From the corner of his eye Rob saw Johanna draw a deep, sad breath. Her breasts moved seductively beneath her gowns as she did so. Once again that wayward desire to touch her rose. Although he set to stamping it out, it evaded his attempts.
"His heart is broken," Johanna said of Master Colin.
Rob gratefully let himself be drawn away from his sinful preoccupation with her body. "Aye, I think so," he replied.
Here was but another proof that no good could come of caring so deeply for a woman. If they did not throw you over for another, they died, as had his mother, Johanna's mother, and, now, Mistress Katherine.
"He truly loved her, I think me." The sadness in Johanna's voice was mingled with an awed respect. Her tone grew soft and distant. "He is so noble, just like the knights in the tales the nuns tell. I think if Master Colin were a knight, he'd have done great deeds against all odds in order to win Mistress Katherine's heart."
This ridiculous comment lifted Rob from both lust and grief. For reasons beyond his ken Johanna adored those fantastic tales of knights who spent their hearts in unrequited love for an unattainable lady. More to the point, she hated to be teased about her obsession with these tales. The corners of Rob's mouth tried to rise. Ach, but there was great joy in teasing her. If he went at it long enough, he could get her to strike at him.
"Dear God in heaven," he said, laying a heavy coat of scorn atop his words, "why would you wish such a fate as knighthood on Master Colin? Better to be a pigherd than to be one of those noble thieves who tax honest tradesmen like ourselves in order to support their violent habits."
Johanna frowned at him, a storm gathering in her eyes. "Knights do not tax us, the king does. You only hate them because your father claimed you were sired by one. You know nothing of them or their way of life."
Rob looked down his nose at her. "And, you do? You said yourself once the convent began to take in merchants' daughters, the high and mighty found another place to send their own precious lasses, not wanting them contaminated by the stink of trade."
She stomped her foot in impatience, not wanting to admit her ignorance to him. "I know how they act by those tales," she cried.
"Only a lass would find anything the least bit admirable about those stories," Rob said, relieved and pleased that under her alluring exterior the real Johanna yet existed. "How is it you manage to ignore that the women whose hearts those knights seek to win are already married? Just like the whoresons they are, those noblemen are trying to tempt honest women into dishonoring their husbands and bringing ruin down upon themselves."
Johanna turned on him, the blue of her eyes brighter at the dispersion he was throwing on her fancy. "How would an apprentice like you know anything about these men and their motives? All you know how to do is call, Come mistress, come good-wife, see my fine pepper! A pence will buy you a whole corn. " It was an apt mimickry of the patter her father taught his apprentices to use.
"I can do better than that," Rob sniffed as if she'd hurt his feelings, "or have you forgotten that I now travel the fairs with your father? You should hear me at our booth calling to fine merchants and lords, alike. “ He shifted, adopting the stance Master Walter had taught him to use. “Come you, men of rich tastes. See my cumin and my coriander, smell this canel. Is it not enough to make your senses reel? And, this, my good lord, is our richest blend, made especially for those with the most discriminating of tastes. Can you smell the ginger? Do you like it hot or mild?" The chant flowed from him in a fluid, easy stream. "Hotter, is it? Then, watch as I mix in a pinch of the finest red pepper." He made the appropriate stirring motion with his hands, as if the special trough they used to mix and measure this concoction were before him. "Watch now as the red mingles with the green of the herbs and gold of our spices. Does that not just speak of sumptuous flavor? More, is it? More it is. Watch, watch now."
Johanna was trying to frown, but laughter bubbled from her. "Stop that!" she commanded him, slapping at his upper arm.
Rob hunched his shoulder as if she'd hurt him. "Hey now. Just because I think your lais foolish is no call to leave bruises."
"They aren't foolish," she protested, then stopped to stare up at him, a frown of confusion on her brow. "How do you know they are called lais?"
"Do I look like an uncouth peasant to you?" Rob retorted, lifting his nose in mock arrogance as he shifted into French. "Abbot William is so pleased with my proficiency in his native tongue that he regales me with those idiotic things."
Johanna squealed in pleasure, crying, "I forgot," in English then joined him in the language of those who ruled their land. "If you've heard the tales, then you know it's no base love these men hold in their hearts. They are content to adore from afar, living for a single glance from their lady love." A new earnestness came to life in her expression.
"And twenty years worth of messages delivered by a swan," Rob sneered. Supported by his new education in bedding, he retreated to his native tongue and offered the death blow to her argument. "I tell you, no man is content with mere glances. If he cannot tumble with that woman, he'll swiftly find himself another to take her place."
"What do you know of men," Johanna huffed and crossed her arms, her own eyes narrowing in a scorn to match his. "You are only a lad."
"I am a man, full grown," he retorted, stung by her slur. "Do I not stand as tall as your father? Has my voice not deepened?" He let it fall to its lowest tone as he spoke. "Does not a beard grow upon my face?"
"Where?" she asked, skepticism heavy in the word. The wisps of gold that were her brows rose as she awaited proof of his claim.
"I shave it off as it is not yet thick and only makes my face look dirty." He ran his fingers over his upper lip, then along his jaw to indicate where the coarse dark hair had been. It was already growing back. The stubble made his skin feel rough.
Johanna leaned toward him to squint at his face. "I see nothing. You are a lad still." Her eyes gleamed in victory.
"It is there," he protested. Not willing to let her trample his pride by pretending blindness, he grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand to his jaw. Moving her palm against his skin, he said, "See? Feel where it returns."
A tiny crease appeared between her brows as she moved her fingers across his upper lip. "You did not lie," she said in surprise.
Rob caught his breath. Sensation pulsed from where Johanna's fingertips brushed against his skin. When she moved her palm against his jawline, a wondrous thrill shot down his spine. The desire he'd failed to kill earlier leapt from a mere spark to a full-blown fire in his belly. When she drew her palm away from his face, he couldn't bear it. He caught her hand in his, lacing his fingers between hers, then drew their joined hands against his chest. As he did so she took a step nearer to him. This sent languid warmth oozing into every corner of his body.
Johanna tilted her head to look into his face. Her cheeks glowed with the same heat that filled him, making her freckles stand out like precious drops of gold. Wonder and pleasure tangled in her gaze. She took another tiny step toward him. The heat of her body embraced him. Her nearness was as intoxicating as wine. She sighed, her lips parting.
Something in Rob melted. Needing her closer still, he wrapped his arm around Johanna's waist then waited for the awkwardness that usually plagued him when he held a woman. It did not come. Instead, Johanna felt as if she belonged in his embrace. The sensation was so right it set every inch of Rob into aching awareness of her nearness.
With another sigh Johanna melded her body to his, coming so close he could feel her heartbeat against his own. Rob gasped. Where her breasts touched his chest he swore his tunic took fire.
Caught in this incredible web of pure sensation, Rob freed her hand to cup her chin in his palm. Tilting her head to his, he lowered his mouth to hers. Her eyes closed. So did his. Holding his lips still against hers, he released her chin to wrap his other arm around her until she was cradled in his embrace.
A bonfire ignited between them. His mouth moved atop
hers, his kiss growing in urgency. She responded by lacing her hands behind his neck so she might draw herself closer still. Her body slid up against his until the curve of her abdomen pressed against his already stiffening shaft. He groaned quietly against her mouth. She shivered. Rob freed an arm to slide his hand between them, cupping the amazing fullness of her breast in his hand.
"Mistress Johanna?"
Helewise's call slashed between them and they tore apart, both panting in their passion.
Shock and horror destroyed every bit of Rob's previous pleasure. He took a step back from her. How could he have let lust tease him into so dishonoring Master Walter? His heart continued its downward spiral into shame. He'd done worse than dishonor his master. Johanna was betrothed to Katel. By touching her, he'd committed adultery. Jesus God, had they been discovered they could both have been killed for this!
Johanna stared up at him. Instead of either dismay or worry, her gaze was filled with wonder and surprise. She pressed her fingers to her lips as if by doing so she could recapture the sensation of their kiss. Her eyes glowed bright blue in remembered passion.
"I come," she called to Helewise as she whirled and squeezed through the space between the distillery and the kitchen. "I was looking for Rob, thinking he'd gone to the apothecary's shop, but I cannot find him."
Rob breathed out his horror as he realized Johanna sought to shield their sin with her lie. Driven by guilt and the need to protect her false tale, he turned and raced around the house's corner, pushing through the bushes to burst out onto Market Lane. Turning away from Master Walter's house and the wide window that overlooked the street, he made his way by a circuitous route to the warehouse on the river. There, he slipped around its corner and took refuge on the stretch of riverbank he and Johanna yet called their own. Shielded by the willow branches, he dropped to sit, his back braced against the horny trunks. His emotions boiled, leaping from self-loathing to fear to the wonderful sensation of holding Johanna in his arms. And there they clung despite all his efforts to dislodge them.
If there was no awkwardness in holding her, would there also be none while laying with her? Even though his mind screamed he must not do so, his body filled with the imagined pleasure that would come from making Johanna one with him. Wanting filled him, followed by some deeper emotion he could not name. It was in the wake of this unnamed feeling that a whole new image woke in him. Last month, when Katel returned from his own, now separate, circuit of fairs, he learned that the maid who'd served his needs before his departure had been unfaithful to him. Rob had seen the girl after Katel was finished. Her nose was broken, her skin split on both brow and cheek.
As it had then, outrage filled Rob at such cruelty. Katel cared nothing for the maid or what she'd done; it was his pride the girl damaged by her betrayal. If this was what Katel did to one for whom he cared nothing, would he not do far worse to Johanna if he learned she'd touched another man?
Rage so sharp and strong it made Rob's stomach clench drove through him. Johanna deserved better than that cruel, scheming little whoreson. Why did Master Walter insist that his only child wed Katel, when he must know what sort of man his eldest apprentice was?
Rob's eyes narrowed. Well, if his master wouldn't protect his daughter, he would. Every muscle tensed as he tested the strength that resided in this new and powerful body of his. In that moment he swore to himself upon his mother's grave that he'd never allow Katel to hurt Johanna. Never.
Night had long since wrapped its dark arms about the spice merchant's house, gathering all those within its walls into slumber's gentle embrace. That was, all save Johanna. Her body was too alive with sensation to rest. Never in all her life had she dreamed that kissing could be such a heated experience. She closed her eyes, remembering the strength of Rob's arms around her, the gentleness of his mouth against hers and the incredible sensation of his body pressed to hers.
Even recalling his touch made her most private parts grow soft and warm all over again. The intensity of that warmth grew until it was almost uncomfortable. Johanna rolled onto her back in an attempt to escape it. Staring into the blackness overhead, she worked at sorting her thoughts.
Why had Rob kissed her? Her heart swelled. Because Rob loved her! No doubt, he'd loved her from the moment of their first meeting.
The excitement of being adored in secret made Johanna smile. This was just like the lais, for she was betrothed to Katel. Rob dared say no word to her of his true emotion. Surely, knowing Rob loved her would make it easier to wed Katel when the time came.
Johanna's brows drew down, and she tossed onto her side. Where once she'd loved and admired Katel, she now hated him. He was an oath breaker. While she'd kept her word, entering the convent school as she'd vowed, he hadn't kept up his end of the bargain. Although Rob said nothing to her of it, she knew Katel still tried to trick him into making mistakes. Katel was also trying to poison others against Rob. This very day, at Mistress Katherine's farewell feast no less, she'd overheard Katel speaking to several merchants. He had been slyly casting aspersions on Rob's accomplishments, the same ones her father had just finished praising. It made Rob look inept and her father a fool for believing his youngest apprentice gifted.
She shifted on her cot, once again jostling Puss. Disgruntled by all this motion, the cat gave an irate huff and rose. Gone heavy through a rich diet of Philip's scraps, the gray tom took his time stretching, as if to demonstrate how she'd hurt him after he'd so graciously agreed to sleep with her. He leapt off the cot to curl up on a pallet with a set of maids.
Johanna sighed at his departure, feeling strangely sad and lonely all at once. Across the room in his curtained bed, Papa grumbled in his sleep then loosed a loud snort. She stared at the closed curtains in fond amusement.
At least Papa wasn't in a hurry to see her wed. Tonight, as he did every time Johanna visited, Katel asked Papa to set their wedding day. And, as he did every time Katel asked, Papa refused him. This time, no doubt because she'd reached the marriageable age of ten and four, Papa had given as his excuse the fact that her education was not yet complete.
Unlike most tradesmen's daughters who learned their father's skills at his knee, Johanna was learning to read, scribe, and keep accounts. As Papa's wealth had grown, he'd invested his coins into properties, using the rents and other profits he earned from these to buy yet more warehouses and buildings. It was the skills of a steward she needed if she was to manage what her father built, leaving her husband free to concentrate on selling spices.
Still, her reprieve wouldn't last forever; the day would come when she and Katel would wed, whether she wished it or not. Years ago, she'd asked her sire to free her from their betrothal. Papa refused, telling her she'd best accustom herself to wedding Katel for the contracts were signed and the vows given. He'd gone on to say that even if he could break the betrothal, which he couldn't, he wouldn't do so. It was in joining his house to that of Katel's sire that Papa had gained access into the highest circles of trade. To break their agreement now would be bad business, indeed.
Johanna's jaw firmed in refusal. No matter what Papa said, he wouldn't wed her to Katel. He loved Rob, too. Somehow, she'd make him see that wedding her to Rob was far better than forcing her to marry Katel.
She closed her eyes with a happy sigh. Once again, her heart swelled with the wondrous torment of forbidden love. Oh, but the lasses at the convent would be positively green over this.
Stanrudde
An hour past Sext
Saint Agnes's Day, 1197
Never had Johanna heard Stanrudde so quiet. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the tub's wall and listened. From their nests in the kitchen's thatched roof mice rustled and squeaked. Water lapped gently against the sides of her wooden tub. The fire hissed and spat. That was all she heard. Although it was the midst of the day, not a single crier called out the fineness of the ale he'd tasted. Not one regrater trod the streets, trying to rid himself of the remaindered goods he'd bought from some
greater merchant.
She opened her eyes. The silence was unnerving, as if she were the only soul left alive in all the town. Even as she thought that she chided herself as a fool. A little over an hour ago,their gate bell had clanged, ringing twice in quick succession. She'd heard the gate open, then close, the bar again being dropped into place.
It had been the bell's clamor that had finally stirred her from her exhausted slumber. Johanna shook her head in amazement. Never in her life had she slept so long. Or, so deeply. So sound had her slumber been she'd heard nothing at all of those who she knew must have come into the kitchen. Wymar?
Whether or not it had been her friend their cook, she owed whoever it was a huge debt of gratitude. On the kitchen's thick worktable there stood a basket. If her eagerness to bathe kept her from looking into it, she didn't doubt it was filled with food. Beside it lay a comb and a fold of linen toweling. Even her bath had been prepared, the cold water standing in the tub needing only the addition of hot to make it bearable. That Johanna had found simmering in the single pot that now hung over the restored kitchen fire.
She smiled as she glanced at the hearth. Just as yesterday's dying kitchen blaze had reclaimed its life from the ashes, so, it seemed, had she. Her eyes narrowed in determination. Now that she again had a grasp on her future, she found she was loath to let it go even if keeping it meant she remained married to Katel for the rest of her days.
For the first time since her return to Stanrudde, Johanna pondered her husband's threat against her. The probability of his success seemed so unbelievable. No matter what lies Katel might tell, a whole convent full of nuns would testify there had been no adultery.
A Love For All Seasons Page 18
