by Alison Adare
“I’m not ill,” she said. “There’s no need for either.”
“Then will you open your eyes and look at me?” Tom pleaded.
Janet did not want to. She wanted to sink forward until her face was pressed to the earth, she wanted to sink into the earth, she wanted to find a warm darkness that would cover her and save her from facing anyone she’d ever known and lied to and disappointed. Most especially, she did not want to face Tom.
But of all the things she had ever been able to do, saying no to Tom Lynhurst was not one of them.
She opened her eyes.
Tom was kneeling in front of her, the breeze ruffling his hair. He smiled a little. “That’s better. What were you thinking, coming to fetch Masie yourself?”
“That I was leaving,” Janet said bluntly. “That I would take her, and the supplies, with me.”
His mouth dropped open. “Why?”
“How can I stay?” she burst out. “After all this, how can I stay?”
“After all this, how can you leave me?” Tom countered. “What am I going to do without you to advise me? You’d leave me with no bailiff, no reeve, and now no steward?”
“You never had a steward!” She shrugged off his cloak and flung it at him as she stood. “Christ’s cod, Tom, I’m a woman!” Then, hearing what she’d said, she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, Sir Thomas.”
He rose to his feet as well. “You can still advise me.” The corner of his mouth twitched up. “You might choose more womanly language to do it it, though.”
“What will people say? What will they think?”
The twitch became a smile. “If you mend your language? That the blow to your head scrambled your wits.” Tom paused. “You can’t go like this. Without a horse, without even a cloak. At least come back with me now, Jack. Janet.”
It was the simple truth, and Janet nodded wearily. She could not go, now, like this. She would have to face them all again, after all, for as long as it pleased Tom, until he gave her what she’d need to leave. When he held the stirrup for her, she put her foot in it and swung up to Nightfoot’s back.
Tom mounted behind her. He slung his cloak around his shoulders, pulling the edges forward to settle it around both of them, and reached around her to take the reins. “We rode in this way, that first day, do you remember?”
“Yes.” A patchy memory, blurred with pain, of leaning back against the same warm chest, being held steady in this same saddle by the same strong arms.
“I was beginning to think you’d die on me,” Tom said, turning Nightfoot back towards Brinday and setting the horse to a gentle walk. “I cursed myself for a fool for bringing you every step of the last mile.”
“Something else that’s the same, then,” Janet said, striving for her old easy tone. “You’re still a fool.”
He laughed a little, the merest breath of a chuckle against her ear. “Asking you to come to Brinday may be the one thing I’ve done this year that wasn’t foolish.”
That was far too close to the things she’d imagined him saying in her secret, stupid hopes to be borne. Janet straightened in the saddle a little, putting as much distance between them as she could. “I won’t argue,” she said. “Credit yourself for teaching me chess, as well, though, and finding one thing in the world you’re cleverer than me at.”
“You’ll beat me before long,” he said calmly, as if there were weeks and months and years of chess games ahead of them. “I’ll have to get better at cards.”
Janet couldn’t keep from snorting at the thought as they reached the first of the trees and began to pass beneath their branches. And smiling a little, too, because although she could hardly believe it, they were talking as comfortably and familiarly as they ever had. As if nothing has changed between us, as if I’m still his good friend, as if I’ve done nothing wrong. Was it possible? Could Janet Cooper be as much Tom’s friend as Jack had been?
“Oh, you wound me!” Tom said. “Just because I don’t cheat as you do —” A gust of wind brought a rank, roasted smell from the woods and he fell suddenly silent.
So they haven’t moved the bodies, after all. “Don’t dwell on it,” Janet said, touching the back of his hand as he held the reins. “Tom — Sir Thomas, don’t.”
“I could almost think it was a dream.” He turned his hand palm up and laced his fingers through hers. “I almost thought it was a dream, when it was happening. And then you cried out, and my head cleared, and your clothes were on fire …”
“I did not cry out,” Janet said firmly. Honesty forced her to add, “I may have made some sound.”
His grip on her hand tightened a little, but when he spoke she was relieved to hear a lighter note to his voice. “Perhaps I knew something must be badly wrong because you’d stopped swearing at me.” They made the last turn and Nightfoot began to climb the hill towards the fort. “Although I deserved every word.”
“You were bewitched,” Janet pointed out. “That’s hardly your fault.”
“Aye, I was,” Tom said. “I said things to you and only knew I’d said them when I heard my own voice. I struck you —”
“If you call that a blow, you need more time training with sword and buckler,” Janet said quickly. “And perhaps now you’ll give more credence to those old wives’ tales. And stop mocking me for wearing a medallion or two.”
“Caris found your medal of Saint Sebastian in Lady Modron’s rooms,” Tom said.
Gooseflesh rose on Janet’s arms, although with Tom’s warmth against her back and his cloak around them both she was not at all cold. “I don’t want it back, then. I’ll get another.
“Wouldn’t Saint Thecla be more suitable? Or Saint Theodora?” Tom paused. “I always wondered why you stuck so fast to Saint Sebastian, and not to the saints who’d done as you were doing.”
“And have everyone wonder why a locksmith’s son had such an affinity with girls in boy’s clothing? No. Were they guilty, then? Modron’s women?”
“It doesn’t seem they had any part in it, although I’ll pack them off back to their families as soon as I can,” Tom said. “They knew she went out at night, sometimes. They thought it was to visit my chambers, and they kept her secret, us being betrothed.”
“It was to visit your chambers,” Janet said, remembering what Glyn had said. “There’s a way to see and hear into your rooms, from the wall. Glyn told me. You did hear whispering, all those nights. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“Gog’s hat,” Tom said, and she felt him shudder. “I’ll have that sealed before I sleep there again.”
They were approaching the gate. Janet straightened her spine and lifted her chin. They will stare, and whisper, and talk behind their hands. There was nothing she could do about it, except hold as much of her pride and her dignity that she could still find as closely wrapped around her as Tom’s cloak. She kept her chin up, and her gaze straight ahead between Nightfoot’s ears, as Tom reined the horse to a halt. She did not look around to see who was watching her, or with what expressions on their faces, as Lew came to take Nightfoot’s head and Tom swung down. She closed her ears to any murmurs as she herself dismounted, and she let herself see only the door to Brinday’s tower as she crossed the courtyard towards it and climbed the stairs.
It was not until she was in her own room and turned to shut the door behind her that she realized Tom had followed her. He stepped inside, and shut the door himself.
“You should leave it open,” Janet said tiredly. “I’ve no reputation left to speak of, but you don’t need to give any cause for gossip, only a day after your bride of only a day died.”
Tom didn’t open the door, but leaned back against it instead. “Is it that I married her?” he asked. “Is that why you’re so set on leaving?”
“No.” She kept her eyes on the floor between them, studying the muddy footprints she’d left as if they were a map of the location of the Holy Grail. “You were betrothed to her. You acted honorably.” She couldn�
�t help adding, “Foolishly. But honorably.”
He took a step towards her. “Because I’m a fool?” When she shook her head, “Then why? Jack. Janet. I must know. Did you mean what you said, down there in the dark?”
Making herself look at him, Janet did her best to give Jack Cooper’s merry grin. “That you were being a fool? I meant every word.”
Tom didn’t smile. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” he asked, soft and serious.
Oh, Tom. He was asking, she knew, to hear her say no. To hear her tell him they could still go on as they had been, as friends, without the embarrassment of her feelings between them … Make a joke of it, Janet told herself, make it funny, make him laugh — and send him away.
But Bryn Du’s black heart had been a tangle of self-serving truths and plausible lies, and she couldn’t bring herself to look Tom in the eye and add to them, not now. “Yes,” she said instead. “I meant it. I’m sorry.” Her eyes filled with tears and she turned her back to him before he could see. “I can’t h-help it and I c-can’t stop it, and I’ve b-been a friend to you despite it, I swear it.” She pressed her fingers to her lips as tears turned to sobs. “I’ll g-go away somewhere, you never n-need see me again, I’m sorry, I am, I’m s-sorry!”
Tom touched her shoulder gently and tried to turn her to face him. “Glyn is right. You do apologize far too much. You can be sorry for keeping it to yourself for so long, if you like.”
Janet refused to look at him. “Oh, I should s-say such things?” She took a hard breath, took another and held it until the tears slowed and the sobs subsided to an aching lump in her throat. “A woman should, and to you? I’m a locksmith’s daughter, Tom, and without even looks to recommend me.” Her nose was running and of course she had nothing to wipe it on but her sleeve, as if Tom didn’t have enough causes to think badly of her. “You’re lord of a manor, and Sir Thomas, all these months betrothed to another woman. And she was so beautiful, too!” She pulled away from him, sat down on the edge of the bed and blew her nose on the sheet.
Tom sat down beside her, and shrugged. “If you like that sort of thing. I’m partial to tall women with gray eyes, myself.” He smiled. “One, at least.”
It hurt, more than anything had a right to, a keen twisting pain in her breast that took her breath and her voice and then sank down to a dull heavy ache in her belly. Some woman, somewhere … from home, perhaps … or that he met overseas. And he’s free to marry her, now, with a home to offer her, this girl he’s loved from afar for who knows how long? “Oh,” Janet managed to say. “Who is she?”
“Do you really not know? I’m in love with Janet Cooper, you fool.”
There had been moments, in the past, when Janet had almost allowed herself to imagine Tom declaring his love for her. She had never let herself think about it long enough to wonder exactly what he would say, how she would answer, but she had always had a hazy idea that she would be witty, or perhaps poetic, or even shy and sweet.
Never had it crossed her mind that what would actually come out of her mouth would be: “You what?”
Nor had she ever imagined Tom laughing at her, not the chuckle or the half-breath of humor that she worked so hard to win from him when his eyes were chill and his mouth set, but warm, whole-hearted, open laughter as if there was nothing and no-one to fear in the world.
“Jack, Janet, Jack,” he said, still laughing, “As you’d say, Saint Theodosia’s teats! How much time we’ve wasted.”
“Tom,” Janet said, to hear his name in her mouth, to say it for the first time the way she had always longed to say it. She took his lovely face between her hands, and then, because it was, after all, exactly who she had always been to him, she looked him straight in the eye and said in her best shocked tone: “Your language!”
And so, when their lips met for the first time, it was in a kiss crooked with smiles and interrupted by laughter, and it was that, more than anything he’d said, which convinced Janet it was real: no dream or fantasy of hers would have had both of them shaking with mirth, would have had her calf stinging and her back sore as Tom pulled her down onto the bed.
And she would not, could not, believe that it was a sin to let him draw her tunic off and slide his hand beneath her shirt to send warmth running through her veins. Nor could it be a sin to do as she’d longed to for so long, and run her fingers through his hair, trace the scar at his hairline with her fingers, kiss the hollow of his throat. Nothing could be a sin, on this golden morning after the dark and fire of the night — not when every kiss and touch and murmur told the open honest truth between them after so many months and years of secrets and lies.
Later, as they lay tangled together, her head resting against his shoulder, he ran his fingers gently through her hair and she asked, “Do you plan to keep me as your leman?”
She felt as much as heard him laugh. “I plan to keep you as my wife, if you’ll have me.”
Janet raised her head. “Oh, Tom, that’s impossible! I’m from nothing. What are you going to tell people, I’ve married my steward, who by the way isn’t actually a man? You need a wife to suit your station. You need to marry a woman closer to your equal.”
“I aim somewhat higher,” Tom said. “I aim to marry the woman whose equal I hope to become. A woman more clever, and wise, and courageous than anyone I’ve ever met. A woman who’ll watch my back when I need it, and kick my backside when I need that, too.” He paused. “A woman I brought with me to Brinday for just those reasons, and for one more — because even if she couldn’t trust me enough to tell me her secret, even if we must always only be friends, I couldn’t bear the idea of being apart from her. Of not hearing her atrocious language and her jokes, not seeing her face every day.” He smiled. “We’ll have to wait a decent time, though. And the needlewomen will need to make your wedding gown.”
It was everything she had ever wanted, and yet … wedding gown. And more than just a wedding gown, they’d need to make her. A lady’s clothes, from skin to over-skirt, every day, for ever. Skirts to tangle my feet when I need to hurry, sleeves to hamper my hands.
But she would never again have a pressing need to hurry, would she? Never again need her arm free to draw her sword. No, she would sit in her chambers stitching, waiting for Tom to come to her, or perhaps irritate Caris by meddling in the kitchen. She couldn’t even ride, for there had never been any reason for Janet Cooper to learn, and Jack, of course, had backed a horse as a man did.
Janet’s heart fell a little at the thought of all the long days ahead she’d have to endure.
“What’s wrong?” Tom said.
Janet made herself smile. “Nothing.”
“Jack …” he coaxed.
Truth, she reminded herself. “I … will need to get used to skirts again, that’s all. And my embroidery skills are not what your wife’s should be. Nor my cooking, for that matter. But I’ll learn.”
“If you’d like,” he said. “It seems a waste of your time, though, when the women here are so skilled. And I doubt you’ll have much of it to spare. There’s the repairs to the walls still to be finished, and Glyn tells me Cadog has word of a ram for sale he’s most enamored of when you’re well enough to ride over to look at it.”
“I can’t,” Janet said. “I never learned to ride, until you taught me. I don’t know how to ride like a woman.”
“Then ride like a man,” Tom said. “Is that what’s bothering you? I don’t deny I look forward to seeing you in the gowns and jewels you deserve, but I’d like to recognize you from time to time, as well.” He tipped up her chin and made her look at him. “Jack — Janet — if the lord of Brinday doesn’t object to his wife dressing as she pleases, who’s to gainsay her?”
She searched his face for a kind lie, and couldn’t find it. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“I’ve been counting on it,” he said. “I would never have managed this year without Jack Cooper and I don’t see how I’m to manage next year without her, either.”
> “Oh,” she said, and a future unfurled before her like a bolt of cloth rolled out for a merchant’s inspection, all the rich and vibrant colors of Bryn Du spread out beneath her hand. “Tom, how do you to propose to afford this ram, anyway? Will they take credit?”
He grinned at her. “No need.” He eased her from his chest and sat up, reaching for his discarded trousers and taking something from the pocket. “I went back down those stairs this morning, after the fire in the wood had burned itself out. I thought I remembered something, and I was right.” He held out a small rock to her. Janet took it in her hand, startled by its weight, and then looked more closely. There was a gleam to it, warm and yellow, and when she pressed it with her thumbnail she made a small indentation.
“Gold,” she said. The dragon bleeds golden blood. What she had thought, in the haze of the smoke, to be golden blood trickling down the sides of the cave had been … “Veins of gold, in the rock.”
“Enough to repair the walls, and then some.”
“A pox on your walls,” Janet said, hands cupped around the lump, feeling it warm in her grip as if in its glowing heart it held the flame of Bryn Du’s future. No. Not Bryn Du, the Black Hill. Bryn Aur, the Hill of Gold. “Enough for copper tubs, and a dying shed, and looms, the big standing ones, and someone to come and teach the use of them. Tom. The colors that Braelyn can make, there’s nothing like them in the eastern markets, not that doesn’t come over the water. And the fineness of the wool, the cloth, the court will go mad for it.”
“Do you think?” he said doubtfully.
“I know.” She clenched her fist around the nugget. “Tom. This will buy more than grain in a bad year, repairs we haven’t the men to do ourselves. This will buy Brinday’s freedom from all of that, not for one year, not for two or five, but for your lifetime, for your son, for his son after him.”
“For our son,” he said, taking her in his arms. “For our lifetimes. So will you say yes, now I’m rich? You’ll have the right to half of it, you know, if you stay with me seven years.”
Janet realized she had not said it, not aloud. She smiled. “Oh, you won’t be rid of me that easily, Tom Lynhurst. Seven years won’t do it. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, God’s blood, I’ve loved you so long I don’t even known when I started, of course I’ll marry you.”