Chapter 12

 

 

Her head rested on his shoulder, and he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger.

They had hung their clothes on tree branches to dry. Luke had checked on the horses and returned with a travel blanket, which he spread on a sunny patch of grass near spring flowers. “This is pleasant. Here.” He caressed the length of her arm. “With you.” His deep voice sounded like music in the quiet.

Pleasant, he said. Like a good game of chess. She smiled to herself. He was so reserved with his emotions. After what they had shared, his word was bland, but the look in his eyes said so much more.

“Would that we could stay here forever,” she said. An occasional bird sang, a squirrel scolded, and a breeze made the trees whisper, but she could not take her eyes from his face. He met her gaze with a tenderness she had not seen before. His relaxed features softened the angles of his face, and his smile was fluid, almost lazy. This was a Luke she had never known before, a sensual, sated man, comfortable in her arms.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“How much I like to win.” His smile widened. “Can we race again?”

“Only after I explain all the rules.” Her fingers skipped over his flat stomach.

He laughed, catching her hand, and knowing he was ticklish made her laugh, too.

“Losing has its advantages,” she said. “But I look forward to winning.”

She told him about the games she, Stephen and Faith had played as children. They had made home-made slides from winnowing baskets saturated with duck grease. They rode them, sliding faster than the wind down the grassy hill by the church. They would practice with the bow and arrow targets for entire days, or spend lazy summer days catching caterpillars, and her parents would decide who had the best collection.

“I like seeing that playful side of you,” he said. “I love that part of you. Most of times you seem so delicate, so serious in all your finery. I was surprised.” He traced the curve of her ear. “Your gowns—they’re more beautiful than those at the king’s court.”

His words echoed in her head. Did he just say there was something about her that he loved? She basked in the warmth of his compliment.

“Thank you. My mother sews all my gowns. Her fingers are so nimble, she can sew silk over rosary beads so that you never see a single seam. ‘Tis my good fortune. My garderobe is filled with her designs.”

“So you dress to please your mother.”

She laughed and shook her head. “We both enjoy shopping for the fabrics, a special time only for the two of us.” Thoughts of her mother shone like sunshine in Joya’s heart. “I’m proud of her. ‘Tis dear to me to wear her gowns. My father and brother are also pleased with her talent. They wear the finest doublets, with a perfect fit, in spite of their height.” She nuzzled into his shoulder. “Pray tell me about your father. Did he have your blue eyes?”

“Aye.”

His silence told her she’d reached the end of that very short road. “Did you play games with your brothers?”

“My brothers and I would hold races, too,” Luke said. “We’d use frogs, crickets, snakes—anything that moved,” he said. “Humfrye loved to fish. He could turn every nibble into a bite, and he always knew where the big fish were.” He smiled. “And Christopher, he could throw rocks like a cannon. His arm was so strong. He used to win all the games at festivals. No one could come close to him. We used to race with barrels in the bailey…” His smile died, and that hooded, protected look came into his eyes, shutting her out.

“You used to race barrels,” she said, prompting him to return to his story.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I can’t believe they’re gone.” He looked toward the lake. “We had our differences, as you saw that morning in Coin Forest, but they were my brothers. My father had five sons, and now he’s gone, and only Hugh and I are left.”

“And your mother?”

“She died when I was seven.”

“I’m so sorry,” Joya said, dismayed that their talk had lead to pain and loss. “Hold me.” She wrapped the blanket around both of them, snuggling next to him, in contact from head to toes. “Hold me and know that I care for you. When it comes to you, I’m shameless. I can’t stay away from you.”

“’Tis my good fortune, I assure you,” he said, tracing a finger across her lips.

She kissed him, soft at first, and deeper as she sensed his awakening passion.

“Joya.” His voice thick, he turned her away from him and pulled her close, her back nestled against his chest. Stroking the side of her breast as light as a whisper, he kissed the side of her neck. His hands traveled to her waist, and he kissed his way down her back.

Fresh desire licked its way to her core, and she pressed closer to him.

His chest warmed her, heating her blood.

Her skin tingled as he trailed his hand over the swell of her hip. He cupped her bottom, stroking the sensitive skin until she squirmed. He slid his hand between her legs to tantalize her further.

She turned to face him. The fire in his eyes melted her, and his firm lips covered hers, sliding wet and warm against hers so she could feel nothing but the sun and the pulsing desire between them.

His musky scent held a trace of lake water and grass, and his hair, thick between her fingers, was still damp.

He would be gone on the morrow, and he saw no future for them, but her heart melted from the intensity in his blue eyes, and she opened to him.

He loved her then, slowly, tenderly. They joined, becoming one, and a renewed passion raced through her veins. His rhythm quickened and slowed, a sensual dance inside her, lifting her higher, higher. The ground under her seemed to spin, and she held him closer. He moaned and clutched her bottom, driving deeper. The turbulence of his passion overwhelmed her, and she gasped for relief. Finally she abandoned herself and cried out as shivers of delight pulsed through her.

Joya awoke to his kiss.

She snuggled into his shoulder, refusing to open her eyes. She had slept in his arms. She wanted to return to sleep, to this special dream.

He laughed softly. “Wake up, little butterfly. Come back to me.”

‘Twas no dream. It was better than she had dreamed. She opened her eyes and pulled his face down for a kiss.

“This day is special to me. I will never forget it. Never forget you.”

She put two fingers on his lips. “Shh. Let us speak naught of the future.”

“I must tell you this, though. I enjoy being with you. When I see you, my day is brighter. Always.”

Warmth poured from his words to her heart. “And I, you.” Behind him, the sun had slipped below the tops of the trees. She tried to swallow the knot in her throat as they approached the time of their parting. “When I’m not with you, I think about you. I worry for you.”

“What you did for me at the bridge, that was brave. I told you at the time that it was a stupid thing to do, but I said that because I was angry. Angry at the danger in which you placed yourself and your friends, only to help me. It was too dear a sacrifice.”

“You saved me in the river.”

He kissed her again. “I thank you for helping me, and I’m glad you have sanctuary. I can’t stay long, though. I must…leave.”

“I know, defeat Margaret. I can’t believe she killed your brothers,” Joya said. “There has to be some explanation.”

“You heard my brother. Think you he lied?”

“No. No. Only that it doesn’t make sense.”

His muscles tensed against her.

“I’m sorry, Luke. The truth will come out.”

“I’m sorry for you when it does. Your faith will be crushed.” He softened his voice. “I will leave on the morrow. I will never forget you, Joya.”

“You will come back,” she said.

He traced her mouth with his finger. “My days are few. I have nothing to offer you. I like working alone. Living alone.” He turned away. “You would wither and be unhappy with me.”

She turned him to face her. “But today. Here. What we’ve shared—”

He kissed her hand. “This day. You. It will remain always here.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart, and she could feel its strong beating.

His eyes were soft with sorrow.

Her throat constricted, and she had to break from his gaze to avoid tears. Composed, she met his gaze again.

“I must go. I am good as dead. I cannot claim you, but I promise, I will help defeat Margaret, and you will all be released and exonerated.” He placed his hand on her heart. “And I vow, I will help save England for you.”

 

* * *

 

Joya rose before the sun and struggled with the lacings of Kadriya’s gown. Her body still hummed from the passion she and Luke had shared at the lake the day before. Today would be difficult. She would ride with Luke and her friends to the abbey. She shivered. Months may pass before she could escape its walls.

“Here, let me help,” Pru said. Facing an uncertain future at the abbey, they all had suffered a restless night. Cam had sneaked into George’s chamber some time past midnight, and Pru and Joya had fallen asleep in the midst of worries that the abbot may be as joyless as Father Jeffrye.

Pru worked fast, the laces shushing through the eyelets. Securing the neckline, she sucked in a breath and her fingers stilled.

“What is it?”

Pru didn’t respond.

“Well? What is it?” Joya repeated.

“I—did you take your necklace off?”

Joya’s hand flew to her neck. “No.” She felt for it on the back of her neck, but it wasn’t there.

Gile’s betrothal ring. She had worn it ever since he had given it to her, months ago.

She met Pru’s gaze. “The lake.” She and Pru had talked into the small hours of the night, and Joya had told her of the boat race, and hinted at the pleasures she and Luke had shared. She shook her gown, but no chain, no ring fell out. “Sweet heaven, I must have lost it in the lake.”

She dropped to her hands and knees, checking the floor. “It’s gone.” She thought back, re-tracing her steps. “We were splashing so much. It might have been when I took the gown off. I was in a hurry …” Her face heated as recognition lit Pru’s eyes.

She hurried on. “It could have been worn thin at the hook and broken there, or during our ride back home.”

“We can go back to the lake when we ride to the abbey,” Joya said. “I can find it.”

Pru touched Joya’s shoulder. “It’s gone, but you will always have the memories.”

“But it’s to honor Giles, his sacrifice, I—”

“He would want you to be happy. How do you feel about it now, as we speak?”

Joya tried to put words to the fresh sense of loss, the scarred wounds suddenly fresh and painful. “Wretched.”

“And how did you feel yesterday, at the lake?”

“I can’t talk about that now, knowing I lost Giles’ ring.”

“Yes, you can. How was it at the lake, with Luke?”

Joya closed her eyes, felt the moisture as it traced its way down her cheek. “I felt light. Happier than ever before in my life. I had moments when I thought of how it must feel in heaven.”

Pru gave her a gentle smile and hugged her. “Giles loved you. He would be glad to know that you have found such happiness.” She released Joya and finished securing the gown’s neckline. “We have a busy day today, no time to think any more on this. We’re off to the abbey, and we’ll want to be sure to thank Kadriya for helping us. We’ll need to pick up our clothing at the tailors in the village.” She shook Joya by the shoulders. “And you need to cheer up and think of seeing Luke again after your special time yesterday.”

Luke. He would leave her today. The floor seemed to sway beneath Joya’s feet. He would meet with York. Again her throat tightened at the grim thought that she may never see him again.

Their time at the lake had been wondrous. Watching him leave today would hurt. Her shoulders grew heavy of a sudden, with a weariness of the constant worry for him. Save England for her, indeed. What transgressions had she done in the past to deserve a man who thought he could singlehandedly save England?

Her mother was wrong. It was not to be that Joya would be a happy bride, wife and mother. Giles had been killed in battle, and Luke Bonwyk, Lord Penry, the man who had stolen her heart, would lose his head trying to save England for her.

“Are you ready, Pru?”

“Almost.” Pru placed her slippers into her travel bag.

Joya lifted her bag and walked toward the door, each step an effort. To have shared such love, followed by bitter disapointment, had drained her.

Luke was doomed. And she couldn’t help him any longer because she was going to be in what amounted to a cell, locked in an abbey with an army of monks.

Pru turned toward her, a look of surprise on her face. “Did you hear that?”

Joya raised her head, feeling rusty. “What?”

“A herald.” Pru’s eyes widened and she opened the door. From belowstairs, Prince Malley shrieked. “Someone’s here,” Pru said.

George and Cam appeared from the hall. “Visitors,” George said. “Half a dozen knights.”

“Your father,” Cam said.

Joya looked out the window, but it faced away from the bailey. “Are you sure?”

“Green flag with three rings and a sword,” Cam said. “It’s him.”

They clattered down the steps and outside, where Tabor was dismounting by the stables. The earthy smells of grasses and soil filled the morning air, and the early morning dampness made her hold her arms to her chest. “Sir John. Mistress Kadriya.” Tabor glared at Joya.

Her heart faltered. Always hoping for his approval, she knew she would receive none on this day. She had betrayed and shamed him.

Kadriya rushed forward to embrace him.

Tabor returned the greeting and pulled back. “Godspeed. Thank you for sending word. I, too, have news.” He turned to Joya and her friends. “Where’s Penry?”

“He must still be abed,” George said. “I’ll fetch him.”

“Get him down here posthaste.” Tabor turned to Kadriya. “We must talk.”

“The hall?” Kadriya asked.

“Lead the way,” Tabor said.

Joya followed her father as her friends lagged behind, uncertain whether to follow and too curious not to.

In the hall, tension spread, a consuming web of unease that snared them all. Joya’s skin tingled as all eyes flitted from her to Tabor in curiosity. Joya fought to maintain her composure. She had attacked his knights, defied him by aiding the enemy.

She reached for her father with the smallest of gestures, but something in his eyes restrained her. He stopped, squeezed her hand, and moved on in silence.

The tables had been stacked by the wall. Tabor dragged a bench to the fireplace, scattering the rushes that covered the stone floor, and sat facing them. Wynter took one bench, and Kadriya took the other.

“You’ll be relieved to know…” He looked across the hall to where Joya, Pru and Cam stood. “Joya, sit you next to Kadriya.” Joya complied.

“You’ll be relieved to know that all of my knights survived. Not without pain or embarrassment. Apparently the only one seriously injured was Lord Penry.” Tabor glared at Cam and scanned the hall. “Where is he?”

George appeared, pushing the heavy wide door open. “He’s gone.”

Joya’s stomach seized. He left me.

“Gone?” Tabor repeated.

“Along with his horse and guards.”

“Guards? Who gave him guards?”

“He procured his own. At the abbey,” John Wynter said.

Tabor grimaced in disbelief. “You let him?”

“He sought—and was granted—sanctuary at the abbey,” John replied. “Joya and the others were granted sanctuary as well.”

“So he is at the abbey.”

“I think not,” George said. “The guards at post early this morn said they saw him heading toward Crete Hill.”

“South,” Tabor said. “Away from the abbey. And John, you didn’t suspect for a minute he would leave?”

“Having been given sanctuary? No. And forsooth I didn’t think he would ever leave Joya’s side.”

Joya looked at her father and her neck heated all the way up to her ears.

Tabor stood and paced, a sure sign for Joya that he had reached the end of his temper. He took two more passes, kicked the fireplace and launched his tankard into the fire. “God rot it!” He took a deep breath and turned to Joya, his expression thunderous.

“Margaret did not raid Penryton or kill Luke’s brothers. Her troops did not attack there, either. She knows nothing of it. She’s deeply sorry it happened, and she is furious with you, Joya, for setting a known traitor free. She bids you return—Luke included—back to Coin Forest. She’s prepared to reduce his fine. But now he has sauntered off, carefree as a squire to the fair, to meet York.” He gestured at Joya’s friends, their backs pressed against the wall. “You believed the worst, and didn’t trust your queen. She showed compassion and generosity to you, and now I have to go back with this news.”

He turned to Joya. “Since you’re so close to the traitor, where do you suppose he went?”

Her father’s eyes were wild, and she flinched. “I don’t know. He told me he would see me this morn.”

“And you believed him.”

He scanned the room, sweeping Kadriya and John as well with his anger. “You all believed him.”

 

* * *

 

Luke hurried up the spiral staircase to the Christchurch tower, resisting the urge to sneeze as vapors from the pitch torches assaulted his nose. He emerged from the stairwell into a cold mist at the landing, and one of the most beautiful views in Devon. Dusk had thrown her wide cloak over the harbor. Tinges of purple still lingered in the growing darkness.

The harbor stretched out before him in grand display, the inlets curving below like an elaborate kell being formed under a monk’s pen.

Lights flickered from the dozens of wharf side cottages and, in the outer rings of the harbor, docked boats floated, their lights bobbing with the movement of the channel.

“Lord Penry.” Wagg, York’s young commander from Ireland, sat at a table with Lord Harmon, a commander Luke had met in Ireland. But where were York and his allies? Wagg rose and approached him. His large eyes drooped at the corners, and his unfortunately large ears stuck out from his head like a bull terrior’s. His young, sturdy body carried him well, though, and his eyes were filled with intelligence. He shook Luke’s hand firmly. “Godspeed.”

“Godspeed.”

“I’m pleased to see you,” Luke said. In truth, he would rather have seen York. Though Margaret had confiscated all his lands and ordered his death, York was safe in Ireland. He was no doubt frustrated to be exiled, but the duke enjoyed the support of its people. The Irish Parliament had twice protected him from Margaret’s attempt to capture him in Dublin. Like so many others, the Irish had come to hate the grasping queen and were solidly behind York in his bid for the throne.

Why wasn’t York here? To Wagg he said, “When did you arrive from Ireland?”

“Two days ago. We had to be watchful. The queen has her spies about.”

Wagg placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “We were outraged to hear of your brothers’ deaths.”

His sympathy pierced Luke’s heart anew with a terrible sense of guilt. Had Luke not aligned himself with York, his brothers would be alive. But yes, it was Margaret’s doing. And he would see her humbled, nay, destroyed. “Thank you.”

“Another shameful incident of Margaret’s brutality in the name of the throne,” Wagg said. “However did you escape her in Coin Forest?”

He thought of Joya. “A good friend’s bravery. I’ll need your help in being sure she’s protected, and her family’s name cleared. She’s currently claiming asylum at Cerne Abbey.”

“Of course. All our supporters will be richly rewarded.”

Lord Harmon approached, wearing his age in stooped posture and a limp. “Lord Penry.” He shook his head. “Never thought we would see you again.”

“Nor would we have, had we not acted,” Wagg said. His smile was compressed, smug.

How could Wagg have been involved? “You helped me?” Luke asked. “How?”

Wagg shook his head. “What’s important is that you’re here. York has some directives for us.”

“I thought he would be here,” Luke said.

“He’s been delayed.” Wagg approached a table and rolled out a map. After a cursive scan of the tower he lowered his voice. “There have been several changes in our plans.”

The map he unrolled detailed the south of England, encompassing the Irish Sea and the English Channel.

“York and Warwick plan to sail the Channel to Calais. Your Irish troops are due to arrive here from Dublin within a few days.”

“Forgive me,” Luke interrupted. “But I won’t lead the troops.”

“Sorry.” Wagg held up his hands. “Poorly worded. We know you’re not a commander. You’ll accompany the troops. Originally, you would all have gone north to repair the bridge.”

“Yes,” Luke said. Margaret’s troops were marching toward that area, preparing to take York’s Denbigh castle. Luke was to have repaired a critical bridge that would allow York’s men to more quickly intercept them.

Wagg’s mouth spread in a satisfied grin. “From my sources in Coventry we have learned that Margaret has changed her route. She’s headed to the east coast.”

“We have benefited greatly from your spies,” Lord Harmon said. “That, and your experience.”

Luke raised an eyebrow at the groveling fool, fawning over a superior half his age, trying to better his military position. Such posturing was yet another reason Luke chose to avoid people in general, leadership appointments specifically.

“Thank you, Harmon.” Wagg turned to Luke. “Margaret is now planning to attack Sandwich instead. Rout the Yorkists when they arrive from Calais.”

Alert, Luke leaned forward. The most direct route to Sandwich would take them to Redstone, where Luke’s uncle and cousins lived, where he had spent many of his summers. He recalled when he was ten, when his brothers had tried to cut his swing. Worry for his family began to mount.

Wagg returned to his map. “York and Warwick will eventually reach London.” Wagg pounded his chalk on the map. “And Margaret wants to reach London, too. To do so, she’ll have to cross the Red Bridge.” He marked the location. “We’ll be ready for her.”

Luke’s heart stuttered. Wagg had marked his uncle’s bridge.

“You’ll be there ahead of time,” Wagg continued. “The bridge has five spans. You’ll have time to compromise the bridge at midway.”

Luke grabbed Wagg’s arm, stopping his vicious chalk strokes on the bridge. “You realize it’s a residence bridge? There are businesses. Homes. Families on it.”

Wagg jerked his arm free. “Unfortunate. But necessary. Hear me out. You’ll advance the Irish—”

“I helped recruit, but I’ll not lead the troops,” Luke said. “I made that clear from the beginning.”

Wagg waved his objection into the air. “We know, we know. We have a couple men in mind. The Irish will challenge, and Margaret will have no choice but to answer if she’s to proceed south. She’ll relish it, actually, because they will outnumber us, as they did at Blore Heath. Once they’ve populated the bridge—and it will accommodate over fifty cavalry—you’ll rip it out from under them, and we’ll annihilate them.”

Wagg made two bold strokes with his chalk, creating an “X” on his family’s bridge.

Quiet roared in Luke’s ears. His role in all this was to repair a bridge to hasten York’s travels. Now it involved destroying his family’s bridge and killing families and royal troops. “No.”

Wagg raised his droopy eyes. “Perhaps you miss the good fortune of all this. A quick victory at the Red Bridge and you’ll save thousands of lives. It will be an end to all the fighting.”

“I won’t be a part of it.”

In a dramatic move, Wagg held up the map and shook it. “We need you. You know the bridge. Its design, its strength, its weakness. This war has been raging for five years, and Margaret shows no signs of quitting.”

“I’m a bridge maker.”

“England’s best. And you hold England dear. That’s why York sought you out. York is counting on you. I am counting on you. England is counting on you. Do you not wish to end the plundering and lawlessness? Do you not wish to end the killing of innocent people like your brothers?”

Luke’s chest burned from a raw, primitive grief. He could never undo the events that caused their deaths, but he could avenge them by stripping Margaret of her power so she could do no more harm. As he had so often told anyone who would listen, to save England, Margaret must be stopped.

But the Red Bridge. His uncle’s bridge. To defeat Margaret, would he be forced to destroy it?