Rexanne Becnel (23 page)

A slender dark-haired girl rose from a large cushion on the floor, laying aside a hand tapestry frame and needle. She was dressed in an exquisite gown of rose pink Tavestocke with purfle, and adorned at the tightly back-laced waist and Magyar sleeve wrists with woven leather and silver bands. Her hair was loose upon her shoulders and, judging from her hesitant manner and shy greeting, Joanna thought her to be quite young.

“Lady Joanna.” The girl curtsied slightly then gave the maid an imploring glance. “Would you have a bath prepared? In the antechamber, I think. If you will lay out a change of clothes for her, I’ll help her with her bath.”

The maid shifted from one foot to the other. “She came without any baggage,” she said, glancing askance at Joanna, as if she doubted any true lady could travel without trunks and bags of clothing.

“No baggage?” The three other women in the solar had been listening to the conversation with the normal amount of curiosity. But when the maid revealed that the newcomer traveled without any baggage, they leaned nearer in undisguised interest.

“No baggage,” a generously endowed blonde repeated. “Was she robbed?”

“I wouldn’t know, milady,” the maid answered earnestly.

Joanna straightened her posture. They spoke about her as if she were not even there. As if she were some new oddity with no mind nor will of her own.

“I was not robbed,” she replied. Then her lips quirked in a self-mocking smile. “At least not as you imply.”

Lady Marilyn hurried forward and took Joanna’s arm. “Come along. ’Tis plain to see you are in sore need of your rest.”

Then before the other women could protest and ply Joanna with further questions, she drew Joanna away from the solar and into a small chamber lit only from a narrow window set high in the stonework wall. Lady Marilyn called after the maid to bring the hard soap, not the soft, then closed the door. Joanna had slumped against a sturdy trunk and stared about rather blankly.

“Are you all right?” Marilyn ventured hesitantly as she peered at her curious guest.

Joanna sighed. “No, I am not all right, but that is not of your doing.”

“A bath, a meal, and a good night’s rest shall surely help—” Marilyn broke off as her new charge abruptly stood up and untied her cap. Joanna pushed her hood back and drew off the cloak. Then she stepped out of the ill-fitting wooden clogs.

As Joanna shook her tangled hair out and flexed her cramped toes, she too took stock of her new companion. Lady Marilyn appeared perhaps sixteen and painfully shy. She was rather petite with a figure in its first flowering. Her hair was dark and thick, falling in a heavy straight mass down her back. Her skin was pale—almost to an unearthly degree—and her eyes were an unusual shade of blue, almost green. Altogether quite comely. That is, she would be if she smiled. But the girl seemed so timid—her manner was so hesitant and her voice so subdued—that her good features were practically unnoticeable.

As the two of them stood there gazing uneasily at each other, Joanna realized that it was the younger girl who was clearly the more nervous of them both. That knowledge softened Joanna’s taut features. Here was one person, at least, who would not bully her.

“I’m Joanna Preston.” She pushed the thick length of her hair behind her shoulders and gave the girl a sincere smile. “I’m sorry you’ve been burdened with me.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” the girl said with a shy smile of her own. “I’m Marilyn Crosley. And I’m happy to share my chamber with you,” she added when she saw Joanna’s gaze move tentatively about the small space.

“Is this your home?”

Lady Marilyn’s smile faded. “No. That is, not really. I’ve only been attached to the court since the Feast of St. Mark. My home is Lawton Castle near St. Albans.” Her eyes touched upon Joanna’s plain gray gown. “Where is your home?”

Joanna hesitated a moment, torn between giving the girl the answer she expected or one that would shock her and provide the very sort of gossip those other three women in the solar had sought. In the end she compromised. “I am born of Oxwich Castle. But these past several years since my mother’s death I have resided at St. Theresa’s Priory. At Flamborough Head.”

“Oh.” Lady Marilyn nodded. Then she pursed her lips and eyed Joanna more closely. “You shall wear a gown of mine—after you sleep, of course.”

“That is most kind of you,” Joanna replied. “But I cannot presume to use your clothes. I have this gown.”

“It will not do,” Marilyn retorted with what Joanna suspected was a rare streak of will. “But never mind that. Let us be off to your bath. Tomorrow we will decide on the rest.”

Later Joanna could not recall much of what followed. She was bathed in a private antechamber before a small fire. The water was warm and fragrant—a luxury beyond describing. Her gown was taken away, but she did not notice for her arms and back were being scrubbed with a rough cloth, and her hair was being soaped with a delightfully sudsing soap. She might have succumbed to sleep right then and there, so relaxing were Marilyn’s ministrations. But she was prompted to stand and was rinsed and then dried before being wrapped in a loose cloak. Down the hall once more she was guided, then her hair was combed free of any tangles and braided still wet into two plaits. In a fog she lay back on one of the beds, and after that she knew nothing. Marilyn came and went. A regally beautiful woman accompanied by two others looked in on her but did not stay. The evening progressed through the supper feasting and entertainments, then into quiet as the court sought its beds. Through the long night Joanna lay almost like one near death, still and unmoving, lost to sleep. The abbey bells rang compline, matins, and lauds, but she did not hear. Only when the morning chimes of prime pealed forth did she stir at all.

Her first conscious thought as she struggled up from the depths of her long sleep was that her bed was exceedingly soft. She was not at home, for the small walled chamber at Oxwich would not have sunlight streaming in.

Oxwich! Joanna’s mind cleared at the thought of that place. Oxwich was not her home; St. Theresa’s was. And this was not St. Theresa’s either!

She sat up abruptly and stared around her. She was at Ely, she remembered. Sharing a chamber with a girl named Marilyn. At the moment, however, she was alone.

But then, she was well and truly alone now, and not just for the moment. No family. Not even the sisters from the priory. She was cast upon the whims of fate—no, upon the whims of the king. And all because of Oxwich.

Once again, as had been happening with more and more frequency, her thoughts veered to that hated castle. Oxwich—the bane of her existence. Oxwich—unhappy home of her youth. Oxwich—the cause of her current dilemma. Damn that place for the devil’s abode it was!

Upset and frustrated, Joanna flung back the bed linens, then grimaced when she realized she was completely naked. At St. Theresa’s they were instructed to sleep with their kirtles on, but she remembered now that most people did not wear clothing to bed. As a child at Oxwich she’d not done so either.

“Christ and bedamned!” she swore as once more she was reminded of Oxwich. But the words had no sooner left her lips than she recalled another even more troubling memory. Sir Rylan Kempe, Lord of Blaecston—Lord Black Heart—swore just so. How could she succumb to his bad habits?

But then, she knew she’d succumbed to more than merely his foul habit of taking the Lord’s name in vain. As if to emphasize that fact, her body tingled with remembered passion. She looked down in dismay to see her nipples grow small and taut, and deep in her nether regions she felt a heated flutter.

A strangled cry escaped her lips and she searched the room wildly for her garments. When they were not to be found, she yanked a sheet from the bed and wound it haphazardly around herself. What was she to do now? she wondered despairingly. She was in a strange place with neither friends nor allies to turn to. And she was without any clothing!

At that very moment, as if she were a guardian angel sent to soothe Joanna’s fears, Marilyn pushed open the heavy oak door and sidled into the room. Her arms were filled, as were the arms of the maid who followed her.

“Oh, you’re awake.” She smiled at Joanna as she gladly let the high stack of folded fabrics down on her own bed. “Put the tray on the window ledge,” she instructed the maid. Then she turned to Joanna with a small expectant smile.

“The queen has sent all manner of gowns and tunics for your use,” she announced with a sparkle in her eyes. “She said you are to break your fast and then dress so that you may be properly presented to her and the king.”

Joanna swallowed hard as her despair deepened even further. “The … the king?” she stammered. “And the queen?”

“The queen especially has taken an interest in your situation.”

“But—” Joanna shook her head in confusion. “But why? All I wish is to be returned to the priory.”

At that the glow faded from Marilyn’s face. Despite her own anguish, Joanna realized just how lovely the girl had been when she was animated. Marilyn signaled the maid to leave. Only when the door was closed did she turn a serious mien toward Joanna.

“I have learned some of your story during the long hours you rested, and I want you to know that I sympathize with your plight. Truly I do. But you must realize that when property must go through a daughter instead of a son, her choice may not be considered. Her father—oh, I am sorry. I know you have only recently lost your parent. But that is why the king has stepped in so quickly. You are now his ward and, as such, subject to his will.” Then her voice became even gentler when she saw Joanna’s downcast features. “I know this must be very difficult for you to accept. You’ve suffered so many losses in the recent weeks. But you must trust King John to do what is best for you.”

“And you?” Joanna questioned bitterly. “Do you trust him to do what is best for you?”

“Oh. Well.” Marilyn colored slightly. “My situation is somewhat different than your own.”

“No doubt you have brothers to assume the transfer of your family’s properties.”

“No. No, I am my father’s only child. But he, and not the king, shall choose my husband.”

The sudden tremble and hesitance in Marilyn’s voice registered in spite of Joanna’s own misery. “Then why are you here at court?”

Marilyn took a shaky breath then began slowly to unfold the various garments she’d brought in. “The king would like to influence my father in his decision for me,” she said as she shook out a lovely aqua gown made of the softest linen. “At King John’s request I serve as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Isabel—as you undoubtedly will also—while the matter of my husband is discussed.”

“Oh.” Joanna stared at the pale girl as sympathy for Marilyn overwhelmed her own sense of desperation. “You do not yet know who the man shall be?”

Marilyn shook her head. “My father has been away from court these several weeks past, and that has angered the king, who would have me wed his distant cousin, Robert of Short. The king is annoyed, I can tell. But my father sends word that he shall visit me here. So …” She shrugged and forced a wan smile. “Perhaps I shall soon know.”

Joanna frowned. She knew that she could not so complacently accept such a fate. And yet, what precisely could Marilyn do to avoid it? More to the point, what could
she
do to avoid the king’s plans for her?

She clasped the sheet tighter around her chest as she searched her mind for any solution to her terrible situation. In the end, however, she realized that she could do nothing, at least not at the moment. Until she knew the king’s disposition in the matter of Oxwich Castle, she would do best to tread lightly and wait. Heaving a sigh, Joanna looked resolutely at the solemn Marilyn.

“If there’s no help for it, then I suppose I should break my fast and be off to greet the king.”

Marilyn was clearly relieved by Joanna’s practical response. As she raised up a fine Bissyn kirtle for Joanna’s inspection then helped her don the wondrously soft garment, Joanna tried to take heart. What would be would be. Perhaps all was not so lost as it appeared. After all, Rylan might have been lying to her about the king in an attempt to discourage her escape. King John might happily take possession of Oxwich and send her back to St. Theresa’s as she wished. And even if he were not immediately so inclined, once she revealed her unsuitability as a wife—

Joanna had to clench her jaw at the sudden tightness in her throat. Her unsuitability! Why was it that a woman was considered unsuitable but a man never was? No doubt Sir Rylan Kempe had bedded many a woman in the same fashion he had bedded her.

She trembled as the aqua gown was pulled down over her head, and Marilyn peered at her curiously.

“Are you cold?” She touched the back of her hand to Joanna’s brow. “You’ve not become ill due to your journey, have you?”

Joanna swallowed hard then pulled the thick length of her hair out from the neckline of the gown. “I’m still a little weary, is all. And hungry.” To dissuade Marilyn’s concerned observance, Joanna reached for a white flour pastry from the tray and a small handful of raisins. Though her stomach was in a nervous knot and rebelled at the thought of food, she bravely forced it down.

“Good. Now here are a pair of summer stockings and indoor slippers. This ribbon will look lovely in your hair. Just let me pull two locks back from your brow …”

Joanna stood still while Marilyn fussed over her hair, tightened the side lacings of her gown, and settled a simply braided leather girdle upon her hips. Her mother had worn just such a girdle, Joanna recalled, though it had dangled keys on the trailing ends—the keys to Oxwich.

Once more she frowned as she was reminded of that loathsome place.

“Are you not pleased?” Marilyn exclaimed in a pained voice.

“What? Oh.” Joanna buried her feelings and stared back at her reflection in the polished metal mirror Marilyn held before her. Her own face stared back at her, pale and serious, and for the first time Joanna really studied herself. There were no mirrors at St. Theresa’s. The priory was too poor a place for such frivolities. Besides, Sister Edithe discouraged vanity among the women. But there was window glass in the chapel, and when cleaning the glass under certain conditions, a reflection could be seen. Likewise, the silver serving trays used for feast days provided some idea of one’s visage. But this was the first time Joanna had been encouraged to examine her own appearance in a device made for that precise purpose.