Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (6 page)

She gazed steadily at him, torn between
disbelief and hope. “I am indebted, my lord,” she said quietly. “It does not
seem enough to thank you.”

An enormous hand came up and he
took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted her head to get a
better look at her exquisite face; she had the most amazing eyes of pale blue,
a striking contrast against her dark hair.  He took the moment to openly study
her, the first time he had done so since they had been introduced. Much to his
horror, he could feel his defenses softening but at the moment, he didn’t much
care.

“You will not address me so
formally in private,” he said quietly, still studying her face. “I will answer
to Stephen. Or Husband.”

Joselyn gazed at him, feeling strange
warmth bubbling in her belly.  The longer he looked at her, the more the warmth
seemed to spread, making it difficult to breathe.  Even as he inspected her,
she inspected him in return; his eyes were so vibrantly blue that she swore
there was lavender in them.  He had a beautifully square jaw, set like stone, and
a powerful brow.  Physically, the man was as close to perfection as she had
ever seen. 

Suddenly, he dropped his hand and
rose from the bed. Startled, she watched him walk to the door and unbolt it.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He looked at her, his expression
harboring a strange shadow of remorse.  He cleared his throat softly.

“To see what has become of your
mother,” he replied. “You will not leave this room until I return.”

So he was not as hard as she had
originally thought. His expression said it all and somehow, in some way, she
felt as if a weight had been lifted off of her.  It was kindness from a
stranger she had not expected.

“I will not leave this room,” she
promised softly.

With a short nod, he turned from
her and lifted the latch.  She called after him before he could get away.

“Sir Stephen?”

He paused. “Aye?”

“For your kindness towards my
mother,” she grasped for words. “I… thank you.”

He looked rather surprised by her
gratitude. And then he looked guilty.  Without another word, he quit the room.

CHAPTER THREE

Joselyn woke up the next morning
alone in the small, dirty bed.  It was light outside but she had no way of
knowing what time it was.  Stirring, she propped herself up on her elbows only
to realize that at some point during the night, someone had piled a mound of
woolen blankets on the bed and a fire burned low in the hearth.  The wood was
crumbling, indicating the fire had been burning for some time.  Just the least
bit curious, not to mention touched, she realized that Stephen must have
returned at some point.

Sitting up, she swiftly
remembered that she hadn’t a stitch of clothing on.  Her rough surcoat and
shift were still on the floor where she had dropped them.  In spite of the
fire, the room was chilly and she moved to the edge of the bed, aiming for her
clothing on the floor, when more items caught her attention that hadn’t been
there the night before.

A bucket of water and a small
cake of white soap sat on a small table just to the right of the bed.  Standing
up, she hooted when her feet hit the freezing floor as she hobbled over to the
soap and water.  A folded square of linen was placed behind the bucket,
presumably to dry off with, and her lips twitched with a smile.  She could
hardly believe that the cold, hard man she had met yesterday would actually
provide her with such luxuries and kindness that she could scarcely comprehend.
Perhaps he was not so cold and hard, after all.  It was too good to believe.

Just as she picked up the soap,
the final surprise caught her eye; folded up quite neatly on a small
three-legged stool next to the water and soap, were at least two layers of
different colored material.  Intrigued, she picked up the first bundle and
watched it unfurl into a splendid surcoat the color of cranberries.  She
fingered the fabric, noting it was very soft wool that was long of sleeve and
square of neck.  It was also unhemmed and unfinished.

Underneath it lay at shift made
out of a material so fine and soft that it was surely made of clouds.  Awed,
she picked it up, rubbed it against her cheek and was delighted to note that it
did not scratch her at all as the wool did. In fact, she had spent the past ten
years wearing rough woolen garments of all kinds and her skin was constantly
red and rashy from the material.  It was miserable but it was all she knew. The
introduction of the white shift made of angel’s wings had her reeling with
delight.

Quickly, she threw off the dirty
tartan and washed liberally in the cold water.  She hooted and gasped as she
lathered the soap and bathed, unassisted, in the corner of the dingy room. It
had been the first bath she had taken in ages, so it was something of a delicious
treat.  The soap smelled strongly of pine but she didn’t care; it was a
wonderful luxury in a world that had very few.  After she had washed her
slender white body thoroughly, she stuck her head into what remained of the
water in the bucket and lathered her hair up with the pine-smelling soap.

Her hair was trickier to wash
than her body but she managed to rinse it relatively clean.  Anything was clean
compared to what it had been.  And with that, she dressed in the soft white
shift and pulled the surcoat over her head.  There were latticed-strings on the
bodice of the garment, strategically placed the length of her torso under each
arm, and it took some time for her to lace them up properly.  She’d never owned
anything even remotely fancy and was having a difficult time navigating the
strings.  But once they were properly tied, it gave her a wonderful curvy appearance
as the bodice emphasized her slender waist and full breasts.  She had never
worn anything like it.

With that, she put on her worn
hose and under garments, feeling better of body and spirit than she had in
months.   Taking the drying linen, which was now damp, she put the three-legged
stool next to the hearth, sat down, and proceeded to dry her hair near the
warmth of the dim fire.   She was still sitting there a half hour later when
there was a soft knock at the door.

She stopped running her fingers
through her hair to dry it. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened and Stephen
appeared. Joselyn did a double-take as he walked into the room and softly shut
the door; in the light of day, he was far more handsome than she had
remembered. She’d only seen the man in the dark or by weak firelight, never
with the glory of the sun shining upon him.  It made her heart pound strangely
simply to look at him.

Stephen, too, was swallowing his
mild surprise; since meeting Joselyn last night, her beauty, for the most part,
had been completely obscured by her worn clothes and dirty tartan.  The
darkness of the night had also done much to shroud her.  But sitting before
him, clean and shiny, dressed in the new surcoat and shift he had brought her,
she literally took his breath away. He’d never seen anything so lovely.

“Good morn to you, Lady Pembury,”
he suddenly felt quite dirty and disheveled next to this glorious creature. “I
hope you slept well.”

She stood up, a petite little
thing against his enormous height. “I did, thank you,” she nodded. A briefly
awkward silence followed as they continued to appraise each other in the
daylight.  When the pause because excessive, she fingered the surcoat as if
suddenly remembering it. “I assume you brought this for me?”

He nodded, noting how the cut of
the garment gave her a figure like no other woman he had ever laid eyes on. “I
thought you could use something clean to wear,” he indicated the cranberry
colored wool. “While checking the sentries just before dawn, I came across a
merchant who was cleaning out his partially burned store. He had some women’s
garments that he had brought over from Paris to sell, so I bought the whole lot
of them. Most of them smell like smoke, so I turned them over to the serving
women here at Berwick to wash.  This was the only garment that didn’t seem to
suffer any damage.”

She stared at him. “You… you
bought me more clothes?”

He nodded, walking half way
around her to better inspect the surcoat and the way it draped over her
luscious backside. “Aye,” he paused, gaining a good view of her rump. “I
suspected you did not have much of a wardrobe given the fact that you were
wearing peasant clothing and tartan.   As my wife, I should like you to be well
dressed.”

Joselyn was stunned, unsure what
to say to the man. He had gone well out of his way to bring her something fine
and she was momentarily speechless.  “Then…,” she started again. “Then I thank
you for your generosity. I do not own anything fine or glorious. This is the
first lovely garment I have ever had.”

He moved back around to the front
of her and faced her with his hands on his slender hips. “And it will certainly
not be the last,” he replied decisively. “Your beauty already outshines every
woman in England.  Putting you in fine clothing and jewels is like adding stars
to moon and sky; it simply enhances what is already breathtaking.”

By the time he was finished, she
was blushing furiously.  When their eyes met, she grinned modestly and lowered
her gaze.  He laughed softly.

“You have never heard such things
before, have you?” he asked.

She shook her head, still
averting her eyes. “From the nuns of Jedburgh? I doubt it.”

He laughed again and she dared to
look at him; he had a magnificent smile with big white teeth and a huge dimple
in his left cheek.  In fact, his entire face lit up when he smiled, changing
his features dramatically.  She was mesmerized.

“Well,” he rubbed his cheeks as
his smile faded. “You had better become used to flattery. I have a feeling it
will not be the last time you hear it from my lips.”

She continued to grin modestly,
feeling his heated gaze upon her.  Somewhat giddy, she went over to the bed and
tossed aside the tartan in the quest to find her shoes.

“Have you broken your fast yet,
my lord?” she was trying to slip her shoes on with quivering hands; the man had
completely unnerved her with his glorious smile and sweet words. “I shall find
the kitchen and procure some food.”

He shook his head. “Unnecessary,”
he told her. “I have come to take you to the hall.   There is food aplenty
there.”

Shoes on her feet, she faced
him.  As he watched, the smile faded from her face.  She suddenly looked quite
upset as if the entire world had just come crashing down on her.  His brow
furrowed, wondering about the sudden change of mood, when she spoke.  The first
words out of her mouth explained everything.

“The hall…,” she swallowed and
groped for words. “Would… would you please tell me where my mother is? How is
she?”

His smile faded as well.  He knew
the question would come but he wished it hadn’t. He was enjoying the first
pleasant conversation they had ever had and didn’t want to spoil the mood.
Still, there was no use in avoiding the inevitable. She had to know the truth.

He sighed faintly. “Your mother
is with God,” he murmured. “There was nothing I could do for her.”

The tears welled as he watched. 
“She is dead?”

“She is. I am sorry.”

“Was… was she dead when you
returned to her?”

Stephen thought of the gored
corpse and how her father had held it and wept. “She was,” his voice was soft
and low. “She is no longer in pain, my lady. She is at peace.”

 Joselyn turned away, struggling
not to sob out loud, but it was beyond her control.  Covering her face with a
hand, she wept deeply.

Stephen watched her heaving
shoulders, feeling badly that he had brought such terrible news.  Truth be
told, he had brought her the new garments and other luxuries before she awoke,
hoping to soften the blow.  He was not as heartless as she had accused him of
being and he didn’t want her to think he was made of stone. It was no way to
start a marriage. Moreover, there was more bad news to come.

“Your father and the rest of your
clan were removed from Berwick before dawn,” he reasoned that he might as well
tell her all of it so she could grieve for everything all at once. “They are
being escorted to Alnwick Castle where they will be held for trial. Your
mother’s body remains here for burial.”

She wept as if her heart was
broken. “You sent my father away?”

Stephen drew in a long, deep
breath. “He is the king’s prisoner, my lady. There was nothing else to do with
him.”

“Please,” she went to him, her
hands folded in front of her in a pleading gesture. “Please bring him back and
I swear he will not cause any trouble. My father is old and unwell. I am
afraid… afraid that confinement in the vault will only lead to his death. It
will surely kill him.”

Stephen was not without sympathy.
“I cannot grant your request, lady,” he said softly. “Your father is a prisoner
of the king and only the king can make that decision.”