In a Glance

by Lisa Shea

  And if Umberto was ruthless with burning down locations rather than seeing them be taken, Cecily was not far behind. She had been known to scar the faces of women who left her so that they could not work anywhere else.

  Joan arranged her face into a docile, enraptured smile before looking up again. “This cheddar is delicious,” she murmured. “The food here is the best I have ever sampled.”

  Cecily smiled. “That means a lot, coming from you,” she offered. “You have seen much of the world and know the variety it presents to us.” She looked around the room. “As you can see, hard work presents its rewards. It is a message I offer to women every day. They do not need to slave and toil at the beck and call of a man barely worthy to wash their feet. They can take charge of their own destiny and make their own fortune.”

  Joan wondered just how much of the fortune the women were allowed to keep and how much went into bolstering Cecily’s wealth.

  Cecily leant forward with a smile, by all appearances a magnanimous hostess with an honored guest. “So, what else would you like to know about?”

  Joan raised an eyebrow. Time to ease into it slowly. “Your empire sounds magnificent, indeed,” she praised. “What is my part in all of this?”

  Cecily smiled widely. “Seeing the appeal of my world, are you? Of course you are. You are intelligent and talented. Your skills have been wasted for years. You were little more than a servant of men, being forced to scurry around, following their orders. You are ready for something more suited to your abilities.”

  She nodded her head to Ada. “You can see that I employ able women in positions of authority. I have heard much about you over the years, and I have long had my eye on you.”

  Joan allowed an expression of doubt to creep over her face. She could not seem too gullible. “To run a stew, like the one you were setting up in the woods?”

  Cecily gave a tinkling laugh. “Oh, my girl, no, no. Those women were not there to be whores!”

  Joan raised an eyebrow. “They were not?”

  Cecily shook her head. “I can get whores anywhere,” she countered. “I do not need to track them down. They come to me.” She took a drink of her mead. “No, those women were singled out to be recruited for my management team. Each one was unmarried and had shown her talent in a variety of ways. I distributed a list of names to my collectors, and if one of the women was found alone, she was brought in for discussion.”

  Joan’s brow furrowed. “But why kidnap them, then?”

  Cecily spread her hands wide. “I’m afraid that my line of business is considered disreputable by many. A woman who simply announces to family and friends that ‘I am going to go run a bordello now’ would be ostracized.” Her smile grew. “However, if the poor girl was taken against her will, put into that position, and then made a thriving success of it, the perception would be different. Now she had made the best she could out of what life had given her. For whatever reason, that is considered a better outcome.”

  Joan brought a brightness of understanding to her eyes. “So you were helping those women.”

  Cecily’s wide smile showed bright white teeth. “Absolutely. Half of the women were ready to accept before they had even been brought to me. The other half would have been joining them within a day or two. I have never had anyone leave my employ. They are spoiled by me and have no desire to go back to a man’s world.”

  Joan thought there was an entirely different reason that no woman ever escaped Cecily’s clutches, but she kept that idea to herself.

  She brought hesitance to her voice. “So that is why you had Ada take me?”

  Cecily nodded, looking fondly over at Ada for a moment. “The moment I realized who you were, I knew you had to be a part of our organization. Ada said she could handle the collection process, and sure enough, here you are with us now.”

  She gave a slight shrug. “It could have been difficult for you, as you well know, if you announced that you voluntarily joined an organization that promoted prostitution. It has such a negative connotation to it.” She smiled and looked around her. “But as you can see, we are about empowering women. Men – and some women they have brainwashed - are strongly against any system that allows females to flourish and prosper independently. So, by providing the cover of a kidnapping, we create a cover story for how this process took place.”

  Joan looked up with large eyes. “You are kind to go through all of this for me.”

  Cecily patted her hands. “You are worth it, my dear,” she vowed. “Believe in yourself the way I believe in you. Together, we can reach the stars.”

  Joan looked down again. Cecily’s skill with her recruitment pitch was impressive. She could see how single women might fall for the story. Especially with the shortage of men caused by the Crusades, many women faced a nunnery or spinsterhood as their only two options in life. Cecily was dangling a powerful lure that would be hard to resist.

  She modulated her tone to have what she hoped was just the right amount of interest and concern. “Is it all right if I think this over for a little while?”

  Cecily sat back, contented. Her eyes almost glowed with satisfaction. “Of course, my dear, I would expect no less from you,” she murmured. “You take all the time you need.” She smiled, nudging her head to the left. “Through that door is our back patio courtyard. It overlooks the ocean. There are bowls of fruit and pitchers of ale. Go and sit for a while. Soak in the beauty of it all.”

  Joan nodded to the two women, then stood and made her way over to the far door. The sun was brilliant as she stepped through to the large patio, and she moved forward to the edge wall, giving her eyes time to adjust to the sun’s glare, looking out over the vastness of the ocean. White clouds skittered high above, foam danced on the tips of the curling waves, and a trio of fishing boats drifted offshore. She drew in a long, deep breath of the salty air.

  Whatever else Cecily had done, she had chosen a perfect keep for her home. Joan wondered what crusader had died in order for Cecily to slide in to his family estate.

  At last she turned to look down the length of the patio. There were a scattering of empty chairs looking out over the ocean, and a long table against the back wall held several wooden bowls of apples and pears, along with a trio of pewter pitchers of ale. A row of pottery mugs lay alongside them. And against the far side of the patio was a table with –

  Joan’s breath caught, time slowed down, then ran backwards. Her tangerine dress rippled around her, caught by the ocean breeze. A seagull soared up next to her, his white wingtips deftly catching the movement of the air. The scent of the sea and gentle roar of the ocean filled her senses.

  Michael sat at the far table, his gaze steady on her, his short, dark brown hair ruffling in the breeze, fully alive.

  Chapter 15

  Joan’s feet were in motion before she gave it conscious thought. Suddenly she was back in Master Martin’s training room, there was a movement at the door, and it was not the messenger with news that would shatter her world. Instead it was Michael – Michael – and he was home to her, safe and sound. Her heart blossomed with overwhelming joy and relief which threatened to drown her.

  He stood as she approached, and she flung herself at him, wrapped her arms around him, her breath coming in long, staggering heaves.

  But he was stiff within her embrace, as he always had been. He had the wooden quality of a man who was resigned to put up with the overenthusiastic actions of a spoiled child. His frame held the weary patience of someone who hoped this kind of unnecessary behavior would end soon so he could get on with more important things in life.

  It swept back in on Joan all at once how Michael had always been this way with her. How he would allow her a short hug on his returns, then go off with friends to spend the evening regaling them with tales. She had forced herself to take it in stride. He was a busy man. He had many obligations to juggle. She needed to act more like him – more distant, more cool.

  Then another vision filled her min
d – that of the banks of the river, when she had stepped out into the sunshine to walk toward Hugh. She had seen the glow of relief and welcome in his eyes, and then he had run to her, had swept her up and spun her around in unbridled joy.

  The feeling burst through her with unwavering certainty. Hugh was the man she needed in her life. She missed him, craved him, with every fiber of her being.

  Michael firmly pressed her away from him, and smiled when he looked down in her eyes. “You did miss me,” he chuckled. “I can see it in your face.”

  The current situation came crashing down on Joan. A thousand questions blared in her mind, each louder than the next. The words that ended up blurting out of her were, “Where have you been?”

  He settled himself back down into the wooden chair, stretching his shoulders in relaxation. “It is a story, indeed,” he stated. “Go fetch us a pair of mugs and a pitcher of ale like a good girl and I’ll catch you up.”

  A bristle of annoyance ran down her spine, but she held the smile on her face. Amidst the confusion and relief was reemerging the core thought that she was here with a purpose. Clearly Michael and Cecily had something planned for her, and she had to find out what. She had to lure them into thinking that whatever schemes they had developed were working on her.

  She dutifully moved to the long, back table, looping two mug handles through one hand and picking up a large, metal pitcher with the other. She carried all back to the round table and set them out. When she sat down in the chair next to him, she could still see over the low wall of the patio, to the trio of fishing boats floating on the water, going about their business as they had done every day for centuries.

  Michael followed her eyes. “It could be the Holy Land,” he commented. “The ships would have a leaner shape, and the sky would have that richer color, but so many things are the same.” His eyes drew back to the mugs. “Something you forgot?”

  Joan blinked, then leant forward to fill each mug. Michael picked his up, holding it in a toast. “To new beginnings,” he offered. Joan clinked her mug against his, then drew down the fragrant liquid. She finished half the mug in one long swallow. She had a feeling she would need its strength.

  She turned to Michael, to the face she knew so well. “You didn’t die,” she commented, her mind settling down to more logical thought.

  His eyes twinkled at that. “Certainly not,” he agreed. “A simple matter of a rope securely attached on the far side of the wall. I rolled over the stones and grabbed a hold of that, flattening myself against the dark shadows. Hugh never had an inkling of the switch. He simply saw, as he expected to see, a broken form at the bottom of a long drop. Once his eyes had pinned on that, no other solution presented itself.” He took down a long drink of his brew, smiling. “He was always simple like that.”

  Joan held in the stream of anger which coursed through her. She knew that Michael was good at what he did, would notice the minute changes in her face and breathing, so she added, “It nearly killed me when I heard you had died.”

  He put a hand out to gently pat hers for a moment. “I heard about that incident at Master Martin’s school. A shame, but you should know better than that. You have to be able to work through any emotion and keep your focus on the task at hand. It’s the only way to succeed in life.”

  The advice seemed exactly what she needed as she faced him, and she nodded. “You are right, as always.”

  He smiled, stretching his arms above his head, looking around the patio contentedly. “So, I suppose you want to hear what this was all about.”

  Joan wondered suddenly if he was imagining a larger crowd, imagining he was telling this tale to his room full of buddies at the tavern, and not just her, not just the woman he had pledged himself to once, long ago.

  She nodded. “I would, indeed.”

  “Well,” he began, settling himself in, “it all started during a series of investigations I was making into a ring of corrupt officials. A great deal of money was changing hands, and I knew the web had to stretch into fairly high places. The further I delved into it, the more I realized just how much the acquisition of intelligence factored into their activities. They were buying and selling knowledge, and making quite a profit at it.”

  “So you told Master Martin?”

  Michael glanced at her in annoyance, and she sat back in her chair. “My apologies,” she murmured. “Please, go on.”

  “So I decided I should go under cover,” he stated, his emphasis making clear that he felt his way was far better than her feeble offering. “Soon I had the group trusting me thoroughly. I moved up quickly through the ranks. Praise was heaped on me from all sides for my effectiveness and talents.”

  Joan nodded silently.

  His brow furrowed in concern. “And then I came across news that was troubling indeed. Hugh was on the payroll. And, not only that, but he was acting as a guard for one of the most notorious stews in the city.”

  Joan’s heart went still, and she stared at him in disbelief. He could not be serious. Not the Hugh she knew, not the one who had tended with such gentle care to the women they had rescued.

  Michael’s eyes shone with contentment at her focused attention. “It was then I talked with Master Martin,” he continued. “I laid out my plan of the fake death. It would have been impossible for me to investigate Hugh if we remained a team. He would expect to know where I was going and what I was doing. Once I ‘died’, I could see how he acted when he believed he was free and clear.”

  He was lying to her.

  It was suddenly so clear, so perfectly etched, and yet her brain could not quite connect the pieces together. He was looking at her with complete earnestness, and once upon a time she would have sworn on her life that he was telling the truth. She would have stepped before a loaded crossbow, pointed it at her chest, and vowed that every word Michael had said was honesty itself.

  But she knew it was not. She had seen Master Martin’s face when the news came of Michael’s death. She had seen him in the following days and months as he mourned the loss of a favorite student. That was no act put on for her benefit. That was the snuffing of hope in an aging man.

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

  She looked down, running a hand through her hair. “It is just so much to take in,” she honestly stated. “To think you have been alive this whole time? That Master Martin was lying to me?”

  His suspicion eased, and he patted her hand again. His tone became lofty. “You’ll find, my dear, that in our business, few people can be trusted. You have to always look out for yourself, to question the motives of everyone around you.”

  He took a drink of his ale. “Take Hugh, for example. That stew he worked for crammed four women into each room, with barely a flattened mat to sleep on. Half of them were diseased, and the other half bore scars from their attempts to escape. That grated main door only opened for the customers – either lowborn who could afford no better, or those with more coin who wanted to engage in activities that the higher-end stews would forbid.”

  Joan wondered how he was so intimately aware of the stew’s offerings, but she held her tongue.

  Michael leant toward her, holding her gaze. She could see the small gold flecks in the green, the sure curve of his chin, and it came to her suddenly, strongly. She had loved this man once. She had adored him, had longed for him, had prayed every day for him to come back to her so they could settle down and raise a family together. It had been all she had ever wanted.

  Michael smiled, seeing the look in her eyes, and nodded in satisfaction. “I am back to you now,” he stated. “I know all about your little dalliance with Hugh. No need to feel ashamed; it happens to all of us. But that is over with. You thought I was dead, and after a few years your resistance crumbled.” His eyes grew serious. “But now I am here, and you are mine. Things will go back to the way they were.”

  Joan could only nod. She did not trust herself to speak.

  Michael drained down the
rest of his ale, then set the mug on the table with a sharp ring. “Good, that’s settled. Let’s get you inside and into proper clothes for dinner. I hear the cook’s making roast lamb tonight.”

  Things were moving quickly, and Joan felt as if she needed a moment to breathe or she would be overrun. “I just need a few minutes to look out at the ocean,” she murmured. “It has been so long since I’ve seen it.”

  He shrugged. “Just don’t be late for dinner,” he warned, then he turned to stride to the far door. In a moment Joan was alone on the patio.

  She walked to the edge of the patio, looking out over the ocean, the edges of her tangerine dress catching in the salty breeze. Her world was being sliced into a thousand pieces by the curved blade of a khopesh, was falling and rearranging into a pattern which barely made sense. She felt like a mouse who had been mesmerized by a snake and was somehow barely able to shake free of the spell.

  Just how many of her past conversations with Michael had been lies? She was still stunned with the ease with which falsehoods streamed from his mouth, with no indication at all that the words he was speaking were untrue. How many other stories had been complete fictions? What had the man been up to all those years?

  And what part did he expect her to play in all of this?

  Crimson and golden streaks were painting the sky, and the fishing boats were slowly gliding back to shore. She stared at them, at the normalcy they represented. Then she set her lips into a line, and she turned.

  She would find out what was going on here, no matter what it took.

  Chapter 16

  Joan sat between Cecily and Michael, taking another bite of the fragrant roast lamb. Michael had not been lying about one thing – the dish was every bit as good as he had promised. She washed it down with a mouthful of mead, then bit into the roast turnips sprinkled with rosemary.