by Jo Beverley
He pushed off her and rolled off the bed. "At the moment I feel as strong as Donata. Come on. Get up and let's get out of hare. We have actions to take."
She scrambled off the bed, tidying her clothes and looking ridiculously deprived. He was very tempted to spank her, for he didn't believe she was nearly as innocent about all this as she pretended to be.
"What are we going to do, then?" she asked as she wound the blue cloth around her head again.
"I'm not going to get Jehanne out of the convent."
Her hands stopped. "What? Why not?"
The end of the cloth began to fall loose, so he caught it and tucked it in, glad of any excuse to touch her, despite the dangers.
"Since I didn't go instantly to sleep, I had time to think. It can't do any good to thwart the king in that way. On the other hand, I do believe that Jehanne has something of import to add to the hearing. I'm going to get into the convent so I can have private speech with her, then I'll convey her information, make her argument, or whatever is required."
She leveled her severe brows at him. "The penalties for invading a religious house are rather harsh. Are you sure...?"
"I'm not sure of anything, but this is my best judgment. And how, exactly, did you expect me to get her out without violating a religious house? Now," he said, ushering her out of the room, "I saw the cloister. Tell me as much about the rest of the convent as you can."
As they made their way out of the house and into Cheapside, she told him everything she knew.
"I can go in over the wall," he said, as they hurried along. "But noise might be a problem."
"I think you need to go in during chapel so there'd be few people around." She glanced at the sky, judging the light. "You've missed prime. It will have to be terce, which is the time of the hearing."
"Christ's crown, that's too late." By the time they reached the lane behind the convent, they hadn't come up with a solution to that problem.
Raoul assessed the rough wooden wall. "Getting over that will be simple. I'll just have to hope that no one hears."
"Faint hope of that. Why don't I create a distraction?"
"What kind of distraction?" he asked. But by Christ's crown he loved the way she was his partner in this.
"If I turn up disheveled and incoherent, it will draw everyone's attention."
"And get you a whipping."
"What will you get if you're caught invading a nunnery? They probably won't punish me until I get my wits back. By then, I hope, we'll all be free."
So she, like Jehanne, was trying to save a man from trouble. There was no point in arguing about it here. "What will you tell them?"
"Nothing. I'll be completely mad." She twisted her mouth and rolled her eyes. "At least until after terce."
He had to laugh at the sight. "Then what will you tell them?"
"That the big city frightened my wits away? I hope by then it's all over."
Raoul shook his head, wishing she didn't sometimes seem so young. But he did need the distraction she could provide. "Very well. You escaped, thinking to contact Galeran and tell him of your predicament, but got lost and had to hide all night, terrified of beggars and bandits. Now you are desperate to return to the safety of the convent."
She looked around and stepped into a shadow between two houses, already unwinding her headcloth. She tore off the ribbons at the end of her already unraveling plaits and fingered them out. Raoul followed and gripped the shoulder of her kirtle to rip it a few inches so it sagged. He scooped up some dirt and rubbed it into the cloth and into her skin.
Proud that he'd not let any of his lewd thoughts show, he looked her over and nodded. "Ready?"
She smiled. "Ready."
"Brave girl." He kissed her lightly on the brow, then pushed her off down the lane toward the front of the convent.
In moments he heard the convent doorbell clang stridently. He counted to three, glanced around to be sure that no one was nearby, stepped back, then ran at the wall, leaping to grasp the top.
As soon as his fingers caught, he realized he had a problem. The wall was not very sturdy. For a moment it felt as if his pull might bring it down rather than him up. But it held, and he braced his hips against the top. A glance showed him nuns milling in the cloister gardens, and no one in the herb garden.
He swung over and dropped, ducking immediately into a corner behind a fragrant bush.
Wailing pinpointed Aline on the other side of the cloister, and a burst of exclamations and chatter implied a large gathering. Raoul hoped that soon the matter would be taken inside one of the buildings. It would difficult to sneak close to Jehanne's cell with the whole convent gathered in the cloister garden.
Then he realized that they might bring Aline into the infirmary. Time to get out of here. He followed the first part of their plan, slipping into the infirmarian's workroom, through the thankfully unused infirmary itself, toward the convent's chapel.
There was no way to know what was beyond the solid door, but he'd be surprised if the altar were left completely unattended. The door would probably open into the side of the altar so that the sick could see the Mass. He could only hope it was far enough away from anyone keeping vigil there.
He took a deep breath, eased down the latch, and pulled it open a finger-length.
Two nuns knelt in prayer in front of the altar, but their heads were bowed and the door was slightly behind them and in shadow. Raoul didn't think they would notice him unless he made a noise. Thanking God that the door itself was silent, he opened it wide enough to slip through, closed it, then moved quickly down against the chapel wall to the main doors at the end.
This, however, was already farther than Aline's knowledge could guide him, and he hadn't seen the chapel door from the cloister. He might open it and be in full view of the community. He didn't think so, for even if they were still in the garden, they should be at the far side, but there was no guarantee.
Raoul shrugged. It had always been his way to make the best plan possible, then carry it through without further fretting. He carefully opened the door far enough to look.
Ah. God be praised. The chapel entrance was guarded by a deep porch set upon stone pillars. The space between the pillars provided excellent concealment from most directions. Raoul went through the door, again closing it neatly behind him, and moved between two pillars to consider his next move.
This was undoubtedly the tricky part.
Leaning out, he saw a cluster of black and white through the flowering bushes. That must be the nuns around Aline.
Why, by Saint Sever, didn't they take her inside somewhere?
He waited, counting slowly, but nothing changed. Oh, well, their attention seemed so focused on Aline, and he'd have to take his chances.
The porch opened into the cloister walk, which went around all four sides of the garden. The walk itself was deep, roofed, and fronted by pillared arches so that in the sunlight it was shadowed. With luck, even if one of the nuns saw him, they'd see just a shadowy figure and assume him to be one of the community.
Raoul walked normally, therefore, as he left the porch, turned right, and headed toward Jehanne's room. He wasn't actually intending to go to her door, since it was too close to the nuns and would be locked. He had his eye open for a passage through to the back of the rooms. He could talk to Jehanne through the small window.
Unfortunately, he didn't find any passageway at all.
It didn't seem right to curse in a religious house, but he did it anyway, silently. He couldn't go any farther, or he'd be too close to the chattering, exclaiming nuns. There didn't seem a lot of point in going back.
There had to be a way to other parts of the convent, but it must be through one of the many doors.
Which door?
He was trying to decide, when Jehanne took a hand. She suddenly started calling, "Someone! What is going on? Is that Aline? What's happened?"
Then she thumped on her door. Hastily moving back toward the bend o
f the cloister, Raoul judged her alarm to be genuine, and quite reasonable. All she would be able to hear would be her cousin's cries.
As Raoul watched, a figure emerged from the huddle. The mother superior stalked over to Jehanne's door, pulling a key out of a pouch on her belt. Opening the door, she snapped, "Compose yourself, Lady Jehanne. Your foolish cousin has returned, and appears unharmed though much distressed." She then slammed the door and marched back to her community. "Bring the girl into the chapter house. This is all most disorderly. A terrible disruption..."
But as her voice faded and the group flowed off into a building, a wild-haired, limp Aline in their midst, Raoul noticed that she really had been disrupted. She'd left the key in the lock. In moments the cloister was deserted and Raoul could slip down, turn the lock, and enter Jehanne's cell.
She was pacing, but she froze at his entrance, staring as if she couldn't believe her eyes.
Which was hardly surprising.
Then she gasped, "Oh, Sweet Mary be praised! It was all a ruse? Thank heavens." She was already heading for the door, but he grasped her shoulders to stop her.
She cried out.
He instantly let her go, watching as she panted, then controlled her breathing.
He didn't need to be told. "You've been beaten?"
She straightened as if nothing were the matter, and he thought she might refuse to answer. But then she grimaced. "Every three hours."
"Holy Father! By whose orders?"
"Bishop Flambard's."
It took him a moment to control his own feelings. "Why didn't you say anything? Galeran or I could have stopped this."
She was once more controlled and cool, however. Once more the Jehanne he had come to admire, and perhaps to fear.
"I didn't want it stopped."
"You take pleasure in pain?"
"Am I mad?"
"Why, then?" But he could guess.
"You know as well as I do that I deserve to be beaten. That the world will never be content until I am punished..."
"And this way Galeran will not be forced to do it," he completed. She was right, and even though his instincts protested her acting against her husband's wishes, he admired her for her courage.
He still couldn't help wishing she were a less militant woman, and he didn't want to be around when Galeran heard about this.
"There's another advantage," she was saying, and she even smiled with satisfaction. "I don't think the king will be happy that the bishop has taken action before he has a chance to rule on the matter."
Raoul realized he was gaping, and closed his mouth. His mother and sisters were not weak or silly women, but he didn't think any of them would be willing to accept a beating every few hours for such a logical, political reason.
Yet again, though, she was right. She'd created a weapon they could use against Flambard.
"What were you intending to do?" he asked. "Burst in on the king and bare your back?"
She began to answer, but then stared at him. "What do you mean, 'intending'?" If she'd been a man, he'd have prepared to defend himself.
"I am not going to help you escape from here, Jehanne. It would not work in your favor with the king, believe me. However, I will take your words to him."
Even though she was weaponless, danger flickered in her eyes, but in the next moment he saw her consider his words and accept them, no matter how reluctantly. It was probably the reluctance that made her swing away to face the crucifix on the wall.
By the Cross, she was a woman in a million.
Thanks be. Many more like her and the world would shiver and fall.
"Do you have any idea how hard I find this?" she asked.
Raoul remembered sympathizing with her about having to stand and watch. Perhaps the key to understanding Jehanne was to put himself in her place. He'd hate to have to just wait for his fate, and that of the ones he loved, to be decided by others. He didn't know if he could meekly accept beating after beating in their cause, though.
He was a fighter, not a martyr, and at heart, he thought, so was she.
"I think I do understand," he said gently. "But if you want to help Galeran, you must stay here, hard though it will be." Then, however, he stopped his pious lecture. "Hell's cinders. That means another beating."
She turned back to face him. "That doesn't matter." Astonishingly, he could see she meant it. "What does matter is that the king give Donata to us, not Raymond. And that Galeran and Raymond not fight. I will do anything to achieve those ends."
Raoul raised his brows. "Do you not believe Galeran can win? Even if you think him the lesser warrior, do you not believe that God will decide right from wrong?"
"God probably has better things to do," she said testily, "but I'm sure Galeran has a fair chance of winning. I saw him fight you."
"So?"
"So Raymond does not deserve to die."
It was as if the earth had changed to quicksand beneath Raoul's feet. "Are you telling me your concern is for him?"
"Yes." She met his anger without flinching. In fact, with exasperation. "I love Galeran more than life itself, Raoul! But I cannot let an innocent man suffer to ease my way."
"Innocent?"
"What did he do, this dark villain? He loved me. Poor fool, he still does. His feelings are as much for Heywood as for myself, but it is love all the same. He hoped Galeran was dead. That might be uncharitable, but it is hardly an offense worthy of death...."
"He committed adultery with you!"
Her color flared then, but she spoke calmly. "Have you never had sex with a willing married woman?" Before he could find a way to make 'yes' sound like 'no,' she went on. "Do you deserve to die for it?"
"If the husband had caught me at it, perhaps."
She cocked her head slightly, looking almost amused. "So, Raoul, do you think you can take my words to the king and make my arguments persuasively?"
He muttered words that shouldn't be spoken in such a place, imagining himself standing before the king of England and his advisers, with Galeran by his side, and trying to make this case. By the Nails and Spear, he wished he were safe home in Guyenne.
But he could see what the cunning woman was up to.
"You are still not leaving here, Jehanne."
"You cannot make a case you don't believe in." The tightening of her face showed that she'd hoped to scare him off the task. He admired her, but he'd like to throttle her too.
"I'll do my best. Now, let me see your back. I need to be able to swear to it."
She glared at him, but puffed out a defeated breath, disconcertingly like Aline for a moment. Then, wincing, she pulled off her embroidered tunic and turned. "I split the back of my kirtle so it would be easily seen."
He'd seen men flayed by a whip, and this wasn't so bad, but his jaw clenched at the sight of the network of swollen weals. It must be exquisitely tender to the touch, and yet she was willing to stay here to receive more strokes.
Irrationally, he again wanted to throttle her.
"How many strokes each time?" he asked, hearing the gruffness in his own voice.
"Ten." She turned back and her face paled as she tried to pull her tunic over her head.
He went to help her. "You can't take another ten."
The words were foolish and her look told him she thought so too. People could take the pain they had to. The only escape was death.
He rubbed a hand over his stubbly face. "When Galeran finds out I left you here..." He shook his head at the mere thought. "Come on. I'll get you out. Though I don't know how you're going to climb the wall—"
"No." She stepped away from his guiding hand. "You're correct about the king. Submission will carry more weight than intrusion. And think how my sufferings will cut my time in purgatory." She threw it out as a joke, but her calm strength broke for a moment, causing her lips to tremble before she bit them. "Of your kindness, though, my friend, try to release me before sext."
He put out a hand to cradle her head, a
nd drew her against his chest. She neither held him nor resisted, but the way she leaned for a moment told him much.
"It will soon be over," he said. "And I swear on my eternal soul to make sure that your sufferings are not in vain, that your cause is upheld. You have fought your fight and deserve victory. You will have your daughter, and Galeran, safe. And Raymond of Lowick will not die."
She pulled back at that, almost her usual self. "Or suffer in any significant way."
He wanted to throttle her again. There were any number of sufferings short of death. "Or suffer in any significant way," he agreed, adding with a sigh, "My life used to be simple once."
"I assume Aline has come to no great harm?"
It was not as irrelevant as it sounded, as they both knew.
"Yes. She was creating a distraction. We can only hope your stern mother superior doesn't decide to punish her too. I must go."
"Thank you, Raoul. I will pray for you."
He kissed her hand. "And I will pray for you. God's strength be with you."
With that, Raoul peeped through the opening in the door. The cloister still appeared deserted, so he slipped out.
In fact, there was a sister walking at the far end near the chapel, but she didn't see him, and was soon out of view. Though he hated to do it, he locked the door again. As the lock clicked back into place, he heard the wail of an infant on the other side of the cloister.
He moved quickly away, retracing his route, suspecting that soon someone would be bringing Donata to her mother. He tried to imagine the course Jehanne had coolheadedly chosen for herself—feeding her baby every few hours, doubtless playing with Donata to summon baby smiles, then being beaten in between so that Galeran would not have to punish her.
And, in a way, so the man she had used would not suffer for her acts.
An extraordinary woman, but he was glad he wasn't married to her.
Since the coast seemed clear, Raoul went straight into the infirmary herb garden, fighting the temptation to go back to rescue Aline. What if she were even now being beaten for her escape?
He jumped up onto the roof of the infirmary, telling himself that a few strokes of the rod wouldn't do her any lasting harm. She'd doubtless had many such punishments in her life. He didn't think Aline was one to keep out of trouble all the time.