By Design

by Madeline Hunter

  Abundant chestnut hair tumbled around her body. The babe suckled with sleepy contentment, as though he knew his mother's goodness. Moira had a heart that would nurture the world if permitted. If he ever carved an image of Charity, he would use the memory of her as she sat thus, giving succor.

  He had almost loved her once. Not the way he did now, as an old friend. She had been the only woman before Joan about whom he had wondered what might be. She had been Addis's serf then, and her lord desired her. Rhys thought it was the same story he had witnessed as a boy, and probably wooed her more quickly because of that. What he had not known was that Addis owned her heart more securely than her freedom. She had loved the son of Barrowburgh most of her life.

  Her lord loved her, too. He ultimately married her despite her low birth, and let his sons have her blood. Rhys did not like Addis much, and the tension over Moira still hung between them. His respect for the man increased tenfold, however, when that marriage had occurred.

  “It has been over two weeks since you came last, Rhys. You were very busy?”

  “Aye. A window at the abbey. The donation came from the Queen, and the abbot wanted it done fast, lest the funds get diverted to some extravagance. There were ten of us there.”

  “Then you were not in the city at all these days.”

  “I only returned at night.”

  The fading light caught an impish glint in her clear blue eyes. “To be with your tiler?”

  Hell. “Moira …”

  “Nay, nay. You do not need to explain to me. I can not help but be curious, though. You have had women before, but this is the first time that you have taken one into your home.” The baby had fallen asleep. She shifted him, and covered herself. “It is said that she is your housekeeper now.”

  “How do you hear such things? You are still lying in. You have not even been to the church yet.”

  “I have servants. I have visitors. They are sworn to bring me any gossip worth hearing. Imagine my surprise to learn that the best tidbits were about you.” She lifted the infant to her shoulder and patted. “Some say that you bought her, but I have let it be known that you are the last man to do that.”

  She smiled expectantly, waiting for his gratitude. He stared blandly through the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her face fall.

  “Rhys, you didn't.”

  “It is not—”

  “You? The man who stood up to Addis about his claims on me? The man who has taken no apprentices because he does not believe in bonds lasting even ten years?”

  “I have taken none because the responsibility for them restricts my movements, not because—”

  “The man who helped depose a king, because he said the abuse of power had infringed the people's rights? You have bought a woman's freedom and made her your leman?”

  “It is true that I bought her indenture, but I do not hold her to it. And she is not my leman.”

  She frowned at him skeptically. “Truly? She does not share your bed?”

  “Truly.” And then, because it was Moira, he smiled. “Not that I haven't offered.”

  She gave him a very motherly look. Sympathetic, but far too knowing. “It sounds like you are tempting the devil.”

  “Aye, I am certainly doing that.” And he was. The devil inside him. The voice that, late at night, calculated the odds of success if he pursued Joan more aggressively, and that weighed the strength of passion against that of her resolve. And of her fears. Only his suspicions about the latter checked him now, not his much-vaunted principles.

  “Perhaps you should send her away,” Moira said. “I will give her work here, and take the brother, too.”

  “Nay.”

  He said it sharply enough that she frowned with disapproval. “So you do not hold her with the indenture, but with her need for food and shelter.”

  I am inclined to keep her with me any way I can. So there it was, admitted bluntly. He had never thought to see the day when he understood why Addis had forced Moira to remain his bondwoman, but he did now.

  “Do you care for this Joan? It is not just temporary lust, I hope.”

  He laughed. “There is plenty of lust, Moira. Enough that I am not sure what I think about the rest.”

  “You must bring her to the baptismal feast next week. I must meet her and look her over.”

  “Look who over?” a voice asked from the shadows.

  Rhys twisted to see Addis de Valence walking toward them. He had known Addis would come. He had been waiting for him.

  “So it is you, mason. One of the women said that a man had snuck in the gate. Sly and silent, she described him.”

  “Greetings, Addis. I came to admire your new son.”

  “And my wife, I'll wager.”

  “A fool's bet for me, and easy winnings for you.” They treated it like a little joke, but a low note in Addis's voice said that he still had suspicions about Rhys's interest in Moira. Which was why he had come down from the solar.

  “Look who over?” he repeated.

  “A woman,” Moira said.

  “Your woman? The pretty one you have taken into your home?”

  The Lord of Barrowburgh normally did not partake of town gossip. Moira must have told him.

  Moira rose with the baby cradled against her bosom. “I must put this little one to bed. Do not leave, Rhys. I have a rose gown and veil to send back to Joan.” She carried the infant away, leaving him alone with her husband.

  “Your woman sounds proud,” Addis said, sitting in the chair Moira had used. The last of the light hit the left side of his face, revealing a deep, long scar slicing from his dark hairline to his jaw. “That is good. Some men prefer timid women, but I have always thought that was because such men are too weak to handle anything else.”

  “She is proud enough.” And she is not my woman. He would not get into that with Addis, however. Unfortunately, Moira would probably tell him all about it.

  “How do you fare, Rhys? Has your work been taking you to the palace of late?” Addis asked casually, like an old friend catching up. Except that they were not old friends.

  “Aye. I just finished a window. One of the Queen's donations. Now I am honored to do some work in the King's chambers. Did you recommend me to Edward, Addis? He said that men he trusts spoke for me.”

  “I may have done so.”

  “Did he mention that his mother had first put my name forward?”

  “He may have done so.”

  “I do not think that I should thank you for this. You have put me into an impossible situation, and one that I did not seek on my own at all. I am treading on the edge of a precipice as it is. This only makes my path narrower.”

  “You speak as though you do not know where to put your feet, or your loyalties.”

  “When I risk my life on my loyalties, I like it to be my own choice, and for a worthwhile reason.”

  “You speak as though someone expects something of you. That would be Mortimer, I guess. What does he want?”

  Addis spoke as if he assumed the expectation had not yet been met. And so Rhys answered more honestly than he might have. “Information. He smells something, so he says.”

  “Indeed? To where has he turned his nose?”

  “Well, Addis, at the moment, in the direction of you.”

  A silence pulsed while he absorbed that. “He was specific about this?”

  “Most specific.”

  “He must be too idle these days if he sniffs in my direction. I am the least of his concerns.”

  “You are not in his pocket. He will be suspicious of any baron who is not.”

  It had grown dark, but Addis looked as if he could see Rhys very well. Gold lights flickered in his dark eyes. “Did you come here today to learn if his suspicions are correct?”

  “I came to visit Moira, and to greet your new son.”

  “But if your visit were known, Mortimer would assume that you had at least tried.”

  “Aye, he would assume that.�
��

  “I think that you are practiced enough in walking that precipice. You will not fall. Visit as often as you need to keep Mortimer satisfied.”

  It was the offer of a comrade, if not a friend. It was not the rebellion that had forged this bond of trust between them. It was Moira. “You should probably visit the Queen.”

  “Then he would suspect that you had warned me, and start sniffing at you. I am safe from the man in ways a mason can never be. I have no business with the Queen, and will not inconvenience myself to feed her vanity.”

  A woman entered with two candles to give them some light. Addis waited for her to go before speaking again. “You have no loyalty to me, but you would never allow Moira or her children to be hurt. I think that you came this evening not just to visit my wife, but to alert me to Mortimer's interest in me.”

  “I might have mentioned it before I left.”

  “I am grateful for that. I am glad that you waited until Moira was not present, though. I would not have her worry about something that has no significance.”

  He lounged comfortably in the chair. The scar gave him a face half handsome and young, and half old and menacing. His last words rang with a peculiar note. And a request.

  There it was, the word or tone or sigh that spoke more than intended. It was what Rhys had been waiting for, and the real reason he had come. He now knew for certain that Mortimer sniffed for a reason, and in the right direction.

  The Lord of Barrowburgh had brought his family to London during this hot summer because something kept him from waiting for cooler winds.

  Rhys slept fitfully, and eventually not at all. The meeting with Addis had forced him to see the truth. Something was indeed brewing. Now that he admitted it, he remembered other words and pauses and shielded glances—things he had deliberately ignored, but could no longer.

  John had spoken of an army being raised in France. It had sounded preposterous, since Queen Isabella was French, and would surely learn of such a thing. But there were regions where her influence did not extend, places like Brittany or Bordeaux, or other areas John might have called France but which were not loyal to the French royal family.

  He considered his situation, and annoyance made him restless. Should some action occur, Mortimer would never believe he had not known beforehand. And if it failed, John would undoubtedly tell Stratford and Lancaster that a certain mason could have helped and did not. He might claim more than that, come to think of it. He might assume that the mason had betrayed them. Addis might assume it, too.

  Which that mason could do, with a word or pause or glance of his own, intended or not. Nothing explicit, but enough for a shrewd man like Mortimer to surmise the truth. It might even be for the best, if it ended this foolishness before lives were committed.

  Damn. He had known this kind of danger before, but then he had accepted it of his own will.

  He swung his legs and sat on the edge of the bed. It was nights like this when he regretted not having married. It would be nice to hold a friend now. A little feminine softness might distract him.

  The chamber felt confining, as though its walls cornered him as surely as the situation that he contemplated. He pulled on some clothes and headed down to the garden, seeking the limitless sky.

  As he passed through the kitchen, Joan stirred on her pallet. He paused and looked down on her, and his spirit was soothed immediately. The concerns of this night became something to worry about another day.

  He enjoyed watching her sleep, even though he could not see much in the darkness. He relished it all the more because she would be gone soon. He did not doubt that now. Her denial of what had passed between them in the workroom had proven it. It would not be anything that he did that would send her away. It would be something in herself that had nothing to do with him at all. She had made that very plain.

  He wondered what it was. He almost envied her this goal that consumed her. He remembered her that first night in this kitchen, crying out a rebel's yell for justice and ignoring the realities he threw back at her. It had been hot, youthful belief clashing with weary, old experience. She had reminded him of himself ten years ago. He had probably been harsher with her because of that.

  Whatever it was, it would take her away. Pleasure and affection would not hold her. Nor would the comfort of this house. She resisted the hold of both, just as she did not mingle with the neighbors or find a more private place to nest at night. She wanted no ties to bind her. He understood that. He had lived it. It was easier to be brave if you had nothing to lose.

  She spoke of needing coin. He should just give it to her. It was what any friend would do.

  He should, but he would not. The affection he had for her was not just that of a friend. She was right; the help and kindness were not selfless on his part. He had never pretended otherwise. He had been honest about that, with her and himself.

  She looked so lovely sleeping there. This house was a friendlier place for her presence. She might refuse the closeness he sought, she might deny what this might be, but he still liked having her here. And walking that precipice every day would be easier if the path led to her every night.

  She needed coin. She would leave in order to find a way to get it—unless she could find it here. Well, he could help with that. Not selflessly, not immediately, but help all the same.

  Her own sleep had grown restless, as if he intruded on her dreams. She turned on her side and huddled, as though a nightmare had claimed her.

  He reached down and touched her shoulder. Her body stiffened. He shook gently. She flipped onto her back and shrugged him off.

  He could tell when she woke. He sensed her gazing up at him.

  “Come with me, Joan.”

  “Nay.”

  She had misunderstood. “Not to my bed. Out to the garden. I want to speak with you.”

  He left, not knowing if she would follow. Since that day in his workroom, she had worked hard to reestablish distance.

  He waited among the flowers at the far wall, where no tree or house obscured the sky.

  She came. The moonlight glowed gently off her hair as she walked toward him. “What do you want?”

  “I have a proposition to make. You said that you sought out those potters in the market so that you can earn coin. I know a way for you to do so.”

  She turned on her heel to retrace her steps. “When I told you to go buy whores, I did not mean that I would be one for you.”

  “I would never debase our friendship by offering money for that. It is a different proposition that I have.”

  That stopped her. “Go on.”

  “It is my new project. It requires tiles, but I am no tiler.I can judge the quality once they are made, but not the works that will make them. I will need to commission these, and must be sure that the yard can do the work well if I strike the bargain. If you visit those yards with me, you will know if the craft will be as it should be once those tiles are made.”

  She idly swept her hands through some tall growth while she thought about it. The gesture made her appear childish. “You would pay me to do this?”

  “Aye.”

  “How much?”

  “Whatever you say it is worth.”

  “I would visit the yards with you, and judge the kiln and the skill of the workers, that is all?”

  That wouldn't take long at all. “I would want you to visit again a few times once the commission is given, to see that it is being executed properly. And the chambers have plank floors, so you should probably see if they need any work before the tiles are laid.”

  “Where are these chambers?”

  “At Westminster.”

  Her sweeping arms stopped. “Mortimer's chambers?”

  “Nay. The King's chambers.”

  “Your new project is for the King? Truly for the crown then.”

  “You could say that.” You could, and it would be partly right. At least half right, and maybe more if he could pretend ignorance where he was not.
<
br />   She strolled through the flowers, thinking. “I will visit the yards. I want ten pence for each one that I judge. If I am still here when the tiles are made, I want ten shillings to supervise the quality. But I will not go to the chambers with you. Find a man who lays pavers to judge the floor.”

  “It would be easier if you did it.”

  “I do not want to go to Westminster. I would feel foolish there, among such grand people.”

  “You would be with me, and I am hardly grand. No one notices such as us.”

  “Nay.”

  “As you like it. In a few days then, we will begin visiting yards.”

  “One of the potters in the market, the one from Kent, has a brother who makes tiles. His wares looked good.”

  “Then we will start with him. There is one other thing. In two days Moira's new son will be baptized. She has asked that you come to the feast.”

  “You said that her husband is a lord. Will there be knights and such there?”

  “There are few in the city. It will mostly be people from the ward. She has shown you kindness. You must come and thank her. You know that you must.”

  She didn't like it. He could feel her agitation over the idea. Maybe she worried that attending with him would only convince the neighbors of what they already suspected, that she served him with more than food and scrubbing.

  “Aye, if it will mostly be people from the ward, I will go and thank her. I would not want to be thought ungrateful,” she said, turning back to the house.

  She said it with resignation. And a note of worry.

  CHAPTER 12

  MOIRA NOTICED THEM immediately when they entered the big hall. She hurried over, her clear blue eyes taking Joan in, then glancing at him in approval.

  “I scolded Rhys for not introducing us sooner,” she said, taking Joan's hands in her own. “Come and meet my husband and son, and the child whose birth we celebrate today.”

  Addis stood by the cradle that held the infant. His little son Patrick hovered protectively, beaming with delight at all of the adult attention falling on him and his tiny brother. The Lord of Barrowburgh examined Joan with blunt curiosity, and she paled a little under the strong man's inspection.