A Knight’s Enchantment (18 page)

Later Joanna stirred. “Love me,” she whispered. “Love me, Hugo. I did not know what loving was, until I was with you.”

Pity and desire warred in him, the one dampening the other, but then she began to kiss him and burrow her fingers into his tunic.

“Teach me, Hugo.” She was coiling her fingers over his flanks, tugging his body hair. “Show me more.” She giggled. “Show me your lance.”

He raised his eyebrows at that and she laughed afresh.

“Please, Hugo?”

He heard the tension in her voice, and the inexperience. How had he ever thought her a mistress of any man? She was a babe in such matters.

Still, it was gratifying to have her asking him to teach her, and he was glad to go along with her game. “I would see you first,” he countered.

Instantly she blushed a fiery red and her hands flew between her legs.

“My lady is not going first?”

She shook her head, adorable in her confusion.
All that intellect, squirrel, and you know less than a young tavern lass.

“Then you must pay a forfeit of my choosing.”

He clasped her wrists. “Perhaps I should tie you up in ribbons, harem girl, and then release you at my pleasure.”

He meant it as a jest, no more, but she stiffened in his arms and suddenly he had a girl as unyielding as a log in his lap. Instantly he released her. “Did I hurt you?”

She was breathing quickly, her color fading. He brushed her arm and found it cold, her face the same. “Whatever it is, I do not blame you,” he said urgently, keen to reach out to her through whatever hell she was now reliving. “Whatever was done to you, whatever act you were forced to do, I do not blame you. Tell me or not. Whatever brings you ease.”

Joanna looked into his anxious, loving face and was ashamed. She had told no one. But she wanted Hugh to understand.

She closed her eyes. “He forced me. One night he summoned me. I was so naive then! I thought I was going to him to answer questions about the movement of the stars. I never expected what I found.” Joanna lowered her head. “My father never knew. Why give him grief over what he could not stop?”

Bishop Thomas had ordered her into his bed. He had bound her wrists and gagged her—not to stop her from struggling or crying out, because she would have dared do neither, but because in some way seeing her tied thus had excited him. He had used her in that way for a month, then cast her off.

“He called me cold.” She had almost believed it. How could she do otherwise? Until she had met Hugh, Bishop Thomas had been the only man she had known in an intimate way. “Cold and useless in a man’s bed.”

“You are none such.”

“I know that now.” Joanna opened her eyes and looked at him. “I was never his true lover.”

“Nor was he yours.” Hugh kissed her hands, one after the other. “If he were, he would not keep you, or your father, in doubt of your safety.”

“It is worse than that,” Joanna admitted. “The reason I have been so keen to work, the reason I have tried to—to leave, has been because of this.”

Hugh said nothing but waited patiently.

Joanna took another deep breath and told him of the dreadful sentence she and Solomon were under. “I know I am your hostage, but I am in truth also the bishop’s. My father is out of the bishop’s donjon for the moment, but my lord made it clear that if I do not give him gold or the elixir to everlasting life within this month, then he will take Solomon away from his work and cast him into the prison pit, the oubliette.”

Hugh’s brows drew together in a frown. “Where is this pit again?”

“It is under the donjon floor. There is a trapdoor—”

“Truly, then, an oubliette,” Hugh muttered. “The worst kind of prison. And he cast David into it for a time.”

Joanna said nothing. She was thinking of her father and of the month. How many days now did she have left? How much longer had Thomas allowed her? She could not remember.

“This pit. How many are in there?”

She shook herself. “I do not know. I try to pass them water, bread, when the guards allow me to. The guards think it a great jest to open the trapdoor to a hand-span and have me drop things down into the dark.”

“Hell’s teeth! And David was down there. My dreamer of a brother, cast into that dark.”

“Yes. It must be a kind of hell.”

“We must stop this. There must be a way.”

“How?” asked Joanna. “How? I can use my skill to unlock the doors of the donjon, if need be, but I do not have the strength to fight the bishop’s guards. I could drug them, but they will be wary of my potions and perhaps ordered by my lord not to drink them.”

“Leave that to me,” Hugh said, and his mouth set into a grim line.

The following day, Hugh gathered his men, put Joanna’s things onto a cart, and told his father they would be leaving.

“Excellent!” Sir Yves made no attempt to disguise his relief. He patted his large stomach, his pale blue eyes already looking past Hugh to the kitchen. “Thank Joanna for her excellent cordials and gold and such.”

“You could thank her yourself.”

“I think not. She might cry. I cannot cope with a weeping woman.”

That evasive answer was no more than Hugh had expected.

“You will take care of the Frenchman?” He distrusted Mercury and did not want the man with him and Joanna on their risky mission, but he seemed too lazy to do much harm at the castle. Ever since he had come here he had spent his days lolling in the solar, in Sir Yves’s private chamber, flirting with the maids and playing chess with the pages. Mercury spoke of fine wine and good food and, to Hugh’s private disappointment, Sir Yves was much taken with him.

“Oh, he is no trouble. Did you know he told me yesterday of a wine that aids the digestion? He is a fascinating fellow.”

“That is good,” Hugh answered, stroking the top of Beowulf’s shaggy head. He felt an old pain stir deep in his gut but ignored it: Sir Yves would never change.

“Are you leaving soon, then?” Sir Yves asked, looking over Hugh’s men and the cart. “You have not purloined anything of mine?”

“You ask each time, but you should know by now I do not do such things.”

“It is a jest, boy! Only a joke.”

Hugh moved toward him to embrace his father but Sir Yves backed off, his stocky frame radiating alarm. “You should be off. It is a long ride to where you are going.”

“It is,” Hugh agreed, as the feeling of a rusty knife in his gut increased. His father had not asked where they were going; he never did. “Give Nigel my good wishes, when his next messenger comes.”

“I will.” SirYves was smiling now that his younger son’s departure was close. “I will.”

“Does he always do that?” Joanna asked, when they were on their way. “Let you ride off without waving good-bye or giving you a blessing?”

“He has never done that for me, or for David. Only for Nigel.”

Joanna touched Hugh’s arm, wishing she could hug him. “Where are we going?” she asked. “You did not like to talk before.”

“My father’s castle has ears,” Hugh replied tersely. “I wanted no sermons on my foolhardiness. But I thought—well, Thomas can hardly hurl your father anywhere if he cannot have you. He would be an alchemist short.”

Joanna smiled, touched by his practicality. “There is more, though, is there not?” she persisted.

She felt him tug at her sleeves, then her skirts.

“Are these your grandest clothes?”

Joanna glanced at herself. She had dressed as she always did, in clean fresh under-linen and whatever gown was handy. Today, to her own private pleasure, it was the red gown that Hugh’s maid Mary had passed to her.

“You gave this to me, or leastways the younger Mary did. Are you saying it is poor?”

“Not to me, but it is not
grand.
”

“Fine gowns and sulphurs do not blend, Hugo. What is amiss?”

“Naught for me! But Templars are rich, and those at the Somerset house very rich, so we need to make a show. Before we reach Templecombe, we must change.”

“Where you sent messengers and have had no reply?” Joanna craned about to look at him. “Is that wise?”

“Let them refuse to my face to help their brother monk,” Hugh said, spurring on Lucifer.

At midday, when the troop stopped at a river ford to water the horses, Hugh’s squire Henri raised the question of her clothing for a second time.

“Sir, your good lady will not do, dressed as she is.” Henri spoke bluntly, man to man, his round face radiating honesty. “The Templars act as though they are higher than God.”

“I know, and ’tis no grief to me,” said Hugh.

“But our lady is too plain!”

“I know, and I have the remedy.”

“Might I speak?” Mortified, Joanna tried to break in to the exchange, but Henri, legs akimbo and hands on hips, was fixed upon Hugh, who was checking Lucifer’s hooves. Neither noticed her.

“Lady Elspeth is Joanna’s height. We are less than three leagues from her manor,” Hugh went on as Joanna fought to keep her temper. “She will give us a gown and stuff.”

“Then let Elspeth wear it!” snapped Joanna, scandalized afresh as knight and squire looked at each other and smiled. “And if you would dress something, let it be a partridge!”

“Oh, lady, lady!” Laughing, Henri sat down in the river, grinning more as the men-at-arms erupted in mirth.

Hugh grabbed her by the waist, half tugging her off Lucifer as he smacked a kiss onto her mouth. “Enough complaint, squirrel. We go to Elspeth’s and she can dress you in her finest.”

Joanna was still seething two hours past noon, although she hid it, especially from the lady Elspeth. She told herself grimly it was necessary, that Hugh and Henri were right, that she should not fret while their main goal was in sight. But afterward, she decided, and once her father and David were secure, then Hugh would have a severe reckoning with a pail of cold water.

“Joanna? Do you like this gown?”

Too late, she realized she had been frowning and tried to show her genuine gratitude to Elspeth, who had welcomed her into her manor as if she were a prodigal daughter.

“It is beautiful,” she said automatically, then looked truly and gasped.

The gown laid over the plain wooden chest in Elspeth’s modest solar was a sunburst. A rich deep color, it shone back into Elspeth’s thin, freckled face, turning her golden and her narrow braids of red hair a luscious red-gold. It had sleeves as wide as sails, each sleeve trimmed with ribbon of the brightest blue, and a scooped neckline edged in blue. It shimmered like mercury, a thing of eastern glamour in this English, butter, cheese, wattle and roses house.

“It was gifted to my grandmother by her husband, Sir Thomas.” Elspeth sat on the chest beside the gown. “There is a story in the family that he brought the cloth back with him from Outremer, intending it as a gift for a bride.”

“What was his full name?” Hugh asked, speaking for the first time in an age. He was standing by the window shutters with a hand half-raised, as if dazzled by the gown.

“Sir Thomas of Beresford. He returned from the Holy Land much scarred, it is said, and in doubt that any woman would agree to wed him.”

“But your grandmother did.”

“She did, Joanna, although in truth the match was a scandal of the district.” Elspeth looked at her steadily. “She was a widowed smith’s wife, claimed by some to be a serf, by others that she was a Jewess.”

“I have heard of Thomas of Beresford,” Hugh said, parsing his thoughts. “A doughty fighter in his time. The Jews, too: they had Joshua and David. She must have been lovely, your grandma,” he added, surprising Joanna.

Elspeth, twice widowed herself, returned his smile. “My boys say my red hair comes from her, and my temper.”

“You? Temper?” Hugh said, but Elspeth waved aside his flirting with a crisp “Go back to your mead cup: this is your lady’s choice. I have a veil, also, Joanna, if you would wear it. Pink as my roses. You must have a rose for your hair: it would look well against your dark tresses and skin.”

“But but your rose is so unusual: I marked it when we came in. To bloom so early is rare indeed!” Joanna was confused by this generosity, and to her horror, she was prattling on with inanities: now she even felt the prickle of water in her eyes. “Do you not want every bud for yourself?”

Elspeth continued to look at her steadily. “Hugh,” she said, without breaking eye contact, “your wolfhound needs a walk and so does my spaniel.”

At once, Hugh detached himself from the wooden wall paneling and whistled to Beowulf, scooping a shaggy, loose-limbed dog off a stool. “This creature does need something,” he mumbled. “He is all fat and hair.”

“Away!” Elspeth pointed to the door. She waited until Hugh and dogs were out of the chamber and closed it after them, waving to Henri kicking his heels in the great hall before turning back.

“Hugh heeds me because I am the age his mother would be,” she said, “but what can I do for you, my dear?”

“Forgive me for asking,” Joanna said bluntly, throwing caution to the wind, “but why do you want to help? I am a stranger.”

“Ah! You are another one like Hugh, unused to it! Wary of others, too. I saw that at the tourney.”

Joanna put her hands behind her back so Elspeth would not see her shaking fingers. “Where was this? I did not see you.”

Elspeth strolled to a couch beside a piece of weaving and picked up a spindle from the couch. She teased out the spindle wool between finger and thumb, then began to twirl her spindle weight as she spun more thread.

“I took care to stay away from those foolish girls in the wagon,” she said, spinning more thread. “Berengaria and Matilde and their kind are not for me. But to answer you fully, Joanna, I owe Hugh the life of my middle son. Hugh saved Gerald at a mêlée in Picardy and brought him home to me. Since then Hugh knows he is always welcome here; he and any one of his.”

“I am not his, not in the way you believe. Our paths run together for a space, that is all.”

“I see. Still my question remains. What may I do for you?”

Joanna glanced at her fingers. They were stained with potions again. The answer,
Make me beautiful for Hugh,
hovered in her mind but instead she said, “How did you guess? My grandfather was forced to convert.”

Elspeth sighed and spun more thread. “The teaching of our church is not generous to Jews, any more than it is generous to women.” She wound the thread about her spindle. “What else?”

“Lady Elspeth?”

“What else has happened to you? I see much, I dream truly of the future and I see the shadows in your eyes.”

Thoroughly disconcerted by the older woman’s uncanny directness, Joanna looked away to the window. An earthenware pot of those pink early roses shone on the deep sill and for a foolish instant she had a sense of another time, another woman, carrying a similar jug and posy to stand there.

“What was it? A lifetime of being discovered? Hunted? Moving on under cover of dark?”

Joanna felt herself sway as the memories assailed her. Before she fell, she sat down on the stone floor, making a play of studying the golden robe.

“How much does Hugh know?” Elspeth asked softly.

“The death of my mother.” The gold cloth shimmered before her eyes. “When we reached West Sarum and Bishop Thomas became our patron, my father hoped we were safe.”

She heard the snap as Elspeth placed her spindle on the floor.

“But Thomas is a greedy man who wants more and so he threatens, I presume.”

Joanna said nothing. She felt Elspeth’s hands on her shoulders.

“I will help all I can. I will help
you,
Joanna. For the sake of Hugh, for my grandmother who was once hunted like you, for my grandfather Thomas, who saved her, and for myself.”

Confused, Joanna raised her head.

“There is a fable that goes with this gown.” Elspeth sat down beside her. “It is said in my family that grandmother Gila put a charm on the silk: that great good fortune should come to the womenfolk in our house if we loaned or gifted the gown to another, a woman who was in greatest need herself.”

She smiled, showing a chipped front tooth. “I have a mind for some good luck, so I will gift the gown to you. I know you have need, for I can see it. Forgive me for being blunt, but I sense, too, that you have little time to waste.”

She rose to her feet and clapped her hands. At once two pages almost fell into the solar in their haste to obey.

“The lady will bathe here. Tell my maids to come in and the menfolk to keep out.”

“Including Hugh?” Joanna asked as the lads hurried off, bright in their tunics of blue and red, like a pair of hungry kingfishers.

“Hugh will wait with the rest, or answer to me.”

The lady Elspeth held open the door for her maids to carry the bathtub out into the great hall, for anyone else to use it if they wished. She nodded to Hugh and Henri, playing dice on the high table. “You may go in now.”

“Find the others and tell them to be ready,” Hugh told Henri. He was tired of loitering about like a courtier at King John’s court. He wanted them to be away to Templecombe, to gird the warrior knights at their own tilting ground.

“Softly, Hugh,” Elspeth warned as he strode toward her. “The lady is as balanced as an angel on a pin, but without an angel’s wings.”

“Hmm.” Sometimes Hugh thought Elspeth spoke the greatest nonsense, but she glowered at him, so he tried. “I will do my best.”

She stood aside and he stalked into the solar.

Joanna has done it. She has turned herself into gold,
was his first thought. She shimmered in gold, in a gown that scooped low over her bosom, flared over her hips, nipped about her waist. She held out her hand to him and her arm spilled gold in a rustling whisper. She was the beautiful still point in a river of gold, her face and eyes gleaming.

“My lady.” Never had he meant it more profoundly.

“I am still your alchemist,” said the glittering figure. “See? I wear my belt with tassels. Lady Elspeth found me a replacement tassel.”

Somehow that absurd human detail was enough to make it possible for him to touch her. He kissed her fingertips, bowing low over her hand. “Unstained for once,” he remarked, knowing this would irk her.

“As you say.” She was calm: he wondered for a wild instant if she were laced so tight that she had to keep her cool. He missed the golden net for her hair: he liked the contrast; the bright threads against the dark. But the billowing long veil, pink as sunset, was pretty. He was torn between wishing to set her on a dais and adore her, and tug her into his arms.

“Should we not be going? I heard you ordering Henri.”

“We have time.”

She looked as puzzled as a bewildered angel and he pounced, catching her against him. She felt softer than flower petals and both warm and cool; a trick of the woman and the silk.