Follow Your Heart
Page 17
“Whether or not their cause is valid, York and the rest took up arms against their anointed king,” Joanna said. “What crime did your father commit?”
“Father was so absorbed in his own concerns he refused to fight when the king needed him. He lacked the resources to send men in his stead or pay a fine. The attainder gave the king the right to confiscate all of his possessions and execute him. Without a trial. My father had no opportunity to defend himself.
“Most of his estates and possessions were gone by then. The king gave what was left, including Bedford Castle, to Lady Anne’s husband, father’s largest creditor. Father died the day before his execution date.”
Telling the tale reopened wounds that wouldn’t heal. His heart ached. He sighed, as if doing so could whisk away the cobwebs of the past.
“After Father was attainted, we had nothing. No choice but to work to keep a roof over our heads. At fourteen, Andrew and I were penniless and alone in the world. We no longer had estates to manage or rents to collect, no servants or tenants to supervise as other nobles did. In fact, legally we weren’t noble any longer. The king had taken Father’s title, too. I owe everything I have now to Warwick’s support, not to any inheritance.”
Joanna squeezed his hand. Her sympathy didn’t hurt as he’d thought it would, but eased the tightness in his chest.
“I am the eldest, though only by five minutes. It fell to me to restore what my father had destroyed. I earned my spurs and was knighted, but fighting wasn’t enough. So I did what I had to do.” Adrian instantly regretted those words. The last thing he wanted to do was bring up his arrangement with Lady Anne.
“I’ve worked for years to get the attainder reversed, which would restore Father’s title, but the king has refused. To honor my mother and grandmother, I want my family name to be as respected as it once was.”
“What a story.” Joanna sighed, but said no more.
He couldn’t tell if she was merely intrigued or if she now forgave him for not telling her about Andrew. Still, he hadn’t revealed the whole truth and told her of his visions. Or spoke of his work as a spy for Warwick. He rode a powerful wave of guilt. He hadn’t known he’d want to tell her things about himself against his better judgment.
Joanna had no right to know about his past. ’Twas not his fault if his silence displeased her. The agreement would stand.
She knew too much already.
“Adrian, what now?”
He shook his head. First Andrew, then Joanna. Everyone looked to him, assuming he had answers to all the problems looming before him.
“I wish I knew.”
The next night, Joanna was alone in bed. Adrian hadn’t come to her, leaving her restless and chilled beneath her coverlet.
She could add a few pieces of precious coal to the brazier, but every groat counted.
What was that? A slight scraping noise sent her heart racing. Could someone have broken in? She snatched up the candlestick, crept out of bed and peered through the slightly opened door.
To glimpse Adrian on his way out of their quarters.
Her heart sped still faster. She set down the candle, then threw on her boots and cloak to hurry after him. But he’d disappeared into the night.
Where could he possibly be going at this hour? And why?
As she trudged back inside, Joanna recalled the night they signed their contract, when she’d vowed to uncover his secrets. She hadn’t guessed how painful knowledge of them would be: his strange dealings with Lady Anne, a fanatical twin and a mysterious past which left scars so deep they might never heal.
But he’d protected her, helped her retain her father’s workshop. He introduced her to the wondrous pleasures of making love.
Tears filled her eyes. Just when she’d thought they were growing closer, she discovered he had more to hide.
What secret assignation had lured him from their home?
She didn’t know how much more she could take.
Ensconced in a dim corner of the Boar’s Head alehouse, Adrian clenched his tankard of ale.
On occasion he wished he could drown his troubles in drink, but found that excessive imbibing made him maudlin. Not only did good ale require coin he couldn’t spare, he feared an excess might loosen his tongue. He sighed, missing the costly foods, furnishings and clothing he’d taken for granted as a boy.
Andrew had been right about one thing. A poor man’s life didn’t suit them.
He ignored the clamor in the narrow, low-ceilinged room and the aroma of cooked mutton in the air. Foam frothed over the side of his tankard and onto his fingers, but he didn’t wipe it away.
This night he awaited his lord, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, whom he trusted with his life. Not even Warwick knew about his visions. But he alone understood that Adrian walked a fine line between treason and service to his country.
How he wished he had someone to talk to about his deepest concerns. His recent conversation with Joanna showed him the benefits of companionship, something he’d never appreciated before.
Adrian had spent the journey to London analyzing his options. He hadn’t slept, struggling with the daring choice he’d made for this secret meeting.
Would he live to regret it?
I’m not making the same mistake my father made. Though he was about to do something his father had done, something he’d sworn never to do. He was going to gamble. Not with money or possessions, which was bad enough, but with people’s lives.
The risks were great. The reward could be greater. If this worked, most of his problems would be solved. He couldn’t think about what would happen if he failed. For then he might not have the courage to proceed.
“You were right, this place was hard to find,” Warwick said as he slid onto the stool next to Adrian’s. He tugged his plain, coarse wool hood further over his face, shedding melting snow onto the table. He bent closer. “But obviously popular. No one will notice us here. What have you learned?”
Adrian forced himself to swallow some ale. The path he’d chosen could alter the course of history. Yet he believed he was doing the right thing. He leaned forward, not wanting to shout over the patrons’ conversations. “Unsettling news. The Lancastrians plan to attack York while he is at Sandal Castle.”
Warwick looked at him, his lean face rife with disbelief. “What? ’Tis near Christmas. Both sides agreed to hold the fighting until after Epiphany.”
The serving wench slammed a mug of ale in front of Warwick and continued on her way.
“I’ve also learned York is low on supplies.” Adrian had learned these things by seeing York and his men in his most recent vision. “The Lancastrians know they can’t breach the defenses of York’s castle. So they plan to lie in wait and attack when his men leave to forage for food.”
Warwick shook his head. “I can’t believe that. How do you know it isn’t a trick?”
Adrian shrugged. “I don’t. But you asked me to spy and that’s what I’ve done.” At least that part was true. “Perhaps we should send reinforcements. If we’re not already too late.”
Richard, Duke of York, was the key to England’s future. His supporters believed he was the rightful king, having descended from an older son of John of Gaunt than King Henry himself. Thus Henry VI and the Lancasters were usurpers.
York would be a far better king than the weak Henry, oft ruled by his unpopular French queen, Margaret of Anjou. But he also knew York would never be king.
Because he’d seen York’s death.
If Adrian didn’t try to prevent York’s demise, all of their efforts would be for naught. But his conscience still questioned the ethics of using his visions to change the future. Perhaps York needed to die so his cause would fail. Or so someone else, perhaps his son, Edward, Earl of March, would pick up the gauntlet. Edward had but eighteen years, while the duke was a powerful, experienced lord, better suited to rule.
“York wants me to remain in London,” Warwick said. He took off his gloves and placed th
em on the table, then took a swig of ale. “I trust you, Adrian, you know that, but your information must be wrong. York is a shrewd commander. He’d not leave the security of Sandal Castle.”
“I could ride ahead and warn them,” Adrian offered.
“No, I’d rather you return home. I need someone in York I can trust. Keep seeking information. Don’t doubt yourself, Adrian. If anyone can do this, you can.”
Had Warwick read his thoughts, sensed his doubt? Nay, his commander couldn’t know the depth of his lack of confidence. Warwick would expect him to succeed as he had in the past. But never before had so much been at stake.
“I must go. Send word as soon you know more. More facts, not rumor.” Warwick took another drink, then tossed some coins onto the table. He picked up his gloves and left.
Adrian sagged with a mixture of relief and frustration as Warwick went out into the snow. He’d tried to do what he thought was right. But York would soon die as God or Destiny had decreed.
He was thankful Warwick had seemed preoccupied and hadn’t pressed for details about how he acquired his “information.” He’d done as promised, continuing to spy on Lady Anne’s son despite ending his liaison with her. Using his key, he’d risked visiting Bedford Castle in the middle of the night, hating feeling the thief in what should be his own house. And he despised himself for sneaking out and keeping more secrets from his wife. So he’d decided to stop going.
Since he hadn’t found anything to alert him to the king’s plans, he’d used knowledge gleaned from his visions. Only rarely had he done that before, and only when he believed there was no other way to reveal essential information.
If Adrian was caught spying before the Yorkists succeeded, or if Andrew turned him in, his gamble would fail. He’d be executed for treason.
Just like his father would’ve been.
Disgust and guilt wracked him. He could lose all. His best efforts could end up tainting his family name beyond redemption. And his home would be lost forever. Far worse than anything that could befall him, his mistakes would leave Joanna alone and unprotected.
He froze, shocked by his own thoughts. When had he come to care for his wife more than his lifelong ambition? Somehow her well-being had become more important than his own. Somehow his once self-serving instinct surrendered to her needs. What had happened to his marriage of convenience?
Did he love Joanna?
No. Because he couldn’t love. Everyone he thought he’d loved had turned on him, from his father to Andrew. Or they’d died, like his mother and grandmother.
Love didn’t bring comfort and security as most people seemed to think, only fear of loss, disaster and death. He cared for Joanna more than anyone else because she was his wife, his legal responsibility. He desired her because she was beautiful and giving. God, Church and contract bound him to her. That had to be all.
But he realized that for weeks almost everything he’d done had been for Joanna. Concern for her had made him cease both his visits to Lady Anne and his secret nocturnal visits to Bedford Castle. He’d been so obsessed with trying to help Joanna and protect her from William, John, Andrew and even himself, he hadn’t focused on what might happen if he failed.
Because he’d come to care for Joanna, and for her had forfeited the opportunity to spy on Lady Anne’s son, the future of England was at stake.
What had he done?
Chapter 17
Adrian awoke, his head throbbing. A week had passed since the confrontation in the chapel. He hadn’t seen his brother since.
Adrian feared each day with Joanna would be his last, worried that any minute the sheriff and his men would haul him to prison for witchcraft. He’d spent hours racking his brain for something he could do, some action he could take. Waiting both to see what Andrew might do and for news from Warwick grated on him.
He and Joanna had been living under a wary truce. Their nights were filled with passion, their days cordial and cooperative. He no longer returned to his own chamber after their lovemaking because he enjoyed sleeping with his wife. And slept better with her beside him.
But not this night.
Joanna was wrapped securely in his arms, her hair spilling over his chest. He couldn’t appreciate the wonders of her because a vision approached. Fast.
He needed to flee, to avoid disturbing Joanna or exposing her to what was to come, but knew he wouldn’t make it across the room. His head pressed into the pillow as the swirling mist overtook him.
He stood in the midst of a vast field. In the distance, a castle loomed high on a hill. York’s castle, Sandal. Woods ran to both sides. Up ahead, a bridge spanned a rushing river.
A small, mounted force rode into view. York’s men, he could tell by their blue and white livery. Suddenly soldiers spilled out of the woods, swords drawn. More soldiers ran into view, bearing the badge of bear and ragged staff. Warwick’s men.
Warwick’s men were attacking York’s. But they were allies. How could this be?
Rushing blood, screaming, drowning…field and river crowded with corpses.
The faces of the dead floated before his eyes.
Adrian burst up in bed, gasping for breath, unintentionally bringing Joanna with him.
What should he do about all he’d seen?
“Adrian, what is it?”
Her heart thudded against his chest. Sweat chilled on his skin. As the remnants of the vision faded, unavoidable queasiness seeped in. He struggled to speak, but couldn’t. He’d never talked to anyone so soon after an episode.
With great effort, he found his voice. “Just a nightmare.”
Another living nightmare about Richard, Duke of York’s death. He now knew why York and his men would leave the safety of Sandal Castle. They thought they rode out to meet allies. But awaiting them were traitors garbed in friends’ clothing, who’d then be joined by thousands of enemies. He had to warn Warwick about possible traitors in his ranks. But wait. What if Warwick himself was behind this? Should he warn York instead?
Glowing coals in the brazier lit the room enough for him to see Joanna’s distress. But he couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze when he was being dishonest. He turned away, drawing the bedcovers close to his chest. He hadn’t anticipated the pain of keeping the truth from her. She snuggled against him and wrapped her arm across his waist.
Her trust and support made him even sicker.
Why had he married? He’d set himself up for a lifetime of torture from the constant strain of keeping secrets. He’d hurt Joanna and most likely would again, even as he tried not to.
She deserved a husband who could make her happy. He’d believed helping with her glass-painting would be enough. He didn’t even know if he could keep her safe as promised.
“Adrian.” Her gentle voice stopped his wild thoughts. “This isn’t working, is it?”
His gaze snapped to hers, showing him tears threatening to spill from her glorious green eyes. She couldn’t have caused him more anguish had she stabbed him with his own sword.
What could he do, what could he say, to comfort her? Adrian slid an arm around her, trying to ignore the menacing sickness clinging after his vision. She felt icy cold, making him shiver in response. He moved closer, trying to restore her warmth with his.
She blinked. A fat tear plopped onto his chest. The proof of her sadness sizzled like acid. He held her against him, hoping to offer some reassurance.
“Joanna. It isn’t you,” he said. “No matter what happens between us, you must believe me in this. You are everything good, everything wonderful. Our troubles stem from me, from things I can’t reveal without endangering us.”
Concern slowly replaced the misery in her gaze. “What things? How can I help?”
She was so forgiving. He wasn’t worthy of her.
He closed his eyes as despair washed over him. She wanted to take his problems as her own. She believed in him. As much as he relished her trust, it encumbered him.
“If I could….”
If he left her for her own good, would she be able to bear the stigma of divorce? And what of the dangers she’d face alone?
He opened his eyes. The look in hers seared his gut. She did need a formidable husband. He’d have to be satisfied with offering what protection he could, if not himself. Despite the misery their marriage brought her, there was another reason he could never let her go. He didn’t want to.
He and Joanna had made amazing love numerous times since the miscarriage. She could be pregnant again. Despite his need for an heir, the risks still besieged him.
Should Andrew accuse him to the authorities, if he were found guilty, his taint might or might not spread to his family. He hadn’t uncovered enough similar cases to find a clear pattern.
And his child. How he prayed he or she would be normal. The affliction seemed arbitrary: his grandmother had the Sight but his mother and twin didn’t. If his child did have the Sight, perhaps he’d be able to help conceal and deal with the problem better from the start. There was a slim chance the world would grow more tolerant and leave the child in peace.
Even so, Adrian accepted that he could be subjecting his child to a lifetime of loneliness and fear. A life like his. But now, he had Joanna. He’d worked so hard and so long to preserve his family, his heritage. How could he let his purpose fade away? Let all of his efforts go to waste? Then his life would have no meaning.
Nothing. He had to keep reminding himself of that.
More tears spilled down her cheeks. “Adrian, I…I wish I could say…I want to tell you….” Joanna squeezed out a breath, then burst into loud, gasping sobs. She pushed away from him and scrambled out of the bed, then sped toward the door.