Rexanne Becnel (35 page)

That possibility, which she’d not heretofore envisioned, started Joanna’s heart beating in alarm. She hadn’t considered that the king might actually punish Rylan for daring to align his own power with Marilyn’s without the royal approval. Was it possible?

That worry was still uppermost in her mind when a sharp rap sounded from the door. Joanna was across the chamber in a moment, filled with both hope and dread all at once. To her dismay, however, it was the Lady Adele accompanied by Sir George Gaines whom she found awaiting her.

“The queen would speak to you, Lady Joanna. In her private chambers,” Lady Adele intoned solemnly.

“Me?” Joanna barely got the single word out, so alarmed was she by this unexpected summons.

Sir George gave her a smug look. “Be quick, miss. ’Tis not for you to keep the queen waiting.”

Joanna’s heart pounded in unreasoning fear as she followed the pair toward the royal chambers. Neither of them spoke to her, but they both sent her frequent speculative glances. She burned to question them, but she was certain they would not reveal anything to her, even if they
did
know what was afoot. Instead she just hurried in their wake and tried discreetly to dry her damp palms in her skirts.

The queen awaited her in an antechamber. She was dressed in a loose robe with her hair down in two long plaits reaching past her waist. Sir George did not enter the room, and Lady Adele departed at Isabel’s gesture. Only when the door was firmly closed did Isabel motion Joanna to approach.

“Come, my dear. Sit down here. This will not take long.” She watched Joanna closely with her intense eyes, but her expression was friendly. Once Joanna was settled on a wooden bench covered with a small rug, Isabel sighed.

“I know you shall object, but I warn you in advance it will avail you of naught. This has been a troublesome day and I will not condone any tantrums or tears.” Then she smiled, belying her stern words. “You shall be wed, Joanna. The arrangements are made and all parties agree.”

“What! But that cannot be—”

“Oh, but it
can
be and it is done. I know you will not be happy with our choice, but you must endeavor to make the best of it.”

“No!” Joanna cried sharply as she leaped up from her seat. She did not care whether she angered the queen or not. There was no punishment Isabel could mete out that could be any harsher than this one. “I cannot marry anyone! All I want—all I have
ever
wanted is—”

“What
you
want does not matter!” Isabel stood up stiffly, glaring at Joanna. “’Tis for the good of England!”

Joanna could not believe what was happening to her. She’d feared this all along. Indeed, she’d had no real reason to hope for any better outcome to her dilemma. And yet that did not now lessen her shock. Though the queen had not yet named the man, to Joanna it didn’t matter. One man was as bad as the next. Save for Rylan—

She stopped short at that thought. Yet in the very same moment she knew that he was the last person the royal couple would betroth her to. Besides, he would never agree. Even if he lost his political prize in Marilyn, he would not want
her.
He would hold her accountable when the truth of her participation in this mess was brought to light. And anyway, she would never agree to marry him either, she told herself bravely.

Her thoughts of Rylan did serve one purpose, however, for she now recalled the one last bit of defense she held in reserve. The one fact she had kept hidden until now.

She swallowed hard and willed her voice to sound strong. “I do not think this fellow you give me to is likely to consider the bargain well met when he learns … when he discovers that I … that I … I am not chaste.”

Her brave pronouncement was met with absolute silence. The queen’s eyes narrowed and her hard gaze swept Joanna from head to toe, as if she might tell the truth of it in that manner. She shook her head in disbelief, but as she continued to stare, Joanna sensed when her disbelief turned to acceptance. Her reaction, however, was not at all what Joanna expected. Instead of erupting in fury, the queen began to laugh out loud.

“Oh, this is too perfect! Not a virgin?” Wracked with laughter, she collapsed back into her chair, holding her shaking sides with glee. Then, spying Joanna’s bewildered face, she tried to compose herself. “This changes naught, my dear. You shall wed him anon. But oh, I would love to see his face when he learns the truth!”

As the queen’s meaning sunk in, Joanna’s expression fell. “But you cannot mean to—he will not want …” She trailed off in the face of Isabel’s smirk.

The queen leaned forward. “Tell me, girl. Who was the fellow? Someone at the priory? Or, no—could it be your father sent you to St. Theresa’s only when he learned of what you’d done?”

Joanna clutched her hands at her waist. She was gripped by a sudden sickening knot in her stomach, and she stared wildly about. “This cannot be happening to me. It cannot—”

She turned abruptly and darted toward the door. Although Isabel cried out to stay her, and Adele and Sir George looked up in alarm at her hasty exit, Joanna did not pause. To stay was unthinkable!

She clutched her skirts with one hand as she ran, aware even as she did that flight availed her of naught. She was caught in a trap of her own making, promised in marriage by the king and queen to one of their allies—yet he could not be so dear to them that they could not delight in the man’s disappointment at finding his bride not a virgin.

This is all Rylan Kempe’s fault, she agonized as she sped past a staring couple. All Rylan’s fault.

J
OANNA WAS NOT COGNIZANT
of her surroundings as she fled the queen’s hateful pronouncement. Down the stairs, past the bishop’s parlor and the refectory, then beyond through the walled garden she ran as if a devil pursued her. She neither saw nor cared about the people who stared after her. She knew only that she must be alone so that she could cry. So she could think. So she could pray.

Prayer. That was what she needed, she realized in anguish. She would find a level of calm that way, and comfort and strength.

She sped beyond the walled garden through a gate, then along a winding path she’d not been down before. It led into a semiforested garden maintained for the wild herbs and peaceful meditation spots it afforded the monks. Though she would have preferred the high cliffs and strong winds of Flamborough Head, at the moment any darkened glade would do.

When she found a small circle of birch trees—a grouping that reminded her reassuringly of the grotto at St. Theresa’s—she came to a halt. Her sides ached with the force of her reckless flight, and she leaned hard against one thick birch as she struggled for breath. Dear God, dear God. What was she to do now?

In desperation she flung herself onto her knees, unmindful of her skirts. A soft layer of the previous autumn’s leaves cushioned her knees and the rising call of a night bird serenaded her, but Joanna was oblivious to everything. One thought only consumed her. She was to be wed to some stranger. She would be bedded as if she were some poor beast with no feelings or wishes of her own. It could not be true and yet … She shuddered in revulsion as a vague memory of her mother crying in her bed came back to her.

This could not be happening to her, and yet it was. It was.

The tears came then. Hot and hard, streaming down her cheeks in rivulets to drip onto her bodice. Never had she felt so helpless. Never had the hopelessness of her position been so painfully clear. Even her father’s tyranny seemed as nothing compared to the horrifying finality of her present predicament.

She remained that way a long while—on her knees with her head bowed over her tightly clasped hands. Only one phrase repeated itself over and over in her head. One prayer. One plea.

Save me. Please, save me.

When she felt a hand upon her shoulder, for one fanciful moment Joanna thought the hand of God had actually descended upon her in answer. The hand was warm and heavy, reassuring in an odd and inexplicable way. Then reason returned and she instinctively flinched away from the unknown touch. Scrambling to her feet, she turned to find Rylan facing her.

At once she was overcome with an unreasoning surge of gladness. He had come! Everything would be all right now. Yet just as quickly did she remind herself that he had not come to help her. Even if he wanted to—and why would he?—he could not help her now. Besides, he was only after power, through Marilyn or whomever else could aid his cause. She, however, was after … was after … Joanna bit her lower lip, unable to think exactly what she was after anymore.

With her initial reaction faded by the reality of their starkly different goals, she met his even stare. In the dim light of the evening, his face was cast in shadow. Yet Joanna did not need to see his face to know that he was on edge. His cool confidence of the afternoon had been replaced by a distinct air of unease.

But by now he’d probably been told by the king that he could not wed Lady Marilyn. He’d lost Marilyn’s properties as well as control over Oxwich. Still, he was at least the master of his own fate, something she could not claim. Gathering her tattered pride about her, she resolved not to reveal her desperation to him.

“Is there news of Marilyn?” she asked in a cool and carefully modulated voice. “Is she yet held hostage to the king’s will?”

“’Twas what you wanted, was it not? You sent her to Ferendi knowing he would run to the king with any secrets her confession might reveal. You kept your promise to Marilyn and yet still achieved your goal.”

He spoke quietly. He stood calm and unmoving, but his controlled appearance did not fool Joanna at all. He hid some strong emotion behind his tensed jaw and shuttered eyes. It was only a matter of time before it exploded upon her.

She took a nervous step back. A confrontation with Rylan was the last thing she needed. But he stepped forward a pace. “I owe you an apology, it would seem,” he continued.

“What?”

A faint smile curved his lips. “I underestimated you, Joanna. From the beginning I underestimated you—your determination; your intelligence. The strength of your feelings.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at that. “What has happened? What is going on that you can stand before me now, saying such absurd things?”

“Absurd?” This time he grinned and she saw the gleam of white teeth in his darkened face. “I just paid you a compliment, my little dove. You should be graciously thanking me.”

Joanna shook her head slowly. What game did he play with her now? “If you truly thought I was intelligent, you would not be trying to disarm me with this nonsense you spout.”

He was silent a moment. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should simply come right out with it. Very well, then. The king has paired Marilyn with Evan Thorndyke. The marriage is agreeable to all parties involved.”

“Thank God for that,” Joanna muttered. At least those two would have the opportunity to seek happiness together. And Marilyn would not be wed to Rylan. At that reminder of Marilyn’s broken betrothal to Rylan, however, Joanna’s caution returned.

“Agreeable to
all
parties involved? What of you? I cannot believe that
you
agreed.”

“Then you would be wrong. I did most certainly agree, although the king is not aware—” He broke off before he could finish. “’Twould be better, I think, for us to discuss that matter later. Once we are away from court I’ll explain everything.”

“Away from the court? What do you mean?” A spark of hope flared in her. “Will you take me back to the priory?”

He glanced at her and then away. Then he locked his hands together behind his back and shifted his stance. “If you wish to visit St. Theresa’s, Joanna, then I will take you there.”

“Visit? But …” She swallowed hard, trying to understand.

“We shall depart here as soon as the wedding is done.”

Joanna stared at him, completely bewildered. “But how? I mean, the queen told me I must wed, so how may I leave for the priory?”

An odd expression came over Rylan’s face. His eyes seemed to burn her with their consuming gaze, yet his rigid stance told her he restrained himself from moving nearer.

“Damnation, you do not yet know whom you shall wed, do you? Sir George told me you’d been informed.” He exhaled noisily then looked intently at her.

Perhaps she should have guessed what was coming. But even after his words were out she could hardly comprehend them.

“I am to be your husband, Joanna. You are to wed with me.”

She stared at him for a long time, her mouth gaping wide in shock. It was only with a great deal of effort that she was able to close her mouth and draw herself up enough to respond. “You? You are to be my husband?”

During her lengthy silence his face had darkened in a frown. Now he eyed her belligerently. “Yes, me. We shall wed as soon as the arrangements are complete. Then we shall depart this godforsaken place for Blaecston.”

Joanna heard everything he said, even the blasphemy. Yet still she could not quite take it in. To make matters even worse, despite the logic that told her she must object to such an unhappy alliance as theirs would surely be, she could not prevent the sudden leap within her chest and the wild beating of her heart. They were to be wed? She and Rylan?

Then she spied his frown and a black cloud seemed to form above her. He had wanted to wed with Marilyn, but she had ruined that for him. So he had settled for a lesser heiress. At least now his precious Yorkshire would be secure against the king. As if her heart had been abruptly wrenched from her breast, a hollow ache began in the depths of her chest.

“Your … your news catches me quite by … by surprise.” She took a shaky breath but still could not meet his eyes. Even her voice, which she tried to make scathing, came out hesitant and faint. “You will forgive me if it takes a moment for me to understand.”

“Yes, of course. I, ah … As I said, I thought you had been told. Else I would not have put it so badly.” He moved forward then, and Joanna lifted her bowed head to face him. “’Tis for the best, Joanna. You will see.”

“For the best?” Her eyes filled with unwelcome tears. “Best for you, all things considered. The king has prevented you gaining Marilyn’s vast properties, so you now take the next best choice. Oxwich will be a nice addition to your little kingdom in Yorkshire, won’t it? I only wonder that the king agreed,” she finished in a bitter voice.