“Josson!” She stood, her cheeks flushing in pleasure at the sight of him. He was still thin, but less so, and his dark hair was tinged with gray at his temples. But he was nicely dressed, and handsome, and she was thrilled by the presence of an old friend and a reminder of happier days.
Afton let her sewing fall from her lap and went to the gate to greet him. “It is good to see you!” she said sincerely, taking his hands in hers and leading him through the hedge. “Please come in.”
“It is good of you to welcome me.” His eyes shone at her greeting, and he licked his lips nervously.
“Where have you been these many months, Josson? First you haunt my days for years, then you disappear entirely from my life. I was beginning to think you no longer enjoyed my companionship.”
“That was not the situation, I assure you,” Josson answered. He took off his hat and shuffled his feet in the dusty courtyard, looking around uncomfortably. “I did not come earlier because I have been busy, and--” his voice faltered, “I was sure you did not wish to see me.”
Afton looked away as a group of children ran by, laughing. “I did not wish to see you,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she remembered her days of forced labor. “But much time has passed since those days.”
Josson nodded. “I come today with good news, Afton. I could scarcely believe it myself, but Lord Perceval has passed his fiftieth year, and sometimes people try to amend for their past deeds--”
“What news do you bring?” Afton drew in her breath, hoping to hear that her prayers had been answered. Was Ambrose to be restored to her? Did regret and guilt plague Perceval’s heart?
“Only this.” Josson led her back to her sewing bench and motioned for her to sit. When she had seated herself, he put his hat across his heart and fell to one knee. “Afton, Lord Perceval has given me permission to ask for your hand. Marry me, Afton, and let me take you out of this place. You are a free woman, a woman of quality, and a woman I have loved for years. Come to my house, my dearest, and let us live and love together.”
The eloquence of his words touched her heart, but the only words that rang in her mind were “marry me” and “come to my house.” Marry Josson? The idea seemed as absurd as marriage to one of her brothers, for Josson had always been a friend and nothing more. But as his wife she would live in his house, the sturdy stone house of the steward which lay next to the castle keep.
If she lived in that house, she would be close to Ambrose, close enough to watch him and hear him and talk to him. She would be close to Endeline, near enough to slip hemlock into the lady’s tea when the time came. And she would be close to Calhoun, though it seemed unlikely he would ever return. But even if he returned in his coffin, she would be able to kneel by his side and touch his dear face one last time.
She looked right through Josson, smiling at the unspoken promises his words had suggested.
But then her natural wariness surfaced--why had Perceval approved this plan? Josson’s explanation did not suffice for such an extreme change of heart. Surely Endeline would not want Afton living on the castle grounds unless there was some deeper motivation, a darker plot.
“Does Lady Endeline know of Perceval’s approval?” Afton asked, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me, Josson, and tell me quickly!”
“No,” Josson shook his head and spread his hands in bewilderment. “In fact, Lord Perceval came to me privately and asked me to tell no one until I brought my bride home. Please, Afton, I have waited years for you. Be gentle, good lady, and do not make my heart suffer longer!”
His eyes gleamed in their suffering, and Afton felt a stab of pity for him. Had this secret love burned within him for as many years as she had loved Calhoun? She knew the pain of that suffering, and the anguish that patience required.
“Yes, Josson, I will marry you,” she whispered.
Josson closed his eyes in relief and clasped her hands to his chest. “My precious lady, you have done me a great service,” he whispered. His eyes opened, his lips curved into a smile, and ever so gently he leaned across the open space between them and placed his lips upon hers.
Afton allowed the kiss, recognizing that the feeling of his flesh upon her lips did not evoke the passions and memories that Calhoun’s few kisses had unleashed in her soul. But neither was Josson’s kiss hard and demanding like Hubert’s. Yes, she thought quickly, I can marry Josson.
“Thank you, Afton,” Josson breathed, pulling his head reluctantly from hers. He held her hands tenderly, then placed them in her lap and stood to his feet. “Lord Perceval suggested that the marriage be performed quickly, so I will make the arrangements,” Josson said, placing his hat on his head. He turned toward the gate, then returned to Afton again, his face brightening. “I would like to have some material sent over for your wedding dress,” he said, wringing his hands in embarrassment. “Does that please you?”
“It pleases me,” Afton answered, standing. She took his frantic hands and placed one upon her cheek. His eyes filled with unexpected tears, and she smiled. This man would never browbeat her into humiliation, and for his goodness, she would always be grateful. “Thank-you, Josson, for this great honor,” she said quietly. “I promise I will make you a good wife.”
***
Corba was ecstatic when she heard the news. Her daughter married to the steward! She might as well been marrying the lord himself, for Josson the steward managed Perceval’s entire estate. “Remember, mama, you are not to tell anyone,” Afton reminded her. “We do not want the news to reach Lady Endeline. She would certainly find a way to spoil this happiness, as she has spoiled every other.”
***
King Stephen relieved Calhoun of his command, complimented him on his brave performance in battle, and offered congratulations on his impending marriage. “Go in haste, for your bride grows old while you wait here,” Stephen told Calhoun, his eyes twinkling. “You have our royal blessing.”
***
Corba obviously did not keep the secret well, for on the wedding day more than twenty villagers appeared in Corba’s small courtyard to escort the bride and groom to the church door. Afton dressed carefully in her new tunic of the dark gray silk that matched her eyes, and saw admiration in her mother’s eyes. “You look just as a widow bride should look,” Corba said approvingly. “But never again shall you wear such dark colors after today. As the wife of the steward, you can wear scarlet and purple and gold.”
“I will wear the colors of rejoicing when I have my son again,” Afton answered, smoothing her hair. She fastened a small square of fabric to her head, and let her hair fall freely under it. Her heart did not glow with joy or excitement, but with simple relief that life had taken an unexpected turn for the better. She would now live in luxury, she would be able to help her mother, and she would live inside the castle walls. God must have been listening to her prayers after all.
“The groom comes!” The women shouted from the courtyard. “Hail master Josson, and good wedding day to you!”
Josson knocked timidly on the door, and Corba answered it, bowing deeply, her face wreathed in a smile. Afton bowed to Josson, too, then she put on her heavy cloak, took her groom’s arm and together they led the band of villagers to the church door.
Small children scampered in front of the couple on the way, strewing evergreen boughs in the path, and Josson pitched pennies to them from the purse at his belt. Though the wind was cold, the sun shone brightly, and Afton felt relaxed and content for the first time in years. How different was this day from the dark day when she had stood at the church door with Hubert! That day had begun her life of torture. Today her life would begin again.
***
Calhoun thanked God once again that his horse was both fast and sturdy, for the stallion covered the miles with satisfying speed. “Soon I shall hold her,” Calhoun thought, “and we shall explain away the differences the years have brought between us.”
His heart pounded when he saw the familiar landmarks outside Margate village,
and he toyed with the notion of going immediately to the castle and thanking his father for this unexpected change of heart. But love overruled reason, and he turned his horse toward the village and Corba’s house. He had waited thirty-one years to claim the woman he loved, and he would not be denied one more hour.
***
Josson knocked at the church door, and Father Odoric answered. “A wedding, heh?” he asked, peering at the crowd with his failing eyes. “Who gives this bride to be married?” He squinted at the face before him in the veil. “Who is this bride?”
“It is Afton of Margate, and I give myself,” she said clearly. The women in the crowd laughed pleasantly.
“Heh? All right, then, do you both consent to this union?” The priest squinted at Josson. “Who are you, groom?”
“I am Josson, steward at Margate Castle,” Josson answered. He looked down at Afton with love in his eyes. “And I most assuredly do consent to this marriage.”
“Do you, Afton, consent to marry Josson?” Father Odoric shouted, evidence that his hearing was failing as well.
“Yes, I do,” Afton answered, looking up at Josson.
Father Odoric turned his ear toward her. “Say it again?”
“I do!” Afton shouted, while the crowd behind her twittered.
The wind blew harshly, blowing the veils of the women and chilling the crowd. Father Odoric felt numbness in his fingers. Better hurry this wedding along before he froze to death. Perhaps there would be a warm dinner later.
***
Calhoun jumped off his lathered horse at Corba’s cottage and strode purposefully to the door. Though he banged with all his might, there was no response. He looked around and noticed that the row of cottages seemed deserted. Mounting his horse again, he spied a small girl plucking evergreen limbs from the road. “Where is Corba who lives here?” he demanded gruffly.
The girl eyed his sword and armor and her eyes widened.
“I won’t hurt you,” Calhoun said, wishing he had taken the time to shave his beard and make himself more presentable. “Where are the villagers from this house?”
The little girl would not answer, but she lifted her arm and pointed down the road to the church. Calhoun spurred his horse.
***
“All right, is there anyone here who knows of any impediment to this union?” Father Odoric asked, pretending to look through the crowd.
Josson heard the sound of an urgently galloping horse and prayed the priest would quickly continue. But Father Odoric was distracted; he lowered his prayer book and squinted past the crowd.
Josson turned reluctantly as a regal knight in armor abruptly reined in his horse in front of the church. The stallion reared, scattering women and children in the assembled group, and the knight raised his visor and peered at the bride. Calhoun!
“Stop this union,” Calhoun barked, his right hand on the hilt of his sword. “I hold claim to the woman who stands before the priest.”
“Excuse me,” Father Odoric’s voice crackled like dead leaves. “Who are you, and what have you to do with these proceedings?”
“I am Calhoun of Margate, and I love this woman,” Calhoun called again, and Josson’s mouth went dry when he felt Afton’s hand tense in his. “I will not leave without her.”
Josson stirred himself to action. “This is impossible,” he cried, clinging to his bride’s hand and stamping his foot in frustration. He turned toward his master’s son. “She will have nothing to do with you, sir!”
“Oh yes, I will!” Her hand left his in an instant and his bride flew through the crowd as swiftly as a bird. With one movement she extended her hand, and the knight pulled her up behind him on the horse. Her arms locked around him, he spurred the black stallion, and in a whirl of dust and a breath of cold air, they were gone.
“Why, this is most unusual,” Father Odoric said, peering around for the bride who seemed to have mysteriously vanished.
Josson glared at the priest, the anger of nearly forty years burning his soul. He had spent his life serving the nobility, staying out of the way of the nobility, suffering the quirks and whims of his noble masters. For his faithful service, he had been granted a bride, and he would suffer his lord’s son no longer.
“He will pay for this,” he snapped, kicking Afton’s evergreen bouquet out of his way as he strode from the church. “By all the saints, the renegade Calhoun will pay for this!”
***
“Calm yourself, Josson,” Endeline said, demurely smoothing her veil. “They will return, mark my words.”
“Justice must be done!” Josson fumed, pacing in the great hall. He forgot his usual deference in the heat of his anger. “She had given me her word! We were married, until your son showed his face at the church!”
“I cannot believe my son has dishonored me in this way,” Perceval muttered darkly, motioning to a servant for more ale. “I gave the woman to Josson. If Calhoun does not bring her back, my promises will be worthless among the people. My name has been dishonored, and this will not be forgiven.”
“Calhoun is a traitor to Perceval’s house, my lord,” Ambrose added, studying the tip of his dagger in the candlelight. “He has been by himself far too long. He has lost his sense of family honor and pride.”
“Not all men are as stalwart as you are,” Endeline said, placing her hand upon Ambrose’s shoulders. “But Calhoun is not totally lost. Love for that woman has made him a fool throughout his life. But fool though he may be, he is dependable. He will return tomorrow, I assure you.”
“How can you give this assurance?” Josson turned angry eyes upon her. “He will take my bride for himself tonight, and even if he returns, can I wipe his memory from her mind?”
“Your bride will return here tomorrow, undefiled,” Endeline said, moving to a bench. “Calhoun may not care for our family honor, but his own honor runs deep.” She glanced at Perceval and emphasized her next words: “He will not take a woman who is not his wife.”
“What is to stop them from being married, then?” Perceval asked, opening his hands. “Any village priest could marry them.”
“You forget one thing,” Endeline said, smiling smugly. She reached for Ambrose’s hand and cradled it tenderly. “Calhoun has his honor to draw him back, and Afton has Ambrose. Afton will do nothing that might endanger her son’s life. They will both return here in the morning, unmarried and untouched.”
“Call the council together,” Perceval announced, slamming his glass upon the table. “They will face the council of judgment as soon as they return.”
Perceval turned to Endeline. “If you are right, my wife, we shall be ready. And if you are wrong--”
“I will not be proved wrong,” Endeline said. She kissed the tip of her finger and laid it upon Ambrose’s cheek. “They will be back in the morning, then you shall all have opportunity for justice.”
***
Oblivious to the cold, Afton clung to Calhoun as though she would never let him go. Once again he had returned to her from the dead, and this time he knew what she demanded of him. Still he had come, and willingly.
They rode for miles on a road outside Margate and as the sun began to set Calhoun allowed the horse to slow to a walk. “We shall have to find a place to rest,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Then we must talk.”
She nodded her consent, her cheek against his shoulder, and when he dismounted in a forest clearing she slid easily from the horse’s back. She pulled her wedding cloak tightly around her as he built a small fire and led the horse to a nearby stream to drink. When he had finished tending the horse, he sank onto the ground beside her.
They did not touch, and Afton feared to break the silence between them. “Speak, Calhoun,” she finally urged him. “I will answer anything you ask.”
“Why were you about to marry my father’s steward?” he asked, his eyes on the flames in front of them. “The letter from my father implied that you had agreed to marry me. For one moment at the church, I was afraid you would n
ot come with me. If you had not--” he paused, and Afton knew what he was thinking. Public humiliation was more than Calhoun could bear.
She hoped he would turn to her and see the honesty on her face. “A letter from your father? Calhoun, I knew nothing of any letter, nor did your father approach me. Josson asked me to marry him, and I agreed because as his wife I could move to the castle.”
“To be near my mother.” Bitterness edged his voice. Afton knew he understood her completely.
“And to be near the son she took from me.” She kicked a fallen pine cone into their small fire and watched it sizzle and glow in the heat of the flame.
“We have been tricked, then,” Calhoun said, turning to her at last. Resignation was evident in his features. “I thought I came home to claim my love at last, and I thought you had given up your desire to avenge yourself upon my mother.”
“I shall never give that up!” she cried, curling her hands into fists. “You do not understand at all, Calhoun!”
He stared sadly past her into the darkness around them, and Afton drew her knees up and buried her head in her arms. “I thought you had accepted me at last, and understood my position,” she sobbed. “By marrying Josson, I was prepared to sacrifice joy for mere happiness, but when I looked up, there you were, an avenging angel in armor. I was certain God sent you to help me in my cause.”
He shook his head slowly. “I cannot aid you in the cause that would destroy my mother,” he said, each word an effort. “Even though your cause may be righteous.”
“She stole my son!” Her voice ripped through the silence of the night. “I want him back!”
“No, you don’t,” Calhoun answered. “He is not the boy you sent to her. He is a man now, after Hubert’s own heart, ambitious and cunning. He is the son of his father.”
Afton’s eyes went wide in horror and her hand rose reflexively to rake her nails across Calhoun’s face. He did not resist until she began beating his chest, then he held her arms and let her cry. “It cannot be,” she cried, twisting in his grip. “You are lying, Calhoun! Please, tell me you are lying!”
Afton of Margate Castle Page 38
