The Wise Virgin: Medieval Christmas Romance

by Jo Beverley

"Lady Nicolette is deeply loved by her family. No one will visit her to make sure she is comfortable?"

  "You forget. It's not Nicolette. It's me. I'm a mere cousin."

  "But a guest. It seems neglectful."

  She really didn't want to discuss her private matters with the Golden Lion, but she said, "I have very painful courses, my lord. I've had one bout since arriving at Woldingham. Lady Ellen knows there is nothing to do for me but leave me alone for a while. And she will be busy."

  "Ah, and by great good fortune, your courses came now? You are bearing up bravely."

  Heat rushed into her cheeks. "They are some days off yet, my lord. We could only hope that Lady Ellen is not paying close attention to such matters."

  He shrugged and sipped his wine. "How could you have hoped to pull off the deception to the end?"

  She told him of the concealment on the way to the village. "Then, if everything had gone as planned, Joseph and I would have been escorted to the solar, and the feast would have begun. We would have put aside our cloaks and slipped out to join in the celebration. Nicolette would have appeared, of course, not me. I'd have taken her place in the bed. The deception would not have had to last for long. In an hour or so, I was going to have a miraculous recovery and join the company." Rather wistfully, she added, "I was looking forward to it."

  "Poor lady," he said, with a hint of a smile. "We had no choice, however. Other than tonight, Lord Henry has kept his daughter under close guard, and I want no more bloodshed between us."

  She thought of the howling hounds and gave him a look.

  "There's been no bloodshed yet, and will not be if I can help it," he said.

  "That's another reason you won't try to get me back to Woldingham now."

  "Exactly. If your family managed to kill me, it would not promote peace."

  "This whole adventure will not promote peace!"

  "I know it all too well. How long can Lady Nicolette maintain the deception?"

  Joan abandoned any thought of making him see how stupid it had been to seduce Nicolette to begin with. "It's impossible to say, my lord. Will Lady Ellen be distracted by the seizure of her daughter, or will she think to come to me with the story? I hope the former. It is possible that I'll be ignored until tomorrow. Can you return me before then?"

  "Perhaps. It was never part of the plan. What will happen to Lady Nicolette if she is discovered?"

  Joan shrugged. "She can't reveal the real reason, so she'll have to claim it was a girlish trick. Lord Henry will punish her for sure."

  "How severely? You have destroyed Lord Henry's holy play. Perhaps committed sacrilege, or even treason."

  Joan didn't need the worst put into words. "Lord Henry loves his daughter deeply."

  "But I don't suppose he loves you that deeply. Perhaps it would be better not to return you to Woldingham at all."

  "I will not leave Nicolette to face him alone." The noble statement was interrupted by a noisy rumble—from an empty stomach.

  Lord Edmund's brows rose, but he stood to pick up a wooden box and put it open on the ledge beside her. "Pork, bread and a cake of dried fruits. Not a feast, but something."

  He took none, and returned to his seat by the fire. Joan would have liked to match him in nobly ignoring the food, but she was famished. "Woldingham fasts on Christmas Eve," she said. "I've only had dry bread and water all day."

  "Whereas I have eaten fish and other foods. Please, my lady, eat. It is for you. While you eat, we can decide what to do."

  Joan tried to control her hunger in front of him, and took only dainty nibbles of pork and bread. "You have to return me to Woldingham, my lord, in case there's a chance to preserve the deception."

  "If the deception has been discovered, however, it will go hard with you."

  "I don't suppose he'll kill me. Or Nicolette," she added, suddenly struck by his lack of concern over his beloved. "Of course, when he finds out about the child..."

  "I am aware of that danger, Lady Joan. This was all an attempt to bring Lady Nicolette to safety."

  She opened her mouth to berate him for getting Nicolette with child, but she managed to control herself. "How long before we can attempt the return?"

  He looked at the box. "With your appetite, not long."

  With heating cheeks, she realized that, morsel by morsel, she'd eaten most of it. "I'm hungry."

  "It's as well I'm not." Did his lips twitch again? Was he laughing at her? Joan was taking a hearty dislike to the Golden Lion.

  Deliberately she picked up the last of the fruit and took a big bite. "When can we return me to Woldingham, Lord Edmund?"

  "At dawn, perhaps. The serious hunt should have petered out by then. Your safe return will still leave Lady Nicolette imprisoned, however. Can you think of a way to help her reach Mountgrave?"

  Joan was about to declare that she wouldn't do that even if she could, when logic intervened. This was the father of Nicolette's child, the man her cousin loved, and at last he seemed to be putting her welfare first. Nicolette would want to be with him, and would be infinitely safer with him than with her family once her belly started to show.

  "Why should I help you?" she asked, hoping to find out more about his intentions. Did he plan to marry her cousin? How could he, without the blessing of her family, with Lord Henry doubtless howling his outrage to the king?

  He sipped from his cup. "Wouldn't she like to be reunited with her lover?"

  "I'm not sure. It will cause such grief and trouble."

  "The cursed feud has been causing grief and trouble for generations. Her belly will cause more. Will Lord Henry soften when he knows she's with child?"

  He clearly knew the answer. Joan put down the fruit, her appetite truly gone. "This is such folly. Why must the enmity between you and Lord Henry run so deep?"

  "It runs dry on my side, I assure you, despite the deaths over the years."

  Joan remembered hearing that Lord Edmund had asked for a truce. "But he will not bend?"

  "He's not completely inflexible. I think, deep inside, Lord Henry tires of this madness as much as I do. But this matter has turned it all back into chaos."

  "As it was bound to!" Patience snapping, Joan leaped to her feet. '"Fore God, Lord Edmund, how could you have been so foolish?"

  Ignoring his sharp movement, she carried on. "Seeing you, I can begin to understand why Nicolette was swept beyond wisdom, but you have more years and experience. You are the Golden Lion! You should have had strength for both." She turned to pace the confines of the cave, and her thoughts continued to spill out. "Ah, you men are impossible! You think with your—"

  He grabbed her skirt and jerked her toward him. Short of toppling onto the fire, she had no choice but to go. "Stop that!" At the last moment, she fell down on her behind rather than go any closer, but he seized her waist and drew her implacably onto his lap.

  "Seeing me?" he said, a strange glint in his angry eyes. "Lust after me yourself, do you, Lady Joan?"

  May the clever man get warts, and she deserved them herself for revealing her folly.

  Joan turned her face away. "I merely accept your appeal, my lord. To a susceptible young woman."

  "And you, of course, though young, are not susceptible."

  "Not at all." Hastily she added, "And please don't feel you need to prove otherwise—"

  He cinched her closer, tight against his broad chest, forcing her to face him, to face teeth bared in a furious smile. "How well you know foolish men, Lady Joan. We can't resist a challenge, can we? Are you sure you were fit to play the Blessed Virgin?"

  A hand slid up to settle beneath her breast. Only beneath. A subtle threat, but he could probably feel the frantic pounding of her heart. Why-on, why hadn't she followed her mother's advice and learned to hold her tongue with men?

  "My lord," she said, trying the soothing tone she'd use with a snarling dog, "you don't really have any interest in me, and you dishonor Nicolette by this behavior."

  "But we men are impos
sible." Confining her with one strong arm, he seized her long plaits in the other hand. "And we think with our rods. That was what you were about to say, wasn't it, my foolish virgin?" He began to wrap her hair around his fist, drawing her head inexorably back, then back farther. She squeaked a protest, but it did no good. She ended up stretched like a bow, waiting helplessly for the attacking kiss.

  Only then, his eyes on hers, did his lips slowly lower.

  At the last moment, they slid away, down to her extended, vulnerable neck. A choked sound escaped her as he ran his hot lips up and down her throat, teasing skin, nerves, tendons and the pounding blood vessels beneath.

  It was nothing.

  It was terrifying.

  "Don't. Please..." Her plea escaped as a whisper.

  He ignored it and pressed his teeth into the side of her neck—not hurting, but showing ruthlessly how vulnerable she was. How he, like a ferocious animal, could sever skin and flesh to kill.

  That wasn't, however, why she was so panicked. What terrified her was the ridiculous excitement bursting into flame within her. She'd never been handled like this by a man before—never. And her astonishing reaction was a breathless dizziness that was equal parts bizarre, irrational pleasure and blind terror at feeling this way.

  He raised his head to look at her with dark, angry eyes. "Still think you are a good judge of men, Lady Joan?"

  She could only stare, knowing her eyes must be white around the edges, feeling her heart thunder close to bursting.

  "You thought me safe, and I am not. You thought I would take your sharp tongue without retaliation, which I will not. And then you thought worse. You impugned my honor."

  With a sharp tug on her trapped hair, he said, "This has not been my idea of a perfect Christmas Eve. This enterprise was embarrassing to think about, tedious to arrange, and dangerous to carry through. It springs from stupidity, weakness and rigid minds. And now, by the thorns, it was all for nothing. I have the wrong woman, and she's a sharp-tongued bitch who wants to lecture me about wisdom and strength. Don't believe the legend of the Golden Lion, Lady Joan. I'm just a man, with all the faults of men. Perhaps I raped Nicolette. She is after all, the precious daughter of my enemy."

  Joan found the power to shake her head as far as she was able.

  "No? As I said, don't believe the legend."

  Consciously or not, he'd relaxed his grip a little. Swallowing, she said, "Nicolette said it wasn't rape. She wouldn't lie about it."

  "Will she stick to that story when her family's fury falls on her head?"

  "She won't lie."

  "Even though she has been such a foolish virgin?"

  His cynical disdain was stinging places that had no right to care. "She was clearly a very foolish virgin to give herself to you."

  Anger flashed and his teeth showed like fangs, but then, like light shifting, it became a true grin, and his expression gentled. "Ah, Joan, but you're beautiful when you're angry."

  Before Joan could react to that ridiculous statement, his lips descended on hers at last, his strong arm holding her close against him, too close for struggle or escape. She tried to writhe, but even that was scarcely possible, and her bound hair meant she could not free her lips from the overwhelming assault.

  She must have stopped struggling, because his left hand was now stroking her side. He started to rock a little, and his lips freed hers to murmur, "My honey, my pretty one, my sweet, fiery Joan. Give me your lips, give me your soft sighs. Melt to me. I'll never hurt you."

  He kissed her again, and she couldn't stop her lips softening a little, soothed by his gentle, foolish murmurs.

  Foolish.

  Scarce believable. But...

  Edmund de Graves. And her...

  He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, then her lips again. "Open to me, sweetheart. Let me taste you fully."

  She wanted to taste him, just this once. She let the Golden Lion meld their lips, let him taste her mouth. Tasted his heat, felt his hand on her breast, rubbing the astonishingly sensitive peak.

  Her head swirled as with a fever, but she knew this was madness. She must stop him. This was what he'd done to Nicolette, and look at where that had led!

  Just a little more, though? A little more before fighting him off...

  He suddenly lay back, their lips still joined, so she sprawled on top. Both hands seized her thighs, spreading them over him. He set her lips free, but stayed close, breath warm against her cheek. "I hunger for you, Joan. Let me feel more of you, just a little more."

  He was big and hot, as if power glowed out of him and into her. She hungered, too. Dazed by him, by her effect on him, she cradled his strong face in her hands, loving that intimate contact. "A little, then..."

  She wouldn't go too far, but she could enjoy a little more.

  He pulled her skirts free so she was naked against his tunic. Murmuring soothing nothings, he eased up his own clothes. She stiffened then. No, she mustn't.

  But it was only his belly he exposed to her. Her skin lay against his hot, hard flesh, so she felt each of his deep breaths in her most intimate place. Poised for flight, she still thought, Not yet. Not quite yet. This is too extraordinary, too wonderful.

  He slid his powerful, callused hands up her legs, beneath her skirts, to grip her hips, to hold her pressed to him. "So hot and wet against me." He shifted his torso, moving under her, against her. "Beautiful lady. Give yourself to me."

  Joan swayed, fevered, feeling almost as if she breathed through her secret places, breathed him in—his heat, his power, his vibrant essence. His eyes trapped her wits, gazing at her, into her, dark with desire.

  For her.

  No.

  It was Nicolette he loved. Nicolette!

  "No." She clawed first at one confining hand, then the other, making no impression through the cloth of her garments. "We can't! Let me go!"

  His hands swooped free to ruthlessly trap her wrists. Oh, what a foolish maiden she had been. And yet, even then, she wanted. Perhaps, even, she wanted him to force her, to override her sense and honor and force her into pleasure.

  If not for Nicolette.

  Poor Nicolette, betrayed...

  Helpless, Joan went still, tears escaping. "Don't," she whispered.

  Suddenly Lord Edmund let her go, flinging her hands away. Thrusting off, she toppled free and scrabbled away from him, away to the far side of the cave. When she looked, he was rearranging his clothes.

  He met her eyes calmly. "Let that be a lesson, Lady Joan, not to be so disdainful of weak, susceptible women."

  After a shocked, agonized moment, she picked up a rock and hurled it at him.

  He ducked, and it cracked against the far wall. "Don't do that again." It wasn't a request.

  "You're vile! How could you do that when you love Nicolette?"

  "I don't give a hen's hoof for Nicolette of Woldingham."

  "But—oh!" She wished she had the courage to throw another rock at the heartless brute. "She loves you!"

  "No, she doesn't. She loves my brother Gerald. I look forward to introducing you two. He, at least, deserves the sharp edge of your tongue."

  "Your—" She let out a shriek of pure frustration. "You should have told me!"

  "You should not have impugned my honor with your vile assumptions."

  Joan covered her trembling lips with her hands as she finally accepted what a fool he'd made of her. Deliberately. Effortlessly. And she'd crumpled.

  And even now, under shock and anguished embarrassment, under the certainty that she would hate Edmund de Graves till the day she died, a little glow warmed her at the thought that at least he wasn't Nicolette's lover.

  Fool, she told herself. Fool. Even if free, he was not for Joan of Hawes, and she wouldn't have him if presented on a golden platter by a choir of six winged angels!

  He'd found his cup and was filling it with more mead. "I hope you've learned your lesson, Saint Joan. Seduction's an easy enough matter, especially for a man with a pleasing
form. You women," he added, glancing at her, "are all too possible."

  Joan actually curled her fingers around another loose rock, a lovely fist-sized one, but she knew when a threat was real. This was a man who'd take instant retaliation. She miserably accepted that she was frightened of him as she'd previously been of no man—that she'd met a will and an edge equal to her own. She'd rather die, however, than let him know. She turned her back in frosty disapproval.

  He chuckled and moved. Her skin prickled with wariness, but the next she knew, he was through the curtain and out of the cave.

  First came relief, then fear. Would he abandon her here?

  His horse was still here, however, placidly munching hay. Despite his lesson, she did know men quite well. She had five brothers. No man would leave such a horse for long, nor his armor.

  Private for a moment, she hugged herself and even let a few tears escape. Some of them came from fear about this whole situation, but mostly they came from shame. She hated him, but she hated herself more for being such easy prey, for that foolish, newly found part of herself that had wanted to believe his trickster lies.

  That she was beautiful when she was angry.

  That she could stir instant passion in a man like Edmund de Graves.

  More than anything, however, the tears were a sign of her frustrated fury. Oh, but she wanted the last little while back, and a chance to behave differently. To win. Now she could think of all kinds of clever ways she could have turned the tables and made him look the fool.

  She rubbed tears away. She couldn't turn back time, and a wise woman learned lessons so generously offered. Aye, she thought, sitting up and straightening her garments, she'd even be grateful to him for it. No man in the future would cozen her like that, and it did indeed make her more sympathetic toward her cousin. No wonder Nicolette had succumbed—and she had also been in love.

  But not with him, a silly gleeful part of her noted. With his brother!

  There, it was a warning against love, too! Joan had already decided that love was a folly, and that young men—especially handsome ones—were more trouble than they were worth. She planned to marry an older man, a placid one who would be happy to have a managing wife and who wouldn't want too much attention in bed.