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Chapter 15   

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DRAKE MET JENNA by happenstance on High Street. Even though the street was crowded with shops, wagons, carts, tradesmen, and most of Winchester, it being market day, Geneviève de Berneval stood out no matter where she went.

Carrying a basket filled with odds and ends, she wore a flowing gown the color of daisies. Amber earrings dangled from her petite earlobes, bobbing and sparkling in the sunlight. A diaphanous veil held in place with golden strands of silken twine topped her braided hair. She was a striking creature in every way except for the telltale signs of weeping and lack of sleep that stamped her usually gay face.

Drake’s heart filled his throat, but he donned the mask of his brother and greeted her cheerfully, pretending the signs of grief and worry weren’t visible.

Eager to ask after himself and his brother, who coincidentally were one in the same, Jenna latched onto his arm. Before she could muster a barrage of questions, the unspoken reproach of her mother, who gave up her place at the baker’s stall to march across the street, stopped the girl short.

Ordinarily a gracious woman, the grand dame whom Drake had known for a good part of his life peered at him through the eyes of a stranger. In the guise of Stephen, he was the brother of a murderer. Worse, he was the spitting image of a notorious outlaw who had no barter with wellborn folk, and most especially with Rosaline de Berneval and her cherished daughter. She eyed his injuries with interest. “We heard tell of your quarrel with Sergeant Atwell.”

A mother’s visible contempt was another slap of fortune’s hand, worse than any jab from vicious sergeant, paid goon, or errant knight. “Oh aye, the swine.”

Piling on further indignities, Henri de Berneval tramped their way. Looking far from the stalwart knight who had loyally served Old King Henry for years, he came abreast his wife and stared with open disdain at the supposed brother of his daughter’s betrothed. “Come,” he said, guiding his family away. “This man is the brother of an outlaw and isn’t welcome in polite company.”

The single stroke of a sword had erased years of welcome and warm regard. Rebuked by the very man and woman who had toasted his engagement to their beloved daughter only a sennight past, Drake didn’t know what to say. He turned into a witless man without tongue or conviction. Perhaps he was the pariah folks supposed him to be, or as good as, because a man without a sterling reputation was a man to be struck down with shame and shunned from decent society.

Her face reddening with anger, Jenna rounded on her father. “How dare you treat Stephen like this. When you insult Stephen, you insult Drake. And me. I ... I’ll never forgive you. Either of you.” Turning on a heel, Jenna grabbed Drake’s hand and tugged him away. People watched as they fled from a father’s wrath.

“Where are you going?!”

“Away from you!” she called back, her spine stiff and head thrust high. She guided Drake into a back alley. The high wall of an adjacent shop provided shade enough to cool her temper, but only up to a point. She paced and wrung her hands, making her more appealing than ever. She had defended his honor and the honor of his family. More, she had declared her love of him without knowing her love stood before him. He wanted to hold her close and whisper endearments into her ear but dared not. Gathering control of her temper, she asked, “How is Drake?”

Drake couldn’t help but admire the scooped neckline of her bodice or the laced side openings of her kirtle. “Well enough.” He looked out toward High Street, where her parents yet stood, ever watchful.

“Where is he?”

Something frantic in the way she asked made him uneasy. Truthfully and to the point, he could have told her, Here before you. Discretion cautioned him from being forthcoming, even after she had nobly stepped up to his defense. “Away from Winchester.” Her breath rose to put another question, but he spared her the effort. “’Tis all I can tell you.”

She looked both deflated and relieved. “Aye, I understand, I do. His life is in the gravest danger.” She paced to and fro, the wisps of her hair catching a breeze on each turn. “It’s dreadful not being with him when he needs me so.” She wheeled around. “How can people believe Drake had anything to do with those gruesome attacks?”

“Men will believe the worst of others,” he said, “even when there’s no proof.”

Becoming aware of his stare, a stare that must have revealed the depth of his feelings, she dug the toe of her doeskin boot into the ground. “Can you not tell me more than away from Winchester? Hmm, Stephen?”

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and shut it, shrugging impotently.

She swung her face back toward the street and the prying eyes of her parents. They doted on her, and why shouldn’t they? Jenna was their only child, the light of their lives, and their sole offering to the future. She licked her lips, struggling between being a dutiful daughter or a rebellious child. She made up her mind. Taking his hand once more, she guided him around a corner, backed him against a darkened doorway, and leaned close. The basket dropped to her feet. Spice jars, ribbons, and an ell of green silk spilled out. “Are you sure you have naught to tell me? Hmm ... Stephen?”

The way she stressed his brother’s name revealed everything. Drake said, “You know, then.”

Her hand stroked his arm; her eyes sought explanation; her expression begged for news. She gazed modestly down. Sunlight played across the soft plains of her face, making her lovely to gaze upon. She glanced up, her eyes swimming with unwashed tears. “I know I would die if ... should something happen to ... if Drake ... if we could not marry.” She swallowed back sobs. Closing her fingers around his arm, she lowered her grasp and interlaced her fingers with his. “He would never leave England, even if his life depended on it. Too stubborn. Bullheaded.” She tittered, remembering what it was like to be with him: freely, unabashedly, and out in the open for everyone to see her love of him. “But he cannot show his face in Winchester. Isn’t that so?” A breeze whipped a wayward strand of hair over her brow. She half-closed her eyes as if remembering what it had been like before, when their love was fresh and untainted.

“Jenna!”

She swung her head to the call of her mother.

“No,” he said, tugging her back.

Yearning toward his touch, she received his many kisses. Her voice was breathy as she said, “Don’t mind mama. It’s the talk. People can be cruel. Worse than cruel. Vicious. Now my reputation’s been tainted, through no fault of my own ... or of Drake’s ... the future is uncertain. They fear what I fear. That Drake may never be able to come home. Never be restored to his proper place. Never be able to marry me.” Her voice hitched on a sob.

Drake clutched her to him. Their lips joined in an impassioned kiss. This was the girl of his heart. The nymph of his dreams. The woman he meant to wed, God help him.

Her mother called her name again, and after gathering up her basket, Jenna was gone.