That only made Josce smile. “I am the last one to ever underestimate Lady Beatrice’s scorn, having lived so long with her dislike.”
“She dislikes you?” Elianne cried, her brow creased as if the thought of anyone disliking him was impossible.
Josce winked at her. “You speak without thinking, ‘Lianne. Remember that I’m my sire’s bastard, the boy-child Beatrice failed to provide for his line.”
To his surprise, all the worry and fear fled Elianne’s face. Her eyes narrowed as she drew herself up in new outrage. “How dare she despise you for your birth! As if you had any choice in it. Better that she hate your sire for the adultery he must have committed to get you than blame you for something over which you had no control.”
Only his ‘Lianne would think it wrong that a bastard be blamed for his birth. Her defense of his existence stirred a strange sensation within Josce. He swore he felt his heart open. Then, before he knew what happened, he felt the sheriff’s daughter step inside that organ. It snapped shut upon her heels as if it meant to keep her there forever after.
Another surge of desire followed, this wave so strong it shook him. There was nothing at all of lust to this emotion. Instead, what he craved was to wake up each and every morning to find ‘Lianne at his side. He wanted to know she pined for him when his knightly duties took him from her. He wanted to watch her belly swell as she gave life to his children. It was permanence and life-long commitment he desired of the sheriff’s daughter.
Unnerved, Josce released her hand and stepped back from her. She gave a quiet cry and reached for him as if to draw him back to her, only to think better of it an instant later. As her hands fell to her sides, Elianne’s chin tightened. The sorrow returned to her face.
Once more awed by the depth of her honesty, Josce sighed. It was painted on her face for him to read; she’d let him leave her without complaint, both now and later, when he departed Knabwell for the final time after exposing her father and ruining her life. Aye, and she’d thank him for what he’d done, because that was the sort of woman ‘Lianne was.
She tried to smile. “You cannot know how grateful I am for all the care you’ve shown me. May I repay your gift with one of my own? Let me serve you as you prepare for your trip.”
Of a sudden Josce gave thanks for Perrin’s presence. To extend this moment with Elianne was dangerous indeed, especially in his increasingly muddled emotional state. “There’s no need. My servant has already retrieved my belongings from Coneytrop and now waits for me here in Knabwell. Better that you go home and keep yourself safe so I need not worry over you any longer as I depart the town.”
“If that’s what you’d have me do,” Elianne said, disappointment filling her words.
That meant the time for parting had come. Neither one of them moved. A moment passed.
The need to kiss her grew until it overwhelmed his sense. He leaned toward her. She sighed, her hands coming to rest against his chest. Her head lifted toward his.
“For God’s sake and mine, man, move your horse before he does damage to my goods!” the cloth merchant shouted, leaning out of his shop window to shake a fist in their direction.
Josce jerked upright. Elianne offered him a quick, sad smile, then darted around his mount and onto the street. He followed, leading his horse. As Josce threaded his way through the city’s daily traffic after her, he watched Elianne.
Her no-nonsense pace gave a capable twitch to her skirts. Her plaits gleamed a honey-brown against her green-clad back. Green was a good color for her, for it made her eyes seem greener still. Aye, but that gown was too plain, the fabric being only wool with nary a stitch of embroidery to decorate it. After they were married he’d see to it she had another, better gown made in just that shade.
After they were married? The thought brought him up short. His horse snorted at the abrupt halt, then nudged Josce’s back with his nose as if to prod his master back into motion. Like a man trapped in a dream, Josce came around the beast to mount. Yet stunned, he turned the creature toward Alfred’s shop.
How easily he planned for a future he’d never own. It was time to end this now, before he weakened his vow or betrayed his sire.
It was easy enough to do. In another half-hour he’d leave Knabwell, its sheriff and his daughter. If Josce’s journey provided the proof he needed to demand justice, there was no reason for him to ever return here, certainly not to fulfill his vengeance.
In all truth, if Josce found what he needed, the best place for him was in Westminster at court. By law, du Hommet had to appear there by Michaelmas, the twenty-ninth day of September. As Josce stood before the king’s justices and the nobles of this land, if not John himself, he could present what evidence he’d discovered. If his proof served, no man would refuse Josce the chance to challenge du Hommet on the field, and serve justice with his sword.
Not even on his stepmother’s behalf did Josce need to return to Knabwell. If Beatrice yet ailed by September’s end, then she could move to the priory. If she was recovered, then Nick could escort her home to Haydon.
Josce’s heart protested against this plan. He paid it no heed. It would be better for both him and Elianne if he never returned.
Dressed in only the woolen garments he wore beneath his mail with his surcoat belted atop it for the time being, Adelm strode up Baker’s Walk toward the priory. This, when he should have already donned his chain mail and broadsword, and been an hour outside of Knabwell on his way to Westminster to rent Reiner’s housing for the Michaelmas court.
Years ago, his sire had made the finding of temporary court residence Adelm’s task. And a good thing it was that he’d done so. Because of Reiner’s accidental foresight, no one at Knabwell had yet questioned why Adelm’s missing twelve hadn’t returned from the chores that had supposedly kept them busy in the shire’s south. Why should they, when waiting to join their captain as he rode toward London made far better sense?
Now all Adelm need do was meet his phantom troop on his way to Westminster and London. Once he and their ghosts reached that filthy city, Adelm would release his already dead men to visit London’s stews. There these hapless souls would fall victim to some whore’s disease and make their second and final departure from this earth.
Of the men who had survived the battle with Lord Haydon, most used the morn’s unexpected delay to say another farewell to any loved ones they had in Knabwell. None of them planned to return from London. Instead, they’d take leave of the sheriff’s service, dispersing for new and safer pastures.
Adelm himself wasn’t so sanguine over another hour spent in Knabwell. All the extra time did was give him longer to fret over the possibility of Reiner’s betrayal.
Once Adelm took leave of his sire, there was no hope of controlling Reiner. Without his son to monitor him, would Reiner’s panic worsen until he revealed all to Haydon’s bastard? Adelm rejected this with a shake of his head. No matter how anxious Reiner got, he’d never willingly implicate himself. As long as those spices remained hidden, Reiner couldn’t escape blame for their scheme.
Would Reiner recruit another to retrieve and destroy the spices for him? Again, Adelm rejected the idea. Who could Reiner trust with such a secret? No one, not when it doubled Reiner’s risk of exposure and betrayal.
The possibility that his father might recruit someone to do the task, then end that unfortunate’s life awoke, only to ebb into the realm of impossibility in the next instant. At any other time of the year Reiner might have tried it, but not just before a court appearance. This time of year, a sheriff was in such great demand that he owned no privacy, and that made secret murder difficult.
Nay, it all came back to one thing. As long as Reiner remained physically incapable of retrieving what Adelm had hidden for him, then Adelm was safe.
He glanced up at the road ahead of him. Riding down to the fork of Baker’s Walk and Priory Lane came a nun mounted on a donkey. One of the priory’s menservants walked at the wee beastie’s side, servi
ng as the sister’s escort.
Even at a distance and with a wide-brim straw hat to disguise her face, Adelm recognized his mother. It was the way Amabella sat upon her little mount that identified her, her spine lance straight, her body held aggressively forward in the saddle. Adelm wondered if the other nuns ever saw the carefully controlled rage his mother ever wore like a cloak.
Although Adelm had no doubt that beneath Amabella’s hat brim she watched him as closely he did her, she gave him no sign that she recognized him. Nor would she. As always they’d play the parts she scripted for them in her message. He strode on until they were nearly abreast of one another, then lifted his hand as if to hail her.
“Sister Cellaress,” he called. “Good morrow to you.”
“Why, Sir Adelm,” Amabella cried, as if surprised to find him on the lane, drawing her donkey to a halt in preparation for a bit of dialogue.
As she stopped, Adelm threw the convent’s manservant a sharp, swift glance. There was nothing to read in the man’s face regarding this chance encounter save boredom. It was a testimony to Amabella’s caution that no one connected to the priory yet realized that none of her supposedly happenstance meetings were ever what they seemed.
“I hope you weren’t coming to the priory expecting to see me this morn,” Amabella said, her tone sober, even chiding. “Mother Gertha has made it clear she’ll have none of the lord sheriff’s men upon our grounds.”
“So I’m given to understand,” Adelm replied. Having seen the prioress’s explosion and edict for himself, that was an understatement. “How angry is she, sister? So much so that I couldn’t trade upon my familiarity with your house and Mother Gertha for a religious purpose? I hoped she’d allow me the use of her church.” Here he deviated from his mother’s script. “Before I leave for Westminster and court I’d like to light candles and pray on behalf of the sweet Ladies Haydon.”
With Amabella not but two yards from him, he couldn’t miss the frown that flashed across her face. She didn’t like it when he surprised her. Not that she could complain about what he’d said. It served her need well enough.
Amabella shook her head. “You may ask but I doubt she’ll allow it, even though she herself says prayer is to be encouraged in all men.” With that, she gasped and looked at her escort.
“God in His heaven, how could I have forgotten?” she cried prettily to the man. Reaching to her belt, she unwound a rosary.
“Sister Margery left her beads at Matins service this morn. I tucked them in my belt for her, then forgot to return them before departing. This is the third time I’ve done that. I vow I’m becoming as addlepated as she.”
Amusement shot through Adelm. Three times had his mother pilfered the old nun’s prayer beads as a ruse to be alone with her son. Of course, it helped that Sister Margery was always losing the strand, along with everything else she owned. The entire convent from the prioress to the lowliest of scullery lads watched for Margery’s belongings, often finding them in the most surprising of places.
Shifting in her saddle, Amabella thrust the strand at the servant. “Hamo, while Sir Adelm is here to bear me company run them back for me. There’s no need to find Sister Margery. Just leave them with Sister Portress.”
The whole while Amabella addressed the man, her gaze never came to rest upon the servant’s face. Adelm glanced at Hamo. The blankness of the man’s expression said he didn’t appreciate the cellaress’s attitude, just as it also said he knew better than to expect anything else, at least from this nun. Perhaps it was because of Adelm’s own isolation from those around him, but his mother’s arrogance troubled him. She, who’d been humbled by both her family and her lover, ought to be more compassionate toward those beneath her, more like Elianne.
As Hamo took the strand and turned to trot back toward the priory, Adelm caught the stolid little donkey’s bridle. Amabella’s seat in the creature’s saddle brought them almost eye-to-eye. There was no mistaking his mother’s need to vent what stewed in her. It glowed like sin in her dark gaze. Adelm led the small creature to the side of the lane where they’d be out of traffic’s way, as well as out of earshot. When they stopped he looked at his mother.
“So, let it spill. What boils so hotly in you that you’d call me to you this morn, when you know I should be gone from here for both our sakes?”
“I cannot believe what’s happened,” his dam hissed in return. “All is ruined! We’re finished.”
Her words sent a shaft of fear through Adelm. Once again, Death panted behind him, eager to steal the breath from his lungs. Not yet! He wasn’t ready.
The sensation ebbed almost as swiftly as it had come. That was a lie. He was ready to die; he’d been ready from the moment he’d turned his back on Sir Josce and left Coneytrop’s hall last night.
Adelm relaxed in acceptance of his own death. As that happened he sorted through what his mother said. It wouldn’t be a threat of exposure that had her so upset. Had it been, Amabella would never have arranged this meeting. Instead, she’d have swiftly and brutally cut her only child from her life to save herself. So, it was some other kink in her plan that tormented her.
“What’s happened?” Adelm prodded.
“I only received the message yesterday after Vespers. That bitch’s son who was my uncle had the nerve to die three weeks past,” she fair snarled. “How could he do this to me before I could transfer your wealth to you as we planned? Now, instead of getting what you need through his will all you receive is the ten virgates of farm land and the mill my dam purchased for you upon your birth.”
Adelm blinked. He had an inheritance, one he hadn’t needed to steal? For reasons he couldn’t begin to name, this pleased him well, indeed. Ten virgates was a good-sized plot, more than enough to support a peasant family, while a mill meant consistent income. A sense of sadness followed. They were his, but he would never own them, for his life was ending.
But Elianne’s wasn’t. Adelm nearly smiled. When he died, what was his would pass to Elianne. Better yet, what he gave her would be as honest and clean as she, untainted by any of the wrong he’d done in his life. It was perfect. With this little bit of land and income, Elianne could buy herself a home within some other convent’s walls if Mother Gertha wouldn’t have her.
“How dare that old numbskull leave this earth before he served me as he should?” his mother was ranting, her tirade delivered at a whisper. “By God, but those paltry fields wouldn’t even lift you above Reiner’s pig-kissing sons-by-marriage.”
Adelm ignored her complaint. “Why does this vex you? We still have what you sent to London, unless it’s gone astray.”
“Have it?” This would have been a screech had she not been whispering. “We no longer have anything.”
That caught Adelm’s attention. “My uncle would steal from his own kin?” he demanded. Was there no family in the world that didn’t turn on itself, parents eating their own young, the young battling between themselves over what belonged to the other?
Amabella sent him an impatient look. “Not steal it, but he’ll keep it for his life’s time. Ach, this is my own fault. In my hurry to see your wealth transferred and my certainty that my uncle might yet serve me, I didn’t think to consider other ways to pass it to you. With my uncle now dead, only Gerard’s estate can serve us, his wealth vast enough that no one might comment when a goodly portion goes to his bastard nephew. And therein lies the problem.”
Amabella paused to scrub a hand over her brow. “Gerard is only a few years my elder. He could live far too long for our purposes.”
She grimaced. “May God take him! But while he lives, he’ll have the use of what should be yours. As the years pass, he’ll turn himself a right pretty profit. Your profit. Damn, damn. I know what he’ll do with it. He’ll use what should have been your wealth to advance not one, but both his daughters into elevated marriages.”
It was pure hatred that took fire in Amabella’s dark eyes. Her hands tightened into fists. “I came so clos
e. I won’t be cheated now of what I want,” she muttered, her voice held to a bare under breath.
This was another stark reminder to Adelm that he wasn’t Amabella’s first concern. She didn’t care that her child might be cheated. All that mattered was that her long-savored plan to avenge herself on her sire had been thwarted.
Bitterness twisted in the pit of Adelm’s stomach. As it was with his father, so it was with his mother. Each put their own needs ahead of their child, each finding in their son just the tool they needed to help them achieve their own aims.
When Amabella’s head again lifted, her gaze was intense. “Nay, I won’t let this happen. You will marry upward before either those bitches of his do. Here’s how you’ll wrench your wealth out of his control.” She leaned toward him to keep her next words private. “When you reach Westminster you’ll travel to London and visit my brother.”
That took Adelm by surprise. Until this moment Amabella had adamantly insisted that he not visit her relatives. She claimed caution as the reason. The farther apart all those involved in this scheme remained, the less chance there was to connect them should any one portion of what they did be revealed.
“Tell him you’ve come to settle your portion of my uncle’s estate,” Amabella instructed. “Inform my foul sibling that I said those acres and that mill are to be immediately sold. To my brother’s amazement the sale will turn him and you an unexpected profit. In fact, the profit will be the exact value of all I sent him, less his own fee, of course. You may tell him he can have double my uncle’s usual percentage.”
Adelm shook his head at her words. He didn’t want to sell his inheritance. He couldn’t, not if Elianne was to have it.
At the movement of his head, his mother’s confidence slipped. “Ach, you’re right. It’s too easy to discern in a sale that he’s transferring untoward profit. Were he another man, Gerard might risk it, but my brother is too great a worm.”
The Warrior's Maiden (The Warriors Series Book 2) Page 19
