by Ruth Kaufman
Without thinking, Adrian ran after her. He fought off dizziness, knowing that if he let Joanna leave the room he’d never get her back. He pulled her into his arms, raining small kisses all over her wet face as her hair tumbled over them.
“Joanna, I will make it right. I promise.”
His words sounded weak even to his own ears. He held her close, wrapping his arms about her as though his strength alone could resolve their problems. Her sobs subsided as she stood motionless in his embrace.
Are you proud of yourself now? You’ve broken this wonderful woman.
“I’m truly sorry the agreement comes between us. I hope you believe I have your best interests at heart, and do this to protect you,” he said. “Please say you understand.”
He’d beg if doing so would make her stay.
She turned her red, swollen face to his. Her eyes were bright, brilliant green. She was as fresh and unsullied as he was soiled by his quagmire of a life. She looked all the more lovely to him at this moment. Adrian wanted to kiss away her pain. To give the comfort with his body that he couldn’t offer in words. He inhaled, appreciating her rose scent. He bent to kiss her, but her words stopped him.
“I’ve tried to understand, Adrian. But how can I, when you won’t tell me anything?” Her voice caught in a sob. “All I hear is ‘trust me’ or ‘it’s for the best,’ yet you obviously don’t trust me enough to share your concerns and problems. Yes, our marriage is a based on a contract, which we both agreed to, but things change, and I hoped….” She sniffled. “I hoped….”
He couldn’t bear it. How painful caring for someone in agony could be, as with his grandmother and mother. But this time, the fault was his.
“I hoped too, Joanna. You must believe that. You must,” he said, smoothing back her hair. “It can’t be. Not now, perhaps not ever. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. That I don’t want you. Because I do.” He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her skin through her nightgown. “We have more than many couples do. We have this.”
His mouth captured hers in the tenderest of kisses, slow and soothing. As arousal swept through him, he pulled away. With his finger, he outlined the soft curves of her lips. He wanted her so, no matter their problems. But if she didn’t want him in return…. “Please let this be enough.”
He slid his arms around her, kissing her gently. Then he slid his tongue into her mouth, coaxing, caressing, until she responded. At last.
When she wrapped her arms around him, relief mingled with gratitude. She’d accepted him once again. He clasped her tighter, welcoming the press of her breasts against his chest.
“Ah, Joanna,” he breathed as need surged through his veins.
He couldn’t get used to this need for her. Each time the intensity surprised him, coming out of nowhere. Like his visions, almost as overwhelming. Surely he should’ve had his fill of her by now. Yet whenever he saw her, he wanted her. Judging by her response to his kisses, she wanted him, too. Her desire was arousing in itself.
She kissed him back even as her tears fell, her tongue joining his. He tasted salt. She clutched him as though she couldn’t bear to let him go.
“My Joanna,” he said softly. “Do not cry. It breaks my heart to see you so unhappy.”
Gently, he wiped her tears away.
“I’m not unhappy,” she said, her fingers brushing his hair from his face. Her eyes were so green and clear. Yet so full of anguish. “Just so sad you must keep secrets from me. Sad you can’t trust me. Don’t you know I’d never do anything to hurt you?”
“Yes. I do. Not of your own free will, at any rate. That’s part of the problem. If I relied on your trust, I could be putting you in danger.” He knew all too well how persuasive his enemies could be in getting answers. “I can’t allow that, even if it makes you sad.”
“Even if it comes between us?” Her voice was so low he could barely hear her. Her hands rested on his shoulders, as if ready to push him away. “Even if I have to break the agreement?”
His heart wrenched. She’d become essential to him, like the very air he breathed. He didn’t know what he’d do if she left. He’d lived most of his life for his family. Now he knew he lived for Joanna too. He stroked her hair, praying his words would reassure her.
“Even then. Your safety is more important to me than anything. Joanna, when we signed, I didn’t know how hard keeping the agreement would be. I didn’t know how I would come to care for you.” His own tears stung his eyes, the sensation unfamiliar and disconcerting. “Let us share what we can,” he said, his voice breaking.
He bent to kiss her again but she pushed at his chest. His skin burned under her fingers as she held herself from him.
Tears dripped down her cheeks. She seemed to be fighting a silent battle with herself. Adrian prayed his side would win, even as he wondered if Joanna might be better off without him. But he needed her now, needed her understanding, more than anything he’d ever needed before.
As if she couldn’t help herself, her hands began to make small circular motions on his chest, tormenting him with desire. He forced himself to stay still, awaiting her decision.
She said, “Kiss me, then. Make love to me. Make me forget everything else.”
He whispered into her ear, “That I can do.”
Several days later, Joanna and Adrian stood in front of Micklegate Bar, one of York’s fortified gates. Dismal skies and wailing winds echoed their emotions as they stared upward, horrified by what they saw.
The severed head of Richard, Duke of York, stared blankly down from its perch on the stone wall. His head and two others had been impaled as a barbaric reminder of what befell traitors to the crown.
“Who else is there?” Joanna asked.
“The Earls of Salisbury and Rutland, York’s younger son.” The wind snatched his cloak. He raised one side and wrapped it around Joanna, drawing her against him.
“Did you know them, too?”
“Yes.”
His scratchy voice revealed how affected he was by the animosity prompting York’s enemies to impale his head and what the act portended.
Indecision after his second vision had wracked him. How to explain what he’d seen? He’d sent Warwick a carefully couched warning, as he had no physical evidence. He didn’t know if the message reached him, if he’d received but ignored it or tried to heed it but failed.
Adrian should’ve done more. But what?
For the first time, he wondered if the stronger choice was accepting what his vision foretold, not worrying about how to change the outcome. He’d been given the opportunity to address painful reality before it happened. Was his Sight a gift then, not a curse?
The Yorkist cause would continue on with York’s eldest son, Edward, the new Duke of York. He had to believe that was meant to be.
A tattered paper crown sat on York’s head in ironic reflection of his belief that he was the rightful king. A lifeless leader looked over his namesake town.
Joanna shuddered at the gruesome sight. “For once I’m glad you couldn’t inherit your father’s high-ranking title. You’re free of these political quarrels between the Lancasters and the Yorkists. How many must die before they come to terms?” She shook her head. “Yet I’m surprised Warwick didn’t call upon you to join the fighting.”
He hated that he couldn’t tell her how involved he was. The more he came to care for Joanna, the worse his hidden truths became. He hadn’t yet lied outright, but significant omissions stung just the same. If she’d asked why he didn’t fight, he didn’t know what he’d have answered.
Concealing the truth from his wife was tearing him apart.
They walked back to their rooms through bustling streets. People bargained for goods, horses and laden carts lumbered along. Cold air whisked away the usual smells produced by ale-makers, fishmongers and animals.
For years his focus had been on redeeming his family name. He still wanted that, for the memory of his mother and grandmother,
for his children and Joanna. But when he married her, he’d had no way of knowing he’d want his life to be better, not for himself, but for her. How he’d need her. He, who had never needed anyone.
Had the time come to let go of the anger fueling his life? Should the part of him that couldn’t resist Joanna claim victory over his heart? Could he truly care for her as she deserved?
He admired her skin, so pale beneath the gray skies, her natural elegance as she walked beside him. She met his gaze with a sad smile and took his hand.
His heart thawed. He could actually feel it.
She meant more to him than he wanted to admit. Accepting that Joanna was essential was easy because she belonged with him, difficult because he couldn’t stop trying to resist her pull.
The rest of his secrets stood between them, an impenetrable barrier. And they always would. Somehow she’d accepted him, even as she peeled away a few distasteful layers of his past.
He should appreciate that his visions and his spying would preserve some distance between them. But more and more he wanted to belong to her completely. He wanted to love her.
If only he could.
Chapter 18
Joanna listened to Adrian’s even breathing. Despite the weight of his burdens, he’d finally fallen asleep.
Her feelings for her husband were so complicated. He amazed her, for despite the problems he had, he’d been strong enough and willing to take on hers too. She was thrilled he’d begun to open up to her. On the other hand, she couldn’t forget the strange meeting with his twin, and still couldn’t understand why Adrian hadn’t told her about him. What if Andrew’s appearance hadn’t forced his hand?
His passion overwhelmed her. He made love to her so tenderly, almost reverently, as though he wanted to remember every moment. She felt cherished, her body still resonating from his touch. She had gotten far more than she bargained for in that regard.
But he held something back, clearly the biggest secret of all. His hints of danger scared her more than the truth ever could. The unknown lurked in every shadow. But she wouldn’t add to his problems by letting him know how his secrecy and her own fears bothered her.
Slowly she turned, enjoying the sensation as the warmth of him against her shifted from her back to her front. Gently she combed back his hair, revealing his handsome face. In the gentle radiance of dawn, she admired the sculpted muscles of his chest. If only she could help him as he had helped her. Was it enough for him that she listened? Would he relish knowing she trusted him, no matter what?
Joanna relaxed into the lulling rhythm of his breathing. A horse clip-clopped outside, momentarily disrupting the quiet. Adrian moved closer and wrapped his arm around her. She smiled.
She hadn’t expected to or wanted to care deeply for him. Nor had she anticipated the disturbing vulnerability that came with caring.
In the face of all that had happened, somewhere along the way their marriage had become more than a mere agreement for her. Her heart swelled with an emotion far beyond tenderness. Her heart swelled with…love.
Love.
Joanna gasped as she accepted the truth, reveling in the joy flooding her. Despite her resistance, for the first time in her life, she was in love. She loved Adrian. For one blissful moment, that awareness was enough.
Until reality returned. She knew all too well how love worked strange magic, destroying those who succumbed to its capricious lure. Take her father’s almost desperate attachment to Margery’s mother…there was no controlling love once it struck. Would loving Adrian ruin her, too?
She’d crushed the blanket in her fist. She smoothed the fabric, wishing she could even out her concerns as easily.
He’d never know how she felt, for she could never tell him. She couldn’t share her feelings, for they were far outside the boundaries of their agreed upon marriage. She sighed, and nestled against Adrian, her pleasure in the moment shattered. What good was love if you couldn’t share it?
Now she too had a secret.
William reeled down the winding lane, a half-dressed whore at his side, a surfeit of drink making her oblivious to the cold night air. She tried to pull him against her for a wine-laced kiss, but instead stumbled and laughed.
What time was it? Very, very late. The best time to be drunk and far from central York. They bumped into a house and burst into laughter. The bottle she held smashed against the wall.
Red wine dripped onto his shoes, shining like blood in the moonlight. The scent filled his nostrils as the pieces of broken glass sparkled, an unwelcome reminder of Joanna and his sad financial state. Too much bad wine could bring on very serious thoughts. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to remember. Best to keep moving on.
After the night he’d had, he needed more wine than he could afford. Now the last of it was slithering down the frozen stones of the street.
“Again?” the whore asked, pushing him against the wall, into the shadows. Glass crunched under his shoes as she grabbed his crotch.
“Don’t have any more money,” he said.
“Well, then, that be that.”
William didn’t even care.
A church bell rang out the hour. One, two. He yawned. Better wend his way back to the city and get some sleep.
Wait, what was that? He grabbed the whore’s arm and pulled her in front of him.
“Stand there a minute,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Shhhh!” Had he seen what he thought he’d seen? He stared into the mottled areas of light and dark.
A man moved swiftly down the street. A man he recognized. Yes. Adrian, in this unsavory neighborhood. He wore the grey robes of a friar, the hood pulled over his face. If he hadn’t tilted his head, if the moon hadn’t shined just so, William wouldn’t have recognized him.
Luck was with him for once. His chance to discover Adrian’s weakness had landed at his feet. But he couldn’t be recognized, or word would shoot straight to Joanna.
“See that man?” he whispered in the whore’s ear. He pointed past her shoulder, and she craned her neck to see. “Follow him, then send word. I would know where he goes, what he does.”
“For that, I’ll want double me usual. But ye got no coin to pay.”
“Go. You get the information, I’ll get the money,” he promised. “Now hurry, he’s getting away.”
The whore rushed into the night.
Chapter 19
Caught!
Adrian froze in the entrance to the great hall of Bedford Castle, the iron door handle cold beneath his hand. But not as cold as the expressions of Lady Anne’s two servants who he turned to face.
“What do you here, Sir Adrian?” Pamping asked. His bald head gleamed as he raised his candle. “’Tis not your usual visiting hour, Sir.”
The servant couldn’t know he was leaving after a final search of Berkeley’s study. Nor could he learn that Adrian finally had the proof of the king’s plans he desperately needed secreted in his cloak.
“I must speak with Lady Anne about a matter of great urgency,” he said in his most arrogant tone.
Pamping looked skeptical, but nodded. “Very well, I shall ask if she will receive you.”
A draft made the candle flicker as he turned to go. When the other servant followed, Pamping said, “Stay with him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”
Adrian stared at his guard until the man looked away. He wracked his brain for something so urgent it couldn’t wait until morning. The high ceilings of his home loomed above him, vast and unwelcoming. A dog barked. The guard’s rapid breathing annoyed him.
No good topic came to mind.
A woman screamed.
“Mary preserve us,” shouted another.
Adrian tensed and instinctively started down the hall toward the noise. Pamping intercepted him. Three more servants in assorted sleep attire ran to them.
“Lady Anne is dead,” he reported in a flat tone. “And we know who killed her. You.”
Adrian jer
ked back in surprise, bumping into the man behind him. Lady Anne, dead?
Pamping continued, “You weren’t coming in, you were going out. Hold him!”
Two men grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back. The third held a dagger to his neck.
Adrian tipped his head back to avoid being sliced. If he wanted to, he could’ve escaped. He’d taken four trained soldiers before. An equal number of servants wouldn’t pose much of an obstacle. But breaking free and running would only make him look guilty.
He found his voice. “Let’s be reasonable. If I had killed her, would I have waited here while you went to get her? You couldn’t have stopped me if I wanted to leave.”
Pamping glanced at the other servants, as if to read their expressions.
“Perhaps,” he said doubtfully. “But she was well when she went to her bed. Now you’re here and she is dead. I shall send for a sheriff. He’ll know what to do with the likes of you.”
Stay calm. There has to be a way out of this.
At the moment he couldn’t see one. He hadn’t killed Lady Anne, hadn’t been near her sleeping chamber. What could he say to make them believe him?
He’d say a prayer for her soul after he got out of this situation. But now he had to worry about himself. If they hauled him to prison, Joanna would be alone. And when she heard he was in jail for killing Lady Anne, he might lose her. He couldn’t bear that.
Who knew what William or John would do to her if they found out? Or Andrew, for that matter? The thought of anything happening to his wife made his stomach tighten.
He had to go to her, to explain. But he couldn’t tell her the truth, and anything less would no doubt make her feel betrayed.
How ironic that in working to aid his country he might bring further dishonor to his name by being tried for murder. He could never get the bill of attainder against his father reversed if he himself was labeled a felon. Worse, what would they think when they found the letters hidden in his cloak? He had to get word to Warwick, to tell him what he’d found, to seek help. But how?