"Rob, if not me, then who?" Johanna freed herself from his grasp, her expression filled with her determination to protect him. "There is no one else to do what needs doing."
"Send yon maid," he demanded, pointing at the pregnant girl.
"Would that I could go in her stead, master," Leatrice replied, seeming not the least bit pleased at this reprieve. "However, I would get no farther than the gate. Because I dared to let Master Katel's seed take root in my womb the master has dismissed me from his service, threatening me with violence should I attempt to return." If her fists clenched, Leatrice bowed her head in what might have been shame.
Only then did Rob recognize in her even features and dark coloring the sort of woman Katel had always favored. Her words eased his jealousy, reminding him that Katel had never found Johanna attractive, then filled him with a new rush of anger. While the spice merchant plotted to destroy his wife with a false charge of adultery, he indulged himself in that same sin, along the way making more of the bastards he so despised.
"That hypocrite!" Mistress Alwyna cried, her thoughts having followed his.
At this, the maid raised her head. It was not embarrassment that filled her, rather hatred's fire. She lowered her hand to caress her swollen abdomen. "Know you, Master Robert," she said, her voice harsh with promise, "I now offer you the same vow I gave my mistress. When the time is right, I will cry aloud your innocence for all the world to hear."
Although Leatrice might hope to have the opportunity to destroy the one who's used her, Rob doubted her ability to harm Katel. Nonetheless, it was hardly wise for a man in his particular state to refuse any offer of aid, no matter its likelihood. "My thanks for that, Leatrice. If you are without hearth, you will find a home at mine, that is, if you are willing to come to Lynn." He only hoped he lived long enough to fulfill the offer.
Against this kindness the girl's need for vengeance dimmed and the fierce harridan transformed back into the child she was. Her lips trembled, her eyes filled. "My thanks, Master Robert. You are very kind. I beg pardon for earlier thinking you guilty of this crime."
"Given," he said with a small smile.
Mistress Alwyna set an arm around the girl's shoulder. "You need not go so far away to find a place, Leatrice. There is always room in my house for a stout-hearted servant like yourself."
"You do not mind that I have sinned?" Leatrice asked, her cheeks now bearing twin wet streaks.
"We are all sinners of one sort or another," the wool merchant's mother replied. "If Our Lord can forgive, so should we. I wager you've learned your lesson. Now, come," she said, turning the maid back toward the bed, "we have work to complete, and they have matters to discuss between them that are not for our ears.
"By the by, Master Robert," she called over her shoulder, "I've brought you your mantle and your pin, against the chill of this room. I'll leave it on the mattress, taking my son's with me as I depart."
"My thanks, mistress," he replied, waiting for the two of them to turn their backs.
The moment they did, Rob dragged Johanna a step closer. "You cannot do this," he commanded, worry for her eating at his heart. "You cannot stop me," she replied, her jaw set to its most stubborn angle. "Do not worry so. Katel dares do me no physical hurt else he'll lose those properties he so desires. Besides, he has no reason to suspect that we have shared what we know and now plot against him, nor will he ever know, not if revealing it places you in harm's way." She made these final words sound like a vow.
"You are mad if you think he'll stand idly by and let you destroy the vengeance he deems we both deserve." This was a fiery breath of rage.
Against his anger Johanna's facade of bravado slipped to reveal the fear that lived beneath it. "Let me do as you know I must," she begged. "I pray you, do not send me away with only harshness between us when I need you to bolster my courage. Let us not waste what little time we have left."
It was what she did not say—that she might fail and they would die—that killed Rob's remaining complaints. He tried to convince himself she was correct in thinking Katel would do nothing to hurt her. Just now her husband was as trapped in his own plotting as were his victims. Unless the scheme played itself out to its finish Katel would only reveal himself as the schemer.
Johanna lifted her chin to a cocky angle, once again hiding concern behind a bold expression. "No more complaints. If you had not wished to involve me, you would have reported the theft of your seed to your own sheriff and stayed in Lynn."
Rob forced himself to smile as he dropped his hand to finger the frayed edge of her green sleeve. It was odd to see her dressed in these worn gowns, dyed in the colors of her father's house. He could only assume she'd done so to avoid recognition as she sought him out.
Touching her sleeve was not enough. His hand rose, and he drew a fingertip down the elegant curve of her cheek. At his caress pink again stained her skin. Catching a tendril of hair, he curled it around his finger. Her expression softened against his play.
"What," he chided, shaking his head, "do you think, I would let the world shun you because you have the misfortune to be tied to a thief? Nay, even after all these years, Katel rightly wagered I would do nothing to jeopardize you. I came to Stanrudde, hoping to find some way of resolving the issue so you would not be hurt."
"You came to protect me against the wrong my husband did," she murmured in pleased astonishment.
"Aye, so I did, only to drop blindly into his trap," he retorted, yet irate at himself for his idiocy.
A spark of amusement woke in her gaze. "And here I thought you brighter than that," she teased. "You, better than most, know what sort of man Katel is." Pleased that he'd given her ease enough to laugh, even if her amusement was aimed at him, Rob's brows quirked up, his lips lifting. "It has been nigh on a score of years. In my dotage I forgot the depths of rancor he bears me."
"Dotage, indeed," Johanna scoffed as she smiled at him. Her eyes sparkled, and the glow in her cheeks grew until the droplets that marked her skin seemed bright gold. "You are but two years my elder. Three and thirty is not old for a man."
"Think not?" With that, the joy of teasing her returned. His smile broadened. "Look you more closely," he bid her, his taunting tone urging her to remember their first kiss. "See you the gray that now streaks my beard?"
At his words, Johanna's eyes lightened to their brightest blue. Her lips tightened, and her brows lowered into a mummer's overdrawn expression of skepticism. With her hands fisted on her hips she leaned a little closer as if truly peering at his beard.
"Where?" Her voice was thick with disbelief. "I see not one thread of white amidst all that brown."
"Look closer, it is there," he insisted. "Here," he said, reaching for her hand, "let me show you where it is."
With a fine rich laugh, Johanna stepped back from him. "I think not," she retorted, her face alive with pleasure at this game. "The last time you bid me look closer, the result was a brief period of heaven with naught but hell to pay after."
Once again, the key rasped in its slot. The latch groaned in complaint as it rose. Johanna gasped, yanking her cowl up over her head. "Rob," she cried softly, wanting more of a farewell than this.
Instead, Mistress Alwyna rushed to shove the basket into her arms. Leatrice pulled her back to the corner of the chamber. Rob dared no more than a final glance, praying she could read every bit of his care for her in that single look. Turning his back to the room, he stared out into the night.
"It is time you were done," Otto, son of Otfried, told the women.
"We were just finishing," Mistress Alwyna replied. "Come then, you two."
Rob listened to the sweep of skirts leaving the room. The door closed once more, the key turning, the latch moving to drop the bar in place. With Johanna gone there was no further need for pretense. He leaned his forehead against the cold stones and closed his eyes in despair. The certainty that he would next see her standing beside him on the hangman's platform rose then would not be dis
lodged.
Stanrudde
Mid-August, 1180
It was to protect his fabulously expensive goods that Master Walter used the cellar in his home as his workroom. The only access was by a spiraling stairway set in the corner of the master's own bedchamber. Arched windows, so small not even a child could gain illicit entry, dotted the walls, and most days served as the only source of light.
If that meant it was always a little dim and cool in here, it wasn't vision that was most important to a spice merchant. Rob breathed deeply. The air was so thick with scents he could nigh on taste it.
This afternoon's chores included, among other things, creating a bishop's special blend. It was the ingredients for this he now gathered. Once he'd combined the appropriate portions of caneel, ginger, and nutmeg, he would take it, and his other mixtures, to the apothecary's shop where they would be added to the herbs that finished them.
The riches around him were stored in myriad forms. Some had been left whole or in sticks, while others were powdered or ground, turned into chunks, cakes, or crystals. There were even flasks filled with spiced liquids. As he moved around the cellar, he ducked carefully beneath the stone arches that sprang from the line of pillars running down the center of the room. In attaining his present height, this low curved ceiling had become a hazard. He'd hit his head more often than he wanted to remember.
When he had what he needed in his sectioned trough he returned to the worktable. This was set in the southeastern corner of the cellar, where the kitchen abutted the house, leaving Rob far enough from Market Lane that he could barely hear the regraters. Here a pair of windows allowed a hot and humid August day to tumble through thick stone walls.
Caught in the sun's warm yellow glow, Rob's wooden funnel glowed gold and honey along its grain. The tool cast a shadow on the stack of small cloth sacks behind it. Reaching to the back of the table, he drew forward his scale. The day's honest light made its metal pan gleam, the sudden glare almost blinding. As the tiny brass cup swung, Rob stared at the apparatus, the memory of how he'd come into his apprenticeship searing through him.
Guilt followed, so terrible and so deep it nigh on tore him in two. With every kiss he gave Johanna, with every touch, he betrayed the master he so loved, the same man who had given him his life and trade. The same man who lay dying overhead. As with every time guilt struck at him, Rob fought back with the reminder that he and Johanna were well and truly wed.
It had taken several weeks of feigning interest in Church law before the abbot told him what he so dearly wanted to hear. Rob now believed that when a girl entered into a betrothal before her seventh year as Johanna had done, she could later nullify it by informing her sire she no longer desired to wed her intended. This, Johanna assured Rob, she had done years ago.
When asked what constituted legitimate marriage, the abbot waxed eloquent, stressing that, although other churchmen protested to the contrary, it was the proper order of events that left the couple married. First came the expressed intent to wed. Once both had accepted the proposal of marriage, this must be followed by the exchange of vows. Only after these steps were completed did consummation sanctify the union. At the question of the number of witnesses needed to verify these proceedings, the abbot insisted none were necessary if all had been done as he'd stated.
As the war that now ever raged in Rob once again retreated in uneasy truce, he leaned against the table in exhaustion. So went his days, his thoughts alternating between the two extremes, both truths refusing to be denied, each counteracting the other. Below it all lurked the certainty that, no matter what arguments he accrued, he and Johanna would not be allowed to keep each other. The sunlight disappeared, dropping him into an abrupt darkness.
"Rob?"
At Johanna's soft call Rob looked up from the table. As this cellar rose from ground level, rather than being recessed to a few feet below street level as many tradesmen's shops were, the window was of a height with her face and Johanna set her chin into the opening with ease.
This day she'd used a ribbon to loosely bind her hair at her nape before plaiting it. Strands escaped to curl, soft and golden-red, along the lift of her cheekbones and down the slender line of her neck. Her gowns were rose and cream, the colors complimenting her skin tone and making her eyes seem all the bluer.
Rob sighed at the love that filled her gaze. Doubt disappeared. Johanna and her care for him was all that mattered and all that held him limb to limb. Of a sudden, the thickness of a stone wall and the width of a table were more distance between them than he could bear.
And, equally as swiftly, it was entirely too little distance. Worry quirked into existence, guilt trying to creep back in upon its heels. They dared not be witnessed together.
"You shouldn't be here," he warned her, his voice low. She only looked at him, her expression still and sad.
Sudden panic shot through him. "Your father?" he demanded.
A shake of her head assured him that her father yet lived. "He is awake. Master Colin has been closeted with him for the past hour."
The corners of her mouth drooped. "Oh Rob, Papa has called for Katel to return. Helewise is taking me to the tailor's to fit my wedding attire," she breathed in agony. "What are we going to do?"
A wholly new panic rose in Rob. In his certainty that he was doomed to fail he'd put off telling her sire of their private vows; he wanted to hold onto the dream of keeping Johanna as his own for as long as he could. Now the time for revelation had come.
He closed his eyes and swore himself to success. Johanna was his. How could he let anyone else, especially Katel, have her? As he opened his eyes once more, he freed a long, slow breath.
"What is there to do, save tell your sire we are already wed," he said softly.
"Mistress Johanna?" Helewise's impatient call rose from the courtyard.
She gave a single, frightened cry. "I am so afraid I will lose you."
"Never, save through death," Rob replied, his voice deepening with his promise.
He extended a hand, his fingers just reaching to the window's ledge. She stretched her hand within to catch his. At the touch of her fingers against his the courage he needed filled him. His heart burned with the conviction that Master Walter could not part them.
"Take heart, knowing I love you. You are all in the world to me," he vowed to her.
"As you are to me," she breathed in return.
"Johanna!" In her irritation, Helewise forgot to use the appropriate title. "Where are you?"
Johanna tried to pull free of his grasp. Rob squeezed her hand to hold her in place. "I sleep in the warehouse this night as I did the last." It was an intense and hurried hiss. "Come to me."
The memory of their passion the night before brought a smile to her lips. "If I can." Then she was gone.
As the sun again streamed in upon him, Rob stared at the scale. Johanna had said her father was awake just now. He turned and started for the nearby stairway. Although the thought of telling Master Walter how his generosity had been repaid terrified him, the need to keep Johanna as his bore Rob up the stairs and into Master Walter's bedchamber.
It was as bright in here as the cellar was dim. Day's light streamed in through the wide window, making the rich bedcurtains glow in jeweled tones of red and green while the carving upon the spice merchant's bedposts stood out in sharp relief. Master Colin had set his stool close to the bed's side, his voice urgent and low as he conversed with the dying man.
Rob could not afford to hesitate, else his nerve would vanish. "Master Walter," he rudely interrupted, "I must speak to you about Johanna." The moment the words flew from his lips, his fingers chilled to the temperature of ice. His heart pounded in his chest as if he'd run a mile or more.
Master Colin turned sharply on the short seat to look at him. "I think that would be wise," the apothecary said, disappointment touching his gaze. "But, before you do, know that I have been to the abbey, albeit on my own business and not seeking after yours. The abbot
mentioned the odd questions you have asked him."
Rob's heart went from racing to a dead stop in his chest. Shame made his throat thicken. They knew, the two men he loved most in the world knew what he had done.
"Master Colin also tells me he thinks he saw Johanna last even, passing through his yard," Master Walter said from the bed. His voice was beyond tired and barely loud enough to be heard. "I suspect you'd best come and spill your tale, lad."
It was the sorrow in his mentor's tone that sent shame spiraling even higher in Rob, until it stung at his eyes. He crossed the room, coming to a stop at the bed's side. Master Colin rose from his stool and set a hand upon Rob's shoulder. His touch was neither comforting nor condemning.
"Come, then, and take my place," he said gently.
Rob settled his long frame on the stool as best he could, then glanced into the bed, his gaze flying against his will to the growth that clung to Master Walter's arm. He caught back his gorge. Now the size of a babe's fist, the suppurating thing was more than ugly.
He forced himself to look into the spice merchant's face. This was by far the worse. Master Walter's illness was eating him alive, making him a wraith before his passing. Rob swore his master was so thin he could see through him. If the man's eyes were sunk deeply into their sockets, enough life yet filled their icy depths to show Rob what he did not wish to see.
"Tell me what I am thinking is not true," his master gently pleaded.
Shame warred with Rob's desperation to own Johanna. The outcome was that the truth fell bluntly from his lips. "I love her. We are married, she and I."
Master Walter stared at him. The silence that followed was worse than any scream or threat or blow could have been. Rob sat still and cold upon his stool, waiting for whatever punishment God deemed his due for having so betrayed his master.
"After how I have loved you how could you have done this to me?" The words left the spice merchant's lips in an aching, disbelieving breath.
A Love For All Seasons Page 23
