by Lily Baldwin
“The master is coming,” Joanie cried.
A moment later the door flew open and Geoffrey’s massive body filled the frame. He stormed into the room, followed by his guards and Simon. He narrowed his eyes on Diana and crossed to her bedside. “Where were you?” he growled.
Joanie scurried across the bed to the opposite side, putting herself between the large, furious man and her pallid mistress. Her heart pounded like a drum in her head. Still, she met Geoffrey’s gaze, lifting her chin defiantly.
“She was not well,” Joanie said simply.
Geoffrey stopped in his tracks. His eyes narrowed on Joanie. And then they flashed wide, and his nostrils flared. “You!”
Before Joanie could respond, he pulled back his hand and struck the side of her head, driving her back onto the bed. Her vision blurred, and she grappled for Diana when she heard her scream. Gripping her head between her hands, her vision cleared in time to see Diana’s fragile body careen across the room.
“No,” Joanie shouted, ignoring her throbbing head. She would be damned before he laid another finger on Diana. Damned or dead. Crawling off the bed, she put herself once again between Geoffrey and Diana.
“You will not hurt her, not now, not anymore,” Joanie shouted.
She closed her eyes as Geoffrey’s hand pulled back again, but the pain never came.
She opened her eyes and found Simon holding Geoffrey’s wrist from behind.
“Why do you do this?” Simon gasped.
Joanie’s eyes widened. She had never heard Simon question the master before. He had always stood by when Geoffrey saw fit to punish them.
“Joanie dazzled them. She…she was celebrated. They adored her,” Simon said.
“She defied me,” Geoffrey thundered. “They both did.”
He pushed past Joanie, toward Diana.”
“No, Geoffrey. You mustn’t,” Simon implored.
Geoffrey’s hand lashed out in a blur. A breath later, he had Simon’s face pinched between his merciless fingers. “Stay out of this, Simon, as you’ve always done, or you will regret it.”
Simon was the stronger man. Joanie held her breath, waiting, hoping for him to fight back, but his arms remained stiff at his sides. Still, he did not surrender. “You will kill her,” he managed to say. Geoffrey looked Simon in the eye for several moments. Then he dropped his hand.
Simon rubbed his cheeks. “She is sick, gravely so.”
Geoffrey turned, but he did not cross to where Diana lay sprawled out on the floor. Instead, he closed the distance between him and Joanie. She kept her head down, her heart racing. Then he crooked his thumb and gently lifted her chin. His soft gaze churned her stomach. She hated the admiration she saw in his eyes more than his fists. He turned her head from side to side, studying her. Then his eyes roamed over her figure before a slight smile curved his lips.
“My own hidden jewel. You will sing again tomorrow night, but this time — you sing for me.” He dropped his hand to his side as he shifted his gaze to Diana. “You have two days to recover or else you are finished, and Joanie will take your place.” Then he turned on his heel and left the room, his guard, including Simon, falling in line behind him.
Chapter Eleven
Alec sat in the back of the great hall, his eyes trained on the high dais where Joanie stood elegantly dressed in a copper colored tunic. Her raven black hair shone in waves that teased her narrow waist, and her white skin gleamed in the candlelight. A stirring melody, rich and sensual, poured forth from her full lips as she gazed above the heads of avid onlookers to a world unseen and unknown to anyone but her. Seduced by her slow, languid movements, the men within the hall ogled her as she wove among the trencher tables. They wanted to reach out and claim her for themselves, to pull her onto their laps and feel her body through her clothing. They wanted to own her, like a prize, something else to prove their greatness to the world.
She glided past them all, staying just out of reach. Then a flash caught Alec’s eye. Geoffrey Mercer snaked his hand out, grabbing for Joanie’s arm, but she twirled away just in time to escape his touch.
Once more, Alec felt her fear hurtle toward him. This combined with Geoffrey’s sudden fury and the pulsing lust from the other men in the room, creating a turbulent storm of emotion within his heart and mind. Pressing both hands on the table, he stood, and watched Geoffrey’s anger grow with every short breath he forced down his lungs.
The last note from Joanie’s lips circled the ceiling of the great hall before its beauty drifted down to settle around the listeners in an echo of grace and vibrancy. The end of her song fueled Geoffrey’s anger. He lunged to his feet, but enraptured onlookers stood between his fury and Joanie’s terror, cheering, applauding, and vying for her attention. Alec narrowed his eyes as Geoffrey whispered something to one of his guards who then set off toward her, pushing through the crowd. When he reached her, his hand closed around her upper arm, and he pulled her toward Geoffrey, whose lips twisted into a greedy smile as she drew near.
Alec started toward them, his eyes never leaving Joanie’s terrified face.
The guard thrust her at Geoffrey, and she fell onto his lap. Her fear and anger assaulted Alec’s senses as Geoffrey stroked her cheek with his thick fingers. Then he pinned her face between his hands. She pushed against his chest, straining to lean away from his advancing kiss.
“Don’t fight me,” Geoffrey snarled, pulling his hand back.
Fury exploded within Alec when he realized Geoffrey’s intention, and he lunged forward, grabbing Geoffrey’s arm before he could strike Joanie. In that moment of contact, Geoffrey’s soul was laid bare to him.
Pleading women, their faces tear-streaked and bloodied, assaulted Alec’s mind. So many women, dozens, wearing the mark of Geoffrey’s fists. Alec recognized the beauty, Diana. And then he saw her — Joanie — but not as she was in the hall, dressed in finery, but tattered and filthy. She did not plead. She did not cry. She withstood his fury and protected Diana. Pain, hot and furious, struck Alec as he absorbed every blow she had ever received from Geoffrey. Then his dream rose like a hazy fog in his mind — Joanie standing on the bridge, guarded by lions, sobbing, “Help us.”
Alec growled. His fist shot up, catching Geoffrey beneath his chin, snapping his head back.
Alec’s stance did not waver when Geoffrey stood up — fury pulsing through him. His eyes narrowed, boring deeper into Geoffrey’s black soul.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Geoffrey sneered, then motioned with a jerk of his hand toward his guards who lunged at Alec.
But Alec was faster. Before the guards finished taking their first step, the sword he had strapped to his back was unsheathed and the tip pressed to Geoffrey’s neck. The very next moment, the guards unsheathed their own blades, all raised at Alec. He could feel the heat of the guards’ eyes on his flesh and their hearts quickening at the prospect of spilling his blood.
Alec stared hard at Geoffrey. He could end his worthless life with just a flick of his wrist.
“Enough,” a loud voice shouted.
The keeper stepped forward. His regal gate and bored posturing belied a casualness Alec knew he did not feel. Underneath his calm facade, Alec could feel the keeper’s pulse racing. “That will be enough, gentlemen.”
Sir Hugh Godfrey stood and raised his cup, sloshing the amber liquid on the table. “I believe I’m one of the few gently born men in the room,” he said, his voice thick with drink.
The keeper cast him a surly look before turning to Geoffrey. “Call off your men.”
“Not before he steps down,” Geoffrey growled.
But Alec had no intention of backing down. He was too full of fury and Geoffrey’s hate and the images of beaten women. But then his eldest brother’s words came to him, Jack’s words — we are thieves, not murderers.
Alec fought for control as a new storm began to churn within his heart. He was one of Scotland’s secret rebels. They stole from wealthy English nobles and gave th
e riches to Scottish peasants in need. They delivered messages to advance the cause. They broke Scottish nobles out of English prisons — they did not kill for simple vengeance or the momentary pleasure it might bring.
Alec gritted his teeth. He wanted to resist the light. He wanted to refuse the honor his parents had instilled in him. The battle between his two competing desires raged on. Did he play God and smite Geoffrey from the earth? Or did he choose to be the better man? His gaze shifted from Geoffrey, searching for Joanie. She stood not far from him, beside a large man with thinning brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, her face a picture of terror.
“Damn it,” Alec spat, dropping his blade.
“Now, stand down,” the keeper snapped at Geoffrey’s guards. At once, the men backed away. But Alec knew what was coming. He didn’t flinch as Geoffrey thrust his own blade to Alec’s neck.
“Put down your weapon,” John shouted, his cool facade gone.
Geoffrey’s eyes darted to the keeper but then locked once more with Alec’s. “You saw what he did. He attacked me without provocation, and still you defend him.”
John shook his head. “I think not. I’m partial to that man, as you well know. I’d rather you not kill him.”
“Then I demand he be flogged and thrown into the dungeon, or have you forgotten who I am, who I know, and whose coin now lines your purse?”
The keeper shrugged. “It’s not just your coin that fills my purse.” John turned to one of his own guards. “Bring me the girl. She seems to be at the heart of this altercation.”
Alec closed his eyes for a moment, rebuilding his shields and chasing away the images of Joanie’s suffering from his mind. He needed to hold fast to his control. Then he opened his eyes and watched as the keeper’s guard gently took Joanie by the arm. At first, she resisted, but he whispered something in her ear that seemed to bring her calm, and she followed. When she was presented to the keeper, she dipped in a low curtsy.
“What is your name?” John asked.
“Joanie,” she replied, her shoulders inching up closer to her ears.
“Just Joanie. Have you another name?”
“Joanie Picard,” she said quietly, her head down.
“She is of my house, the house of Mercer,” Geoffrey thundered. “My servant.”
The keeper looked at Geoffrey with surprise. “Interesting. You’ve had this gem in your household and yet you have kept her to yourself all this time.”
“Until recently she has been my leman’s maid.”
“Ah, yes, the beautiful Diana,” John said as he eyed Joanie. Alec could feel the keeper’s mounting lust.
“It would seem you purchased a servant, but I do not see a servant standing before me. I see a prize.” Then John turned to Geoffrey. “Let me help you settle this matter. I will buy the girl off your hands.”
Alec could feel Joanie’s heart pound harder as her eyes widened. She stepped away from the keeper, but he reached out and took her hand. “Look! She blushes like a maid.”
“She’s not for sale,” Geoffrey snapped, lunging for Joanie, but the keeper’s guards blocked his way.
John didn’t respond to Geoffrey’s refusal. Instead, he quietly studied Joanie. “I’ll give you ten marks,” he said softly, reaching out to stroke her cheek, but Joanie cringed and shrank away.
“Do not insult me,” Geoffrey growled.
“Twenty marks then.”
Fear, anger, and humiliation pulsed from Joanie’s broken heart as the men haggled for her life.
Alec stepped forward. “I will give you one-hundred silver marks.”
Joanie gasped when she heard the sum from Randolph’s lips, and so did everyone else in the room. Then a hush settled over the hall. Joanie watched as Alec and Geoffrey stared at each other. Geoffrey’s face was red with fury, and his hands were clenched in tight fists. Meanwhile, Randolph stood with his now familiar grace, his tall, sinewy body leaning against one of the trencher tables, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Her mind raced. One-hundred silver marks could purchase a household of servants. Geoffrey could keep a harem of mistresses in luxury for a year with such a sum.
“For pity’s sake,” the keeper said. “If you are waiting for a better offer from me, you will not have one. Take this fool’s money, Geoffrey, before he comes to his senses.”
Geoffrey’s gaze flitted between Joanie and Alec and the keeper. Then he reached out his hand to Alec. “She’s yours,” he snarled.
Alec looked at Geoffrey’s hand but he did not accept it. Instead, he strode around Geoffrey to Joanie’s side, taking hold of her arm. Joanie stiffened at his touch.
“Not until I have my coin,” Geoffrey snapped.
John nodded. “He is right, Randolph. Release her and fetch the promised coin.”
Joanie could feel the heat pouring off her new owner as he stared daggers at her old master. Then he turned to the keeper. “Have your guard escort Joanie to her room.” He cut his eyes sidelong at Geoffrey. “Have them wait outside for my arrival.” Then he looked at her. Despite the heat coming from his body in waves into her soul, his eyes held no warmth. His hollow expression sent chills up her spine. “I will come to you in an hour’s time. Be ready to leave the castle.” Then he turned on his heel and strode from the hall.
Chapter Twelve
The keeper’s guard opened Diana’s door for Joanie. “Thank you,” she muttered before the door closed behind her.
Diana lifted her head from her pillow. “You’re whiter than usual,” she rasped. “What happened?”
Joanie wandered aimlessly into the room, her arms hanging limp at her sides while her mind tried to navigate through a fog of disbelief.
“Joanie!” Diana burst out, cutting through Joanie’s haze. “What has happened?”
“I’ve been sold,” she said and slumped onto the bed.
Diana’s eyes widened in horror. “To whom?”
Joanie’s lips trembled. “To Randolph Tweed.”
Diana gasped and sat up. “No! I won’t allow it.”
“It is done. He promised Geoffrey one-hundred silver marks.”
“But that is a fortune! Why would he pay such a price?”
Joanie shook her head. “I dare not consider why. Anyway, the matter is arranged. It is done. He promised to come for me in an hour’s time. I am supposed to be ready to leave the palace.”
“But … you can’t leave me,” Diana cried. “You—”
Joanie put her hand up to silence Diana. “Listen,” she said, her heart pounding. Footfalls sounded in the hallway. “But I’ve only just returned. He cannot come for me now.” Joanie clutched Diana’s hand. “One of the keeper’s own soldiers escorted me here and now guards the door. Mayhap, he will not be granted entry.”
Just then the clanging of blades stung Joanie’s ears, and a moment later something or someone slammed into the door and thudded to the ground. Deafening silence followed.
Diana wrapped her arms around Joanie. “I won’t let him take you,” she cried.
Then the door swung wide, and Simon thundered into the room.
Joanie looked past him at the crumpled body of the guard on the floor. “He’s … you … you killed him.”
Simon shook his head. “I only rendered him unconscious. I had to. How else could I save Diana?” He crossed the room and scooped Diana into his arms. Cradling her close, he pressed a long kiss to her brow.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Diana whispered, cupping Simon’s face.
Joanie thought of all the times Simon had stood by and let Geoffrey beat them. “Why did you never interfere before?”
“Believe me, Joanie, it killed me to watch him hurt her and you, but she made me promise not to interfere.”
Diana nodded, still staring up into Simon’s eyes. “I told him that I would rather belong to the Devil and live in luxury, than be free and know poverty again.”
Simon’s mouth settled into a grim line. He set Diana back on the bed and stood
. “But that time has come to an end.” Then he turned to Joanie. “You both need to leave right now. Put together a satchel.” Then he handed Joanie a heavy purse. “This coin will guarantee her comfort, but I need your word, Joanie. Promise me that you’ll take care of her.”
“Do not speak of me as if I am not here,” Diana snapped. “As if I am already dead.”
A wave of pain twisted Simon’s features but his gaze never left Joanie’s. “Give me your word.”
Joanie nodded. “I swear it. You know I will take care of her as I’ve always done. But why are you not coming with us?”
Simon shook his head. “I will stay behind and do what I must to keep him from following you.”
Joanie hated the idea of Simon carrying on beneath Geoffrey’s thumb. “Come with us,” she urged. “Run with us. You deserve more than this life too.”
Simon shook his head sadly and pulled Joanie into his arms. “Diana cannot run,” he whispered in her ear. “She is not long for this world as you well know. You must take her to a hospital or an abbey where she can die in peace and with dignity — my coin will pay for her care and a proper burial.”
“What is going on?” Diana asked.
Simon let go of Joanie. “It is time to go,” he said, loud enough for Diana to hear.
Diana looked around the room nervously. “Please tell me what is going on.”
Simon made no reply. Instead, he reached for Diana and helped her to her feet. “Can you walk?”
Joanie watched as Diana’s white-knuckled grip on Simon’s arm loosened, and she took her first tentative steps. Slowly, she straightened her spine and walked to the center of the room where she stopped, her stance regal. Joanie could see the glint in her eye — Diana would fight until the last breath fled her body. “I can walk,” she gritted.
Simon turned to Joanie. “Are you ready?”
Joanie shook her head and set to work, packing a satchel for Diana. When she had her mistress’s effects and the herbs and oils she would need, she nodded.
“I will take you as far as the kitchens,” he said. “The keeper is lazy and arrogant. Only the front gates to the palace are guarded. You can leave through the gardens. Stick to the palace wall. There is a gate on the far right. On the other side, you will find passage across the Thames.”
