“Another reason I shall never wed,” Maris said, dabbing something onto another fresh cut. It stung, but not so much as the leather whipcord had, and Joanna barely flinched.
“You shan’t wed?”
“Nay. My father will not force me, and I do not wish to be bound to a man.”
Joanna shook her head slowly. “I do not mind being wed—but to a man such as Ralf, ’tis hell. When I leave, I shall have no—” Realizing what she’d said, she bit back her words and froze into silence.
“Leave?”
Joanna said nothing, cursing herself for letting her tongue relax.
“Is Bernard to help you to leave? Do you run off with him?” Maris looked sharply at her. “Do not tell me you are Bathsheba to his David.”
“Nay, oh nay! I would not allow it of him—or anyone. If Ralf does find me, he’ll kill me, and whoever would be with me, and whoever might have helped me along the way.”
Miraculously, Joanna’s pain began to ebb, and her head to clear as she continued to speak. “Ralf does not allow me to leave the keep at Swerthmoor, but he could not keep me from coming to my sister’s wedding celebration, so I have this chance—this one chance—to run from him. I have been saving gold pieces, waiting for such an opportunity. He does not notice the small amount missing.”
“Where will you go?”
“I know of an abbey nearby—as I grew up here. The sisters will take me in, and hide me, I am certain. I shall live in a cloister all the rest of my days. If Ralf does not find me, and follow me, I shall be safe. And….” she hesitated.
“Is there more?”
“Aye. My father has a map of this keep, for there is a tale of great treasure hidden in the warren of secret tunnels beneath it. I plan to take the map during the tourney on the morrow, and it is with its help and through the tunnels that I’ll take my flight. Thus I will get outside of the walls unseen.”
“If it is so legendary, does not your husband know of the map?”
“Aye, and therein is my trick. Ralf has demanded that I obtain it from my father, but he will not ask for it on his own. He knows my father will not give it to him.” Joanna’s lips curved into a slight smile. “I will make a false copy and to give to Ralf—and use the true one for my own purposes.”
Maris stopped her work to grin at her. “Clever girl. For even should he attempt to follow you, he will be lost.”
“Aye.”
They were silent for a moment—Joanna enjoying the touch of a healer and the moment where she need not fear that her peace would be interrupted. Maris worked quickly and with great efficiency.
When she finished her work, Maris carefully rolled up the leather satchel and walked to a large trunk beside the fireplace. As she turned, she spoke. “What of Bernard, Joanna? How does he figure into this scheme?”
’Twas a question Joanna had avoided in her own mind, and now she was face to face with it. “I do not know. Any involvement with me will anger Ralf….but Bernard has promised to free me from my husband. In sooth, I do not know how he would—other than to murder him.” She looked at Maris, who stood solemnly watching her, aware of her earlier question regarding David and Bathsheba. “Nay. He is an honorable man. He would not do that.”
“Do you care for him?”
“Aye.” Oh,
She stood, thrusting those thoughts away. “I must take your leave now, Maris. I am so very grateful that we have met—and I thank you for tending to me.”
There was an awkward moment before Maris stepped forward to embrace her gingerly—but even so, Joanna drew in her breath at the pain.
“Have a care, Joanna. I would sit with you on the morrow to watch the jousting.”
“Thank you again. I will find my own way to my chamber.” And with that, Joanna slipped out the door and back into her life of hell.
IV.
As it was most often, Bernard’s instinct was accurate. He made an early visit to the stables and found Joanna within.
She halted in the act of climbing a ladder into the loft of the stable when he approached, and for the barest moment, a flicker of anxiety crossed her face. But then, she gestured for him to join her as she continued her ascension.
“Good morrow, my lady,” Bernard said in a low voice as he stepped onto the thick hay, joining her in the loft. He ducked nearly double to walk toward her, finally sinking into a spot next to her.
“Good morrow, my lord.” She glanced briefly at him, then, as though shy in his presence, turned her attention to Cleome—who nestled comfortably in a pile of straw. As he watched, she withdrew a cloth-wrapped parcel, unfolding it to reveal a bit of meat and cheese.
“Are you well?” he asked, scrutinizing her as well as he could in the dim light. “I had to see that Ralf did you no further ill last eve.”
“Nay. He returned to the chamber very late, and fell asleep immediately. ’Twas strange, as he had not had much ale to drink at dinner.” She fed Cleome from her hand.
Bernard could not keep a satisfied smile from his face. He’d taken care to keep Ralf from returning to the chamber by soundly defeating the man in a very long game of dice. ’Though Ralf’s parting words were an angry threat to meet him on the lists this day, Bernard gave little thought to the warning. “Good.”
He reached for her hand, gently taking the remainder of Cleome’s food from her fingers, and turning Joanna to face him. “Come hither, my lady. I wish for a token from you before I joust this day.”
“But you have my favor,” she replied in confusion.
“I speak not of that favor, but of another, sweeter, one.” With a gentle tug, he brought her shoulders and face closer to him. “Now, where we cannot be seen, might I take a soft kiss from you, my lady? As though I were going into battle?”
Her lips curved softly, and her cheeks warmed. “Aye, my lord, though I am not well-practiced in the art of kissing. I would that you should teach me.”
Her simple statement caused a great surge of affection and desire to course through him. In what other arts would she need tutoring?
“Joanna….” He fitted his hands around her face, cupping her chin with his palms and curving his fingers about the back of her neck. Her braids rested heavily against his wrists, and her sweet, fresh scent filled him, even before he brought his mouth to cover hers. She raised her eyes trustingly, and for the moment, he was taken aback that she—who had been so abused by a man—should so easily come to trust him. He was humbled, for he would never have been able to open himself thus.
Her lips parted as he covered them, and the hint of warm moistness tasted as it had before—of strawberries and freshness. This time, however, Bernard took more than the faint brushing of lips in the garden. He fitted his mouth to hers, nibbling on her lips, delving into her mouth, inhaling the essence of Joanna.
She gave a soft moan that vibrated against his lips, sending a new wave of arousal through him. She lifted her hands from their place in the hay, shifting so that she leaned into him, and brought her fingers to gently touch the curls on his head. His scalp came alive at that unfamiliar touch, tingles shooting down the back of his neck and along his spine. Then, as she kissed him with growing fervor, her hands smoothed down over his ears and to his shoulders, where their heat burned him, but their weight was barely noticeable.
Pulling her to his chest so that their torsos fit together as they knelt in the straw, he deepened the kiss— fighting to keep from frightening her with his desire, but needing to get his fill. It was the softness, the gentleness, the clean womanness of her scent that he held and wanted…and through the haze of irrational desire, vowed he would have.
