Crimson Secret

by Janet Lane

  Joya took a chair at the table. To mislead Peter, she must appear sure of herself. It was vital that he believe what he heard them say. And he would hear, because after a few furtive glances and carefully staged whispers with her friends, she knew he would eavesdrop.

  “What are you planning?” George asked.

  “Wait.” Cam closed the door and checked the window. “Where’s Peter?”

  Hopefully in one of the many nearby alcoves, spying. “I sent him to the village on an errand,” Joya said. “We have time.” She took a deep breath and proceeded. “My father sent word to Margaret. She’ll be here on Monday.” She turned to George and did not lower her voice. “We’re going to help Luke and Hugh escape before Margaret arrives.”

  “At Coin Forest? You jest,” George said. “It’s crawling with knights.”

  “Just listen,” Joya said. “I’m thinking past midnight on Saturday would be a good time. It will be crowded. Lord and Lady Onslow and their household will be there. The Westchester musicians are coming and the hall will be crowded with merchants and townfolk. The gatehouse will be busy watching all of them traveling back and forth from the village.”

  “What guards are scheduled Saturday tonight?” George asked.

  They discussed ways they could distract the guards, and considered using the tunnel to free Luke and Hugh.

  Joya snapped her fingers. “I know where the keys are kept. During the music—that’s when I could get them.”

  “I don’t like it,” George said. “Tabor’s knights are disciplined, and he’s no one’s fool.”

  “I have to say the same, Joya,” Pru said. “Someone could get hurt. If we’re trying to avoid more bloodshed, this is not the plan.”

  “How about this,” Cam said. “Why don’t we petition Margaret for leniency, and point out that she’s already taken Luke’s treasury?”

  “Why would she listen?” Joya asked.

  “Because she needs us to fight,” George said. “Between Coin Forest, Faierfield and Ilchester there are at the least fifty knights to fight her battles. Find a way to delicately remind her that she shouldn’t be murdering men who are loyal to her.”

  “Talk to your father,” Pru said.

  “But what about my plan?” Joya asked.

  “It’s ill-conceived,” Pru said. “Trying to free Luke—well, it’s dull thinking, Joya.”

  Joya’s neck heated. She knew it was said only for effect, but it cut too close to her heart.

  “I’m sorry,” Pru rushed on. “I don’t want you to be hurt. And you surely don’t want your father choosing between you and the rest of his family, and his holdings.”

  “We’re not criminals,” Cam said. “We’re your friends. We can’t draw a sword or—”

  “Speak for yourself, Camilla,” George said.

  Camilla gave him an impish smile. “Well, we women can’t draw a sword or fight.” She sobered. “Forget about this. Trust Tabor to handle Margaret.”

  Joya paused. Now she would back off the plan, loudly and clearly enough that Peter would hear it and relay it to her father. They would think her friends talked sense into her, and they wouldn’t suspect anything.“You’re right. It won’t work. I was foolish to think it could.”

  “I understand your concerns for the Bonwyks,” Camilla said. “I’m loyal to King Henry, but we mustn’t forget, Margaret is French, and you know how they are.”

  “Remember Agincourt,” Pru said.

  Camilla laughed. “You weren’t even born yet.”

  “But we know the stories,” Pru insisted. “The French are brutal. They think all can be solved with their swords. We need to remind Margaret she’s in England. Ask your father to impress that upon her.”

  “You’re right, Pru,” Joya said. “Let’s forget all this, and I’ll talk with him.”

  “Now, Joya, that doesn’t get you out of your invitation,” Cam said. “Let’s go to Pru’s and wait for Peter to return. Then back to Coin Forest for music and some of Maud’s boar’s head soup.”

  As they left the church, Joya spotted movement in the bushes by the cemetery. A sideways glance at George and her friends confirmed that they had seen it, too.

  Chapter 10

  Two days later, Joya and her friends cleared the hill toward the Halfway Bridge. The horses nickered amiably in the high grass. It was midday, and above, a thin sun begged through a flat cloud layer. Joya reined Goldie to a stop and removed her travel cape. She wore a gown the color of the setting sun, an orange fabric that had caught her mother’s eye at the Southampton market. Joya had selected the amber necklace her sister, Faith, had made for her because it matched the gown so well.

  Beneath the simple bodice, her heart skittered. Her hands were so moist the reins slipped in her fingers, her armpits damp. She chided herself silently. What’s wrong with you? You have the perfect plan. Luke gets saved, no one gets hurt, and no one will know what you did. An ingenious plan, remarkable that she had thought of it.

  Below the bridge the Ten Mile River wore a feathery collar of weeping willows, their leaves still bright with spring green.

  Cam tilted her head, looking into Joya’s eyes. “Scared?”

  Joya swallowed hard. “If it weren’t my own family at stake, it would be easier. There’ll be no going back. What are you doing, coming with me?”

  Cam laughed. “I wouldn’t miss it. You’ll be beholden to me forever.”

  “It’s a sound plan at first glance, but things could go awry. Cam? You can still go back and not do this.”

  Cam looked away, staring into the thick stand of trees to the left. “Loyalty. It’s expected of us. For that we get to live in peace. We’re not murdered on our own land for a transgression we had no part of.”

  “It’s wrong,” Joya agreed.

  “Margaret has stepped too far with this,” Pru said. “It’s one thing to fight for the throne, and it’s another to kill innocents.”

  “Luke is stupid to defend York,” Cam said, “but I understand his opposition to Margaret. I didn’t before, but now I do. Besides, she’s French. England’s throne should not hold French leaders. At least York is English.”

  A tingle crawled down Joya’s scalp all the way down her back. “You support York?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m saying King Henry should sit on the throne, but if he can’t, we don’t need some Frenchwoman sitting on it.”

  “Pru, it’s not too late for you, either. You can go back.”

  “No. I can’t support what’s happened. Let’s get Luke away.”

  Joya cleared her throat. “If it fails, run your horses as fast as you can back to the castle. Tell them I slipped into a wild spell and lost my senses. Save yourselves.”

  “Joya. Let’s not get maudlin,” Cam said. “The plan is good. We’ll all be victims. They’ll never suspect.” She scanned the woods to the left, lingering on the small yellow bush they’d discussed earlier.

  “I’ve been watching it, too,” Pru said. “George isn’t here yet.”

  “He will be,” Cam said. “You can count on him. Your plan is sound, Joya. I see your father trusted Luke to finish the bridge. Looks like Peter believed what he heard at the church. He must have told your father we were no threat.”

  Thank the Lord, Joya thought. Luke was at the saw rack, working alone again, but today he was more closely guarded. Twenty feet downstream, Peter, the old knight Ralph, and two other knights sat on the grass, eating their midday meal. They had brought only breastplate armor, which remained tied to their horses. They didn’t expect trouble.

  “You’re brave,” Cam said. “Lead the way.”

  They rode down to the bridge. Luke had removed his tunic, baring his chest. Joya gaped, unable to take her eyes off him. He had continued to shave the growth from his jaw, but kept the shadow of a mustache. His brown hair was wet with sweat, strands of hair fused and scattered above his eyes. Beads of moisture glistened at his temple, and the sun lit his eyes to an impossibly deep blue. His p
ulse throbbed at the base of his throat. He was alive.

  Of course he’s alive, Stupid. Gather your senses.

  He avoided Joya’s eyes, looking somewhere between her and Cam. “Good morrow.”

  “Good morrow,” Joya answered, her body humming at the sight of him.

  An awkward silence followed, and Cam dismounted. “I see they’ve let you out again. I’m surprised they’d trust you.”

  “We don’t,” shouted Peter from a few feet away on the riverbank. “That’s why Tabor sent us along.” He pointed a finger at Cam. “And why his brother is still under guard in the castle.”

  Cam and Pru looked to Joya. They hadn’t expected that. Fah! How could they get Hugh free?

  “I wanted to finish this for Tabor before I leave.” Luke’s deep voice touched her, a rich, deep melody that made it hard to think clearly.

  Joya looked instinctively to the small yellow bush. Nothing white was visible yet, the signal George would post to let them know he had arrived. Had he been delayed? Her heart skipped. Caught?

  She freed the leather sack from Goldie’s saddle. “We brought refreshments for you.” She spread a blanket on the bridge deck and placed cold meats, cheese and bread on the oilcloth. With enthusiasm she presented a large red bowl and made a big show of it, holding it up in the air. “We have a special treat. Roasted apricot seeds. All the way from Burgundy.”

  “By Gosse!” old Ralph exclaimed from downstream. “Might we have some, too?”

  The seeds were a delicacy, and an indulgent one. Sharai hoarded them for holidays and special guests, and she’d split a seam when she found them gone. But they were tempting enough to distract the men. Joya opened the lid and poured them ceremoniously out of the bowl into Cam’s and Pru’s hands. “These seeds are so good,” Joya said. “I’ll bring some over to you and your men, Peter, after we’ve had our fill,” Joya said.

  Cam popped some in her mouth and crunched. “Mmm, salty.”

  “Nutty. Delicious,” Pru said through munches.

  “Would you like some?” she asked Luke. He slipped into his tunic, took a modest amount and settled on the blanket with them. “My thanks.” He took one at a time, wordless, but his eyes closed as he chewed. Through all the nervousness, Joya fought a searing need to be close to him.

  After carefully counted minutes, Joya started the final part of her plan. Hands shaking, she leaned forward, concealing the bowl from Luke’s view. She secretly gathered a half dozen seeds and nestled them in her left hand. With her right hand she unstoppered a tiny vial of oil and poured its contents into the red bowl with the rest of the apricot seeds. In a series of smooth movements she stirred the seeds with the empty vial then slipped it into her boot top, and stood.

  She lifted the bowl with her right hand and, careful to keep the dry seeds safe in her palm, hiked her skirt with her left hand to better navigate the uneven ground to reach the knights. Giving another special smile to Peter, she raised the bowl. “I saved some for you.”

  At her arrival, the knights rose hastily to honor her. She waved, indicating they could settle back down on the grass, and she offered Ralph the seeds.

  Ralph plucked a single seed from the bowl, the delicate gesture from his big, calloused hands amusing.

  “Make free of them,” Joya said. “We’ve had our fill.”

  Ralph plunged his hand into the bowl, spilling some, and the other knights cursed him, scrambling to pluck them from the tall grass.

  “Here, Peter, before they get them all,” Joya said, pouring the last dozen or so into his hands.

  “My thanks. You’re good to us,” Peter said.

  She studied his face. He looked as if he would eat her up along with the seeds, and she fought to keep her smile intact. If he suspected anything, he was hiding it well. “So Peter, what are the plans, do you know? Have Lord and Lady Onslow arrived yet?”

  “They’re to arrive after noon. They’ll stay a sennight.”

  And Margaret would arrive on the morrow.

  The Onslows’ visit was well timed. Not only good friends of her parents, they were frequent guests of the queen. Their presence would be a good reminder to Margaret that Joya’s family was part of a small circle of her most loyal subjects. Arranging her skirts to protect herself from ants, she sat near Peter. “Have you heard they’re bringing Catherine Bradshaw with them? She’s played several times for King Henry. They say when she plays the harp, it sounds like the music of angels. And with Margaret coming at the same time—so much excitement.”

  “You sound like an angel when you sing,” Peter responded. He continued complimenting her voice, and the harmony she and her brother Stephen lent to the parish hymns. The words blended one with the other into a verbal soup, incomprehensible, so hypnotized she was by the way he rolled the seeds in his hands while he talked. Her teeth hurt from clenching them as he lifted a seed to his mouth, only to continue talking and drop his hand back down to his lap again. He moved on to a discussion of the Onslows and the three pigs they would butcher for the feast.

  Joya casually raised the dry seeds she had stored in her hand, retrieving one seed at a time with her tongue, drawing it into her mouth, chewing and moaning with pleasure to Peter’s rapt attention. Finally her seeds—and what she hoped was a convincing demonstration of the wholesomeness of the seeds—were finished. If she lingered any longer with Peter, it would be awkward. She rose, straightening her skirts, forcing her gaze to the river. When she looked back, Peter had popped three seeds into his mouth. He sucked the salt and oil from the seeds and crunched noisily.

  Relief made her want to dance; instead, she methodically straightened her skirts. “We’ll need to get ready for tonight. We’ll be on our way.”

  “Thank you for sharing,” Peter said. “And perhaps tonight,” he added, lifting a brow, “you’ll wear your red gown.”

  Joya’s eyes widened at his audacity, and Ralph and the other knights laughed.

  Back at the bridge, Luke had already returned to his work, and Pru and Cam glanced at her, questions in their eyes.

  She nodded slightly and sat back down, portioning the meats and cheeses so they would last.

  They fussed with the cheese, cutting precisely, their movements rusty, almost creaking as they bided time. Cam stared at the yellow bush, her face tense.

  Joya looked, too. A breeze ruffled a small patch of white on the yellow bush. George had arrived.

  Luke straightened and lowered his voice. “What goes here? Why do you all keep looking behind me?” He turned and looked at the woods behind him, and back to Joya.

  Downstream, the men had grown quiet. Ralph had lain down.

  “It’s working,” Cam whispered.

  Joya jerked her head to the right. Ralph was supine on the grass, hand thrown over his eyes. The other two were prone, but Peter remained upright. “Joya,” he called, his tongue thick and slow. He dropped to one elbow.

  Luke followed her gaze. “What happened? What’s wrong with them?”

  “We’re freeing you.”

  “What? What did you do to them?”

  “Don’t worry,” Joya whispered to him. “It’s the apricot seeds. They’re coated with an herb for sleeping.”

  Luke pulled back. “By the saints!”

  “It’s all right. Your seeds were not coated. My mother has used this herb many times. She gave it to Nicole for morning sickness.” Joya pointed to the yellow bush behind him. “George is there. He’s brought a horse for you. You can go.”

  “What mean you?” Luke’s wide-eyed look was not what she had expected.

  “You’re free. You can go home. Bury your brothers. Claim what’s left of your estate and go where Margaret can’t find you.”

  “Nay. Nay!” He grabbed Joya’s shoulders. “How long does the spell last?”

  “It’s not a spell. I told you. They’re herbs. They will sleep a few hours—two, maybe three. You may be home before they wake. George has provisions for you—clothes, better boots, food.
You need to go now.”

  “Joya,” Peter called again. Holy Virgin. He was groggy, but awake. The fool hadn’t eaten enough seeds. She turned to Luke. “You must go.”

  “God’s nails, how? Think you I would leave without my brother?” He paced, eyes darting, considering possibilities. “‘Tis done. We can’t undo it. We’ll need to send for help. Tell your father about the seeds. They’re foreign. Tainted, and you didn’t know it. You’ll apologize.”

  “Luke, lower your voice,” Joya whispered. “Peter only ate a few. See there, he’s still awake.”

  “Exactly, but we can explain it away. You foolish girl—girls. Why did you do this? If word gets out, your father will have no choice but to punish you.”

  “She did it for you, you dumb goose,” Cam said, striking his arm. “You’ll be dead in two days if you stay, then what good will you be to your brother?”

  “Nothing will be solved if I run in disgrace. I’ve already lost my holdings. My brothers will have a proper burial—even Margaret will have the decency to allow that.”

  “You need to get far enough away to be safe,” Joya said.

  He straightened. “I am a Bonwyk, not some common criminal who would hole up on the continent. England is my home.”

  “Time is running, Luke. You must—”

  “Have you thought what this will do to Tabor? What will he say when Margaret comes for me? Will he risk himself to save your life? Yes he will, because he’s a good man. He will die for your—for this reckless betrayal.”

  His face grew red, his eyes narrow. “Stupid girl! What gave you the right to speak for me? Do I look like such a coward to you?”

  He looked handsome. Virile. But her last glimpse of him would be of the back of his neck, under an executioner’s blade. “No,” Joya shouted. “You don’t look like a coward. But you do look much better with a head on your shoulders.”

  He spun away from them. “I’m going to help Peter now. Take your horses, your friends and your foolish ideas, and go. I’m staying here.”