by Janet Lane
Effie said no more. Her expression remained quiet and gentle. It conveyed deference, but held an edge of warning.
Joya spent the night tossing and reflecting. Her father was steadfast in protecting her, yet all she could think of was protecting Luke.
He’s years older than you. A baron. What can you, a stupid woman, do to protect him?
Her thoughts grew desperate. Could she enlist Hugh’s help? No, it was too late to help him.
Conversation from the guard towers rose and drifted down to her chamber. She shuttered the windows, but opened them again when the air had grown stifling. When the bells rang for Matins, she heard her father’s voice near the baking ovens outside the kitchen, his voice and Maud’s.
Maud’s skills transcended her job as head baker. Few discerned that her bawdy manner concealed her cunning, and she often served as her Tabor’s ears in the kitchens and halls. What were they discussing at this early hour? She checked the sky. The sun would be up soon, and the bread would be in the ovens and baking. The women would be free to gossip, and less observant. If she could avoid those at early mass, she may slip by unnoticed and listen from outside the baking kitchens.
Joya slipped into her tan dress. It was old and worn, but the sleeves were still attached so she could more easily dress without waking Effie to help her. She crept silently down the steps, over the stones, out the door.
To prevent fires and minimize smoke, the kitchen rooms were built outside the castle. Most of the women congregated at the tables in the preparation room, where the risen dough was formed into loaves in the moist heat. Her father, Maud, and another woman were in the smaller room with the ovens. Maud was in the midst of describing Margaret’s knights and guards, making note of their physical prowess, the width of their chests, and their lower body features. The venting windows were too high to see inside, but Joya could envision Maud, her large melon breasts jiggling and threatening to pour out of her strained chemise. Her red hair, frosted white at the temples, had likely become tightly curled and wet from the heat.
Joya heard baskets being stacked and the scrape of the large spatula as Maud scooped the baked loaves out and slid them on the cutting boards.
“Here’s the last of this batch.”
She heard the sound of soft shuffling from the other kitchen, and murmured grumbling from Maud’s helper.
“Fast on your feet there, and get those cut. Time’s a wastin’,” Maud said.
A screeching sound suggested Maud was cleaning the brick shelves with the ash scraper. A young woman hurried out with filled baskets, her dress soaked down the front and back from the extreme heat.
“She’s gone. We can finish talking.” Her father’s voice, lowered, meant only for Maud, but clear enough for Joya to hear. “What makes you think so?”
“It were the tall knight, the one who announced her grace,” Maud said. “Said they would leave at first light the next morn, and they did. That’s when he told them.”
“Tell me exactly what he said, word for word.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, my lord,” Maud said, “but I can’t. ‘Twas me daughter Meagon who heard. They don’t pay me no mind no more. I’m so old, and my merry maids have dropped lower’n my belly button.” She gave a laugh, and Joya could imagine Maud grabbing her breasts and lifting them to her neck, as she was fond of doing to shock a stuffy knight or two. “But Meagon, she can flash those big eyes of hers and smile, and they feel it in their hose, I can tell you, I’ve seen ‘em. ‘Twas Meagon who heard them talking. Said he’s been riding his high horse on a lucky saddle, but that he wouldn’t live to see the next full moon.”
“So they’re going to follow him?”
Him? Joya pressed closer to the hot stones, trying to hear all.
“To the coast,” Maud said. “Holyhead.”
Holyhead. A major port in Wales, on the Irish sea.
“Are you absolutely sure, Maud? Is Meagon dead certain?”
“Surer’n the sun rising, my lord. I made her swear to her first born, and she had no problem.”
“I’m grateful, Maud.”
“I’d bleed for you, Lord T., I would.”
“No need for that, Maud. It’s late,” her father said. “Let me know if you hear aught from the shipbuilders when they pass through.”
“Yes, my lord.” Oh, and one other thing,” Maud said. “They said he wouldn’t live long enough to deliver his secrets to York.”
Maud left the small kitchen and Joya hurried from the ovens to the well, crouching and pressing against it so Maud wouldn’t see her. She hurried through the thinning darkness, back to her chamber, Maud’s words echoing, “…deliver his secrets to York.” Despite what she had said, Margaret and her troops were hunting Luke.
* * *
The morning sun broke from the horizon, spilling shafts of light on the stairwell. What Joya had learned eavesdropping had destroyed any chance of sleep. She descended the steps to the ground floor, grateful for the excellent fit of her own blue gown after days of wearing Kadriya’s long one. Her steps were quick, driven by a new urgency. She must find a way to help Luke.
Her mind raced. She knew not one soul in Holyhead to whom she could send word, but she knew someone who might.
Hugh.
Belowstairs, a modest fire was already burning, chasing the morning chill.
At the east side of the hall, Lord Tabor was holding conference with his steward. Outside, Lady Tabor, back from Stephen and Nicole’s now that they had recovered, was tending her gardens. Her mother’s steps were sure as she paced out the rows, marking where to plant. She would have some sharp words for Joya about her apricot seeds. Joya hurried out before her mother noticed her.
The bailey shouted with activity, the clink-clink of the blacksmith’s hammer, Meagon’s laughter as she scattered last night’s leftovers by the garden, and the chickens and ducks squawking and fighting over them. In the distance, the knights grunted, swords singing as they practiced in the lists.
Maud oversaw the kitchen maids as they tended large cauldrons in the bailey and the pleasant aroma of chicken stew filled the air.
Joya found Hugh as he was leaving the church. She kept a respectful distance until Father Rannulf and Hugh finished their discussion, then approached Hugh. “Good morrow,” she said.
Hugh looked no better rested that she, his walk slow, eyes shadowed and worried.
Joya teetered on the edge of an emotional roof, churning inside, yearning to find Luke herself and tell him that Margaret was considering reducing his penalty payment.
If he returned willingly.
She almost laughed. ‘Twas time to stop dreaming. That was as likely as the sun shining through the night. Words from her mother’s poem whispered to her: With trials and truth you’ll be reborn. The truth. Luke would no more willingly submit to Margaret than he would have willingly bent to his brother’s demands, all those years ago. The sharp thorns of truth wounded her.
Hugh took her shoulders, steadying her. “What’s wrong?” He was a sparrow of a man, thin arms and legs and a sagging belly. He resembled Luke only in coloring and the same blue eyes. They reminded her of Luke, which calmed her. She would remain steadfast. So long as he lived, she would keep faith. “I’m fine. Have you learned of Luke’s whereabouts?”
“No. Didn’t expect to.” He stopped at the fence by the archery targets, watching the squires practice. “We were never close.”
“I gathered that when you and your brothers visited,” she said. “I’m sorry for the challenges your family has faced with all this.”
“It’s nothing new,” Hugh said. “We always fought—Christopher, Humfrye and I—but I never thought I’d lose them. Never thought they’d be murdered.” His eyes shone with moisture and he looked away. “I was sure it was Margaret. But when she came here with her priest and her men, she denied any wrongdoing.”
Martin had told Joya about the royal knights’ proclamation. The men swore oaths before Father Rannulf, and
told the priest and Tabor about the attack. Fourteen royal guards had been found, ambushed and killed, near Exeter. Their horses and livery had been stolen. Whoever killed those guards also raided Penryton and killed Luke’s brothers.
“It wasn’t Margaret,” Joya said.
“So, who killed them? And why?”
Joya shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. What will you do?”
“I’m free to go, but I have no funds. Penryton is laid bare.” He punched a fist into his open hand. “God’s nails. I need to help him. I think I know where he is. I need to get there.”
Joya’s throat constricted. “Where is he?”
He lowered his voice. “I heard them in the solar. They’re looking west, but I think he’s headed north. I know where he’d go.”
“Can you summon your knights,” Joya asked. “And find him?”
Hugh fell silent for a time. “I have no funds for travel.”
Joya took a deep breath. “If I provide funds, will you take me there?”
Chapter 14
Her father’s hands cradled Joya’s, their warmth and gentle touch calming her. His dark eyes studied her, reaching into her closest heart for truths she was afeared to share.
The solar was quiet in the late hour, the great hall below emptied of food and drink, the servants sleeping. She had summoned him with hope, even knowing their family’s precarious position. After the troubles she had caused him, she despised herself for asking him for favors. He deserved more than a dim-witted daughter who had not the sense to manage her own affairs.
But she had lain with Luke, given herself to him, and their passion had joined them as surely as the earth takes the sun to her breast each night. Luke was in her mind, in her skin, in her heart. She could no more forget him than cease breathing.
Would her father help? He should refuse her and lock her in her chamber, for if she failed to convince Luke of Margaret’s good heart, Joya’s actions would bring nothing good to her, her family or Coin Forest.
“Why, Joya,” he asked, his voice soft and wondering. “In light of all the trouble he has caused, why do you persist? We have tried to help him, but he has refused. He has chosen his path.”
“He doesn’t know that his brothers’ deaths weren’t Margaret’s doing. He has been carrying a fresh hatred for her that isn’t deserved. I need to tell him. Help him see the Margaret we see, the queen we know.”
“Why you can’t see is the puzzle. He chose York, long before he met you. All you can do is delay his death by a day or so. Is that worth risking all?”
“She is compelled to try.” Her mother’s gown rustled as she entered the solar and seated herself opposite Joya at the table.
Her father released Joya’s hands. “You support her on this?”
“Not at all,” Sharai said. “Her emotions went unchecked while I was at Stephen and Nicole’s. I wasn’t there to help her while there was still time.”
“Help her do what?”
“She has seen too deeply into him. You said yourself he’s from a good family, and he’s a good man. A good man who has made a very bad decision. And you know how Joya is.”
“What does that mean,” Joya asked. Would they berate her lack of good sense, as Sister Issabell had done?
Her mother released a sigh, the kind of sound she made when hours of trying produced no progress. “You always see blue sky through the rain. Why can’t you see danger, Joya? Luke may be a fine man in other ways, but his choices have been deadly.”
“I need four knights. Two,” Joya amended. “Luke needs to know all the facts. If I tell him, and he still decides to support York, I’ll give up. I don’t want to support my queen’s enemies. But what if he learns that the queen will reduce his penalty? He will accept. She will gain vital information about her enemy. Luke will shift from traitor to hero.” She took a breath. “Will you help me?”
Her father sighed, shaking his head. “No.”
Joya’s heart fell.
“Ves’ tacha.” He released the endearment with a sigh.
Joya’s eyes stung, and she swallowed with difficulty.
“The hope in your eyes makes this a trial. I must protect you from yourself. You will go to your chamber. You may not receive guests, other than us. Your meals will be brought to you. All until Luke is arrested.”
Her mother straightened and her hand fluttered to her neck. She gave her father a loaded glance.
He turned to her, brows raised.
“I’m loathe to gainsay you, my love,” she said, her voice soft, her eyes apologetic. “But was this not the problem we faced with your mother?”
Tabor’s jaw dropped for a moment. His mother had evicted Sharai from Coin Forest to keep them apart. “My mother was considering what was best for Coin Forest,” he said. “It’s not the same.”
“Which is why you banned her and sent her to Fritham?”
Her mother’s reasoning kindled fresh hope for Joya. “That’s right. Grandmother put Mother’s life in peril so you sent her away.”
“The only way your life will be in peril is if you follow him,” her father said.
“Think, my lord,” her mother said. “Would our lives have been happier had you obeyed your mother?”
Joya waited for his reaction. Had he obeyed his mother, he would have sent Sharai away and wed Lady Emelyne, the earl’s daughter.
Her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You chose me.”
Her father read her mother’s eyes. Her hands were steepled as in prayer. He turned to Joya, studying her face in the thick silence. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped and collected himself. “I forbid you to leave, Joya.” With a final solemn glance at each of them, he rose from his seat and quit the solar.
Her mother cradled Joya’s face. “My daughter. Whatever happens, you will bear witness that your father forbade you to go. You will have no escorts from us. You will not tell me you are leaving, but you will take Hugh, who is also anxious to join his brother. The two of you will be escorted in the dead of night by Luke’s knights, those who escorted Hugh here from Penryton.”
Faeries danced in Joya’s stomach. She should be afraid for all the things that could go wrong, but elation overcame her, and she hugged her mother. “Thank you.”
“But there’s a price. There is—”
“—always a price,” Joya finished her mother’s old saying about favors. “Pray tell, Mother.”
“I ask only one thing from you. You must promise me, Joya.” Her mother waited.
I will see Luke. Her mother was known for her hard bargains, but for the chance to see Luke, Joya could not refuse. “Yes,” she said, feeling faint from excitement. “I promise.”
“Take a pigeon with you when you leave, and one day—one day, Joya, not two—one day after you leave, release the pigeon to come back home with word of where you’re going. That will give you time to convince Luke, if you can. If you cannot, your father will come to bring you back home. And when he arrives, you must promise me that you will return here and give up this hopeless quest.”
“Father will not bring guards to arrest Luke?”
“I cannot speak for him.”
Joya’s neck tightened. “That means he will.”
Her mother swept her comment aside with a gesture. “Luke has proven himself adept at avoiding capture. And if he persists with his support of York, I have no doubt you’ll tell him your father is coming, so he’ll have advance notice to flee.”
“That’s two promises,” Joya said, “Send a messenger pigeon, and come back home.”
Her mother’s brows shot up and she cast Joya a “don’t-anger-the-skunk” look.
Then her countenance changed. She smiled and opened her arms to her daughter.
Joya fell into them, relief weakening her knees. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
“My sweet, sunny Joya, how I love you. Yes, two promises.” Her smile turned sad. “You are my witty, cunning girl. Your judgment was flawed in defying
the queen and freeing Luke. I fear for your safety, but what’s done cannot be undone. I will share my secret.” She lowered her voice. “I admire your courage. You felled four knights, without swords, in the light of day.” Her smile grew warmer, with an eyebrow raised in amusement. “But you owe me for two pounds of roasted Belgian apricot seeds.”
* * *
Joya traveled with Hugh and two knights. Fosse Way proved to be the most direct route to the Red Bridge. They lost one day to heavy rains, and another half day to find a saddler to file that same uneven spot on the saddle that afflicted Goldie. Finally the Red Bridge came into view. It had been over a sennight since she had seen Luke. Her skin was needy for his touch, her eyes hungry for the sight of him. So much in need for him, she refused to consider that Hugh may be wrong. Luke had to be here.
She studied the elegant lines of the bridge and her neck tingled. “It’s the bridge Luke made for me. The model.” The sunset bathed the weathered wood, giving it a glow. “But it’s not red.”
“The village is Redstone,” Hugh said. “Named after a red vein of rock in those hills. They quarried enough for the church, and used the rest for the bridge’s base and piers.”
Joya dropped her gaze below the bridge to its base. Five arches and four sturdy piers supported the bridge, and large red stones protruded above water level, so like the small model Luke had crafted. The model bridge was stowed in her travel bag. She had not been able to leave it behind, for it was an intricate work of art he had made for her.
The bridge whispered to her, secrets she wished she could understand about the man with eyes bluer than the color of the sky. This was it, the structure that had inspired a young Luke to invest his life in bridges. Hugh had told her of the summers they had spent here with their uncle and cousin, Degory. She had seen bigger bridges—London especially—but such bridges had been surrounded by the brawn of thousands of dwellings.
By contrast, a bustling but smaller town framed the stately Red Bridge as it united the rolling hills. The town gave way in both directions to miles of crops and grazing animals. The bridge took center stage, a tidy street of buildings above the water, surrounded on each bank by homes that sprouted like mushrooms on the riverbanks. It spanned well over a hundred yards. The river had cut deep banks on each side, and the bridge’s arches reached some thirty feet above the fast-moving water.
