by Janet Lane
Cam grabbed a board from Luke’s flawless wood stack and hiked it over her head. “No you aren’t, you ass.” She swung it fiercely into the side of Luke’s head.
Luke’s legs buckled, and he fell to the ground.
Joya gasped. “What have you done? Cam!”
Cam bent to his face. “He’s breathing. He’s out, but probably not for long. What a stubborn man.” She tried to stifle a smile that tugged at her mouth, and failed. “And he does look much better with a head on his shoulders.” She started giggling in spite of herself. “Much better,” she repeated, her laughter growing into noisy, beastly snorts.
Pru joined her with her soft, tittering laugh.
It was contagious. After the last hour, laden with worry about their apricot seed ambush and whether they would get caught red-handed, they had succeeded in conquering a handful of experienced knights and one blustering bridge builder.
And Luke still had his head. It made no sense, but it was mightily amusing. Joya laughed as well, her giggles bubbling like an untended stewpot, overflowing, making her gasp.
They continued laughing, and tears formed in Joya’s eyes.
Hoofbeats sounded, and George arrived with two saddled horses. “What goes here? What has overcome you all?” he asked. “What happened to him?” He gestured toward Luke.
“He’s an idiot,” Cam said, her laughter fading. “He refused to go. Stubborn as an old cat.”
“And why is he still awake?” George asked, pointing at Peter.
“He didn’t eat enough seeds,” Joya said, subdued. “I don’t think he can ride. I don’t know how long he’ll be sluggish like that.”
Peter’s arm slid in the grass, and his head fell to the ground.
George dismounted and embraced Cam. “What can we do?”
“We’ve gone too far to turn back.” Cam’s voice lacked its usual bold edge. She rubbed the palm of her hand repeatedly on her skirt as if to clean it. “We have committed treason.”
They looked at each other, and the fear in her friends’ eyes paralyzed Joya. She dropped her gaze to the river and a net of silence fell over them. The ceaseless bubble of the tumbling water should have soothed her, but the ill-starred rescue, the danger into which she had pulled all of them, lightened Joya’s head. The sound of the water swirled into her memory—the shocking cold when she had plunged into the water, her hands bound and the powerful fingers of current pulling her to her death. She reached for Luke’s wooden workhorse to steady herself, yet still the river warned her that time continued to run.
She yearned to go home, to safety. “We could leave them all here,” Joya said. “Go back to the castle, like Luke said. Tell them it was bad seeds…” Weakness settled in her veins, and her hands trembled as she touched the growing bump on the side of Luke’s head. His head…
Their laughter had not chased away their fright. She could not watch his head roll. “He must leave before Margaret gets here.” Joya stood and turned to George. “Do we have rope?”
“No.”
It was Joya’s turn to pace. She pulled at her hair and gritted her teeth at his cursed stubbornness. Her plan was supposed to be a gift to him, the gift of his life, and he was supposed to have been bold and clever and grateful. It would have all looked like an accident and somehow all of this would blow over. No one would have been hurt—the men would recover quickly, there would be no beheading—everything would have been good eventually.
Luke lay sprawled where he had fallen, looking peaceful and innocent. He had crashed into her life and nothing was the same. She looked at the road back home to Coin Forest. How could she go there now? Peter was awake enough to remember—and tell—all. They couldn’t feign sleep, couldn’t pretend the seeds were corrupted and had made them all fall asleep, that only Luke had not been affected and had mysteriously escaped. All excuses were lame. She couldn’t go home and face her father.
“Fine.” Her voice sounded old and harsh to her own ears. All was lost, except Luke. “Tie him to the horse.” She raised her gown, reaching under for the linen. She bit into the fabric a few inches above the hem and ripped four strips free. “Here.” She tossed two to George. You bind his hands, we’ll do his feet and load him onto the horse. Get him secure.”
Once he was trussed tightly, George turned to her. “He was supposed to ride away, free, while you pretended to recover from the seeds.” His gaze stayed fixed on Joya. “Who’s going to ride with him?”
Joya straightened, too committed and too guilty to return home. “I will.” As the words passed her lips a vision assaulted her, one of herself walking to the block and facing her executioner. A vision of her mother, witnessing the last moments of her life.
Cam stepped forward. “I will ride with you. I’m not going back there.”
Pru stepped forward. “I will ride with you, too, Joya.”
“Can they trace the horse you brought for Luke?” Joya asked George.
“Only if they’re thorough,” George said. “I bought him from an innkeeper way over in Foxton.”
“Can you slip back to Coin Forest unnoticed?” Joya asked George.
“Peter has seen him,” Pru said. “He can’t go back.”
“Here we are,” George said. “Let’s all go while we still can.”
“Where to?” Joya asked. They hadn’t considered this. Their plan had been to simply send Luke on his way.
“Certes not Penryton,” Cam said. “They’ll go there first.”
“Not Ilchester, either,” Pru said. “They’ll go there to look for Cam and me.”
“Winchester,” Joya said. “My sister, Faith, will help us.”
“That’s too far. It would take a week to get there.” Cam shook her head. “The rest of my family is almost all the way to London.”
Pulse pounding in her temples, Joya thought of someone. A beautiful woman, not family, exactly, but close. Joya had known her all her life. She was bright and resourceful, and she, too, had been in trouble in the past; she would understand. Married to a knight in good standing with the church, should they need to seek sanctuary. To reach her was only a day’s journey.
“Kadriya.”
* * *
“There’s Cerne,” Joya said. In the bowl-shaped valley below, the moonlight turned the small village a light blue. It was so late that all the fires had died but those on the city walls. Joya shifted in her saddle. The hills surrounding Cerne were difficult for horses and riders alike.
“It’s small,” George said.
“Yes, mainly merchants that supply the monks, and the usual herdsmen and tillers,” Joya said. “And there’s the abbey.” At three stories tall, it dominated the valley.
“Dreary,” Cam said.
“It’s pretty in the daylight,” Joya said. “Golden. Its stone was quarried from Kingston.” Two bells rang out. “Matins,” she said. “We should make it to Kadriya’s before dawn.”
Prudence rode behind her. She yawned again and Luke, riding next to her, remained silent. His head had to be pounding from Cam’s blow. He had cursed and threatened them when he had first awakened, and they had ignored him. After a few miles Joya relented and released him, all but his hands, and she kept his reins. She stayed deaf to his pleas to be released. He remained too eager to face Margaret’s wrath, but Joya would avoid that for as long as she could. She had compromised her reputation, her standing—in truth, her head—to save his thankless soul; she wasn’t about to let him return to his death.
Five miles past the abbey, John and Kadriya’s small country manor came into sight, bringing fond memories of childhood trips. “There it is!” The tension in her shoulders vanished, and her heart swelled with affection and a deep sense of belonging. Her bones ached from neck to feet, she could smell the hours of fear and horse sweat on her gown, and her stomach growled with hunger, but they had made it to Kadriya’s.
“Nice estate,” George said.
Dogs barked, announcing their arrival, and lights bloomed in the win
dows.
“The horse stables have been expanded, I see,” Joya said. “Kadriya boards horses and tends to the sick ones.” She turned to Luke, her dagger poised. “Give me your hands.”
“You would release me now?”
His public condemnation of her as stupid still stung, and she was losing her patience with his indifference to his own death. “You will dismount. You’ll not take this horse as you did Goldie. Promise me that and I’ll release you.” Joya dismounted and gave Luke’s horse’s reins to George.
“I will not steal your horse.” Luke dismounted and presented his bound hands.
His eyes lacked any warmth.
This man was difficult. Joya had upended her life to help him, and he was nothing but deeply affronted. “If you choose to run on foot back to Coin Forest, I won’t stop you. But methinks it will be much smarter to accept food and rest here before you hurry off to your beheading.”
Three men on horseback rode to the gate. “Who goes there?”
“It’s me, Joya. I’ve come to see Kadriya.”
John Wynter rode out to meet them. He was first knight at the abbey and as tall as Joya remembered, tall and barrel-chested, with light brown hair turned white at the temples. After introductions, they entered the manor gate and tethered their horses.
An older couple appeared, bearing a torch, and the long-haired woman ran toward them, black, braided hair flying. “Joya!” Kadriya wore an orange robe with white trim. The green of her eyes shone in the torchlight. Fine lines that weren’t there before etched her face, but her teeth were still white and her skin was as light as Joya remembered, still smooth and fair.
“Ves’ tacha!”
My beloved. Joya’s eyes stung at the word of endearment.
Kadriya hugged her. “What’s amiss? Sharai—”
“Is fine,” Joya finished, “and Tabor and everyone is fine.” Loath to bring bad news, her smile faded. “I—we—are in trouble.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of trouble? Has someone died?”
“Aye, men from Penryton—you don’t know them,” Joya said. “It will take some time for the telling, but we have done nothing like that.”
Joya introduced George and Cam, who stood together, hands held. She introduced Pru and turned to Luke. “And this is Lucas Bonwyck, Lord Penry.”
Kadriya looked him over, turned to Joya, and raised an eyebrow. “I see.”
Joya blushed in the torchlight, and Kadriya smiled. “Come in. You’re all most welcome. Matthew,” Kadriya turned to the older man, “please stable their horses. Now, come in and let’s hear your story.”
A series of sharp cries came from the hallway as they entered. There on the upper stairway stood a short, hairy imp of a creature, white-haired, jumping up and down and poking his hairy arms through the railing. He wore a red patterned diaper.
“Prince Malley!” Joya had been too distraught to wonder if the little monkey would still be alive. He screeched non-stop, holding his arms out to her.
Joya lifted her skirts and ran up the steps. She held his head in her hands, scratching behind his ears. “Prince Malley. Good boy. Good little boy.”
Prince Malley moaned softly and chattered.
“How sweet,” Pru said.
Cam shrank back. “Does he have fleas?”
“No more than our dogs,” Kadriya said.
Prince Malley leaped to her shoulders, wrapped his big feet around her waist and stroked Joya’s face. He snuggled his head into her shoulder.
She danced with him. “I missed you, too, Prince Malley.”
Luke looked up at her, his blue eyes dazed. He was the only one who remained untouched by the monkey’s affectionate greeting to Joya. Mayhap he was still groggy from the blow to his head, or thought he was having a very strange dream.
John Wynter nudged Luke with his elbow. “He’s a hairy little screamer. He’s all right, but don’t let him sleep with you or get near your horse.”
Two boys raced from their chamber. “Aunt Joya!”
“Sam! Robert!” They resembled their father, and perhaps their grandfather, as well. Kadriya’s mother had been with a fair-haired nobleman from Southampton. When she died, Sharai had taken Kadriya in as a little sister.
Joya shifted Prince Malley to one arm and opened the other to the boys. “You’re taller than I am now.” She had to reach up to hug them.
They told Joya about their horses and the sheep they were raising.
John watched them with pride. “Do you need my help, Joya?”
“We may need sanctuary. Do you think the abbot will help us if we do?”
“I’ll speak on your behalf should you need it.” He paused. “I meet with the abbot after lauds. I need some rest before I leave. I’ll see you all for the midday meal.” He and Kadriya shared an intimate glance and he took the stairs.
Kadriya sent the boys back to bed. She showed Joya, Pru and Cam their chamber, giving the back chambers to Luke and George. Later, she called them to her hall, where she offered them each a tankard of ale and a large platter of meats and bread. “Eat. You can’t think on an empty stomach.”
After the food vanished, Kadriya scooted closer to the table. “Let’s hear your story now. Are you running from someone?”
Joya picked up the monkey, who had been waiting for them to finish their breakfast. “This is difficult. We are in big trouble, Kadriya.”
“You can tell me all. I understand. I have had my share.”
“With the abbey, I remember.” Of a sudden Joya realized their experiences were similar. Over a decade ago, Kadriya had defended a man accused of stealing, which angered the abbot. “I defied my father … and Queen Margaret.”
Kadriya’s hand went to her throat. “How?”
“I’ll understand if you want to send us on our way. We do not want to bring trouble to your door.” Joya explained Luke’s loyalty to York, Margaret’s huge fine, and Luke’s brothers’ brutal deaths, omitting her growing affection for Luke, and that moment of passionate kisses in the gaol.
Cam and Prudence stepped in with details from time to time, but George and Luke remained silent.
Kadriya’s expression revealed little. Occasionally her green eyes would widen with shock, and when Joya described the apricot seeds, Kadriya lost her composure and gasped.
“Joya’s plan was sound.” Cam defended her, and Joya’s heart swelled at her friend’s loyalty. “Until this id—until Luke,” Cam corrected, “refused to leave Coin Forest. Had he left, none would have been the wiser.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed and he shot forward, gripping the table. “By the light of heaven! You dare to dismiss this as a midday feast gone bad? None the wiser? What of the queen? What of Hugh, still detained and soon to face her? And by this deception I have become a fugitive.”
Cam slammed the table with her fist. “Uttered like the thankless, ill-mannered ox you are. You can’t see all she’s sacrificed—”
Prince Malley jumped up from Joya’s lap, emitting a series of short cries and pulling his fur.
“Cease!” Kadriya said. “Brawling will not solve this, and you have upset Prince Malley.”
Joya apologized, soothing him. “If we can rest for a few hours, Kadriya. If you can spare, we need funds to travel. And I would seek your counsel on what we should do next.”
“You needn’t leave.” Kadriya glanced pointedly at Luke and Cam. “So this is your plight, Joya.” Kadriya ticked off points with her fingers. “You have angered the queen. You have defied your father. You have risked his friendship with the queen. You have risked your family’s holdings. You have involved your friends in an act of treason. You have worsened the plight of Lord Penry, here, and you have soiled your reputation and now risk your own execution. Have I missed anything?”
Joya stroked Prince Malley’s fur, blanching under the damning facts. “No.”
Kadriya patted Joya’s hand. “You must have faith. I was as desperate as you that one time, and I found a way. You
will, too.”
Kadriya stood. “You all look exhausted. Go abovestairs and rest. We’ll break our fasts at nine bells. Prince Malley will stay with me.” She took the monkey. He chattered in protest, but she held him firmly and started up the steps. “I trust you will be staying, Lord Penry.”
Nodding, he gave her a tight smile. “You have my word.”
Chapter 11
During their pre-dawn ride to the abbey, Luke took measure of the man riding beside him, John Wynter, first knight of the abbot and Kadriya’s husband. Tall. Muscular, big legs and chest—must have weighed sixteen or seventeen stones. Luke would want Wynter on his side in any battle.
Luke’s head throbbed, an insistent pain to the right of his eye. It had been Camilla who had struck him, of course—always needling him with her brash comments and horse-like laughter. His back ached from being tied on the saddle, and the side of his neck was stiff from bumping against the stirrup bar.
But he wore clean clothes, smelling fresh from the sun, loaned to him by Wynter, and they had broken their fast with bacon and bread. Wynter had been as generous as Tabor.
But he needed to contact York. He had to know by now of Luke’s aborted trip to Christchurch and his arrest in Coin Forest. Did he and Salisbury know that Margaret had found his notes?
Margaret would pursue him. Once he hired guards to accompany him, Luke would hurry to Christchurch. He could only hope to find York and Salisbury there. Darkness was lifting, and the sky had turned golden to the east. They would arrive at the abbey after first light at five bells.
“You support York,” Wynter said. It wasn’t a question.
Luke didn’t want to get on Wynter’s bad side, but he was not ashamed of his loyalties. “Yes.” He went on to explain why. The more people he told, the more people who might think more carefully about the harm Margaret was doing, and stop her before she destroyed England.
“I’m sorry for the loss of your brothers,” Wynter said. “I find it difficult to believe that Margaret would do that.”
