The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  From beneath the sadness came a sharp thrust of pain. Helewise had begun planning Johanna's wedding. Rob leaned heavily upon his broom, fighting the anger that followed pain. Johanna shouldn't have to marry that whoreson. Katel would never honor her the way a man should his wife.

  Only then did Rob realize where his wayward thoughts were once again leading him. Even as he chided himself for the wrong he did, he could not stop himself. It wasn't just his body that had betrayed him with Johanna, it was his heart. Against all that was right and proper, he loved his master's daughter.

  Nay, it was more than that. He needed her. From their earliest years he'd found such joy in sharing his triumphs with Johanna. More than even Master Colin, Johanna took great pride in his accomplishments. It was her praise and excitement over his achievements that kept him strong against Katel's constant, secret belittling.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as the pain outstripped his sadness. Johanna, and how she made him special in her life, was more precious to him than any riches he could imagine. Although he might survive the loss of his trade and his master, the thought of losing her was tearing him in two.

  From beyond the warehouse's wall he caught the sound of someone running. Whoever it was stopped along the river's edge. Rob frowned. Any other day he wouldn't have minded sharing this place with another. Just now, he craved complete privacy in which to cherish his mournful thoughts.

  Not bothering to don either shirt or tunic, he set the broom into the corner and turned to the threshold of the water door. Here the river's bank was cut away to allow those barges bearing goods for Master Walter to dock before the opening. Water lapped at the warehouse's foundation, murky and swirling against the current.

  He leapt from the threshold to the bank, landing upon the same spot that Johanna had once named hers. Gone was the shallow hole that had served them as a private place in those earlier years. The willows now owned it, their roots having spread across the surface to pry at the warehouse's foundation.

  The memory of the first time he and Johanna came here rolled over him. It had been to protect him that she'd kicked that regrater. This almost made him smile; then the sadness returned. She'd protect him no longer, nor he her.

  He kicked once at the twisted and woody ground then eased around the gnarled trunks. Crossing the bank, his footsteps absorbed by its thick carpet of moss, he peered through the cascading willow branches at the river's edge. There was a flash of blue beyond the waterfall of green and gold.

  "Whoever you are, be gone with you," he called out. "This stretch belongs to Master Walter, and you may not trespass."

  Rather than depart, there was a rustling in the foliage. Johanna pushed through the thick layer of branches. He stared at her in shock and not a little horror. For the first time in three years, she'd left her father's house without an escort. They were alone.

  For months, ever since Mistress Katherine's funeral feast, he'd avoided being alone with Johanna. That did not mean he'd escaped her. Nay, not at all. She, and the wondrous feeling of her in his arms, haunted his dreams. Mornings found his shaft hard and aching for her.

  As she stepped into the inner reaches of the trees, she let the branches fall behind her, concealing them from the outer world. The persistent mist left dark spots on her pale blue gowns, the damp silk clinging here and there to the slender line of her body. Loosened by her run, careless tendrils of bright golden-red hair escaped her plait to curl around her face and shoulders.

  "What are you doing here?" he cried out, taking a backward step as he considered the valor of racing back into the warehouse and barring the door on her.

  "Oh, Rob," she cried, her voice tiny with pain.

  Worry against his reaction to her died. Seven years had passed, but he still remembered the despair of finding himself orphaned. "You have seen your father," he said softly.

  She took a step toward him. Rob caught his breath. Sorrow made the lines of her face seem all the more delicate. Her mouth softened as her lips trembled. Tears shimmered in her eyes until they were bluer than blue.

  "No one told me," she breathed, then bit her bottom lip to still its quiver. When she was successful, she continued. "Why did none of you tell me?" Anger's edge touched her voice.

  "He would not let us," he said. "He was certain he would recover and did not wish to worry you."

  If tears yet trembled in her eyes, bright pink spots took sudden life in her pale cheeks, making her freckles stand out in sharp relief. "I thought you were my friend," she shouted as her fists clenched. "You should have told me! How could you leave me in ignorance?"

  "Johanna, he bid me to silence," he tried to explain, but she threw herself at him, slamming a fist against his bare chest.

  Rob cried out, not so much hurt as surprised at her attack. He caught her by the wrist. "Johanna," he protested. Her retort was to send her other fist crashing into his shoulder. This time it did hurt.

  "Cease I say," he snapped at her, grabbing her other wrist. Holding her hands captive, he glared down at her. "I told you he bid me say nothing. I will not defy your father, not even to please you."

  She said nothing, only tried to wrench free of his grasp. He tightened his grip, determined to hold her until she calmed. As they fought in silence the sky above them opened. Not even thickly knit willow branches could stop what swiftly became a steady, soaking rain.

  The moisture was cold against his skin. It filled her gowns, until they lay plastered to her body. Still, she fought him, writhing and pulling, not to escape him, but to lay yet more blows. Aye, she was strong, but he was by far the stronger. Once again, Rob tightened his grip on her wrists in the demand that she recognize this.

  "Cease," he warned. "I will not let you go, not until you give me your word you'll strike me no longer."

  At this, she drew a deep and ragged breath. And kicked him. Hard.

  He yelped against the bruising blow. "The devil take you," he shouted, giving her a sharp shake. "You will cease!"

  She chose that moment to strain back from him with all her might. In the next instant she was falling, pulling him down with her. Thinking to catch himself, he released her arms, but not soon enough. Johanna gasped as she hit the mossy earth, then again as he fell atop her.

  The rain beat down on his back. Digging his fingers into the vibrant green of the moss, Rob pushed himself up on his hands and knees over her. "Have you gone mad!" he shouted, angry at her for both hurting him and making him hurt her.

  She made a small and helpless sound. Rob stared down at her. Hair, turning the color of honey as it dampened, trailed in wet strands across her face. Her mouth trembled. The expression in her eyes was so lost and alone, his anger died.

  "Oh Rob, I am so afraid," she breathed, her hands coming to rest on his bare chest. Sobbing, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close to her.

  Every muscle in Rob's body tensed to leap up from her, he swore it was so. Save that his legs slid against the wet moss. As he settled atop her his thighs parted, his hips coming to rest neatly against hers. With naught but thin, wet silk between her and him, he could feel her breasts against his chest. This woke his shaft, sending fire, hot beyond all toleration, raging through him. Without thinking what he did, he relaxed until he lay full atop her, the way a man laid atop the woman he meant to love. As had happened before, she fit against him as if they were created one for the other. Desire went soaring beyond his ability to ever catch it back.

  She shuddered beneath him, and her movement sent a matching thrill of passion through him. Her hold around his neck eased as she caught back a sob. Bracing his forearms at either side of her shoulders, he lifted himself slightly to look down into her face. Tears yet filled her eyes, but the color in her cheeks held new heat. There was no fear in her eyes as she looked up at him, only wonder. She lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips.

  The touch of her flesh to his made him catch his breath. As she echoed his quiet gasp, her breasts moved against hi
s chest. The heat within his belly went to boiling.

  She moved her fingers across his face, tracing the line of his cheek. Her lips parted as she did so, as if the very feel of his skin were making her melt. Catching a strand of his hair, she pressed it into a damp curl against his cheek then let her finger follow the line of his jaw.

  When he could bear her touch no longer, he lowered his head and rested his mouth on hers. Her lips yielded to his then her whole body softened beneath him. In the next instant, she cradled him against her.

  Feeling tumbled atop feeling. Rob forgot the rain that chilled his skin. He forgot that this was the one woman he mustn't touch. All that mattered was that she was his.

  Reaching down, he caught a fistful of her gowns and pulled. She lifted her hips to aid him. Not only did her gowns move upward, but her motion sent yet another wave of passion through him.

  She tore her mouth free of his. "Wait," she breathed.

  Rob growled in refusal, kissing at her neck, then her ear. He eased downward, lowering his head until he caught the tip of one breast in his mouth, sucking at it despite the wet silk that lay in his path. She cried out in pleasure and arched beneath him.

  Again, he reached down for her gowns. This time, his hand met the bare flesh of her thigh. Her skin was smooth and soft beneath his palm. It was beyond his ability to stop himself. His hand slid upward along her leg toward her nether lips.

  She trembled beneath him at this caress, breathing in sharp small gasps. When he rubbed his finger against the most private of her places, she cried out in wonder and lifted her hips. "Again," she begged softly. "Touch me again."

  Her words made his shaft strain at the harsh wool that contained it. Easing back to kneel atop her thighs he did as she commanded. She panted against the caress, her hips moving in glorious mimicry of lovemaking. Each motion sent the heat in him raging ever higher.

  He slid his finger into her. She threw back her head and cried out in delight. In wonder, he caressed her in this way, letting her movements and cries drive his own need for her almost beyond bearing. When he could tolerate it no longer he eased to the side. Tearing at the waist string of his chausses, he shucked the garment, shoes and all. Ah, but it wasn't enough that he was bare. The need to see all of her made him strip off the belt that bound her garments to her waist. As he reached for her hems, meaning to remove her gowns she sat up, lifting her arms to aid him.

  It was in appreciation that Rob stared at her when she was bare, her forgotten garments slipping from his hands. The rain gleamed against her white skin, laying a glistening trail of moisture through the valley between her breasts. It caught in glittering droplets on the golden hair that curled over her nether lips. Reaching out, he cupped the fullness of her breasts in his palms then moved his thumbs against their soft pink peaks.

  Shivering, she shifted and leaned toward him, resting her forehead against his shoulder as she laid her hands against his chest. He caught his breath and closed his eyes when she turned her head to press her mouth against his throat. Her palms slid against his wet skin and she drew her hands steadily lower, her mouth traced a heated line up his neck. When she nuzzled at a place just below his ear, her fingers dropped lower still until she explored the hard length of his shaft.

  It was Rob's turn to tremble. He was panting and nigh on blind with sensation when he finally caught her by the wrists to make her cease. She looked up at him in question.

  Pressing his mouth to hers, he again straddled her hips, then eased her backward, her wrists yet held tightly in his hands. When she once more lay beneath him he stretched out full-length atop her. Again, her body softened beneath him, their two forms melding in preparation for becoming one.

  His mouth took hers, his kiss scalding in its demand that she release possession of herself to him. She moaned beneath his onslaught and yielded, her thighs parting. His shaft entered her and found the barrier of her maidenhead.

  The shock of resistance, one with which he had no experience, made him tear his mouth from hers. Freeing her wrists, he began to push away from her. Johanna cried softly and caught her arms around his neck. Recapturing his mouth with her own, she moved against his shaft in invitation.

  "Johanna," he breathed in protest against her lips. He could not take her. Whether he accepted it or not, she belonged to another.

  Still, she moved against him. His heart broke. God and men had erred when they gave her to Katel. Within him grew the ferocious need to keep her as his own. If he was to do so, it was more than this they must share.

  "Nay!" he insisted, threading his fingers through her hair to gain her attention. She made a tiny sound of protest and opened her eyes.

  "I would make you my wife," he begged. "Say you will agree. Make your vow to God and me, telling me you will love me always."

  Her smile was beautiful as she relaxed beneath him. "Aye, I will have you to husband." Her words were yet breathless with passion. "From this moment forward, I am your wife. My heart is yours, so I swear before God and all His saints."

  He touched his mouth to hers. "And, you are my wife, mine to keep and hold safe. So, I swear this day, may God strike me dead if I break my word."

  "Love me, Rob," she breathed against his mouth. "Love me as I love you."

  This time, when she moved against him there was no need to resist. She was his wife. His mouth slashed across hers. As he shifted forward, desperately needing entry, she thrust upward. What she should have given to Katel, she gave instead to him.

  Passion raged in him as the warm tightness of her body closed around him. She cried out beneath him, lifting herself to accept him within her. He moved to thrust within her once again, then again. With each and every stroke, he lay his mark upon her, making her his for all time. And, by the time he'd spilled his seed, she had made him hers.

  Stanrudde

  The hour of Vespers

  Saint Agnes's Day, 1197

  "Mistress, we can stay here no longer,” Leatrice warned softly, her fear over a repeat of last night's violence deepening with the shadows. "Night will soon be upon us."

  Johanna glanced at her, then back to Stanrudde's tiny keep tower atop its tall mound. Caught within the circle of the wooden wall around it, the keep's yellowish stones glowed a warm orange-gold in the setting sun, the dying day already casting the hall that sprang from its side into darkness. "Not yet."

  "When then?" Leatrice's words were a quiet moan.

  Although they stood as far as they could from the keep and still see it, that was still too close to the crowd for Leatrice’s comfort. For the whole of this afternoon her voice had barely lifted from a whisper as if she thought a loud cry would spur folk to violence. Despite this, her terror of being alone was the greater; it kept her close to her former mistress.

  "Soon," Johanna replied, her attention focused on the tower as if by will alone she'd keep her Rob safe. "Soon."

  It was only as she repeated the word that she recognized the truth in Leatrice’s complaint. Yesterday's lesson was yet fresh in her mind. It wasn't safe for a woman, or even two, to travel unescorted on the streets. They would have to make their retreat before full darkness.

  Her heart clenching at the thought of leaving Rob alone in his imprisonment, Johanna lifted her gaze to the tower's roof. There were but two armed men atop the keep. Only three more guarded the gate. How could their captain believe so few would be enough to protect Rob against so many?

  As she had every quarter hour since she began her long vigil, she scanned the mob that filled the short stretch of frosty grass between her and Rob. No longer was this crowd made up of only the humble, hungry folk who had attacked her. Many of those here were drawn from the ranks of Stanrudde's middling merchants. They wore brightly colored gowns and tunics all in good repair, although their attire lacked the fur trim or golden bits their betters affected. Until yesterday these unfortunates had believed they would survive the winter with life and limb intact, if somewhat leaner. Last even's riot had stolen
from many of them trade, home, family, or supplies, shoving them into reach of death's cold grip.

  Although their chanted calls for Rob's death had quieted, their need to repay the one they believed at the root of their own annihilation bound them here. With each passing moment a new fire appeared on some makeshift hearth as folk set themselves to keep watch throughout the night. This they did against the possibility that the council they no longer trusted meant to spirit away the prisoner under cover of darkness.

  "Mistress," Leatrice began again, her voice softening in a try at persuasion, "if he's to hang, it'll be done when all can see. He is safe enough until the morrow." Although Johanna had said nothing to Leatrice of Rob or her worry for him, the maid had drawn her own conclusions.

  It was Leatrice's bid at comfort, along with the worry that there was nothing she could do to stop what happened here, that set Johanna's tongue in motion. "Katel did this," she breathed in pain. "I do not know how or what he did, but somehow Katel has made this happen."

  "The master did this?" It was a sharp question. Leatrice's gaze darted across the crowd as if assessing just what it was her mistress thought her master had done. "Do you mean he caused the riot?"

  Johanna nodded in silence, rendered speechless by her need to see Rob. She ached to touch him, to prove to herself that he was yet whole and unharmed. To leave this place before she'd done so was unbearable.

  What she wanted was impossible. Twice, a cart had tried to approach the tower, no doubt containing supplies for the prisoner. Both times, the mob had refused to allow it to pass. Later, a group of councilmen, Katel not in their number, had tried to talk to the crowd, only to be sent running. How could she expect to accomplish what they could not?

  "You are certain the master has done this?"

  Johanna tore her gaze from the tower to look at Leatrice. The girl now wore Watt's mantle, while Johanna hid her own features beneath the shield of Leatrice's hooded cloak. The exchange of garments had occurred when the crowd began to call for the death of the councilmen and their families. No longer did the maid's pretty face reflect fear. In its place was an unusual depth of consideration.