by R. R. Vane
Tom could do nothing but nod with a hard knot in his throat.
“Aye, Joanna.”
“God have mercy upon her soul, though she was plainly a sinner, and it is doubtless her sin caught up with her,” the bishop said with a frown. “As for you, there’s heavy penance you need to pay – both for allowing your own wife to live in sin, and also for luring a maiden into sin!”
Tom hung his head, not truly caring for his own fate. As long as Beth was spared, the rest did not matter. And now he couldn’t help but think of Joanna, whom he’d once loved, now lying dead and cold in her grave.
“The penance you should serve…” the bishop started in a stern voice.
Yet he didn’t have time to finish what he’d started though. Tristram de Brunne leant to speak to him very softly, and Tom saw the elderly man’s eyebrows rise. He then began to confer with De Brunne in a low voice for a while, and then at last he cleared his throat:
“You’ll spend this whole night on your knees in prayer, asking for God’s mercy for your sins. And then…”
Again the elderly man cleared his throat.
“I saw the sword you made, hanging on my nephew’s hip. Fine work. Fine work indeed. Finer than even Spanish swords, though you’re not known mainly as a swordsmith. Our Lord loves hard work. So you shall work for His and the Church’s Glory. Seven fine swords, with no charge for your hard toil, seems like fair penance to pay for your transgressions.”
Tom nodded, too numb to feel any relief. However, he recalled himself enough to bow and kiss the bishop’s ring, before the elderly man took his leave.
As soon as the bishop was gone, De Brunne patted Tom heartily on the back.
“All’s well. He cares a lot for swords and baubles in this world. And now the old miser will be gone and he forgot all about the penance he thought it his duty to bestow upon your woman.”
“Will Beth be safe?”
“Aye. She’s off his mind, and Sir Lambert will be well and duly chastened. No one will dare go over a bishop’s ruling. And the old man was so wrapped up in his love of swords, he well forgot to decree you marry your woman without delay, now that you’re free.” De Brunne then crossed himself and muttered, “But it is always sad news that another is dead. God have mercy on your poor wife’s soul.”
“May He be all-merciful,” Tom said in his turn, far too overwhelmed to even make sense of what had occurred.
“Still,” De Brunne added, “you should be thankful your penance is light compared to what I assume Uncle had in store. He has an unfortunate penchant for hair shirts. And once he even made me wear one. Be thankful he spared you that! Yet for this night you’ll have to spend in prayer, I do not envy your knees,” he finished with a slight wince.
Yet the night that Tom spent in Church with his head bent in prayer and upon his knees seemed more a blissful time to gather his thoughts, than a true punishment, in spite of the soreness and stiffness in his knees. He thought of Joanna and sincerely and fervently prayed her soul would find its peace. And he made his own final peace with her, no longer thinking upon what she’d done with bitterness. It no longer even appeared he’d brought himself to forgive her or his brother. To him it seemed now there was nothing to forgive. However briefly, Robin and Joanna had found love together, just as he and Beth had now done, and in his eyes such a love bond didn’t truly need to be blessed in Church in order to be sacred. It was already sacred as it was. The bishop firmly believed it was Joanna’s sin that had brought about her death. Yet Tom could not view what she’d done as a sin. He supposed this thought made him even more of a sinner than he really was, yet something inside himself, that strange side of his soul which could hear the rusty voice of iron call to him and understand its whisper, was plainly telling him it was not the greedy bishop but he himself who had the right of it. He knew though he would have to be careful not to share this thought, which would seem blasphemous, with anyone.
Chapter 14
It was with an unburdened soul and a light heart that Tom regained his home in the morning, even if his whole body was weary. Beth threw her arms around his neck, nearly smothering him with kisses, and seeming to care less about her fate than of his own.
“You took all the blame upon yourself! For me! What will you have to suffer now?” she asked in anguish.
He waved his hand, not wanting her to feel in any way in his debt for what it had been right of him to do.
“No suffering. Only toil.”
Beth creased her brows into a frown when he told her of the bishop’s penance upon him.
“They’re all the same… Church men. Greedy and only seeking to satisfy their lusts.”
“Aye. They’re so. We should be grateful to Lord de Brunne though for this happy outcome. If it hadn’t been for him, who knows what dire punishment the Church would have bestowed upon us.”
She nodded.
“Still, I do not like the thought of you having to toil hard at their mercy.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“I’ll be, as always, at my Forge, and never at their mercy. And I’ll have you by my side. Together we can make our own life.”
She widened her eyes in sheer astonishment when he at last gave her the grim news of his wife’s death.
“Sad news,” she said, crossing herself. “Poor mother and poor child! I hope her soul will find its peace.”
“And so do I,” he told her gravely.
It was sad that his own fortune should spring from the suffering of those he’d held dear, but now he was free to marry the woman he loved. He wanted to marry Beth. While within himself he no longer set great store on Church blessings, he knew this needed to be done without delay in order to protect her.
“I am no longer wed,” he told her pointedly. “I am now free to make a new life for myself.”
“You wish for sons and daughters of your own, I know that already!” Beth said, glancing at him steadily.
He did. Always had. Yet he would not have them if this meant losing his love to childbirth.
“There is no rush. One day perchance. Or on no day at all. It is of no great matter to me,” he said with a shrug, knowing he was, for the first time, breaking his promise to her of always being truthful.
“I have already spoken to the priest. We shall wed on the morrow,” he added, understanding, by the way Beth was looking at him, that she knew only too well he craved children.
“On the morrow?”
“Aye,” he nodded, hoping she saw it was the only course to take.
No one would ever call Beth a harlot again. She would be safe from danger and from malice, and she would be able to walk with her head high among her peers from now on.
However, the next words Beth uttered simply astounded him.
“Nay,” she muttered, with a forceful shake of her head.
He stared at her incredulously.
“You do not wish to wed me?”
“I… Not now. Not now… One day… You see, I…”
Beth looked simply flustered, but it was plain not only from her words, but from her eyes that she didn’t in truth wish to marry him. She didn’t wish to marry him even when she knew there was no other open course to them. She preferred danger and a brand of shame to being called his wife. Did she think so little of him then? Did she not love him at all? He’d thought he had her heart, just as she had his, but now it was plain she bore no true love for him.
He raked a hand through his hair, and then decided to rise to his weary feet. There was only one thing he could think of. So he headed for his Forge to work his fingers to the bone.
“Tom!” Beth called urgently after him, but he didn’t heed her.
Tom had become a cold stranger, and he wouldn’t speak to Beth, not even when she tried to plead with him. For two days now, he’d taken to sleeping on the floor of the kitchen, and always came to make his bed well after she was asleep in the bedchamber, leaving before dawn to work at his Forge. At first, she’d tried to
talk to him, but she’d gotten rather angry herself at his cold contempt, and had given up attempting to make him see reason.
Could he not see how it hurt to be thought worthless in oneself? As long as she was not Tom’s wife people thought her a harlot. As if her marriage to him would miraculously make her less sinful than she truly was and turn her from harlot to good woman. Beth supposed she had lost her faith in priests’ and their words ever since Father Ambrose had attempted to force himself on her, then besmirched her good name when she’d not given in to his lechery. She’d not lost her faith in God though, and in what was right and true. And she already knew her love for Tom to be right and true.
Sharing his bed was not something she was ashamed of or that made her feel lesser. And she didn’t want to get married to the man she loved just so the good people around her would no longer look upon her as if she was a harlot. Aye – she would certainly get married to Tom and bear his children, but in her own good time. And she wouldn’t get married until all the people in the neighbourhood who thought her a woman without honour got to see her worth. She wanted them to have occasion to see her cleverness and her diligence. She wanted to walk with her head high not merely because she was Tom’s wife, but because of her own accomplishments.
She sighed, understanding she was guilty of the sin of pride more than any other sin. And now, because of her pride, strife was threatening to break her apart from Tom. Wouldn’t it be better to put her own foolish pride aside for once and agree to the sensible thing Tom had asked? Perchance she was indeed in the wrong for not wanting to marry him right away. Beth headed to the Forge, set on mending, at once, the rift with the man she loved.
Tom didn’t seem to be busying himself with his craft when she sought him out. He was resting, and having his own lunch which, for two days now, he’d refused to share with her in the kitchen. Beth sat herself next to him.
“This has to end! We need to talk,” she pressed, yet Tom was staring away from her as if she wasn’t even there.
And his silence hurt her just as much as the contempt of those people who liked to call her a harlot. It was as if he, too, thought she meant nothing unless she wed him. Beth’s willingness to mend their quarrel vanished into thin air, and she found herself stomping away from the Forge.
“Hateful man!” she muttered.
She supposed it was petty of her to behave as she did, when later, she began to berate the boys for making a pigsty of her clean kitchen.
“We have cleaned after ourselves,” Declan shrugged impudently, although it was plain to Beth they had not.
She suddenly felt deeply sad and wearied and sat down, beginning to straighten her plait which had fallen in disarray.
“Fine. If you think you have, who am I to quarrel with you? It’s plain you love living in a pigsty. It will be good then when I’m gone.”
Three pairs of eyes at last came to attention.
“Gone?” Micah muttered rather mournfully.
Beth frowned, because she’d meant that the boys’ laziness would be the death of her. She had no intention of going away from the place she’d already come to look upon as her home.
“Why won’t you marry him?”
“Oh, it seems doors have ears!” Beth huffed. “It is my own business!”
“Ours too!” Declan countered. “You’re making Master Tom unhappy. I’ve never seen him in a more foul temper, not even when Joanna lay with his brother, and, truth be told, I am loath to work with him at the Forge.”
“He is unhappy? I tried to mend things between us and he treated me like I was nothing!”
“You hurt him!”
To Beth’s surprise, it was William who spoke and he did with a set look on his face.
“I did not! All I meant was to wait a while before we get married!” Beth protested.
“You hurt him,” William repeated in a quiet voice. “He now thinks you do not love him.”
The other two looked at their friend in wonder and awe, then nodded to Beth.
“See, William already knows what’s amiss. You hurt him,” Declan repeated rather smugly.
Beth couldn’t resist and smacked him over the head. It was a light smack, but Declan glared in sheer outrage.
“Are you daft?”
Beth didn’t pay him any mind. She rolled her eyes, beginning to ask herself why this man of hers was unable to see she’d go through fire and brimstone for him, just as she already knew he’d face damnation for her.
“But why can’t he see?” she muttered mostly to herself.
“That you’re daft?” Declan ventured helpfully.
Yet as before, William seemed to already know how things stood.
“You will not marry him. Of course he thinks you do not love him.”
“What? Why would he think I do not love him?”
“Daft woman! Any man in this world will think a woman doesn’t love him if she won’t marry him,” Declan said in the same infuriating tone.
Beth frowned.
“Truly?” she muttered, because it seemed simply unfathomable to her why Tom hadn’t already been able to see, no matter them being married or not, her heart would always be fully his.
William and Declan and Micah nodded eagerly.
“Now that you’ve botched things, you need to make them right,” Micah cut in self-importantly.
“Aye,” Declan joined in. “And nothing other than a good spanking can set things right again between the two of you.”
“What?”
Declan should be thankful he was now within safe distance from her, because she would have given him another smack if she’d been able to.
“Think upon it,” Micah supplied. “This thing between the two of you started with a spanking. It’s only fitting that you mend things by yet another spanking.”
Beth stormed away from the three boys who were obviously toying with her. Yet she began to think that their words, even if they’d been all a childish jest, might not be as amiss as she’d thought at first.
Chapter 15
“A beauty of a sword this will be!” Tristram de Brunne said wistfully. “Too bad you’re fashioning it for my uncle…”
Tom nodded in some regret, yet hoped that one day Tristram’s uncle would make a gift of the sword to a lord worthy of it.
“Some ale, my lord?” Beth’s voice cut the flow of his thoughts.
He frowned even upon hearing her voice, because she had, after all, broken his heart. His back was turned on her, and he wouldn’t look at her, but he saw De Brunne’s eyes simply widen. He hastily turned to see what was amiss. Upon a usual day, Beth wore her hair in a single plait down her back, but now she wore it loose and she’d bedecked it with flowers. She was clad in her Sunday gown, and was swishing her well rounded hips like a temptress as she was walking to them, tray in hand. Tom supposed he had to be thankful she’d not yet had time to finish her new gown. He felt certain that, had the new gown been ready, she would have worn it now in order to make herself look even more bewitching than she already was.
He cast his woman a dark glare. If she thought he’d forgive her so soon for breaking his heart just because she looked bewitching, then she was sadly mistaken. Yet, Beth didn’t even spare him a glance as she approached, tray in hand.
“Ale, my lord?” she said, extending a cup to De Brunne, who nodded silently.
“How does it taste?” Beth suddenly asked in a sultry voice, and De Brunne seemed nearly to choke upon his ale hearing her words.
Tom told himself this was all a bad dream. This was not Beth. Why was she flaunting herself in front of De Brunne like that? The lord looked flustered, not knowing how to act in front of a woman who was so blatantly trying to catch his eye. And, while soon Tom began to understand only too well why Beth was behaving this way, it didn’t change things at all. Tom resolved at once she was flaunting herself in order to stir his anger and to get him to talk to her.
It was fortunate De Brunne was an honourable man, and he made
a hurried departure as soon as was possible, choosing to run away from Beth’s blatant regard rather than behave improperly to another man’s woman. This left Beth staring after the lord with a sigh, and toying with her hair as if she was indeed the giggling simpleton she now pretended to be. Tom tried to stare away from her, but couldn’t, and found himself casting her a dark glare.
“What is amiss?” Beth asked, giving him a guileless smile.
Tom prepared to retreat, yet he found her blocking his path.
“Something amiss then?” she asked again with an arched eyebrow.
Tom felt he could no longer control his temper, and found himself hoisting her over his shoulder. He was so enraged that he only belatedly realized he was heading for their chamber. It couldn’t be helped now, could it? he thought in sheer fury, as he closed the door behind him and threw his woman unceremoniously on the bed.
He stopped himself in time from crudely parting her legs and pushing inside her roughly right then and there. The picture in his mind was enticing, and he imagined himself slamming in and out of her with a vengeance, yet he made himself step away from the bed.
“Oh,” Beth said and it seemed her voice was filled with as much disappointment as he himself was feeling at this time.
“You’re angry with me,” she added in a blatantly regretful voice, which made him want to strangle her.
“And you are right to be angry with me,” she added. “I have behaved wretchedly!”
“You think?” he snarled.
“I know I fully deserve a punishment for the way I acted,” Beth said, and her voice sounded as infuriatingly contrite as before.
He stared at her, clenching his fists and knowing his temper was hanging upon a very thin thread.
“But, see, I’ve even cut a switch for you to use in order to amend my behaviour. It’s plain I’m in need of a stern lesson,” she cooed, with a serene smile upon her face.
