Crimson Secret

by Janet Lane

  He had sealed them in a vault of sounds and scents and sensations. His breath held traces of the full-bodied cherry wine they had shared at dinner, his hair sweet with a clean-smelling oil.

  His fingers laced with hers and broke free to travel up her arm, over her sleeve, up to her neckline, where his thumbs dipped below the fabric, skimming the tops of her breasts.

  Desire shimmered through her, a trail of warmth that licked under her bodice, over her breasts and to her core.

  He touched his lips to hers, the kiss rich and relaxed. Did it not say love, she thought. Did she really need the words?

  “Why are we in the dark?”

  “I want you to feel how much I care.”

  “But I can’t see your eyes.”

  “Nor can I see yours.” He kissed her fingers. “It’s easier this way.”

  Her heart faltered. Was he refusing the betrothal ceremony? “What? What is easier?”

  “I’m ill at ease with it. I hope you understand.”

  A confession, then. Itching with a blend of curiosity and dread, she wondered what he had to say. She loved him, had survived the sting of his judgments, had seen glimpses of his emotions, huge doses of his passion, and yet still these frustrating moments of resistance and hesitation to get close to her. Whatever it would be, he could not bear to see her face when he said it.

  “You’re going to scare me back to get even with my Evil Eye story?”

  He laughed. “Nay.”

  “Get on with it, because you’re making me fearful. What haven’t you told me?”

  “You have been kind to me. You saved my life.” His voice, the voice she had come to love, came to her in the darkness, deep, resonant, measured. From the moment they met, he had been reluctant. Distracted by the horrors of battle, she had forgotten. So desperate to be with him, she had forgotten.

  “You have been steadfast in your support, and I am touched. No one has ever cared for me in that way.”

  The blade sliced, laying bare her hopes. ‘Twas no wonder that he couldn’t say he loved her. He didn’t. “You’ve been tolerating me. Humoring me.”

  “No, I—”

  “I made myself convenient for you. I didn’t give you a chance to refuse me, did I? From the time I found you, I have been annoying you, pushing myself on you, forcing myself into your life. I have been pressuring you, and you really see me as you see Florin, a creature in need of saving. From the river, from my own, stupid impulses. You—”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her, mouth crushing, tongue claiming, his hand firm on her bottom, he slipped her under him, heavy against her with his lust, grinding against her.

  The bed wobbled but held.

  He ravished her, kissing her hair, her ears, her eyes, her lips. He fumbled with her tunic, finally pulling it from her shoulders, biting her nipples, her neck, sucking her arms, her fingers, probing her folds open, sliding his fingers in, massaging her.

  She rose from the bed to meet his hands, wet and groaning. Still he suckled and played, driving her higher. She cried out for him and found release.

  He entered her, moaning, and they wrestled together in a dance of sensations that left them breathless, struggling for air.

  He anchored her hands above her head and straightened his arms, rising above her. “I lose all control with you.” He panted, his voice raw with emotion. “You slay me with your beauty, your hands, your body.” He fell back onto her. “With your affection.”

  “But you don’t sound at all pleased with it.”

  “It’s too much. Too powerful. I can’t control it … or myself.”

  She lay beneath him, warm and pulsing inside, so satisfied, yet mystified with the man she could not resist.

  “I dislike it when Degory looks at you,” he said. “There was that moment outside the royal tent when Clavell had his hands on you. Unbearable. At that moment I thought I had lost you. I –I was—I can’t lose you,” he said. His breath tore from his body in the darkness, ragged. He squeezed her hands so tightly she felt faint.

  “You won’t,” she said.

  “I love you.” It was a proclamation, firmly stated in his deep, resonant voice. “I love you,” he repeated, softly this time. “I would take your hand before I go to Penryton.”

  His words were uttered without joy, with an edge of sadness. Her heart bolted as fast as Goldie did when she reined her toward the castle after a long day of riding. “But what?”

  “I can’t do ceremony.” His voice wavered with emotion. “I can’t do it.”

  “The hand folding?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She dared to hope she knew what he was trying to say. “Do you mean you can’t do the betrothal ceremony in front of my family and friends?”

  “Not in front of throngs of people. I cannot.”

  Relieved beyond words, she laughed. Groping for him in the darkness, she threw her arms around his neck. “Such an insufficient obstacle, my dear. I will promise to you in a garderobe, if need be.”

  “There’s more, and you must know this before you agree to the betrothal.”

  He took her hands. “Margaret is demanding that I spy on York. To do so, I will need to publicly proclaim my loyalties to him.”

  Joya wished she could see his expression. “That won’t make sense after having saved her life.”

  “Which is why she’s forbidden us to speak of it. She has also ordered the guard silent—the guard who witnessed Clavell’s attempt to kill her and the prince.”

  “But you also spared the bridge to save the king,” Joya said.

  “She will scoff at that, and claim I only did it to save my family. I must pledge to York, and soon. It must be convincing, and the deception will last so long as it takes to get the information Margaret needs. You cannot share this with anyone. Including your family.”

  “York is in Ireland.”

  “I may need to go there to convince him of my loyalty.”

  “Or Calais. Or battle. This is dangerous. She would order you to do this, even after you risked your life to save hers? It’s not just. How can she do this to you? To us?”

  “She has been doing this for years. She has sacrificed entire armies and villages to advance her cause.”

  His words rang off tune, like an old song she had never liked, come back to plague her. He was again criticizing the queen, but this time, Joya understood. The silence fell in on her, and she struggled to free herself from the tangled web with which Margaret had snared them. The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet, and she yearned for the simplicity of the life she had enjoyed before it had become entangled with Margaret’s.

  “What say you, Joya? Can you forsake your family and wed a traitor?”

  * * *

  Joya glanced sideways at the man who would be her husband.

  They had completed their handfasting ceremony moments before in the orchard at Coin Forest. Joya had kept her promise to Luke, completing the ceremony with only four witnesses: the priest, her parents and Hugh. Later this afternoon, Cam, Pru and George would arrive for the supper, along with Nicole and Stephen. Alex, Maud, Effie, and many from the village would come to celebrate, too, but this moment was quiet, to honor Luke’s request.

  Father Jeffrye, his mouth slanted in disapproval, glanced at the surrounding orchard and left, mumbling something about the formality and sanctity of the church.

  Sharai laughed, kissed her daughter’s forehead and sprinkled a sweet-smelling oil on her hands. She plucked a hair from Joya, one from Luke, and folded the strands in a white linen covered with crushed tree bark and rosebuds.

  She passed a small cup to Joya and Luke, and filled it with a golden liquid. The aroma suggested honey but Joya could not guess the energy behind the mist that sparkled on the surface.

  Luke took the delicate vessel with his thumb and forefinger and gave her a questioning glance.

  She had reminded Luke of her mother’s Gypsy spells, none of which were evil, all of which we
re filled with love. She smiled, reassuring him.

  “To our beloved daughter, Joya, and her intended, Luke, repeat after me and sip the nectar. True love born, promises sworn.” Her mother gestured for them to raise the cups.

  Joya and Luke repeated it, and Joya sipped. ‘Twas a delicate fruit nectar with honey that tingled as it passed the tongue.

  Her mother's eyes sparkled. “Pleasures sweet, life complete.”

  They sipped again. Luke gave an appreciative groan.

  Her mother placed her hand on her father’s waist, and her father dropped his arm over Hugh’s shoulder.

  “Sky above, endless love.” Her mother's smile dazzled with happiness, and Joya and Luke finished the nectar. Their family surrounded them in an embrace.

  “We wish you happiness,” her mother said.

  “Well done,” Hugh said. His smile was warm and generous.

  “Congratulations.” Tabor kissed his daughter's forehead. “You were right, Sweetling. He is deserving of you.” He shook Luke's hand. “She's my precious daughter. Protect her.” His voice faltered, and he recovered. “Always be true to one another.”

  Sharai tended to her tears and the three of them left.

  Now she and Luke lay on a blanket under the vivid pink branches of a blooming apple tree. His eyes, made bluer by the sun, brightened with intimate possession as he regarded her.

  She smiled, so comfortable with him that she didn’t try to suppress the giggle that escaped, so happy that she could feel so womanly, yet touched with an excitement she had not felt since she was a young girl, like the sun shining all the way to her soul.

  She wore a gown of deep crimson, a light, shimmering silk her mother had been saving for this day, studded down her back and sleeves with dozens of dainty black onyx buttons, Gypsy colors of ceremony. The sword-and-rings pin of her Ellingham heritage, gold rings from her parents on her right hand, engraved with words of love and good wishes. She wore a betrothal ring from Luke on her left ring finger. And inside, a growing sense of delight she could barely contain.

  “I love you.” A giddiness, a breathtaking lightness had come over her.

  “And I love you.” He kissed his way up her arm, sending darts of desire through her.

  “Be wary.” She kissed him, a long, smoldering kiss that threatened to melt both of them. “Lest we create a scandal.”

  The delicate scent of her mother's oils and the flowering apple trees enveloped them. They were sheltered in a pink and white world of blooms that almost obscured the blue sky beyond.

  “Sky above, endless love.”

  “Gypsy magic,” he said, teasing in his eyes.

  “If luck be with you,” she teased back.

  Luke kissed her and propped on an elbow, watching her, an easy smile causing a hitch in her breath.

  A colorful assortment of herbs and flower petals lay scattered in the grass around them, the physical proof of a spell whispered by her mother to protect them in the years to come.

  Luke wore a tunic of blue that brought forth the color of his eyes. He had tamed his brown hair for the occasion, and he had borrowed her father’s ceremonial sword for their exchange of vows.

  He kissed the betrothal ring on her hand, and she kissed his. They would be engraved later.

  “My friends will be angry.” She could imagine Cam’s indignance when she and Pru arrived to witness the handfasting a few hours from now, and learned they had missed it.

  “I agreed to the wedding. They will attend that,” Luke said.

  “You’ll be able to cope with all the people?”

  “They are your people.” He tapped her nose playfully. “Rest assured, wine will be consumed.”

  She laughed.

  Bees buzzed in the profusion of blooms, and they entwined their fingers, looking to the flower-laced sky.

  They had been surrounded by people since Redstone, constantly under watch by her father, who was fiercely committed to protecting her mostly tattered reputation until they became betrothed. She could finally ask about his plans.

  “What now?” She lowered her voice, feeling traitorous just asking the question. “With York, and your promise to Margaret?”

  “I loathe this complication. I simply wanted to save England for you. Ridiculous, I know that now. I cannot save England any more than I can swim upstream. Parliament has failed to solve this without war. I could do no more than salvage some of England’s honor.”

  “And you did. You saved the Lancasters, you saved many lives, and you saved Redstone. But what of York?”

  “I made two vows. I will be your husband. I will support Margaret.” He kissed her, soft as a whisper. “I plan to fulfill my duty to Margaret before our wedding. I will thereafter leave the struggle for the throne to others.”

  “How will you fill your days?”

  “Restore Penryton. Make it beautiful again for you and our children.”

  She sighed. “That sounds perfect.”

  “And we’ll schedule regular travel to Crystal Lake.”

  She noted the playful turn to his smile and her heart skipped. “Forsooth?”

  He tilted his head, still beautifully connected to his shoulders. “Indeed,’ he said, his voice deep, sensual. “I need to show you how to properly race seedpod sailboats.”

  “Such audacity, my lord.” She laughed, a crude, Cam-like chuckle. “You know I shall win.”

  “Nay. I will always win.”

  “I shall look forward to claiming my prize.”

  “What?” His brows rose with mirth, playfully coy. “I thought I was the prize.”

  “No, my talented bridge builder,” she said, making her voice purr. She touched his heart. “We are the prize.”

  # # #

  IF YOU ENJOYED CRIMSON SECRET

  Please consider sending Luke, Joya and the rest of the cast some love in the form of a book review. Just go to smashwords.com, search for “Crimson Secret” and scroll down to “Reviews.” It needn’t be long and/or detailed, and it will be very much appreciated by me and other readers looking for new historical romance adventures.

  Thank you, and happy reading!

  Upcoming book release news at:

  www.janetlane.net

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  FOR BOOK CLUB READERS

  Due to the length of the wars (1455-1489), the final victory of the War of the Roses did not go to York or King Henry VI. The Lancastrian Henry Tudor defeated the last Yorkist king, Richard III, at the Battle of Bosworth Field. Tudor assumed the throne as Henry VII and married Elizabeth of York, daughter and heiress of Edward IV. This united the red and white roses and their attendant claims to the throne.

  In October of 1460, Parliament , in the Act of Accord, recognized York as Henry’s successor, which disinherited Henry’s son, Edward. Margaret and the former prince were ordered out of London, but Margaret formed a large Lancastrian army in the north and hostilities resumed.

  Was Luke’s assessment accurate that Parliament could have solved the struggle and saved tens of thousands of lives?

  Though it required murdering the royal family, was Wagg’s plan of value for that reason—that they would have saved thousands of lives—or was it simply evil ambition?

  How do Luke and Joya change over the course of the story? What events trigger their growth?

  Would you like to live on a “Living Bridge?”

  Was there more than one villain in the story? If so, who was/were the other/s?

  What was this book’s message?

  What moral/ethical choices did the characters make? How would you have chosen?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Janet Lane writes action adventures in the medieval romance and contemporary women's fiction genres. She graduated with honors from the University of Colorado, where she completed the creative writing program. She leads writer’s workshops, serves as a writing contest judge, and is a staff blogger for the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers’ nati
onal writer’s group.

  Her debut novel, Tabor’s Trinket, made the #1 Amazon best-seller list. Tabor’s Trinket won the international IPPY Award and Next Generation INDIE award. Emerald Silk, part two in the Coin Forest series, won an EVVY Award. Traitor’s Moon, part three in the series, won the HOLT Medallion.

  #1 New York Times Best-Selling Author Lara Adrian calls Emerald Silk “..an enchanting medieval romance filled with passion, intrigue and vividly drawn characters that leap off the page. I loved this novel!”

  Janet was a featured author in RMFW Press’s Tales from Mistwillow, and co-chaired the editorial board for Broken Links, Mended Lives, which was nominated for the Colorado Book Award. Janet blogs at janetlane.wordpress.com and at rmfw.org.

  AWARDS FOR THE COIN FOREST NOVELS

  TABOR’S TRINKET – Book One

  International Awards: IPPY, INDIE

  EMERALD SILK – Book Two

  National Award: EVVY

  TRAITOR’S MOON – Book Three

  National Award: HOLT MEDALLION

  Also by Janet Lane –

  Tabor’s Trinket (Book 1 of the Coin Forest series)

  Emerald Silk (Book 2 of the Coin Forest series)

  Traitor’s Moon (Book 3 of the Coin Forest Series,)

  Crimson Secret – Book 4 of the Coin Forest series

  “It’s About Time,” a short story and part of the

  Tales from Mistwillow anthology, RMFW Press

  Broken Links, Mended Lives, an anthology

  All books available on smashwords.com

  and other retail outlets

  Upcoming book release news at:

  www.janetlane.net

  Sign up for my newsletter - never miss a new book or a hot deal!

  https://janetlane.wordpress.com/