Rexanne Becnel (25 page)

“We shall seek the king’s company shortly. I would have Matilda attend me. And Adele.” Her polished nails drummed idly on the arm of her chair. Then she turned her gemlike gaze on Joanna. “You also, Lady Joanna. The king needs reminding of his duty to his newest ward.”

Rylan strode down the wide stairs of the house he had taken in Ely. In the yard Kell stood with two horses. He was dressed for court, yet well armed with daggers in both boots and a short formal sword sheathed at his girdle.

“She is there,” the Norseman informed his lord as he handed over the reins to Rylan’s mount.

“I never doubted she would be.” Rylan mounted without further comment, but his expression was grim and his shoulders were hunched tightly. Although he told himself it was ever thus when he confronted his careless and ineffectual king, he could not deny to himself that this time he was more tightly wrought than ever. Up to now he’d been the one to frustrate John—to prick his pride and thwart his devious plans. And it should have been so this time as well. His secret betrothal to Lady Marilyn Crosley would send John into a fit of apoplexy, and he should have been relishing that event enormously.

But his pleasure at such a coup was completely dampened, and all due to one slender young maiden.

No, it was not solely her doing. He who prided himself on anticipating and preparing for every possibility had sorely misjudged her reaction to being abducted. He’d considered the king’s opposition but never hers. Now he was paying for his oversight. His jaw clenched convulsively as he realized once more the pleasure John would take in his predicament. He would no doubt taunt him unmercifully with Joanna’s presence at court.

Still, there was some small consolation, he decided. Joanna was sure to try the king’s patience as completely as she had tested his own. Unfortunately, the king was not one to long tolerate obstinance.

As they cantered out of the yard, followed by two squires and four men-at-arms, Rylan knew that he would be the only one to stand between Joanna’s willfulness and the king’s temper. Whether she liked it or not, he was her only ally at court.

There was no conversation as they rode the scant mile to Ely Abbey. Rylan scanned the place with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing it closely in the event he be required to beat a hasty exit. The abbey at Ely was a vast complex. Under an earlier series of bishops the abbey had built a chapel, dormitories, and the few requisite buildings. But the abbey had grown considerably since then. Cathedral, refectory, bake house, brew house, millhouse, and more gardens, fishponds, and accommodations for visitors of all ranks. The encircling walls had grown ever wider, like the series of rings in one of the ancient oaks that marked the entry gate. But despite the accommodating walls, the abbey sprawled beyond them, hemmed in only by the bustling town that had grown up beside it.

King John and his vast entourage required just such expansive living accommodations. The court had not been to Ely in three years. No doubt John would stay as long as the bishop’s storehouses could provide the generous feasting a king’s presence demanded. Rylan grimaced to himself. The people of Ely most certainly faced a lean winter this year.

The two squires tended the horses once the party dismounted. The men-at-arms, knowing their duty, melted into the bustling activity in the abbey. They were to keep their eyes open and their wits about them. Rylan brought only Kell with him to the bishop’s great parlor. While he did not discount the king’s treachery, he understood John well enough to know that today at least he would want to gloat. The king would want every baron and noble in the land to know of his victory over Lord Blaecston in the matter of Oxwich Castle and the Lady Joanna Preston.

“Blaecston!” A surprised voice called out to him as he strode across a marble-floored antechamber. “By the rood, man. Hardly thought to see you at court.”

Rylan paused to greet Sir Guillaume of Reislip, conscious that the man’s booming voice had caused several heads to turn in his direction. As the murmurs quickly began, he knew he was well and truly announced. The quick scurrying of Sir George Gaines into the hall beyond guaranteed that the king would very soon hear of his presence as well.

“Good to see you, Reislip,” Rylan answered, not betraying his thoughts by even a wry twist of the lips. He took the hand Sir Guillaume offered then gestured to his silent companion. “May I present Kell Farstad.”

Sir Guillaume’s eyes widened at the sight of the towering Norseman, and Rylan had to stifle another grin. Kell usually struck most people that way. His excessive height and apparent strength coupled with his perpetual reserve were enough to give any reasonable person second thoughts.

But he’d not frightened Joanna, the aberrant thought came. She’d discovered Kell’s one weakness right away—his overpowering fear of water. And she’d used it to her advantage.

Had she since guessed his own weakness—his disturbing weakness for her? Rylan wondered distractedly. A tug at his sleeve brought his attention back to the effusive Sir Guillaume.

“The king’s been in a mood,” the man whispered confidentially. “You presence here ain’t likely to appease him much.”

Rylan observed the frank curiosity on Sir Guillaume’s face, then glanced around to see several other barons drifting his way.

“I’d like to believe that,” he murmured more to himself than to Guillaume. “However, I would not be surprised if for once the king is most pleased to entertain me at court.”

There was no time for anyone to question or even wonder at Rylan’s words, for a sudden commotion was raised at the entrance to the bishop’s parlor. People fell back to make way even as others leaned closer to see. But Rylan did not have to see to know who approached. The king was too anxious to flaunt his victory—his possession of Lady Joanna—to wait even the time it took for Rylan to reach the bishop’s parlor. He came now to taunt Rylan, to reveal to everyone who now held the upper hand. Though Rylan had expected no less and had prepared himself for the public humiliation the king would force, he nonetheless did not like it. Though he was flanked by Sir Guillaume and Kell, he did not acknowledge either of them. He only clenched his jaw and steeled himself for what was sure to come.

But even Rylan’s self-control was not proof against the sight that met his eyes. He was right that John himself had created the stir in his haste to confront him. But he had not expected Joanna to be at his side.

A part of him knew he should not be surprised, yet he felt the impact of her presence as profoundly as a blow to his stomach. She was more beautiful than he recalled—slender, elegant, with her hair long and flowing down the back of her gown as was appropriate for a maiden.

For one insane moment he recalled how that luxurious length of hair had appeared against the pale skin of her bare breasts. But he immediately choked back that memory. She was on John Lackland’s arm now, not his. And if he were to change that fact, he must keep his wits about him. But he nevertheless rebelled at the very idea. King John had no right to clutch her arm so! Nor to draw her nearer with his beringed hand! It did not matter that she was legally a ward of the court now. She belonged only to him—

That mad thought sobered Rylan’s fury at once.

She did not belong to him—nor did he want her to. Yet the distinct tautness in his loins made it very difficult to accept that truth. He wanted her wed to a trusted Yorkshire lord. That was what he’d wanted from the beginning, and what he wanted now, he told himself. Yet he could not deny that their time together on Isle Sacré had sorely tested his intentions.

Even now he was torn by the conflicting requirements of duty and honor, of political gain and morality.

Around him murmurs of curiosity began. People shifted for a better view of the king and the unknown beauty on his arm. But Rylan was oblivious to all. Although the king plainly sought out his adversary in the sea of faces, Rylan did not notice.

He saw only Joanna.

She was pale and clearly frightened by the strange surroundings and crush of people. Yet she was lovely beyond his every memory. Beyond all imagining.

“Christ and bedamned,” he swore softly—viciously. She was here because of his reckless fascination for her. Had he but kept his wits about him instead of becoming distracted by her innocent beauty, they would both now be safely ensconced at Blaecston Castle, safe from the king’s machinations.

Then her darting gaze moved past him and swiftly returned, to lock firmly with his own. Her surprise at his appearance was obvious. But after that was it relief he saw flare? Or was it fury?

He did not have time to determine an answer, for at the same moment the king also spied him. With a smug smile John halted his progress, then patted Joanna’s hand, drawing her attention away from Rylan.

“I see Blaecston is here,” the king remarked with studied nonchalance to the man at his elbow. His voice was just loud enough to carry throughout the hushed crowd in the antechamber. “Do invite him to join us at the noon meal, Sir George.” Then he turned with regal confidence and headed back into the bishop’s parlor, his grasp firm on Lady Joanna’s arm.

Joanna was in a state of shock as she paraded beside the king back into the chamber they’d exited only moments previously. Rylan was here!

In the past hour since she’d been in the king’s presence, she’d felt herself more an object of barter than ever before. The king had scrutinized her as a horse buyer might, and smiled at the queen as if to convey his pride in a bargain well made. Joanna’s courage had been sorely tested, and her only defense had been to close her feelings off, to retreat into a shell of frozen emotions. But at her first unexpected sight of Rylan, her heart had leapt with joy. He had come for her, she had thought with enormous relief.

But now she was beset by a far less pleasant thought. If he was here in the lair of his avowed foe, it could only be for one reason. He had come to redeem whatever he could of his foiled plot. She’d ruined his scheme to marry her to a baron friendly to his cause. But he clearly hoped somehow to undo the damage. Could he actually expect to abduct her once more, and from beneath the king’s very nose?

Despite her best attempt to restore her composed expression, Joanna felt desolation rise in her throat. She swallowed hard and forced back the tears that burned for release, but she could not help but peer over her shoulder to where Rylan stood. Though the noisy crowd surged behind the king, Rylan’s powerful silhouette was easy to discern. His formidable height, his long dark hair, and his piercing gaze captured her gaze. But more than that, his aura of power even in this moment of his apparent defeat was unmistakable.

She stared helplessly at him, overcome with the futility of her position until a sharp pinch on her arm drew her attention away.

“You are new here, so I will forgive your lapse this time,” the king murmured for her ears only. “In the future I suggest you ignore all men save those to whom I specifically direct your attention.”

His narrowed gaze bored into her wide, frantic eyes. Then he patted her arm and smiled benignly. “Actually, I may wish you to pay particular interest toward Sir Rylan Kempe. Though your distaste for the man who so cruelly attempted to abduct you is understandable, his greatest flaw is only that his little scheme failed. Though brilliantly conceived, he was not able to see it through to fruition. So do not judge him too harshly, my dear. Now—” He broke off as they approached the queen and directed his words to his wife. “We are satisfied to dine. However, I would have Lord Blaecston attend us. And the Lady Joanna as well.”

Isabel smiled at her husband, then with a negligent gesture sent one of her ladies scurrying with instructions to the chamberlain to adjust the seating arrangements accordingly.

For a moment Joanna was left alone, standing in the midst of too many people with too many ulterior motives for her to cope with. Laughter floated in the air. Talk was constant. The scent of mint and lavender rose from the rushes, competing with the fragrance of various perfumes and the odor of unwashed bodies. Myriad braces of candles flickered, as did numerous torches, for the dim hall was well lit for the entertainments. The cry of a hunting bird startled her, and her distracted glance sought out the hooded bird that sat on the back of the king’s hide-covered chair.

As she eyed the hunting bird, she felt a sudden rush of kinship with it, for she was in much the same way: hooded and chained. Blind to what was happening around her and unable to free herself. She clutched her hands at her waist and bit down on her lower lip, desperately willing her trembling to cease.

Then one of the ladies-in-waiting tugged at her elbow, directing her toward the high table where she was to sup in the king and queen’s company. She moved forward a bit, but her eyes remained focused on the magnificent falcon.

She might indeed be in the same dire straits as the king’s prized hunting falcon, she consoled herself, but she was not the only one. Like that fleet bird of prey, Sir Rylan Kempe was also chained, his hunting curtailed by the king’s own hand. Still, that did not remedy her situation, for no matter who was the hunter, Oxwich was nevertheless the lure.

And she was still the prey.

J
OANNA STOOD BEHIND HER
chair waiting, as did the others, for the king to progress to his place and be seated. Her hands clenched the chair back as if it were a lifeline, and indeed, she was certain her legs would have buckled and she would have collapsed had the solid oak chair not afforded her its support. She stared blindly ahead, refusing to meet any eye—most certainly not Lord Blaecston’s. But she was nevertheless acutely aware of the numerous inquiring stares sent her way.

What in heaven’s name was the king up to? He and Rylan were quite obviously political adversaries. If she’d doubted Rylan’s word on it, the king’s smug behavior now confirmed it. This invitation for Rylan to dine at the high table was meant as a means to gloat, but Joanna found it unnecessary and most unbecoming to a monarch. Yet John’s behavior mattered to her only insofar as it affected her. And it was clear that he saw her as a method to goad Rylan.