The Velvet Promise

by Jude Deveraux

  “I have no idea what you mean,” Gavin began, his own temper flaring. “You talk in riddles.”

  “You hint that I am an adulteress. Is that a riddle?”

  “You bear the man’s child. How else can I say it? I have offered to care for the baby. You should be grateful that I don’t cast you aside.”

  Judith stared at him. He didn’t ask if the child was his. He assumed that Walter’s words were the true ones. At her wedding, Judith’s mother had said that a man would believe the lowest-born serf before he believed a woman. It was true. And if Judith denied sleeping with Walter? Would he believe her? There would be no way to prove her words.

  “You have no more to say?” Gavin demanded, tight-lipped.

  Judith glared at him, speechless.

  “Then you agree to my terms?”

  Well, she would play the game his way. “You say you give my child my lands. You sacrifice little.”

  “I keep you! I could set you aside.”

  She laughed. “You could always have done so. Men have that right. You keep me while you desire me. I’m no fool. I would have something more than just an inheritance for my child.”

  “You ask payment?”

  “Yes, for coming to you at the castle.” The words hurt. She was crying inside, but refused to show it.

  “What do you want?”

  “I would have my mother given in marriage to John Bassett.”

  Gavin’s eyes opened wide.

  “You are her nearest male relative now,” Judith pointed out. “You have the right.”

  “John Bassett is—”

  “Don’t tell me. I know too well. But can’t you see how she loves him?”

  “What has love to do with it? There are estates to be considered, properties to be joined.”

  Judith put her hands on his arms, her eyes pleading. “You don’t know what it is to live without love. You have given yours, and I have no chance for it. But my mother has never loved a man as she loves John. It’s in your power to give her what she most needs. I beg you, don’t let your animosity toward me keep you from letting her have some happiness.”

  He stared down at her. She was so beautiful but he saw also a lonely young woman. Had he really been so harsh to her that she needed Walter Demari, if even for a few moments? She said he’d given his love, yet at that moment he couldn’t remember Alice’s face.

  He pulled Judith into his arms. He remembered how frightened she was when she’d been treed by the boar. So little courage—yet she’d confronted an enemy, as if she alone could slay dragons.

  “I don’t hate you,” he whispered, holding her close, his face buried in her hair. Raine once asked what was wrong with her, and now Gavin asked himself that question. If she did carry another man’s infant, wasn’t it his fault for leaving her unprotected? In all their marriage, Gavin could remember being kind to her only once. The day they had spent together in the woods. Now his conscience hurt him. He’d planned that day only to woo her back to his bed. He thought only of himself and not of her. He bent and put his hand under her knees. He sat down on the sweet-smelling grass, his back against a tree and held her curled in his arms. “Tell me what happened at the castle,” he said gently.

  She didn’t trust him. Always, when she trusted him, he flung her words back in her face. But his body felt good to her. This feeling is all we share, Judith thought. Only lust exists between us. Not love or understanding—or, least of all, trust.

  Judith shrugged, refusing to reveal anything to him. Her lips were so close to his neck. “It’s over now. It is better forgotten.”

  Gavin frowned, wanting to press her to talk to him but her nearness was more than he could bear. “Judith,” he whispered as his mouth came down on hers.

  Her arms went about his neck and drew him closer, her mind going blank at the touch of him. Forgotten were any ideas of understanding and trust.

  “I have missed you,” Gavin whispered against her neck. “Do you know that when I first saw you at Demari’s, I thought I was dead?”

  She leaned her head away, giving Gavin the arch of her slender throat.

  “You were like an angel bringing light and air and your beauty into that…place. I was afraid to touch you for fear that you weren’t real—or that you were real, and I would be destroyed if I dared touch you.” He fumbled with the laces at her side.

  “I am most real,” Judith smiled.

  He was so enchanted by her look that he pulled her to face him and kissed her deeply. “Your smiles are rarer and more precious than diamonds. I have seen so few of them.” His face blackened suddenly with memory. “I could have killed you both when I saw Demari touch you.”

  She stared at Gavin in horror, then tried to push away.

  “No!” he said and held her close. “Do you give him more than me, your husband?”

  Judith was in an awkward position, but she managed to draw her hand back and slap him across the cheek.

  His eyes blazed as he caught her hand in his, crushing her small fingers together. Then suddenly he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You are right. I am a fool. It’s done. It’s behind us. Let’s look to the future and to tonight only.” His mouth captured hers and Judith fought any rage. In truth, she thought of nothing at all as his hands roamed beneath her clothes.

  They were hungry for each other, more than hungry. The starvation Gavin had experienced in the tent was nothing compared to what he felt at having to do without his wife.

  The indigo-blue wool dress was torn away, as was the linen undertunic. The tearing fabric added to the passion, and Judith’s hands struggled with Gavin’s clothes. But his hands were faster than hers. Instantly, his clothes lay in a heap on top of hers.

  Frantically, Judith pulled him to her and Gavin more than met her ardor. Within moments they came together in a fiery starburst that left them both exhausted.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “HE THINKS HE’S BETTER THAN US,” BLANCHE SAID spitefully. She and Gladys were in the Chatworth buttery, filling jugs with wine for the eleven o’clock meal.

  “Yes,” Gladys said but with less venom. She missed Jocelin very much, but she was not angry about it as Blanche was.

  “What business do you think keeps him away from us?” Blanche asked. “He spends little enough time with her,” she jerked her head upward to indicate Alice Chatworth’s room. “And he is seldom in the hall.”

  Gladys sighed. “He seems to spend most of his time alone in the hayloft.”

  Blanche suddenly stopped her task. “Alone! Is he alone, though? We haven’t thought of that. Could he keep a woman up there?”

  Gladys laughed. “Why would Jocelin want just one woman when he can have many? And what woman is missing? Unless he has one of the serfs, I know of no one who could have been missing so long.”

  “Then what else could hold a man like Jocelin? Here, you!” Blanche called to a passing serf girl. “Finish filling these mugs.”

  “But I—,” the girl began but Blanche gave her arm a vicious pinch. “I will,” she said sullenly.

  “Come, Gladys,” Blanche called. “While Jocelin is busy somewhere else, let’s put an end to this mystery.”

  The two women left the little buttery and walked the short distance to the stables.

  “See, he removes the ladder each time he leaves,” Blanche observed. She walked quietly into the stables, Gladys close behind her. Blanche put a finger to her lips and pointed to the fat stableman’s wife. “The old dragon keeps watch over him,” she whispered.

  The girls took the ladder, being careful not to make any noise. They placed it against the outside wall, the end braced against the opening to Jocelin’s room. Blanche lifted her skirts and climbed up. When they were once inside, their view of the little room blocked by the stacks of hay, a woman’s voice reached them.

  “Jocelin? Is that you?”

  Blanche smiled in malicious triumph at Gladys and led the way into the open area. “Constance!” />
  The woman’s lovely face was still battered, but it was beginning to heal. Constance retreated, her back against a pile of hay.

  “So! You are the reason Jocelin neglects us. I thought you left the castle,” Gladys said.

  Constance could only shake her head.

  “No! She didn’t,” Blanche spat. “She saw Jocelin and decided he was to be hers. She couldn’t bear to share him.”

  “That isn’t so,” Constance said, her lower lip trembling. “I nearly died. He cared for me.”

  “Yes, and you care for him, don’t you? What sorcery did you use to charm him?”

  “Please…I meant no harm.”

  Blanche was not listening to the woman’s pleas. She knew Jocelin had not put the marks Constance now bore on her face and body. Only Edmund Chatworth would have done that. “Tell me, does Lord Edmund know where you are?”

  Constance’s eyes widened in horror.

  Blanche laughed. “See, Gladys, she is the lord’s mistress—yet she betrays him with another. What do you say we return her to her master?”

  Gladys looked at the terrified young woman with sympathy.

  Blanche grabbed her friend’s upper arms, her fingers digging into the soft flesh. “She has betrayed us, yet you hesitate before giving some of her own in return? This conniving little bitch has taken Joss from us. She had Lord Edmund, but she wanted more. She wasn’t content with one man, but she must have all of them at her feet.”

  Gladys turned to Constance with a look of hate.

  “If you do not go with us, we will tell Lord Edmund that Jocelin has been hiding you,” Blanche smiled.

  Constance silently followed them down the ladder. She would not allow herself to think, only to know that she protected Jocelin. In all her life, no one had offered her tenderness. Her world was filled with people like Edmund and Blanche and Alice. Yet, for nearly two weeks, she had lived in a dream in Jocelin’s arms. He had talked to her, sung to her, held her close and made love to her. He whispered that he loved her and she believed him.

  Now, following Blanche and Gladys was like waking from a dream. Unlike Jocelin, Constance did not make plans for when they would leave the Chatworth castle, when she was fully healed. She knew that the time they had in that loft was all the time they would ever know. Docilely, she followed the women, accepting her fate; the idea of escape or struggling never entered her mind. She knew where they led and when she entered Edmund’s chamber, her chest tightened as if iron bands were drawn about it.

  “Stay here and I will fetch Lord Edmund,” Blanche ordered.

  “Will he come?” Gladys asked.

  “Oh, aye, when he hears what I will say to him. Do not let her leave the room.”

  Blanche was back in moments, a furious Edmund on her heels. He did not like having his dinner interrupted, but the mention of Constance had made him follow the presumptuous servant girl. Once in the room, he slammed and bolted the door behind him, his eyes on Constance, ignoring the nervous looks of the two maids.

  “So, my sweet Constance, you did not die after all.” Edmund put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. He saw only resignation there. Her bruises marred her beauty, but she would heal. “Those eyes,” he whispered. “They have haunted me for a long time.”

  He heard a noise behind him and turned to see the two maids trying to sneak the bolt from the door. “Here!” he commanded and grabbed the arm of the nearest one, Gladys. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To our duties, my lord,” Blanche said, her voice unsteady. “We are your most loyal servants.”

  Gladys had tears in her eyes as Edmund’s fingers bit into her skin. She tried to pry his fingers loose.

  Edmund flung the girl to the floor. “Did you think you could bring her here and leave her like so much baggage? Where has she been?”

  Blanche and Gladys exchanged glances. They hadn’t thought of this. All they wanted to do was get Constance away from Jocelin. They wanted things the way they once were, with Jocelin teasing them, making love to them.

  “I—I don’t know, my lord,” Blanche stuttered.

  “You think I’m a fool?” Edmund said and advanced on her. “The girl has been well hidden, or I would have known of her. Her presence has not been part of the castle gossip.”

  “No, my lord, she…” Blanche could not think fast enough to create a story. Her tongue tripped her.

  Edmund stopped, then looked at Gladys cringing on the floor. “There is something to this story that you hide. Whom do you protect?” He grabbed Blanche’s arm and twisted it painfully behind her back.

  “My lord! You hurt me!”

  “I will do more than that if you lie to me.”

  “It was Baines of the kitchen,” Gladys said loudly, wanting to protect her friend.

  Edmund released Blanche’s arm as he considered this. Baines was a thoroughly disliked man, foul, evil-tempered, he knew that. But Edmund also knew Baines slept in the kitchen. He had no privacy, certainly not enough to hide a battered girl until she was healed. It would have caused talk throughout the castle.

  “You lie,” Edmund said in a deadly voice, then advanced slowly on her.

  Gladys cringed away from him, half-crawling across the rushes. “My lord,” she said, every fiber of her body trembling.

  “It is your last lie,” he said as he grabbed her about the waist. She started struggling when he saw him carrying her toward the open window.

  Blanche stared in horror as Edmund carried the fighting Gladys. When they reached the window, Gladys held her arms out against the framework but she was no match for Edmund’s strength. He gave one push at the small of her back and she fell forward, clutching at the air. Her scream, as she fell three stories to the courtyard below, seemed to make the walls tremble.

  Blanche could only stare, her knees turning to water, her stomach heaving.

  “Now,” Edmund said as he turned back to Blanche. “I wish to know the truth. Who kept her?” he nodded toward Constance who stood silently against the wall. Edmund’s murder of Gladys had not shocked Constance; it was what she had expected.

  “Jocelin,” Blanche whispered.

  At the name, Constance’s head came up. “No!” She could not bear for Jocelin to be betrayed.

  Edmund smiled. “That pretty singer?” He was the one who took her that night—a fact Edmund had forgotten. “Where does he sleep that he could keep her unnoticed?”

  “Above the stables in the loft.” Blanche could hardly speak. She kept looking at the window. Only a moment before, Gladys had been alive. Now her body lay broken and crushed on the pavement.

  Edmund nodded at Blanche’s answer; he knew the truth when he heard it. He took a step toward her and she cringed away from him, her back to the door.

  “No, my lord, I told you what you wanted to know.” He kept coming toward her, a slight smile on his face. “And I brought you Constance. I am a true servant to you.”

  Edmund liked her terror; it proved that he was strong. He stood close to her, reached a fat hand to caress the line of her jaw. There were tears in her eyes, tears of fear. Even as he struck her, he smiled.

  Blanche fell to the floor, her hand on the side of her face, her eye already turning purple.

  “Go,” he said, half-laughing as he threw open the door. “You have learned your lesson well.”

  Blanche was out of the room before the door closed. She ran down the stairs and out the manor house. She kept running through the castle yard, through the open gate. She did not answer the calls of the men from atop the walls. She only knew that she wanted to be away from anything to do with the Chatworth estate. Only when the pains in her side forced her, did she stop. Then she walked, never once looking back.

  Jocelin slipped four plums inside his doublet; he knew how much Constance loved fresh fruit. In the last weeks, his life had begun to revolve around what Constance did and did not like. Watching her unfold, petal by soft petal, had been the most delightful t
hing that had ever happened to him. Her gratitude for every pleasure, no matter how small, was warming, though his heart ached at the thought of her life before—that a bouquet of flowers could make her cry.

  And in bed, he smiled wickedly. He was not such a martyr as to forgo all selfish pleasures. Constance wanted to repay him for his kindness and wanted to show him her love. At first her anticipation of pain had made her rigid, but the feel of Jocelin’s hands on her body, knowing they would not hurt her, made her wild with passion. It was as if she wanted to crowd all the love she would ever know into a few short weeks.

  Jocelin smiled as he thought of their future together. He would stop traveling and settle down, would make a home for Constance and himself. Then they would have several violet-eyed children. Never in his life had he wanted more than freedom and a comfortable bed and a warm woman. But never had he been in love before. Constance had changed his whole life. Just a few more days—as soon as Constance was well enough to stand the long journey, they would leave.

  Jocelin was whistling as he left the manor house and walked past the kitchen toward the stables. He froze when he saw the ladder leaning against the wall. Of late he had been careful to remove the ladder. The stableman’s wife kept a sharp eye on it for him, and Jocelin rewarded her with numerous smiles and a few genuinely affectionate hugs. He did not think of any danger to himself, but only to Constance.

  He ran the last few feet and sped up the ladder. His heart was beating wildly as he searched the tiny room, as if he’d find her beneath the hay. He knew without a doubt that Constance would not leave on her own. No, she was like a fawn, timid and fearful.

  Tears blurred his eyes as he made his way down the ladder. Where would he find her? Perhaps some of the women played a joke on him and he would find her safe in some corner, munching on a raisin bun. Jocelin did not believe it, even as he pictured the dream.