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.”

“Had you heard my brother’s account of it, you would believe it,” Luke said.

“If you’re to seek sanctuary at Cerne Abbey, it would be best if you avoided accusing her of murder in front of the Abbot. He’s loyal to King Henry.”

“I will avoid accusations,” Luke said.

“The abbot and I have been friends for many years. We served together in France. He has been good to me. I owe him much.”

“I will not cause any trouble. I give you my word. I need only summon funds and hire guards. I hope to be granted sanctuary, along with Joya and her friends. My conscience will be settled knowing they won’t suffer for having tried to help me.” He shook his head. “It was such a foolish, senseless thing to do.”

“Kadriya told me about the seeds. It was a clever idea—incapacitate four knights without killing them, provide a horse for your escape, and present a credible excuse for Joya and her friends afterwards. But Joya has always been good with people. They flock to her, and she understands even the most sour, difficult people.”

Like you. He didn’t finish the thought, but Luke felt the insult sting as it hit. Over the years, Luke had grown accustomed to being misliked. As far back as he could remember, he preferred being alone with his own thoughts and projects. People mistook his ways as being cold and judgmental.

“Joya has stayed with us many times over the years,” Wynter continued. “To Kadriya and me, she is like a sister. When it’s time for her to return to Coin Forest, my sons are sad for days. She can chatter like Prince Malley, and she sings like a nightingale.”

Angry as he was with her, Luke had to admit that Joya was comely and charming. He had no defense against those big brown eyes of hers, how they grew heavy-lidded with a deep hunger that matched his own. The way she carried herself, breasts high, her movements smooth as a breeze, her hands expressive when she talked, flying like those butterflies at the bridge, dancing in the air. Her hair, thick and smooth in his fingers, straight as a blade and always sweet, the fragrance of lilacs in spring.

Wherever she was, other people gathered. She attracted people like ants at the table. Luke shuddered. Groups of people sapped the strength from his bones and made the air hard to breathe. Joya thrived on people, the more the better. That part of her troubled him, and it was a big part.

But when it was only the two of them, she was tempting, exciting. He lusted for her as he had never lusted for a woman before, but the two of them were like sugar and vinegar. Darkness and light.

“Did you hear me? Luke?”

Startled, Luke turned to Wynter. “What?”

“I said, if you’re so certain Margaret’s men killed your brothers, don’t you have one lick of appreciation for what Joya did for you? She freed you from Coin Forest so you can do whatever it is you have to do, even if it means treason. For you, she has risked all. She has been forced to leave her home and family. She may die for her actions.”

Wynter reined his horse and faced him, his blue eyes—lighter than Luke’s, and cold. “I’m fond of Joya. She’s a generous woman who seems to care for you, but I can’t see why. It sickens me that your only comment about all she’s done for you is that it was a foolish, dumb thing to do.”

Heat spread up Luke’s neck. Wynter was right. “I’m sorry to appear ungrateful.” He rode on, burdened with the truth with which Wynter had slapped him. “I—am not comfortable talking of my feelings. I am responsible for her plight, for the plight of the others. I didn’t ask to be rescued, but because of me, their lives are in danger.” He looked to the sky and back. “It’s a favor I can never repay. It’s a problem I have no way of solving. It makes me angry.” And I have been blaming her. It’s easier.

Wynter offered no consoling words, and they rode on in silence. Finally, Luke faced him. “If I succeed with what I do for York, my brother will be released. Joya and the others will be deemed heroic. If I fail, they will all be punished. Severely. I know this.”

“Good,” Wynter said. “Or I would have to hit you on the other side of your head.” Wynter’s expression was serious. “I would lock you in the abbey until you reveal your plans against the king. I will recommend this to the abbot.”

“Lord Tabor has been gracious, and Joya saved my life,” Luke said. “I vow to you, I will die if need be to succeed at my mission. It’s all I can do.”

“You can consider that there are always more paths than one. Joya didn’t save you, only to have you die. I think the lady has other plans for you.”

Luke inhaled deeply and exhaled, unsteady. Yes, he feared that, too.

 

* * *

 

Luke wended his way through the village market. He had met with the abbot, who had granted Luke’s request for sanctuary. They would all travel to the abbey on the morrow. So long as they stayed there, they would be safe from Margaret’s troops and any retribution they might have planned.

But Luke would not be sequestering himself within the abbey walls. This was his chance to end Margaret’s run, to free not only Joya and her friends, but the whole of England.

Using the abbey’s messenger pigeons, Luke had sent one message to an abbey in Dublin to eventually reach York, and another message to a parish near his uncle to be delivered to Luke’s money changing merchant. He would issue a bill of exchange to repay Wynter. The bill would allow Luke to pay for provisions for himself and the three guards he had hired.

Once again he sent a prayer of thanks skyward, relieved that he had not stored his funds at Penryton. Margaret’s thieves had stolen his household treasures, but having his life funds stored elsewhere had spared him major losses. Before tomorrow’s daybreak they would leave for Christchurch, some thirty miles away.

Cerne was small, but its market was bustling. Luke’s skin crawled as he moved through the crowd. There had to be hundreds of people here, something about a local celebration and a bishop’s visit, Wynter had said. The crush of faces thinned the air, and Luke’s throat constricted from a sense of imprisonment.

He fought through it and remembered his purchase list. Crates of the abbey’s beer stood in neat rows. Good though it was reputed to be, Luke would pass on that. He needed his guards sober and capable of reaching York post haste. Instead he sought dried meats, grains and lard, beans and cheese.

Nearing the poultry pens he saw her, a flash of jetstone black hair and red fabric.

Joya. She and Kadriya stood in front of a tailor’s shop, measuring for garments.

Joya spied him and waved, her butterfly hands flitting through the air.

Wynter’s words haunted him. He would control his anger at the situation and try to let her know he appreciated what she had done for him.

Her beautiful body was concealed in an ill-fitting gown that dragged on the ground. As he neared Joya, sensations assaulted him. His heart hurried, as if he were running a race, and he felt lighter of a sudden, a shudder of desire tightening his loins. He fought to contain a smile.

Too late, he saw from the abundant smile she gave him. “I missed you this morn,” she said.

And I, you, he realized. “Wynter brought me along to the abbey,” he said.

“Good morrow,” Kadriya said. “Did the abbot receive you?”

No secrets appeared to exist between Wynter and Kadriya. Luke felt exposed. “Yes.”

As Luke closed the door to further chatter, Kadriya turned her attention back to the tailor.

“What did he say? The abbot,” Joya asked. Her beautiful face became strained, and Luke sensed her vulnerability. She had placed herself in such peril for his benefit.

He took her hand. It nestled in his, small and warm. What was he doing, lifting her hand and kissing it, in the presence of all these spying strangers? Her skin tasted sweet with roses. “He offered you sanctuary.”

Her hand lingered in his. “For Cam and Pru? And George, too?”

“Aye.”

Joya released a little squeal and threw her arms around him, hugging him. “Thank you. Thank you, Luke.”

She pressed herself to him, all softness and breasts and firm stomach and thighs and something sweet and floral, and a wave of pleasure washed over him. “You are welcome.” He wished to say more, but the crush of people all around them made it hard to breathe.

Kadriya turned to them. “I’m going to be a while getting clothes for all of you for your stay at the abbey. I have your measurements, Joya, and I’ll order two skirts for you, tunics, and three gowns. I’m meeting John, but not for another hour or so. Luke, please escort Joya back to our manor.”

“I will see to her safety,” Luke said.

“Oh, and mayhap you can stop by Ridge Hill, Joya, on your way. And see the lake. You always love going there. Be back before sunset.”

Time alone with her. The roasting meats suddenly smelled sweeter, the breads fresher. “I have only to order bread, then we can go.”

He hurried back to the food market, rushed through the selection, and returned. He would make peace with Joya before he left for Christchurch. He would not lose control and kiss her again. She had saved his life, and deserved more than to be ravished by a man with death on his shoulders.

He calculated the time he would have with her. A gift. A warm spring day, and not much past two bells. Seven hours and sunlight, and Joya.

 

Luke and Joya traveled on the busy southwest-bound road that followed the River Cerne. They reined their horses to the side of the road to accommodate traveling merchants as they headed for Cerne. After they passed, she led Goldie back on the road and they continued.

She rode on Luke’s left side, and could see the large bump by his temple. He did look so much better with a head. She smiled at the memory, the laughter her friends had shared along with the fear. So much had happened, so quickly. She had surprised herself by succeeding with the apricot seeds. Now he was here with her. Only the two of them. The thought warmed her like a fine, honeyed wine.

And Kadriya. She had sent them on their own for the good part of a day. Well, no surprise. Joya could not hide her attraction to Luke. Kadriya had likely felt sorry for her, and given her some time with him.

He said he was going with them to the abbey tomorrow, but she sensed he would be gone on the morrow, off to change England by joining York. Joya didn’t doubt that Luke would die if he stayed. She was equally certain he would die if he left, but she could not see him in gaol again, even if it was within an abbey. This would be the last time she would see him. She would not linger on that, though. He was with her, now. No chains, no guards, no others. She would think of a way to thank Kadriya.

At Dickley Hill they left the main road, taking a secondary path that led past Hill Barn and into the steeper hills. By the time they reached Ridge Hill, they met no other merchants, and the homes and farms became more scarce.

“I remember riding here for the first time,” Joya said. “After Kadriya’s wedding.” Joya, Faith and Stephen had come with their parents to see Kadriya’s new home. “Kadriya was so beautiful. She had been in so much trouble, and the abbot forgave her because she helped find the chalice—” Joya checked herself. The abbot had forbidden all of them to speak of it. “Well, any way, Kadriya is brave. And quick-witted.”

Luke smiled. “Like someone else I know.”

“Who?”

“Your friend, John Wynter, pointed out that I found no value in what you did for me at the bridge, freeing me. “ He cleared his throat. “I believe I told you it was a stupid idea. Wynter pointed out that, on the contrary, it was quite clever.”

Joya hesitated. It had ended so poorly, and his tongue could be so harsh. “Are you mocking me?”

He shook his head. “No. I was wrong, and I—”

They rode through a break in the trees. A lake came into view and Joya abruptly reined Goldie to a stop. “Look.”

Ahead fifty yards, Crystal Lake nestled at the base of heavily forested hills. They approached its shallow end, where it lived up to its name, clear to the bottom and strewn with driftwood debris to the right. It dropped off some twenty feet out, becoming deeper, where the wind rippled the surface and the sun turned it to shimmering gems.

This lake had claimed Joya’s heart from the first time she saw it. It was no meager little fish pond, muddy and murky, no treacherous river with hidden whirlpools. Every visit had brought sensual delights – the warmth of the shallow water, the firm lakebed under her bare feet and farther out, the refreshing depths, cooler, peaceful and invigorating. “This is it.” She clapped her hands together. “Isn’t it grand?”

“’Tis beautiful,” Luke said.

“The fishermen dock way out on the deep end of the lake, to the right, but they’re all at Cerne for the week,” Joya said. “The bishop is scheduled to visit the abbot, so they combined markets this week. The abbot is displeased that they celebrate, but it’s a boon to the fish trade and an opportunity to sing. And dance.”

“I prefer fresh air. And quiet.”

“Then you’ll like where I’m taking you. This way.” She led him around the left side of the lake to a point at the edge of the dense forest, stopping at a large boulder. Chiseled deeply in the stone was a large, sideways oval with a dot in the middle.

“What’s this?” Luke asked.

“The Evil Eye,” Joya said, deepening her voice . She dismounted by the stone and tethered Goldie in a protected field of grasses. “You know the Gypsies—their mystery and magic. They say that many years ago, old Theodore Fiske—he owned the fishing docks back then—and his brother, Sigaer, found this big stone when they were clearing trees for the new docks.

“Men from Dickley Hill said that long ago, Gypsies had camped here. The Gypsy King was stabbed in his sleep, so the Gypsies called the stone from the depths of the lake, and placed it here. They cursed the land, and they burned their king’s body on a boat, along with his treasures. The gold sank along with the king, to the bottom of the lake.”

Luke dismounted and tethered his horse next to hers. “Hogwash.”

“‘Tis true that Gypsies burn their dead. And their tribes are led by kings.”

Luke’s eyes blinked rapidly for a moment, pleasing Joya. She enjoyed weaving a spell with Gypsy tales she’d learned from her mother. She widened her eyes and continued. “A group of fishermen gathered at this very spot one night, and much ale was downed. They lit a fire at the base of the Evil Eye stone, and warned that any man who dared pass the stone would suffer a painful death. Theodore and Sigaer laughed and relieved themselves on the stone. They accepted the challenge—and they passed the Evil Eye, into the forest. Right here.” She moved to a point to the left of the stone. “The men called to them, but they never answered. Dawn came, and still no sounds or signs of them.” She paused for effect. “The next day they found Theodore’s hood floating on the surface of the big lake, way back where we rode in.” But no trace of them was ever seen again.” She slowed her voice and reduced it to a whisper.

Luke frowned at her, still uncertain.

“Boo!” She raised her arms high at the same time she shouted.

Luke jumped.

Joya laughed and ran into the forest, past the Evil Eye stone. “Fooled you!”

She paused to look back. Luke stood watching her, head cocked to one side, and started after her in a full run.

She held Kadriya’s long gown high, freeing her legs, and maneuvered through the underbrush, pine needles soft under her feet. There was no path because the Gypsy legend and the unusual, carved stone, combined with other mystery stories over the years, had frightened everyone away.

She reached the clearing she remembered, a branch of the main lake, where she and her brother, Stephen, used to play as children.

She slipped behind a thick bush, removed her boots and pulled her hose off, placing them neatly on a moss-grown rock. She unlaced the sleeves and sides of Kadriya’s gown and pulled it down past her hips, her excitement evident in her shaking hands. Her mind tangled like so much rope as she thought through what she was doing.

Nothing more than what you’ve already done with him. You went for a swim together. This time, the only difference is that you won’t be scared for your life.

“But your gown,” her inner self protested.

“Not mine,” She answered to herself. “It’s Kadriya’s, and I can’t travel with soaking clothes. Besides, I’m wearing a chemise to my knees.”

Luke caught up and stopped. “Where are you?”

She stepped free from the bush, holding her red gown. She met his blue eyes, and her bravado melted. She swallowed. “Wading. Pray join me.”

He backed away, but his lids grew heavy. “Tis not meet. Not at all meet.”

Not proper. Not safe. “There is no one here to judge.” She folded the gown neatly and hung it on a branch. “I’m only proposing that we wade.”

His eyes grew dangerous. “How deep?”

A streak of wildness assaulted her. “As deep as you dare.” The words slipped out of her mouth, bold as a siren, and she felt her neck heat. What must he think of me? But she had run out of caring what he thought. He had been abrupt and judgmental and disapproving of her from the start. She had grown accustomed to it, and enjoyed the exasperation that now tightened his lips. “Come on. Are you afraid of me?”

He bent down and unlaced his boots, devoured her with his blue eyes. “Any sound man would be,” he said. Still, he took another step toward her.

She laughed and ran into the water. Dipping her hand, she drew up a handful and splashed him. “Come on.”

She waded in to her knees and enjoyed the view as he removed his tunic, baring his chest. He left his chausses on, and she could see the shape of his manhood straining against the thin fabric. It sent flashes of heat into her core. Aware of her feminine power, she continued her flirtation, feeling daring and naughty and free.

Spying a dried pod flower that stood on thick stems above the water, she plucked a handful. “Let’s play a game.”

He waded toward her, stopping six feet short of joining her. “Another tale?”

She smiled. “No, although I enjoyed that one. Didn’t you?”

He raised a brow. “Oh, yes. You’re quite the jester.”

She laughed, feeling tickles in her stomach. It was only the second light-hearted moment of amusement she’d shared with him. “Let’s have a race. I learned it from my brother, Stephen. Here are yours. They’re ships.” She handed him three. “And here’s mine.” She plucked the dried stem and petals from them and placed them on top of the water. “See how they float. And see that big rock, about twenty feet out” she said, pointing to it. “That’s where we finish. Whoever gets there first with all three ships, wins.”

“Wins what?”

“A kiss.” Her heart faltered as the words passed her lips.

His voice deepened more. “That’s a very dangerous prize, Mistress Joya.”

She gave him a smile that barely contained the desire that was humming through her body. “Only if you win.”

“And if you win?”

She struggled for a breath. “Then it will be very dangerous for you, Lord Penry.” She laughed, got on all fours in the shallow water, and started blowing her pod-ship toward the rock.

“No hurry,” Luke purred, his deep voice smooth, vibrating into her core. “I’ll give you a head start.”

He launched his own pod ships. They were light and unsteady in the water. They could not be rushed. Experienced with the game, Joya steered her ships better and gained an early advantage.

She grew light headed from all the puffing, but she was determined to win. They eventually entered water deep enough that they could no longer rest their hands on the bottom, but had to balance and blow the ships.

“Watch out, Joya. I’m going to win.”

She heard a splash and turned.

Luke had employed another means of propelling them. He placed the heels of his hand in the water and pushed, creating two waves. His ships zoomed forward on the small waves he’d created.

“No fair. You can only blow your ship home,” Joya said.

Luke laughed, a rich, deep sound. Water dripped from his freshly shaved jaw. His face was transformed. No longer the tight-lipped judge, his eyes were laughing now, his broad smile revealing mischief and straight white teeth. Could this be the same man who had brow beat her, the same man who often looked as though he had lost his last friend?

“Too late to change the rules now,” he said, and returned to his wave-making.

Joya blew harder, a mistake that made the little pod boats tip over. She righted them.

“Ah, no fair touching them,” Luke teased.

She had been so distracted when she told him about the game, she had forgotten to establish all the rules.

Luke’s boats were leading hers by at least six feet.

Joya tried to mimic Luke and create waves, but the ships kept falling over.

The last of Luke’s three ships sailed to the rock, and it was over.

“Yes!” Luke raised his arms in victory. “And now for my prize.” He lunged toward her.

Joya cried out and abandoned her ships. She turned to escape, but the water was chest high and difficult to wade through. Thrills shot through her stomach as he pursued her, both of them splashing wildly.

Her legs slogged through the water, slow as a snail, while her heart pumped faster and faster.

He caught up with her before she’d run two yards. He tackled her. They fell and sank together to the bottom.

Joya surrendered to the water.

Luke lifted her out and she squealed.

He laughed, an undeniably masculine blend of power and delight. It rumbled from deep in his throat as he turned her to face him.

He towered over her, brown hair shining in the sun, lake water dripping, tiny beads of moisture on lashes over blue, blue eyes.

She looked up at him, expectant, heart beating wildly.

He cradled her face in his big hands and lowered his face to hers.

His mouth was wet and soft on hers. Her legs went weak and she sank into the water.

His hands went to her waist and he lifted her high, let her slide down the length of him. She slid over his chest, his trim waist, and the considerable hardness of his desire as he cupped her bottom close to him.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, moving against him.

He groaned and claimed her again with a kiss, his tongue impatient, invading.

His heat penetrated her thin chemise.

Sliding upward, his hands skimmed her hips, her waist, and cupped her breasts. He ended the kiss and gazed at her from his wet lashes. “You are the most beautiful woman,” he said. “I lose all thoughts but those of you.”

He sucked her lower lip and kissed her again.

Sin, sin. She returned the kiss, threading her fingers through his hair, caressing his scalp. And should I sin too much, I shall surely go to heaven.

She touched him under the water, his shaft hard under the thin fabric of his chausses.

He tried to pull away. “I cannot deflower you.”

“You won’t,” Joya said. “We were only days from our wedding when Giles went to battle. We said our vows secretly. And consummated them.”

He caught her meaning, and inhaled sharply. “Forsooth?”

She nodded.

“I can make no promises. No vows.”

“I know.” She pulled him to her, kissing him deeply.

He grabbed her bottom and rubbed her against him. “By the saints. By the glorious, sweet saints I have dreamed of this.” He kissed his way down the side of her neck, trailing more kisses on the tops of her arms. He moved to her breasts and suckled them.

She gasped at the pleasure.

He pulled her chemise up to her waist and his fingers traveled between her legs. Touching, stroking. His thumb stroked her, applying pressure, sliding into her.

She was on fire in the cool water, feeling his hot fingers inside her. She opened her legs, inviting more. Clinging to him.

He pushed against her, sliding himself into her folds, and drove into her, hot and slick.

Gasping with pleasure, she wrapped her legs around his waist. This was the man who had taken her breath from the moment she first saw him, the man who had invaded her dreams, made a small bridge for her, insulted her, and saved her. He had surprised her, disappointed her, and excited her more than any man she had ever known.

Joya threw her head back. Luke fondled her breasts, kneading her nipples until she cried out for more. Water swirled between them, and she pulled him to her, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, moaning as he stroked inside her.

Her core, hot and fluid as the water around them, and pressure. Passion she had never known drove her to new heights, and a pulsing urgency that made her at once aroused and desperate. She clung to him, needing more of him, more, more, and she moved against him faster, seeking something unknown but so intense she could not breathe.

He felt it, too, and answered her thrusts.

Water churning, she shuddered from the delicious tremors that overcame her.