By Possession (19 page)

The magistrate pulled the robe from her shoulders. “Then show these people that he is so I don't have a riot on my hands because they think we let some knight buy a whore's freedom.”

It took a moment to understand what he meant. Too spent to care overmuch, just desperate to be done with all of this, she dropped the candle, climbed out of the cart, and walked around to Addis. Blocking out the staring eyes and refusing to look at Addis himself, she knelt in front of him.

“Take her, and be sure she behaves while she is within these walls,” the magistrate said, scowling. Addis hauled
her to her feet. Sir Richard appeared out of nowhere to take her other arm. The two of them dragged her through the crowd.

Some in the mob were not to be denied their sport. Shouts of “whore” and “harlot” rang out, and other voices urged Addis to punish her with a rod or strap. Ripe fruits flew and one landed with a squashing thump on her back. Only after they got through the gate did the mob forget her, and then only because the other cart began to roll.

They pulled her to a side lane where two horses waited. Addis grabbed her waist and threw her up on the saddle and then swung up behind. Richard mounted the other horse but turned to ride in a different direction.

They began trotting through back lanes.

“How did you find me?”

“I talked with basket sellers at the markets.” His cold tone made her cringe. The Lord of Barrowburgh would not quickly forget the trouble she had caused and the insult she had given him. Certainly not before they arrived at his house. “I assumed that your wares would have been noticed by them, and I found a woman who had spoken with you yesterday. She sent me to the house of Master Edmund, and he told me where his wife had gone this morning.”

That simple. Stupid of her to think that she could disappear even in a town of this size. “My cart is still with Edmund and his wife,” she said, suddenly worried about her belongings and especially the sewing basket. The biggest danger of being carted to Cock Lane hit her. If she could never reenter the city, she would have lost everything, including the ruby.

“When Richard returns I will send him for it. The city would allow only the two of us in. The others stayed across the river last night and he must see to their board.”

He rode through the low gate of a long two-leveled house and into a small yard. Stables flanked the paved court on the right and a long hall faced it on the left. The overgrown mess of a neglected garden rose up in the back, surrounded by the remains of a stone wall.

She twisted to look back at the block of the house facing the lane. Of good size, with at least five or six chambers, she judged. Her first reaction was that after some desperately needed repair it would make a fine inn.

Addis pulled her off the horse and dragged her by the hand into the hall. She tripped after him while he strode to its end and barged through a door. He swung her forward and she stumbled into the kitchen. An old skinny woman stirring a pot in the large hearth rose in surprise at their abrupt entrance.

“Give her a bath, then send her up to me. Burn the gown,” he ordered.

And then he was gone, his retreating boot steps echoing through the hall.

The old woman wrinkled her nose. “Where'd he find you?”

“Tun prison.”

“Ach, that explains it. You smell like a devil's fart.”

“Since I spent the night in hell, I am not surprised.”

“Made a lot of trouble you did, Moira Falkner. My man is still out searching the city for you.” She thrust a thumb toward the door. “
He
be ready to kill you, I think. Brave of you to cross a man like him.” Stupid of you is more like it, her expression said.

“Who are you?”

“I'm Jane, my man's name is Henry. We were his mother's people. Stayed here after Sir Patrick died, though everyone else left. Not of Barrowburgh bond, but of her family's lands, and besides, we'd been here long enough for the freedom.” She bent her stiff body for some
buckets. “Come and get some water with me for this bath. Won't help you much if we keep him waiting on you all afternoon.”

Moira took several buckets and followed Jane through a side door that gave way into the garden. A well stood a few feet away and they filled their buckets and returned. Together they rolled the big wooden tub away from the wall, toward the hearth. Jane set her buckets to heat by the low flame while Moira emptied hers into the tub. She made several more trips for water, then waited with Jane for the water to warm.

“How have you lived?” she asked Jane.

“Was a bit of coin hidden and we found it. That lasted a while. Mostly we've been selling pieces of furniture. 'Twas some nice chairs in the hall with backs and they brought good coin. Lived off each one for four months. Didn't want to strip the place, but we had to eat. Sold things what wouldn't be missed much. No shame in sitting on benches even in the best halls. I kept telling Henry, What's the point? The house had been forgotten. He wouldn't hear me. Insisted on doing his best to keep it up, but he's old and so the wall's half down and the stable needs a roof and … well, you'll see soon enough what's what.” She glanced in the direction of the house. “
He
ain't noticed yet. Showed up in a black mood 'cause they wouldn't let his men in but mostly 'cause you'd been lost. Worried at first, then angry in a cold way when he decided you'd run off. You be in for it, Moira Falkner. 'Tis a rash thing you've done.”

Moira grimaced agreement and tested the water in the buckets. She poured them into the tub and began stripping off her garments, glad to be rid of their filth and stench.

Jane appraised her body while Moira climbed into the tub. “Well, with that loose robe gone it makes more sense,
don't it? Wondered why he had brought a bondwoman all the way from Darwendon, Henry and I did. Curious that he stopped everything to find you, we were.”

Moira sank low in the tepid water. “Do you have any soap?”

“A bit. You'll be wanting to wash that hair. Looks like a rat's nest. We'll get you clean and pretty again and maybe it won't go too badly for you.”

Moira did not want to contemplate what awaited with Addis nor how badly it might go. Maybe very badly, but she felt little fear. The only emotions her battered spirit could muster were an edgy resentment and sad resignation. She had publicly declared him as her lord and sworn not to run away, and had thus accepted the shackles that she had vowed never to wear again. She had entered Tun prison still secure in who Moira Falkner really was, but had left with that identity repudiated. He had exploited her weakness and vulnerability to make her do that, and it said a lot, too much, about what existed between them and what did not.

Living in Claire's shadow had given her ample opportunity to observe how men like Addis treated women for whom they held affection, and how they treated all the rest who merely caught their eye, highborn or base, wives or villeins. Affection tempered a knight's inclination to dominate and possess, to subjugate and vanquish. She almost hoped that he would beat her as the mob had urged. It would put that night firmly behind them. Maybe it would force her to hate him a little. She was counting on his helping her to do that and from his mood she suspected that he would not disappoint her. The only question was the means by which he planned to demonstrate her submission.

She scrubbed her hair and ducked under the water to
rinse. Her head emerged just as Jane gathered up the gown and shift from the floor and tossed them into the hearth.

“Nay!”

“He said to burn them.”

“They are all I have until someone gets my cart.”

“I'll get you a blanket. Bit warm for it today, but better than those. Not fit for a beggar, they ain't.”

“Could you lend me a gown, just for today? I am larger but if it is loose, at least …”

Jane turned with hands on hips. “Look you here. You may disobey and run away, but that's between you and him. I ain't seen that man since he was a boy but I know something of lords and that ain't one to cross. Where would Henry and me go if he got angry and turned us out? If he says burn the clothes I burn them. Unless he says to give you one of my gowns, I don't do it. Only have three and as I see it one of two things is going to happen when you go up those stairs. He's going to beat you or force you and either way any gown won't come out in one piece.”

She could do without old Jane so bluntly laying out the options that she herself had refused to face. Perhaps it need not come to that. Surely she had not completely misjudged him when she saw a kinder side.

Jane brought over some ale and bread. “You eat something. Will make you feel better.”

The food revived her a little. “Tell you what,” Jane soothed while she handed her an old linen towel. “There's some strawberries out in the garden that I found yesterday. You come here after and we'll have some. I've some salves too if you need them. You dry yourself now and I'll use my comb on that hair.”

She sat on a stool and stared at the charred remains of
her gown while Jane worked the comb. It had been over an hour since she arrived but she doubted that Addis had forgotten about her.

Jane fetched a blanket from the house. Moira wrapped herself in it. The billowing wool reassured her a little, and the bath and food had returned some strength. Deciding that she could not avoid this confrontation any longer, she followed Jane's directions through the hall and up to the solar.

He was not there. She sighed a prayer of thanks. Deciding that she would wait a few minutes just so that she could honestly claim later that she had, she stepped inside.

The solar was really more of a large bedchamber. At least one chair had not been sold by Jane and Henry, and it faced a table near the window overlooking the street. A curtained bed and some stools and chests made up the other furnishings.

She slipped over to the window and gazed down at the city. She wished that she were back at Darwendon where people knew her. London was too big, too busy, too cruel. But she was stuck here now, cut off from every life she had ever known. She had sworn not to run away.

If she gave the ruby to Addis and bought her freedom at the high price he had set, would he agree that ended the oath she had made? Free women do not run away, they just leave. What then? Free in this city with no property and little coin, how would she live? How could she get back to Darwendon alone, and if she did, what kind of life awaited her there? Darwendon had been a place to protect Brian and plan the future. Could she live in that cottage forever, without the hope that the red jewel had always provided?

He would not insist on keeping her forever. With only two old retainers in this house, he needed her now, but that would end one day. Perhaps in time …

A sound broke through her thoughts. She swung her head and then jumped back with a start when she saw him standing on the threshold. She moved from the window into the wall's shadow, as if she could disappear as she had done so often in her life.

“You do not have to be afraid,” he said.

Aye, I do
, she thought desperately. For she had seen the expression on his face while he watched her, and had known in that instant that if she was not very careful she might never be free again.

CHAPTER 10

Y
OU DO NOT HAVE TO
be afraid,” he said, but she did not believe him. She had caught him watching her, and had seen the emotions that the relief of having her back could not completely appease. She pulled the blanket closer and hugged the wall. He smelled her fear and it sickened him to admit that she did not worry without reason.

He had spent the last hour trying to purge the dangerous tumult that wanted to control him. A day and night of worrying about her safety and seething over her flight, of facing the ghosts of this house without the anchor of her peace, had almost made him a madman. In the darkest hours his resentment that she had abandoned him had revived the scathing memory of another abandonment by another woman. Finding her at the Tun had incited him anew with the evidence that she had chosen to face the city's scorn rather than call for his help.

Not trusting himself near her, he had left her in the kitchen and strode out into the city, hoping to walk off
the worst of it. His pacing had brought him into a little square faced by the parish church. It was an ancient building with thick walls. He had entered the deserted cool nave barely lit by a few splotches of light falling through the high small windows.

It smelled of the incense and rituals of his youth, pageants of faith and reconciliation in those days. Desperate for a breeze of grace to calm his turmoil, he walked to the altar and waited.

What had he expected? Light to break through the stone and a ghostly hand to reach into his heart? The vision of the church's saint telling him that all would be well? He did not know, but he had counted on leaving that shadowy space less disrupted than when he entered. It did not happen that way. He stood there hungering for the old reassurances. Instead he only experienced that eerie sensation of being a man out of place and time, now visiting the temple of a foreign cult.