by Lily Baldwin
“Please come with us,” Joanie said, trying to reason with Simon one last time, but he cut her off.
“Enough,” he snapped. “Now, stay close. Remain silent until you are on the other side of the river.”
Joanie hastened to the door while Simon escorted Diana, bearing her proudly on his arm.
When they descended the stairs to the kitchen and stepped out into the garden, Simon cupped Diana’s cheeks. “With angels trumpeting we will meet again,” he said, and then he kissed her.
Tears flooded Joanie’s eyes as she watched Diana lean into Simon’s kiss, her lips trembling, her hands desperately gripping his tunic. A gasp of longing reached Joanie’s ears, and in that moment, she realized that Diana did, indeed, return Simon’s love.
Chapter Thirteen
Joanie gripped the sides of the small boat as they made their way across the Thames. Her threadbare hood offered little protection from the icy wind. Diana sat in front of her. Despite her thick cloak and the numerous veils Joanie had wrapped around her face with just her eyes visible to the night, Diana still coughed. But they were quickly approaching the other side of the river. Joanie eyed the docks, which were eerily quiet in the cold night.
The last time she had stood on the docks, London’s riverport had been bustling with merchants and passengers. The palace had soared above the river, awe-inspiring against the bright sky. She dared to glance back, past the downcast head of the river man, at the palace looming now in shadowy darkness. She thought of Geoffrey and prayed she would never see her master again. And then she remembered, she had a new master. Would he search for her? At the price of one-hundred silver marks, Joanie could not imagine that Randolph Tweed would simply let her go. Fear began to mount in her mind, but she straightened her back and pushed concerns for herself away. She needed to find a hospital quickly. What little strength Diana still possessed would soon be exhausted.
After the boatman assisted both Diana and Joanie onto shore, she straightened Diana’s veils and pulled the rich fur cloak tighter around her shoulders. At the very least, Diana looked as fine as any lady Joanie had glimpsed from afar, and she looked like Diana’s maid. Their pretense of status, she prayed would protect them as they started down the dark narrow dirt streets. Motley pedestrians eyed them with interest; still, to Joanie’s great relief, they cleared the docks without incident.
Icy patches slowed their progress as they left the riverbank and headed further into the city. They passed clay and thatch homes and narrow alleys, dotted with fire pits where people warmed their hands. After years of being sequestered in Diana’s room, only to leave when Geoffrey’s household changed abode, Joanie was struck by the din and inescapable smells.
“Stand up straight,” Diana said. “You are trying to hide inside yourself again. Put your shoulders down. Your fear will draw trouble like a moth to flame.”
Joanie stood straight and tried to mirror Diana’s stride. Diana moved like a queen, but upon closer inspection her breath rattled and was coming in shorter and quicker gasps. “I’m sorry, Joanie. I … I do not know how much farther I can go.”
“Look there,” Joanie exclaimed, pointing to a church up ahead. “Surely someone there can help us.”
The double doors leading into the church were locked. “There must be another door,” Joanie said.
“At this hour, it is likely to be locked as w—” Diana said, her words overtaken by a vicious cough.
Joanie wrapped her arm around Diana’s waist. “If I asked you to leave me here on the steps, I’m guessing you would refuse me,” Diana said, a weak chuckle escaping her bluish lips.
“We are almost there,” Joanie said. She spied the door up ahead. It, too, was locked. Joanie banged on the wood with her fist. Again and again, she beat the door, unwilling to accept defeat.
“There is no point,” Diana said, leaning her head against Joanie’s legs as she continued to pound on the door.
“I will not give up,” Joanie cried, her fist sore. Then suddenly she heard movement coming from inside the church, and a moment later, the door opened a crack. A priest with a deeply furrowed brow held a lamp high. He glared at Joanie through the crack, but when he noticed Diana his expression softened.
“My lady,” he said, opening the door fully. Diana smiled her beautiful smile and accepted the priest’s hand.
“Thank you, Father,” she said. She stood and stepped into the stone hallway. Torch fire cast dancing shadows on the walls. Joanie followed Diana inside, her eyes drawn to the high arched ceilings.
“My lady, why have you come to me?”
“I…” Diana’s hand flew to her head the instant before she slumped in the priest’s arms.
He gathered her close to him and felt her brow. “She burns like fire.”
Joanie nodded. “She is gravely ill. She needs a bed.”
The priest raised his brows. “Where is her family? We are a humble parish. I cannot take her in.”
Joanie raised Simon’s heavy purse. “I have coin. Your parish will be greatly rewarded for this kindness.”
The priest hesitated at the sight of the purse. He considered Diana a moment longer before he nodded. “I am Father Ambrose. You are both welcome. I will do all I can for her.”
The priest scooped Diana into his arms, cradling her. Joanie followed him through the empty chapel, which was shrouded in shadow. Beyond the sacristy, he asked Joanie to open a large door, which led into a narrow, stone hallway with a high arched ceiling. She stepped aside, letting Father Ambrose enter first. After passing several doors, he stopped in front of one and glanced at Joanie. “It is unlocked.”
She nodded and stepped in front of him, opening the door. They were greeted by darkness. Undeterred, Father Ambrose walked headlong into the dark with Diana in his arms.
“Bring me one of the candles from the hall,” he said.
When she returned, the single flame illuminated a small room with naught but a straw mattress on the floor, a rough-hewn table and chair and another smaller table in the corner with a basin and pitcher.
He laid Diana on the mattress, then he stood and turned to Joanie. “Rest for now. In the morning, we will discuss what must be done.”
“Thank you, Father,” Joanie said before the door closed.
She turned on her feet, taking in the small room, and then she looked down at Diana. Her face looked peaceful as she slept, but her raspy breaths panged Joanie’s heart. In that moment, she realized there was naught else she could do but lie down on the floor next to Diana and surrender to sleep.
~ * ~
Alec headed toward the southern wing. Handing Geoffrey Mercer the large purse without drawing his blade and running him through had been the greatest test of Alec’s self-control. The greedy, smug look that lit Geoffrey’s eyes when he clutched the bag to his chest still twisted Alec’s stomach. The one consolation, Alec clung to was the knowledge of how Geoffrey would suffer once Alec stole the coin back. But that could wait. First, he was going to bring Joanie to a safe place, far from the palace and out of reach of Geoffrey’s punishing fists.
The southern wing stretched out in front of him. Straightaway, his eyes narrowed on the guard sprawled out on the floor in front of one of the doors. He raced forward, stepping over the unconscious man, throwing open the door. The room was empty, but he knew it had been Diana’s, not just by the finery scattered about the room, the oils and perfumes — he could feel Joanie’s presence.
But where was she now?
Again, he saw her, so clearly, standing on the bridge, her heart and soul pleading for his.
He stormed from the room. So many questions plagued his heart. He had but one certitude — he knew where he would find her. When he did find her, he only prayed that she was not as desolate as in his vision.
Chapter Fourteen
“Good morrow,” Joanie heard Diana whisper. Although awake, Joanie had yet to open her eyes. Diana’s green eyes slowly came into focus as Joanie searched for the stren
gth and courage to face the day. In the end, it was the purple circles beneath Diana’s eyes that brought her fully wake.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Joanie asked as she sat up.
Diana smiled slightly. “Do you really need to ask?”
Joanie stood and grabbed her heavy satchel, searching for soothing herbs.
“What are you doing?” Diana asked.
Not looking up, Joanie said, “I am going to make your morning tisane. Then I will mix a fresh plaster for your chest, and—”
“Joanie,” Diana said, interrupting.
This time she looked up. “What it is?”
“Why do you bother?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I’m dying,” she said softly. “Why not let me die?”
“Don’t talk like that,” Joanie scolded. Then she turned back to her herbs. “I need more Horehound. I will ask Father Ambrose for some.”
Diana shook her head. “We have bothered the good father enough. It must be late enough for the markets to be up. Why don’t you go and buy what you need?”
Joanie considered her limited supply. She had been rushed the night before; there were several important herbs she had been remiss in packing. “Will you be all right without me?”
“No,” Diana said, tears stinging her eyes. “How could I ever get on without you, Joanie?” She swept a trembling hand across her wet cheeks and took a deep breath. “But in the end, I know I will be just fine.” Then she pointed to the table. “Take Simon’s purse. There is more than enough there to buy whatever it is you might need.”
Joanie reached for the purse and plucked out two coins. “This will be enough.” Then she swept her tattered cloak around her shoulders. “Is there anything in particular you would like?” Joanie asked.
“Your forgiveness,” Diana said.
Joanie’s eyes widened. “Forgiveness? Whatever for?”
Diana closed her eyes. “We all need forgiveness every now and then. None of us are perfect.” Then she looked up at Joanie and smiled. “Even if we would like to be remembered that way.”
Joanie returned her smile. “I think you should rest a while longer.” She bent and pressed a kiss to Diana’s cheek. “I will speak to the priest before I leave to ensure he checks in on you.”
“I’m sure he will,” Diana said. Then she turned and curled up on the bed facing the wall. “I love you, Joanie.”
“I love you too,” Joanie whispered, softly closing the door as she left.
Chapter Fifteen
The buildings lining the narrow streets blurred as tears flooded Joanie’s eyes. She pulled her cloak tighter around her chin to block out the chill. Large snowflakes drifted down, sashaying through the air and settling on the dirt roads and rundown buildings like an icing of frosty lace to cover the drab thatch roofs. Her stomach rumbled as she passed by a vendor with baked apples and warm mead bubbling in a pot. Snowflakes found the hot surface and disappeared the instant they touched down in the boiling drink.
The man eyed her distastefully. “Unless you’ve a hay penny in your pocket to buy a sip, you just keep on walking.”
Joanie scurried away. She didn’t have a hay penny or any other penny for that matter.
Two days prior, when she had returned to the chapel from the market, the priest had refused her entry…
“I’m sorry, my child, but she does not want you here,” Father Ambrose said gently.
Joanie stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
“Your mistress told me not to grant you entry.”
“You’re lying,” Joanie said, barreling up the stairs. But Father Ambrose and two servants who flanked his sides barred the way. She tried to shove past them. “Diana,” she shouted, pushing her face through his arms. “Diana!”
The priest’s servants, two strong, young men, grabbed her arms and dragged her backward down the steps. Her heart pounded. She could hardly draw breath. “Let me go! She needs me!”
“This is not my doing. This is your mistress’s will,” Father Ambrose said, his brows drawn together.
Joanie shook her head, the priest’s sympathetic face blurred as tears flooded her eyes. “I don’t believe you,” she sobbed, trying to yank her arms free. “Please, don’t do this. She needs me.”
Father Ambrose clasped his hands as if in prayer and descended the steps. “She wanted me to give you this message. She does not want you to watch her waste away and die. She wants you to remember her as she always was, beautiful and strong. Also, she wants you to take yourself far from here, away from London.”
“No,” Joanie cried, covering her ears with her hands. Her stomach twisted. The sour taste of bile filled her mouth.
“And she wanted me to give you this.” From beneath his robe, Father Ambrose produced a small purse. “I have kept for the parish what I require for her care and burial. She bade me give you the remainder.”
Joanie gaped in horror at the purse. She shook her head. “Please, Father, she is not well. She … she does not know what she is doing.”
Father Ambrose canted his head to the side, his expression soft. “You love her dearly, I can see. I am so sorry for your loss.”
“But she isn’t dead,” Joanie screamed as she rushed the stairs. But one of the servants thrust his arm out, knocking her back. The back of her head slammed against the ground.
“Be gentle with her.” She heard Father Ambrose snap over the ringing that filled her ears.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his face suddenly looming above hers. He laid his hand on her head. “I will do everything in my power to see that she does not suffer.”
Heartache twisted the pit of her stomach. “Please,” she cried, her hands covering her face.
The servants helped her stand. Her head pounded.
“Take this,” she heard the priest say.
She glanced at the purse in his hand. She waved it away with a feeble gesture. “That was not intended for me.”
Father Ambrose seized her arm. “Do not be a fool. Take the coin.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting her tears. “Release me now,” she gritted. When the pressure from her arm vanished. She took a step back. Then without looking up she whispered, “Tell her I love her,” before she turned and stumbled down the street.
Joanie reached behind her head. Blood still oozed from a gash on the back of her head when she fell off the stairs. The wetness around her hair and cloak had frozen in the cold. She ripped her tunic into strips, wadding one up to soak up the blood and securing it to the wound with the other. After tying off the knot, she pulled her hood low over her head. She hunched over, trying to escape the blustery wind as she continued down the narrow road. She knew not where she was going. She was desperate for food, and never had she known such cold. Glancing down, she could see that her feet still moved, but they were completely numb. And she wondered whether she was still truly walking or was she dreaming her worst nightmare yet. Then Diana’s words returned to her. There are worse pains than the might of a fist. Hunger. Cold. Those are the real demons.
When Diana had spoken those words, Joanie had not believed her. She could not imagine facing anything worse than Geoffrey’s temper, but that was pain she had been able to fight against, hide from. The hunger that gripped her belly and the cold that slowed her steps could not be outrun, or slapped away, or hidden from. They could not be ignored by a secret place inside of her.
Up ahead, she spied a fire pit. She kept her eyes on the dancing flames and forced her feet to walk one in front of the other. She felt the warmth even from a distance, enticing her stiff limbs to speed up, and then, suddenly, she stood next to the blazing heat, warming her hands over the licking flames. Needles of pain stabbed her fingers as feeling began to return.
“Get away from there,” a woman shouted, coming at her with a broom. “That is heating up for my laundry. It’s not for trash like you.” Then a dog came from around her skirts, barking and gnashing its te
eth. Fear pulsed through Joanie, and she ran, her heart pounding in her ears. The woman’s hateful voice and the bark of the dog followed her, filling her mind, pushing her ever faster although she knew she had long outrun the threat.
At last, she collapsed, her mind still reeling, but her body had surrendered. It would take her no further. People from all walks of life and stations strode past her, giving her a wide berth. Through a haze, she watched them avert their eyes, ignoring her need. Snow danced down and her eyes followed the rhythm, which slowly grew faster as the snow thickened into a gauzy curtain, obscuring the buildings and passersby. As darkness approached, the wind picked up, blasting her face with ice and snow.
One side of the street still bustled with people, hunched over, escaping the storm. On the other side, there was a bridge guarded by two ferocious stone lions. People rushed to cross over to the other side. She rolled over onto her stomach, searching for what lay beneath the bridge. A deep ditch only dusted with snow and out of reach of the wind’s sharp talons, beckoned her. Crawling down the banking, she scrambled for cover, and finally collapsed onto her back. She angled her head to peer around the wrought iron, her eyes following one snowflake’s descent to the ground. Everything else had gone away, except the cold winter sky, black but full of power. She stared upward, feeling no pain, no cold, no fear, no joy. She was nameless, her mind and heart empty. Shadows closed in on her vision, and she welcomed the approaching oblivion. A breath away from what felt like her last, a face suddenly intruded upon her nothingness. Eyes as black and cold as the winter night sky looked down at her. Long black hair swept her skin when he drew closer. He was beautiful and somehow familiar. Strong arms enclosed her, lifting her away from the cold ground. He pressed her close, wrapping his cloak around her. Warmth immediately surrounded her, reaching her soul-deep. It was as if he had lit a fire within her body, heating her from the inside out. And yet when she met his gaze a chill crept up her fiery spine.