by Tamara Leigh
Ivo's jaw worked uselessly until he finally managed to pull air into his lungs.
Liam was not finished. There was one thing he still had to do. He seized the chain with its gold jewel-encrusted crucifix from around his uncle's neck and wrenched it free. There was naught Ivo could do or say, only watch in horror as Liam flung In prized possession across the room and into the fire.
Then Liam stood and reached down to urge Joslyn to her feet. As she rose beside him, he saw gratitude mil something else shining bright from her eyes, but there was no time to ponder it.
You ..." Ivo gasped. He managed to sit up.
“False priest," Liam said between gritted teeth. You will leave Ashlingford this night. No more will I tollerate you." Gripping Joslyn's elbow, he turned her back toward the hearth.
“I will have you . . . have you excommunicated for this!" Ivo shouted. "You have laid hand to a holy man once too often, you spawn of the devil."
Liam turned to face him again. "And who will bear witness for you?" he asked.
Ivo indicated those who watched from the hearth. “Every one of them, you fool."
Liam looked back at the castle folk. Were they still loyal to him? he wondered. Or perhaps the question was whether or not they would risk the wrath of a God they believed already angry with them to stand loyal to a man who was not—and would never be— their lord.
They knew what he asked of them, and though they were slow to respond, they turned away and began dispersing. So they stood with him.
The steward had not moved from his place, however. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Ivo a long moment before looking to Liam.
Having made it to his feet, Ivo started forward. "I need only one witness," he said, as he pinned Sir Hugh with his gaze. "Only one."
"What have you seen this eve, Sir Hugh?" Liam asked.
"Only a man I thought to be a priest attack a baron of King Edward and cut him," he replied. "Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it."
Liam felt the tension ease from Joslyn. The steward was simply enjoying himself, seeking retribution for these past weeks he had been forced beneath Ivo's scrutiny. True, this would be the extent of his indulgence, for Ivo's money had earned him many friends in the church willing to overlook his "little transgressions," but it made the steward smile—and smile wider with Ivo's reaction to it.
"To hell I damn you!" Ivo cursed. "Every last one of you."
Liam pushed Joslyn toward the stairs. "Go to Oliver," he said.
She complied without a word.
Liam looked back at his uncle.
In that moment, there was nothing about Ivo that could be likened to God. Indeed, he looked all the devil, with his hair strewn across his brow, his eyes like pits of burning tar, and his upper lip curled beneath his flared nostrils.
"I give you five minutes to take what is yours—and only yours," Liam said. "And if you are not gone by then, I will throw you out myself."
"Bastard," Ivo hissed. "I will see you dead for this."
"I am sure you will try," Liam said. He called for two knights to escort his uncle to retrieve his belongings.
Instantly, Ivo's demeanor changed. "Tis raining!" he cried, stumbling back a step.
"Of course it is," Liam said. "We are in England."
"And 'tis night. You would not send a holy man—" As if remembering who it was he spoke to, Ivo amended his words. "You would not send a man out in such weather with darkness upon him?"
"I would," Liam said. "Do you wish to take your belongings with you or leave them behind?"
He had no choice, and he knew it. The ugliness rising on his face again, he stared a long moment at Liam. Then he located his dagger among the rushes, wiped its blade upon his robes, and fingered the mark left by his nephew's blood. "There will come another time," he warned, "and it will be the last."
Ignoring him, Liam addressed the two knights. "Do not turn your backs on him. I wish no more blood shed this eve."
With a nod, they motioned for Ivo to precede them up the stairs.
As the priest passed Liam, he veered toward the hearth.
Liam had known he would not leave without first attempting to reclaim his crucifix—or whatever was left of it. "Leave it!" he shouted.
"But 'tis my gold," Ivo said. "My jewels."
"No more. You now have four minutes left to you, uncle"
His color deepening, Ivo turned stiffly from the hearth and went up the stairs.
When he was gone from sight, Liam crossed to the serving maid who had fallen to her knees beside Ivo. He offered her a hand up, and timidly she accepted.
"Do not despair," he said.
Though fear still shone out of her eyes, she nodded.
Turning away, Liam called the steward to him. "Sir Hugh."
"My lord?" the man asked.
"What think you of a ride?"
Hugh arched a questioning eyebrow.
"If Ivo does not already have the coin, he will collect it ere he leaves," Liam explained.
The steward nodded. "I am not fond of the wet," he said, "but I do fancy a bit of fresh air."
Liam smiled. "Then follow him."
"And if he collects it, my lord?"
Despite the great amount involved, it was not worth a man's life, Liam thought, for in Ivo's state of mind he would not hesitate to murder. "If he collects it, follow him to his destination," he said, "and then return to Ashlingford. I will go for it myself."
Hugh inclined his head and left to do Liam's bidding.
Joslyn was kneeling beside Oliver's pallet, with Emma standing over her shoulder, when the door opened. She did not fear, though, for without turning she knew it was Liam come to her.
The old woman was the first to acknowledge him. "Ivo is gone?" she asked.
"Soon," Liam said.
"'Tis good," Emma murmured, "for now. But he will return."
Liam made no comment. "I would speak with Lady Joslyn alone," he said.
"You think it wise?" Emma asked.
Wise? Joslyn wondered. What worse could be said of her than what Ivo had accused her of in front of the castle folk? "Do not fret, Emma," she said. "It matters not what might be said of me."
With a sigh, the old woman tucked the blanket more securely around Oliver and pecked a kiss upon his smooth brow. Then she left them, closing the door behind her.
There was something so comforting in Liam's presence, Joslyn thought, as he drew closer. It nearly warmed the chill that news of the plague had caused to spread throughout her. Nearly, but not quite. Drawing a shaky breath, she said, "Will Oliver pay for my sins, Liam?"
His warm hand closed over her shoulder. "It is not by God's hand the plague has come, Joslyn," he said. "Tis a sickness, that is all."
"Then even had I not sinned, my son might still be stricken?" She shook her head. "Tis of no comfort, Liam. I might as well be the sinner I am."
Sliding his hand down her arm, he urged her to stand. "How have you sinned, Joslyn?" he asked. "You have not lain with me as Ivo believes."
Lord, how she wanted to turn into his arms and put her head on his shoulder, to accept the comfort he offered and for just a few moments forget what lay ahead.
"How, Joslyn?" Liam prodded.
Looking over her shoulder, she met his eyes. "By wanting you," she said with painful honesty. "And if that alone does not condemn me in the eyes of the church, then my allowing you to touch me—almost giving myself to you—does." She squeezed her eyes closed. "Through Maynard you are my brother, Liam."
Gently, he pulled her around to face him. "There is no blood between us," he pointed out. "Though you were wed to Maynard, with whom I shared a father, it does not make you of my flesh nor I of yours."
She looked into his eyes, which were lit by candlelight—green and deep as they searched her face. How she wanted to close the space between them and lean into his strength. To feel his arms come around her. To be loved. She shook her head. Had ever a
greater fool of a woman been born? "But the laws of consanguinity say otherwise," she said. "We should not even be here in this chamber together."
Daring the laws of the church, Liam pulled her closer. "Such laws were originally intended for those of close blood ties," he said, "such as King Edward and his queen, who are cousins. The irony of it is that though they truly are related—and closely—still they were allowed to wed, and with the full blessing of the pope. All it took was enough gold to buy the law away. The laws are now only a means of lining the coffers of the church, especially with regards to those who are related only by marriage." He shook his head. "Nay, Joslyn, what we have done is not wrong."
Fleetingly, she wondered if it would be possible to buy dispensation that would free her to wed Liam as it had freed King Edward and Philippa. However, she quickly shoved the thought aside, for no good would come of such ponderings. "In my fear I am made foolish," she said, and looked back at Oliver. "I cannot lose him. He is all I have."
Liam pulled her chin back around. "He will be line, Joslyn. I give you my word."
A sad smile tugged at her mouth. "How can you make such promises? No one knows whom the plague will choose to lay in the grave. It might even choose you, Liam ... or me. It might take all of us."
With his thumb he traced the bow of her upper lip to the corner of her mouth. "I won't allow it to touch you, Joslyn," he said softly.
"But you do not know—"
Laying his fingers against her lips, he shook his head. "My word," he said.
And he always kept his word. . . .
Angling his head, Liam slid his fingers from her mouth to the undercurve of her jaw and kissed her fleetingly. "One day you will be mine, Joslyn," he murmured, then he drew back and turned to the door.
Joslyn ached to call him back to her—to bury
herself forever in his arms—but she had to let him go. When he was gone, she whispered into the terrible solitude of her chamber, T love you, Liam Fawke."
19
"He knew I was following him, my lord," Hugh said. "He had to have known."
"He made no stops?"
"None. He rode directly to the abbey."
And he was probably this moment in audience with the abbot, Liam knew. What would be the result of that meeting? Would the abbot attempt to intervene on Ivo's behalf? "Return to the donjon and get some sleep, Hugh," he said. "Twas a long night and day for you."
The man made no pretext of declining. Soaked through from the rain that still fell, dark shadows beneath his eyes from twenty or more hours of riding without stop, he nodded and tramped over the dank straw to go out through the stable doors. His departure blew in a gust of rain and fresh air that for a few moments masked the smell of horses before the door was pushed closed again.
For several minutes Liam stood silent with the horses—his thoughts heavy upon Ivo—and then he pulled open the shuttered window and looked onto the bailey. It was empty of both beast and man, all having sought shelter on this second day of heavy rain.
As the news of the coming plague had spread rapidly among the castle folk and then to the outlying villages, Liam guessed that many men and women were spending their idle hours on their knees. If the plague swept over England as it had the Mediterranean lands, and most recently France, they had cause to pray: far more than the threat of a harvest spoiled by the rot of rain, the plague was to be taken seriously. However, as Liam knew from having followed its progress through the other countries it had ravaged, once the plague took hold on this island kingdom, prayers would soon turn to apathy. Some people would be so fatally resigned to death they would use what they believed to be their last living days to indulge in debauchery and excess; others would seek to escape by fleeing farther north. The result in both cases would be crops wasting in the fields and cattle left to wander untended over the countryside.
Liam could not allow that to happen, for in that direction lay ruin. The plague would pass, but not the devastation left in its wake if the villagers of Ashlingford stopped living in order to die. Whatever it took, he would keep them working so that when the worst was over they would have something left to them. It was important to establish areas of quarantine as early as possible. Though some scoffed at the idea, saying it was a useless measure—naught held back the dread disease—it was said by others that separating the sick from the well controlled its spread. But if quarantine did fail in preventing sickness, it had another use, Liam knew. Moving plague-stricken victims elsewhere helped to keep those who were well from brooding about those who were dying. This would help to suppress panic and hold people to the land longer than otherwise.
Aye, there was much work to be done at Ashlingford, Liam thought, and in the next instant was reminded that not only this barony needed to be secured but his own as well. Thornemede.
Wiping his hand across a face that had grown moist with the rain slanting through the window, Liam turned his thoughts to his own barony. Though he was confident he could lessen the impact of the plague on Ashlingford, what of Thornemede? In the past month of hard work he had made progress with the folk, especially those villagers he had worked side by side with in the fields, but still he was not accepted as their lord. If l he plague struck before he gained their loyalty and trust, the cause of Thornemede would be lost— goaded further by his absences from the barony when he tended to his duties at Ashlingford. There could be no more fertile a ground for division and dissension.
Shoving a hand through his hair, Liam settled it at the back of his tense neck. Even now he ought to be riding to Thornemede, and would have done so had he not been waiting for Sir Hugh's return.
With a growl, he dropped his arm back to his side. I f he had refused the king's offer of Thornemede and returned to the tournaments instead, none of this would have fallen to him. He would have started living his own life, setting a course for the years he had left to him.
Years without Joslyn. He let the thought slip in. Aye, had it gone different, he would not now know these feelings she roused in him: want, longing, a warmth he had never felt for any woman. It wasn't just desire, as he would like to believe. It went deeper than the animal in him. But how deep? His heart? Had Liam Fawke fallen in love with a woman forbidden him? As soon as the question came into his mind, he tossed it out. Impossible. It wasn't in him to love.
Thrusting the shutters closed, he strode from the stables and out into the rain. At the donjon, he was once again received with a towel. Leaving it draped over his shoulders, he crossed the hall.
"We leave on the half hour," he called to the Thornemede knights, who sat warming themselves with mulled wine and a roaring fire. Though he continued to the stairs without pause, he could hear the grumbling of the men who had accompanied him to Ashlingford. Doubtless, none of them saw a good reason for leaving on a rainy day that was already drawing to a close.
Liam ascended to his chamber, opened the door, and stepped inside.
It was a small room and not well lit, but it was the place where he had laid his head since childhood— and where he had kept the Ashlingford monies safe from Maynard when he had managed the barony for him.
After changing into dry garments, Liam pulled the bed away from the wall and lowered himself to his haunches. Loosening a nondescript block of stone from the others, he reached in the wall to drag ou+ the coffer containing the bulk of what remained of Ashlingford's revenues. It was this Maynard had sought when he had followed Liam up to his chamber that fateful evening, but fortunately for Ashlingford, Liam had paid his brother out of coins he kept in the chest that held his clothes. Unfortunately, there had been too large a sum there, a sum that would shortly be in Ivo's hands if it was not there already.
He unlocked the coffer, counted out enough to pay the accounts of the barony for the next month, and placed the coins in a leather pouch. As he must leave this day, it would be Hugh's to dispense, but Liam knew he needn't worry over the steward's honesty. The monies would go where they were owed, allowing Liam t
o return to Thornemede to continue his work there.
Liam locked the chest and lifted it back into its vault.
"Unca Liam?" A small uncertain voice spoke from the doorway.
He had been careless, Liam thought, as he looked around. He could not remember having closed the door, let alone securing it. Maynard's death and Ivo's removal from Ashlingford yesterday had lulled him into a false sense of security. "What are you doing up here, Oliver?"
The little boy took a single step forward. "Lookin' for you," he said, and tipped his head to the side. "What's that?" He pointed to the hole in the wall that had yet to be filled.
What was he to tell him? Liam wondered: the truth—that this was where all the wealth of Ashlingford was hidden—or a lie that would ease little of the boy's curiosity? He beckoned. "Come closer, Oliver."
The child hurried forward eagerly. "Can I see?" he asked, already bending down to peer into the hole.
"Of course."
"There's a box in there!"
"That's right, a secret box."
Bent over, his hands upon his knees, Oliver looked back at Liam. "A secret?" he whispered with anticipation.
Liam nodded. "Have you ever had a secret, Oliver?"
He thought a long moment and then beamed. "Uh-huh."
"What was it?"
Wrinkling his nose, Oliver shook his head. "Can't tell, 'cause it's a secret."
That was good, Liam thought, though was it good enough? After all, Oliver was just a child. He could reveal something as important as this without realizing it.
He could take the coffer with him to Thornemede, Liam supposed, but with the next thought he decided it wasn't necessary. Now that he no longer had either Maynard or Ivo to worry over, the measures he had previously taken were not so pressing. Still.. .
"I've a secret to share with you, Oliver," Liam said. "Can you keep it?"
"Uh-huh. Keep it good."
Liam smiled. "This is a special hiding place." He nodded to the hole. "Only I know of it—and now you. It's important that no one else learns of it. Do you understand?"
