The Shattered Rose

by Jo Beverley

  Appear out of nowhere to kiss her?

  That kiss, those feelings, and her rejection of his offer of marriage all troubled her mightily, but now was not the time to dwell on them. Instead, she sent a short, fierce petition for help up to Christ's mother.

  Like an answer, the words popped into her brain. Corser Street.

  Her knees almost gave way in relief. Sending a fervent prayer of thanks, Aline worked her way over to a pleasant-seeming women loading jars of honey and baskets of honey cakes into a little wagon.

  "If you would be so kind, mistress, could you tell me the way to Corser Street?"

  "Lost, love?" asked the woman. "Not surprising, the crazy way everything is these days. I'll be glad when it all settles back down again, even though it'll be bad for business. Corser Street?" She turned and called to the black-pudding seller next to her. "Davy! Corser Street Where is it?"

  The man never stopped packing away his remaining sausages. "Over near Fetters Lane. Down near the river."

  The honey woman turned back. "Well, love, you're aways from home, and that's the truth. But you follow this road to Cooper's Lane. Turn left there and it'll take you to the river. Corser Street's in that direction. You'll find it." She picked up a small honey cake and pressed it into Aline's hand. "Here, love. It'll keep up your strength."

  Aline could willingly have hugged the woman for caring, but she just thanked her and hurried on. Or, rather, she would have hurried if the crowd had permitted it. As it was, she had to go with the flow of people, squeezed and buffeted by those trying to hurry anyway.

  There were doubtless quieter streets nearby, but she was afraid of losing her way, and anyway, she was well hidden in such a crowd. To be even less conspicuous, she made herself stroll along and nibbled on the honey cake.

  She wondered why Jehanne felt she must be at the hearing, but knew that if her cousin was convinced she had something of import to tell the king, she was probably right. Jehanne was formidably clever.

  Jehanne was probably also right in thinking that Galeran would stop her from appearing before the king if he could. This gave Aline some problems. Galeran was also formidably clever. If he thought it best that Jehanne not appear he might be right.

  So, should she go to Galeran and explain the situation, and leave it in his hands? Or should she go to Raoul and hope he'd help get Jehanne out of the convent tomorrow morning?

  And how was that to be done?

  Aline saw the words Coopers Lane on a wall ahead, illustrated by a stack of barrels. She brushed the cake crumbs off her hands and worked through the crowd so she was ready to turn off when the street appeared.

  The change was so abrupt that it felt as if Coopers Lane were deserted, whereas in fact it was reasonably busy. It was clear, however, that few used it as a thoroughfare, perhaps because of the stacks of barrels standing outside each house. The people here were either the coopers and their apprentices and families, or purposeful businessmen inspecting products and placing orders.

  Casks.

  Wine.

  The coopers surely knew all the vintners.

  When one middle-aged man came out to roll a barrel back into his workshop, Aline spoke to him. "Excuse me, sir, but do you know the vintner Hugo who lives on Corser Street?"

  The man straightened and looked her up and down. But then he winked and smiled. "And if I do, pretty maid?"

  Aline's instinct was to shrink away, but she knew he was just teasing, so she made herself smile back. "I'm a new maid there, sir, and I've lost my way. Can you tell me how to get back?"

  "From the country, I reckon," he said, eyes bright with curiosity. "From the north, I'd say."

  She could have screamed with impatience, but he was clearly proud of his deduction. "How did you guess that?" she asked admiringly. "Yes, sir, I come from near Durham."

  "A long way from home, and not surprising you're a mite lost. Right then." He touched her arm, but only to turn her to look down the street. "Go on down here until you come to that house that hangs out over the street. The one with the red trimming. See it?"

  "Yes."

  "There's a ginnel running between the houses there. Follow it through and you'll be in Ironmonger's Lane. There's another cut-through almost opposite. Take that and you'll be in St. Marie's Road. Left there a bit and you'll find Corser Street. You got that?"

  "Yes," said Aline. "But why can't I go straight down here and turn right?"

  "You're a canny one, aren't you?" he said admiringly. "This goes down to the wharves, sweetling. I'd not send a pretty girl like you down there. You go the way I've told you."

  "Thank you," she said sincerely. "Thank you very much."

  He patted her arm. "Off you go, then."

  Aline waved and skirted barrels down to the narrow passageway between the houses. As the cooper had said, it led to the ironmongers with their forges and clanging hammers, then into a wider street with varied merchants and inns.

  "Left," she muttered to herself as she turned, already scanning the side streets for the one she sought. If only anything were familiar. But how could it be since she'd not ventured out of the house other than to be brought to St. Hilda's?

  After a while she stopped and looked backward, wondering if she might have been wrong. Should she have turned right...?

  "Aline?"

  Chapter 17

  The touch on the shoulder made Aline squeak and jump, but even as she whirled, she recognized the voice. She almost threw herself into Raoul's arms in the middle of the street.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, steadying her with a hand on the arm, scanning her for damage.

  "Yes, but Jehanne—"

  He covered her lips with his finger, then wrapped an arm around her and led her off in what she believed to be the wrong direction. She felt wonderfully safe, though, and relished it as only a person who has experienced true danger can.

  "Isn't Hugo's house the other way?"

  "The king's men are there already, seeking you. I presume, having climbed the wall, you don't want to return?"

  "Not at the moment. But I've got to tell you—"

  Again he shushed her. "Not yet." He scanned the area, then turned her sharply to enter an inn.

  "Ho, Paul!" he called out cheerfully to the enormous innkeeper, keeping Aline hugged indecently close to his side. "Any rooms to spare?"

  The man's small eyes took in the two of them, then his belly bounced with his wheezing laughter. "You know I keep a few for emergencies, my friend. Down the corridor. Second on the right."

  Raoul spun him a silver coin. "And a jug of wine."

  The innkeeper turned a spigot on a huge cask and filled an earthenware jug with wine before handing it over with a wink.

  Aline, still forced against Raoul by an unbreakable hold, tried to remember that she was on important business and Raoul was probably only trying to keep her safe. But the thought that he knew this man, and knew that he kept rooms free for men and their whores, made her want to scratch his eyes out.

  In moments they were in a small room—a partitioned alcove really—containing a bed, a bench, and a table. And a settled-in stink.

  Raoul let Aline go, and she stalked over to the bed and flipped back the covers to expose dirty sheets. "I hope you don't intend me to use this bed."

  "Of course not. The wine's probably safe, though," He poured some into the two wooden beakers and passed one to her. "Drink. Then you can tell me what's going on. Quietly, though. These walls hardly deserve the name."

  Aline clutched the beaker, fighting to calm her rage and keep her mind on important matters.

  And failing.

  "You find Ella as soon as you arrive at Heywood," she hissed, "and this place as soon as you arrive in London!"

  "I wouldn't use that bed, either, Aline."

  He looked not the tiniest bit guilty. Aline just turned away.

  "Jehanne," he reminded her.

  So she had to turn back and talk to him anyway. She did it, but with a
scowl. "Jehanne is a prisoner at the convent," she said in the softest possible voice. "We all are, I suppose, but she is kept apart, and I don't like that."

  He drew her over to his side so he could speak into her ear. "Galeran said as much. He doesn't like it either, but he spoke with her, and there didn't seem to be anything seriously wrong. He expects the matter to be over with by tomorrow. He believes the king will favor his side over Flambard. The bishop daren't even appear in the streets of London for fear of his life. There's no reason for the king to support him."

  Aline resisted the temptation to cuddle up against his broad chest. "Jehanne wants to attend the hearing."

  "Let her want."

  Aline frowned up at him, making her neck hurt. "She's not a fool. She couldn't say why she has to be there, but it's important. It's not some whim."

  He lifted her to sit on the rickety table, more on a level with him and face-to-face. "She's in the king's custody, Aline. It will hardly turn him to her favor for her to escape and confront him. Nor will your escapade. I thought the idea was to convince the world that Jehanne's a weak woman, distressed into foolishness by the death of her child."

  To be close, he was standing between her legs. Since he seemed to think nothing of it, Aline tried to do the same. "I know," she murmured, then swallowed to clear her throat. "It bothers me too. But she is determined on it. So, should we tell Galeran?" Unable to ignore their positions, she wriggled away slightly, causing the whole table to sway.

  He put his hands on her hips. "Stay still. Telling Galeran seems the reasonable thing to do."

  "She doesn't want that."

  Why couldn't she ignore his hands on her hips? It wasn't an indecent contact....

  The way their bodies pressed together was, despite the layers of clothing between them. He didn't seem to be disturbed at all. His mind was entirely on Jehanne and Galeran's problems.

  As it should be.

  As hers should be...

  "If I had to stake my sword on it," he said thoughtfully, and his thumbs moved against her hipbones, making her want to wriggle again, "I'd say the Lady Jehanne loves her husband as much as he loves her. Am I right?"

  To tell him to stop that little movement would reveal how much it was affecting her. "Of course you are."

  He frowned into her eyes. "So why doesn't she want him to know of her intentions?"

  "Because he'd try to stop her, I suppose."

  It was another battle, she realized. Whether he was aware of that movement or not, she would not admit that it had any effect on her.

  He nodded. "So her purpose must be to stop him from facing Lowick in a court battle. Just as he's trying to prevent her becoming the focus of the case, and perhaps being punished for her sins. Ah, love," he remarked with a wry smile. "It leads even clever people into strange paths."

  Aline was extremely glad that she hadn't let him know how his touch, his smile, his presence, could tangle her brain into love knots. "How fortunate that we are free of it and can think clearly," she said. Unfortunately, loudly.

  He put his fingers over her lips, hushing her. But he was laughing. At her? At least he'd moved one of his hands.

  She stopped herself from biting him, and when he removed his hand, merely said, "So, what shall we do?"

  He became suitably somber. "First, find you a better place than this to stay. Not easy, London being as it is." He kissed her quickly, lightly, burningly.

  As if it didn't matter.

  "Wait here for a moment."

  He slipped out the door and Aline leaped down off the table, almost upsetting it. It was horrible of her to be more concerned about Raoul and whores and her lust for him than about Jehanne and the king. But she seemed to have no control. She could force her logical mind to worry about Jehanne, about Lowick's claim to Donata, but deep inside was a place where Raoul was the only important person in the world.

  And he couldn't keep his horse in its stall for more than a couple of days at a time!

  She sat miserably on the bench.

  Young men were allowed to spend their seed on whores or easy servants. Since it wasn't practical for many of them to marry, what else were they to do? She'd known her brothers were doing that sort of thing and it hadn't bothered her at all. She wanted Raoul, however, to live as pure as a hermit. Or to spend his seed with her.

  A hot, curling ache between her thighs made her whirl to face him when he returned.

  "What is it?" he asked, looking around for trouble, knife springing into his hand.

  "Nothing! You'd just been gone a while."

  He slid the knife back in its sheath. "Just long enough to go to the public room and get an address from Paul." He suddenly pulled her into his arms, rubbing gently at her back. "Don't be afraid. I won't let anyone hurt you."

  You could hurt me, she thought. You could hurt me by going back to your sun-bright home alone. You could hurt me by taking me. You could hurt me by stealing my virtue. You could hurt me by leaving me pure....

  He pushed her gently back, studying her with his all-too-perceptive eyes. "Better?"

  She nodded, wondering why life wasn't as simple as it was supposed to be. If she had to fall in love, why hadn't it been with a sensible northern man?

  He had a blue cloth in his hand and held it out. "Put this on."

  She wrapped it around her head, hiding her hair entirely.

  "Good girl. Come on, then."

  He guided her out into the warren-like inn and took a different path so that they emerged into a backyard complete with pig. They picked their way through a number of similar yards until they emerged through another tavern onto a wide street.

  "Cheapside," he said, and steered her across it and into a side street. Halfway down, he stopped to knock on a door.

  It opened and a gaunt woman looked them over.

  "We want a room for the night," said Raoul.

  "Sixpence."

  Raoul handed over the coin, and the woman led them down a corridor and up some rickety stairs. The place was as dingy and cramped as the other one, but at least it smelled clean. When the woman reached their room, it even had a door of sorts, held on to the wall by leather hinges.

  She walked off without a word, and Aline looked around. Table, bench, and bed. Just like the other place. But clean. She checked the sheets and found, as she expected, that they looked and smelled fresh.

  "Definitely a better class of place," she said, but couldn't help sneering.

  "So it would seem. I'll have to remember it."

  Aline gritted her teeth but resisted the urge to comment.

  "Now," said Raoul, "I'm going to visit the convent to see if I can get in to talk to Jehanne. I need to find out—"

  "You can't leave me here!" Aline was ashamed of the weak words as soon as they escaped, but she was adrift in a strange world and terrified.

  He took her hands. "Hush, love. You'll be safe here. Men come to this house with a companion, not in search of one. And according to Paul, Mistress Helswith runs this place like a tight ship. If she has trouble, she has a clutch of strong sons next door at the farrier's."

  His words were reasonable, but Aline would still like to cling to him and never let him go. She made herself smile up at him and say lightly, "Oh. All right."

  He touched her cheek. "That's my brave girl..." Hand curled around her neck, he kissed her lips. Then—almost with a sigh—he gathered her into his arms to kiss her more thoroughly.

  Aline's conscience and her sense of caution commanded that she resist.

  She lacked the will.

  She suspected that if he tumbled her onto the bed, she'd probably lack the will to resist there too.

  As she savored the taste of his mouth and pressed closer to the hot strength of his body, she began to think of tumbling him to the bed!

  He drew back from the kiss, slowly, like a person pulling out of honey, and she felt the same sticky attachment protesting their separation. "Don't go." The words escaped from her heart, fro
m her demanding desire. "Oh, don't listen to me!" she added quickly. "I know I'm safe."

  "Do you, indeed?" he murmured, arms still around her. "I'll have to come back here for the night, you know."

  She knew why he made it a warning.

  There really wasn't any choice, however, except returning to the convent. "I wouldn't want to spend the night here alone."

  "That's what I mean."

  "But you'd better go."

  "Yes."

  They were talking like idiots, or drunkards deep in their pots.

  Aline braced her hands on his chest and gave a mighty shove so his hold broke, and he fell back a step. Suddenly he grinned. "Remember that push later. Here." He gave her his knife, a long, gleamingly sharp blade with a hilt of chased silver set with amber. "Can you use it if there's trouble?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought so. But don't knife one of the king's guards if they find you. That's for rapists." He turned at the door. "Including me."

  "You couldn't rape me..."

  "I wish I had such absolute faith."

  "...because I can't imagine resisting."

  He closed his eyes briefly. "Then God help us both."

  "Amen," whispered Aline to the closed door.

  * * *

  Raoul made his way through the London streets, trying to keep his mind on the serious matters at hand, aware only of aching desire and a luscious maid who perhaps wouldn't fight him hard enough in the night.

  He wanted Aline, but he wanted her as his wedded wife. He didn't want to dishonor her. But he wanted her in a way he'd never wanted another woman in his life.

  He groaned aloud, gaining him a funny look from a merchant hurrying by. Galeran and Jehanne, he said silently to himself.

  Almost having to move his lips to make his mind concentrate, he went over recent events. The king had agreed to hear Galeran's case. Galeran intended to ask that Jehanne be forgiven by society as well as himself, and that they keep Donata. There was no reason to think the king would deny these petitions, but then, why had he seized Jehanne and Donata?