by Sandra Hill
“Uh,” she said. “Not anymore.”
John’s hands fisted at his sides and his mouth thinned with disfavor.
“He is in our protection,” Rafn said for her. “We will turn him over to Lord Ravenshire’s guardianship, if the council so approves.” Rafn looked to her, and she nodded her agreement.
The king, queen, and several Witan members wanted the boy delivered directly to the king at Winchester, but in the end, Lord Ravenshire’s proposal was accepted. After a quick consultation with Ingrith, Lord Ravenshire, who directed them to call him Eirik, promised to accompany the boy for a visit to Winchester within a sennight. Loncaster gave Ingrith a glance that promised retribution.
After the Witan concluded its business, folks began to leave the chamber, heading toward the great hall, where a meal was about to be served. John approached her then.
“Ingrith, I would speak with you in private.”
Rafn, who had been in low conversation with Eirik, put his hand on her shoulder. “You do not need to speak with the miscreant if you do not want to.”
“Miscreant!” John looked at her. “What have you been telling this Viking…miscreant?”
Before the two men could come to blows, she stepped between them. “You can leave me, Rafn. And you, too, Ubbi. I will meet you at the stables. I have no wish to dine at the king’s table.”
When they left, John took her by the arm and led her to a small anteroom.
At first he just stared, taking her measure.
She had dressed for the occasion as well, wearing a scoop-necked scarlet gown in the Saxon style of baudekin silk embroidered on the edges with gold thread in a Nordic design. Her hair was adorned with a string of crystal beads intertwined with the braids atop her head. Ruby ornaments dangled from her ears.
“’Twould appear that Loncaster will escape punishment for all his misdeeds,” she remarked quietly while inside she was howling. I have missed you so much. Have you missed me at all?
“He will pay, starting with a loss of his position as Jorvik garrison commander. Dunstan has assured us of that.”
She nodded. “Thank you for all your missives assuring us at Hawk’s Lair of your safety and the outcome of your search for Loncaster.”
He ignored her sarcasm and instead went on his own attack. “Why…why did you disobey my orders to stay at Hawk’s Lair?”
Why is he harping on such unimportant details? “Orders? Dost mean the order that I go about ‘women’s work’ and leave the important decisions to you men?”
“I ne’er said that.”
“You did.”
He flushed, but did not apologize. “I intended to write—”
“Intended? ’Tis a comfort that you intended.”
He frowned at her interruption, “—but there was naught to report.”
“How about whether you were dead or alive? Or that you had found Loncaster?” Or that you missed me. “You had no right to give me orders, John. Not then, and certainly not now.”
“What does that mean?”
She shrugged. “Where is Joanna?” And why have you betrayed me with her?
“Packing.”
It occurred to her then that all of Joanna’s clothing would have been destroyed by Loncaster. So, her lovely gown and jeweled combs must have been purchased by her lover. Ingrith wrung her hands nervously. “Packing for where?”
He shifted uncomfortably, then raised his chin defiantly. “I’m taking her to Hawk’s Lair until her home and pottery equipment can be repaired. ’Tis the least I can do for her.”
Hawk’s Lair. Well, that destroyed any hope that Ingrith might have still been holding on to. ’Tis over then. No hope for me.
“You had no trust in me at all, did you? You left Hawk’s Lair with the boy, exposing both of you to danger, because you did not consider me capable.”
Still, the brute was laying the blame on her. “That is not true. By the runes! I just wanted to help.”
“You unman me with your brand of help. Men protect women. Women accept protection. Some even cherish it. ’Tis the way of the world…except that willfull independent world you live in.”
“Mayhap if you had behooved yourself to share your plans for Henry’s guardianship with me, I would have been more trusting, but, nay, you had to be so manly.”
“Now what?” he asked. “Will you be coming back to Hawk’s Lair?” There was an odd, vulnerable expression on his face that he quickly masked.
“Why would I do that?” Ask me to come with you, she cried inwardly. “You will have your mistress to slake your brutish urges.”
“You did not consider them so brutish at one time, as I recall.”
She flushed with embarrassment. How can he bring that up now? Has he not hurt me enough?
“Why do you continue to missay me, Ingrith? I have told you that Joanna is not my mistress.”
“Really? Your betrothed then?”
“Would it matter to you if she was?”
More than I can say. “My opinion matters not since you have told me more than once that I have no permanent place in your life. I wish you joy of each other.” Hah! I wish them no such thing. I wish them bad mating. I wish him bad honey. I wish her warts. I wish—
“So, it is marriage or nothing?”
She hesitated. “Yea, ’tis.”
“By the by, what is Rafn to you?”
That question came at her out of nowhere. Was he jealous? She hoped so. “Suffice it to say, my father considers him good son-by-marriage material.”
He winced. “And I would not be?”
She sighed. “I am thankful for all you did for me and the children, who will be sent for, incidentally, once Rainstead is rebuilt. Truly, we imposed on you, and you were gracious in offering us hospitality and protection.”
“I do not want your thanks. Why are you crying?”
She swiped at her eyes. “I get emotional when saying good-byes.”
“And is this good-bye?”
“Apparently so.” Still she waited for him to ask her to stay, that he wanted her in his life for more than a bed romp. He said naught.
Just then Rafn appeared at the door. “Ingrith, we must leave soon if we are to arrive in Jorvik by Friday.”
Even then, she might have told John of her despair, that she would go to Hawk’s Lair or anywhere else with him, if he truly wanted her. But Joanna appeared at Rafn’s side, smiling shyly at John.
Ingrith nodded her acceptance then and would have given John a fare-thee-well hug of parting, except she feared she would fall apart if she touched him. Instead, she said, “Once again, John, thank you for all you have done.”
His face was frozen into a mask of anger.
As she walked away, he accused her, “You told me you loved me.”
She hesitated only a second before telling him, “And you did not, you loathsome lout. There is the crux of the problem.”
On those telling words, she left.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They wouldn’t even let him wallow in peace…
John left Winchester in a rage later that day. In fact, after several hours of ignoring any attempts at conversation, he left Joanna and Hamr behind to move at a slower pace with his troops, and he rode ahead, alone. As he would be for the remainder of his days.
He was being overly maudlin, he knew. After all, he’d gotten along fine before Ingrith. But, blessed Lord, is that how he would be regarding events from now on? Before Ingrith and After Ingrith.
It didn’t help matters that the instant he entered his Hawk’s Lair keep, Bolthor asked, “Where’s Ingrith?”
The worst was when Katherine confronted him. “Well, I hear you let her get away. You get the prize for lackwit of the year.”
“I did not let her get away. She went of her own accord…with a man, I might add. A Viking lover.”
“You are sorely mistaken if you believe that. The woman is nigh barmy in love with you.”
“Barmy she may be, but
not over me.”
“You should go after her then.”
“You should mind your own business.”
“Testy, are we? Love does that to a man betimes.”
He growled his opinion of her opinion and stomped off to drown his sorrows in a tun of his mother’s best mead, which he was still doing when Hamr and Joanna arrived later that day.
Joanna came to him later that night in his bedchamber.
“M’lord?” She stepped tentatively into the room, closing the door behind her. She wore only a thin sleep rail.
“What,” he asked, as if her attire did not say it all.
“I would ease your pain.”
He did not need this aggravation now, and wasn’t it telling that he regarded an offer of sex as an aggravation? He could not even use drunkenness as an excuse. Despite the vast amount of mead he’d imbibed, he was stone-cold sober. “What pain?” he asked, then could have bitten his hasty tongue.
“Your heartpain, m’lord.” She stood beside the bed now, whilst he lay on his back, an arm over his forehead.
“Heartpain?” He snorted with disgust. And, really, how could he swive a woman who m’lorded him right and left? He would feel as if he were taking advantage of a servant, which Joanna was not. “I am not in the mood, Joanna,” he said.
“You do not have to love me, or offer marriage…that was foolish of me to presume…I mean…”
“Joanna, you are welcome to stay here as long as necessary whilst your home is being rebuilt, but you owe me nothing for that. I am the one who owes you for the pain you have suffered.”
“That is not why I came to you.”
“I know.” He sighed, and as gently as he could, rebuffed her advances. “Mayhap another night. Just not tonight.”
Nodding, she silently left the room. But he did not take his ease on her in the days to come, either. Now he not only had insanity in his blood, but he was becoming a eunuch, as well, he thought with disgust.
Days ago, he’d made it clear to Joanna that she would not be his wife or bedmate now or in the future. So, he was not surprised when he found her and Hamr in the bed furs together. They apologized profusely, but he waved a hand for them to proceed with what they’d been doing before his interruption. He could not care.
Now it was the night before Bolthor and Katherine were to finally end their lengthy visit to Hawk’s Lair and return to their home. Hamr would be taking Joanna back to Jorvik the next day, too, since her home and trading stall had been restored.
Before he sat down for the bland evening meal, Joanna kissed him on the cheek and grinned. “’Tis true then. The mighty hawk has fallen.”
He would have argued with her…to save his pride, if naught else, but what was the point?
“You should go after her,” Joanna advised, echoing Katherine’s advice. Not unexpected since the two of them had become best friends.
“She has someone else now,” he told Joanna. “The man she was with at Winchester.”
Joanna frowned. “That does not make sense. I saw the way she looked at you. I would wager my best pot that Ingrith loves you.”
“You misread her looks, but thank you nonetheless.”
He was pitiful, and everyone must think so, because Bolthor soon summed John up with remarkable insight.
The saddest words in the human mind
The ones that destroy peace of mind
Are not “I am so sorry,”
Or “I do not love you anymore.”
Not “There is no more ale,”
Or “You are too old to swive.”
Nay, the saddest words are:
“What if…”
What if you had never spoken those harsh words?
What if you had grabbed life by the ballocks?
What if you’d taken a chance?
What if you’d returned that woman’s love?
What if you’d married and had sweet babes?
What if you’d realized afore it was too late…
That life had handed you a gift.
What if…what if…what if?
After everyone had left the following morning, John girded himself with resolve. He had to straighten himself out and regain his life. So, with a head-splitting alehead, he made for his honey shed, where he would resume his studies.
That was not to be, however, because no sooner had he thinned the encaustum, sharpened a quill, and pulled out his journal than one of his housecarls came to announce visitors.
At first, his heart lifted. Mayhap Ingrith had come back, after all.
Not so. It was his mother and stepfather.
They had come to rescue him.
From himself.
Secrets have a way of coming back to haunt you…
Lady Eadyth of Ravenshire, once mistress of Hawk’s Lair, looked at her son and could have wept.
John had taken her and Eirik to a small solar off the great hall, which was lightened by the summer sun through several unshuttered windows. The windows had no glass, an expensive commodity her son had not yet indulged in, though he surely had the coin to do so. But that was an issue for her to discuss with him at a later time. For now, she was alarmed by his appearance.
He had shaved his head at some point, and the scalp was now covered by a rough brush of bristly hairs. He had lost weight, and his cheekbones stuck out with gauntness. Eirik had told her about John’s shaved head after the Witan meeting, but hearing and seeing were two different things.
Also, by the way he blinked against the light and cringed, she suspected he suffered from the alehead, possibly a days’-long alehead. And he was a man who rarely overindulged.
“You look like hell.” Though his comment was frank, Eirik clearly cared about his stepson.
“Thank you for that unwelcome observation. Did you come here to bedevil me, or did you come here to bedevil me?” he inquired ungraciously.
“What is wrong with you, John?” she asked, the hairs standing out all over her body in warning. Something was definitely awry with her precious son. He might be thirty and one, but he would always be her firstborn and only son.
She could see that he was about to tell them that nothing was the matter, but instead, he slunk down in his chair and waited until a maid served them cups of the new batch of mead she’d brought with her—the last thing John needed—along with a tray of oatcakes, of which he could use a dozen or more.
When he sipped at his mead and did not take even one nibble of food, she shook her head with disgust. “I heard you were betrothed.”
“Did you? Did you also hear that I was unengaged? Or that I was engaged to two women at one time? Or did your beloved husband with the loose tongue neglect to tell you that bit of gossip?”
“Pfff!” Eirik said.
“I know you too well, John. You are hurting.” She took one of his hands in both of hers. “What happened?”
“I have made a mess of my life, if you must know.” He bit his bottom lip, as if regretting his hasty admission. John had ever been a quiet boy, and then man, keeping his emotions in check.
“You seemed happy, or leastways content, the last time I saw you, three months ago. What happened since then?”
“Ingrith,” he answered succinctly. “I must be still drunk,” he muttered under his breath, “or else my tongue has taken on a life of its own.”
“Ingrith,” she repeated, pondering all the hidden meanings in that one word. “Do you love her?”
He shrugged. “It matters not. She has another man now.”
“She does?” Eirik appeared puzzled. “How would you know that, hibernating here at Hawk’s Lair like a bloody hermit?”
John cast his stepfather a glower. “You were there. You saw her with her new lover.”
“New lover?” Eadyth homed in on that one word. New implied that there had been a previous lover, which could only mean…
“John! Did you take Ingrith’s virtue? A royal princess, for the love of Mary!”
“I did
not take anything. She gave.”
She tsk-ed at him over that moot point. “King Thorvald would not see the difference.”
“Whoa! Back up here,” Eirik said with a frown of puzzlement still furrowing his forehead. “What man did we see Ingrith with?”
“The Viking clodpole who accompanied her to the Witan meeting,” John explained.
“Ubbi?” Eirik appeared puzzled.
“Of course not. The big clodpole.”
“Rafn?” Eirik let out a hoot of laughter. “Rafn is Ingrith’s brother-by-marriage, her happily married brother-by-marriage.”
John’s face brightened for a moment when he finally comprehended what his stepfather had said. Then he turned sullen. “Why would she lie to me?”
“Did she actually say that Rafn was her lover?”
John put a closed fist to his mouth, then admitted, “Not exactly. Now that I think on it, when I asked Ingrith about Rafn, there was a definite tic by her eye.”
“Huh?” Eirik and his mother both frowned with confusion.
“When she lies or is hiding something, she gets a tic by her eye, just like Emma used to do.”
“Ah!” Eirik said.
“How does she feel about you?” his mother asked.
He shrugged. “She told me she loved me, but that was before I left for Winchester. At our last meeting, she called me a loathsome lout.”
Eadyth and her husband burst out laughing.
“Have you two been dipping in the mead?”
“Your mother called me a loathsome lout all the time. That’s how I knew she was besotted with me,” Eirik explained.
Eadyth slapped at Eirik’s arm. How she loved the man! Even after all these years.
“You two are demented,” John observed. “If you’re going to start kissing, I’m going back to my honey shed.”