“Get her!” snarled Edgar de Laverton. He drove his blade at Gervase. A second swordsman came towards her, his breath rasping, his sword tip bloodied. Backing away, Johanna went stumbling, lost her footing and, hindered by her skirt, struggled to right herself, turning onto her hands and knees. Grabbing rocks with two hands, she hurled them at his shins, trying not to be distracted by the strained breathing of the fighters beyond and the vicious clang of every blow that missed and struck the wall.
Gervase was taunting Edgar, “And tell your foul master that I have just pleasured my lady up on the sward.”
Edgar gave a hissing laugh. “Then I had better geld you before you do it again,” and he lunged at his loins and drove below his guard, but Gervase spun out of the way. He had bundled his cloak about his left arm as a crude buckler.
The second man’s boot caught Johanna in the belly and she fell back with a scream as he held the sword across her neck.
“Surrender or he will cut her throat,” Edgar roared. Gervase leapt back, watching his opponent but uncertain.
“What? Slay the Lady of Enderby? Then you will hang for certain!”
“I thought you wanted me alive, Edgar,” Johanna purred.
“Hold her!” her old enemy rasped, readjusting his hold on the sword handle as if his fingers were spasmed.
“Let her go!” Sir Geoffrey, his sword drawn, stood above the chasm and from either side the Conisthorpe men came running.
Johanna, her head pressed sideways by the sharpness of the blade suddenly knew real fear. She was the talisman to freedom.
Edgar backed up until he was flanking her. “Over there all of you!”
The Conisthorpe men slowly grouped themselves to the upper side and Edgar, watching Gervase, edged down the path. His companion, holding Johanna, was slowly feeling his way with his heels, hauling her with him.
“Perhaps you would like me as prisoner instead?” Gervase flung aside his sword.
“No, we cannot enjoy you in the same way, though we could try,” snorted the other man. It was then that Sir Geoffrey took the risk and hurled a rock down at the back of her assailant’s neck. The man’s sword arm jerked forward and in that instant Gervase sprang, kicking Edgar out of the way with one foot and knocking the sword out of the other man’s loosened hold. With a swift reaction that astonished herself, Johanna brought up the side of her right hand and sliced it across the bridge of her assailant’s nose. He fell back with a scream, blood gushing, struggling to keep hold of her but she scrambled free, gasping, as her mother’s men came slithering down the rockface.
With a roar of victory, the Conisthorpe men hauled their captives down the path. In the field behind the church, Gervase waved them to halt.
“Give him his sword. I want to kill him.”
“No!” exclaimed Johanna, trying to fling herself between them, but Sir Geoffrey grabbed her back.
They were equally matched; while Gervase had height and greater strength, Edgar de Laverton was agile and light upon his feet, dancing around his opponent, showing his true mettle now that they fought on even ground. Johanna hid her face in the older man’s shoulder, not bearing to watch.
“Take her into the church!” she heard Gervase yell, but she would not be led away. Every rasp of steel against steel sent shivers of fear streaking down her spine. The shouts and groans of the Conisthorpe men told her how the battle waged back and forth. Dear God, if Edgar won, Gervase would be dead and the candle that lit her world would be blown out. If Edgar won, the church court would deliver her back to Fulk and he would tie her to her bed at Conisthorpe and—
Around her the men were roaring in bloodlust and then it was over. She uncovered her face and saw Gervase staggering, alive, though blood was streaking down his cheek and his sleeve was torn and dripping. He cast his bloody sword aside and flung himself to the ground, panting air in great gulps.
“It is all right, lass.” Sir Geoffrey kept her aright as she stepped unsteadily forwards and, falling to her knees beside Gervase, gathered him into her arms. “Oh, my love, my love!”
IT WAS AS well Agnes had been returned else she might have had her throat slit in vengeance at Edgar de Laverton’s slaying. Geraint was heartily glad there had been sufficient witnesses on both sides to testify that it had been a true fight.
“About as clever as walking into a Grimsby whorehouse without a dagger,” Sir Geoffrey muttered later as the men shared a barrel of ale in the keep. “If I and the lads had not been there . . .”
“But you were, sir, albeit a trifle tardy.”
“Pig’s vomit,” exclaimed the older man with reasonable amiability. “I wonder about you, boy, I really do. Lady Johanna—”
“—is good in a fight. I am thinking of having her properly trained in combat practice. Once the news reaches Robert the Bruce, he will declare a truce instantly and King Edward will have to knight her.”
“You,” growled Sir Geoffrey, “are a menace to my sanity and so is your ruddy esquire.”
BECAUSE THE WHOLE realm and Holy Church especially was preparing for the most solemn festival of the year, Agnes’s interrogation early next day was mercifully brief. The examiner departed to confer with the judge and Geraint received word from Sir Ralph that he had put one of Fulk’s men to the question and the man had confessed Edgar’s part in the abduction of Agnes. Judge William de Bedford must have been wishing himself well away from Conisthorpe. Within the hour he announced that he had read all the witnesses’s depositions and since the case was no longer being contested, he would announce his verdict. A messenger was dispatched instantly to the castle to fetch the petitioner and defendant, and by the time the Conisthorpe party arrived, the church was packed with townsfolk. Thankfully none of the Enderby company were present, nor was the husband-hunting widow, Lady Maud.
Judge William de Bedford was looking sour as a crabapple and his tone in addressing them could have whetted butcher’s knives.
“The decision of this court is that the marriage between Gervase de Laval and Johanna FitzHenry is lawful.” The lady in question tried to keep her features grave and composed, but she felt like whooping. In accordance with his part, Geraint put an arm round her and kissed her cheek. His relief was sincere. He felt like crowing at Stephen de Norwood. Three years! How wrong you were. But the pious Judge William had not finished with them.
“Since, however, the said man and woman are living as man and wife, and in order to prevent any further claims against the said defendant, it is hereby ordered that the plaintiff shall presently wed the defendant before witnesses at the church door and that the marriage shall be straightway consummated.”
“Oh, dear God,” whispered Lady Constance, masking her mouth with her glove.
IT WAS THE court’s revenge for interference. It had done what Hugh Despenser had requested, but it had a little power left to see that the laws of Holy Church were followed. If Gervase de Laval petitioned for his alleged marriage to be upheld, then here was his answer. Justice was heaped onto his platter with a vengeance.
“I object.” Father Gilbert strode forward, his vestments flapping. The court had robbed him of a soul to be garnered for God. Then, seeing Johanna’s horrified face, he relented, floundering to avert suspicion. If he informed on them, he would be restricted from holy office for at least three years—or excommunicated. “I-I object with all respect to Father Peter officiating. As the lady’s chaplain and confessor, I beg permission to hear their vows.”
Behind Johanna, her mother let out her breath. “Put a good face on it, for God’s sake, Gervase,” she pleaded during the hubbub as the two priests stepped forward to the bench.
“I am delirious with happiness.” Geraint was smiling though his teeth. There was nothing that he could do but try to look as if it was his namesaint’s day and he had been given a cartload of gold.
Judge William addressed the court. “Father Gilbert’s request is granted. This court will adjourn until after Eastertide.”
�
�Madam!” With eyes chillingly mocking, Gervase bowed to Johanna fulsomely and offered his wrist. Johanna felt as though her heart would break. She had never dreamed it would end like this.
“Look merrier, both of you,” warned Lady Constance.
He led her out into the churchyard, stepped round her so that he was on her other side and, with a hand to his waist and a flourish so vigorous that it swung his sleeve up over his arm, held out his hand to her again so they were facing the porch together. Father Gilbert, flanked by acolytes and suitably garbed in borrowed vestments, was positioning himself.
“It is not my fault,” Johanna mouthed at Geraint, appalled at the anger she knew to be simmering behind the clenched jaw. Was he married already despite his reassurances? Or was he betrothed elsewhere and this match would kill his chance of obtaining a rich heiress?
“She is marrying Gervase de Laval.” Her mother spoke softly, coming between them. “You can arrange his death, surely?”
“Oh, I certainly can.” His tone could have scythed an oak. With a defiant toss of his head, he glared at the rump of William de Bedford’s horse as it departed with its virtuous rider. “If I ever lay hands on that son of a dog . . .”
“But he thinks it is the right thing and so it is, if we are not liars.”
“This was never the bargain.”
They stepped forward together awkwardly like carthorses out of step. It was the second time she had knelt in misery to whisper a trothplight. She should be feeling joyous, but the friend had fled and in his place stood a cold, indifferent man. Would his heiress know him like this, a businesslike bridegroom who had not made the match out of any affection?
“Let the marriage be consummated this very hour,” declared Sir Ralph, bussing her on the cheek and ushering them out into the sunlight, “not that it is anything a young couple like you have not managed already.”
The mayor had already summoned the town musicians and Johanna and Gervase were preceded in procession by their capering, while her mother sent orders for her great bed to be furnished with fresh sheets. Yolonya was enthusiastically scattering fertility herbs upon it when the bridal party entered the bedchamber.
“Put ’em to bed,” ordered Sir Ralph. “I never in my life was so glad to see an end to this business. Put ’em to bed and all will be fair and square.”
The women were all about Johanna, unplaiting her hair and undressing her. She sent Gervase an imploring look, willing him to send them away, but it was as though he was made of unfeeling rock. Sir Geoffrey and Sir Ralph were doing the same to him, lifting off the tunic she had embroidered for him, peeling down his hose. Surely he must stop them; the deputy sheriff would see the telltale scars, but the man seemed like a statue, without will. There was a gasp as the jagged edges of his wounds were displayed and Sir Ralph met his steady gaze.
“You are a soldier then,” he declared. “I think you will be going north against the Scots.”
“Now that the case is settled, why not? Shall we get this over?”
They fell back from Gervase and he faced Johanna, forced to look at her against his mind’s reason. Clearly he was despising her for this. And even if the forced partnering was with the human being Johanna adored above all others; even if behind his stubborn visage he shared her embarrassment at being exposed to the common gaze, she stood alone. The lustrous mantle of her hair afforded her some modesty, but it was not long enough to hide her gender or stay chastely unparted over her breasts. The humiliation of this public coupling was appalling, but worse still was the indifference in his eyes.
She could sense Sir Ralph’s admiring gaze, heard the mayor swallow salaciously. Father Gilbert cleared his throat and gave a blessing for her fertility, not her happiness.
The tester was drawn back and she and Gervase were urged to their respective sides of the high bed.
“You will place your leg against your wife’s,” ordered the mayor and Johanna felt Gervase’s cool skin alongside her thigh. This was how they betrothed princesses to distant bridegrooms, the proxy had to set his naked leg against the bride’s and the marriage was witnessed as being insoluble.
“Satisfactory!” boomed Sir Ralph, then, addressing Lady Constance, “This must be a relief to all at Conisthorpe.”
“I should say so,” exclaimed Sir Geoffrey pointedly, compensating for Father Gilbert’s sour demeanour.
Gervase reached for the coverlet and dragged it up to hide their nudity. “Perhaps you will leave us now to bring this joyful occasion to, I trust, a fruitful conclusion.”
Johanna waited until the door had closed behind Yolonya, who had insisted on tucking them in like a pair of siblings, and then she clouted him.
“I do not believe in violence,” she said firmly, scrambling out of bed and grabbing the wine jug, “but you have had that coming for a long time.” She poured herself far too much wine and, swirling it, drank half before he grabbed it from her. Standing before her, confident of his own fine body, he set cold palms upon her haunches.
“I might as well have some pleasure out of this,” he said haughtily.
“No, not a bit of it,” she protested, slapping his hands away. “You have been treating me as if this enforcement was my fault. Well, I am very sorry for you, but I am not to blame.” She stood before the clouded window, her back to him, sipping her wine more slowly. “Is she beautiful, your heiress, or do you just hear the coins drop instead of salivating?”
“Johanna!” It was a whispered protest, a vain rustle against the door that had been closed upon them. Turning her head, she could see that some humanity was beginning to return to his blue eyes, as if they were no longer painted on some flat board but hid a soul behind them.
She studied him blatantly, wondering whether her revulsion would return if he was cruel to her now. She had journeyed far with his tutoring, but this man could rip her fragile wholesomeness to ragged pieces if he chose.
Geraint sighed. He longed to smash his fist into Hugh’s almond eyes and strangle the judge until his eye sockets bulged, and curse and curse until the Devil rubbed his hands, his victory over another soul assured.
At least Johanna could not be made lawfully to share Fulk’s bed again. But it was this enforced consummation, being told to perform, that he resented, and the complacent smirk of William de Bedford that he was perceived as Hugh’s tail and could be pulled this way or that to annoy the beast in Despenser. At least, he thought maliciously, the verdict would make Hugh ropable.
It would be easier on him if Johanna found herself the equivalent of a figleaf, but his true wife of less than an hour seemed to be behaving like Eve before she developed a taste for apples. The wench was standing, unconscious of her nakedness, before the window, like the embodiment of Earthly Pleasure, the light illuminating her skin to resemble unflawed alabaster. And she was his lawfully, whether he would or no, to be enjoyed and treasured, but not by him.
“Do you believe in Hell?” It took an instant for Johanna’s voice to reach his understanding.
“If there is good, there must be evil,” he answered hoarsely as she turned to face him. Her breasts jutted out between the silken filaments of her hair, firm and alluring. Was this his Johanna, this dark-haired seductress?
“Why?” She turned sideways, brushing her dark curls back across her naked shoulder.
“If God exists, the Devil obviously can.”
“But there is good and evil in every one of us, so perhaps God and Lucifer are part of the same entity.” Her eyes were translucent as gems, mysterious as she stared at him, willing him to come to her. The game was as ancient as the barred gates of Paradise.
“You are free now,” he observed, turning his back and retying his drawers about his waist as if the soft linen could staunch his growing ardour. He wanted her, but it was a matter of principle. If he took her now on her terms, he would become her dazed lover and leaving would be the harder. Fulk would be hammering at the gates to evict them, and in any case he could not take her home. In
deed, home was somewhere he had not been for years.
He sat down on the bed but he had reckoned without Johanna’s swiftness to apply her learning when it suited her. She knelt behind him, her silken thighs encompassing his, her cheek like a butterfly’s wings soft between his shoulderblades as she slid her arms about him.
“I love you,” she whispered the words against his skin. “I will let you go and go you must, but give me these few days to warm my heart against the wintertide, against widowhood.”
He would have freed himself abruptly and stood, but her fingers stole beneath the soft linen folds between his legs.
“Lady,” he groaned. “Be at an end.”
“You find this unpleasing, sir?”
He could not think any longer; the aching in his loins needed fulfilment. She had loosened the breechclout and her fingertips teased him, stroking slowly across his sensitive skin. She drew him back across the bed, performing the labour that was the weft and weave of dreams.
He let her seduce him, understanding at last that this was what she needed—for once to have the ordering of the universe, and that it did not matter anyway. And sin for once was thwarted, for was this not marriage and if there was a child, then was this pleasure blessed.
She set her legs astride his thighs and took him into her, letting him reach out and touch her breasts, giving in the act while demanding his surrender also. As the exquisite flood of pleasure overwhelmed him, his shout was exultant, a roar as animal as any great beast’s.
He eased her to his side afterwards, drawing the sheets up round them, nestling her into the curve of his body, his face against her hair.
He laughed softly, pressing a kiss upon her shoulder.
“I am forgiven?” she whispered.
“No, not yet, or rather the forgiving is incomplete. A few days of pleasure, lady, despite Eastertide. We have a lot of forgiving still ahead of us, I think, before I leave.”
The Knight And The Rose Page 42