LADY UNDAUNTED: A Medieval Romance (23 page)

His hand closed over her shoulder. “It is not by God’s hand the plague comes. ’Tis a sickness, that is all.”

“Then even had I not sinned, my son might still be stricken?” She shook her head. “’Tis of no comfort. I might as well be the sinner I am.”

He slid his hand down her arm and urged her to stand. “How have you sinned? You have not lain with me as Ivo believes.”

She longed to go into his arms and put her head on his shoulder, to accept the comfort he offered and, for just a few moments, forget what lay ahead.

“How, Joslyn?”

“By wanting you. And if that alone does not condemn me in the eyes of the Church, then by allowing you to touch me.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “Through Maynard you are my brother.”

He drew her nearer. “There is no blood between us. Aye, you were wed to one with whom I shared a father, but it does not make you of my flesh, nor I of yours.”

She peered into eyes lit by candlelight—green and deep as they searched hers—and again she longed to lean into his strength and feel his arms around her.

“As you know, Liam, the laws on consanguinity dictate otherwise. We should not even be in this chamber together.”

He laid a hand on her cheek. “Such laws were intended for those of close blood ties, such as King Edward and his queen, who are cousins. The irony of it is that though they are truly related—and closely—they were allowed to wed with the pope’s blessing. All it took was enough gold to buy away a law that is now more a means of lining coffers, especially with regard to those related only by marriage. Thus, in God’s eyes, we have done no wrong.”

Fleetingly, she wondered if it would be possible to buy a dispensation to free her to wed Liam as it had freed King Edward and Philippa. But no good would come of such pondering. “In my fear I am made foolish.” She looked to Oliver. “He is all I have. I cannot lose him.”

Liam pulled her chin around. “We will keep him safe. I give you my word.”

A sorrowful smile moved her mouth. “You cannot make such promises. No one knows whom the plague will choose to put in the grave. It might even choose you and me. It could take all of us.”

With his thumb he traced the bow of her upper lip. “You are right. Still, I shall do all in my power to ensure the sickness does not touch Oliver and you.” He angled his head and kissed her lightly. “Were it possible, I would make you mine,” he murmured and turned away.

Joslyn longed to call him back, but she let him go and whispered into the quiet, “I love you.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“He had to know I followed him, my lord.”

“He made no stops?”

Sir Hugh shook his head. “Ivo rode directly to the abbey.”

And even now was likely in audience with the bishop. What would be the result of that meeting? Would the bishop side with the false priest?

“Return to the keep, Hugh. ’Twas a long night and day.”

The man made no pretext of declining. Dark smudges beneath his eyes witness to twenty or more hours in the saddle, soaked through by rain that continued to fall, he tramped over dank straw to the stable doors. His departure blew in fresh, moist air that momentarily lightened the smell of horses, then the door whined closed.

Liam opened the shuttered window and looked out onto the bailey. It was empty of beast and man, all having sought shelter on this second day of rain.

As news of the coming plague had spread rapidly among the castle folk, then to the outlying villages, Liam guessed many men and women were spending these hours on their knees.

If the great sickness swept England as it had the Mediterranean lands, and most recently France, they had cause to pray. Far more than the threat of a harvest spoiled by the rot of too much rain, the plague would prove how very mortal man was. But as Liam knew from news of its progress through other countries, once it took hold of this island kingdom, many would become so fatally resigned to death they would use what they believed to be their last days to indulge in debauchery and excess. Others would flee to far-flung areas of England in hopes of escaping it all together. In both cases, the result would be crops that wasted in the fields and cattle left untended.

Liam could not allow that to happen here. The plague would pass, but not the devastation left in its wake if the villagers stopped living in order to die. Whatever it took, he would keep them working so that when the worst was past they would have something to live for.

First, areas of quarantine must be established. Many scoffed at the idea, naming it a useless measure, certain nothing would hold back the disease. Others said separation of the sick from the well controlled its spread. But if quarantine failed to prevent sickness, it had another use. Moving plague-stricken victims elsewhere helped keep those who were not afflicted from being paralyzed by brooding over those who were dying. This aided in suppressing panic and holding people to the land.

Liam wiped a hand across his face wet by the rain slanting through the window. Though he was confident he could lessen the plague’s impact on Ashlingford, what of Thornemede? In the past month, he had made progress with the folk, especially the villagers with whom he had worked side by side in the fields, but he was not truly accepted as their lord. If the plague struck before he gained their loyalty and trust, all he had achieved might be undone. Worse, his absences while tending to Ashlingford could prove fertile ground for dissension and division, causing irreparable damage to Thornemede.

He kneaded the back of his neck. If he had refused the king’s offer of the barony and returned to the tournaments, none of this would have fallen to him. He would have started living for Liam Fawke and set a far different course for the years ahead. Years without Joslyn…

He cursed beneath his breath. Had all gone differently, he would not suffer feelings he had tried to convince himself were desire only—feelings that went deeper and wider than they had with other women. But how deep? How wide?
 

Of such depth his days and nights were strewn with memories and imaginings of Joslyn over which he was ever losing his footing.

Of such width she might always be the standard by which he measured others of her sex—and found them lacking in kindness, compassion, sincerity, wit, and fierce determination.

Was it possible he had fallen in love with a woman forbidden him?

“Lord, help me,” he muttered and thrust the shutters closed. He strode from the stables and, at the keep, was once again given a towel. Leaving it draped over his shoulders, he crossed the hall.

“We depart on the half hour,” he called to the Thornemede knights who warmed themselves with spiced wine before a roaring fire. As he continued to the stairs, he heard his men grumble. Doubtless, none wished to ride on a day of rain fast drawing to its close.

Liam ascended to his chamber. It was a small room and not well lit, but it was where he had laid his head since childhood—and where he kept Ashlingford’s revenues safe.

After changing into dry garments, he pulled the bed away from the wall and lowered to his haunches. He loosened blocks of stones, reached into the wall, and dragged out a coin-heavy coffer.

It was this Maynard had sought when he had followed Liam to his chamber that fateful evening. Fortunately for Ashlingford, Liam had paid his brother out of the smaller coffer he kept locked in his clothes chest. Unfortunately, there had been too large a sum there, one that would soon be in Ivo’s hands if it was not already.

He unlocked the coffer, counted out enough to pay the barony’s accounts for the next month, and placed the coins in a leather pouch. Since he must leave this day, it would be Hugh’s to dispense, but Liam need not worry over the steward’s honesty. The monies would go where they were owed, allowing Liam to return to Thornemede and continue his work there.

He locked the chest and lifted it back into its vault.

“Unca Liam?”

He snapped his head around.

Oliver stood in the narrow space between door and door frame.

Liam chastised himself for his carelessness. Maynard’s death and now Ivo’s removal from Ashlingford had lulled him such that he had not locked the door. “What do you here, Oliver?”

“Lookin’ for you.” He tipped his head to the side, pointed at the hole in the wall. “What is that?”

What was he to tell him? That this was where the gold and silver of Ashlingford was hidden? Or a lie that would ease little of his curiosity?

He beckoned, and the boy hastened forward and bent to peer into the hole.

“Look close, Oliver.”

“There’s a box in there!”

“A secret box.”

Propping his hands on his knees, Oliver looked up. “A secret?”

“Aye. Have you ever had one?”

He thought a moment, beamed. “Uh-huh.”

“What was it?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Can’t tell, ’cause it’s a secret.”

Though Liam no longer need worry over Maynard or Ivo, the boy’s assurance would not suffice with something of such import. Being only a child, he might unintentionally reveal the location to one who would empty the coffer for his own gain.

Liam momentarily considered taking it with him to Thornemede, but it would not be necessary. Out of sight of Oliver, he would replace the coffer in the wall with the smaller one, filling the latter with sufficient coin to be of use to the boy’s mother should monies be needed during his absence. And the large coffer with the bulk of Ashlingford’s monies would be hidden elsewhere in the castle.

He smiled at Oliver. “I have a secret to share with you. Can you keep it?”

“Keep it good.”

“This is a special hiding place. Only I know of it, and now you. ’Tis important no one else learns of it. Do you understand?”

“Uh-huh. Why?”

“There are some who might wish to take from us what is hidden here.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Coins. Money that will be yours when you are grown.

The boy’s eyebrows shot up. “Lotsa money?”

“Aye.”

After a thoughtful moment, Oliver said, “Emma’s got money too. I seen it.”

“I am sure she does.” What little came the woman’s way, she always held close. “Now, have I your word this secret shall remain between us?”

“Promise.”

As Liam fit the stones into place, he said, “There is only one you may tell of our secret.” Which, hopefully, would be sufficient to alleviate any need to reveal it.

“Who?”

“Your mother. Should she need coin and I am not here to give it, I wish you to bring her to my chamber and show her these stones. Will you do that?”

“Uh-huh. You leavin’ again, Unca Liam?”

There was such concern in his eyes, Liam felt as if he betrayed the boy. He laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I must. My own barony needs tending.”

Tears brightened his eyes. “You promised a story.”
 

He had forgotten. “Ah, the bear.”

Oliver jerked his chin.

Liam longed to keep his word, but he said, “I am sorry, Oliver. If I could, I would stay and tell it to you. But I must leave this day.”

The boy lowered his head, picked at his hands. “Don’ want you to go.”

“I will be back, and when I return, I shall tell you two stories, hmm?”

Oliver regarded him from beneath long lashes, then leaned forward and tried to fit little arms around a man of a size he himself would not be for many years. “A’right, Unca Liam.”

Feeling nearly as awkward as that first time Oliver had inched his way against his side at Settling Castle, Liam hesitated. Then he enfolded the little boy.

“Love you, Unca Liam.” Oliver spoke into Liam’s chest.

Liam felt the heart he had determinedly kept closed to Maynard open. “And I you, Oliver.”

The boy pulled back. “Mama too?”

Unwilling to examine the truth of it, knowing Oliver needed it affirmed, Liam nodded.

Joslyn’s son smiled.

Liam lifted him onto his arm and pushed the bed into place. “When I depart, you will wave me away?”

Oliver draped an arm around his neck. “Till I can’t see you no more.”

Liam crossed the chamber he would return to in Oliver’s absence to secure the large coffer, then descended to the hall where Thornemede knights stood ready to brave the foul weather.

“Where is your mother?” he asked.

Oliver pointed. “With Cook. Why?”

“I should bid her farewell, do you not think?”

“She would like that.”

Halfway across the hall, Emma appeared. “I wondered where you had gotten to, my boy.” She wagged a finger. “Found your uncle, eh?”

“Aye, an’ he told me a secret.”

Liam tensed. It was of utmost importance the large coffer be moved.

“Then you know you cannot tell it, aye?” Emma reached to take him from Liam.

Oliver pressed his lips tight, nodded.

“Come, then. No doubt your uncle has tasks to tend ere he rides for Thornemede.”

“But Unca Liam wants me to wave him away.” Oliver looked back at him. “Don’ you?”

“When I am ready to leave.” Liam stepped past them.

Joslyn was not to be found amid the haze of heat hovering over the immense kitchen. “Where is the lady of Ashlingford?” he asked a kitchen maid.

“Gone below, my lord.”

“And in quite a dither,” Cook added.

“Something is amiss?”

The man scowled. “Only what she makes it to be. Imagine gettin’ upset over the leavin’s of a rat.” He nodded at the sack of flour poured out on a nearby table. “You would think she had never seen ’em before.”

It was commonplace for rodents and insects to find their way into the stores of a cellar, but Liam understood her concern. Though no one knew for certain how the plague spread, one thing was known—it took the most lives where there was uncleanliness and an abundance of rodents.

Liam left the kitchen and descended the cellar stairs. Hearing Joslyn’s labored breathing, he skirted barrels of untapped ale and saw her ahead.

“Joslyn.”

She was so intent on restacking sacks of grain away from the wall that she did not respond. But as he neared, she turned. Flushed with exertion, she gasped, “I did not hear you.”

Liam’s hands brushed her arms as he took the sack from her. “You should not be lifting these.” He laid the flour atop the new pile.