by Ruth Kaufman
Except Adrian hadn’t told her he was a spy and England now had two kings. She knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until the situation was resolved.
And deep down Joanna just knew he concealed one last, horrible secret.
“I did it. I did it!” William reported to Hatchet Baldwin with bravado he acted but did not feel.
With trembling fingers, he untied his blindfold. An underling like him would never be allowed to know the location of the Lord of the Underground’s lair. William glanced around the small room, disappointed that it looked like a regular study. Piles of parchment, ink and pens lay scattered across a desk. Hatchet Baldwin reclined on a scratched chair, his booted feet propped on an empty corner of the desk. Only the large hatchet next to his feet attested to the mercenary nature of the room’s occupant.
There was no chair for him. Intimidating, as Hatchet Baldwin probably meant it to be.
“I did as you asked,” William said.
He felt no remorse. So happy was he about saving his fingers and erasing his debt, there was no room for guilt.
Lady Anne would’ve died soon anyway.
“Aye, so my sources say,” Hatchet Baldwin replied. “You’ve done me a service. I owed Lady Anne a large sum. Now no one will ever know. ’Cept for you and me,” he said with a leer.
For a moment William feared the man would cut off another finger to ensure he kept silent. Or some more important body part.
Hatchet Baldwin’s feet came off the desk and he leaned on his elbows. “I also heard yer brother-by-law’s been pinned for the deed.”
“I hope he rots in prison,” William said.
But the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. After he’d done as ordered, he’d visited several stews so there’d be witnesses to his whereabouts the night of the murder.
And he had seen Adrian. He still couldn’t figure out how Adrian had been near the stews at two and at Bedford Castle at almost the same time. He feared the strange inconsistency might somehow be his undoing. Then he’d be even worse off than when he started.
Perhaps he could still work events to his advantage. What the whore had told him would certainly make Joanna leave Adrian. All he had to do was prove it to her. That is, if Adrian ever got out of prison.
And if he himself didn’t get thrown in before he ran out of time.
“Clever to use a dagger with his initials.”
William couldn’t take the credit for that. Lady Anne, the wiry bitch, had knocked his own knife out of his hand. Luckily for him, a dagger had been on a small table by the bed. That was an awkward moment he’d rather not recall, both of them struggling to get a grip on the dagger. The old bitch was stronger than she looked and had almost beaten him to it.
Plunging the dagger into her chest hadn’t been all that pleasant either.
“Now get out of here. If you need another loan, you know how to reach me. And believe me, I’ll always know where to find you.”
William’s knees shook as he tied the blindfold again. Someone grabbed his arm and led him out.
I know where to find you. The words rang in his head.
Now that his usefulness was past, would Baldwin kill him because of what he knew? Require performance of some other, gruesome task in exchange for his silence?
Would he have to live the rest of his life on edge?
Chapter 22
The new king had come to York. Excitement made Joanna’s fingers slip as she dressed in Margery’s best gown. Borrowed finery wouldn’t be as elegant as the clothing of the nobles and knights, but to her the deep blue gown with its long, full sleeves and velvet belt was lovely.
Just an hour ago, Warwick’s messenger had arrived, bearing a note requesting that she meet with him at the Guildhall. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she’d sent the messenger with her response.
“Margery, read it again,” she said, engaged in the laborious task of stuffing her voluminous hair into the confines of a headdress.
“I wish I could go with you. To be able to see the king up close,” she said wistfully. “And all of his wealthy nobles. Some who must need wives.”
“I don’t know for certain that I’ll see him. Now read.”
Margery read, “‘I greet you well, etc. I am with the king in York, having defeated the Lancastrians yesterday at Towton in the bloodiest battle ever have I seen. Henry has fled. Please you to know had not England’s needs been so pressing, Adrian would have been freed by now. That task will be the focus of our stay.’” She clutched the letter to her chest. “To think Adrian is important enough that the Earl of Warwick thinks of him the day after a battle. And he wants to meet with you in person.”
Joanna’s enthusiasm was dampened by Warwick’s brief mention of battle. So many more Englishmen lay dead. She whispered a brief prayer for their souls, but realized what the victory meant. “We’re fortunate Warwick and Edward won this time. If they’d lost to the Lancastrians again, Adrian might never have been released.”
“That is so,” Margery agreed. “This war between Englishmen has gone on for years. Can it finally be over? Enough talk of that on a day like today. Joanna, you look beautiful.”
“Only because you loaned me your gown. For once I wish I shared your interest in fashion,” Joanna said.
“At least my gown will see the king.”
“I promise to tell you all.”
Margery’s skirts swishing about her, Joanna hurried down Stonegate. Perhaps Adrian would already be out of prison and waiting for her. That thought made her walk even faster, though cheering people filled the streets and got in her way. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to participate in the celebration.
A crowd had gathered in front of the Guildhall, slowing Joanna down further still as she wound her way through those hoping to glimpse their new king. She spared no time admiring the large stone building with its wooden pillars but showed Warwick’s seal to the guard at the door to gain entry.
“Lady Joanna. You arrived with great haste,” Warwick said as he greeted her. He wore another ensemble displaying his great wealth and position, velvet robes trimmed with fur. A smile graced his face, but she thought she could see the strain of battles won and lost in his eyes.
People in Warwick’s livery and others she didn’t recognize rushed about on their way to do who knew what.
“Am I early?”
“No. But the king plans to say a few words, and I must stand nearby. You shall stand with me,” he said.
“My lord, that is too great an honor.”
“Your husband was falsely imprisoned while in my service. And I’ve been too busy to help. I asked you here today to tell you I’ll see Adrian released as I promised. No honor I can offer is too great, nor can it compensate for your distress.”
“I appreciate your kind words, my lord, and thank you again for your assistance. I realize many have suffered far more than we. My husband still lives, which is more than many soldiers’ wives can say. At least I know he’ll soon be home again.”
As they talked, the Guildhall grew more crowded and the noise of buzzing voices increased. Warwick acknowledged with nods of his head some of the men in pleated robes of elaborately patterned fabrics who strolled by. Large jeweled brooches on the sides of their hats caught the light as if winking at her. She felt curious glances as she had at Warwick’s estate. Joanna wished Margery could see the display.
Trumpets blared, their shrill notes blasting through conversations. Everyone bowed as the king approached. Joanna sank into a deep curtsy.
Edward IV was tall, perhaps slightly taller than Adrian. She barely glimpsed his face as he strode by. All she could see were his broad shoulders encased in rich patterned brocade and his reddish-brown hair underneath his black hat. He stopped in the doorway and raised his hands to quiet the crowd gathered in the street.
His voice rose over the cheers. “My thanks, good people of York. You are the first to share the celebration of my victory. The rightful blood is on the throne a
gain. Soon we shall celebrate the official coronation.
“You will see I have already taken action. The heads of my father, brother and the earl of Salisbury have been removed from Micklegate Bar so all three great men can receive a proper burial. In their stead, you will find there the heads of certain Lancastrians, the former Earls of Devon and Wiltshire.
“Know that I will reward all those loyal to me, and punish all traitors. I bid you Godspeed.”
He waved and returned to the hall, followed by his companions and the crowd’s cheers.
Joanna prayed Edward would stay king, that she and Adrian could live in peace. As soon as she knew everything she needed to know about him.
Back in her studio and wearing her own gown, Joanna forced herself to concentrate on her work in progress, but the red and green glass pieces blurred. In recent weeks she’d shed far too many tears over Adrian’s plight. Crying made her feel a little better, but she wished she could do something for him. Only action would ease her concerns. She’d done her part and Warwick would do his when he was able. Why was it taking so long to secure Adrian’s release?
Back to work, she urged herself. Adrian wouldn’t want her worrying about him when she had work to do. When time was running out. Only a few weeks remained until her father’s deadline, when her total earnings would be tallied by the guild. She knew she was close to the required amount, but couldn’t afford to take any chances. Every pence counted.
But the brush dangled from her fingertips, creative thoughts pushed from her head by harsh reality. How had her life come to this? There was a short period when she’d felt in control of her destiny. Unlike most women, she’d mastered a craft, which should have led to independence. William and John almost brought an end to her dream. And also unlike most women, who were told whom to marry, she’d chosen her husband. Yet with his secrets and her troubles, working toward a stable, much less a bright, future was difficult.
Though admitting her love brought her much joy, in her weak moments the pain of love unrequited made her wish she’d never fallen for him in the first place. He desired her, which was more than she’d expected when they first married. Why wasn’t that enough? Why did she want more?
Every day she paid precious coin to spend a few moments with Adrian. Though he was now free of the chains and had been moved to a new cell, a bit larger and cleaner than the first, he was still a prisoner. He seemed determined to triumph over his surroundings, as evidenced by his positive attitude. Leaving him each day filled her with longing for what could be. If.
She closed her eyes, remembering in vivid detail the last time they’d shared a bed. In addition to the passion and incredible satisfaction, she relished the moments spent resting in his arms. At no other time did she feel as close to him, as needed by him. The way he held her felt possessive, as though he had to keep her close. Her favorite thing was just being with him, feeling his chest rise and fall against her back as he breathed.
Warwick had promised any day now her husband would be free. With that comforting thought, she began to paint.
The door flew open, banging against the wall. She jumped off her stool.
In the doorway stood Adrian. A dirtier, thinner Adrian than the one who’d left over a month ago.
The most excellent sight she’d ever seen.
Heedless of the filth covering his tattered clothes, she threw herself into his arms. He rocked back, but gripped her so tightly she could barely draw in air.
“Joanna,” he breathed.
She thought she heard his voice crack. Was he that glad to see her, or immensely relieved to be out of prison?
“It’s over,” he said into her ear. “I am free. Warwick had me released, and all charges have been dropped.”
“That is the best news. Are you hungry? Tired? We must get you out of those awful clothes,” she babbled.
His return renewed her, made her feel she could conquer any demons. That was part of love, she realized. Being with him actually made her stronger. She hadn’t believed love could do that.
He laughed, a rich sound she’d rarely heard. “Are you so eager to have me?”
“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” she said. “I thought you might wish a bath. But there’s no tub large enough here.”
“I thought of stopping by the baths on the way home,” he said. “But I…,” he paused and looked away. “I’ll make do here.”
She wondered what he’d been about to say. Wishful thinking made her hope he had rushed straight here to see her.
“You look thin.” She hadn’t noticed the change in him during her visits, concentrating only on the few moments they had together. “Wasn’t the coin I sent enough to feed you?”
“Aye, I had far better fare than the moldy bread the poorest receive. But not as much food as I was accustomed to,” he said.
“I’m glad Warwick remembered your plight with all that’s been happening. On the other hand,” she said, “if you hadn’t been in prison, you’d have been with him. And might have died with so many others.”
“I might have, but I’d rather have been with him serving my king and country than rotting uselessly in a cell. Warwick said the battle last week at Towton was the bloodiest thus far, that thousands died. Henry VI and Queen Margaret fled to Scotland with some of their key supporters. Edward will remain king. The worst is over for now.”
“For England and for you,” she prayed.
As she followed him up the stairs to her rooms, she couldn’t help averting her face. He smelled like the inside of a garderobe that hadn’t been cleaned.
Margery gasped. “You’re back! Wonderful. But you don’t look so good.” She started toward her room, then stopped. “I think I’ll go somewhere and do some things. Fare thee well.”
“Thank you, Margery,” Joanna said, giving her half-sister a brief hug before she left.
Adrian sank into a chair, as if the journey from the prison had tired him.
“Here,” Joanna said. She reached inside her neckline and pulled out his signet ring, which hung from on a ribbon around her neck. “I never took this off.”
“Keep it.”
“Having the ring while you were away helped, but it’s part of you. Someday you can give this to our first child.” She untied the ribbon, tugged off the ring and slipped it onto his finger. “There, that’s better.”
He flexed his hand and examined the ring. “You’re right. I feel more like myself already.”
“Now for that bath. I’ll get the water. But it isn’t hot,” she warned.
He shed what was left of his clothing while she filled two large wooden buckets. She grabbed a sponge and the cake of soap. She stopped abruptly at the sight of him.
“Oh, Adrian.”
In the bright light of day she could see the damage confinement had wrought. He was too thin. Still, to her he looked as handsome as ever.
“Naught that a few good meals and some training won’t cure,” he said. “First I must clean my teeth. The foul taste of that place is still with me.”
As he did, she gathered the components of his bath and brought them to him. “I’ll get more water,” she said as she handed him the sponge.
He took it, wrapping his hand over hers. Gently he pulled her closer. “Stay. Help me put the past month behind me.”
Together they dipped the sponge in the bucket. Their gazes locked as the water soaked and softened it. They soaped the sponge, releasing the scent of rose into the air. At first, he gently directed their movements, but they moved as one to bring the sponge up to wash his chest. Slowly their hands slid over his skin as if guided by an unseen force. Suds dripped onto the floor.
He released the sponge, and she rinsed it in the other bucket. She repeated the motions until his chest, back, arms and face were clean. She soaped his hair, working her fingers over his scalp. His head fell back and he sighed.
“Come to the basin so I can rinse,” she said.
Adrian bent over
the basin. She poured clean water over his head. He wrung out the excess and flung back his head, spattering her with a few drops.
Joanna had never thought cleansing could be so sensual. But as intimate as they’d been, washing below his waist made her uncomfortable. She soaped the sponge and gave it to him.
“You do the rest,” she said, feeling a flush creep over her cheeks.
He returned to the chair and reached for the sponge, an unreadable smile on his now-clean face.
Joanna had planned to occupy herself elsewhere as he finished his bath. But she couldn’t help but watch as he began to soap himself. The sponge moved down his legs to his feet, then up over his thighs. She felt herself becoming aroused as the sponge made its way to his groin. In helpless anticipation she waited for him to reach his private parts. The thought of him touching himself there fascinated her.
He saw her watching him. He smiled his incredible smile, rinsed and continued his progress ever so slowly. At last he slid the sponge over himself. She stood, transfixed and tingling, as he hardened before her eyes. She had a sudden yearning to wipe away the water dripping down him before it disappeared into the coarse hairs between his legs. He watched her as he squeezed the sponge over his erection. A soft moan escaped him as the sponge glided up his slick length, then back down.
“Touch me, Joanna.”
She moved closer, enthralled. The sponge dropped with a soft splash into the bucket. Her hand slid over his erection. He groaned as she stroked him. His seductive sounds made her shiver.
He gripped the sides of the chair. “More. Ah, yes. Yes, like that.”
He was wet and tantalizingly slippery. She felt him grow harder as she ran her fingers over him. Amazing, that her touch could make that happen. The combination of his hardness and silky wetness made her want him inside her.
She released him to tug at her gown. She tossed it away, standing before him in only her chemise.
“How I’ve longed to be with you. You’re even lovelier than in my dreams.” He stood, glistening and ready. “I’ll never again smell roses without thinking of this day.”
