by Janet Lane
Luke’s bridge.
A church and a handful of other buildings perched on the south side of the bridge, like any high street, minus a green. A matching number of buildings had been erected on the north side.
“Our Uncle Benjamin lives there.” Hugh pointed to a three-story structure next to the church. “He’s the mayor.”
“How far is Coventry?” Joya asked. In response to growing tensions in London, four years ago the queen had moved the royal court into the Midlands.
“Fifty miles,” said Mace, the older of Luke’s knights. Mace wore more stitches than a Christmas duck, nasty white scars that meandered down both arms and one side of his neck. Over the years of battle, he had lost his Christian name and become known for his skill with the weapon of the same name.
Just fifty miles—Margaret’s that close. Mayhap she could arrange a meeting for Luke. But how could Joya be sure Margaret wouldn’t arrest Luke, and there would…
The younger blond knight cleared his throat. “We should follow them,” he said.
Brought back from her thoughts, she glanced ahead. Hugh and Mace had almost reached the bridge. Joya spurred Goldie ahead to catch up with them.
Mayor Benjamin Bonwyck, the sign read, black letters on white. It swung in the evening breeze. Music floated in the air, the sounds of dulcimers and gitterns, men singing and lively conversation.
“Hugh!” An usher greeted him with sympathy in his eyes and a firm grip on his shoulder.
“Michael,” Hugh said.
Michael grasped Hugh’s thin arm, tapping it gently. “I heard about your brothers. May God rest their souls.”
Hugh teared up and recovered. “Thank you. Please, Michael, tell me that my brother is here.”
“He is, yes,” Michael said. “He’ll be glad to see you, very glad. I’m sorry, but we’re in the middle of an appreciation dinner tonight for Lord and Lady Thorpin. They pledged funds for a new marketplace. Come in, come in.”
Hugh introduced Joya and the Bonwyck knights.
“Welcome.” Michael ushered them in. “Hugh, go on up to the study. We’ll have your bags sent up for you.” He apologized that they had missed dinner, but dancing would soon begin on the bridge deck in front of the house.
Inside, the chamberlain offered to take Joya’s travel cloak. She shrank back, surveying the guests. The men were dressed in subtle colors, but the women wore brightly colored silks and taffetas in styles that were popular several years ago, but gowns, none the less. She glanced down at her dark blue travel suit, a good Florentine serge but a workaday wool fit for horse riding, not dancing. “I’ll keep the cloak, thank you,” she told the chamberlain with an apologetic smile.
An elegant older couple approached and Joya saw the family resemblance. Luke’s Uncle Benjamin was tall—of course, everyone was taller than Joya—with the family blue eyes. His white hair revealed age, but his posture and movements suggested vitality. He wore a wool doublet with two forgiving pleats to suit his expanding middle.
“So you are Lord Tabor’s daughter, Joya. Godspeed, my dear. I’m afraid this will be a busy evening after your travels.” He introduced her to his wife, Emma.
Joya apologized for arriving uninvited. She should have been more gracious, she knew, but she couldn’t help looking over the mayor’s shoulder, searching for Luke. Her heart stuttered madly in her chest. She had taken such chances to be here. Would he not greet her?
She turned her attention back to the mayor.
“… but you don’t want to hear about roof supports and markets.” He pulled her aside and lowered his voice. “You must know that Luke would not tolerate all these people. He’s on the deck with his cousin, Degory. My wife and I are deeply thankful for your help in freeing him from Coin Forest. We are shocked that he has allied with York. We’re committed to changing that. I implore you to further our cause. Degory has been talking sense with him, as well.”
A group of men approached, looking expectantly to Benjamin. He nodded to them and raised his voice. “You must be tired after all those miles, my dear. Pray join us after you’ve settled. Emma will show you to your room.”
Joya thanked him and followed Emma upstairs. As the music faded on the next level, Joya glanced back down the stairs. Who were those men, and why did the man with the sagging eyes stare so brazenly at her?
* * *
An hour later, Joya admired the view outside her window. Looking down made her toes tingle, for the river sparkled far below, reflecting the torchlight on the bridge. The house protruded from the edge of the bridge, far enough that it seemed she was floating high above the water.
She patted her throat and took a breath. Emma had loaned her one of her daughter’s gowns. Below a deep neckline, darts hugged her curves in a dusty pink silk that shimmered against her skin. Emma’s maid had lifted Joya’s hair in combs and it fell in black swirls against the pale, delicate fabric. She fussed with the neckline again, uncomfortably shy, as off balance as she had been at her debut at King Henry’s court, years ago.
Luke. She would see him now. She grew lightheaded; surely the bodice was tailored too snugly.
A side door led to the outside deck, which featured a railing that bordered the length of the bridge.
Hugh stood, leaning against the railing, his skin paled by a darker complexioned young man with broad shoulders who stood by him. His blue eyes suggested a relative, and Joya guessed that this was Luke and Hugh’s cousin, Degory.
A third gentleman with well cut clothes stood by the railing. His hose was fine, his boots laced high and precise in black metal gores. His black damask gipon, trim to his chest and topped by a firm, high collar, shone in the pitch lights under his freshly shaven face. His hair, shining and neatly combed above that small, indented scar on his forehead. He turned and his eyes met hers, rich blue in the darkness with an excitement he couldn’t conceal and a sense of possession that shot darts of desire into her core.
Luke.
She drank in each detail of him, dizzy with relief that he was safe. Alive. Here.
“Joya.” It was all Luke could say. Hugh had told him she was here, but the simple knowing had ill prepared him for the sight of her, her dark, rich skin, her luminous brown eyes, her black hair, her breasts, high and full above a dainty waist and elegant, beautiful hands.
She had frozen. Like a deer poised to flee, she watched him.
He strode to meet her, hand extended in welcome, proper when instinct demanded that he instead sweep her into his arms and crush her to his chest, covering those supple lips with his own. He couldn’t resist taking hold of her shoulders and slipping into those dark, lovely eyes. That she had come to him and brought his brother to him was a gift. That she continued to risk her reputation and safety for him was torture, however. The more she sacrificed the worse he felt, because he was tainted and condemned, and he was loathe for her to share his penalties. But he was happy beyond words to see her. “My guardian angel.” As the words passed his lips, he realized she was, in some ways. “Thank you for bringing Hugh.”
Degory appeared at Luke’s side. His cousin appeared to have entered a trance, his mouth open, eyes wide. “Prithee introduce us, Luke.”
Could his cousin have looked more foolish? Casting sheep’s eyes at her like a green young man, with no attempt to cover it. Annoyed at Deg’s daftness, Luke sighed and introduced them.
Joya proved most gracious, overlooking Degory’s stumbling attentions. They talked at length about living on a bridge, where Emma kept her root garden and where the chickens were kept.
This bridge. My bridge. Degory had merely lived here. Luke had learned the bridge’s strengths, its secrets. And Joya’s secret passions. His chest tightened in a most peculiar manner, and Luke fought a curious impulse to hoist Degory over the railing and into the river.
Chapter 15
Luke fidgeted, wishing Degory would retire for the night. When Luke was young, Degory had been his hero, the one who had taught Luke how to swim the
river’s currents and whirlpools. He shared the secrets of how to recognize the best times in the evening for catching the biggest fish. Degory, two years Luke’s senior, had grown up on a bridge, had been around people more, and had learned much about travel and gold, and girls. Deg had taught him many things for which Luke’s father had no time because his father’s priorities properly rested with Philip, his heir. Degory had shown Luke the subtleties and necessities of life.
But Deg had not prepared Luke for a woman like Joya. In truth, one could not be prepared for such an abundance of color, of deep passions that swamped him like the foaming surfs on Ireland’s West Coast.
Deg wore all signs of being enamored as well. He had seized upon Joya’s interest in the bridge and over the last two hours had exhausted every topic about it.
“I must needs speak with Joya now, Deg,” he said.
Degory continued to gaze at Joya.
“We have matters to discuss,” he told his cousin, raising his voice a notch. “Privately.”
His cousin turned to him, and at last recognition lit his eyes.
Taking Luke’s pointed cues, Deg bid them good night and left to join his father.
Luke took Joya’s hand, and the touch of her small fingers sizzled up his arm. “Let’s walk the bridge.” Off the north end of the bridge the stables had quieted for the night, and Simon waved from the guard house. The church was dark, as were the haberdasher shop and the goldsmith’s house.
They walked the deck, the hollow sounds of their footsteps on the wood a faint music from his childhood memories.
A breeze brought the smell of the river, of fish and the rich earth of summer.
He nestled her hand into the crook of his arm, a most natural feeling. Her breast pressed against his arm and he remembered her thin chemise, shimmering with lake water, clinging to her lush breasts, her nipples taut under the fabric.
Turning her to him, he took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, where he saw a depth of emotion and welcome he had never imagined. He covered her mouth with his, and her soft lips moved against his. Heat lashed him, and he fell into a desperate need to have her close to him.
He kissed her ear, her neck, the top of her breasts. She moaned and offered herself to him. He wanted to fall to his knees and take her with him, love her on the deck of the bridge, but he would not ruin her.
Summoning control, he forced himself to pull back. He would never have expected her to affect him thusly. He was loathe to send her away, but he must.
Wagg’s news changed everything, but it was so drastic a change from York’s original plans that Luke had immediately sent word to him in Dublin. He understood the need to adjust the plans because Margaret had changed hers, but in the original plans, he would have repaired a bridge to hasten movement of troops. In the adjusted plan, he would destroy a bridge to kill the king and hundreds of soldiers. Mayhap York did find it necessary to sacrifice hundreds to save thousands of lives and end the fighting, but he needed to hear it from him directly.
In the meantime, he must keep her and his family from danger. “I am glad to see you.” Indeed, words could not do honor to the feelings she stirred in him. “Thank you for bringing Hugh, but it’s not safe here for you. You must leave on the morrow.”
“Were it not for me, things would have been simpler for you. You heard from Hugh, I’m sure, that Margaret came with her troops to Coin Forest.”
“I did.”
“A sennight ago, while we were in Cerne.”
“Had I still been in Coin Forest—you saved my life. And here you are, now. ‘Tis hard to believe you possess such boldness. Surely Lord Tabor didn’t agree to this visit.”
She lowered her gaze. “It is most certainly against his order. But my mother…” She paused. “My mother understands how I feel about you.”
“Why would she allow you to sacrifice your reputation?” A complicated stew brewed in his mind. He had hoped that what they shared was based on genuine affection rather than a family struggle of wills. Young women were known to ruin themselves to avoid an arranged wedding to a loathesome man. He wondered, too, if her actions were those of a too closely guarded daughter. But they had shared their passions at the lake, and she had traveled all this way to see him. And what of Lady Tabor? Surely she could not approve of her daughter favoring a traitor. His thoughts veered into the Gypsy path of magic and dark secrets, and Joya’s story of the Evil Eye.
“Luke, are you all right? You look absolutely ill of a sudden.”
“Your mother agreed? To your coming here?” More unsavory thoughts spun their way into his thoughts. Kadriya had suggested that Joya show him Crystal Lake, back in Cerne. And he had been the fool, thinking it was merely a stroke of good luck, having hours alone with her. Had Kadriya been helping Lady Tabor offer up her own daughter to Luke as an opportunity for Margaret to spy on him?
Joya’s eyes grew wide, as if Luke had said she had two heads. “Oh, my no.” She shook her head vigorously. “She’s not pleased about it.” She tilted her head, regarding him. “Oh.” Her eyes cast down again, in thought. “Oh.” A frown wrinkled her forehead. “What you must think of us. What you must think of me.” She pushed him away.
“No. No, Joya. That’s not what I was saying.” What am I saying? Egad, I’m denying something I never said. Can she read my mind? It’s not true. It’s not true. Is it?
“Oh, yes it is. I see it in your eyes. You don’t trust me. You don’t trust my mother! Of all the reprehensible, insulting things you could think. After all I’ve sacrificed for you. After all my father and mother have suffered because of you. Because of my defense of you. Because I love you.” She struck him on the chest with each word, her dark eyes vivid with anger. “Well, I don’t any longer. I can’t love a stupid man, and you are stupid, stupid, stupid if you think I’d lay waste to my life like I have, for personal gain with the queen.”
He had thought that back in gaol when he met her friends, sharp-tongued, horse-laughing Camilla and tittering little Prudence. It was an insult, but not as bad as the one he’d been thinking. He warded off her blows, realizing anew that as trying as it had been to have Joya Ellington as a friend, it would be much more hazardous to have her for an enemy.
“As for my mother, she happens to believe in true love. Something you, clearly, will never understand. She gave me this one chance to talk sense into you. Your uncle told me tonight, he’s trying to talk sense into you and get you out of this York plan. We’re all trying, but you choose to suspect me. And my mother.” She gathered the skirts of her sparkling gown and marched back toward his uncle’s house, her steps short and thumping, punishing the wooden deck.
Luke ignored the warnings blaring in his head and pursued her, snagging her arm. “Wait. Surely you can see that—”
“I see all right. I see now why you always prefer the company of one—yourself. You trust no one, you think of no one but yourself. How you are affected, not how others are.”
“It’s for the others that I’m with York. The years York ruled as Protector were good years for England. The years under Margaret have been bad. Simple.”
“Ah, so simple, even I should be able to understand it?” Joya shoved her face into his, nose to nose, eyes flashing. “Here’s the rest of the ‘simple’ truth. Margaret came to Coin Forest to lighten your fine and spare you. The raid on Penryton was a deception.” She had leaned in so close he could feel the heat of her words.
“Hugh doesn’t believe her, either.”
“But you must. She had nothing to gain from such brutality. She could have claimed your lands, sent your brothers packing and beheaded you, all before breakfast.”
She was right. He stood, unable to think further, unable to speak.
“Margaret wants the throne for her son. What do you really know about York?”
“I could tell you again, but you don’t believe me.”
“Nor do you believe me.”
A stony silence settled between them.
“My mother gave me one day with you.” Her anger had faded, her words dull with resignation. “After that, my father will come to escort me home. Will he tell Margaret where you are? Probably. Unlike you, he’s loyal.” She spun away from him again and strode to his uncle’s porch.
“Wait, Joya.”
“No.” She hurried into the house.
In his chamber, Luke paced. The evening had gone badly. After all she had done to help him, he had offended her. Who knew what she was thinking? If he guessed incorrectly at what had offended her the most, she would be angry with him for thinking, not one, but two or more insulting things about her and her family.
Yes, this was why he kept his own company. He had successfully avoided such confusing, tangled bonds in the past. How much easier to laugh over tankards with an alehouse woman, pay her generously and bid farewell after a good romp under the covers.
But Joya’s eyes shimmered for only him. Her delicate fingers had touched his face, his heart. She had opened her heart to him and he would never be the same again. He could not return to that quiet place that offered peace but no Joya.
Life had become progressively more dangerous. Had Tabor summoned Margaret? He recalled Joya’s casual mention of his beheading, and rubbed his neck. Every gesture she made to help him seemed to instead force him into a more perilous position.
Three soft knocks sounded from Joya’s door. She donned a robe and opened the door.
Luke slipped in. “Sorry. I need to talk with you.”