Terri Brisbin (6 page)

Orrick’s tone irritated him.

“She disobeyed her parents. She ran from a legal betrothal. She lied before witnesses. And she has drawn you into it. I would not think to hear such admiration in your voice when you realize the problems she could cause for you.”

Orrick’s amusement quieted for a moment and then he smiled. “I do admire her, Braden, as I am certain you do if you would only admit it to yourself. I would think that she is exactly the kind of wife that the ‘warlock of Wynwydd’ would want. One filled with spirit and daring and passion.”

He’d heard the rumors. Braden had hoped that they had not traveled this far north. “I am not a warlock, Orrick. Surely you know that.” Braden faced the lord of Silloth now and shook his head.

“I know that, you know that, but the lady believes it. And she believed it so strongly that it gave her the courage to run
from everyone and everything she knew. Breaking through that fear and gaining her trust will be a formidable task.”

“I care not if she fears or trusts me, Orrick. I want only her compliance and obedience.” Orrick laughed out now and smacked Braden on the shoulder. He felt no such humor.

“Think on your words this night and mine. If you force her to your side, you will gain a wife. If you ease her fears and bring her willingly to your side, you gain a partner. Which would you rather have?”

“If it were only that easy. There is much you do not know.”

“Aye, there always is more to any story. But that is between you and the lady. I would urge you to remember that honey draws more flies than vinegar and cats come to cream.”

“I have heard those sayings before, Orrick.”

“And you must swear never to tell Margaret that I used them in speaking about how to treat women. But, man to man, you must learn to choose the battles you fight, especially with women. And never risk more than you can afford to lose.”

Noisy chatter rose from the yard and Braden looked over the wall to see women spilling from the chapel. The evening meal and womanly talks must be at an end. He needed to seek his rest, as well, for he did not relish what the morrow held for him.

Orrick picked up the lantern he’d brought with them and began walking back to the doorway. When they reached it, Orrick looked back at him before opening it.

“I cannot allow you to force her from the chapel tomorrow.” When Braden would have argued with him, Orrick held up his hand to stop him. “I think you will see the wisdom of making it seem to be your choice to stay.”

The soft scuffling of feet on the stone floor woke her just as the light of dawn crept over the walls of Silloth. Father Bernard walked to the altar to prepare for daily Mass. Nodding
to her, he went to the small chamber behind the altar and brought out the linens he needed. He set about covering the altar and putting out the crucifix and chalice and plate.

There was still time before he would ring the bell and call the faithful to church. The door was ajar and she lay quietly on the bench and watched as the light grew stronger and stronger. Outside.

Outside, where spring would be bursting forth again today.

Outside, where the people of the village would be preparing their fields and planting the seeds that would become food for them.

Outside, where the sun could warm her skin and the wind could ease her spirit.

Joanna stretched and tried to remember all the words of encouragement from Lady Margaret and her women. Never in her life had she been included in such a gathering. Her mother could never stand her presence, so Joanna spent most of her time with her maid and her sister, until her sister left for her own marriage. To be included in the chatter and gossip of the women of the keep had been a wonderful gift.

Every muscle in her body ached and she took a moment and tried to stretch each one to loosen them before trying to sit or stand. Her ribs were the worst, having borne most of the weight when Lord Braden jumped on her in the stables. Wenda had checked her again before leaving last evening and told her, though bruised, nothing was broken.

As she rubbed against the ache, her body remembered the other ache, the one caused by Lord Braden’s hot mouth on her skin and her breasts. The tips of them tingled now as she thought on his strange caresses and kisses and the heat they caused in her. When Lady Rosamunde mentioned something later in the evening about her husband, Sir Gautier, doing something that caused her toes to curl, Joanna feared that her blush gave away that she knew something that could do that.

Lord Braden had done that to her. When his tongue had touched her, Joanna swore her toes had curled. Now, her body pulsed with an awareness that had never been there before. Not before he’d kissed her and touched her and… She must stop these thoughts. Surely they were sinful and not appropriate in this place.

“My lady?” Father Bernard whispered. “’Tis time now.”

The priest went to the front corner of the chapel and tugged hard on the rope that hung there. The bell above chimed loudly enough to call those in the keep and the village to church.

Joanna sat up and then stood, still wobbling and not steady on her feet. As she stumbled, someone grasped her arm to help her.

Lord Braden.

“My lady, allow me to be of assistance.” He brought his arm around her waist and waited while she gained her balance.

“You come to Mass?” she asked in a whisper as they made their way toward the altar. Did not the devil fear the cross and chalice?

“I admit that I am not as religious as I should be, but I do attend whenever I have the opportunity. There is a small but lovely chapel at Wynwydd.”

Stunned by his admission, Joanna stared at him and watched for any signs that he was struggling against the Lord’s presence here. A few minutes of close scrutiny revealed nothing save his habit of clenching his jaws.

They took places to one side of the altar and waited for the Mass to start. Joanna remembered that her head was uncovered and felt for the hood that she’d worn these past weeks. “My lord, I must cover my head before Mass begins. Let me get my hood at least,” she said, slipping from his side. As she searched the bench where she’d slept, she felt him at her side.

“Wear this, Joanna,” he said, placing a hooded cloak over
her shoulders. It hid her inappropriate attire completely from view and covered her head at the same time. And it fit perfectly.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered as they walked back to their places.

“I brought it with me. A gift for my betrothed. One I did not have the opportunity to present to you upon your arrival at my home.”

The priest rang small gold bells that announced the beginning of the Mass so Joanna could not ask him any more questions. She knew that once the Mass was over, he would try to take her from here and she must collect her thoughts and be ready. He stood close to her and she could smell the scent of the soap he must have used recently. A fresh herbal smell, one probably concocted by Lady Margaret for her guests. Taking in a deep breath of it, she realized how badly she must smell.

Braden caught her and gave her a look of puzzlement. He nodded his head at the altar and she comprehended that he was telling her to turn her attention to the priest. Her breath caught as she watched the dimple appear in his chin. His green eyes sparkled with the merriment of one involved in a prank. For a moment she could almost forget that he meant to force her to his will.

Just as she’d forgotten last evening when his mouth caused such magical feelings in her body and her heart. She had nearly surrendered to him, until he touched the still-new wounds on her bottom and her thighs. It would cost her too much to allow simple lust to break her now. Shifting on her feet, she strengthened her resolve to fight his evil plans for her.

Pulling the cloak more tightly around her shoulders, she moved away from him so that his scent and his nearness and his heat would tempt her no longer. Father Bernard said the final blessing and Mass was over. Although most left the chapel, many stood just outside the fence waiting to see what would happen between them.

Lord Orrick appeared at her side and Lady Margaret stood at his. Joanna held her breath about what was to come. She was not strong enough to fight him physically. Only Lord Orrick could do that and she was not certain that he would. They all looked at Lord Braden.

“I will ask you once more, Lady Joanna, to relinquish your claim of sanctuary and come peacefully from this place with me.” His deep voice echoed through the chapel. The calm tone surprised her, for she assumed that he would yell out his demand at her. Lord Braden did touch her hand and she jumped at the contact.

Joanna looked at his face and, for a moment, she believed the words he spoke. She heard some promise, some enticement, buried deep within them and she wanted to take his hand. But, the stories and the terror grew inside of her until she could not bear it.

“Nay,” she whispered. “Nay, I will not leave this place willingly to go with you.”

She drew back her hand inside the cloak and wrapped her arms around her to await his response. Expecting an immediate and angry retort, she was amazed at the silence. And when she finally scraped enough courage together to dare a look at his face, she found him scrutinizing hers with a blank expression.

Lord Braden simply nodded at her and stepped back away. Turning, he walked swiftly to the door of the church and called to one of his men. After giving some quiet instructions, he faced her again.

“I do not understand your need to seek sanctuary here, Lady Joanna, but I have decided that I will not break the bond given by the priest. I will not interfere with your need to examine your conscience in this matter and make your peace with God and your confessor before coming with me.” He smiled then, a wicked smile, and bowed to her and the lord and lady of Silloth. “Take whatever time you need, my lady.”

Lord Braden waited at the door until his man returned. With her sack. He placed it on the bench and spoke. “My lord, if you will see to the lady’s comforts as you offered, I would consider myself in your debt.”

Stunned by his easy agreement, Joanna watched as Orrick and Margaret followed him out of the chapel. She could hear his words as he spoke of breaking their fast in the hall. Letting out her breath, she realized that she had lived through the worst moment of her life and that she was safe. When everyone was gone and the chapel returned to its quiet state and the sun shone outside the doorway, the truth of the situation struck her.

She had not gained a safe haven, she’d set up her own prison and Lord Braden, warlock of Wynwydd, held the key.

T
he next three days passed in a blur. Items for her comfort were delivered to the chapel, all by Lord Braden’s order. He did not present himself during that time, but she spied him walking by the chapel a few times when she tried to enjoy the sun’s warmth. Now, there was a wooden folding screen to give her a measure of privacy. A mattress overstuffed with feathers to use on top of the benches that formed her pallet. A chair and embroidering frame to keep her occupied through the day.

Her company increased as well in numbers and frequency. There were always several of Lady Margaret’s women to share her meals and more in the evenings when the gossip and chatter turned to their favorite subject—their husbands.

The best things were the clean clothes and the bath. Two chemises, two gowns with matching tunics and new stockings. Soft leather slippers and even some veils to cover her unruly hair. Each time a servant arrived, it was all with the compliments of the lord of Wynwydd.

The bath was one she would never forget. The weeks of being in the same clothes, sleeping on pallets on the floor and not washing off the dirt that offered her some disguise were horrible. Then, the bumps and bruises she’d gained on the
journey and while here still hurt. And the backs of her thighs still stung and pulled when she moved. The evening of the day he said he’d not interfere, that first bath arrived.

One appeared each evening now and as she slid into the steaming water it was both pleasure and pain. However, Joanna would not have given it up for anything. Lady Margaret’s own maid helped her through it. Her hair was washed and rinsed twice in a separate bucket and she soaked until the water cooled before getting out. Her body, now cleaned and soothed from its injuries, wanted only sleep.

Wearing a new chemise and covered with thick, warm blankets, Joanna could feel the pull of sleep on her. Even the thought that she was not alone could not keep her from it. In the shadows she noticed Lord Braden’s cloak still hanging on a peg by the door. Then, the dream began and she was lost in it.

She traveled on a horse, down a road in a dark forest. The trees were so thick that no light broke through to show her the way ahead. Someone was behind her and she knew she must escape. The sounds of a horse and demonic laughter made her urge her mount to greater speeds. Then, the forest ended and she was trapped before a huge black castle. The walls grew as she watched and her pursuer stopped before her, blocking the way.

Joanna climbed down from the horse and tried to run around the other rider. He controlled the massive destrier without effort and her attempts were stopped. When he flew off the horse toward her, she backed against the wall and covered her face.

There was no way out.

Then the voices began, first whispers she could not hear and then accusations made louder and louder until they wailed like the wind around her.

“His father was mad.”

“He killed his mother.”

“The devil’s own.”

“Evil.”

“Madness.”

“He will not let you live knowing his secrets.”

“You will die giving him a son or for not giving him one.”

She turned and turned, looking for the source of the voices, but no one was there. Only him. In the shadows now where his face did not show. His cloak flowed around him like the clouds in a storm—dark, swirling, uncontrolled.

Then he stepped closer to her.

The scream caught in her throat as she saw his gleaming eyes and evil intent. Forced back as far as she could, her voice finally escaped and she let out a long, keening scream. On and on, with no one answering her plea for help….

Strong hands held her and shook her from the dream. When she forced her eyes open, the object of her nightmare sat next to her. She pushed him away, forced her way out of his grasp and slid back until she hit the cold stone wall. Even the protesting of her legs and bottom did not stop her from putting as much distance between them as she could.

“Joanna? Are you well?” he asked as he leaned over her. “You were screaming.”

Images from the dream flooded her thoughts again and she saw the menacing look in his eyes. Blinking over and over, she watched as his face took shape. His eyes were filled with concern, not evil. His face no longer looked demonic, but just like a man. She tried to speak, tried to breathe, but her chest would not take any air in. Gasping, she tore at the blankets.

“Here now. Your thrashing has tied you up in these,” he said as he grabbed the blankets and pulled them free. “Come away from the wall and sit on the edge.” He took her hands to help her move forward and she dangled her legs over the side of the benches. Then, with one hand on her back and one on the
top of her chest, he straightened her up. “Breathe now. Force my hands apart with your breaths.”

The heat from his hands spread and soon Joanna was able to expand her chest and take in air. He quietly urged her on as she struggled with each inhalation and exhalation. After a few minutes, he released her and stepped away.

“Were you dreaming of me?” he asked from across the chamber. His voice was soft again, but his expression was heated. ’Twas as though he could look through her with his intense eyes. Then she realized that the light from the candles and the burning brazier exposed her in just her shift.

“Yes,” she answered. Fearing to say more, she looked away from him and pulled one of the blankets around her shoulders.

“The fear is back in your gaze, my lady. I had hoped it was gone.”

“Fear, my lord?”

“Aye, fear. I could see it there in every move you made and hear it in every word you spoke to me until just yesterday. I had hoped that it was gone.”

Joanna did not answer him. The dream had simply reinforced all the terrible things she knew about him. ’Twould take more than a gift or two or a show of kindness to rid her of her fears about him.

“Will you answer me truthfully if I ask you some questions?” She decided it was time to face some of it.

“About my reputation?” He sounded tired, his voice flat now.

“Aye, my lord.” She clenched her hands together and waited. Even if he said yes, how would she know if it was the truth?

“Go ahead, lady, give me your questions.” He walked to the wall nearest her little alcove and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. Lord Braden closed his eyes for a moment and then looked over at her. “Well?”

“Did you father truly go mad?” This one was known across the land, so it was more for her use in gauging his replies.

“Aye, lady. My father was overcome by madness before my birth and died when I was a small boy.” He shifted against the wall. “Next?”

“Did your grandfather throw himself and your grandmother off the tower of your castle to their deaths?”

He lifted his hand now and placed the heel of his palm against his forehead before answering. Lord Braden stood like that for several minutes before saying a word.

“’Tis true but not in the way you described, lady. My grandmother died giving birth to my father and my grandfather carried her to the tower and killed himself.”

Part of her wanted to comfort him. To live with such a history, to have to live with such sadness. But, the next question was the one she feared the most for its subject was close to her own story but for the ending…at least so far. She hesitated to ask, but he nodded to her.

“I have been told that your previous betrothed begged her father to gain her release and that he offered you gold to release her.” She paused now, for the rest was worse than that. Taking a breath, she blurted it out, “And when you refused to release her, she took her own life.”

Joanna expected him to give some explanation to the accusation, but his reaction frightened her even more. He stood to his full height and turned his intensity to her. She shuddered at his approach and found herself held up against the wall by his harsh grasp.

“Damn them for speaking of it!” he growled at her. He shook her once and leaned in closer. “And damn you for listening!”

With another shake, he released her and she slid down until she touched the floor. She dared not move for his fury was a living thing. He swung his fist back, knocking down the wooden partition. Stomping on it until it broke, he kicked at the pieces and they scattered across the floor. Finished with that, he looked around as though searching for something else to destroy.

Joanna curled up into a ball and tried to protect her head and face, much as she’d done when her father did his worst. She heard his heavy footfalls and knew he stood before her. Saying a prayer in what she thought would be her last minute, she held her breath and hoped it would be over quickly. His panting was right next to her and she waited for the first blow to fall.

“Damn you,” he whispered in a choking voice and then his steps moved away.

She dared a peek from behind her arms and watched him stumble from the chapel. The door stood no chance against his anger. It was pulled from its frame and, with a loud crash, fell to the floor. When his guard stepped forward, Lord Braden shoved him back and ran down the path.

In these past weeks, she’d never given in to the urge to cry. Now, the tears burned her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as any hopes she might have had of living through this crumbled. The anger inside of him was so great and so dangerous that she knew, with the wrong word or action, she could be its target.

Daylight crept in a few hours later and so did the servants. Without a word, the splintered partition was removed and a new one installed. A quiet unease reigned over the chapel, even through the Mass and later. All the gossip in the world could not lighten her mood. Now confronted with the truth of his character, Joanna knew she must escape the lord of Wynwydd.

But how?

He kept guards around the chapel and another near the front gates. Anything pertaining to her care was asked of him first. His scrutiny missed nothing.

For two days it rained and the weather made Joanna long for a walk outside this stone prison. Left on her own, most of her time over these past few years had been spent at the one remaining family estate in the woodlands of eastern England.
With no one to tell her otherwise, she’d walk for miles, enjoying the sound of the birds and wildlife around her. Her own gardens were fruitful with herbs and plants and flowering bushes.

She would never see those gardens again. Never choose seedlings again. Never harvest the bounty of herbs her garden produced. The winds outside whipped around the buildings and wailed down the pathways of the yard. The mournful sounds matched her feelings. Now, she could only pace the forty steps front to back and twenty paces side to side that this church offered.

And walk them she did. She tried to exhaust herself so that she could sleep, but the dreams and worries kept rest from her. The leaky roof of the church did not help, for the rain dripped in several places with such force and regularity that it almost sounded like music to a song. A discordant song, though.

The thunderstorms woke her in the night and the heavy rain kept most away from her side. A servant would scurry in with her meal and then race through the raindrops back to the keep. Then on the third day of rain, things changed. Instead of just a meal, the servants brought out a table in pieces and assembled it in one corner. More arrived with linens and platters and goblets and pitchers of wine and ale and then all manner of foods. ’Twas much more than one or even two could eat.

Lord Orrick led the way, followed by Lady Margaret and then Lord Braden. Her betrothed appeared uncomfortable as he approached her. Joanna tried not to back away or shake as he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Not usually the one for reticence, he would not meet her gaze as Lord Orrick began.

“My ladywife thought it might be worthwhile for the four of us to dine together. As the caretakers, or future caretakers, of a large number of souls and many acres of land and crops, there may be topics of mutual interest to us all.”

The servants had finished their work and a square table,
surrounded by four chairs and covered with linen cloths and platters of mouthwatering food, awaited them. Lord Orrick took her hand and led her to one of the chairs and she watched over her shoulder while Lord Braden did the same. Lady Margaret nodded to the servants and the meal proceeded.

Joanna ate silently as the two men exchanged ideas about the practice of crop rotation and the weather patterns of the past two growing seasons. When Lady Margaret brought up her own garden on the other side of the keep, Joanna joined in the talk.

“I would like your opinion on the layout of my newest herb garden, Joanna. I think it is the best place for it, but you can tell me what you think when you see it.”

Silence spread as they each realized that Joanna would not see it as long as she stayed here.

“Actually, my lady, I have seen it. I delivered a cartful of…manure to it the first week I worked in your stables.” She felt their scrutiny and smiled. “’Twas my job then.”

Orrick laughed at the situation and they all joined in. “And what think you of the layout? Is it like your own?”

“Nay, Lord Orrick,” she began before he stopped her.

“As I explained to Braden, one of my eccentricities is my permission to use given names and not stand on ‘lord this’ or ‘lady that.’ If you have no objections?”

Such freedom existed here. The lord moved and lived among his people, his wife was forthright and outspoken, and all seemed right with it. Joanna’s weeks at court had been exhausting for her as she tried to remember the correct titles and order of precedence that one lord had over another. With little else but the pomp to cling to, her parents would never have allowed this familiarity among their servants and serfs.

“None, my…none, Orrick.” He smiled at her with such kindness that she wanted to cry once more. Joanna swallowed the tears and answered the questions about the gardens. “My
own is evenly split between cooking and healing herbs. But with your other estates pooling their resources, you may not need to do that here.”

“And Wenda’s adds to ours, as well,” Margaret explained.