LADY UNDAUNTED: A Medieval Romance (26 page)

Her heart longing all the more for this man, tears stinging her eyes, she said, “Do they know?”

“I have told them.”

“What will you do with them?”

His gaze grew distant. “When Thornemede is completely mine—not only its lands but its people who yet chafe at my lordship—I will place them with a good family.”

“Together?”

“I will not separate them.”

She nodded. “Are there others?”

“Five known, but there are likely more.”

“Where?”

“With their mothers. But enough of this. Now I would know your reason for riding to Thornemede.”

Catching movement to her left, she returned her attention to the children and smiled when Oliver took the girl’s hand in his.

“Joslyn?” Liam prompted.

“’Tis best we speak elsewhere. Have you someone who can watch Oliver?”

“Meg cares for Gertrude and the boys.” He nodded at the woman who stood to the side, gaze intent on the children, then motioned for Joslyn to follow him.

Abovestairs, she stepped ahead of him into a chamber that proved to be the lord’s solar, as evidenced by a screen across the room beyond which she glimpsed the posters of a sizable bed.

“Your mantle.” Liam held out a hand.

She unfastened the brooch, drew off the garment, and handed it to him.

“What is this?” he said sharply, and she saw he looked at her neck.

She touched the bandage. “A minor cut.”

“Ivo,” he growled, and when she did not deny it, gestured at the chairs before the hearth.

She chose the one with its back to the screened-off bed.

“Speak,” Liam said as he lowered opposite, but she did not take offense, knowing his anger was not directed at her.

“Ivo returned to Ashlingford,” she said and began to explain what had transpired.

He interrupted and told her to remove the bandage, but though she proved the injury was slight, he spat between his teeth, “I will put him in the ground.”

“Liam, do not speak so. I am well and Emma seems none the worse for their encounter.”

He thrust upright. “Why did you not go for help?”

“I should have, but when I heard him strike Emma, I did not think.”

He turned, crossed the chamber, came back. “He could have killed you!”

She wished she could gainsay him, but as she had been wrong in defending Ivo against having set brigands on Liam, she would be wrong in this. “I know.”

“Did they find him?”

“They searched through the night, but he escaped.”

Liam was not surprised. Doubtless, Ivo was long gone before the Ashlingford men put foot to stirrup. But he would reappear, and knowing that, Liam was tempted to keep Joslyn and Oliver here with him. However, their people needed them at Ashlingford, not among the ruins of Thornemede.

Liam rebuked himself for not questioning Oliver further when the boy had mentioned Emma’s coins. Was this what yearning did to a man? So dull his instincts and senses he thought with the mind of a lovesick youth rather than that of a man trained to watch his back? If so, he would soon be dead, there being no end to his longing for Joslyn.

“Where is the money now?”

She stood. “Locked in Sir Hugh’s chest. Liam, what if Ivo comes again?”

“He
will
come again, which is why you must take no more chances with Oliver and yourself.”

“As I did in coming here.”

He inclined his head. “’Tis good you had a sizable escort.”

An apologetic smile lifted her mouth. “Sir Hugh insisted. I am ashamed to say I thought half as many would suffice.”

The sweet scent of her wafting to him like the best wine, he looked to the screen before the bed. It divided the chamber to allow this half to be used for receiving visitors, but it was no place for him and Joslyn. He should not have brought her here. Better he had taken her to the garden that was no longer a garden…the kitchen…the bailey…

“Liam?”

He returned his attention to her. “I am sorry Ivo harmed you. Would that I could have been there to stop him.”

“I am well, and I would have you know there is another reason I came to Thornemede that has naught to do with Ivo, but all to do with you.” She stepped much too near. “You asked if I love you.”

He tensed, wanting to hear what she had denied him, yet wishing she would not speak it.

“I do, Liam. I love you.”

Beautiful words—and perilous, for she would be more easily tempted to a place they should not go. That place just beyond the screen. And that alone would not be enough for him.

He stepped back. “I am honored you gift me with something so precious, but the only thing it changes is the degree of difficulty in being alone with you.”

“The only thing?” she said softly.

She wished to know if he loved her. Even more perilous words, especially with harvests to be brought in, the plague to overcome, and Ivo who sought to bring the Church down upon them.

“The only thing, Joslyn.”

Hurt brightened her eyes. “Because of Maynard, that I was first his?”

Reminded of what she had said and regretted in the hall—that her husband had found women more willing than she, he asked, “Why did you wed him?”

Her gaze wavered. “As you have not the words to give to me that I gave to you, ’tis of no consequence.”

He did have the words, but if ever he dared speak them, it would be when they could become more than words. A seemingly impossible feat.

He strode to the door, looked around. “We have been gone too long, Lady Joslyn. Dinner will be served soon.”

She nodded curtly, set her shoulders back, and walked past him.

For the best, Liam assured himself as he followed. And wished it were not so.

It was hard and lumpy as only a worn, under-stuffed mattress could be, but Joslyn hardly felt the discomfort as she lay in the dark with only her thoughts for company.

She sighed, the small sound large in the quiet of the chamber she and Oliver had been given. If only she could stop thinking about Liam. If only she could push out this pain.

Stifling a groan, she turned from her back to her side, bunched the pillow beneath her head, and tried to settle into sleep. But it refused her as surely as Liam had. He wanted her, of that she was certain, but not enough to speak words that would bind his heart to hers.

She huddled more deeply into the bedclothes, wished Oliver and she had returned to Ashlingford following the nooning meal. Instead, she had endured the rest of the day and stayed the night as planned.

The only good of it was that Oliver was content. Having heard the rest of his stories before bedding down, he had fallen asleep wearing a smile.

If only Liam were as willing to make her smile…

From the roof of the gatehouse in the cool of the morn, Liam watched the Ashlingford party ride out of sight, then closed his eyes and gave Joslyn the words he had refused to speak aloud lest there was no hope for them.

Then he returned to the hall and composed a missive he prayed would not fall on deaf ears.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The harvest was in, and still the plague had not knocked on Ashlingford’s door. Blessedly.

Though Joslyn suffered no illusions the dread sickness would pass them by, she was grateful it held back long enough to bring in the grain needed to sustain them through winter.

“God answers prayers,” she murmured. “Just not all.”

Turning into the winds that blew down from the north, she allowed her hood to be swept from her head. As the blustering air rearranged her hair, she stared across the landscape to the patterned fields where sheep wandered, grazing on stubble left by cattle that had first foraged there.

It was the last day for the animals to fatten themselves in these fields. Come the morrow, the plow would once again be put to earth to allow the sowing of winter cereal crops for the following year. Thus, Liam would soon return, might even now be riding from Thornemede to oversee the first breaking of ground.

Beneath her mantle, Joslyn hugged her arms about her. She almost wished he would not return. Though it was more than two months since she had visited Thornemede, the pain of his rejection had not lessened. With each trip he had made to Ashlingford since, it worsened, and all the more because of the distance he kept between them.

She told herself that a lifetime of longing was preferable to time and again testing temptation until they fell into sin, but how she missed his touch! And how much more she ached knowing that even if only to produce heirs, he would eventually wed a woman more suitable than the widow of the brother who had betrayed him.

Joslyn squared her shoulders, tugged the reins to bring her mount around, and was swept by the sensation of being watched—and it came not from behind where her four escort awaited her.

Upon a knoll on the right from which the deepening of autumn had cleared its green grasses, a lone rider sat, robes flapping in the wind, dark silvered hair blowing across his face, sword jutting from his hip.

Ivo. Returned as Liam had predicted.

Throat constricting, she snapped her head around. Her escorts were where she had left them, huddled at the edge of the wood where the wind was not as harsh. And as it appeared none looked her way, they were unaware of the danger she had placed herself in by seeking a few minutes of solitude distant from them.

She looked back at Ivo. He had not moved. He did not need to. Even if she could persuade her palfrey to give all to flight, Ivo’s warhorse would reach her before her escort.

Though she had her meat dagger, it would be of no use against his far-reaching sword. In the absence of a miracle, the only thing left to her was a vain attempt at escape.

Joslyn frowned. Ivo expected her to flee—likely looked forward to the sport of chasing her down—so why not go to him willingly? It might unsettle him enough for her to find opportunity in it.

Keeping her face impassive despite a fiercely pounding heart, she urged her horse up the knoll at a leisurely pace. Although tempted to look behind to see if her escort had noticed what transpired, she did not.

“Father Ivo!” she called as she neared.

“Father?” His eyes narrowed. “Why so formal, Joslyn? Surely you know ’tis no longer necessary.”

Of course he blamed her for his defrocking. “Excommunicated you may be, but still you wear the robes of a holy man.”

His smile was hideous. “I prefer the word
unchurched.
’Tis not as permanent as excommunicated.”

Drawing ever nearer, Joslyn swallowed hard to return to her belly the bile creeping up her throat. “But it
is
permanent. The Church will not allow you back after what you have done.”

“Are you really so naive? All it takes is money.”

“Which you do not have.” She reined in before him.

He leaned forward in the saddle. “I shall. ’Tis why I have watched you these past weeks, knowing you would eventually leave yourself open. And so you have.”

Then he had seen her daily rides over the demesne. Chilled by the thought of his eyes often on her, she started to look around.

“Aye, they come,” he said, peering past her.

As he seemed in no hurry, the Ashlingford knights must have just noticed them atop the knoll, leaving Ivo time to do with her as he wished.

“They cannot aid you, Joslyn. You know that, do you not?”

Could she aid herself? “It would have been foolish to try to outrun you. Either way, you would kill me.”

He beckoned her closer.

Fighting down the urge to spur away—a gesture more useless now than when there had been some distance between them—she guided her mount alongside his. And prayed the Lord was with her.

Ivo leaned near, and she smelled strong drink on him. “As I know you do not yield easily, Joslyn, I would see what is hidden beneath your mantle.”

Wondering how long ago he had partaken of alcohol, what effects it yet had on him, and how she might use it to her advantage, she stalled. “Why do you not kill me now?”

He unsheathed his dagger. “You will not die this day. As told, I shall have the money due me, and ’twill be easier had with you in my power.”

“Then you will ransom me.”

He glanced at the approaching riders, fingered the blade. “The whoreson comes this day or on the morrow, aye?”

“You know Liam comes,” she purposely supplied his nephew’s Christian name.

A muscle in Ivo’s jaw started up, but he chuckled. “It works well to my advantage, for otherwise there would be the delay of sending for him.” He frowned. “He will give me the money, do you not think? What I mean is, he likes you well enough in his bed he will pay to have you returned to it?”

She nearly denied they had been so intimate, but he would not believe her and her value lay in what he did believe.

He sighed. “Aye, William will give me the money, and when I have it…”

He would kill her, as he would have that night in the garden had he secured the gold and Emma’s writings. The only comfort was that she had more time than believed. But what to do with it?

“Come, Joslyn, be not modest. Open your mantle.”

As she bent her head, her chin grazed the large brooch holding the garment closed at her neck, its spiked pin pleated through the thick fabric. She had intended to part the mantle for Ivo to inspect her person, but she unhinged the brooch, pulled the pin free, and pushed the garment off her shoulders.

“How fares Oliver?” he asked as he moved his gaze over her. It was no idle conversation, the sarcasm having slipped from his voice. He truly was interested.

“He is well,” she said and noted from the sound of approaching hooves that her escort neared. “Just turned three.” She lowered her hand to her side, out of Ivo’s sight, and turned the pin of the brooch upright.

“A year closer to becoming baron of all this,” Ivo said. “Ah, here is what you were thinking to stick in my back.” He pulled her meat dagger from its sheath. “A bit dull.”

“Sharp enough to cut out your black heart.”

Ivo’s attention once more captured by the riders, he ignored her taunt. “Sadly, your escort is too late to save you.”

But near enough to aid her, providing she evaded Ivo’s dagger.