Medieval Ever After (31 page)

But Joselyn smiled at him and he knew it was no dream. Kynan was chained on the leg by a big, heavy, rusty cuff that had cut into his leg and caused a raging infection. He struggled to his feet, making his way towards the bars as far as he could before the chain stopped him. He reached out just as she did, their fingertips brushing.

“Jo-Jo,” he breathed. “Are ye well, lass? The big
Sassenach
told me ye had been wounded.”

Joselyn was on borrowed time. She had tried to bribe the guards to let her in, promising them sweet cakes in exchange for a few moments with her cousin. But that hadn’t worked so she became angry with them and told them that she would tell her husband that they had tried to molest her if they didn’t let her in, which had drawn the desired reaction. The threat of Pembury’s wrath held weight. So they had followed her into the vault to make sure that she did not come to any harm in addition to ensuring that she would not somehow try to free the prisoners. They lingered back, keeping track of the time and watching every move she made, so she kept her voice lowered.

“I am much better,” she whispered. “It is true, I was injured. But my husband healed me.”

Kynan drank in the sight of her, angered at the helplessness he was feeling. “What happened?” he demanded softly. “How did ye end up in the line of fire?”

She didn’t want to tell him the truth, that she had used the information she had coerced from him to help her husband. She didn’t want him to know she had betrayed his confidence.

“It does not matter,” she replied softly. “All that matters is that I am well and Stephen healed me. Ky, you must help me, please.”

“How?” he raised his voice and she shushed him. “I’m trapped. I canna do anything for ye, lass, and ye know it.”

As he grew agitated, she grew desperate. Her expression was beseeching. “Ky, listen to me,” she whispered. “I do not have much time, so you must know this; my husband is a good man. I lied to you when I told you that the English killed my mother. You know she had been mad for some time. She had thrown herself into the fire and they mercifully ended her life before she burned to death. I could tell you so many wonderful things they have done for me but I do not have the time. All I can tell you is that I lied to you. My husband has not been terrible to me. In fact, he is the most wonderful man I have ever met.”

Kynan stared at her as if she had gone mad. “The big brute?”

“Aye.”

His eyes narrowed. “Have ye lost yer mind, lass?”

Joselyn smiled as she shook her head. “Not at all,” she replied. “With everything that has happened to me… my husband has overlooked all of it and he loves me deeply. He is kind, compassionate and brave and I love him with all my heart. I want to help him and protect him. Will you please help me do that?”

Kynan’s brow furrowed as if he did not understand her words. “Help ye?” he rattled his chains. “I am the one who needs help, Jo-Jo.”

Joselyn was frustrated that he was not getting her message. “If you help me, I will convince my husband to release you,” she made a promise she was not sure she could keep, but she had to gain his cooperation. “I need your help. I need you to tell me what you know about the Scots. What are they planning, Ky? Are they preparing to attack Berwick again?”

He studied her a moment, eventually backing off the grate as his manner cooled. He could see that somehow, someway, her English husband had bewitched her. She was more loyal to him than she was to her own people, or at least she believed she was. Her young mind was confused.

“I wouldna know what me men are planning,” he said after a moment. “I have been locked away in the bowels of this place. If me men are planning an attack, I’m not a part of it.”

Whatever warmth they had experienced when she came into the cell was evaporating. Joselyn could feel it. Mistrust hung over him like cloud.

“Ky, please,” she gripped the iron bars, her pale blue eyes boring into him. “He is the only man who has ever been kind to me and I love him. Can you not understand? I do not care about Scots or English loyalties. This is not about politics or kings or war. I only care about my husband and I will do anything to keep him safe.”

“Including betray yer kin?”

“My kin tried to kill me,” she fired back. “I have the scar on my back to prove it. Why would you protect these people?”

Kynan backed away from the grate, his eyes riveted to her. He was unsure, confused, exhausted by his tribulations and baffled by his cousin’s love for her English captor. The knight had professed the same feelings, so with Joselyn’s confirmation, he was coming to understand that they shared something very special. Still, her shift of loyalties was unsettling. He couldn’t be glad for her new-found happiness just yet.

Joselyn watched him move away from her, back to the shadows that had become his home. She watched him with eyes of sadness, of agony, wishing he could understand what she was attempting to accomplish. But he did not understand. All he knew was that Stephen was the enemy. He probably thought she was the enemy, too. The thought infuriated her.

“If you will not help my husband, then I will say this and speak of it no more,” she hissed, fighting off tears. “If something happens to Stephen because of you and your foolish rebels, I swear to God that I will never forgive you. And I will hate you for the rest of my life.”

Kynan simply hung his head. Joselyn walked from the vault in tears.

The evening meal at Berwick Castle that evening was an extravaganza of culinary delight. After her encounter with Kynan, Joselyn had retreated to the kitchens to prepare her masterpieces. The stores had been somewhat replenished and she had a variety of ingredients to work with, and work with it she did. She had fowl prepared a variety of ways and with sauces such as plum and currant. There were also several egg dishes; eggs beaten and mixed with milk, cheese and herbs, then baked. There were tons of nuts and cheeses, with great loaves of bread baked with a variety of herbs and other ingredients incorporated into them. But most of all, there were pickled lemons shipped all the way from London, a most impressive and expensive addition. Every time Joselyn ate one, her lips puckered up and her eyes watered terribly so she was not too fond of them. And, of course, she made sweet cakes for her husband with loads of honey and walnuts.

Stephen and Kenneth arrived late to the meal and looking somewhat subdued. But Stephen had a smile and a kiss for his wife as he took a seat on the bench, delving into the roast chicken in front of him. Kenneth followed suit and between the two of them, they ate almost half of what was on the table. Stephen would not share the sweet cakes with Kenneth until the man threatened to fight him. Begrudgingly, he shared his treats.

The hall was warm and fragrant with smells of food and the sounds of soft laughter. In addition to Stephen, Kenneth and Joselyn, several senior soldiers and knights were also in attendance, including Lane de Norville and Sir Alan. They were all most complimentary of the meal and Joselyn blushed prettily as the perfect hostess. Stuffed and ill with too many sweets, Stephen could not have been prouder. She was sweet, polite and good at conversation but when she brought about the subject of helping Kenneth find a wife again, Kenneth indelicately changed the subject by asking if there were more sweet cakes in the kitchens. No, there weren’t, but she had something just as wonderful. Joselyn leapt up and disappeared from the hall.

Wine in hand, Stephen watched her go, returning his attention to Kenneth only when Joselyn left his sight. He noticed that ice-blue eyes were appraising him. Stephen lifted his eyebrows at the man.

“Why do you look at me so?” he demanded.

Kenneth stared at him a moment before grunting and lifting his wine to his lips. “You know why.”

Stephen’s good humor faded. “You are not going to start that again, are you?”

Kenneth licked the wine from his lips. “You know it is for the best. I told you earlier. My discussions with your Scots prisoner were not particularly fruitful.” He had no idea that he had missed Joselyn’s visit to Kynan by minutes, resulting in a very defensive and agitated prisoner. “Nonetheless, I do not like the gist of the small conversation we did have. I think it would be best if you sent your wife away from here, someplace safe. You must get her out of Berwick for I fear the lack of Scot activity these past several days are leading to a bigger, more organized build-up.”

Stephen looked frustrated. “She is safer here than she would be traveling on the open road. Anywhere I would send her is days away and I cannot go with her. I do not want her exposed if I cannot be there to protect her.”

Kenneth grunted. “Now you are being ridiculous. Send her with a contingent of soldiers and a couple of knights. Send her to de Lara’s holding.”

“Forestburn Castle?” Stephen shot back, bordering on shouting.

“Aye, Forestburn,” Kenneth lifted his white eyebrows at him. “It is the safest place for her. Toby will take good care of her until this madness is over.”

Stephen pursed his lips at him and looked away. Kenneth watched him a moment before finally draining his wine. He set the cup down and leaned forward on his elbows.

“Why did you bring me here, Stephen?” he asked.

Stephen would not look at him. “That is a stupid question.”

“Nay, ’tis not. Tell me.”

Stephen was fidgeting angrily. “To assist me.”

“I am trying to do that yet you resist. I see this situation more clearly than you do, my friend. Why do you refuse?” Even though Kenneth already knew the answer, he still wanted to hear it from Stephen’s lips. But Stephen refused to answer him, so Kenneth supplied the words. “I know you do not want to be separated from her. But would not you rather have her far away and safe than have to worry about her in an overrun fortress?”

Stephen looked at him, then, the blue eyes dull with both anguish and reluctance. He looked as if he were preparing to retort but suddenly shut his mouth and looked away again.

“Must we speak of this now?” he mumbled.

“There is no more time, Stephen. You must send your wife to Forestburn and do it now.”

Stephen was silent a moment, contemplating. He finally sighed heavily, as if he had just given up a mighty battle. He raked a hand through his dark hair, fidgeting, apparently settling the situation in his own mind.

“Very well,” he murmured, bringing his gaze up to meet Kenneth’s. “I must trust that you are seeing the situation more clearly than I am. If you say that I must send my wife away, then I will trust you. But I will ask a favor of you.”

Kenneth was relieved that Stephen was finally coming to his senses. “You do not have to ask,” he said. “Just tell me what you would have me do.”

“Escort Jo-Jo to Forestburn. If I cannot be with her, then I would trust her life only to you.”

Kenneth nodded slowly. “If that is your wish, then I shall do it.”

Stephen looked rather defeated, returning his attention to his chalice. “She is the most important thing in the world to me, Ken. More than castles and kings, Joselyn matters above all.”

“I understand.”

Stephen didn’t say anything more but it was obvious that his depression was growing. Joselyn emerged back into the hall at that moment, carrying a tray covered with a white cloth. She was smiling as she approached the table and set the tray down between the two men. Standing so close to Stephen that she was butted up against him, she faced Kenneth.

“Our stores have been replenished in the past few days and we were fortunate enough to have a small supply of sweet salt,” she told him. “I was able to make cakes from it. I do hope you enjoy them.”

She pulled the cloth off the tray and both Stephen and Kenneth peered at the contents with interest. They were small, round cakes with a white substance smeared on the top of them. Stephen, never one to be shy when it came to his wife’s cooking, ran his finger across the white, creamy substance and tasted it. Deciding it was well worth eating, he picked up the little cake and bit into it. Custard oozed out from the other side and he had to move fast to slurp it all up. Kenneth, seeing that Stephen was well into a feast of sweet custard, popped a whole cake into his mouth and chewed with relish.

“These are marvelous,” Stephen licked his fingers. “What is in them?’

Joselyn beamed. “I made the cakes from white flour and sweet salt,” she told him. “Then I made custard from eggs, milk and sweet salt. When the cakes were done, I cut them in half and put the custard in the middle. The white cream on the top is made from sweet salt and milk.”