The Tavern in the Morning

by Alys Clare

  Wearily, he rubbed his hands over his face. It had seemed such a good idea, but—

  ‘Don’t move,’ a voice said softly right in his ear. He gave a great instinctive start – he had heard nothing! no footfall, no sinuous approach – which wasn’t very sensible since someone was holding a blade to his throat.

  He said, equally softly, ‘I won’t. Not until you move that knife.’

  As soon as he spoke, he felt his assailant relax.

  And Joanna said, ‘Sir Josse! I thought you were—’ She stopped.

  ‘Denys de Courtenay?’

  She stood a pace off, eyeing him. In the dim light of the clearing, it was difficult to read her face, shaded as it was by a fold of her woollen shawl. To her credit, she didn’t even try saying innocently, ‘Denys who?’ Instead, sheathing her knife, she remarked, ‘You’ve met him, then.’

  ‘Not I. But while I was being cared for by the sisters at Hawkenlye Abbey – for the after-effects of my concussion – he paid a visit to its Abbess.’

  ‘Abbess Helewise.’ She nodded. ‘I have heard tell of her.’

  ‘Do I sense approval?’

  ‘You do. They – my informant held her in high regard. She – they only knew of the Abbess by repute, but that was enough for the formation of a good opinion.’

  ‘Rightly founded. Abbess Helewise is a fine woman. Who, I might add, shares your opinion of Denys de Courtenay.’

  ‘I was not aware of having ventured an opinion,’ Joanna said frostily.

  ‘You don’t deny that you know him?’

  She hesitated. ‘No. There seems little point. He and my late father were cousins.’

  ‘And he is searching for you,’ Josse said. ‘According to him, you are half out of your wits with grief, unhinged from the pain of losing your husband in a hunting accident and you—’

  ‘I’m what?’ She burst out laughing, a musical peal that rang through the silent glade. ‘Is that the best he could do? Anxious cousin, sole strong, protective male relation, searching for grief-stricken and feeble young widow? Great heavens, I’d have thought Denys could have come up with something a little more original.’

  ‘Neither Abbess Helewise nor I believed him,’ Josse said.

  ‘Why not?’ she demanded instantly.

  ‘Me, because I had met you. Seen your fear, observed your desperate need to hide from someone, whom I guessed to be Denys. The Abbess because, as I said, she has met him.’

  ‘And she didn’t take to him.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  Josse laughed briefly. ‘You could say that.’ His knees were beginning to ache from contact with the cold ground. ‘May I get up?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes. Of course.’

  They faced each other from two paces apart. He could see her face more clearly now; the dark eyes were watchful, and the slight frown suggested she was thinking hard.

  Thinking that it might not be such a bad idea after all to confide in him?

  He said tentatively, ‘I have a great will to help you, Joanna. I believe I know more about you than you think and, if you will accept my word, I swear to you that I will protect you from—’

  ‘I don’t need protection!’ she cried.

  He took a step closer to her. ‘No?’ he shouted. ‘Perhaps not, although I wouldn’t back your small blade against the man who damned nearly smashed my head in, for no greater provocation than that he didn’t want me following him!’

  ‘You let him take you unawares,’ she shouted back, ‘as you did just now with me! I know him better, sir knight, and I take more care!’

  ‘He will find you, Joanna!’ Josse insisted. ‘You know now what methods he uses – you must agree!’

  She had gone very still. ‘Methods?’ she repeated, her voice a whisper.

  Good God, didn’t she know? ‘Mag Hobson is dead,’ he said gently.

  ‘Yes, so I heard.’

  ‘You have contact with the world, then? You speak to people, now and again?’

  She shrugged that off. ‘I go in for provisions sometimes. My face well covered, you’ll be relieved to hear. News of Mag’s death was still fresh, the last time I visited Tonbridge.’

  ‘So fresh, I would judge, that they didn’t know how she died.’

  ‘She drowned! Slipped on the icy bank and fell into the pond!’ He made no answer. ‘Didn’t she?’

  He was reluctant to tell her. But perhaps, if he did, it would serve to persuade her of her vulnerability.

  No woman, he was sure, not even Joanna, was a match for Denys de Courtenay.

  ‘Mag was attacked,’ he said neutrally. ‘She was beaten, some of her fingers were broken, then her head was held down under the water till she was dead.’

  Joanna’s hands flew to her mouth, half muffling her cry. ‘Oh, no! Oh, Mag, no!’

  Pursuing the advantage of having breached her defences, he said, ‘To make her tell him where you were, do you think? To make her reveal the whereabouts of that old manor house she took you to? Where she hid you away, so that he couldn’t find you? Where she—’

  ‘Stop!’ she shouted. Then, her shoulders beginning to heave as her sobs took hold, she said shakily, ‘Please, please, stop!’

  And the gloved hands now entirely covered her face as Joanna gave herself to her grief.

  It was more than he could stand. He stepped forward and took her in his arms, cradling her face against his chest, stroking the back of her head. The rough shawl fell back, and he felt her smooth hair, slipping easily beneath the leather of his gloved palm. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, ‘so sorry, Joanna. But you have to know the truth, you must be aware of the lengths he will go to in order to find you.’

  She went on sobbing. He closed his arms around her, bending to kiss the top of her head. His gestures were instinctive, intended to comfort her, as he might comfort a child or a frightened animal. To let her know she wasn’t entirely alone, that someone …

  Whatever he intended, it was not what she understood. Leaning back in his arms, face turned up to his, suddenly she put her hands behind his head and, pulling him down towards her, kissed him hard full on the mouth.

  With her strong, lithe body pressed against him, he began instantly to respond. His mouth opening, he eased her lips further apart with his tongue, caressing hers, feeling the violent sexual excitement flood through him. He could feel her breasts pushed up against his chest, feel her muscular legs firm against his thighs. Feel his erection, hard and full.

  Breaking away, she stepped back a pace. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’

  Lost for words, he said the first thing that entered his head. ‘Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?’

  Amazingly, she chuckled. ‘Not when it was so plainly I who started it.’ Then, remembering, she said, ‘Oh, sweet Lord. What am I to do?’

  ‘Let me help!’ he said quickly. ‘Let me come with you!’ She shot him a quick glance. ‘Oh, Joanna, not for that!’ He grinned. ‘Remember, I offered my aid before you flung yourself into my arms.’

  ‘You did,’ she agreed.

  ‘Well, then! Can you not trust me?’

  She went on staring at him, as if her very life depended on her decision.

  Which, Josse thought, perhaps it did.

  ‘I—’ she began. Then, more firmly, ‘Let me think about it.’

  ‘What is there to think about?’

  ‘You don’t know!’ she shouted, angry suddenly. ‘It’s not as simple as you seem to think, sir knight! There are many things to weigh up and only I can do so.’

  ‘Can’t I help?’

  ‘No, you can’t.’ Anger gone, she gave him a sudden sweet smile. ‘Yes, I dare say you could in fact be very helpful and I can’t say I’m not tempted. But I need some time on my own. To think it all through, without you going and confusing me by kissing me again.’ Now the smile was wide and free, and he could see just how beautiful a woman she was.

  ‘Me kissing you
?’ he murmured.

  ‘I’m going now,’ she announced, tightening the cord around her waist. ‘You mustn’t follow me. If you do, you’ll never see me again.’

  It sounded overdramatic, but he had a good idea she spoke the truth. Just how would he set about finding that ancient manor deep in the forest, unless she gave him a clue? ‘Very well. You have my word.’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you. Stay here by Mag’s house for a slow count of a hundred, then you may go.’

  Mag’s house. Belatedly he remembered why he had come. ‘Joanna!’

  She had turned away, but now spun round to face him again. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Who dug up the wolf’s bane and smuggled it into the pie? It was Mag, wasn’t it?’

  But, her face shadowed suddenly, she didn’t answer except to remark, ‘You have been busy.’ Then, running out of the clearing, she shouted, ‘Start counting!’

  He counted to a hundred extremely slowly. She might be counting, too – in fact, undoubtedly she would be – and he didn’t want her to think he was cheating. It mattered terribly that she trust him.

  When the hundred had long been reached, he untied Horace and, leading him along in the deepening gloom of approaching night, headed back towards the Abbey.

  Chapter Nine

  Josse spent an uneasy night. His visit to the Abbess the previous evening had been brief; he had wanted to reassure her that he was safely back, but it had been too late for long discussions.

  And, somehow – he was not quite sure why – he had been reluctant to talk to Abbess Helewise while his blood still sang from the after-effects of kissing Joanna de Courtenay.

  When he finally got to sleep, it was to dream that the Abbess held Joanna’s knife in her strong hand and was using it to cut great branches of holly which she insisted were wolf’s bane. ‘It’s for my wedding garland,’ she kept saying …

  It was quite a relief to wake up.

  * * *

  She sent for him in the morning. Now, with the residual unease from his dream to add to his disturbing memories of Joanna, he was even less comfortable in the Abbess’s presence.

  ‘What ails you, Sir Josse?’ she asked, noticing his fidgeting within moments of his entering her room.

  ‘I – er, nothing, Abbess.’ He managed a smile. ‘I’m just impatient to be doing something, I suppose.’

  She nodded sagely. ‘I quite understand,’ she said. ‘Having offered Joanna de Courtenay your help, and feeling that she is so close to accepting it, you must itch to be with her again.’

  Oh, how I do, Josse agreed silently. And not only in the way that you, dear lady, imagine. ‘Well, I do feel strongly that she is in danger all the while she is alone,’ he said.

  The Abbess nodded again. ‘Off you go, then,’ she said, with an encouraging smile.

  ‘Where am I going?’

  ‘To find her, of course!’

  But I undertook to give her time to think it over! Only then would she…’ He trailed off. Only then would she come to find him? But she had no idea where he was!

  Half out of the door, he heard the Abbess say, ‘Good hunttng, Sir Josse.’

  * * *

  He retraced his footsteps to the place where the track up from Tonbridge entered the forest. Then, riding very slowly, he tried to recall how far into the woods he had been when Denys de Courtenay attacked him.

  It was difficult to judge. Everything looked different in the daylight. And, besides, the last time he went that way he had been concentrating on trailing his quarry without being seen – something at which he had failed abysmally – and had taken scant notice of his surroundings.

  But he must find the spot. Because he had reasoned that the child Ninian could only have moved a semi-conscious, well-built adult a very short way, which meant Ninian’s camp must be close to where Josse was assailed by de Courtenay.

  And Ninian’s camp – if he ever managed to find it – was the one slim contact he had with Joanna. Ninian might be allowed to play there again, she herself might think to look for Josse there …

  Riding on, realising with dismay how hopeless his search was, Josse’s spirits slowly sank.

  What else could he do, though? Go back to Mag Hobson’s house? Would that be where Joanna would go looking for him?

  Cursing himself for not having made a more reliable plan, Josse dismounted and, leading Horace, pushed on into the woods.

  Presently he found himself walking along the top of a slight rise. Something about the place seemed familiar … Stopping, he stood still, listening, sensing the air.

  And heard, from somewhere close at hand, the sound of running water.

  Yes!

  The boy had clearly had a source of fresh water near at hand; he had brought Josse onion broth which he had made himself. And later, Joanna had requested hot water with which to prepare Josse’s poultice.

  Josse had been listening to the sound of the small bubbling stream, now he came to think of it, all the time he had lain in Ninian’s camp.

  He looked down into the little vale that ran along below the track. Nothing to be seen there.

  Pressing on, he rounded a bend and found that the track entered a sort of passage, formed by overhanging branches. It had been difficult to negotiate it in the darkness, he remembered, and …

  … And it had been just after emerging from it, he recalled in a flash of memory, that he had dismounted to feel for hoof prints!

  Moving forward eagerly now, he repeated what he had done before. I bent down about here, he thought, and again here. And over there, unless I’m much mistaken, is where I fell. With my cheek in that very puddle, now frozen over.

  So far, so good.

  He stood in the place where he had lain, staring all around him. There was a gentle slope in front of him, leading down into the valley where the stream ran. The track ran on fairly straight ahead, and, behind him, the ground rose quite steeply.

  The only direction in which a seven-year-old boy could possibly have dragged a large adult was down into the valley.

  Tethering Horace beside the track, Josse made his way cautiously down the slope.

  He had to search for some time before he found Ninian’s camp, and then it was only some pieces of charred wood that gave the location away. Assuming them to be the remains of the boy’s last small fire, Josse began to search the immediate area, working outwards in concentric rings.

  And, finally, he found what he was looking for.

  Whoever had taught the lad about woodcraft had done a good job, Josse reflected; Ninian had located his secret hiding-place half under a ledge of sandstone, and concealed the opening behind a thorn bush. Josse recalled the thorn bush, once he had seen it again, from his awkward trips outside to relieve himself. But, had you not known there was a camp thereabouts, and consequently persevered with the search, you would never have found it.

  As the euphoria of success quickly faded, he thought, so, what now? There was nobody here – had he really thought Ninian and Joanna would be sitting there beside a cheery campfire, huddled together in the boy’s smelly old sheepskin, just waiting for Josse to happen by? – and the camp gave no sign that anybody had been there recently.

  I’ll wait, Josse thought. If she wants to find me, surely she’ll come here looking. Won’t she? I’ll give her until the light begins to fail. If she doesn’t come today, I’ll come back tomorrow. Or perhaps I’ll go to Mag Hobson’s house tomorrow.

  Hating having to be in the position of awaiting someone else’s actions while he himself was powerless to act, he settled down to his vigil.

  * * *

  She didn’t come.

  But, late in the day, Ninian did. Taking Josse completely by surprise, the boy suddenly burst out of the undergrowth that covered the sandstone ledge, jumping nimbly down and racing up to grasp hold of Josse’s hand.

  ‘You came back!’ he cried joyfully. ‘I’m so glad to see you! Shall we make a fire? Do you want to stay in my camp again?’

&nbs
p; ‘No, Ninian, but thank you for the offer.’ Josse bent down, taking both the boy’s hands in his. Trying to think of a way to ask what he desperately needed to ask without alarming the child, he said, with an attempt at a casual tone, ’Er – did your mother say it was all right to come to play out here today? I mean, it’s very cold and—’

  ‘Oh, she doesn’t know I’m out,’ the boy replied with innocent pride. ‘I waited till she’d gone out, you see, then I sneaked out after her.’ A frown creased his smooth, high forehead. ‘She says I’ve got to stay inside the house but I hate it, there’s nothing to do and when she’s gone out, there isn’t even her to talk to. Anyway,’ he glanced round him with a proprietorial air, ‘I had to come to check on my camp.’

  Josse said carefully, ‘Do you know where your mother is, Ninian?’

  ‘Yes, she’s gone to Mag’s house. She said she has to fetch something. In fact,’ he was frowning again, ‘she said someone, but I’m sure she meant something because we don’t know anybody here except Mag, and Mag died.’

  ‘I know,’ Josse said gently.

  The boy’s bright blue eyes were fixed on him. ‘I think she was very old and that’s why she died,’ he confided.

  ‘Yes, Ninian, she was quite old,’ Josse agreed.

  ‘Much older than my mother,’ Ninian said. ‘And you,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Only old people die. Don’t they?’

  ‘Usually people are more likely to die when they get old, certainly,’ Josse said. Poor child, he thought, what a life he’s had recently. No wonder he seeks reassurance.

  ‘My father died,’ the boy was saying. ‘He was much older than you. About as old as Mag, I’d say. He fell off his horse,’ he added.

  Josse didn’t think the child sounded particularly upset at describing his father’s demise. ‘That must have been awful,’ he said.