Rexanne Becnel (30 page)

Joanna dressed in a gown of pale green shot through with silvery threads. The style was simple and she wore her hair loose and flowing, as the queen had told her befitted an unmarried maiden. Only
she
knew that she was not the pure maiden everyone took her for. That thought stirred once more the disparate emotions Marilyn’s announcement had generated.

“I pray you will not divulge anything of which we spoke last night,” Marilyn began. “About my betrothal contract.”

Joanna looked over at her with troubled eyes. “’Tis a secret then. But it cannot remain so forever.”

“No. But my father and … and Lord Blaecston would select the proper moment to announce their agreement.”

Joanna was silent a moment. “Their agreement. Not yours.”

Marilyn sent Joanna a pleading look. “What would you have me do? I have prayed on it during the night, and I accept my father’s judgment in this matter.”

“Has he even listened to your feelings on the subject of husbands?”

Marilyn bit her lip and shook her head. “The contracts are already made. Besides, ’tis not for me to interfere.”

“If not you, then who?” Joanna exclaimed in frustration. “Surely there are other men who would be acceptable to your father and not so repugnant to yourself. Even now at court there are several.”

“The king would see me paired with Sir Robert of Short, but my father mislikes him. He is overfond of gaming.”

“What of the others I’ve met? What of Sir Guy … Sir Guy of …”

“Sir Guy Bosworth of Barnstaple.” Marilyn smiled at that. “He is a fool, more concerned with his fur capes and jeweled brooches than with crops and defenses.
I
could manage our lands better than he.”

With a reluctant smile Joanna conceded that point. “All right, then. What of Sir Henry? Or Sir Robert? Or—I know. What of Sir Evan Thorndyke?” Joanna knew at once that she had struck a nerve, for Marilyn’s pallid complexion was quickly suffused with color, and a becoming glow lit her eyes. “I … I hardly know him.”

“You know even less of Rylan Kempe—save, of course, that he is hard-hearted and evil-tempered,” Joanna added caustically. Then she sighed. “Can it hurt to question your father on this matter? Sir Evan seems a pleasant fellow. The queen especially favors him.”

“I fear that may not influence my father overmuch.”

“’Tis certain he will anger the king and queen when he aligns himself with Sir Rylan,” Joanna mused. Then her gaze sharpened. “Your father is not an ally of King John’s, is he? No, of course he is not,” she answered her own question. “For he plots to marry his only child to the king’s avowed foe. Tell me, Marilyn, how is it that you come to be in the queen’s entourage?”

The younger girl sighed, then sat wearily upon the bed. “My father does not confide in me, not when it pertains to matters of property. However, I am aware that the queen keeps me here to help influence my father’s choice of husband.” She tried to smile but it was more a grimace. “When I asked my father to allow me to return to Lawton Castle, he admonished me to make the best of my situation. To smile pleasantly at whomever the queen or king directed toward me, but not to become overly friendly with anyone. I am to strictly keep my distance from any man who might aspire to my father’s properties through a marriage to me.”

Joanna digested that with a faint frown. “When will he announce your betrothal?”

“Not until after we have left the royal court.”

Joanna thought a moment, all the while pacing the meager length of their chamber. Then she turned to face Marilyn. “Is there a chance the king might not let you leave court—I mean, if he knew?”

Marilyn’s eyes grew large and round as the truth of that possibility struck home. “He could not … Oh, but he could. And he
would.”

Joanna sat down next to Marilyn who was now visibly trembling in fear. “If you fear marriage to Rylan Kempe, that is one way to avoid it,” she said ruefully. “Of course, there’s no promising the king’s choice would be any better.” Then she remembered the name that had brought a glow to Marilyn’s face, and she was gripped with a sudden determination. Neither she nor Marilyn—nor any other propertied woman—should be bargained away to the highest bidder. A gleam lit her clear green eyes as she patted Marilyn’s hand.

“Tell me everything you know about this Evan Thorndyke.”

Joanna identified Egbert Crosley, Lord Lawton, at once. He was a heavyset fellow, hale and hearty, yet with a cautious frown settled upon his brow. He stood a little to one side of the bishop’s parlor, conversing with Sir Guy and two other younger noblemen.

No doubt every unmarried swain at court would sooner or later approach Lord Lawton regarding his very marriageable daughter. Sir Egbert was clearly disinterested in the conversation, for his eyes anxiously scanned the chamber. When Marilyn trailed Joanna into the room, however, his gaze quickly fastened upon his daughter.

Another pair of eyes also watched Marilyn’s reluctant entrance, and Joanna did not miss that fact. Evan Thorndyke stood in casual conversation with Lady Matilda, seemingly unconcerned with the constant comings and goings around the royal couple. But his eyes swerved repeatedly to Marilyn, and Joanna felt a surge of hope. Could Evan already have a soft spot for Marilyn? But then, it made so much sense. They were both pleasant, gentle souls, not meant for the devious ways of court. Joanna decided to discount that odd wink of Evan’s after their game of
jeu du mail.
It had only been friendliness on his part, nothing else. But the way he observed Marilyn now, why, it was clear he already favored her.

Feeling far more optimistic than she had since she’d arrived at court, Joanna plucked at Marilyn’s sleeve. “Introduce me to your father, will you?”

Marilyn hesitated when she spied the small smile playing at the corner of Joanna’s mouth. “You will keep silent, won’t you? What I spoke of last night, that was in the strictest confidence.”

“I shall not divulge your little secret, Marilyn. Though why you should wish to cooperate in a scheme so repugnant to your own wishes is quite beyond my ken. Nevertheless, I assure you that I only wish to converse with your father on the most mundane of subjects.”

Marilyn did not look convinced, but with a reluctant sigh she led Joanna forward. In passing they made their curtsies to the king and queen, and paused to greet Bishop Ferendi. But otherwise they avoided speaking to anyone else. Sir Egbert appeared greatly relieved to be saved from conversation with the self-important Sir Guy and two others of similar ilk.

“Good morrow, daughter,” he burst out, turning his back on the fawning trio.

“Father.” Marilyn gave him a brief kiss on the cheek then stepped back to Joanna’s side. “You have not yet met my friend, Lady Joanna Preston of Oxwich.”

“Of St. Theresa’s Priory,” Joanna corrected her, but mildly, for an idea had just come to her.

“Oh, yes. Aslin’s girl.” He gave her a quick appraising look. Not lecherous at all, but more as if he weighed the value her appearance brought to her already enticing inheritance. Joanna fought down a wave of impatient anger. Was property all a man saw when he looked at an unmarried female? Arpents and chains, sheep and water rights, castles and politics? Did she hold no value at all simply for herself?

She deliberately looked away from his scrutinizing stare only to meet another even more intense pair of eyes. Rylan Kempe stood in the same stepped alcove where he’d spoken to her last night. He was conversing with a well-dressed man she’d met the day before but whose name escaped her. Despite his company, however, Rylan was staring directly at her.

Suddenly unnerved, Joanna turned her attention back to Sir Egbert.

“So sorry to hear he succumbed to that blasted ague,” he was saying. “We lost no less than a score at Hurley village and near to twice that in Aldbourne. Only the strong sea winds saved us at Selsey and Shoreham. Blew the illness away, it did.” He nodded his head sagely, as if it were his own good planning that had protected his people in the seaside villages from the terrible fever that had taken so many lives. “Aye, ’tis sorry I am for you, girl, though I cannot claim to have known your father well.”

“I had not seen him in years, milord.”
And anyway, he was neither a good father nor a good husband,
she added silently. But she clamped her mouth against that admission and instead stole a quick glance at Rylan. He was another one who had no business being either husband or father. Yet Sir Egbert surely intended to make him just that to the innocent Marilyn.

She caught Marilyn’s nervous stare at Rylan and the guilty return of his interest to the man speaking to him. Then Joanna looked for Evan Thorndyke. He was not staring at Marilyn, however, but at Rylan. And he was frowning. Did he know too? With strengthening resolve she turned her glittering gaze back on Sir Egbert.

“I have long been at St. Theresa’s Priory, you see,” she began, forcing a humble tone into her voice. “It was my wish to take up the veil and my father did consent. But then I was most rudely abducted from my home and am at a loss now to return.”

“The king only exercised his rights in ensuring the orderly disposition of your properties,” Egbert replied with an admonishing stare. Then he glanced briefly at Rylan Kempe and his words became less vehement. “Politics are beyond the ken of a girl like yourself.”

Joanna gave him a bitter smile. “But it seems I am forced to learn more than I wish of politics, for it was not the king who abducted me from St. Theresa’s. No, it was that most black-hearted of all villains, Sir Rylan Kempe. You are no doubt acquainted with the wicked Lord Blaecston?” she added as a final jab.

The expression that took over Sir Egbert’s face approached the comical, but Joanna dared not laugh. His florid cheeks grew even more so; his eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and fury; and his jowls began to quiver. Joanna felt Marilyn’s sharp tug on her sleeve, but she did not acknowledge it.

“I do hope he is not a particular friend of yours,” she continued as if she did not notice his reaction. “For I can well attest to his lack of manners, decorum, and honor. I was rescued only by chance when a few of the king’s men happened upon us.”

As Sir Egbert continued to stare at Joanna, aghast, it was Marilyn who spoke up. “Never say that is so, Joanna. Surely Lord Blaecston would not so dishonor a lady.”

Joanna glanced at her friend, who already knew the tale—as did most of the court. But Marilyn’s earnest expression of dismay confirmed Joanna’s hopes: Marilyn was doing her best to aid Joanna in trying to subvert her unwelcome betrothal.

Sir Egbert’s flustered gaze swerved from Joanna to his seemingly distraught daughter, then back to Joanna. As she had hoped, his innate sense of gallantry toward noblewomen and the importance of protecting them was squarely at odds with his political alliance with Rylan Kempe.

“Lord Blaecston is an important man,” he finally began in an almost placating tone. “There is much you cannot know of these matters.”

Joanna lifted her chin stubbornly. “I doubt my father would have let such a vile deed toward his daughter go unanswered. Would you sanction such behavior toward
your
daughter?”

Once again Joanna had to stifle a laugh, for Sir Egbert appeared close to apoplectic.

“But … but … but that is precisely the point, you see. If your father were living, there would have been no need for Lord Blaecston to abduct you—”

“So you’re saying you approve of such a vile deed?” Joanna asked with an innocent, wide-eyed stare.

“Father!” Marilyn cried, adding to Sir Egbert’s confusion.

“No, no. That’s not what I said! It’s just that women cannot comprehend such things.”

“I comprehend well enough how terrified I was of Lord Blaecston and his unholy band of thugs,” Joanna threw back at him. “I pray Marilyn is never subject to such vile treatment as that!”

To Joanna’s complete surprise—and secret delight—Marilyn proceeded to burst into tears. Before either Joanna or Egbert could react, she fled the room. Several heads turned at her passing, but she did not care in her headlong flight. Joanna sent Sir Egbert a fulminating glare, then began to follow her friend. But when she saw Evan Thorndyke shoulder his way past a group of three nobles to follow discreetly in Marilyn’s wake, Joanna promptly changed her direction.

If Marilyn’s timing was perfect, Evan’s was even more so. He could do more to ease Marilyn’s distress and support Joanna’s plan than ever she could herself. She had done all she could for now. Best to lay low for a while.

W
HEN ISABEL AND HER
ladies retired to the solar that the queen had taken over as her own, Marilyn was noticeably absent. Joanna sat quietly at her stitching, thinking of Marilyn as she worked a particularly complicated border pattern onto a gossamer-thin length of veiling, a piece the queen would wear with a magnificent gown Lady Adele was embroidering. Several others of the women worked at a tapestry table, just beginning a large piece that would eventually depict the king at several victorious moments of his reign. As always, talk buzzed softly, gossip interspersed with advice and passed-on bits of news. Joanna paid little attention, for she was too caught up in her own thoughts. But when Marilyn’s name was mentioned, her ears perked up.

“She was crying in earnest,” Adele said, all the while frowning down at a bit of knotted thread.

“She was speaking with her father just before she fled. And with Joanna.”

Several heads swiveled to stare at Joanna.

“What were you speaking of?”

“Was it something her father said?”

“Yes, Joanna.” Queen Isabel’s imperious voice cut through all the other chatter. She was sitting a little apart from the others, idly stroking a large white cat that was settled in her lap. “You were with our sweet and innocent Marilyn. Her father must have said something most disturbing for her to make so hasty and undignified an exit. Come, do tell us why she was so distraught.”

Joanna’s eyes veered from the queen to the cat and back to Isabel. Suppressing a shiver of distaste—whether for the queen or the cat was debatable—she searched for a safe answer. How she wished she could simply blurt out the truth. If the queen knew of Marilyn’s betrothal to Rylan Kempe, Isabel would take decisive action to prevent their union. But Joanna had promised to keep Marilyn’s secret, and no matter how much she wanted to, she knew she could not renege on her vow.