by Ruth Kaufman
The familiar feel of his mouth against hers obliviated their miserable surroundings and his dire situation. All that mattered was that they were together. He wanted her and she still had time to show him how she felt. The kiss evolved, slow and bittersweet. As she pulled back slightly, meeting his troubled gaze, she prayed this kiss wouldn’t be their last.
“I’ll think on that,” he said with the barest hint of a smile.
“As will I.” She stood, reluctant to leave.
How she wanted to tell Adrian she loved him. But she wasn’t sure if the words would give him comfort, make him more worried about her or aggravate him because love wasn’t part of their arrangement.
He was so strong, not complaining about his pain or his imprisonment. The only thing he seemed worried about was her welfare. That concern combined with their kiss hung in the balance with his secrets.
“I want you to go on a journey for me,” he said.
“A journey?” Adrian needed her. She liked that.
“Until you leave, please stay with Margery,” he continued. “You’ll be safer there should William try some new tricks.”
“Yes.” Joanna bit her lip. She wasn’t going to add to his troubles by telling him her brother had already been to see her and had threatened her.
“Here’s what you must do.”
Adrian had to close his eyes as the Keeper led a tearful Joanna away, as he returned to the caustic reality of imprisonment. He tried to stretch, feeling the pull of his stiff muscles.
“Help me!”
“Save me!”
The prisoners’ endless cries haunted him, blinding him to his own troubles. Crystal clear memories of the day his grandmother burned replaced his squalid cell, and the prisoners’ cries became hers. She’d sounded just the same, as desperate and hopeless. With as little chance of being saved.
All was lost. He’d encouraged Joanna to believe they could surmount this, but he felt as helpless as when his father told him about the bill of attainder. He could never forget that moment, for in his dreams his father read the terms to him over and over again.
As clearly as he saw his grandmother aflame, he saw his defeated father in his wrinkled, unwashed clothes, a bottle of wine in one hand and the dreaded parchment in the other.
“Sir Adam Bedford be attainted of these Treasons, and forfeit all his Goods and Lands which he had on said day or after, and his blood corrupted and disabled forever, and he be called within your Realm false Traitor forevermore,” he read, his voice breaking.
His blood corrupted and disabled forever. The words rang in Adrian’s brain, louder than ever. He too could be named a Traitor and lose all hope of regaining his family name. All hope of caring for Joanna. The irony pained him as much as the manacles scraping his skin. He’d worked for years to repair damage done by his father only to end up in trouble as deep. His father’s actions, equal in Adrian’s eyes to murdering his grandmother, also led to his mother’s death.
Adrian hadn’t murdered anyone, but without a miracle the result would be the same. His gamble had failed just as his father’s had, and he was just as penniless.
But he still had Joanna. She was his strength, his only reason to cling to a glimmer of hope. She made his secrets less dark, his future less grim. Without her support, perhaps he too would have succumbed to the wiles of drink and gambling. Even with her help, even with having his life with her to look forward to, too many things could still go wrong. His fate could already be sealed.
He had failed his country, failed his wife whom he’d sworn to protect.
They’d beaten him to make him confess. But he hadn’t yielded, hadn’t cried out. As unconsciousness claimed him, his last coherent thought had been of Joanna. Not of Warwick or the concealed letters, sure to be found in the pocket of his cloak. Disconcerting that Joanna was foremost in his mind, especially when his problems were so grave.
His head pounded, his shoulders burned. At least his hands were numb and thus spared pain. The darkness, the noises, the aches and uncertainty could drive a man to lunacy.
When he had awoken earlier—or was it yesterday? He had no way of knowing. Ah, already his thoughts rambled. When he’d awoken, he’d thought his mind conjured Joanna. But somehow she’d learned of his plight and braved the prison’s filth and fetid air to find him.
Asking her for help was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He’d battled his pride until the last possible instant. He used to think asking for help made a man weaker. But Joanna had taught him that sometimes even the strongest people needed support. The key was accepting and acknowledging the need.
Now that he had, he felt both better and worse. It was hard to rely on another person to do what he couldn’t. Yet knowing he had someone made him feel less alone. And not just anyone, but his Joanna.
If only he’d used some of their precious time to tell her what she meant to him. Not that he could easily put his feelings into words. He didn’t want to live without her, but so much more filled his heart. He wasn’t accustomed to this caring, wanting and desiring combined with the constant need to be with her.
Never had he needed anything more in his life than her kiss, the absolution and tenderness she offered. Even in this most depressing of settings, he craved the sensations that touching her brought him. Her disappointment at his refusal to tell her why he went to Lady Anne’s had hurt more than his injuries did. But he could see she believed in his innocence. Her trust would see him through this.
If he got out alive.
If he survived, he’d find a way to tell her everything, from his spying to his visions. Then, perhaps they could have a true marriage, with no secrets and no agreement.
Thoughts of the day he could burn the damn document might just keep him from going mad.
Chapter 21
“Where is he?” Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, demanded.
Joanna stood in the great hall of his London residence. Warwick had waved away various advisors and servants so they could speak in relative privacy. Several people came and went, others waited at the sides of the hall for a moment of their lord’s time, casting curious looks in their direction. Many wore their lord’s red livery, with its badge of white bear and ragged staff. They seemed a swarm of bees, buzzing and hovering, pending release from their hive.
Joanna was exhausted from the journey and from worrying about her husband. But at least she’d found Warwick, a task in itself, for she’d never been outside of York. London’s vastness, crowds and sights were enough to make her dizzy.
Her travel-stained wool gown contrasted with Warwick’s rich tunic, which fell in soft pleats past his ankles. His fur-trimmed sleeves, neckline and hem further accented the differences between their stations. He was younger than she’d expected, perhaps in his early thirties. This was the first time she’d ever spoken with so eminent a lord and only her experience in dealing with her higher-ranked clients saved her from incoherence.
“He is in prison, my lord.” She wanted to remain strong in front of Adrian’s overlord, but memories of Adrian in that horrible cell defeated her. “In chains,” she whispered.
“What?”
Ashamed, she bent her head. “I couldn’t gather enough funds to feed him and buy his way out of the chains. He told me it was more important that I reach you.”
“He would. Always duty before his own comfort,” Warwick said. “I regret that our first meeting occurred under these dire circumstances. I’ll see to it the spurious charges are dropped and that Adrian is released.”
Relief filled Joanna as she curtsied. Her shaking fingers steadied as they gripped her skirts. Thank God Adrian had powerful friends. Otherwise he’d rot in prison until his trial and likely be condemned for a crime he hadn’t committed.
“Thank you for your assistance, my lord.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Securing his freedom may take a while,” he warned.
Warwick indicated a small table with two chairs near the hearth, and sh
e sank into one gratefully. A servant brought a pitcher and two cups, bowed, and left as silently as he had come. Warwick poured wine, but she was too worried, her throat too tight to drink.
“May I offer you food? Supper isn’t for hours, but there’s always something cooking in the kitchens.”
“No, thank you.” She couldn’t think about food, nor recall the last time she’d eaten. “I have a letter Adrian bade me give you.”
She pulled the missive out of her pocket and handed it to him.
More than anything, she’d wanted to open that letter and devour the contents. Especially since Adrian couldn’t seal it. When the Keeper came to tell her their ten minutes were up, she’d requested parchment, pen and ink. There hadn’t been time to send for Adrian’s seal. She’d paid dearly for the supplies and the extra minutes she’d needed to take down Adrian’s words with kisses and groping that disgusted her. But the few moments of misery were worth it.
The piece of folded parchment sang its siren song throughout her travels, but she refused to succumb. Adrian had trusted her to carry his missive. She wouldn’t violate that trust no matter how she yearned to read the letter. Though she knew he had no one else to ask, she felt honored that he sought her help with such an important task. And though it challenged the limits of her confidence, she would succeed. For him.
Jeweled rings flashed as Warwick opened and read the letter.
“Damn,” he bit out.
His glance flicked to her, as if trying to read from her expression how much she knew. He crumpled the parchment in his fist, then threw it into the fire.
Longingly Joanna watched the edges curl and start to burn. The flames consumed her only tangible link to Adrian. And her opportunity to learn more about him.
“This could prove more difficult than I thought.” Warwick ran his hands through his hair. “Do you know the contents of that letter?”
“No, my lord.” She picked up the cup of wine, just to have something to do with her hands.
“A trustworthy wife is an admirable thing in these times of treachery. Adrian is fortunate to have you.”
Joanna felt herself color at such praise from one of the most powerful lords in the realm.
A man in York’s livery walked toward them, a rolled document in his hand. “My lord, you needs—” he began.
“Not now,” Warwick said. “See to it I am not disturbed again.” He turned back to Joanna. “You’re fortunate you were able to find me. I’ve only just returned from St. Albans.”
“Yes, from another battle, so your steward said.”
“Another defeat, and not long after our party suffered the debacle at Wakefield. Now that the great council has acclaimed York’s son Edward as the new king though Henry yet lives, there is sure to be more fighting.” He sighed. “I digress. You most certainly didn’t come all this way to learn the fate of the Yorkists.”
She didn’t know how to respond. How strange to hear such casual discussion of battles where soldiers and knights died and events changed the course of a country. How could a man inure himself to the loss of his men? How could a commander succeed if he mourned every death?
“Edward IV. To think we began this quest to rid our country of the dangerous men surrounding Henry but now put forth our own king.” He took a breath, as if to continue, but stopped. “Accept my apologies. You see what occupies my mind.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, my lord.” That Warwick would take time to think about releasing Adrian when England was in turmoil amazed her. She smiled, for his willingness to help also showed how highly he regarded her husband.
Warwick took a deep drink of wine, then set the cup down. She sensed he was making some sort of decision. He nodded once. “Your husband is a spy. For me, and the Yorkist party.”
She sucked in a breath. Adrian, a spy. At last, his secret revealed. Now she understood some of his reasons for reticence. But why from her? Did he fear those closest to him would always betray him because his father had?
“You see why I must help Adrian. He was acting on my command when he was caught,” Warwick continued.
“What did he seek?” she asked, glad her voice didn’t tremble.
“We hoped Lady Anne’s son would lead us to key information about the king’s plans. Adrian wrote that he’d finally found what we were looking for.”
Joanna froze. He had gone to Lady Anne’s the night of her murder to gather information…not to continue his affair? Or had he slept with Lady Anne as a means to get inside the house to search, and not to earn back his home as he’d said? Had he lied, or not told the whole truth?
The coil made her head spin.
She couldn’t stand this uncertainty. When he got out of prison, she’d shred their agreement before his very eyes. He’d either stay with her without the restrictions they’d once agreed to or she’d go on alone. As much as she loved him and as miserable as she’d be without him, she couldn’t bear to spend her days not knowing when his next surprise would be exposed. She wouldn’t live with him unless she had his complete trust. That’s what she willingly yielded to him. She deserved the same in return.
The affair with Lady Anne, having a twin, being a spy. No wonder he wouldn’t marry without signing a contract such as theirs. He’d been reluctant to agree to marriage at all, accepting only because he needed an heir. How he must struggle, balancing his privacy with his plans for the future.
She had a strange suspicion that as remarkable as these revelations had been, the biggest truth was yet to come. What could possibly be so important, so horrible?
“There was more in Adrian’s letter. He said he had several of Lord Berkeley’s documents on his person when thrown into prison. In addition to murder, Adrian is charged with larceny. We know he’s innocent of the murder, but I’ll have to consult with my lawyer to learn what can be done about the other charge.
“As to the documents, they’re lost to us. Adrian’s knowledge of the contents could still prove useful. However, thanks to recent developments, we may not even need that.”
“So Adrian’s efforts were for naught.”
“As a means to provide information, yes. But as proof of his loyalty to England’s next king, they could prove priceless.”
So much had happened in such a short time. Joanna felt her life spinning out of control but didn’t know how to stop it. She knew she had to recover from her shock and respond.
“My lord, I thank you for telling me so much and for your time. I must return to York.”
“You are most welcome. But you needs stay. Adrian asked that I keep you here, for your own safety,” Warwick said.
The earl astonished her. He acted as if he had all the time in the world, despite the myriad details he must have to tend to, both on behalf of the new king, Edward, and his own vast holdings.
“My thanks again for your most gracious offer. But I must go to him and bring the things he’ll need until he is released.”
“One of my men will see to that posthaste,” he said with a flick of his hand, as though with such little effort he could see it done. “The dangers of travel are heightened now. Even with your Mistress Margery and Master Osbert as companions, peril lurks everywhere. Though London has accepted Edward as king, unrest persists elsewhere.”
“I’m aware of the difficult times our country faces and the hazards of the roads, my lord. But I must return to my husband.”
Disagreeing with said husband’s overlord wasn’t appropriate, but manners weren’t her primary concern. Being with Adrian when she could was.
“Stubborn as well.” He smiled. “You love him, don’t you? I thought yours a marriage of convenience.”
Joanna was unaccustomed to confiding in anyone but Margery, but the earl seemed to expect the truth. He deserved as much for his assistance.
“Our marriage began that way, my lord, but changed for me despite his secrets. I do love him, and hope someday he’ll feel the same for me.”
The first time she ha
d expressed her love for Adrian out loud. Saying the words made her feelings more real, more permanent. Made her miss him more.
“He’s been my man for years, so I know how hard it is to earn his trust,” Warwick said.
“My thanks on his behalf for seeing to his needs. But I must also return to my work. I am a glass-painter, with projects that must be completed.”
She wouldn’t consider how much time this journey had cost her, Thomas and Margery.
“Adrian has spoken of your brother’s deceit. I’ll send some men with you, to protect you in Adrian’s stead.”
“If you could spare them, my lord, I’d be most grateful.”
“Consider it done. I needs also write a letter for you to take to Adrian. Godspeed.”
Joanna curtseyed, and breathed deeply. The earl walked toward a small group of his retainers, moving on to his next task. The circle of brightly dressed men parted to accommodate him.
Joanna wanted to sing with joy. Her audience was over, and she’d accomplished all she came to do. She hurried out into the antechamber where Margery and Thomas awaited. Margery had been thrilled to make the journey, eager to peek into the life of a noble and his great household, if only for a short while. Thomas, on the other hand, almost had to be pried away from his work.
They spoke at almost the same time.
“What was he like?”
“What did he say?”
She laughed at their questions, laughed because Warwick had lifted some of her burdens and because she felt real hope for the first time in days.
“He was most kind, and offered to pay Adrian’s way out of prison.”
“How much is that?” Thomas asked.
“Quite a sum, to be sure, with a murder charge. Warwick knows how such things are done. If Adrian didn’t have him for a friend, I don’t know what we’d do. He’ll also send an escort to take us home. How can we repay his kindness?”
Margery threw her arms around Joanna. “Maybe all will be well now. Soon the workshop will be yours alone. Then you can concentrate on that heir.”
