by Tamara Leigh
When one of the men stepped into the alley, Liam snapped his head around. “Who goes?” he demanded in a guttural accent far from noble, voice drenched in drink his breath told he had not had. Fortunately, the dim alley hid the attire that would have made a lie of him.
The man halted. “Lookin’ fer a lady, a noblewoman who came this way.”
“Noblewoman!” Liam spat. “Yer dreamin’, man. Ain’t no lady come near Whore’s Way.”
“Who be that with ye?” the man demanded.
“Ain’t no lady, eh, my love?”
At Joslyn’s hesitation, Liam yanked her hair.
She gulped, then affecting an accent she prayed would be believed, called, “Go on with ye! I got money to make, and I canna do it with ye standin’ there gapin’ like fools.”
From what well had she drawn that? she marveled.
“Ye heard the wench. Be gone!”
The man took another step forward, and Liam unsheathed his dagger and swept it into the light. “Ye can have her when I be finished, not before.”
“Aye, do ye got enough coin,” Joslyn drew from the well again. “I don’t do nothin’ fer free.”
The man turned toward the others. “Just a whore turnin’ her trade,” he griped.
When they went from sight, Joslyn’s fear eased in sharp contrast to the tension of being so intimately entwined with Liam. Everywhere they touched, her body knew it, from their hands on each other to their chests, hips, and legs.
Thinking herself depraved to be so aware of him, she dropped her arms to her sides. But he did not release her. Was the danger not past?
“Sir Liam?” she breathed.
Though his gaze was more felt than seen, the thumb he brushed over her lips was unmistakable. Nay, the danger—albeit of a different sort—was not past.
“I see Maynard neglected your mouth,” he said softly of the deeper intimacy they had shared, and to which she had not known how to respond—an intimacy that, as a woman who had birthed a child, she ought to have more experience with. “What else did he neglect, fair Joslyn?”
Untried emotions moving through her, she closed her fingers into her palms. “I know not what you mean.”
He lowered his face so near hers, the hair on his brow grazed her forehead. “He wanted you only for what you could give him that could take from me. Is that not true?”
Mostly. But though Maynard had been attracted to her, she had held him to the bargain that had seen her wedded and bedded. Had she not, perhaps they could have grown into something more, but never could she forget his maneuverings that had forced her to sell herself to save her father—much like the whore she played this day.
“There was no pleasure in it, was there, Joslyn?”
No pleasure, no love, only the conception of an heir. But never would she admit it. “We should leave,” she said and set her chin high, too late realizing the defiant gesture brought her mouth nearer his.
“Should we?”
A peculiar ache in her chest, she moistened her lips. “They might return.”
“Will you not answer me, Joslyn?”
Senses so stirred she feared she might answer as she dared not, she said, “I will not. And do not be so free with my given name, Sir Liam. I am Lady Joslyn Fawke, your brother’s widow.”
As if she named herself poison, he released her, sheathed his dagger, and strode opposite. “Do not dawdle, Lady Joslyn. The tower awaits.”
Telling herself she did not miss the fit of his body, she hastened after him. “It is not the tower to which I go,” she said as she stepped onto the street.
“That is obvious, but it is where I shall deliver you.”
She drew alongside him. “I promised Oliver I would return after the nooning hour.” When he did not slow, she grasped his arm through his short mantle. “He will be frightened if I do not.”
Liam halted in the middle of the street, looked at where she held him, and when she released him said, “Though I do not think it will console you much, I have sent a man to watch over the monastery to assure no ill befalls your son.”
How did the one from whom she had thought to hide Oliver know of his whereabouts? “Still, I would see for myself he is well and show him I am well.”
“It must wait.”
“Nay.” She stepped past him. “It must not.”
He caught her arm and pulled her around. “I admire spirit and determination, be it in a man or a woman, but as you ought to have learned, this is not the place for it. Indeed, here it would not be amiss for a man to carry a kicking, screaming woman over his shoulder. So which do you prefer? Your feet in the air or upon the ground?”
No mere threat. “Sir Liam, if there is any good in you—”
“Which you do not believe.”
“If there is good in you, you will take me to my son.”
“Apologies, my lady, but you must trust me in this. Oliver is safe. I give you my word.”
She feared his word, and yet he gave her no cause to believe he lied or King Edward was mistaken in his assurances Liam Fawke was no threat to Oliver.
“Which is it to be, Lady Joslyn?”
“I shall walk.”
“I thought you would find that preferable.” He reached up, yanked the hood over her head, and drew her forward.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Liam led Joslyn through a series of side streets to the market street where he had earlier caught the scent and sight of her. There, mounted and holding the reins to Liam’s destrier, was John.
The man glanced at the hooded woman at his friend’s side, and suppressing a smile, said, “I was beginning to think I might have to come in after you.”
Liam made no comment, nor gave Joslyn warning before fitting his hands to her waist and lifting her atop his horse.
“I can walk,” she said.
He swung up behind her. “But you will not.” He dropped an arm around her and pulled her more deeply into the cradle of his thighs.
All of the soft went out of her, and she hissed across her shoulder, “You need not hold me so close, Sir Liam.”
He swept the hood off her head and put his mouth near her ear. “It bothers one as undaunted as you, my lady?”
She swallowed loudly. “’Tis unseemly.”
“You did not seem to mind earlier that I was closer.”
“That was out of necessity.”
“Not entirely.” When she spoke no more, he urged his destrier around.
Halfway to the palace, her tension having eased sufficiently to allow her to move with the horse, she said over her shoulder, “How did you know I left the tower? When I departed, I thought you long gone.”
“As I had other business to attend to at the palace, my leave-taking was delayed.”
“You followed me?”
“I did.”
“How did you know ’twas me?”
“You passed so near, you brushed my sleeve.”
“But I was under cover of hood and mantle.”
Once more, he put his head alongside hers. “When you do not smell of dirt, Joslyn, the scent of roses dances about you. ’Twas how I knew you had gone down the alley.”
He felt her shudder. He knew he affected her—had known it before putting his mouth to hers—and she affected him, making him a fool for engaging her thus. There was much danger in wanting something he should not, and all the more that it was forbidden him.
“Many ladies bathe in rose water,” she said tightly.
“But not many commoners,” he reminded her of the mantle she wore that few would guess was so intimate with court finery.
“It could have been another lady.”
“I had not considered that,” he mocked. “After all, the palace is overrun by noblewomen who deign to don so simple a mantle, ladies of such constitution they think naught of going unescorted among the common.”
“Oh,” she breathed.
“Then there is your footwear—black, gold-tipped slippers whose soles have
surely never trod dirt—a rare sight.” He slid his hand more deeply around her waist and mused how different she was from the woman he would never have guessed possessed so feminine a shape beneath the filthy garments in which she had swung a rake at him.
Dangerous musings, the reasonable side of him warned, and he eased his hold and shifted back in the saddle.
“Will you tell the king I left the palace?” she asked.
“I am sure Edward is already aware of your absence.”
“How? Dinner is a time away.”
Was she so naive to believe the barony came to her son without recompense? So blind she had not seen the desire Queen Philippa’s husband had shown her? Surely not, for he had witnessed her confidence whilst she stood beside the king. And when word had reached him Edward had given her an apartment within the palace, what should not have needed confirming was confirmed. Joslyn knew what was expected of her, though it was curious she had risked the king’s ire to go to her son.
“You know I do not refer to dinner, Lady Joslyn.”
She went so still he could not feel the breath move through her, then she twisted around. “You err!”
Staring into eyes whose amber color had been denied him when he had claimed her mouth in the alley, he said, “I fear ’tis you who err, lady, that you are wrong to believe you can make promises to a man as powerful as Edward and leave him empty handed.”
The color in her cheeks deepened. “I promised him naught!”
“Not even with your eyes?”
They grew larger. “You are despicable! Never would I sell myself for that bit of land you lust after—” She caught her breath, jerked as if he had slapped her. And perhaps he had—though only with the force of anger that made him drag his destrier to a halt.
“That bit of land is a barony, it is called Ashlingford, and it is among the most profitable in all of England.”
She dropped her chin, said low, “This I know. What you should know is that I hoped the king would decide on you so my son and I might return to Rosemoor and take up the lives we had before you came.”
He nearly laughed. “Which is why you stole from the manor in the middling of night to put your claim to the king?”
Her head came up. “Father Ivo said it was not my decision to make, that I had no right to deny Oliver his inheritance.”
Though Liam did not doubt Ivo was behind the plan, he could not believe she preferred a paltry manor to a princely barony. “In that my uncle is correct. No one has the right to decide another’s fate.” As twice now the king had decided that of Liam Fawke.
Joslyn must have understood his meaning, for she spoke no more.
Ignoring John’s raised eyebrows, Liam commanded his destrier forward. “Prepare yourself, lady,” he said when they reached the tower. “The king does not take kindly to spurning.”
Joslyn resented that. How could a man who had been issued no invitation believe himself spurned? She looked over her shoulder. “No doubt you hope he will take Ashlingford from Oliver for what I have done.”
He smiled grimly. “’Twill require far more than hope to return the barony to its rightful heir.”
Fear once more stirred as she pondered exactly what it would take. Though Liam Fawke had saved her when it would have been easier—and more satisfying—to leave her to those men, it did not mean he would do the same for Oliver. Indeed, perhaps he had aided her only to gain her trust, the better to draw close to her son. She did not want to believe it, but Oliver was too precious to let her guard down.
Upon gaining the palace, Liam dismounted and reached to her.
When he set her on her feet, she said, “I have not thanked you for delivering me from those men. I am grateful, Sir Liam.”
“Unfortunately, methinks there will be many more occasions for you to thank me, Joslyn Fawke.” He turned her and nudged her forward. “The king awaits.”
The guards before the palace gates eyed her as she advanced, and one separated from the others. “What be your business at the palace?”
In that moment very aware of her appearance, especially the absence of the elaborate fillet Liam had pulled from her head and abandoned to the dark alley, she reached up and smoothed her hair.
“I am Lady Joslyn Fawke, the king’s guest.”
The guard’s eyes widened. “We have searched for you. Not a half hour past it was made known to us—”
“And so she is returned,” Liam said. “May we proceed?”
The guard stepped aside.
Inside the palace, an ornately robed man with disapproving brow led Joslyn and Liam to the great hall. “Wait here,” he said and nodded for the guards to open the doors. He entered, and the doors closed behind him.
Wishing she were not so aware of Liam, Joslyn stared ahead and turned her thoughts to her punishment for leaving the palace without permission.
The doors opened. Bowing, the robed man backed out of the hall, then gestured for Joslyn and Liam to enter.
She drew a deep breath and stepped inside.
As expected, King Edward was not alone. As was not expected, one was present who made her heart leap.
Forgetting propriety, she hurried across the hall and into the arms that had no choice but to open to her. “I feared you might not come,” she spoke into her father’s shoulder. “The message was sent three days past, and I—”
“Joslyn, the king,” Humphrey Reynard gently admonished and turned her with him to face Edward upon his throne. “My daughter is found, Your Majesty.”
Joslyn bowed low, then looked up into darkly narrowed eyes. Was he angry because, as Liam had suggested, she had not been available to properly show gratitude for Ashlingford? Or only because she had defied him?
“Aye, found,” the king said, “and by Sir Liam, ’twould appear.” He moved his gaze to the one who stood to the right of Joslyn and her father. “What is the meaning of this?”
“The lady can tell it better than I,” Liam said.
Once again besieged by King Edward’s regard, she swallowed. “Your Majesty, I believed I had good cause to worry over my son’s well-being. Thus, I had to assure myself he was well. What I did not know is how lost one can become in a city this size. Most fortunate, Sir Liam happened upon me and returned me to the palace.”
“So you thought us a liar when we assured you your son was safe.”
“Nay, I…am a mother, Your Majesty. What else would you have me say?”
He thrust forward in his chair. “We would have you—”
“Only a mother can understand another mother, my dear,” a sweet voice spoke from behind. “Waste not your breath on these men.”
Shocked that someone dared interrupt the king, Joslyn whipped her head around.
Queen Philippa. It had to be. And what a sight!
Joslyn had heard the king’s wife was of kindliest disposition and fairest face, but such words did not do her justice. She was strikingly pretty. Her eyes twinkled like stars in a clear night sky, cheeks glowed with a smile that looked never to turn downward, and her face was surely borrowed from an angel. Though somewhat plump, she was all the lovelier for it.
She paused before father and daughter and took Joslyn’s hands in hers. “Your disappearance caused quite a tumult, Lady Joslyn. All manner of imaginings had we for what had befallen you. ’Tis of great relief you are returned to us.”
Belatedly, Joslyn bowed before her queen.
Philippa urged her up, then turned and crossed to the dais, where her husband sat with down-turned mouth. “The poor thing is in need of a bath and a maid, would you not say, my lord?”
King Edward dragged his gaze from Joslyn to his wife, and his eyes softened. “We would say she is far more in need of correction. The witless woman left the palace without escort and became lost in the city.”
“As you have more important affairs to attend to, my lord husband, you may be assured I will deal with this.” Queen Philippa stepped from the dais. “Come, Lady Joslyn. We must speak s
eriously, you and I.”
In awe of the power this woman appeared to wield over the King of England that allowed one who had defied him to slip free, Joslyn glanced at Edward. His brow had creased again, as if he questioned what had just occurred, but he said, “We place you in the care of our beloved queen, Lady Joslyn, and warn you we will tolerate no more of the behavior you have shown this day. Are we understood?”
“Aye, Your Majesty.”
He waved her away. “I have important affairs to attend to.”
Joslyn, her father, and Liam followed the queen from the hall into the antechamber where Joslyn turned to the man whose cheeks bloomed with the color of drink. “Father,” she whispered, “you must go to Oliver. He is at—”
“I know where he is. I was readying to leave for the monastery when you returned.” He swept his gaze over her. “Jossie, what fool were you to go into the city alone? You could have been—” He sighed. “I should have taken the strap to you more often when you were young.”
As if he had ever taken the strap to her. Keeping her voice low, she said, “The king has named Oliver heir of Ashlingford over Liam Fawke.”
“As I was told.”
“Then you know why I fear for Oliver.”
He glanced past her to Liam. “I do, though as Fawke came to your aid, mayhap ’tis unfounded fear, Jossie.”
“I would like to believe it, but I will not risk my son.”
He nodded.
“Why were you delayed in returning to London, Father?”
He groaned low, scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, Daughter, it grieves me to admit it, but the delay was not in returning to London but in leaving it in the first place.”
She knew the answer but asked, “A game?”
He shifted his weight. “I was winning, Jossie. But then I was not. And I thought… Well, I was certain I could get back what I had lost. And more.”
The tale was not new. Often he put gambling and drinking ahead of commitments to others, just as he had done over three years past—and for it, she had been forced to wed Maynard to save their family from ruin.
“Hence,” he continued, “I returned to Rosemoor days later than planned.”