Joining

by Johanna Lindsey

  “What I said? What did I say?”

  “What you told me the day it happened,” Jhone explained. “That it was no accident, that arrow hitting you. I repeated this to Papa—while Wulfric was present. They both agree with you. ’Twas too soon after that first attack for the second to be unrelated.”

  “’Twas not just that—I had not even thought of that yet. ’Twas that I know our own hunters, as well as those from our neighbors. None of these men are careless. And none of them would dare to hunt anywhere nearby when Papa was hunting in the area. And Papa’s party was impossible to miss hearing or seeing that day.”

  Jhone wrung her hands before she exclaimed, “I hate this! Verily, I have never despised aught so much as this threat to you. Why would anyone want to do you harm, Mili? You have no enemies.”

  “Nay, but he likely does. And how better to hurt him than to keep him from collecting the fortune that comes with me to the marriage?”

  “I cannot credit that. ’Tis too complicated,” Jhone said, shaking her head. “Much easier to just kill the enemy directly, yet no attempts have been made against Wulfric—well, at least none that we know of.”

  “These attacks happened with his arrival, Jhone. If I do not believe that they come from an enemy of his, then that leaves me only one other thing to believe, that Wulfric has arranged for them himself.”

  Jhone gasped. “You cannot think that!”

  Milisant lifted a brow. “Can I not? After he admitted to me that he loves another? After he admitted that he spoke with his father to get released from this joining, yet he had no more luck than I did? To eliminate me would get him what he wants, would it not?”

  “Lord Guy is an honorable man. I have to believe that his son was raised to be just as honorable. ’Tis absurd to think he would resort to murder.”

  Milisant shrugged. “Stranger things have been done for love. But I am inclined to agree with you, which is why I think that it is the doing of an enemy of his. We need just find out who.”

  Jhone nodded, then gave her a pensive look. “There is more.”

  “More?”

  “He is convinced that he cannot protect you here. Dunburh is large, with too many mercenaries, he said. Men for hire are not known for the greatest of loyalties, are actually known to take the highest offer.”

  “You speak of betrayals?”

  “Not me, him. I am merely repeating what he told Papa. Shefford, on the other hand, is manned by knights whose allegiance is owed to the earl. There are no mercenaries there, and those household knights who make their living there have been loyal to Shefford for many years.”

  “In other words, he trusts all the men-at-arms there, but here they come and go frequently. Thus here we have men aplenty who might take a bribe or payment—to do murder.” Milisant snorted. “And did Papa believe that reasoning?”

  “He did not discount it totally. But he did agree that we get a lot of strangers here, since it is well known that Dunburh is a good place to find work. The gist of it is—we leave for Shefford on the morrow.”

  “What?! I was given extra time. Papa cannot change his mind about that now, just because—”

  “You will still have the time, you will just have it there rather than here.”

  Milisant frowned, not very appeased, and still not liking it that ’twas his idea. “You said ‘we’?”

  Jhone grinned. “I told Papa you were not well enough yet to travel without me. So he agreed you would not go unless I accompany you.”

  Milisant gripped Jhone’s hand as she said, “Thank you,” then added in a conspiratorial whisper, “But pretend to be ill as well. Then we can both stay home.”

  Jhone tsked at the suggestion. “What difference, here or there? You will still have the allotted time.”

  “Shefford is his domain. I will not be comfortable in his domain.”

  “Methinks you will not be comfortable wherever he is, so again, what difference?”

  “True,” Milisant conceded, then sighed. “On the morrow—should you not be packing?”

  Sixteen

  “What the devil are those?”

  Milisant followed Wulfric’s gaze to the servants coming forth with four cages in different sizes. They were all gathered in the bailey, where it had ended up taking two baggage wains to accommodate all that the twins deemed necessary for the journey. Milisant’s pets were the last thing to be loaded.

  She was very proud of the wooden cages she had made when she was a child. She had made them for her fostering at Fulbray Castle, as she had refused to leave her pets behind then. She was not about to leave them behind now.

  To answer his question, Milisant said, “My pets travel more comfortably in their cages, at least some of them do.”

  His dark blue eyes swung back to her where she sat on the end of the baggage wain that she would be riding in. “You keep four pets?”

  “Well, nay, there are more than that, but only those four do I cage.”

  He looked back at the cages that had gotten close enough now for him to see inside them. “An owl? Why would you make a pet of an owl?”

  “I did not, actually. ’Twas more that Hoots made me his owner. He followed me home and raised havoc in the bailey until I agreed to keep him.”

  “Until you agreed—” He broke off repeating that, deciding it was not worth pursuing, and still staring at the cages, said next, “Think you I will not feed you, that you must bring along your own dinner?”

  She followed his gaze again and this time gasped. “Do not even think it. Aggie has been with me since she was a chick. She is not for eating.”

  “Chickens are not pets!” he insisted in exasperation.

  “That one is!” Milisant insisted right back.

  “And what is that ball of fur, or dare I ask?”

  She chuckled at that point, starting to enjoy his amazement, or rather, aggravation. “Actually, that is not fur, but spikes—’tis my hedgehog. I call him Sleeper since he spends most of the year doing just that.”

  He rolled his eyes, then frowned when he saw Stomper tied to the other side of the baggage wain. But that was naught compared to his expression when he finally noticed Growls, who had just pushed his nose between Milisant’s arm and side so he could see who she was talking to.

  “A wolf? You keep a wild wolf?”

  “Growls is completely tame. He is pathetically friendly toward anyone.”

  “Then why do you call him Growls?”

  Her pet, unfortunately, chose that moment to growl at Wulfric’s tone. Milisant grinned before she answered, “He was not always so friendly—and still does not like it when people yell at me.”

  “I was not yelling! I damned well should be, but I was not!”

  “Verily, I can hear that you were—not,” she replied mildly.

  He scowled at her. “These pets stay here.”

  She stiffened. “Then I stay here.”

  “This is not open for argument.”

  “I agree—it is not.”

  Jhone tsked as she came up beside them. “My sister’s pets will be no trouble on the journey, Wulfric. Verily, you will not even know they are with us, once they get settled in. But do not ask her to leave them behind, when she is so attached to them. Truly, they are like her children, the way she protects and cares for them.”

  He started to argue further, had his mouth open to do so, but obviously changed his mind as he ended up smiling at Jhone instead. It was not the first time Milisant had seen him smile at her sister. She had just never noted it quite so clearly before.

  It was apparent, to anyone with half an eye for observation, that Wulfric would have greatly preferred Jhone for a bride. She wondered if Jhone would mind trading places with her. They need not tell anyone. They had switched places too often, with no one the wiser. It would be easy.

  As the thought took form and started to excite her with its possibilities, a vision of Jhone and

  Wulfric embracing sneaked up on her and seem
ed to affect her with a physical jolt. She actually blinked, several times, to banish it, then shoved the thought of trading places away completely with a mental sigh. As ideas went, that was not one of her brightest, simply because she would not wish a brute like Wulfric, who was also proving to be quite the tyrant, on anyone, least of all her sister—at least, that was what she assured herself.

  They lost Wulfric’s attention for a few moments as he answered questions from one of his men. When he glanced back at them, the cages were being set into the baggage wain behind Milisant. He gave a disgusted sigh, acquiescing to their presence without further comment.

  But he parted from them with a question for Milisant that surprised her, coming from him, especially after he had insisted they leave this morn. “Are you sure you are well enough to travel?”

  She assured him she was, and he was quick to leave them after that. For a short while she thought that question had come from concern, and that confused her. Then common sense quickly prevailed. It was more like he was concerned that she would slow down their progress on the road.

  She didn’t slow them down, but the two baggage wains certainly did. The day-and-a-half journey was now going to take two full days instead—at least that was what they thought until it started snowing late that afternoon. It was not a heavy snowfall, just enough to drop the temperature and make traveling in it quite unpleasant.

  Bundled in their cloaks, even with two extra blankets covering them, the sisters were still unable to keep the wet cold at bay. Those riding fared no better, which was why Wulfric ended the journey earlier than planned, when they reached Norewich Abbey. The monks did not have accommodations for everyone, of course, but their stable was warm, and there were enough rooms for the women and knights to share.

  Jhone and Milisant took their meal in the room they had been assigned, well aware that the kindly monks would prefer not to associate with women if it could be avoided. They retired right after eating, since Wulfric had warned he wanted to be on the road in the morning much earlier than the start they had gotten today.

  Milisant would have retired early anyway. She was more exhausted than she cared to admit, still affected by her accident. She really should have delayed this journey a few more days, at the very least, until her arm stopped hurting. As it was, she went to sleep with it throbbing something fierce after that jarring ride all day, but thankfully, she was too tired for it to keep her from sleeping.

  Seventeen

  Milisant could not say what woke her in the middle of the night. Whatever it was, she felt a clear unease, as if whatever it had been was not normal. Because of it, even with nothing else occurring to cause alarm, she could not get back to sleep.

  She needed to see for herself that the quiet and windowless room was as it should be, empty except for her and her sister. It was too dark to see even a few shadows. The fire had burned down to mere embers, giving off no useful light, and the candle she had left on the table next to the narrow bed had been extinguished before they slept.

  She knew, though, as alert as she was, that she would never get back to sleep until she’d checked every corner of the room. So she grabbed the candle, rolled carefully over her sister with a whispered, “Shhh,” in case it woke her, and stumbled toward the fire on that side of the bed to stick the candle in the embers to light it.

  She really was not expecting to find anything there. She expected to scoff at herself for her silly unease and get right back to sleep. So it was quite a shock to see the burly fellow standing a few feet from the end of the bed with a dagger clutched in one hand.

  He was no one she had ever seen before, nor was he a man easy to forget, with a scar on his face so wide it cut a deep groove through his scraggly beard. Clearly he had come from outside. There was still snow melting on the top of his woolen cap and his brawny shoulders.

  Jhone had indeed been awakened when Milisant climbed over her, and had waited silently, still half asleep, to find out what that “shhh” had been about. She gasped and sat up in bed as soon as the light revealed their intruder.

  He stared back and forth between the two of them. There was not much intelligence in his dark eyes, but whether that would help or hinder remained to be seen. At the moment he seemed somewhat panicked.

  “Which of you is the elder?” he asked.

  Considering he held a dagger in his hand, Milisant was quick to protect her sister with the truth, claiming, “I am.” Only Jhone had gathered for herself what the man was doing there and said exactly the same thing, at nearly the same instant, causing him to growl in frustration.

  “The truth, or you’ll both have to die. Better just one than both, eh?”

  Better neither, but pointless to tell him that. Yet Milisant was at a loss on how to deal with him. She should not have to be dealing with him.

  Faugh, Wulfric’s method of protecting her left much to be desired, and she would be sure to tell him so. At least at home she would have been safe in her own bedroom, where Growls and Rhiska would tear anyone apart who entered to threaten her. But here, both pets were in the stable, doing her no good whatsoever.

  They certainly could not fight him off, not without risking serious hurt. He was just too brawny. And while he held a dagger, they had no weapons of their own. Her bow had been left in the baggage wain as well, assumed to be unneeded in an abbey.

  That left only persuading him to seeing reason. So in a commanding tone she told him, “I wouldst hire you, sirrah, and I will pay you much, much more than you could ever imagine earning.”

  He blinked. “Hire me?”

  “Aye, to protect my sister and me. You seem like a capable fellow, and smart enough to know where the greater benefit would lie. Or are you no more than a lowly serf, bound to some lord for life?”

  He flushed at the derision she intentionally added to her tone, and nearly growled, “I am a free man.”

  “Then it would behoove you to guard your own interests, would it not?” she pressed her point. “To look to the greater gain?”

  She had sparked his interest; it was evident in his avid expression. He was tempted. But he must have imagined what would happen if he gave in to the temptation, some sort of retribution only he could envision, because he as quickly looked very frightened. Then that emotion, too, was gone, and he was back to appearing exceedingly menacing and resolved to doing what he had come to do.

  “Honor and loyalty count for more’n coin, lady,” he told her to appease his momentary fear.

  “Those traits do not feed you, nor do they make you rich,” she pointed out.

  “What counts for rich if you will not live to enjoy it?” he replied.

  “Ah, the truth then. You are merely afraid of your employer,” she sneered.

  That had him flushing again, but this time with anger. “Methinks it will be a pleasure to finish my task here,” he said, looking straight at her.

  But before he could take a step toward her, he obviously recalled that there were two of them. Glancing at Jhone again, he knew he still faced a dilemma. And Milisant could just imagine his thoughts. One of them could escape while he made the effort to kill the other. And the one who escaped could be the one he was supposed to eliminate.

  She took advantage of his hesitation to say, “Who sent you on this task? Give us a name.”

  “Think you I am a fool?” He snorted. “There is no need for you to know.”

  “You could have just said you do not know,” she said in scoffing derision.

  That merely angered him the more, but at least his anger gave her warning that she was out of time.

  As soon as he took that step toward her, she sent the candle flying at him. The flame extinguished on the way, yet he was too slow to dodge the candle itself. His yelp was telling, that the hot wax had at least hit him on bare skin, likely his face. But while he was distracted by that, she grabbed the cover on the bed, lifted it high, and threw it in the direction where he had been standing. His muffled curse said her aim had bee
n accurate in that as well.

  She had shouted at Jhone to leave to get help, even as she’d thrown the candle. Thankfully, Jhone had been quick to react. The door was thrown open only seconds after the cover landed on the man.

  With that small bit of light that came in from outside, Milisant was able to at least see the outline of the bed to dive over it and try to get out of there before the man untangled himself. He must have done some diving himself, though, for she didn’t quite reach the open door before she felt his hand on her lower calf and she went down hard, right in the doorway—landing partially on her wound.

  Tears of pain filled her eyes, completely blinding her for the moment. But she heard her sister screaming for help. She heard other doors opening. She just couldn’t see if any help was coming yet. And the man still had his dagger. It was that knowledge that struck a desperate fear in her and had her kicking against his hand with her other foot, her breath coming so hard now in her exertion that she almost didn’t hear his cry of pain.

  She did feel his hand go slack, though, and release her. She didn’t wonder what part of him she had hit to make him let go. She merely jumped to her feet to escape, and slammed into Wulfric before she knew he was there.

  His arm clamped immediately around her waist as he half dragged, half walked her away. “Be at ease,” was the only reassurance she got that it was he and not some other assailant.

  The guest rooms in this part of the abbey faced an outdoor courtyard that was barren this time of year and, with the absence of a moon, not much lighter than her room had been. But he took her no further than the room next to hers, where his brother had lit a candle.

  Jhone was there, huddled beneath a blanket that had been given her, trying not to stare at the nearly naked knight wearing no more than his braies. She rushed to Milisant to take her from Wulfric’s side and enclose her in the blanket. This room had no fire going either, and none of them were dressed for the cold coming in the open door.