Rexanne Becnel (32 page)

The pity of it, she realized as a shiver of remembered passion shook her, was that she knew all this and yet still yearned for him.

Joanna took a deep breath then pushed herself away from the wall. Lifting her chin, she made her way toward the chamber she shared with Marilyn. Rylan Kempe was a selfish rogue with no thought for anyone’s desires but his own. What
he
wanted, however, could simply go to the devil, she decided with a comforting jolt of anger. There was no reason why his grandiose political aspirations should be allowed to make Marilyn and Evan miserable. Her own plan to match them up was well under way, and she was not about to let him ruin it now.

No, Rylan Kempe was not going to marry Marilyn. Evan was. And even though Rylan might never turn to her—indeed, he would hate her if she foiled his plans, and she would probably be wretched wed to such an arrogant, hard-hearted knave as he—she was nevertheless going forward as planned. All she needed was a way to undo Rylan’s betrothal to Marilyn.

“Sweet mother of God, but I do believe you mad!” Evan burst out when he and Rylan were safely alone. Evan had strode impatiently at Rylan’s side through the abbey’s busy quadrangle past the well and fountain, then beyond the vegetable gardens and physic garden, all the while growing more and more angry with his friend. But now, on the open banks of the River Ouse, upstream from the abbey’s mill, he felt no need to restrain his words.

“You are betrothed to the one, yet pant after the other! Lady Joanna is no merry widow nor loose woman that you may make free with. She is a sheltered girl, a noblewoman whom you should protect, not attempt to ruin!” Then his face grew even redder as a terrible thought seemed to occur to him. “You cannot mean to prevent John from arranging her marriage by destroying her reputation?”

“Christ and bedamned, Evan! Have you so little faith in me as that?” Rylan grabbed at a tall reed, ripping it from its roots.

“When a man is consumed with a woman he does not think with his head. His cods pulls him in directions his brain would never take.”

Rylan’s irritation with his friend cooled somewhat at that, for despite the crude wording, there was an undeniable truth to Evan’s remark. “The mistakes I made with Joanna Preston are in the past. ’Tis my plan to correct them in the only honorable manner I can.” He grinned crookedly at the still-bemused Evan, feeling curiously awkward. “I shall wed her.”

The emotions that raced across Evan’s face caused Rylan’s grin to increase. Evan was shocked at first, then obviously relieved. But then horror and anger returned. “You are betrothed to Lady Marilyn but intend to marry Lady Joanna? What of your contract with Egbert? What of the king’s objections? What of the Lady Marilyn’s reputation?”

With an exasperated sigh Rylan flung down the mutilated reed and ran a hand through his windblown hair. “’Tis a complex situation, I’ll grant you that. But not an impossible one.”

“Oh, aye, let us just go and bend an elbow with John and Egbert. Enough wine shall see everything aright!”

Rylan laughed at his friend’s sarcasm, and his own composure returned. “I admit it will not be easy. Egbert will be furious, and his enmity is something I would avoid at all costs.”

“Do you think he will go over to John?” Evan asked. Having vented his emotions, now that the talk had turned political, he quickly grew serious.

“Of that I cannot be certain. On the one hand, he has resisted all of King John’s suggestions for a likely son-in-law. However, his temper is never easy, and in a fit of anger at me he may capitulate to John’s pressure. Damn, but I wish we could get Marilyn away from court and the hold that gives the king over her—and thereby Egbert. ’Twas a poor day when he let her come under the king’s rule.”

“Egbert agreed to that only to placate John and to buy some time,” Evan replied. “Also, he felt his daughter should learn something of the ways of court and the royal couple. After all, he has kept her secluded in Lawton Castle most of her life. Her vast properties make her the most valuable heiress in England. She must learn how to comport herself in high places.”

Rylan grimaced at that. “The most valuable heiress in all of England. And she was almost mine.”

“She still could be,” Evan responded to Rylan’s words in a guarded tone.

Rylan smiled ruefully. “I never thought to say this, nor even less to believe it. But there are some things more valuable even than properties such as Marilyn’s.”

With an understanding chortle Evan clapped a hand on Rylan’s shoulder. “Some things? Perhaps some Yorkshire heiress?”

It was Rylan’s turn to become serious. “I would have her even without Oxwich,” he admitted with uncharacteristic candor. “Though she came to me bare of foot and with no more than the priory garb I first spied her in.” Then, responding to Evan’s speechless stare, he grinned. “First, however, I must find a way to placate Sir Egbert and salvage the Lady Marilyn’s pride.”

Evan’s face broke into a smile. “Perhaps we can turn up another bridegroom for her. One acceptable both to her father as well as herself.”

“That’s the second time you’ve implied that Egbert’s girl is unhappy with our match. Before you said that she feared me.”

“Aye, she does that. She is very young, you see. And quite shy.”

“You concern yourself most generously with the girl, Evan. You purport to know her temperament. You are privy to her fears at being wed to such a blackguard as I am said to be. And most damning of all, you are clearly fresh from seeing her—calming her, I would venture to guess.” At his friend’s reddened face Rylan let out a laugh of comprehension. “Why did you not tell me of this long ago?”

Evan shifted his stance, staring determinedly down at the muddy shore of the river. “’Twas pointless. You were already betrothed to her. I could see it was a wise match, and certain to bedevil King John.”

“As would a match between you and Marilyn. Your properties and hers would make a formidable showing against the king.” Rylan grinned at the hopeful expression dawning on Evan’s face. “’Twould mean the end of your playful days at court, of course. Your opposition to the king’s unwise reign could no longer be hidden.”

“I chafe at it every day already. To wed Marilyn and throw off this disguise would be a greater blessing than I ever would have hoped for.”

“Well, the bridegrooms are agreed. Now it’s the father and guardians we must address.”

“What of Joanna’s consent? I know Marilyn will not object, but the Lady Joanna clearly has a mind of her own. She appeared none too kindly disposed toward you when she left us,” Evan added, though with a suppressed smile.

Rylan’s dark gaze narrowed speculatively as he thought of Joanna. She would most certainly object. She would harangue him about taking up the veil—as if such a passionate woman could be allowed to waste herself within the confining walls of a priory! But he knew ways to silence her arguments. It would not take long to turn her into a most biddable wife.

“Just leave Joanna to me,” he replied with a determined glint in his eyes. “Just leave the fiery Joanna Preston to me.”

W
HEN SHE SLIPPED INTO
her bedchamber, Joanna gave every appearance of being completely composed. She was resolved not to let Rylan Kempe and his wicked kisses deter her from her goal. When she closed the door and turned to face Marilyn, however, she was taken aback by the beatific expression on her friend’s face.

“He is truly remarkable, is he not? So unlike any other man at court. Gentle. Kind.” Marilyn sighed in complete contentment. But then the glow in her eyes dimmed. “Oh, if only he had offered for me right away. My father would surely have welcomed his suit. But now he can say nothing. Oh, Joanna, why did Evan not speak up before?”

“Because he is Rylan Kempe’s friend, and he knew of the betrothal contract long before you did,” Joanna retorted, plopping down upon her half-curtained bed. She knew her tone was unnecessarily short, but she couldn’t help it. The sight of Marilyn’s dreamy expression had roused the most dreadful feelings of envy in her chest. Why couldn’t she be loved as Marilyn was—by a man who loved her as she loved him?

But then, Evan Thorndyke was a rarity, quite unlike the other arrogant men she’d had the misfortune to become acquainted with. First her father. Then King John and the heartless Lord Blaecston. If only she could have been drawn to Evan. Why must she be so perverse as to be attracted to Rylan Kempe? With a sigh of her own she rolled onto her back.

“Forgive me my foul temper, Marilyn. ’Tis only that I am fresh from … from conversing with your betrothed.”

“Lord Blaecston?” Marilyn went pale and sat down on a leather-slung stool.

“The same. When I left he and Evan were having rather sharp words.”

“About … about me?”

Joanna nodded slowly as a disingenuous idea sprang unbidden into her mind. It would be very bad of her to deliberately mislead Marilyn, she tried to tell herself. Yet if it achieved the desired goal, Marilyn would be truly happy. And if it failed … even if it failed, no real harm would be done. Resolved at once, she rolled to a sitting position.

“Evan was angry with Rylan.”

“I never should have spoken to him about the betrothal. Oh, but you said he already knew. That’s why he never approached me.” Marilyn’s face clouded with confusion. “But if he already knew about everything, then why is he angry at Lord Blaecston at this late date?”

Joanna smiled at Marilyn—a heartfelt smile yet edged with wistfulness. “He is angry because you are unhappy. He followed you here to comfort you—” She broke off then and gave Marilyn a purposefully assessing stare. “And how precisely
did
he comfort you?” she asked with raised brows.

The color that flooded Marilyn’s face told the tale more clearly than did her flustered words. “He … he helped me to stop crying. I … my … my face was wet. We … we talked a little while …”

“Just talked? Nothing else?” Joanna interrupted, trying hard to keep a serious expression.

“We … he … that is, I … yes, I let him put his arm about me. I shouldn’t have, I know. But … you see …”

“And then he kissed you?” Joanna asked softly. Marilyn bit her lip and stared at Joanna with eyes gone very round. Then she swallowed hard and slowly nodded.

This time Joanna couldn’t restrain her smile. “And was it a very nice kiss?”

Again Marilyn nodded. “It was sweet and very … very thrilling,” she admitted in a wondering voice. “He was so gentle and kind. It was like being in heaven, Joanna. It was truly like heaven. I thought I might faint from the very joy of it.”

Yes, she knew that feeling well, Joanna thought, remembering the sultry, drowning sensations Rylan so easily roused in her. Then she steeled herself to initiate her devious plan. “It may have felt like heaven, Marilyn. However, you are betrothed to another. In the eyes of the church, what you did demands repentance. If you are to overcome these feelings for a man not yours to have, then you must pray for forgiveness.”

Marilyn’s crestfallen features came close to breaking Joanna’s resolve. The last thing she felt toward Marilyn was censorious, yet if Marilyn’s betrothal to Rylan were to be broken, she must use whatever opportunities came along.

“Perhaps we should go to the chapel and pray. No.” She paused for effect. “No, I think the cathedral would be better.”

Marilyn did not say a word on the long walk across the abbey grounds to the cathedral. Joanna peered around, hoping to spy the one man who could best see her plan take root. To her enormous relief, the Benedictine monks were just filing out after the None services. Bishop Ferendi and his entourage were still in the apse when the two women slipped down the dimly lit nave of the cathedral.

“A word with you, my lord bishop,” Joanna called softly as she hurried up to the well-fed bishop. “If you please,” she added with bowed head when he turned to look at her.

“Ah, our own little nun,” he mocked her in a patronizing tone. “I wondered when you would seek me out. Ready to confess your sins, my dear? Ready to repent your bold words and disrespectful manner?”

It took every bit of Joanna’s willpower to nod her head. It was not her own confession but Marilyn’s that she wished the bishop to hear. She was more than certain the vainglorious old busybody would run straightaway to the royal couple should Marilyn’s confession reveal the name of the man she was meant to marry. But as for herself, Joanna did not wish to confess any of her many sins to Bishop Ferendi. Least of all those connected with one Rylan Kempe. Some other more pious priest, perhaps, but even then she could hardly confess and ask forgiveness when she did not know if she truly repented. In a moment of desperation she looked over at Marilyn.

“Perhaps Marilyn should go first. I … I needs must compose myself.” She smiled grimly. “Surely you understand.”

“Indeed I do, my child. Indeed I do. Very well then. You first, Lady Marilyn.” He waved on the several monks who lingered yet for him, then bustled importantly to the red-curtained confessional that was set into a thick stone side wall.

Marilyn sent Joanna one last sorrowful glance before she too disappeared behind the penitent’s portion of the damask hangings.

When Marilyn left the confessional she was pale and obviously upset. She did not look at Joanna but went straight to a niche with a shrine to St. Etheldreda, fell to her knees, and with bowed head began to pray her penance.

Joanna approached the confessional reluctantly. It occurred to her that since she’d left St. Theresa’s, she had spent far less time at her prayers than was her custom. Certainly she should not resent whatever the bishop should demand of her now. But she did resent it. Even as she knelt on the hard stone floor behind the curtain, she felt irritation at the pompous fool who sat in judgment of her beyond the pierced-work screen. Though she reminded herself that it was God who judged her—that Bishop Ferendi was only a handservant to the heavenly Father—she could not help but wonder at His choice of servants. Certainly Sister Edithe was far better suited to carrying out the Lord’s word than was this conceited, self-important fool.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” she began the litany she knew so well. She was ungrateful, she told him, and impatient. Quick-tempered and far too willful.