by Ruth Kaufman
Her smooth-tongued brother sounded rather convincing. But her sympathy for him had vanished a long time ago.
Adrian grabbed a fistful of William’s tunic and hauled him to his feet.
“As you will be for years to come. It’s your turn to enjoy the Keeper’s hospitality. You thought losing a finger was bad. Wait until you spend a night with the rats.”
Chapter 24
Almost midnight. At last this endless day was over. Joanna dropped onto their bed, with Adrian right behind her.
Joanna kicked off her shoes, closed her burning eyes and flexed her sore feet. He took her hand. For a few moments, they remained silent in the dark, fingers entwined. She couldn’t savor the fact that they were finally alone. Not until he’d bared all.
After the unspeakable scene at Andrew’s house, she’d told Adrian she had to fulfill her obligation to the guild while Adrian handed William over to the sheriff. He’d apologized for his brother’s actions, she’d apologized for hers. They’d not spoken of his “affliction.” The timing hadn’t been right.
She’d made her way to the pageant wagon, which had already begun its slow procession from Trinity Priory to Pavement, one of the market squares. She worked behind the scenes, ensuring that the actors were ready to make all of their entrances and hadn’t forgotten any pieces of their elaborate costumes.
A few hours later, Adrian had poked his head behind the wagon’s curtain to tell her William was in custody, and that he’d follow the wagon for the rest of the day. She was surprised he had the patience to watch the play again and again as the guild members performed it at each of the twelve stations. But then, given all that had happened, maybe he wanted to keep an eye on her. To make sure Andrew didn’t pursue her, or that she didn’t flee in fear of his secrets.
Now, though all she wanted to do was curl up in Adrian’s arms and sleep, she gathered courage to ask him for the whole truth since he hadn’t yet offered it. Their agreement be damned.
“Are you upset about William?” Adrian broke the silence.
“Not really. He brought this on himself. I am sad that my brother and yours could do so many awful things. That mine could even kill someone. And I didn’t know how to help him.”
“Gambling is a big part of it. It gets inside a person somehow, and makes them do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. Like a sickness. I learned that from my father.”
“The only good thing to come out of this is that as a felon, William will be evicted from the guild. So he can’t work as a glass painter. The studio is all mine by default, though I still plan to meet my father’s requirements. I’ll be glad when we can put this behind us,” she said with a sigh.
“As will I. My brother had been acting strangely for some time, but I had no idea what he was up to.” He slid closer to her. “An odd coincidence. Not only are both of our brothers misguided, their true natures were brought to light at the same time.”
They fell silent again. The quiet became awkward, as if both realized the only subject left to discuss was one neither seemed to know how to broach.
Adrian’s secret.
Joanna couldn’t stand not knowing one minute longer. “Are you going to tell me?”
“No.”
Her heart sank, though deep inside she’d known that would be his answer. Or he’d have initiated the conversation. Still, disappointment scorched her.
“I supported you, did all you requested while you were in prison. I prove my passion for you each night. Yet still you refuse to trust me with your past.” Or your heart.
He squeezed her fingers, but the gesture didn’t reassure her. They shared making love, they shared these rooms. No point ever hoping for more. If he didn’t trust her now, didn’t think her worthy of knowing him, he never would. She’d been a fool to believe otherwise.
She ached with misery. “I don’t know if I can bear to live with you without knowing everything.”
“You get what you want—your workshop—and of a sudden want to break our agreement?” Adrian sat up. “I’m sorry, Joanna. I didn’t mean that. I know how difficult this must be for you, how Andrew’s taunts must’ve heightened your curiosity. You must believe me. It’s for your own good that I don’t tell you. Can you do that?”
“I don’t know, Adrian. I just don’t know.”
Adrian heard Joanna undressing, then heard the ropes creak as she climbed back into bed. Instead of reaching for him as she usually did, Joanna turned away. He couldn’t blame her, but he needed her touch. Not in a sexual way, but as comfort to his soul.
She breathed steadily, but he knew she wasn’t asleep. The overwhelming relief he’d enjoyed all day after discovering Andrew’s secret faded to nothingness in the face of Joanna’s unhappiness.
At first, Adrian had thought he was free of the sword hanging over his head. By coming upon Andrew at that propitious but shocking moment, he’d eliminated the ever-present danger of his brother accusing him of sorcery or witchcraft. Andrew couldn’t turn him in the authorities or call him heretic now. For what sheriff or church official would give credence to the words of a known sinner who fornicated with men?
But as the day went on, Adrian realized nothing had changed.
If he told, Joanna might believe him. She might even accept his “gift.” Her understanding wouldn’t change the dangerous position such knowledge could put her in if someone else saw him in the midst of a vision. Depending on the caprice of those in authority at the time, relatives and cohorts of the accused could also be taken into custody and punished. Her not knowing might be her only hope for freedom.
Even if it cost him the incredible closeness they’d shared since his return from prison. Just being with her would have to be enough.
But what would he do if she decided to leave him?
The next day, Adrian and Joanna received a summons from the new king, Edward IV, to Baynard’s Castle, the York family’s London house by the Thames. No reason was given, so the preparations and the journey were fraught with unease. Adrian hadn’t heard from Warwick and said he had no idea why the king had asked to see him.
Joanna chafed at yet more time away from her work when she was so close to obtaining her goal. But one couldn’t say no to the king.
Margery, who didn’t seem the least upset to be left behind to work with Thomas, begged Joanna to take notes of all she saw so she could share every detail.
Joanna barely spoke during the journey. There was only one topic she wanted to discuss, and he’d refused. What more was there to say? She’d have to find a way to endure the pain his silence sparked or find a way to live without him.
Far more nobles crowded the hall than when the king had visited York, and many more women. All were dressed in the most elaborate gowns and jewels Joanna had seen. Warwick’s wife had loaned her a beautiful gown, so that instead of being out of fashion in Margery’s finest, she felt like a queen herself in a high-waisted brocade gown with a collar and train trimmed in gold thread. She wore a tall headdress with embroidered edges and a sheer gauze veil, unlike her own rounder headdress with a folded fabric roll on the top.
She wanted to take in every detail as she’d promised Margery, but her thoughts were of Adrian. He too was resplendent in borrowed finery. Warwick had loaned him a long gown and a hat with a gold brooch.
Joanna noticed other women staring at him as if he were a sweetmeat. She didn’t appreciate their interest in her husband. Though he might not be her husband for long. Even if she decided to stay, now that Adrian’s need for an heir had lessened, her hold on him was fragile at best. He wouldn’t disclose his secret, and she needed to know.
The king stood in the front of the assembly.
She’d thought Warwick imposing, but the king’s grandeur exceeded his. Edward wore a flower-patterned black and gold tunic with wide velvet cuffs and a short black collar that stood up against his neck. Across his chest rested six strands of pearls, each with an oval gold pendant studded with a huge sapphire dangling from th
e center. A black felt hat with an angled brim partially covered his wide forehead. He had reddish-brown hair just past his chin and a long nose in a long face. Handsome, but with his narrow eyes and pinched lips, the new king looked calculating. As she supposed a king should.
Adrian rose from a deep bow.
“Sir Adrian Bedford, Knight of the Garter, your friend and mine the Earl of Warwick has eloquently pled your case,” the king said. “He has told me of your contributions to my campaign and also what befell your father under Henry VI’s reign. The irony is that by refusing to fight for Henry, your father indirectly aided me.
“I believe in recompense to those who are deserving, even as I work to unearth the rest of the Lancastrian rebels. I hereby grant you an official pardon. You may return to your ancestral home, Bedford Castle. It now belongs to you and your heirs.”
He gestured to a clerk, who bowed as he handed Adrian a large piece of parchment with red wax seals dangling from the bottom.
Joanna’s heart swelled with pride. Adrian’s family name had been restored. His hard work had paid off. Now he’d move to Bedford Castle.
With or without her?
Absolute jubilation flowed through Adrian. If he hadn’t been in the king’s presence, he would’ve jumped for joy.
He’d done it. He had achieved his life’s goal. He couldn’t resist glancing at Joanna, who stood nearby with a group of women. Her face glowed with delight. His joy increased. Though he knew she remained upset with him for not telling her all, she’d set aside her anger and was happy for him. For them.
He went down on one knee at the king’s feet and bowed his head. “Your Grace, I cannot thank you enough for your kindnesses to me and my family.”
“You are most welcome, but I am not finished being kind yet.”
Those close enough to hear the king’s remark laughed.
“Rise, Lord Bedford, Baron of Haverly. For your past services to me and to secure your future aid, I ennoble you and restore you to the station of your birth. I also grant you additional lands. With the title comes three estates and their revenues.”
Adrian couldn’t believe his good fortune. “My most gracious thanks for your generosity, Your Grace.”
“I wouldn’t be on the throne if not for the assistance of men such as you,” King Edward said. “And I won’t remain here without your continued support. We shall meet again.”
Never had Adrian been happier. He’d fulfilled his obligations to his mother and grandmother. Owing to the king’s generosity, he’d be able to provide for Joanna and their children, as promised.
Adrian couldn’t wait to transform Bedford Castle into their home. He’d purchase a big bed with the softest mattress and pillows he could find for Joanna’s comfort. And garments that would enhance her beauty as did the gown she wore today. Now that he was a baron, he’d buy her jewels, too.
After bowing to the king, a group of well-wishers surrounded him. He barely heard their congratulations, for his thoughts were of Joanna and their strained relationship.
Since the eventful Corpus Christi day when she’d had the courage to ask him to reveal his secret and he’d refused to tell her, she’d spoken to him only when necessary. His lack of courage in the face of hers destroyed the closeness they’d shared. He’d faced enemies on the battlefield, where a stray crossbow could cost his life, but he couldn’t summon the backbone to deal with his own wife.
Her indifference stung like a deep, open wound.
Once he’d thought he’d never need more than to restore his family name and return to his home. Now he had far more, but jubilant as he was, something was missing. He missed his wife. He wanted Joanna’s friendship again, the happiness they’d enjoyed after his release from prison. He longed for Joanna more than he appreciated his new status.
His failure tarnished his success at court. How could he be so greedy as to want more from Joanna when he knew the circumstances keeping them apart were of his own making? Even with the bounty he’d received, he still couldn’t tell his wife about his visions. If they were discovered, he could still end up back where he started.
Awash in treason. Or dead.
After offering her congratulations, Joanna didn’t say another word to him on their journey back to York. Because he wanted all traces of Lady Anne and her son’s presence eradicated before moving to Bedford Castle, they’d returned to the rooms he’d once shared with Andrew. He couldn’t wait to leave them behind and start their life anew in a home of their own making.
Joanna was folding some things she’d brought to London when he approached her.
“I plan to visit my new estates as soon as possible. But I can wait until the guild confirms that the workshop is yours. I hope you’ll come with me so we can decide whether we want to live at Bedford Castle all the time.”
She didn’t look up. “It doesn’t matter.”
Only three words, but all she needed. He knew what she’d really said. Nothing except her work would matter to her until he disclosed the truth. He’d wanted an impersonal marriage of convenience and that’s what he’d get.
He broached another topic. “Warwick and the king look forward to receiving the windows they want you to design for them.”
“So they said.” She bent to put something in the trunk.
This was sheer torture. But he deserved every minute of it. Even so, the loss of their closeness ate at him. He should’ve added a clause requiring that.
Though she still made love with him each night, their coupling was mere sex now, and paled in comparison to the passion they’d shared. She didn’t deny him, which would violate their agreement, but neither did she give of herself or even take from him. Sex seemed to be a mere item to check off on her list of daily tasks. Get up, break the fast, visit clients, paint windows, have supper, have sex.
Adrian felt worse than the night she’d awaited him spread-eagled on the bed. He sorely missed his wife.
“I must go to my shop.” She left without looking at him.
He was alone. He rubbed his temples to alleviate a burgeoning headache. How could all he’d most wanted seem so unimportant now? Because Joanna barely spoke to him. Because she no longer shared any part of herself.
Which at this very moment was a good thing.
His head was a nail with a hammer pounding it. The fish he’d eaten threatened to leave his stomach.
Another vision.
Thank God Joanna had left. If he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he had visions, he certainly didn’t want her to witness one. He dropped to the floor, strength draining from his muscles. Iced fog twisted around him, tentacles of smoky white clutching, drawing him under. He couldn’t fight it.
A woman wearing a white gown strolled through the trees, red-gold hair shimmering in the moonlight. Joanna! His heart jumped into his throat. Her skin was translucent, her eyes vacant emeralds. She floated closer.
He held a large red flower in his hand. He wanted to give the blossom to her. Then he saw a sword protruding from her back. His sword.
He couldn’t reach her. Red oozed down her white gown, making jagged stripes.
“No!” he cried. “No!”
Splash. Splash. Drops of blood fell to the ground.
“It is over,” she murmured. “Over.”
Joanna fell face first, her descent excruciatingly slow. She landed in a pile of colorful oak leaves, sending them into the air. The leaves floated down, burying her. Only the bloodied hilt of his sword remained.
He looked at his hand, which now held a crushed flower. The sticky remains stained his fingers brilliant red.
Adrian woke before he could see more, his heart pounding, his own cry resonating in his head. He’d never had a vision about Joanna before. What danger did his dream portend? If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. How could he protect her without spending every minute by her side?
He sank back to the floor. He prayed his vision of her death wasn’t literal, but represen
ted some other peril. Maybe Andrew or John planned something. At least William was in prison. Maybe this was one of his rare figurative visions. His secrecy could represent the sword in her back and the flower her feelings for him. The vision might have revealed how he had killed their marriage and crushed her love by not telling her, no matter the ultimate cost to them both. So if he told her everything, would their marriage thrive? Or did the vision relate to the war between the Yorkists and Lancastrians?
He stayed flat on the floor, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Carefully he pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled a bit, then regained his balance.
Frustration. He could drown in it. How many times had he analyzed his visions, trying to discern their meaning before it was too late? And then spent more hours worrying, deciding if and how he could help. He slammed his fist into the wall, then swore at the pain.
He had to be calm, or he’d be of no use to anyone.
A sudden prickling at the back of his neck made him turn.
Joanna stood in the doorway, a look of horror on her face.
“What a waste of time,” Joanna muttered to herself as she hurried back to their quarters. How could she have forgotten to bring the vidimus she needed to show her new client?
She knew how. So focused was she on her disappointment in Adrian she’d left their rooms in a rush. At least Sir Darvon had been understanding and offered to wait while she returned to fetch it.
Though Adrian had encouraged the king and Warwick to order windows from her and had offered to commission windows for any of his estates to ensure that she earned enough to satisfy her father’s wishes, she wanted to succeed on her own. She certainly didn’t want to take much of anything from her husband right now. If she accepted Adrian’s money for her windows, she’d feel as though he was purchasing her acceptance of his silence. Even though she didn’t think that was his intent. Thus, she couldn’t afford such carelessness as she exhibited today. Not when she was so close to proving herself.
