Rexanne Becnel (7 page)

He stiffened at that. “Oxwich, like all the estates in Yorkshire, has long stood fast against King John’s excesses. I will not let it fall into his hands.”

“’Tis none of your affair who shall be lord at Oxwich!”

“If I am to be loyal to my country, then it must become my affair.”

Joanna stared at him, trying hard to control the tremble in her voice. “’Tis clear you mislike the king and would thwart him in this, but do not think to disguise it as loyalty when it is clearly greed!”

His eyes narrowed at that and she knew she angered him greatly. But she could not care. She met his ferocious glare with one of her own. When he finally spoke his voice was cold as ice.

“No matter how you deny it, milady, the fact remains immutable. ’Tis your duty to protect Oxwich now, just as your father did.”

“My duty!” she cried in frustration. “My duty is not to Oxwich but only to … only to God. Oxwich will thrive under another, and England is not likely to fall at my absence!” Her chest heaved with emotion and she stared at him through eyes blurred now with tears.

“You or the king—I care not who lays a claim to that unholy place. For all I care, you may both go to the devil, and Oxwich with you!”

T
HE MEN FROM BLAECSTON
left well after midday. Joanna heard them even though she had secreted herself once more in the prayer carrel. Both the horse’s whinnies and snorts and the men’s shouts as they assembled and made ready to depart pierced the still depths of the secluded chamber. Despite her sincere attention to her prayers, she was time and again distracted.

Rylan Kempe—he of the disquieting news and compelling stare—was leaving St. Theresa’s. Yet his absence would not be complete. She knew already that he would haunt her for many a day, for even now his words continued to divert her from her prayers. Duty to Oxwich, he had said. Duty to the villagers. Yet she had no duty to either castle or folk, she told herself. Oxwich was a hated place. The people would not even know her, and surely would not care who should be their overlord, so long as they were protected in their labors and not pressed too hard for their manorial services. No, she shirked no duties when she clung to St. Theresa’s. Besides, she reasoned as she shifted her knees on the cold stone floor, duty to God came before any other duty.

But what of children? a deep voice seemed to mock her.

With a resigned sigh Joanna got to her feet. She rubbed her knees absently as she pondered that one troublesome point. What of children?

If there was an acceptable way to have a baby without the necessity of a husband she would most certainly embrace it, for something in her longed for a child of her own. How she would love a baby; how she would happily tend its every need. It would never want for love or comfort but would grow up happy and smiling, and always content.

She crossed her arms, wrapping them tightly around her as she let her imagination wander. She would love a child of her own above all things. And such a child would love her back as well. The very thought of it brought a warmth to her heart. But as she recalled where she was—and why—that warm glow congealed into a cold lump in her throat. Her arms fell to her sides as she faced the reality she had chosen for herself. There would be no children for her, because there would be no husband. Her comfort must be found in God’s love. Surely His love would be far more fulfilling than any other kind.

Still, that belief did little to lift Joanna’s spirits as she heard the clatter of horse’s hooves outside. Lord Blaecston and his men were leaving, taking with them her last claim to the outside world. Though she tried her utmost to rejoice in their departure, it was all she could do not to cry.

When Joanna left the quiet row of prayer carrels it was time for the evening chapter reading. But her mood was too bleak and her soul too troubled to seek any comfort amidst the restless shuffling of the Priory’s entire populace. She had missed supper, but she did not care about that either. The wind had increased considerably, roaring in from the sea in angry blasts, yet the very violence of it seemed almost comforting. She felt angry and aimless herself, filled with energy but with nowhere to direct it. To the east, extending far across the German Sea, the sky grew darker and darker. But to the west the sun still showed weakly through the cloud layer. During midsummer the twilight lingered a long while, and Joanna knew the darkness would not become absolute for several hours. As she remained still, staring to the west with the wind thrusting against her back, the chapel bells rang compline. A few latecomers scurried up the three steps and through the wide portal, but then she was alone. Standing there in the empty priory yard, she let her gaze sweep around her, taking in the dusty grounds and the plain buildings.

Rain would settle the dust, she thought absently, although the roof leak in the chapel would surely be worsened should a storm come. Then she turned to face the wind and lifted her eyes to the lowering sky. Leak or no, a fierce rainstorm was exactly what she wished for. Let it blow and storm until all of England cowed from the fury of it. Let the rains come so long and hard that the entire world was washed clean—or else washed away.

Unable to understand or control her careening emotions, Joanna tore the
couvrechef
from her head. As the square of linen caught in the wind and flew up and away, she shook her head hard, letting her long curls and ringlets fly freely around her face. Then, with no destination in mind, only the overwhelming need to be somewhere else, she hurried toward the gate and the windswept moors beyond the confines of the religious enclave.

Joanna did not follow the narrow cart track away from the priory. Instead, she headed toward the cliffs that lined the coast. Far below was the sea, beating impotently against the chalk deposits. The high tides seemed intent on devouring the cliffs, as if they hungered to take over the land. Joanna leaned out dangerously beyond the rocky edge, but she was not afraid. The wind pushed at her so hard that she felt she could have jumped out into space and still have been thrust back onto the solid earth beneath her feet.

If only the wind had pushed her mother back.

That thought brought her immediately upright, and a shiver ran up her spine. At once she turned and walked stiffly away from the sheer cliffs, back to the gently rolling moors.

How could her mother have found the courage to make such a leap? the perverse thought tortured her. And how could she have been so cowardly as to abandon the rest of her own life?

I don’t want to think about that,
Joanna told herself as the wind half carried her forward, whipping her waist-length hair and long skirt before her.
I only want to take a walk in the quiet woods and find some measure of peace there.

Clinging to that solitary thought, Joanna let the wind blow her along, through the tall grasses and prickly heather, past the cart track and almost to Christa’s Spout before she veered toward the woods. Already her hair was tangled beyond redemption and her face was warm with exertion, but slowly she recovered some modicum of composure. The clouds loomed dark and low and she knew the trees might not be safe should there be any lightning, but until she heard the warning thunder she would not worry about it. She would walk until it rained, she decided fancifully. Would God let her go until forever, or would He send a downpour to direct her back to the priory? A part of her wanted to ridicule such a foolish thought, yet another part of her needed an answer, and God seemed the only one available.

Rylan spied Joanna as she left the priory. After he and his men had ridden beyond view of St. Theresa’s, they had doubled back, clinging to the forest to remain unseen. Now they camped on a little knoll that provided a clear view of the priory. When Kell had notified him that a solitary figure of a woman walked across the moor, he had been unsure at first whether it was his quarry. Then when she’d headed directly toward the sheer cliffs, he’d felt a moment of sickening fear. It was Joanna. She strode so purposefully for the cliffs. Was she going to cast herself over the edge? Rumor had it her mother had flung herself in the same manner to her own death. He had leaped up in alarm, prepared to ride to her rescue even though he knew he could never reach her in time. But to his enormous relief, she had stopped and then turned away from the cliffs, angling toward the very place where he and his men lay in wait.

Her hair whipped before her like a shimmering sail. Her skirts flared out as well, snapping and tangling in her feet, exposing brief flashes of bare leg. Up to now she had appeared a pale slender woman, garbed in shapeless gray with only her translucent complexion and huge green eyes to commend her. Now she was a faceless creature, all long wild hair and shapely legs. As fast as his relief for her safety came, another unexpected emotion tumbled directly behind it. Some fellow—of his own choosing—would be a very happy man come his wedding night. Some lusty young buck would have those long pale legs wrap around his waist and would bury his hands and face within that silken mass of hair.

A sudden heat rose in him at the thought of her that way, and although he knew it a madness, he could not at once suppress it. She was a complete innocent—how could she not be? And yet he knew with a certainty he could not explain that she would be passionate beyond all logic. Perhaps it was her ready temper. Perhaps the way she blushed or simply the way she embraced the wild winds. But whatever, he knew it was so. Only he would not be the one to find out firsthand.

With a low oath he jerked his eyes away from her and forcibly quelled the rush of blood that tightened his loins. This was no time for his mind to be wandering in such a direction. Yet as he turned back once more to follow her progress—as he saw her hold her hair away from her brow with one careless motion—he knew he would hold a meaningful talk with the man she wed. He must at least ensure that she be treated gently and carefully on her wedding night. He owed her that much.

“’Tis too easy,” Kell grumbled from behind him.

“Better this than my plan to steal back into the priory tonight to abduct her,” Rylan replied. “Save your Viking instincts for another day, Kell. And another target,” he added as his eyes remained fixed on Joanna.

When she steered a little south of them, pushed by the slant of the wind, he made a decision. “Stay here with the others. I would confront our reluctant bride alone.”

At Kell’s short, knowing laugh, Rylan’s brow lowered. “She’s an innocent young girl. Keep your base thoughts to yourself.”

“If she’s
that
innocent, how shall
you
know what to do with her?” Then the normally silent Kell walked off, laughing still at his own humor.

Rylan did not dwell on Kell’s wry comment, for he knew that innocent maidens were indeed foreign territory for him. He leaned more toward married noblewomen, well versed in pleasing a man and satisfied with an occasional tryst. For that very reason he dreaded his coming union with the young Lady Marilyn Crosley. Virgins were not in his line. But as he settled into his saddle, he was reminded once more that the virgin who roamed the moor just beyond had managed to rouse more than merely his casual interest.

By the Rood, but he had been too long without a woman if he was lusting after young girls now. And a novice in a religious order, no less. Once he returned to Blaecston he would remedy that situation at once.

Within the protective cover of the woods, he made his way down to a spot beyond where Joanna would most likely reach the treeline. There he dismounted and tied his horse, then leaned back against an elm tree to wait. He kept his gaze on Joanna, watching as she futilely attempted to subdue her hair, then stood a little straighter when she reached down and pulled the hem of her skirt up to tuck securely into her rope girdle. She walked much easier through the thick growth in the meadow then, but he did not care at all about that. As she hurried along, his eyes were drawn to her well-formed legs. The slender ankles and shapely calves. The dimpled knees. She wore no hose, he noted, and once more an unwonted heat suffused him.

“Christ and bedamned!” he swore under his breath. Had the girl no sense of propriety at all? Bad enough to wander fields and forests unprotected, but displaying herself this way was unforgivable!

As tense as if he faced a foe in battle, Rylan crept silently nearer. Her face was hidden still, as much by her hair whipping in the wind at her back, as by the fact that her face was averted.

Another reckless mistake, he fumed. She was walking into a dark forest without the least care to be certain it was safe. She worried more that she might trip than that some evildoer might be lurking about!

Rylan’s assumption was indeed correct. As Joanna made her way through the thick profusion of heathers and field grasses, she was making very certain not to trip. The wind was blowing so hard at her back that she could barely slow her pace enough to keep her feet before her. Just a little farther, she thought as she glimpsed the trees ahead from the corner of her eye. She tried and failed to catch her hair in her hand, then stumbled over a stone and nearly fell. Out of breath, she glanced up as the trees loomed before her, but instead of feeling relief, a sudden spurt of terror jolted her. In the shadows of the forest a tall form lay in wait!

Joanna did not pause to think. It was a man and he had not called out to her as she had approached. She needed no more than that to be filled with alarm. In an instant she whirled, and as if the devil pursued her, she fled toward the priory and safety.

“Damnation!”

The man’s curse carried to her ears, redoubling Joanna’s fear. He
had
been waiting for her! Now he was certain to follow!

She ran as fast as she could—as she’d never run before. But the wind was against her now, holding her back no matter how fast she ran. She felt the scratch of heather against her skin. Her heart pounded thunderously in her chest, and she feared her lungs would collapse with her effort. But still she struggled forward.

Then she heard him closing on her, and before she could veer out of his grasp, he had her.