Terri Brisbin (5 page)

She would give him some credit—the grimace that crossed his face as she answered his insult with one of her own spoke of the words being considered in his mind. ’Twas a step at least.

His attention moved over her, and he examined her from the top of her head to the slippers on her feet. This frank and open assessment should have embarrassed her, but she recognized it as one opponent for another. Another step on his part.

Was there any hope for these two?

Margaret did know that Joanna was utterly terrified by Lord Braden. She also recognized that part of that terror was due to the effects of her physical condition and part was due to the outrageous rumors she’d heard, ones she suspected he had partly spread himself to keep his life as private as possible.

Sorcerer? Warlock? The devil incarnate?

Although she could believe that women would whisper it of him in certain situations, Margaret did not believe such tales. When there was ignorance about someone, the courtiers who toadied to royalty created whatever they needed to keep themselves amused. There was probably some seed of truth within the words shared by Joanna, but it had been embellished and had grown beyond any semblance of reality.

Until Joanna saw Braden of Wynwydd as a man, she would
never leave the chapel and the sanctuary willingly. Until she could separate the reputation from the man beneath it, there was no hope of happiness. And until Braden could shed the myths that he used to protect his secrets, he would never offer Joanna or any woman what they truly wanted.

With a grunt, Lord Braden offered her his arm again and they walked up the stairs into the keep. Surely Orrick would have words of wisdom to offer in this matter.

“No.”

“But, Lord Braden, surely you must agree that some accommodations must be made in this situation.”

“No,” he repeated. The lady wanted clothing and a set of bedding and even a brazier delivered to the chapel so that Joanna would be comfortable while she stayed there.

“Father Bernard decided that it would be inappropriate for him to remain in his chamber while Lady Joanna is…in residence so he will stay here in the keep,” Lord Orrick announced.

“Then a maid must attend her,” Lady Margaret began.

“No!” he shouted as he clenched his fists and teeth. “These arrangements are unnecessary. The lady will leave with me on the morrow.”

Braden suspected that the lord and lady of Silloth were in league with his betrothed to prevent him from taking her. Why else would they become so involved over the plight of a stranger.

“And food? Would you deny her sustenance while she is there?” Lady Margaret challenged.

He did not mean to starve her, truly he did not. Braden struggled to control his temper as he faced his adversaries.

“Please, my lady. I only wish to get back to my own lands and people as soon as is possible. Cozening her in this foolhardy course will only prolong her resistance. Feed her, certainly, but leave the rest and let me deal with her.”

He’d thought on the lady’s earlier words to him and knew she was correct—he was using fear to try to force Joanna to his will. ’Twas the only way he knew to deal with problems like those she presented. For too long his reputation had protected him and his from the prying eyes and greed of nobles and neighbors. He’d even been responsible for some of the tales told, or rather embellished, about his powers. All in an effort to keep away those who would gawk at his family’s misfortunes.

Now, when he needed a bride, his own deeds came back and prevented what should have been a normal occurrence for a nobleman—the procurement of a wife. Braden did terrify Lady Joanna. He had seen it in her eyes and felt it in her uneven breathing as he had held her down in the stables. The trembling of her hands and her chin as she looked on him had told him, also.

“This is all most difficult for me,” he admitted without thinking on his words. “I will have her to wife and it seems that her actions leave me no other course but to force her from the chapel and take her to Wynwydd.”

“There is always a choice, my lord,” the lady said in a soft voice. “’Tis never the easiest one to see, but it is the one that holds the most promise.”

Concerned about the doubts that were creeping into his thoughts about Joanna, he knew he must control any sign of weakness over his plans for her. Crossing his arms over his chest, he shook his head at them.

“She is mine and she leaves with me in the morn.”

When both looked as though they would argue with his declaration, he turned and left the chamber.

T
he sun’s rays danced lightly over her features, revealing freckles he’d not noticed before. The dirt that had obscured her pale cheeks was gone, too. The most striking change was her hair. Where it once had fallen to her ankles in ebony waves, now it barely passed her chin and neck and, without the weight of its previous length, it curled and swirled around her face.

Braden watched from the path as Joanna leaned as far as she could out the door of the chapel without taking the step that would remove her from her haven. She stood with her eyes closed and inhaled deeply, looking so much at peace that it made his chest tighten. One of his men called out to him and the moment was disturbed. Now, a look of fear dropped like a veil over her face and she backed quickly into church and away from him, slamming the door as though it would stop him.

He walked to the men who served as guards and discovered that, although alone now, many people had visited Lady Joanna since he’d left. Lady Margaret and the healer had returned, as well as an assortment of both ladies and maids. Other than the food he’d given permission for, nothing else had been brought into the chapel.

Braden nodded and walked to the now-closed door and felt the absurd need to knock. He did, but entered without waiting for a response. Joanna retreated even farther into the shadows of the chapel. She stopped next to the bench where his cloak lay.

“What were you doing at the door?” he asked. Seeing her reaction to his approach, he stopped and waited for her answer.

“There are no windows in the chapel, my lord,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of the walls. Her curls moved as she did it and one fell over her forehead. She shook her head to fling it out of the way. “No way to let the sun in.”

Braden turned his head to look around the chamber. True, the only light was from burning candles and a small lantern on the altar. Without a word, he walked back to the door and pulled it open. The midday light flooded in, but the direct rays fell only on the doorstep, where Joanna had stood before he came in.

“And you like the sunshine?” He had always favored the shadows.

“Spring is my favorite season of all, my lord. The sun grows stronger and warms the earth. I like the feel of its light on my face.” Her voice softened as she spoke and, as her words echoed those of Gwanwyn’s, he felt something in his soul soften toward her.

“It has caused your skin to freckle,” he said.

She touched her face and nodded, looking away from his gaze. “My mother informed me how unappealing it is to see them on a lady’s skin, my lord.”

Unappealing? Far from it. The urge to find out where else she had them grew and he fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. Those things would have to wait until she was truly his.

“You can enjoy being out in the sunshine during our journey to Wynwydd. Once we travel away from the coast, the rains should lessen a bit.” He watched as a shudder moved
through her. But he would not relent in this. They would leave on the morrow. He took a step closer and crossed his arms. “And we leave in the morn.”

She began to shake her head at him, but he stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Do not think to naysay my order on this, lady. You have reached the end of your disobedience in this matter. On the morrow, you shall leave with me and travel to my home as befits the lady of Wynwydd. I will accept no more arguments from you.”

“What do you plan to do to me, my lord? Will your punishments wait until we reach your keep or will I not see that?” Her voice was stronger but still trembled as she asked the impertinent question.

“Punishments?”

“Aye, my lord. You have been quite clear to so many about what you will do to me once you take me from here.” She touched her neck where the imprints of his fingers stood out against her pale skin. “Do you really wonder why I would not want the
honor
of being your wife?”

Lashed by the insult, he felt the blood pulsing in his temples. Control warred with the instinct to strike out at her, to make her realize that she did not have the protection of someone to keep her from the consequences of her actions and words. Not like Lady Margaret’s husband, Orrick, whose lack of supervision encouraged his wife’s poor example.

“Do you really wonder why I am angry over your behavior? Every action you have taken since your father agreed to our betrothal has held me up to ridicule and embarrassment. Before the church, before the king and his court, before even these strangers. If I seek retribution against you for it, none will object. ’Tis my right as your betrothed husband to correct your wayward tendencies.”

Something flared in her eyes and it startled him. For the first time since they’d met, it was not fear. He watched as the
anger he felt was reflected back at him by her stance and by the set of her chin. And by her infinitely kissable lips as she pressed them together in some attempt not to speak out her thoughts.

Anger meant her fear was lessening. Anger was something he was familiar with and with which he could deal. Much better for her to be angry than to be afraid.

“Why did you not simply let me go? Why did you have to find me?” she asked.

“I chose you and you were declared mine. I would have followed you all the way to Scotland and brought you back, Joanna.” Her eyes widened at his referral to her flight from him to supposed safety in Scotland and he stepped closer. This time, she stood her ground.

“If you returned and announced to my parents that you found and buried my dead body, you would still have your gold and could find another wife. No one would be the wiser for my escape.”

Joanna matched his stance by folding her arms over her chest. The slit edges of her shift and tunic gapped and granted him an enticing glance at the curves of her breasts. He really did want to see if the freckles continued down onto them and so Braden took the last step between them and slid his hands into her hair as he’d been longing to do since he saw her at the door.

“I would. I am not willing to give you up,” he said, meeting her gaze. “You are mine.”

Braden brought her closer and touched his lips to hers. Joanna’s hands covered his, but did not stop them as he moved them through her silky locks. As he deepened the kiss and turned her face to meet his, he felt her breathing begin to quicken. When she tentatively touched his tongue with hers, he possessed her mouth as he would soon possess her body.

Easing back from her lips, he nuzzled his way down her
chin, over to her ear and then onto her neck. Her soft sighs as he touched the sensitive skin there urged him on to bolder deeds. He touched his tongue to the place where the slope of her breasts began and followed the soft skin down to the now-exposed nipple. Braden felt Joanna’s hands move to his chest and grasp at his tunic, but she did not stop him.

Sliding his hands down to her waist, he knelt before her and took one of the tightened buds in his mouth, licking and sucking at it until he felt her legs tremble. Then he moved to the other and soon, her ragged breath echoed through the chamber. Braden kissed the line down the center of her stomach and slid his hands around to caress her bottom when she tensed and pulled from his embrace.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No.”

He stood and watched as she tugged the edges of the tunic together and held them tightly. Her breaths were still uneven and he was pleased that she had been affected by his kisses and by his touch. She might be a virgin and not know the ways of physical love yet, but her body was ready for his as much as his was for hers.

“Consummation is all that is left for us, Joanna. The final step in making you my wife. Our last step.” He adjusted his belted hose and tunic to ease the tension against the part of him that urged for that act more than any other at this moment.

“I will not say the words at the church door, my lord. I will recant my consent.” She stepped away from him and walked a few paces in the direction of the altar. “I still claim sanctuary here.”

Her fear of him had lessened and he had tasted of her innocent passion again, but nothing had changed between them. In the morning, it would take force to remove her from this chapel and that sin would be added to his long list of previous ones.

“So be it, lady. I will take you from here if need be.”

“I will not come willingly, my lord.”

Nodding at her, Braden turned to leave. Mayhap the loneliness and darkness of the church for the rest of the day and night would give her time to relent. If not, he knew what he had to do.

He had no idea about what to do.

Lord Orrick’s invitation to dinner had surprised him. He expected to be seated in the back of the hall, but instead found himself at the lord’s table. His men were offered every comfort again as was he. The only strange thing was that the women were missing. Lady Margaret and her ladies were gone from the table. No explanation was offered until the meal was finished and then he knew that his mission was in trouble.

“My ladywife is eating her evening meal in the chapel, Lord Braden,” Lord Orrick began.

“As is mine,” said Sir Royce, Orrick’s chief knight and castellan.

“As is mine,” added Sir Richard, the knight who oversaw Orrick’s interests in the salt lathes and monastery properties.

“And mine, I fear,” said Sir Hugh, captain of Orrick’s guards.

“And mine.” The words continued down the length of the womanless table as each of Orrick’s knights and retainers reported the same occurrence—all the women were in the chapel.

With Joanna.

This could not be a good thing.

Braden did not realize he’d said the words aloud until the men grunted and nodded in agreement. Two pitchers of wine were placed on the table and quickly shared by all. The men ranged in age from young knights about one score in years to Lord Orrick at just past two score and even older.

“What is their purpose there, my lord?”

“Companionship for Lady Joanna, I am certain,” Orrick replied but his expression did not look as though he was certain at all.

“Mischief and mayhem,” answered another of the men farther down the table. When all the others nodded or grunted in agreement, he could not tell who had spoken the words.

“I do not understand, Lord Orrick. How is it that you allow your wife such behavior? Should you not exert more control and guidance over her? I tell you candidly that she is not setting a good example of wifely behavior for my betrothed.”

Every man to a one at the table stopped and stared at him. Had he gone too far and offered too great an insult to his host? Braden swallowed deeply from his cup before looking at Orrick. When he did meet Orrick’s gaze, there was amusement there as well as the benevolence of a teacher for his student.

“My ladywife is my partner, Braden. I trust her implicitly as she trusts me. She strives always for my health and happiness as I strive for hers. Margaret knows that any actions she takes on my behalf, any words spoken by her in my name, any protection extended will be supported by me, as she supports all that I do. It has taken us years and many, many mistakes to come to this point, but it has given me all I could want in life.”

Braden could hear the conviction in his words and watched as each of the men at the table nodded in agreement. He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts—this was not the way of things. It sounded as though the wives ruled here and the husbands gave way for them.

“Do not misunderstand my words, Braden,” Lord Orrick said to him more quietly. “If the need is there for me to give an order, my ladywife will obey me. In all things. But there are better ways to accomplish what you need to do than by making a battle of it.”

“You think this is a battle? One I cannot win?”

Braden had fought many enemies in the past. Strategy and planning were his strengths. One mere woman would be no challenge.

Hell.

This woman was more than a challenge—she was a formidable adversary. She’d already begun to undermine his plans by being something, someone, very different from what he had expected.

Still, any softening in his feelings about her did not change his pressing need. Spring was full upon England and his time was limited. If Gwanwyn was correct, he had only a few more weeks in which to return to his lands with his wife. Braden knew he needed to resolve this quickly. He did not have the luxury of time.

“Do not make it one.” Orrick stood. “I must check out the battlements of the keep. Join me.”

Braden finished the rest of his wine and stood. He followed Orrick through the keep, up several flights of steps until they reached the roof and battlements of the keep. The strong ocean winds buffeted him as they walked to the edge and looked out over the yard and village. They stood in silence for several minutes and Braden thought about how to answer the questions he knew would be asked.

“I can see the anger and the urgency in your actions. Will you share with me the reason?”

Braden let out a breath of exhaustion and frustration. He’d had no one in his life who could understand his burden. His father had never spoken two coherent words to him before his death. No uncle or male cousin had survived long enough to guide him in the quest to protect the family name. Could Orrick help?

“Do you know my lands, Lord Orrick?”

“Please use my given name. ’Tis another of my eccentric
ways.” Orrick laughed even as he admitted to it. “Wynwydd sounds Welsh.”

“It is. My lands lie at the foot of the mountains that separate England from Wales. I am the last of my line, Orrick.”

“Ah, the pressure to marry. I understand that well enough.”

“I have my reasons, but I cannot disclose them to you.” He was simply not ready to trust a stranger with the story of his family’s weaknesses.

“More importantly, have you disclosed them to the lady?”

Braden walked a few paces away and looked over the stone wall to the yard. The chapel where the lady in question sat at this moment was below him.

“Her fears are real, Braden. And they’ve given her a strange strength to be bold and daring. More than most women, and most men, in her situation. Think on it—she came up with a plan to disguise herself and make her own way to her sister’s village in Scotland. And, in spite of an unplanned illness, she nearly made it.”