Rexanne Becnel (28 page)

“Don’t run away, Joanna.” He caught her arm then let his hand slide down until he held her hand. “I want to help you.” He tugged her hand, forcing her to face him. “I’m the only one who
can
help you.”

Joanna looked away from him to the crowd of dancers, musicians, and spectators beyond them. “No one can help me,” she countered very softly. For a moment she understood her mother’s desperate decision in the face of hopelessness, and she felt a rush of sympathy for her long-lost parent. But just as quickly she knew that she was nothing like her mother. She could never choose so cowardly a solution.

Yet faced with the nightly assault of a husband she despised …

Joanna shuddered and her gaze returned to Rylan. She despised him, she told herself. Yet she had not despised the intimacy they had shared. Hardly.

As if he sensed her mounting confusion, he took a step nearer. “I can help you,” he repeated. His eyes were dark as midnight, compelling her to hear him out.

Joanna bit her lip, uncertain what to think and whom to believe. But before he could continue or she could respond, the music ended and they were joined by a number of others. The first person to intrude upon their conversation was the king’s confidant, Sir George.

“It shall not work,” the man said to Rylan with a smug smile. “You have lost the quarry this time, Blaecston. Best to concede gracefully.”

Rylan released Joanna’s hand, but his face showed no emotion at the other man’s goading. Then John and Isabel strolled up, both somewhat breathless from the vigorous dancing.

“It appears that our ward has well and truly forgiven Lord Blaecston his several trespasses, does it not, Isabel? They seem positively chatty. What say you, Joanna?” the king continued, clearly in a good humor. “Does Blaecston impress you with the sincerity of his apology? Or is he plotting some new mischief?”

Several ladies tittered behind their hands, and the king and his favored barons grinned to see John’s chief adversary made sport of. But Joanna found no humor in the moment, for if Rylan was presently at the mercy of the king, she was even more so. She’d not even had an opportunity to present her case to John. But now he waited on her answer and she knew she must make whatever advantage of it she could.

“I trust that Lord Blaecston is as sincere as any man may be. For myself, however, I place my trust in our heavenly Father that He will see me back to St. Theresa’s and the holy life I have chosen.”

It was obviously not the sort of response John had expected, and his brow creased at the implied directive in her words. Everyone’s eyes swiveled to him, awaiting his response. But it was Isabel who spoke first.

“Five years you spent preparing for the holy life. You have been at court but one day. I hope, my dear Lady Joanna, that you will grant us more time than that before you speak again of taking up the veil.” Her smile and her pleasant tone kept the rebuke mild. But Joanna caught the glitter in the queen’s dark eyes.

Isabel continued. “Once you have met a few of the gallants who already clamor for an introduction, you will no doubt be more than eager to abandon your previous plans. You were but twelve when you made that choice. Now you are older—and wiser,” she added with a meaningful glance.

Joanna had a ready retort. She was not twelve now, that was certain. She was old enough and knew well enough that marriage was not a beneficial arrangement for most women, and she was prepared to say as much. But she was prevented speaking by a sharp pinch on the back of her upper arm. She winced, then spied Marilyn’s earnest, imploring face. At once Joanna realized that she would not aid her own cause in this manner. Arguing with the royal couple before such an avid audience was worse than useless. It would only harden them in their opposition to her wishes. If she were to succeed, it must be through private conversation and reasoning with them.

She sighed softly and assumed the same patient expression she had learned in her long years at the priory.

“Yes, milady,” she murmured with an obedient bob of her head.

The queen smiled, content with Joanna’s response. The king, however, had not yet had his say. “The religious life is more suitable for some than for others, wouldn’t you agree, Ferendi?”

“Oh, quite. Quite,” the florid-faced bishop responded readily. “We all do our duty to God, but He calls to each of us differently.” He nodded his head and patted his fingertips together across his wide belly in a gesture everyone knew preceded a lengthy discourse.

“Our king rules his subjects at God’s will. Those of us called to the holy life of the church tend to the souls of those very same subjects. Young, healthy noblewomen, however, have their own responsibility, which is to go forth and be fruitful. Yes,” he continued under the king’s satisfied smile, “your duty to God, Lady Joanna, most clearly falls into that area. I have no doubt our heavenly Father will help our king select the very best husband for you.”

“And for Lady Marilyn as well,” John prompted.

“Our Father guides all your decisions,” the holy man pronounced. Then he looked pointedly at Rylan. “Though some endeavor to dispute the law of divine right, those of us who have a closer communication with our God know that mere human decision—based as it is on a weak and self-serving nature—can never be allowed to triumph over God’s will.”

There were murmurs of approval and nods of agreement by those who hung upon the king’s robes. Privately Joanna thought the bishop a pompous fool and the king probably as selfish and grasping as gossip painted him. But she buried her resentment beneath a humbled mien and kept her eyes appropriately downcast.

It was the queen who changed the tenor of the conversation. “Do not be perturbed by Lady Joanna’s honest expression of her feelings, dear husband. I shall make it my duty to ease her into her new life. No doubt she finds court more than a little overwhelming. Shall we start with a stroll around the grounds?” Her eyes sparkled as she glanced around the circle of ladies and courtiers. “Ah, Sir Guy. Will you accompany us?” She patted her husband’s hand and gave him a fond smile. “You will excuse us, my lord?”

Joanna could do nothing but follow along as the queen and several of her women drew her away from the dancing. She glanced back once to meet Rylan’s smoldering stare. But she was uncertain whether it was anger or frustration she read there.

Or perhaps desire?

She quickly dismissed that foolish notion, however, for she well knew he desired one thing only: to win his game with the king. Any desire he felt for her was merely part and parcel with the manipulative games he played. Yet she could not deny the unwonted flutter that rose from low in her belly and sent warm tremors through her. Frowning, she tried to banish such unseemly emotions. She was not cognizant that someone had fallen in step beside her as the queen’s party made its circuitous way from the parlor until a large male hand curved around her elbow.

“Oh!” Joanna let out a gasp of surprise, and a sharp thrill went through her. But when she looked up, the smiling countenance she met was not the one she hoped for.

You are a fool, deserving to wear the jester’s cap,
she rebuked herself sternly. Though her heart’s pace slowed to normal, she cursed the disappointment that welled within her.

“I know we have not been formally presented, Lady Joanna. However, I am hoping you will nonetheless forgive my forwardness, for I have already heard so much about you that I feel as if we are already well acquainted. Allow me to make my own introduction.” The fellow managed an abbreviated bow without missing a step. Then he turned his fair-complected face to her with a wide smile. “I am Sir Guy Bosworth. Of Barnstaple in Devon. May I say that never has court glittered so magnificently as it does since your arrival.”

Joanna took in this long-winded speech with a mixture of irritation and amusement, of which neither emotion seemed appropriate to reveal. After a quick perusal of Sir Guy’s fashionable person, she averted her eyes to watch the trailing hem of Queen Isabel’s aqua ferret-silk surcoat.

“Such a sentiment may not be very well received by the queen and her other ladies,” she commented acerbically.

Her words had the desired affect, for he glanced warily at Isabel then lowered his voice. “I only meant to say how pleased I am to have such a fair maiden in our midst.”

Joanna did not answer, hoping to discourage his attention. Unfortunately, he took her silence for encouragement.

“I shall undertake to make your time at court a pleasure. Once you have met everyone and learned how to get on, you shall wonder at the dullness of your life before now.” He beamed at her, showing his wide brow, strong jaw and even teeth to advantage. “So fair a creature as yourself should not be shuttered behind priory walls.”

Once more Joanna had to suppress her annoyance. Did he truly think to impress her with words that flattered her face while completely ignoring her deepest wishes? But though she held back her angry retort, her scathing glare made her feelings clear. Or at least it should have. Sir Guy’s attention, however, was focused on a bit of twisted braid on the sleeve of his handsome tunic. He then adjusted the brooch that held his short cape open before he looked up with a self-satisfied smile.

“We plan a hawking expedition come the morn. You shall come, of course. Have you a falcon? But no, you arrived quite bereft of baggage, I am told. Then you shall ride with me, for my peregrine is a masterful creature. If you like, I shall let you stroke her.”

Through the abbey gardens his prattle continued. Hawks, horses, hunting—he kept the conversation going without the least assistance from her. Only when the queen halted in a neat walled garden did his chatter subside.

Isabel looked over her entourage. “Dearest Guy, would you and Sir Robert be so good as to put out the wickets? We would appreciate a quick game of
jeu du mail.
” Then her quick gaze looked over her ladies. “Pair up, my pretty butterflies. Matilda with Henry. Adele with Roger.”

Joanna instinctively sidled toward Marilyn. She most certainly did not want to be paired with Guy or any other of the various court buffoons as she had swiftly counted King John’s circle of barons.

“Marilyn and Robert—” the queen began once more. But she was interrupted by the entrance of a young page, who made a hasty bow and murmured something in Lady Matilda’s ear. She promptly passed the message on to the queen.

A faint frown clouded Isabel’s beautiful face, but in a moment she recovered. Her eyes sought Marilyn out once more.

“Marilyn, my dear, we have a message that your father has just arrived. He asks to see you and awaits your company even now in Bishop Ferendi’s private solar. You may go along to greet him.” With a gracious dip of her head Isabel indicated the page waiting to escort Marilyn. “You will, of course, convey my regards to your father. I shall anticipate hearing from you any news that he may carry.”

Marilyn was silent, only bobbing her head in assent as she curtsied to Isabel. For an instant Marilyn’s eyes seemed to search for someone else in the crowd. But before Joanna could ascertain who, the girl turned away, her face two shades paler and her eyes huge with dread.

Why so fearful of her father’s summons? Joanna wondered for a moment. But just as quickly she knew the answer. Marilyn had said that her father was negotiating a marriage contract for her. Perhaps his presence signified that the arrangements were now settled.

A shiver of sympathy went down Joanna’s back. Poor Marilyn. Yet she knew she was in just as unpleasant a situation as her new friend, and with no one to aid her.

At once Rylan’s reassuring words came back to her.
I will not let that happen,
he’d said so confidently. Yet she knew, to her vast disappointment, that
his
help would be little more than no help at all. No, she was quite alone in this matter. Her only chance was to convince the king to release her from her inheritance.

“Now, where were we?” The queen’s soft yet commanding voice interrupted Joanna’s dark thoughts. “Oh, yes. The pairings for
jeu de mail.
Joanna, have you met our Sir Evan? He’s quite good at games, and he’s always a most charming companion. You two shall get on very well, I’m certain.”

To Joanna’s surprise, it was the very man who had danced with Marilyn. “You are too generous with my reputation, my queen,” he averred. Though his smile seemed strained, he bowed to Isabel. Then his gaze turned toward Joanna, and she sensed his curiosity about her. “My Lady Joanna,” he said with a sweeping bow. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. Evan Thorndyke, Lord Manning, at your service.”

Joanna was prepared to be as put off by this new court gallant as she had been by Sir Guy. When he straightened from his bow over her hand, however, his face reflected only a friendly interest and nothing more. He did not take advantage and kiss her hand. Neither did he squeeze it or attempt to keep it within his grasp too long. Instead he took a small step backward and met her gaze directly.

“No doubt you find court—and all who gather here—a curious lot. If I can ease your discomfort in any way, I would be most pleased to do so. Have you ever played
jeu du mail?”

Joanna released the anxious breath she’d been holding. Sir Evan actually seemed a rather pleasant sort. He neither leered nor scrutinized her as if she were an oddity never before seen. No wonder Marilyn had seemed at ease with him. Though her returning smile was hesitant, for some reason Joanna felt this Sir Evan might actually be a man she could learn to like. “No, I’ve never played.”

As the game got under way, Joanna’s instincts proved correct. Sir Evan was a most affable fellow, quick to laugh, but at himself as much as anyone else. He instructed Joanna in the use of the mallet and balls, and as the competition progressed she found her ill humor lifting.

“Oh, good shot. Good shot!” Sir Evan commended when Joanna’s red-striped ball
bumped a purple one away from one of the wickets. Joanna smiled her pleasure at him, but her triumphant expression quickly faded. The purple ball was Isabel’s, and the queen looked most annoyed.