by Jo Beverley
Recent memories flared, saying that bed attention might not be all bad, but she stamped them out. It had been a lesson. Nothing more than a lesson.
She rested her chin on her raised knees and contemplated the glowing fire, trying to settle her mind to serious matters. How could everyone get out of this with a whole skin?
By sweet Saint Margaret, mother of the Virgin, it would be hard. Despite the dangers, she had to get back into Woldingham, and quickly. If Nicolette had not been discovered, and if Joan could sneak back in undetected, they could pretend that Nicolette had been the victim all along and had escaped.
That wouldn't solve Nicolette's true problem, but it would get them through Christmastide.
Lord Edmund didn't want to try to return her to Woldingham now, and Joan could see his reasons, but she felt they must try, and soon. In fact, it would be easier and safer if she attempted it alone. The worst that could happen would be that she'd be "rescued" by the men of Woldingham.
Despite the excellent sense of it, she knew Lord Edmund would not agree. It would offend his manly honor to let her go off alone. Perhaps if she put it to him sweetly and gently...
She sighed. She wasn't sure she was able to be sweet and gentle, even under this dire need. For the first time it stung a little. She knew she was too fond of speaking her own mind and making her own decisions. Her parents had seized on the invitation to Woldingham with glee, and not just because it was an honor to visit their grand relations. They'd hoped that Lord Henry's firm rule and Lady Ellen's gracious elegance might teach her better ways, ways more likely to find her a husband.
They had also hoped she would benefit from the example of the sweet-natured, soft-spoken Nicolette.
Lord Edmund was right. Despite liking her cousin, she had looked down on her for her gentle ways, and for letting a man trick her into giving him her maidenhead, no matter how much she might love.
Love. A weakness, not an inevitable part of human existence.
Lust, she admitted, was a part of God's plan, designed for procreation, and she'd just been given a short, sharp lesson in the power of lust. She really should thank him. She'd be forewarned and forearmed another time.
Another time.
With Lord Edmund?
She suddenly blew out a breath. What kind of thoughts were these? They were certainly unsuited to the moment. If she didn't find a way out of this predicament, she'd likely end up in a convent as punishment, with lust a matter that need no longer trouble her.
What was needed here was a sound plan, and she had it. All she had to do was convince the ever-noble Golden Lion to let her make her way through the winter woods alone.
She sat up straight. If he'd gone any distance, perhaps she could just slip away. Before she lost courage, she stood, gathered her cloak around her, and went to ease out through the curtain.
Chapter 3
She almost walked into him, a dark silhouette against a starry sky. He turned at a sound. No chance at all of slipping away. Why had she expected it?
So, she had to persuade him, but Joan paused, caught by the scene before her eyes.
From their hillside, the land lay before them like a black cloth embroidered with fire. To her right and in the distance glowed Mountgrave. To her left, and closer, lay Woldingham, with lights in the keep and bailey. Perhaps they were continuing some semblance of the feast. People had to eat.
Between the two castles, the dark was scattered with smaller lights from peasant cottages in tiny hamlets, and in the middle, a bonfire of some sort. Above, like a high arched roof, the sky flickered with silver stars, God's protective mantle, with the Christmas star the most brilliant of all.
The star of the Prince of Peace.
"A wonder of God's work, is it not?" the man said quietly from beside her.
"God's beauty above, man's folly below. What of the lives of all the ordinary people down there, my lord, disrupted by a quarrel?"
She heard what might be a growl. "It is more than a quarrel, Lady Joan, and is no fault of the de Graves. We want only peace."
"Have you offered to return the Bethlehem Banner?"
"Return?" He turned to her, stiff with outrage, and they faced each other in the dim light like the warring castles. "The Bethlehem Banner never belonged to the de Montelans."
"They tell another story. They say a de Montelan carried it into Bethlehem. But does it matter?" She spread her hands, gesturing at the scene below. "Lord Edmund, someone is going to have to bend."
"Lady Joan, you are naive. To bend is to be defeated."
At that moment, the bell at the monastery of Colthorpe began to ring, counting the hour of terce. Midnight.
Joan sighed. "So Christ is born again to bring peace and brotherly love to the world. It is as well," she added pointedly, "that God's patience is infinite."
"It is not becoming of a lady to preach."
"It is not becoming of a Christian to refuse to turn the other cheek. Or to refuse to forgive your enemies."
He stabbed a furious finger toward Woldingham. "Go preach to your uncle, woman!"
"I tried!"
"And you still have your skin? You cannot have preached very hard."
Joan gave a wry smile, though Lord Edmund probably couldn't see it in the dark. "It was in the days before Christmas. Lord Henry takes the season seriously."
"But not seriously enough to end a pointless feud."
"How, when you will not bend? I'd hoped, from your reputation, that you were a better man—" She caught herself, scolding like a shrew again.
She'd become used to thinking of herself as honest and forthright, someone who did not dress up her opinions in silk, and who would not be intimidated. Now, here, talking of Christian forbearance and humility, she began to think that perhaps her mother was right about more than tactics. Perhaps it simply wasn't very Christian to be so blunt.
"I'm sorry," she said carefully. "The feud is no concern of mine, except that it explains why the de Montelans will never allow Nicolette to marry your brother. For now, we had better discuss what to do next."
"Apart from beat you?" But then he shook his head. "Lady Joan, you are an unnatural, undisciplined woman, but I'll leave you to your uncle. He deserves such a cross to bear. As for our actions, I have decided that at dawn I will take you to safety in Mountgrave."
"Mountgrave!" She paused and moderated her tone. "My lord, for Nicolette's sake, you must return me to Woldingham."
"The possibility of her remaining undetected, and my returning you undetected, is just too small. The area still crawls with your uncle's men." He gestured, and she saw tiny, moving lights here and there. Parties from Woldingham, still hunting.
"I see lights near Mountgrave, too. Will they be your men?"
"No. My men have instructions to stay safely within the walls. I am trying to accomplish this without bloodshed. Just before dawn, my forces will ride out to clear a way to Mountgrave, so we should be safe."
"But you're casting Nicolette to the wolves! If I went alone, now, to Woldingham, I might make it in time."
He turned to her. "You jest!"
"About such a serious matter? Lord Edmund, I know it offends—" She bit that off. "I know it would be hard for you to let me make my way there unescorted, but it is the way most likely to bring everyone off safe."
"Impossible. By stealing you away, Lady Joan, I have made myself responsible for your safety. I cannot allow you to take such risks."
"I don't see why you have any right to prevent me!"
"Because you are a woman, and I am a man."
"Very well! If you insist on being so noble, my lord, escort me to Woldingham at dawn instead of to Mountgrave."
"I cannot risk making myself another martyr, and stirring deeper enmity. Your uncle's men will be forced back from Mountgrave, but they will keep both watch and search near Woldingham. Also, my men can come to our aid on my land, but not on Lord Henry's."
Joan tucked her chilly hands up the sleeves of h
er gown. "But what of Nicolette?"
"And what of you, in the end?" he said. "You tried to help your cousin, Lady Joan, and do not deserve to suffer from it." He suddenly moved, turning toward the cave and putting a hand to her back to steer her in that direction. "Come into the warmth and let us see if we can find a miracle."
Joan went, hoping he hadn't noticed her start at his touch. This power he had over women was most unfair.
As they sat on the ground, safely separated by the low fire, she raised a question that had been scratching at the back of her mind. "Tell me something, Lord Edmund. Where is your brother? Should he not be here with Nicolette rather than you?"
"Indeed, he should." He put another piece of wood on the fire, and it crackled into flame. Concern in his eyes, he said, "I don't know where he is."
"He was supposed to be in this role," he continued, "but he disappeared yesterday. Out on some business that went against my orders. I chose to go through with my plan. I pray he's returned to Mountgrave by now, and is keeping his hothead."
She suddenly had a terrible suspicion. "Did you tell him what you were arranging?"
He jerked to look at her. "Are you a witch, woman?"
"Are you a fool? Why didn't you tell him?"
"I do not need to tell my younger brother everything I plan. And he deserved to sweat for his stupidity!" He suddenly leaned forward, almost too close to the flames. "How did you guess? What do you know?"
Her mouth dried, but not from fear. Because she had bad news for him. "Lord Edmund, I'm very much afraid that Lord Henry has your brother in his dungeon."
"What?" He surged to his feet, and for a moment, she almost feared for her neck, but then he controlled himself and sank down again across the fire from her, not relaxed at all. "Speak."
Joan took a breath. "This morning, in the midst of all the preparations for the feast, some guards brought a prisoner to Woldingham. I didn't get a clear look at him. Perhaps it isn't your brother. And yet, he didn't look like a peasant, despite simple clothes. My uncle had him put into the dungeon, saying that he'd have no unpleasantness at Christmastide, but he seemed extraordinarily pleased about something, and he doubled the guards. I didn't think much about it, being more concerned with my own problems, but now, I fear it is your brother, caught while attempting some rescue of Nicolette."
"May the imps of hell torment him," Lord Edmund said.
"Lord Henry?"
"My brother."
"You should have told him. Of course he thought you didn't care—"
"A stick will do, Lady Joan. There is no need for the flail." He rested his head for a moment on tense hands. "So, we have two to get out now."
"And me to return." She held chilled hands to the fire, wondering whether Lord Henry's resolve about the peace of Christmas would hold when he thought his daughter was in the hands of his prisoner's family. Gerald de Graves might be under torture even now.
She looked at Lord Edmund. Despite arrogance, he clearly loved his brother, and was also one to take the burdens of the world on his shoulders.
"If I could return secretly, my lord, perhaps I could free your brother. Then he could escape and maybe even take Nicolette, as well."
"I thought you said that Lord Henry had him under double guard?"
"But it is Christmastide."
"If even one of my guards could be tricked or overcome by a woman, Christmastide or not, I'd have his neck. And unless I underestimate Lord Henry, he will have put his best men to guard a de Graves. He finally has the key."
"Oh." She felt stupid for not seeing it. "He'll offer your brother's life for the Bethlehem Banner?"
"And if you did manage to steal that chance for victory, your life wouldn't be worth a pin."
"He couldn't know."
"Once considered, who else?"
After a moment, she said, "Nicolette. If I managed to return undetected, Lord Henry would think Nicolette had been the Virgin, not me. If she then disappeared with your brother, he'd think she'd returned to free him. If they got away, all would be well."
It sounded hopeful to her, but he shook his head. "First, no one woman—or even two—is going to free a de Graves from Lord Henry's dungeon, especially without being recognized. Are you willing to kill the guards? Second, from what I know of Lady Nicolette, even her doting father would not believe her capable of attempting it. No, I'm sure he'd have to realize that you are the key to the whole thing."
Joan couldn't help but feel rather flattered by that.
"If I keep you," he continued, "I have an equal piece to offer for my brother's life."
"I'm not Lord Henry's beloved daughter."
"You're a relative under his protection. He could hardly refuse."
He was right. "That saves your brother and your precious banner, but leaves Nicolette and me exposed! You have to let me try to get back into Woldingham. Now, in fact. I promise to try to get your brother and Nicolette out."
"It's impossible."
"Lord Edmund, you are the most inflexible man I have ever met!"
"You are hardly bending in the wind of reason, Lady Joan."
"Because I'm right."
He leaned forward. "I cannot risk the banner my family has protected for generations."
"I will not risk my cousin's skin, without at least trying!" She'd doubtless have thrust her chin right up to him if not for the fire. As it was, the heat was flaring at her jaw.
"You are my hostage, Lady Joan, my means to save my brother. You will remain with me. If the two of you had not engaged in a foolish deception, all would have been well."
"No, it wouldn't, because my uncle would still have your foolish brother. And if you'd told him—"
"Stop flaying me! I have a family disaster on my hands, which is now going to make a feud I have been trying to end even deeper. I asked for none of this."
"Nor did I ask to be tossed over a horse, dragged to a cave, and... and assaulted!"
His tense face suddenly relaxed. "Yes, you did."
"What?" she spluttered.
"Ask to be assaulted. At least you asked for more. Begged, in fact."
She reached for a rock but then restrained herself.
"Very wise."
He smirked. It was definitely a smirk.
She picked up the fist-sized rock and threw it. Since she was daring the devil, she did her best to hit him with it, and throwing things hard and accurately was one of her skills. If he hadn't flung up an arm to defend his head, she might have knocked him out. Then she could have escaped.
At contact, he hissed with pain, but he was already lunging for her.
The fire was between them, but it didn't stop him. Probably he was through it so fast it had no chance to catch him. She scuttled back but had no escape. And anyway, mad impulse past, she was fixed in terrified paralysis.
He seized her around the waist and swung her over his raised knee. Through three layers of sturdy cloth, his strong hand stung, but she thanked heaven for those three layers of cloth.
He stopped much sooner than she'd dared to hope, and straightened her to face him, kneeling.
"No screams?" he asked.
"Over that?" she asked, with a bit of bravado, for she'd felt the swats. "You're not howling and you'll have a bruise."
"Did you not consider," he asked, looking as if he'd like to spank her some more, "the wisdom of injuring the weapon arm of a man who might be your protector?"
"I was aiming for your head. You probably don't need that to—"
The flare of rage in his eyes silenced her. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, and meant it, though she did hope he didn't think his hand had cowed her. "But if you're going to beat me for my unruly tongue, Lord Edmund, your hand will wear out."
"I might consider it a noble sacrifice for mankind. And, Lady Joan, I punished you not for saucy words but for a dangerous physical attack."
"You shouldn't have taunted me!"
"You can't return word attack in kind?"
That halted her for a moment, but then she said, "Your original attack was physical."
He let her go and stood. "Ah yes, I suppose it was."
His look suggested that he understood how devastating his original physical attack had been, and how that had led to this. All she could do was meet his eyes as if he were a man who stirred not a single lustful thought in her.
As if he weren't as beautiful as a warrior angel.
As if his rare smiles didn't make her want to be foolish.
As if her innards didn't tremble every time he touched her.
Her eyes almost stung with the effort of staring blankly at him, but she did it.
After a moment he shook his head as if she were a mystery to him. Good. Very good. "Lady Joan, why are you at Woldingham?"
She was still kneeling as if at a shrine. She hastily scrambled to her feet, taking the opportunity to straighten her clothes, the excuse to look down. "To change my ways and find a husband," she admitted.
"The men being driven away by your dagger-like tongue?"
She couldn't help but smile at him. "Is it as lethal as that?"
He burst out laughing. "Lord save the world. I think your father should put you in a convent that has a vow of silence."
"I'd break out. I'm not just a tongue, you know."
"No, you have a brain behind it, which is why your tongue is lethal. Tell me, why do you attack when you must know you'll be punished?"
She'd never really considered that before. "I can't seem to resist it. People are so infuriatingly stupid sometimes."
He smiled, turning away as if trying to hide it. "Yes, they are, aren't they?" He looked back at her and a connection of some sort made her heart do a silly little somersault. Immediately she guarded herself. Oh no, my lord, that won't work twice.
"Very well," he said, sober again. "Truce. We're engaged in matters too serious for this. Don't throw any more rocks when I offend you, and I won't retaliate for the things you say to me."
"Are you sure that's wise?" she asked. "I'm not sure I've ever unleashed my tongue."
"I think I can bear it. The question is, what can you bear? You were right to point out that if I use you as hostage for my brother, Lord Henry will have to know about the deception. You will suffer for it."