A Love For All Seasons

by Denise Domning

  "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.

  "Leave it be," Johanna begged quietly, her words breaking against the pain in her heart.

  Of this morn's hope and confidence none was left. She was too late to stop Katel, her opportunity to save Rob having come and gone in yesterday's fit of pique. All she could now hope for was heavenly intervention. As much as Johanna wanted to believe that the Lord God would intercede on behalf of an innocent man, it was very difficult to hold onto that in the face of the crowd's determination to see him dead. What if the Almighty was as blind as she'd been to Rob's plight?

  It was in the forlorn hope she might prod the heavens to move that she murmured, "Oh Leatrice, I have a terrible need to pray."

  "Do you love him so much then?" the maid replied, her expression filled with the shared understanding of a woman's heart. Although Johanna made her no response, Leatrice loosed a friendly sigh and, as equal to equal, tucked her hand into the bend of her former mistress's arm. "Come then. Mayhap if we go together to St. Stephens, the father will let us stay the night." Turning, she led the taller woman down the lane.

  They had nearly reached the church when they came upon the same cart that had twice tried to breach the crowd. This time there were a goodly fifteen men gathered at its head, with at least as many at its rear. Although a cloth stretched over a frame over its bed hid what the cart contained, it did not conceal the three women who perched at its front edge. It was Mistress Alwyna, widow to Peter the Wool Merchant and mother of the crippled councilman, who sat there, two whimpering maids at her side.

  "Be still," the widow snapped at one maid as that one vented a terrified moan. "The crowd has thinned, and we have trebled our men. They'll neither stop us nor do us any harm."

  Johanna's need to see Rob soared. In its wake all thought of discretion was forgotten. If that cart was going to the tower, she was going with it.

  Tearing free of Leatrice, she darted toward the party. She was yet yards from her destination when one of those guarding the widow stepped out to stop her. One glance at her own gowns and humble cloak placed her
with those in the field in his mind. He shifted to keep himself between the one he protected and a potential attacker. "Stand aside," he demanded brusquely.

  Finding her path blocked only sent Johanna's need to reach Rob to greater heights. It was with more passion than sense that she called out, "Mistress Alwyna, I pray you for the sake of my son and for your husband who was his godfather, might I speak to you a moment?"

  "Drive on," the man shouted to the one goading the oxen.

  "Nay!" The widow's strong voice preempted the command as she leaned over the cart's edge. Peering through the gathering gloom, she tried to identify the one who'd called her. "Who is there? Come forward so I might see you."

  "Have you taken leave of your senses?" Leatrice cried softly, having finally caught up to Johanna. "When they try to force themselves through that crowd they'll all be killed."

  The maid's words rang in Johanna's ears, keeping her where she stood, but not for the reason Leatrice named. If she approached, the widow would surely call aloud her identity. Once that happened, all hope of seeing Rob died. Despite the number of its inhabitants, Stanrudde remained like unto a small town. Rumor moved faster than a fire through dry thatch. This attempt could do nothing but convict her when Katel loosed his accusation.

  Still, her heart's hungering to see Rob was the stronger. If she died for it, so be it, but there was no sense in being foolish about it. Johanna yanked her cloak's hood even lower on her brow.

  "Go to her," she quietly begged Leatrice. "Whisper to her who it is that pleads for her ear, bidding her not to reveal my identity. Do this for me, and I vow to you, I'll go from great house to great house until I find someone to give you and your child home and hearth."

  Leatrice shot her a startled look, then her eyes came to life with gratitude. With a swift nod, she hied herself to the cart's side as quickly as the child within her would allow. Johanna watched Mistress Alwyna lean down as Leatrice stretched upward to the limits of her short height. In the next instant the widow's head reared back.

  "Who?" the old woman cried out, a strange tone to her astonishment. She swiveled to once again peer into the shadows, seeking out the features hidden beneath Johanna's hood. "Come forward, then," she commanded, but there was hard suspicion in her voice.

  Hope faltered in Johanna at the woman's odd reaction to her name. She had remembered Mistress Alwyna as friendly and kind. True, Johanna and the wool merchant's family had had little dealings after her son had been apprenticed. A few years later, Peter the Wool Merchant had died, ending all contact. No matter. She'd come too far to retreat because of an odd tone of voice.

  Bowing her head, Johanna slipped past the men, not lifting her chin again until she'd stopped at the cart's side. For a moment, Mistress Alwyna simply stared at her, the woman's eyes widening at finding the spice merchant's wife's hair uncovered, then narrowing again at the threadbare gowns. At last, she leaned back a little on her perch.

  "For what reason do you stop me?" she asked, her voice low, her tone yet wary.

  "Please," Johanna said, keeping her words quiet, "you are for the tower. Take me with you. I must speak with the one held captive there."

  The widow's brows drew down, her face the picture of distrust. "To what purpose?"

  Confusion grew in Johanna at such hostility. Against it, she guessed she'd have but one chance to plead her case. She hesitated, carefully planning what she would say so it would satisfy the widow without revealing Katel's impending charge of adultery. Mistress Alwyna wouldn't wish to abet ones she believed to be illicit lovers.

  "It is my husband," Johanna said, straining to make certain her words remained private between the two of them. "I fear he may have done something that has caused the Grossier of Lynn to be arrested and threatened with death. Help me to speak with Master Robert so I might do what I can to protect an innocent man. It is against the possibility my husband might have done no wrong that I beg you not to reveal what I do this night."

  Johanna's spirits fell as she finished. This wasn't going to work. Katel had been too effective in convincing all of Stanrudde that he was no threat to anyone. Who would believe their amiable spice merchant capable of such evil?

  Mistress Alwyna's face softened. "Well now, this is an interesting turn," she said, more than content with Johanna's explanation. "There's room for no more. If you wish to come you must take the place of my maid, doing for me what she would have done."

  "So I will," Johanna breathed in relief and a gratitude so deep her knees weakened with it.

  "Els," Mistress Alwyna said, glancing at the younger of the two maids beside her, "you have won yourself a reprieve. There's one who would take your place. You may hie yourself home."

  "By myself?" the girl squeaked. Barely more than a child her eyes widened in a new fear. Like Leatrice, the terror of what might happen to her when she was alone and unprotected was even greater than that of the crowd.

  "I can take her, mistress," the other one offered, her voice lacking any belief her wish might be granted.

  "Mistress, you may send them both away. I will take the place of the second one." Leatrice's voice was strong, her tone decisive. Johanna glanced at her former maid in surprise. If she'd known offering to find Leatrice a place would end the girl's sniveling, she'd have made it hours ago just as she had intended before the calls for Rob's death intruded.

  "There's a woman after mine own heart," the wool merchant's widow replied, smiling in approval at Leatrice's stout offer. The movement of her mouth made the years slip from her face, banishing the old woman to reveal the shadow of the girl she'd once been. In her brown eyes lived a taste for life's spice, a need to dance upon a cliff's edge so as to better tolerate what was mundane. "Bow your head and cover your face," the widow hissed to Johanna.

  When Johanna had done so, the old woman called, "Tom, come and help Els and Marta down. We have found us two braver souls who are willing to do what these cowards will not."

  When the maids had dismounted the man lifted Leatrice into the cart then offered a hand to Johanna. She waved him off and climbed in on her own. In the next moment the driver flicked his goad and the cart lurched into motion. As it lumbered into the throng before the keep, hours of muttering stirred into shouts. Leatrice yet held tight to her newborn courage, sitting straight and true on her seat. If Johanna kept her head bowed against the possibility of recognition, there was no room for fear in her heart, not when it was consumed with her hard-won opportunity to see Rob alive.

  "I have had enough of this!" Drawn to the keep tower’s roof by the reemergence of rage from those besieging him, the captain of the guard's voice echoed down from the tower's top. "Cease! You have all heard my word that I will hold him until the sheriff's arrival. Go to your homes, trusting my oath. Or if you choose to stay here, thereby naming me liar, know you that I am familiar with each and every one of you. When the sheriff comes, I will tell him the names of those who tried to steal from our king his right to do justice!"

  If it did not empty the field, the shouting died away at this threat, leaving the cart to pass unmolested to the gate. Those who escorted Mistress Alwyna spread themselves before the opening, weapons pointed outward against any possibility the malcontents behind them might think to charge. They did not.

  In the next moment, the cart passed through the wall and came to a halt in a small courtyard. As it stopped, Johanna grabbed up her skirts and leapt from its bed. Mistress Alwyna handed her a tall, heavy basket to hold, so that her hands might be busy against any request for aid. It was an effective shield, being nigh on half again as tall as she.

  Johanna clutched it to her, lifting it until it shielded her face while impatiently studying the weave of the basket, as the men set to unloading what lay inside the cart. A mattress was leaned against the cart's side within her view. After that came the bedposts and pieces of a frame. Hope found fodder on which to feed. If a councilman's mother brought such comfort to this prisoner, it was a clear statement that those outside
had good reason to fear the council might betray them in their blood lust.

  "Mistress, what is this?" the captain cried out in complaint when he joined them in the tiny courtyard.

  "My son has ordered me to see to Master Robert's needs, and so I shall do," the old woman retorted. "Take me to him."

  Evidently the captain agreed, for Leatrice caught Johanna's arm, and they crossed to the stairs that rose from the small courtyard to the tiny hall. The maid was careful to lead her former mistress as if she were blind. Johanna might as well have been, being unable to raise her head to see where she went.

  In the hall she could hear the snap and pop of torches, but it remained almost as dim within this room as it was outside. Judging by the number of footsteps it took to cross it, this chamber was smaller than her father's hall. There were rushes on the floor, but they had long since been beaten into dust while the air within reeked of smoke and unwashed men.

  She and Leatrice halted at a stone wall, where the keep and the hall came together. The hope in Johanna doubled. In holding Rob in the tower's upper chamber, not the barren, windowless storeroom that lay below and into which the common criminals were thrown, the council was again making a statement that they believed him innocent.

  Despite all this, Johanna’s heart was not satisfied. No matter what the council believed, it was the crowd outside that needed to be convinced. If she could not find a way to expose what Katel had done, Rob would die simply because Stanrudde's folk demanded it.

  Iron grated on iron, the sound of a key scraping into its slot. "Why have you locked him in?" Mistress Alwyna cried in protest.

  "I have given my word to both the council and the townsmen that Master Robert will remain within this keep until the sheriff's arrival. If he is locked in and I am the only one who holds the key, then here he shall stay no matter who tells me what." Layered in the captain's voice was a day's worth of frustration and new resentment at having to explain himself to a woman.