The Baron's Bounty by Elizabeth Rose Page B

Conlin had ever been able to do with words of his own.
    Isobel studied the barons with a daggered perusal and continued to speak. “Baron Sandwich, I’d like the trunks and anythin’ collected from the ship te be delivered to me anon.”
    “I’m sorry, but the bounty is mine,” Conlin told her.
    Her eyes snapped upward and over to him, and now he was the one on the receiving end of her daggered eyes. Those little specks of ochre and green in her hazel orbs turned as dark as the foreboding sky.
    “But - they are me things. I brought them with me from Scotland.”
    He heard John and Nicholas sniggering behind their hands.
    “The king has granted his barons of the Cinque Ports the boon of keeping any flotsam or jetsam from shipwrecks that is collected from waters of the respected ports. So you see, my lady – you are wrong. And once again I repeat, the bounty is mine.” Conlin thought that would silence the wench, but he was wrong.
    “Och! I dinna believe this clishmaclaver.”
    The other barons broke out in laughter now. Her angered gaze flashed over to them and the tension was so thick between them all that Conlin could have reached out and cut it with his blade. His friends immediately coughed and cleared their throats and looked the other direction.
    “Have I said somethin’ te amuse ye?” She looked at John and Nicholas with a raised brow. “Becooz if so, I’d hope ye’d share the jest so we could all cackle like hens together.”
    “Nay, nothing is amusing at all,” said Nicholas with a quick shake of his head.
    “That’s right,” chimed in John, clearing his throat. “Nothing at all.”
    “Then I’d like te finish discussin’ this issue with Baron Sandwich, and ask thet ye hold yer tongues.”
    Conlin knew he needed to intervene. “Isobel, if I must point out, you are speaking much too freely to the other barons and need to show respect for your superiors. Now I warn you, that you are the one who needs to still your tongue.”
    By the look on her face, Conlin knew she wasn’t used to being talked to in this manner. If she was truly a cousin to Lady Catherine, then he was sure she was used to ordering others around instead. The sooner she learned she couldn’t do that on English soil, the better.
    “I’d better get back to my ship and check for damage from the storm,” said Nicholas, heading away.
    “Me too,” added John. As they walked away, Conlin heard John whisper to Nicholas. “If she’s not the shrew, I’d hate to meet the real one.”
    Conlin reached out and guided Isobel by the elbow as he turned away from the docks. “Come, my lady. I’ll take you to town where we can find you a proper gown to wear for the ceremony as well as a pair of shoes.”
     
    Isobel stopped in her tracks and quickly pulled away from Conlin. “Ceremony? What ceremony?” She hoped she’d heard him wrong, but by the look in his eye as he turned back toward her, she knew she hadn’t.
    “Lady Isobel,” said Elliot from behind her in a low voice. “I think the baron is speaking about . . . the wedding ceremony.”
    “Of course I am.” Conlin took Isobel by the arm once again and led her across the pebbled beach toward the buildings in the distance that made up the town of Great Yarmouth. This looked to be a fishing town, and most likely the residents had shops and homes close to the docks. Isobel was thankful they wouldn’t need to go far.
    Her shoes had fallen off with her bout in the water, and she couldn’t walk quickly with bare feet. She felt every pebble, and though the rocks were smooth and rounded from the waves, it hurt her soles and she kept stubbing her toes. She wished the beach consisted of only sand instead.
    “Wait!” She talked to Conlin’s back as he all but dragged her along with him. “We’re no’ having the wedding today are we?”
    “Isn’t that what you came for?” He turned back toward her as he spoke.
    “I – well, yes,” she answered, stumbling and falling into