were hesitant to take orders from a young thing such as herself, but she had learned tricks from her papa. He showed her how to get to know a person and find out what they like and what they find disagreeable so that they would take orders better and you could give them better, without hurting their feelings. And as lovely as her new home was, it was disorganized and needed a feminine touch. She spent a good deal of time talking with the cook and learning what Alysandir's favorite meals are and the normal dinner arrangements.

"He is so busy with the soldiers that he barely takes time to eat. Unless it is a formal dinner, he won't show up at the table."

"Alysandir is not a man who changes quickly," Isabel noted. It pleased the cook that she had not tried to imply cook did not apply herself to the task. "Perhaps if one will not come to dinner, we can make dinner come to him."

"He won't like a picnic," she snorted.

"No, indeed! But if we transported a table to the field where he could oversee his men and then ply him with leg of lamb, ale. Can you think of other things?"

"Oh, anything he could eat with his hands and move about. I see, Lady Isabel."

"Thank goodness. You know so much about these things! I trust your knowledge." One thing was certain: she would have to teach cook to read. It would save so much time to send a menu to her instead of having to march down and care for it directly. Her papa had taught the cook at Bamborough to read and though she flaunted it, receiving all that too much pride invites, it could not be underestimated in value.

Next, the housekeeping was atrocious. Isabel was amazed that anyone of importance would step inside, as dirty as it was. So to the maids she threw herself, knowing how they would love to pick her apart behind her back and smile sweetly to her face. There was only one solution at present. She had to work beside them for a short duration to reach a common goal. Scrubbing the floors and beating the rugs and re-hanging ill placed tapestries was their work and women cannot work without gossiping. Isabel learned all of their secrets and giggled with them a great deal. A spotless home was a proud moment for all of them and then, Isabel's conquest complete, she once again donned her finery.

By springtime, Alysandir still had not returned, but the months were well spent by his wife gaining the adoration and loyalty of all she oversaw. Cook was managing words in her reading lessons and a daily routine of reporting any difficulties as well as successes to Isabel was established. It was on a warm spring day that Isabel experienced a frightening event.

After suffering some mysterious pains in her stomach, Isabel became a woman indeed. But it was not this that frightened her. It was market day. Despite her feminine difficulties, she had duties to fulfill and lists to cross off. The weather was fine with a blue sky and puffy bright clouds. The River Tay was shimmering and people were aglow with spring spirit. A young soldier always accompanied Isabel to market, frequently a dark haired youth named John. Today was no different. He walked a pace behind her, sometimes looking at his feet, sometimes at the people nearing Lady Isabel, and sometimes he would just look at his charge. How her hair glowed in the sunshine! How it took every ounce of restraint not to touch the curve of her waist at her swaying hip. It was more the fear of punishment than his own ability to check his hand. Besides, cook was not far off, purchasing items on her own list. Damned odd, that cook, and a mother hen to Isabel. She didn't need a mother, she needed a –