Terri Brisbin (3 page)

L
ord Orrick looked away from her disgrace. His face was like granite as he nodded to his soldiers and they followed his lead. The hood she wore to cover her hair and most of her face had slid down onto her shoulders and the strips of linen that bound her breasts fell loose to her waist. She could hear the anger in each breath taken by the man holding her.

Braden of Wynwydd. Her betrothed husband. Master of enchantments and killer of women.

A noise drew her attention and broke the mad spell that held them motionless. The lady of the keep pushed her way through the men in the yard and to her husband’s side. After a moment of hesitation to take in the scene before her, Lady Margaret walked directly to Lord Braden, pulled the ties of his cloak and began tugging it from his shoulders.

The lady’s actions must have surprised him into reaction, for he stepped back, removed his cloak and tossed it over Joanna’s shoulders to cover what he had exposed to all.

“Lord Braden, if would you join me in the solar, mayhap we can sort through this confusion?” Lord Orrick said in a voice that was tinged in anger. When Lord Orrick’s soldiers moved to surround them, she knew it was no polite invitation.
Braden nodded and held out his hand to her, but Lord Orrick stopped him. “If you would allow Lady Joanna some time with my wife, she can make herself presentable.”

Lord Braden moved closer to her and wrapped his hand once more around her arm so that she could not escape. “With all respect, my lord. I have searched many weeks to find the lady. I do not wish her out of my sight right now.”

Her escapade was over. As soon as he took her from these walls, Joanna suspected her life would be ended, too. The fury on her betrothed’s face made him fearsome to behold and, in that moment, she believed every wicked and dangerous thing she’d ever heard about him. Joanna could not stop the shudders that moved through her nor the fear that she was sure covered her face as he met her gaze.

Lady Margaret came to her side and spoke to Lord Braden in a soft voice. “My lord, let me see to the lady’s condition. She has lived as you see her since she sought sanctuary here nigh on to a fortnight ago.”

The rest of the words blurred in her thoughts, the only one that she heard, that repeated over and over was
sanctuary
. She’d found it here in Silloth. Lord Orrick had accepted her story and given her a place to heal and to rest. She knew that it had been a temporary one and that she could not stay here, but for the few nights, she’d felt safe here.

Now, Lord Braden’s arrival had crushed her plans.

“…sanctuary,” Lady Margaret said.

Shaking her head, Joanna realized she’d missed the rest of the lady’s words, but the searching look in the lady’s eyes told her that it was a message. Confused and frightened, Joanna listened more carefully. She began to walk again and felt the soft touch of the lady at her side. Meeting her eyes, Joanna watched her mouth the word again—
sanctuary
.

The meaning finally struck her and she stumbled as she realized it. The family chapel had just been enlarged and re
dedicated, and it was a short distance away. A man could claim sanctuary in a church for forty days, more if supported by the bishop. Did she dare? Could she gain sanctuary and then wait out Lord Braden and his interest in her? Could she dare not to try?

His grip loosened as she stumbled again trying to keep up with his long strides. Taking advantage of his inattention, as she had in the stables, Joanna tore free and sprinted down the path that led to the stone building some yards away. It must have been shock that held everyone else in their places as the distance between her and her betrothed increased. The loud roar signaled an end to that period of grace.

Any advantage her knowledge of the layout of Silloth gave her, the slippery mud left after the storms of the last day took away. Sliding around one corner and then almost losing her balance, Joanna saw the stone chapel surrounded by the low fence ahead. Dropping Lord Braden’s cloak as she labored to keep up her pace, she could hear him and his men catching up to her. Jumping the fence, she pushed open the door and ran to the altar. Father Bernard was preparing for Mass and, tugging her hood back up and her disheveled clothing back together, she grabbed for the edge of his robes.

“Sanctuary, Father,” she choked out. “I beg sanctuary.”

He looked bewildered and then nodded, a serious expression on his face. “Of course, my son. Sanctuary is granted. What matter can be so grievous that you must seek refuge in God’s house?”

The crash of the door behind her, the loud swearing and entrance of Lord Braden, Lord Orrick and the others gave him an answer.

“The evil lord of Wynwydd, Father,” she whispered without looking at his approach, hesitant to call him a warlock in his hearing. “My life, my very soul, is in danger if he takes me from here.”

The priest stuttered and stumbled back as Joanna found herself lifted from her knees and thrown over Lord Braden’s shoulder. She pounded on his back as he walked to the door of the chapel, obviously intent on taking her. Then, when she thought all was lost, their progress was halted.

“Father, did you grant sanctuary?” Lord Orrick called out. Twisting around, she could see that he blocked the doorway, backed by a full contingent of his guards.

Father Bernard ran to the door and sidestepped to get around Lord Braden. Glad that she could not see Lord Braden’s face, she was nonetheless certain it was darkened by rage. ’Twas then that she realized she’d never seen him smile. What would his face look like if it was lightened by a smile? It must be hanging upside down over a warlock’s back that caused such strange and wayward thoughts in her.

“I did, Lord Orrick. This man—”

“This
woman
. This is a woman, Father,” Braden growled as he slid her to her feet. Pulling the hood from her head, he repeated his claim, “This is my betrothed wife, Lady Joanna of Blackburn, and you cannot grant her sanctuary here. I speak for her and she will accompany me back to my estates now. Besides, women are not entitled to seek refuge in a church.”

Still dizzy from being carried in such a manner, she swore she saw a look of pity on Lord Orrick’s face. Strange. It seemed to be directed at Lord Braden and not at her.

“You would interfere with me taking custody of the woman given in betrothal to me before the king himself? Lord Orrick, you draw yourself into a battle in which you need not participate.” Lord Braden’s voice bristled with frustration.

The lord of Silloth seemed to hesitate at the mention of the king, but only until his wife reached his side. Her presence appeared to give him a stronger resolve in his actions. Lady Margaret slipped her smaller hand into her husband’s larger one. Could Joanna be safe?

“The
soul
before us has asked for refuge in God’s house, my lord. Unless Father Bernard rescinds his words, sanctuary has been declared and we have no choice but to honor it.”

“If I cannot take her from this place, then neither can she leave until we resolve this matter. My men will stand guard at the door to insure the lady’s safety,” Braden said.

Joanna nearly smiled at the blatant insult to Lord Orrick. She watched the two noblemen parley in low voices as to the arrangements for who would stand guard. Within a few minutes, she was left alone inside the chapel while everyone else, save two guards, followed Lord Orrick back to the keep.

She turned around and around, looking at the interior of the building and realized that, but for the raised wooden altar and a few benches along the back wall, it was empty. Pulling the rough edges of her tunic together and wrapping her arms around her waist, she tried to plan her next step.

Joanna felt his presence once more before even a word was spoken. She backed away with each step he took toward her, finally stopping when her legs met one of the benches along the wall. He grabbed the tunic she wore and pressed his hard body against hers until she could feel the heat of him seeping into her. With but one finger under her chin, he forced her head back so that her eyes met his.

His eyes were the color of the greens of spring. Deep and clear, they reminded her of the creeping ivy that clung to the side of this very building and of the newly sprouted leaves on the tall oak trees of the forest. But if his eyes were of spring, his mouth and the kiss he gave were of the summer’s scorching heat.

Nothing in her life until this time prepared her for the claiming of his mouth on hers. The polite kiss exchanged during their betrothal was nothing, nothing, when compared to this one. The fury he felt was there, as was something else she could not identify. He pressed his lips to hers and she felt
the message he gave. She gasped as his hand slid to her waist and inside her torn tunic and he used her surprise to enter her mouth with his tongue.

Over and over he tasted her and he pushed inside with his tongue again and again until she offered hers to him. A grunt answered her surrender and he suckled on hers even as his fingers teased the sensitive undersides of her now-unbound breasts. When she would have protested, he delved deeper into her mouth and now held her head in one of his hands, not allowing her to pull away.

If she could.

If she wanted to, which she doubted at that moment.

“This is God’s house, my lord,” the priest said with a cough.

Lord Braden did lift his head now and their gazes met and held. He dipped lower once more and this kiss was more devastating and confusing than the ones given, or taken, before. The barest of touches, a soft moving of his lips on hers, and it was over.

“You are mine, Joanna, by word and pledge, before God and king. And you will be mine, body and soul. Think not that it ends here. This is only the beginning.”

His voice was deep and spoke to something within her that she could not understand. In her life, no one had ever wanted her before, so this public claiming of her, even as a possession, made her wonder about things she’d never thought of before. Why did he not simply wash his hands of her? He would lose nothing; her parents, and she, stood to lose everything.

Lord Braden stepped back and she could only watch him leave, the actions and emotions of the past half hour’s time finally catching up with her and making her excessively weary and sore. As he strode out the door, she realized that he had once again wrapped her in his cloak.

Gathering it around her, she sought out one of the benches and sat on it. Pulling her legs up within the cloak’s thick lay
ers and turning so that most of her weight was not on the backs of her thighs, she leaned back against the wall and sank into the exhaustion that threatened.

Giving up on any comfort to be gained with sitting, she slid down and pulled the wrap around and over her so that only her face was open to the chill of the stone chapel. Sleep claimed her even as she thought on the possessive kiss given, or taken, by the lord of Wynwydd.

“My lord, I appreciate not your interference in this private matter,” Braden told the lord of Silloth straightaway. “’Tis a lawful betrothal and I have the papers to prove it.”

Braden reached inside his tunic and pulled out the packet of parchments. Orrick took the packet, walked to a table in the room and unfolded them. As the agreements and sworn statements were being examined, Braden tried not to think on his two errors in judgment and actions earlier.

The rage inside him drove him to do such stupid things. He’d been told that it was part of his legacy. All the Wynwydd males were hot tempered…and hot-blooded. What good did it do them to rage against their fate? The futility of the anger forced his hand in situations when calm and coolheadedness would be advantageous.

And what good was the drive to procreate when it meant your own death? Even if he followed the somewhat ludicrous instructions given him by Gwanwyn, there was no guarantee that he would be any more successful in his quest to end the curse that plagued his family. The kiss, and her passionate yet innocent response, just made it worse. Now the need to possess her was greater than before. He wanted to taste her mouth as she screamed out her satisfaction. He wanted to peel off…

Orrick finished reading the documents, stood back from the table and nodded to his wife, who sat in a tall-backed chair near the hearth. So, he was convinced of the legalities. Now
Braden could take Joanna and get out of here. Braden cleared his throat.

“You see that I have the right to her?” He placed his fists on his hips. “She is my betrothed and she gave her consent before witnesses to the marriage.”

“So it would appear,” Orrick said as he rolled the parchments and held them out. “But there is still the matter of sanctuary asked and given in my chapel. ’Tis a serious issue.”

“Now that you are content in my rights to the lady, simply give leave to your priest to rescind it.”

Father Bernard harrumphed behind him and Braden turned to face him. “Obviously, good Father, you granted the request without knowing the details. Now that you do, you can see that no sanctuary is needed. The lady’s lawfully betrothed husband has arrived to escort her home.”

“I am bound by the Church’s rules on this, my lord. I granted sanctuary before witnesses. To rescind it, I would need the permission of my bishop.” The priest stepped closer to Orrick and then spoke again. “If ’tis your will, Lord Orrick, I will begin my petition now to the bishop of Carlisle to release the bond of sanctuary given.”

The priest was dismissed with one look from Orrick and no one spoke until the door closed behind them, leaving only the three of them to talk.

“Lord Braden, I would prefer not to involve the bishop in this, for the bishop’s attention might gain the king’s, as well. Can we not handle this quietly?” Orrick walked to where his wife sat and touched her shoulder. “Allow my wife to speak to Joanna and mayhap this can be worked out with little further trouble?”

Obviously, the lord of Silloth did not want the attention of the king? What was at work here in this seemingly sleepy corner of England? Well, if he spoke the truth, he wanted no more scrutiny of any kind on this matter—the humiliation of
her refusal at court still stung and even the document citing her consent given before witnesses did not lessen that. Bringing in the bishop would complicate this and make him a laughingstock in the north as well as the south. He reached up and rubbed his forehead trying to ease the pain that throbbed there.