by Lisa Shea
Hugh raised an eyebrow at Joan, and she gave him a wry smile in return. She lifted her mug, draining down the last of the liquid. “We are being summoned,” she chuckled, drawing to her feet. She smiled fondly at Jake. “As always, you are a joy to see.”
The boy blushed a crimson she had rarely seen in nature.
She called over to Bossard. “Could you see this boy properly fed?”
Bossard bustled up to the group, wiping his hands on his apron. “It would be my pleasure,” he agreed, patting the lad on his shoulder.
She gave them both a wave, then headed out into the sunshine, Hugh at her side.
The ride west was all she could have hoped for. Fresh breezes tickled the leaves in the oaks, white clouds ambled across a cerulean sky, and Hugh’s horsemanship was beyond compare. They jumped streams, dodged through dappled forests, and by the time they came up to the riverside structure Joan’s heart was light with joy.
A blond man with a patch over one eye was waiting for them by the main door, and he stepped up to take the reins without a word. Joan nodded to him. “You know what they like,” she murmured.
He raised one hand to gently stroke Accipiter’s neck, and a smile almost came to his lips. Then he was leading the steeds around to the back of the building.
Joan stepped forward, pushing open the door.
The room fell silent. There were perhaps fifteen tables scattered around the dark, windowless room. A scattering of candles and torches shed some light, sending glistens onto the dice, cards, and other objects strewn across the tables. The men in the chairs were uniformly hard, muscular, and sharp-eyed.
Hugh took a step closer to Joan, his hand settling on his hilt.
The door swung shut behind them, Joan swept them with an even gaze, and after a moment the room wound into motion again. The dice were flung, coins were passed, the music of the gamblers.
Joan wended her way through the tables, making her way to the stairs in the back. She ascended, coming out to a hallway with a door on the right. She pushed it open. They were on an open porch now, overlooking the river, with an elegantly carved table set for four. Greslet sat at the far side of it, brushing saffron butter down a freshly baked loaf of bread. He was in his late forties, with greying hair swept back and a sturdy build which still retained a good layer of muscle on it. He wore an elegant black tunic with gold trim.
He looked up as the two stepped through the doorway and onto the porch. “Ah, welcome, welcome. Come sit. Some wine?”
A servant scurried forward to pour out the glasses before they had fully settled themselves in their seats. Greslet raised his in a toast.
“To fortuitous friendships.”
They clinked all around, and then Greslet drained his down, sighing in pleasure. “Been saving this for a special occasion,” he informed them. “Today absolutely qualifies.”
Joan took another sip of her wine. It was quite stunning. “Thank you for your assistance with the packages.”
He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “It was the least I could do. I have had people coming and going all morning long, offering their praise for what I had done.” He spread his arms wide. “Of course I deny that I had anything to do with it, but for some reason they do not seem to take me at my word.”
Joan grinned. “Perhaps because that is the same exact answer you give for every other action that you are in fact responsible for.”
Greslet took a bite of bread. “Can I help it if I happen to work in a field which requires some discretion?” He waved a hand at the bread on the table. “Please, have some. It’s quite good.” He turned to the servant. “Bring that fruit platter as well.” He shook his head. “The ferryman’s wife brought that for me. Says after what that crew did to her husband, she is glad to see them gone.”
Joan shook her head. “Word spreads quickly in these parts.”
A large, wooden platter of juicy green slices of apple, golden wedges of pear, and succulent cherries was laid at the center of the table.
Greslet reached forward to pat her hand. “Not to worry, there’s no notion of your involvement. They simply know that Tobias rode into the area last night, causing trouble as he always does. He nearly ran down the Chisholm girl on his way in. But nobody has seen him leave, and the Sherriff is out scouring the land for him.” His mouth quirked into a grin. “They put two and two together.”
Hugh held his gaze. “And if the Sheriff comes here?”
Greslet’s eyes remained calm. “Then he comes here. He will find no welcome here, nor any answers that he seeks.”
Hugh nodded, and his hand brushed Joan’s for a moment.
Greslet blinked, looking between the two, and then his smile broadened. “Joan? Truly? I thought I would never see the day.”
A flush heated Joan’s cheeks, and she took up a piece of bread to cover her emotion. She busied herself spreading the fragrant butter onto it.
Greslet’s gaze moved to Hugh. “You are a lucky man,” he offered. “There were many here who would have gladly stood by this woman’s side, despite all the trouble she manages to get herself into.” His eyes grew distant for a moment. “Many here.”
Joan looked up, her gaze softening. “You are too kind,” she murmured, “but you are a powerful man, deserving of a woman who will stay at your hearth.” She looked over to Hugh, and for a long moment her heart stilled. It had not quite sunk in, that he was here, finally here, and he was hers. “I will do better with a knight, where we can ride out together into the fray.”
Hugh’s hand closed over hers, and for a moment she was lost.
The door swung open behind them, and sturdy footsteps sounded. Lord Weston strode out onto the deck, a smile on his face, his gaze fixed on Greslet’s. “Ah, Greslet, what a beautiful day,” he greeted. “While we may be on opposite sides of the fence at many times, I am pleased to say that the stars have aligned perfectly this night. How you were able to –”
Greslet nudged his head at the two people sitting before him.
Lord Weston swung his gaze down to the table with casual interest. His eyes caught onto Joan’s and he froze. He looked between Joan and Hugh with growing awareness; shock mingled with concern and amazement.
At last he choked out, “you two took them on alone?”
Greslet leant forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Now, now, Lord Weston. You know better than that. In my den, nobody has done anything at all. Here, have a seat, and take some wine. I think you’ll need it.”
Lord Weston fell into his chair and drank down half of the wine in one long pull. Then he stared between the two anew, his brow furrowing. “Without support? Are you insane? Do you have any idea –”
Greslet handed over a large piece of bread. “Fresh out of the oven,” he prodded. “Warm. Take a bite.”
It took another moment, but Lord Weston ate a piece of the bread, washing it down with some more of the wine. At last he looked over to Hugh in resignation. “At least you were there with her,” he muttered. “Lord knows she would have gone in alone, if she knew Sarah was in trouble.”
Hugh’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “She would have, indeed.”
Lord Weston looked to Greslet. “And everything is taken care of?”
Greslet nodded contentedly, reaching forward to pick up a trio of cherries and pop them into his mouth. “Completely.”
Joan looked between the two. “Sarah will be getting married soon, and the mill does need repairs, with all the mischief the Sheriff and his men have been causing.”
Lord Weston brightened. “Say no more. That sounds like the perfect direction in which to aim all this outpouring of good will.”
Greslet leant back in his chair. “A high quality mill, plus a man who knows how to run a tavern well? Sounds fairly ideal for our community.”
Lord Weston rolled to his feet. “I’d best not stay long.” He turned to look at Joan and Hugh, shaking his head. “I’d ask you to stay out of trouble, but I’m coming to think that
’s nigh impossible.”
Joan leant forward. “But I am staying out of trouble! Compared with the Holy Land, this is a Sunday picnic. In my childhood I weathered sieges where we ate rats. I endured week-long marches under a broiling sun. There were protracted, bloody battles over rickety bridges, flea-encrusted churches, and small patches of land which seemed to have no redeeming value whatsoever.” She turned to Hugh. “There was even that violent clash, where over a thousand soldiers were lost, all over some gemstone that looked like it had a cross within it.”
Hugh nodded, sipping his wine. “The ovum crux. I remember that well. Lost some good men there.”
She turned to Lord Weston. “See? If all I get involved with here is holding off a small group of corrupt government officials, I’m doing well!”
His gaze softened, and the corners of his lips lifted. “If this is your idea of a peaceful lifestyle, then please, stay safe.”
She smiled fondly at him. “We shall,” she promised.
He glanced back to Greslet. “Until next time.” Then he had turned and headed back down the stairs.
Greslet popped a slice of pear into his mouth. “And as much as I’d love to converse with you all afternoon, my dear, I believe you have an appointment back in town?”
She smiled at that. “I do indeed. Your sources are as thorough as they say.”
He stood and gave her a hug. “Your horses are ready for you downstairs. Stop in any time.” He put a hand forward to Hugh. “And you, sir, treasure what you have.”
Hugh nodded, shaking Greslet’s hand. “I do, every hour.”
Greslet smiled at that, then resumed his seat, taking up his wine.
Joan smiled as they headed down the stairs, through the crowded den, and back out to their horses. Hugh did not ask what the meeting was in town, and he moved at her side as naturally as if they had been together for years.
A thought occurred to her as she turned Aquila and urged him into a canter down the road. In a way, they had been together for years. They had been writing each other for four long years, sharing thoughts, a bond forged in absolute trust. Yes, Hugh had thought she was an older woman, but that had not dimmed the strength of the friendship they had shared.
And now they were coming to the final curve in the path, the moment she would find out if it was all real.
She would set him free.
Nervousness tremored through her as their horses jumped a fallen oak and streamed across an open clearing. Everything seemed so perfect when they were together. One look from him could send a flush through her body the likes she had never felt before. Up to now she had laid the stones, she had prepared the path to ease him into awareness of their history. Now he was fully informed. She had revealed everything; she had reached the end of her trail.
Now she must give him some time alone. To see if, when he had time to reflect, he came after her with the same heat, the same deep-seated desire, that had burned within her all these years.
For she knew, if he did not burn for her as she did for him, that the relationship would never sustain. She would not cajole or trick him into staying. He had to crave her presence as much as she did his.
They slowed as they approached town, and he looked around with interest as they circled the common. They approached the small church …
Joan could see when the awareness hit him, when memory connected with location. There was shock, then disbelief, and then a smoothing as all emotions were hidden from view. If she had not been watching him for the moment, she might have missed it entirely.
They reined in at the church steps. Father Picot waved, his stooped frame pale in the bright sunlight. He turned and called through the door, and in a moment Muriel stepped out, her blonde hair glistening in the sun. “Tuesday afternoon, right on time,” she smiled at Joan. “You are the most dependable woman I know.”
Joan grinned, sliding off Aquila and coming forward to hug Muriel. “And how was your long weekend with the Father?”
Father Picot gave a wheezing chuckle. “Ah, Muriel was a delight, as always. Such a help.”
Muriel gave him a fond pat on the arm. “We had the usual - a sprained wrist, a dislocated shoulder. The patients are resting comfortably. Nothing too exciting. And you?”
Joan chuckled. “A little excitement. I’ll tell you about it on the ride home.”
There was a movement at her side, and Hugh came up to them. His face was quiet politeness. He nodded in greeting to Father Picot and Muriel before turning to face Joan. “I thank you for the loan of your horse and for your hospitality.” His voice roughened, but his face remained even. “I treasure it immensely.”
She nodded to him. “Your saddle should be repaired by now; I wish you a safe ride home.” She turned to Muriel. “Speaking of which, we have to get you home as well. Ready?”
Muriel moved over to Accipiter and mounted with a smile. “For a ride with you? Absolutely. Lead on!”
Muriel was at Joan’s side in a moment, and the horses wheeled in tandem. They headed out at a trot toward the west. It took every ounce of self-control Joan had not to turn, not to see if Hugh was looking after them.
Muriel rose in her saddle, twisting to wave back to Father Picot. “Take good care of my patients!” she called out. And then they were around the bend and delving into the dense wood.
Muriel leaned over, a smile on her lips. “Hugh had not moved an inch. If looks were actions, he would have reeled you back in and kept you right by his side.”
Joan hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let it out in a long, grateful exhale.
Her dreams might, after all these years, finally come true.
Chapter 8
Joan huddled behind the mulberry bush, watching the scene at the bridge with attentive interest. Hugh had arrived a full two hours ago, the first of the group. He had leant, alone, against the edge of the bridge for a long time, staring at the water. Whatever emotions he held within, they were locked tight behind a smooth face. Even as the others had arrived and attempted to draw him into conversation, he had remained silent.
Joan smoothed down her tangerine-orange dress, breathing deeply to hold off the nervousness that danced in her heart. She had to know his true intentions, and sooner was better than later. Perhaps he had been caught up in the moment earlier, willing to go along with her on a weekend of flashback and passion. But cold reality often brought a sharp end to romantic dreams. It could very well be that the time apart had allowed him to think more clearly on what had transpired. It could be, in the sober light of day, that his priorities had changed.
As Joan watched, Sybil walked up to stand behind Hugh, looking out at the water for a moment before shaking her head in amusement. “Nothing there, my friend,” she grinned. “Speaking of which, maybe you’ll be lucky and that meddlesome woman from Friday won’t show up either. Then we can take on this mission as we always have, with just the four of us.” She gave him a nudge in the ribs. “What was that you always said? I never want a girl to slow me down?”
Even at this distance Joan could see the tremor of emotion that rippled through him, the effort it took him to rein in his reaction. But what emotion? Was he upset at the thought? Relieved?
Joan’s stomach twisted, and she shook it off. She had to know. The sun had just reached its zenith, and there was no putting it off any longer. Master Martin always said when there was something to be done, the best thing to do was to take that first step.
She stood, pressed a hand to her chest, and for a long moment she breathed in grateful thanks for all she had experienced. If that was all she were to have with Hugh, the one weekend together, it would have to be enough. It was, only five short years ago, more than she ever dreamed of.
She took the first step, then the second, moving her way down the bank.
The four people on the bridge looked up at her approach. Sybil’s eyes held bright interest, glancing between Joan and Hugh. Ymbert’s slender form practically glowed with glee,
awaiting the reaction. Norman’s lined face held a weary patience. And Hugh …
The control over his emotions shimmered, melted, and dissolved away. Relief glowed in his face; respect shone in his eyes. He launched into a run, driving hard down the bank. As he reached her he lifted her in his arms, spinning her around, pulling her close as her feet returned to the earth.
His breath was hot against her neck as he murmured, “Don’t leave me again. Do not leave me.”
Her heart soared, and she raised her face to his. She ran a hand through his thick hair, lost in him. “Never.”
He pulled her up into a kiss, and it was gentle and tender and heart-searingly complete. Joan knew that theirs was a sacred vow, one they would never break. It was a long moment before he stood back and looked down at her, drinking in the sight of her. “God’s teeth, what you put me through last night.”
She gave a wry smile. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
He pulled her in against him, wrapping his arms tight. “Couldn’t sleep,” he groaned. “Couldn’t eat, couldn’t think, with a thousand different versions of new tragedies befalling you.”
Joan chuckled. “I was only gone one night,” she pointed out.
He ran a hand through her hair. “I know you,” he reminded her. “You could find trouble within one hour.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It would take me that long?” She tucked her arm into his. “Then let us go face it together.”
He smiled at that, then turned, walking her up the bank toward the trio of flabbergasted eyes. As they drew to a stop, he nudged his head toward Joan. “You all remember Joan, from Friday evening,” he stated calmly. “She will be by my side throughout this mission, as my partner.”
Sybil’s mouth was hanging open – she shut it with effort. “But you’re often the one in the thick of the fight,” she pointed out.
He glanced at Joan, his smile growing. “Somehow I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Sybil stared at Joan, speechless.