A Love For All Seasons (21 page)

"Cease I say," he snapped at her, grabbing her other wrist. Holding her hands captive, he glared down at her. "I told you he bid me say nothing. I will not defy your father, not even to please you."

She said nothing, only tried to wrench free of his grasp. He tightened his grip, determined to hold her until she calmed. As they fought in silence the sky above them opened. Not even thickly knit willow branches could stop what swiftly became a steady, soaking rain.

The moisture was cold against his skin. It filled her gowns, until they lay plastered to her body. Still, she fought him, writhing and pulling, not to escape him, but to lay yet more blows. Aye, she was strong, but he was by far the stronger. Once again, Rob tightened his grip on her wrists in the demand that she recognize this.

"Cease," he warned. "I will not let you go, not until you give me your word you'll strike me no longer."

At this, she drew a deep and ragged breath. And kicked him. Hard.

He yelped against the bruising blow. "The devil take you," he shouted, giving her a sharp shake. "You will cease!"

She chose that moment to strain back from him with all her might. In the next instant she was falling, pulling him down with her. Thinking to catch himself, he released her arms, but not soon enough. Johanna gasped as she hit the mossy earth, then again as he fell atop her.

The rain beat down on his back. Digging his fingers into the vibrant green of the moss, Rob pushed himself up on his hands and knees over her. "Have you gone mad!" he shouted, angry at her for both hurting him and making him hurt her.

She made a small and helpless sound. Rob stared down at her. Hair, turning the color of honey as it dampened, trailed in wet strands across her face. Her mouth trembled. The expression in her eyes was so lost and alone, his anger died.

"Oh Rob, I am so afraid," she breathed, her hands coming to rest on his bare chest. Sobbing, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close to her.

Every muscle in Rob's body tensed to leap up from her, he swore it was so. Save that his legs slid against the wet moss. As he settled atop her his thighs parted, his hips coming to rest neatly against hers. With naught but thin, wet silk between her and him, he could feel her breasts against his chest. This woke his shaft, sending fire, hot beyond all toleration, raging through him. Without thinking what he did, he relaxed until he lay full atop her, the way a man laid atop the woman he meant to love. As had happened before, she fit against him as if they were created one for the other. Desire went soaring beyond his ability to ever catch it back.

She shuddered beneath him, and her movement sent a matching thrill of passion through him. Her hold around his neck eased as she caught back a sob. Bracing his forearms at either side of her shoulders, he lifted himself slightly to look down into her face. Tears yet filled her eyes, but the color in her cheeks held new heat. There was no fear in her eyes as she looked up at him, only wonder. She lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips.

The touch of her flesh to his made him catch his breath. As she echoed his quiet gasp, her breasts moved against his chest. The heat within his belly went to boiling.

She moved her fingers across his face, tracing the line of his cheek. Her lips parted as she did so, as if the very feel of his skin were making her melt. Catching a strand of his hair, she pressed it into a damp curl against his cheek then let her finger follow the line of his jaw.

When he could bear her touch no longer, he lowered his head and rested his mouth on hers. Her lips yielded to his then her whole body softened beneath him. In the next instant, she cradled him against her.

Feeling tumbled atop feeling. Rob forgot the rain that chilled his skin. He forgot that this was the one woman he mustn't touch. All that mattered was that she was his.

Reaching down, he caught a fistful of her gowns and pulled. She lifted her hips to aid him. Not only did her gowns move upward, but her motion sent yet another wave of passion through him.

She tore her mouth free of his. "Wait," she breathed.

Rob growled in refusal, kissing at her neck, then her ear. He eased downward, lowering his head until he caught the tip of one breast in his mouth, sucking at it despite the wet silk that lay in his path. She cried out in pleasure and arched beneath him.

Again, he reached down for her gowns. This time, his hand met the bare flesh of her thigh. Her skin was smooth and soft beneath his palm. It was beyond his ability to stop himself. His hand slid upward along her leg toward her nether lips.

She trembled beneath him at this caress, breathing in sharp small gasps. When he rubbed his finger against the most private of her places, she cried out in wonder and lifted her hips. "Again," she begged softly. "Touch me again."

Her words made his shaft strain at the harsh wool that contained it. Easing back to kneel atop her thighs he did as she commanded. She panted against the caress, her hips moving in glorious mimicry of lovemaking. Each motion sent the heat in him raging ever higher.

He slid his finger into her. She threw back her head and cried out in delight. In wonder, he caressed her in this way, letting her movements and cries drive his own need for her almost beyond bearing. When he could tolerate it no longer he eased to the side. Tearing at the waist string of his chausses, he shucked the garment, shoes and all. Ah, but it wasn't enough that he was bare. The need to see all of her made him strip off the belt that bound her garments to her waist. As he reached for her hems, meaning to remove her gowns she sat up, lifting her arms to aid him.

It was in appreciation that Rob stared at her when she was bare, her forgotten garments slipping from his hands. The rain gleamed against her white skin, laying a glistening trail of moisture through the valley between her breasts. It caught in glittering droplets on the golden hair that curled over her nether lips. Reaching out, he cupped the fullness of her breasts in his palms then moved his thumbs against their soft pink peaks.

Shivering, she shifted and leaned toward him, resting her forehead against his shoulder as she laid her hands against his chest. He caught his breath and closed his eyes when she turned her head to press her mouth against his throat. Her palms slid against his wet skin and she drew her hands steadily lower, her mouth traced a heated line up his neck. When she nuzzled at a place just below his ear, her fingers dropped lower still until she explored the hard length of his shaft.

It was Rob's turn to tremble. He was panting and nigh on blind with sensation when he finally caught her by the wrists to make her cease. She looked up at him in question.

Pressing his mouth to hers, he again straddled her hips, then eased her backward, her wrists yet held tightly in his hands. When she once more lay beneath him he stretched out full-length atop her. Again, her body softened beneath him, their two forms melding in preparation for becoming one.

His mouth took hers, his kiss scalding in its demand that she release possession of herself to him. She moaned beneath his onslaught and yielded, her thighs parting. His shaft entered her and found the barrier of her maidenhead.

The shock of resistance, one with which he had no experience, made him tear his mouth from hers. Freeing her wrists, he began to push away from her. Johanna cried softly and caught her arms around his neck. Recapturing his mouth with her own, she moved against his shaft in invitation.

"Johanna," he breathed in protest against her lips. He could not take her. Whether he accepted it or not, she belonged to another.

Still, she moved against him. His heart broke. God and men had erred when they gave her to Katel. Within him grew the ferocious need to keep her as his own. If he was to do so, it was more than this they must share.

"Nay!" he insisted, threading his fingers through her hair to gain her attention. She made a tiny sound of protest and opened her eyes.

"I would make you my wife," he begged. "Say you will agree. Make your vow to God and me, telling me you will love me always."

Her smile was beautiful as she relaxed beneath him. "Aye, I will have you to husband." Her words were yet breathless with passion. "From this moment forward, I am your wife. My heart is yours, so I swear before God and all His saints."

He touched his mouth to hers. "And, you are my wife, mine to keep and hold safe. So, I swear this day, may God strike me dead if I break my word."

"Love me, Rob," she breathed against his mouth. "Love me as I love you."

This time, when she moved against him there was no need to resist. She was his wife. His mouth slashed across hers. As he shifted forward, desperately needing entry, she thrust upward. What she should have given to Katel, she gave instead to him.

Passion raged in him as the warm tightness of her body closed around him. She cried out beneath him, lifting herself to accept him within her. He moved to thrust within her once again, then again. With each and every stroke, he lay his mark upon her, making her his for all time. And, by the time he'd spilled his seed, she had made him hers.

"Mistress, we can stay here no longer,” Leatrice warned softly, her fear over a repeat of last night's violence deepening with the shadows. "Night will soon be upon us."

Johanna glanced at her, then back to Stanrudde's tiny keep tower atop its tall mound. Caught within the circle of the wooden wall around it, the keep's yellowish stones glowed a warm orange-gold in the setting sun, the dying day already casting the hall that sprang from its side into darkness. "Not yet."

"When then?" Leatrice's words were a quiet moan.

Although they stood as far as they could from the keep and still see it, that was still too close to the crowd for Leatrice’s comfort. For the whole of this afternoon her voice had barely lifted from a whisper as if she thought a loud cry would spur folk to violence. Despite this, her terror of being alone was the greater; it kept her close to her former mistress.

"Soon," Johanna replied, her attention focused on the tower as if by will alone she'd keep her Rob safe. "Soon."

It was only as she repeated the word that she recognized the truth in Leatrice’s complaint. Yesterday's lesson was yet fresh in her mind. It wasn't safe for a woman, or even two, to travel unescorted on the streets. They would have to make their retreat before full darkness.

Her heart clenching at the thought of leaving Rob alone in his imprisonment, Johanna lifted her gaze to the tower's roof. There were but two armed men atop the keep. Only three more guarded the gate. How could their captain believe so few would be enough to protect Rob against so many?

As she had every quarter hour since she began her long vigil, she scanned the mob that filled the short stretch of frosty grass between her and Rob. No longer was this crowd made up of only the humble, hungry folk who had attacked her. Many of those here were drawn from the ranks of Stanrudde's middling merchants. They wore brightly colored gowns and tunics all in good repair, although their attire lacked the fur trim or golden bits their betters affected. Until yesterday these unfortunates had believed they would survive the winter with life and limb intact, if somewhat leaner. Last even's riot had stolen from many of them trade, home, family, or supplies, shoving them into reach of death's cold grip.

Although their chanted calls for Rob's death had quieted, their need to repay the one they believed at the root of their own annihilation bound them here. With each passing moment a new fire appeared on some makeshift hearth as folk set themselves to keep watch throughout the night. This they did against the possibility that the council they no longer trusted meant to spirit away the prisoner under cover of darkness.

"Mistress," Leatrice began again, her voice softening in a try at persuasion, "if he's to hang, it'll be done when all can see. He is safe enough until the morrow." Although Johanna had said nothing to Leatrice of Rob or her worry for him, the maid had drawn her own conclusions.

It was Leatrice's bid at comfort, along with the worry that there was nothing she could do to stop what happened here, that set Johanna's tongue in motion. "Katel did this," she breathed in pain. "I do not know how or what he did, but somehow Katel has made this happen."

"The master did this?" It was a sharp question. Leatrice's gaze darted across the crowd as if assessing just what it was her mistress thought her master had done. "Do you mean he caused the riot?"

Johanna nodded in silence, rendered speechless by her need to see Rob. She ached to touch him, to prove to herself that he was yet whole and unharmed. To leave this place before she'd done so was unbearable.

What she wanted was impossible. Twice, a cart had tried to approach the tower, no doubt containing supplies for the prisoner. Both times, the mob had refused to allow it to pass. Later, a group of councilmen, Katel not in their number, had tried to talk to the crowd, only to be sent running. How could she expect to accomplish what they could not?

"You are certain the master has done this?"

Johanna tore her gaze from the tower to look at Leatrice. The girl now wore Watt's mantle, while Johanna hid her own features beneath the shield of Leatrice's hooded cloak. The exchange of garments had occurred when the crowd began to call for the death of the councilmen and their families. No longer did the maid's pretty face reflect fear. In its place was an unusual depth of consideration.

"Leave it be," Johanna begged quietly, her words breaking against the pain in her heart.

Of this morn's hope and confidence none was left. She was too late to stop Katel, her opportunity to save Rob having come and gone in yesterday's fit of pique. All she could now hope for was heavenly intervention. As much as Johanna wanted to believe that the Lord God would intercede on behalf of an innocent man, it was very difficult to hold onto that in the face of the crowd's determination to see him dead. What if the Almighty was as blind as she'd been to Rob's plight?

It was in the forlorn hope she might prod the heavens to move that she murmured, "Oh Leatrice, I have a terrible need to pray."

"Do you love him so much then?" the maid replied, her expression filled with the shared understanding of a woman's heart. Although Johanna made her no response, Leatrice loosed a friendly sigh and, as equal to equal, tucked her hand into the bend of her former mistress's arm. "Come then. Mayhap if we go together to St. Stephens, the father will let us stay the night." Turning, she led the taller woman down the lane.

They had nearly reached the church when they came upon the same cart that had twice tried to breach the crowd. This time there were a goodly fifteen men gathered at its head, with at least as many at its rear. Although a cloth stretched over a frame over its bed hid what the cart contained, it did not conceal the three women who perched at its front edge. It was Mistress Alwyna, widow to Peter the Wool Merchant and mother of the crippled councilman, who sat there, two whimpering maids at her side.

"Be still," the widow snapped at one maid as that one vented a terrified moan. "The crowd has thinned, and we have trebled our men. They'll neither stop us nor do us any harm."

Johanna's need to see Rob soared. In its wake all thought of discretion was forgotten. If that cart was going to the tower, she was going with it.

Tearing free of Leatrice, she darted toward the party. She was yet yards from her destination when one of those guarding the widow stepped out to stop her. One glance at her own gowns and humble cloak placed her with those in the field in his mind. He shifted to keep himself between the one he protected and a potential attacker. "Stand aside," he demanded brusquely.

Finding her path blocked only sent Johanna's need to reach Rob to greater heights. It was with more passion than sense that she called out, "Mistress Alwyna, I pray you for the sake of my son and for your husband who was his godfather, might I speak to you a moment?"

"Drive on," the man shouted to the one goading the oxen.

"Nay!" The widow's strong voice preempted the command as she leaned over the cart's edge. Peering through the gathering gloom, she tried to identify the one who'd called her. "Who is there? Come forward so I might see you."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" Leatrice cried softly, having finally caught up to Johanna. "When they try to force themselves through that crowd they'll all be killed."

The maid's words rang in Johanna's ears, keeping her where she stood, but not for the reason Leatrice named. If she approached, the widow would surely call aloud her identity. Once that happened, all hope of seeing Rob died. Despite the number of its inhabitants, Stanrudde remained like unto a small town. Rumor moved faster than a fire through dry thatch. This attempt could do nothing but convict her when Katel loosed his accusation.

Still, her heart's hungering to see Rob was the stronger. If she died for it, so be it, but there was no sense in being foolish about it. Johanna yanked her cloak's hood even lower on her brow.

"Go to her," she quietly begged Leatrice. "Whisper to her who it is that pleads for her ear, bidding her not to reveal my identity. Do this for me, and I vow to you, I'll go from great house to great house until I find someone to give you and your child home and hearth."

Leatrice shot her a startled look, then her eyes came to life with gratitude. With a swift nod, she hied herself to the cart's side as quickly as the child within her would allow. Johanna watched Mistress Alwyna lean down as Leatrice stretched upward to the limits of her short height. In the next instant the widow's head reared back.

"Who?" the old woman cried out, a strange tone to her astonishment. She swiveled to once again peer into the shadows, seeking out the features hidden beneath Johanna's hood. "Come forward, then," she commanded, but there was hard suspicion in her voice.

Hope faltered in Johanna at the woman's odd reaction to her name. She had remembered Mistress Alwyna as friendly and kind. True, Johanna and the wool merchant's family had had little dealings after her son had been apprenticed. A few years later, Peter the Wool Merchant had died, ending all contact. No matter. She'd come too far to retreat because of an odd tone of voice.

Bowing her head, Johanna slipped past the men, not lifting her chin again until she'd stopped at the cart's side. For a moment, Mistress Alwyna simply stared at her, the woman's eyes widening at finding the spice merchant's wife's hair uncovered, then narrowing again at the threadbare gowns. At last, she leaned back a little on her perch.

"For what reason do you stop me?" she asked, her voice low, her tone yet wary.

"Please," Johanna said, keeping her words quiet, "you are for the tower. Take me with you. I must speak with the one held captive there."

The widow's brows drew down, her face the picture of distrust. "To what purpose?"

Confusion grew in Johanna at such hostility. Against it, she guessed she'd have but one chance to plead her case. She hesitated, carefully planning what she would say so it would satisfy the widow without revealing Katel's impending charge of adultery. Mistress Alwyna wouldn't wish to abet ones she believed to be illicit lovers.

"It is my husband," Johanna said, straining to make certain her words remained private between the two of them. "I fear he may have done something that has caused the Grossier of Lynn to be arrested and threatened with death. Help me to speak with Master Robert so I might do what I can to protect an innocent man. It is against the possibility my husband might have done no wrong that I beg you not to reveal what I do this night."

Johanna's spirits fell as she finished. This wasn't going to work. Katel had been too effective in convincing all of Stanrudde that he was no threat to anyone. Who would believe their amiable spice merchant capable of such evil?

Mistress Alwyna's face softened. "Well now, this is an interesting turn," she said, more than content with Johanna's explanation. "There's room for no more. If you wish to come you must take the place of my maid, doing for me what she would have done."

"So I will," Johanna breathed in relief and a gratitude so deep her knees weakened with it.

"Els," Mistress Alwyna said, glancing at the younger of the two maids beside her, "you have won yourself a reprieve. There's one who would take your place. You may hie yourself home."

"By myself?" the girl squeaked. Barely more than a child her eyes widened in a new fear. Like Leatrice, the terror of what might happen to her when she was alone and unprotected was even greater than that of the crowd.

"I can take her, mistress," the other one offered, her voice lacking any belief her wish might be granted.

"Mistress, you may send them both away. I will take the place of the second one." Leatrice's voice was strong, her tone decisive. Johanna glanced at her former maid in surprise. If she'd known offering to find Leatrice a place would end the girl's sniveling, she'd have made it hours ago just as she had intended before the calls for Rob's death intruded.

"There's a woman after mine own heart," the wool merchant's widow replied, smiling in approval at Leatrice's stout offer. The movement of her mouth made the years slip from her face, banishing the old woman to reveal the shadow of the girl she'd once been. In her brown eyes lived a taste for life's spice, a need to dance upon a cliff's edge so as to better tolerate what was mundane. "Bow your head and cover your face," the widow hissed to Johanna.

When Johanna had done so, the old woman called, "Tom, come and help Els and Marta down. We have found us two braver souls who are willing to do what these cowards will not."

When the maids had dismounted the man lifted Leatrice into the cart then offered a hand to Johanna. She waved him off and climbed in on her own. In the next moment the driver flicked his goad and the cart lurched into motion. As it lumbered into the throng before the keep, hours of muttering stirred into shouts. Leatrice yet held tight to her newborn courage, sitting straight and true on her seat. If Johanna kept her head bowed against the possibility of recognition, there was no room for fear in her heart, not when it was consumed with her hard-won opportunity to see Rob alive.

"I have had enough of this!" Drawn to the keep tower’s roof by the reemergence of rage from those besieging him, the captain of the guard's voice echoed down from the tower's top. "Cease! You have all heard my word that I will hold him until the sheriff's arrival. Go to your homes, trusting my oath. Or if you choose to stay here, thereby naming me liar, know you that I am familiar with each and every one of you. When the sheriff comes, I will tell him the names of those who tried to steal from our king his right to do justice!"

If it did not empty the field, the shouting died away at this threat, leaving the cart to pass unmolested to the gate. Those who escorted Mistress Alwyna spread themselves before the opening, weapons pointed outward against any possibility the malcontents behind them might think to charge. They did not.

In the next moment, the cart passed through the wall and came to a halt in a small courtyard. As it stopped, Johanna grabbed up her skirts and leapt from its bed. Mistress Alwyna handed her a tall, heavy basket to hold, so that her hands might be busy against any request for aid. It was an effective shield, being nigh on half again as tall as she.