“It’s beautiful here, Chetwynd. How long do you think we’ll stay?”
“Not long. It depends on how quickly Ingram is able to locate Justin. I doubt they will arrive as early as tomorrow, but they could be here by the next day.” As they watched the pickers pushing away the loaded wagons, Chetwynd thought about what Justin’s arrival might mean for them.
The sun was low in the sky and the shadows long. When Chetwynd’s chief steward approached them carrying a basket of grapes, Chetwynd introduced him to Isabel. In spite of his advanced years, the steward lowered himself to the ground in a graceful, easy motion.
When Bosco handed Isabel a perfectly formed bunch of grapes, she smiled her thanks and immediately popped one into her mouth. She found it surprisingly sweet and continued eating grapes, savoring the flavor, as the men talked.
“If the weather is good, we should finish up tomorrow,” Bosco told Chetwynd. “Gertrude, who is a good weather prophet, thinks we will have a fine day. She is already preparing food for the grape-pressing fete, my lord. You have never been here for a fete, and it’s the highlight of the year. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“What happens at the fete?” Isabel asked. Both men laughed when they turned to her. Isabel was puzzled until Chetwynd pointed to her mouth and indicated by drawing his finger under his own lips that she had juice on hers.
As Chetwynd watched her rosy tongue dart around her lips, he had a vision of himself licking away the sticky syrup. There was a slight catch in his voice when he said, “Those grapes seem juicy.”
The expression in his eyes as he watched her lips made Isabel blush. She turned away to find the steward watching them with interest. “Tell me about the fete, Bosco,” she said to distract herself from the heat that was flooding her body.
“It’s the last day of the harvest, my lady. When all the picking is done, the farmers gather to press the grapes. They are piled in large vats, and we stomp on them to release the juice we use to make wine. To attract as many people as possible to this task, we end the workday with a feast. The pressing is a messy job. Once the pressing is done, if it’s not too cold, many of the workers jump in the fish pond and then eat and drink their fill.”
“There’s a pond?” Isabel interrupted before he could continue.
“Indeed, my lady. It’s just beyond those trees,” Bosco replied, pointing to where the sun had just set.
Chetwynd and Isabel smiled at each other, both remembering another pond.
Bosco excused himself. “Tomorrow will be a busy day, my lord. I need to prepare the vats and casks.”
Neither Isabel nor Chetwynd said anything as they watched Bosco walk away. As the silence between them lengthened, Isabel thought about their flight from Saint Ives. She still had a lot of questions about Chetwynd’s relationship with the queen. “I think we should talk about Queen Judith and what happened,” she said in a subdued voice.
“You’re right.” Chetwynd knew it was time for him to confide in Isabel. It had to be done before they could think about a future together, and he was more than eager to hear what she felt about that. “But it’s late. I’ll come to your bedchamber tonight.”
After a late supper, Isabel retired to her room. She paced the floor wondering how long it would be before Chetwynd joined her. He had said he had to check some details with Bosco.
There was nothing but a bed in her room, and Isabel considered whether she should strip to her shift and lie in it. She decided that might look as though she expected Chetwynd to share her bed, or even worse, wished to seduce him into her bed. Although she would have liked nothing better, she didn’t want him to know that.
Isabel sat on the bed, staring at the door. After a while she stood up and went to wash her face at the nightstand. Where could he be? she wondered. Perhaps he forgot he promised to talk to her. Or maybe he decided he didn’t want to explain himself.
But it had only been a short time ago that he’d promised to come. Had he forgotten? He didn’t forget. It was more likely he didn’t want to talk about Queen Judith. Or perhaps she was exaggerating the amount of time that passed.
Isabel paced for a while longer, then stamped her foot. “This is ridiculous,” she said out loud. “I’m going to bed.”
But she didn’t blow out the candle and lay listening to the noises of the manor. In the distance, she heard a loud male laugh, then later some footsteps outside her door. She was disappointed when the steps didn’t stop. Just when she was losing the battle to keep her eyes open, she heard a soft knock.
“Come in,” she said, her impatience clear by her tone.
Chetwynd stood in the doorway. “Sorry to be so long. I haven’t been to Aquis in a while, and I felt I had to help Bosco get ready for the pickers. Would you rather talk tomorrow?”
Isabel sat up and spoke quickly. “No. Come in, Chetwynd.”
She watched him look around for a place to sit, then decide to sit on the edge of her bed. Isabel lay back to put a little space between them. “I was afraid you’d decided not to talk this evening,” she said, then bluntly added, “I want you to tell me more about you and Queen Judith.”
Chetwynd nodded. “One of the reasons I was
