LADY UNDAUNTED: A Medieval Romance (32 page)

“God will judge me for it, but when she was not looking, I poured mine into hers.”

“And Ivo?”

“He guessed afterward.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“How could I? Ivo would have revealed what I had done to Anya. My sentence would have been death, and Maynard… Though Anya did not love him, he mourned her and I could not hurt him further.”

“And when my brother died?”

“Then there was Oliver.” A sob escaped her. “I loved him ere I laid eyes on him.”

Thus, her silence once again denied Liam the barony. “What of the writings? What have they to do with this?”

“The poisoning was not the first time Ivo and Anya tried to be rid of me. From the moment I arrived at Ashlingford, there were incidents that, had they continued, would have seen me dead. So I put an end to them.”

“With the writings.”

“A friar came through on his way to London. I had him write down the truth—told him it was a confession I meant to present to your father. He believed he was doing good, never knowing I intended to use the writings to preserve my life. When they were finished, I showed a page to Ivo and told him the one who held them for me would deliver them to your father upon my death.”

Liam started to ask the reason Anya and Ivo had attempted to poison her if they knew they would be revealed, but he realized they had believed they had nothing to lose. With Emma dead, she could not speak the truth. Thus, all they had to fear were her writings, and they must have hoped that with Liam’s father no longer alive to receive them, they would not be delivered—and were they, Ivo or Anya could intercept them before they fell into Liam’s hands.

“Who was to have delivered your writings?”

A bitter laugh ended on a cough that sounded as if torn from her throat. When finally she could speak again, pain more deeply grooved every line in her face. “No one. There was none I could trust. Thus, unbeknownst to Ivo and Anya, the writings were ever in my keeping.”

Meaning had she died, they might never have been found. Though angered by the part she had played all these years, Liam forced down the emotion and, hoping she would find peace in unburdening herself, said, “Sleep now, Emma.”

She creaked open her lids. “Pray, forgive me, dear Liam. Never did I wish you harm. Upon my word, I did not.”

He squeezed her hand. “All is forgiven.” Or would be, given time. “Now rest.”

“You were always my boy, too,” she murmured. And spoke no more.

Silence settled, so thick and deep that were it mud it would be impossible to pass through. But Joslyn thinned it with the tearful words, “Soon she will leave us.”

Liam stood and reached to her. “Ahmad says by morning.” Her hand in his made his chest ache, the brush of her body against his as he drew her up made him long to hold her close. “I must leave you now.”

She caught her breath. “You will return to Thornemede?”

“Not this day, but I need to be away from here.” To think…to pray…to ensure fire did not rise again. “I shall return in a few hours.”

She looked uncertain.

“My word I give you,” he said, then released her and strode from the house into darkness that would soon know light.

Ahmad left Ashlingford three days later, but Liam remained a sennight until Oliver recovered sufficiently to return to the castle and showed signs that with further healing he would be running about the keep again.

“When will you go to court?” Joslyn asked as she walked beside Liam to where his men were mounted for the ride to Thornemede.

He held his gaze to his men. “Never again, if I am so blessed.”

“But surely the king will wish to meet with you to make right—”

He halted, pulled her in front of him, and tilted her face up. “I have no business with Edward.”

Joslyn frowned. “Of course you do.”

“No business,” he said firmly. “Ashlingford is Oliver’s.”

She stared at him. In all the days since Emma’s revelation, they had not spoken of it, and there had been no need. It was a given Liam would claim what was his, but now…

She shook her head. “The barony is yours, not Oliver’s.”

“I have Thornemede. I need no more.”

He truly meant to hold only that barony that was but a shadow of Ashlingford? “But Thornemede is hardly—”

“It will be, Joslyn. With good husbandry and time, it shall rise alongside Ashlingford.”

Of course he would make it so, but that did not mean he should not also take what was his. “’Tis not right, Liam. This belongs to you.”

The rising sun that flushed the sky with color cleared the shadows from his face, and he said, “The truth is best buried with Emma, and there I would have it remain.”

His face blurred amid her tears. “You cannot.”

He kissed her. “But I have. My beloved nephew, Oliver, will be lord of Ashlingford. And when next I come, God willing it will be for both of you.”

“But if in the eyes of the Church we remain brother and sister, how can it ever be?”

“With the aid of a friend, I pray.” He kissed her again, stepped around her, and mounted his destrier.

As Joslyn watched him ride away, she added her prayers to his that he would find a way for them to be together.

CHAPTER THIRTY

When the plague took its last victims and the people were freed of the terror that had gripped them for months, summer was upon the land.

Though it was estimated Ashlingford had lost a quarter of its population and Thornemede somewhat less, they had won. Unlike other areas across the island kingdom, life more quickly moved toward its blessedly normal pace. The land produced, cattle were tended, and food was had for all.

Liam had saved them from ruin.

As Joslyn once more gave thanks, a voice called to her.

Lifting her chin from her knees, she shifted her gaze from the workers in the fields to Oliver whose legs pumped vigorously as he climbed the knoll she had sat upon for what might have been one hour as easily as two.

As he neared, she considered his flushed face. It was scarred from the boils Ahmad had opened. Though they had healed well and would continue to fade in the years to come, her beautiful boy would ever carry the marks that showed he was a survivor of the great sickness. And God be praised for that.

He halted and propped his hands on his knees. “Uncle Liam is here!”

She had only a moment to sigh over the loss of the sweet
Unca
he had outgrown before she was struck by what he said. Had Liam come for Oliver and her as was their hope? Was it possible?

“And A-papa too.”

She jumped to her feet. “Where are they?”

“There.” Squinting, Oliver pointed into the sun.

She shaded her eyes and saw three horsemen riding toward them. “Is your Uncle Richard with them?”

“I think that’s his name.” Oliver had never met Joslyn’s brother.

Painfully aware of the beat of her heart, she lifted her skirts, said, “Come, Oliver,” and ran down the knoll.

Liam was the first to reach her. He swung out of the saddle, opened his arms to her, and held her close.

Having not seen each other since he had left Ashlingford following Oliver’s recovery, they clung for as long as her son permitted. Not long enough.

“You gonna marry now?” Oliver asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

His question jarred Joslyn, but Liam did not appear discomfited. He slid his hand into hers and knelt before the little boy. “You would like that?”

“Aye!”

“Then we will do something about it.” He ruffled Oliver’s hair, straightened, and met Joslyn’s imploring gaze. “I have come for you, my lady.”

She heard her father and brother rein in, but could not move her eyes from the man she loved. “Truly?”

He grinned. “We shall wed.”

The hope he would find a way had sustained her all these weeks, but hearing it spoken was like a dream. Beautifully unbelievable. “How?”

He kissed her lightly. “I will tell all when we are alone. Now you must greet your father and brother.”

Hours later, as she hugged Liam’s side in a chair before the fire in her chamber, he said, “Queen Philippa has given us aid.”

“The queen?” she gasped.

“Months ere the plague struck, I sent her a missive asking for assistance in obtaining a dispensation from the pope.”

She had not known his feelings for her went that far back. It thrilled and touched her. “You have loved me a long time.”

He trailed his fingers down her arm. “Not long enough.”

His caress making her tremble, she said, “The pope agreed?”

“He has issued a special dispensation to allow us to wed.”

“But how? Are we not still brother and sister in the eyes of the Church?” Though what Emma had revealed proved they were further removed—cousins by marriage—still that truth remained buried.

“The pope has decreed otherwise—for a price.”

“Is it high?”

“Not for what I shall have in return. But it shall take time to pay it.”

“How long?”

“Ten or more years.”

“Ten!”

“The pope wants an abbey at Belle Glen, and an abbey I shall build him.”

Then Liam would pay dearly to wed her. “When did you receive the dispensation?”

“A sennight past.”

She blinked. “Why did you not come sooner?”

“I would have, but I wished to collect your father and brother so they might be present when we speak vows.”

Oh, how she loved this man! “I did not know I could be so happy, Liam.”

“I did not know I could be so wrong.”

She frowned. “Wrong?”

“I believed all was lost.”

“But all was found,” she said and, as ever, was awed by how far they had come from his ride upon Rosemoor…from their audience with the king…from that day on the balcony when he had said…

She laughed. “You are sure I am more than sweet words, Liam? More than a kiss? A caress? That I am not only for the moment?”

He crooked a finger beneath her chin. “Even then, before you thoroughly entwined my mind, body, and soul, you were more.” He lowered his head. “You, Joslyn, are for a lifetime.”

EPILOGUE

He hated the waiting. It made him feel like a young man too slowly approaching his wedding night. But that was what he did—waited for the din to subside so the promise made would be fulfilled. The promise of his bride.

Liam pulled his regard from the revelers thronging Thornemede’s hall. With a sigh of his soul, he filled his gaze with the woman who sat beside him at the massive table whose construction Gunter had overseen to ensure it endured the generations born of the two become one this day.

Joslyn’s attention had been captured by her father and brother where they sat beside her. If not that she no longer swayed and tapped to the minstrels’ music and her hand in Liam’s had tensed, he would have thought she looked upon them with the usual pleasure over their reconciliation. Certes, this time she did so with concern.

As evidenced by the goblet Humphrey held out to the woman bearing a pitcher, he wished more wine. As told by Richard’s shake of the head that sent the servant opposite, the son objected.

Humphrey set the goblet heavily on the table and turned a deeply grooved brow upon the younger man who leaned near his father and spoke low.

Remain true to your word, Humphrey
, Liam silently counseled as he had forcefully—albeit discreetly—done a fortnight past when the two Reynards had heatedly argued over what Humphrey had named
a harmless game of dice
.

Richard had been offended by Liam’s interference. But afterward, he had grudgingly thanked his future brother-in-law for ending the argument with as little ill will as possible.

Blessedly, as now seen in Richard’s calm and Humphrey’s grudging grin, the crisis was past.

Joslyn’s hand in Liam’s relaxed, and she turned her face to his, causing one of dozens of tiny pink rosebuds woven through her darkly gleaming tresses to tumble free. Appearing unsurprised to find her husband attended to the situation, she said, “I think they will make it work, that Richard will stay and father will learn moderation.”

“I believe you are right.” Liam picked the rosebud from his thigh, put it to his nose, and breathed in the scent that would ever be hers. “Do you not think, dear wife, ’tis time we—”

“I do.” Blushing the color of the rosebud, she said more restrainedly, “Day is done, night is come.”

“Then we are of one mind.” He pushed the rosebud’s stem into the hinge of the brooch clasping his light mantle about his shoulders. “And shall soon be of one body.”

It was hard to look away from her, she so enchanted him, but he turned his attention on the revelers whose celebration of their lord’s marriage was surely all the more joyous with the passing of the plague.

He easily caught the eye of Father Warren, whom Joslyn had brought from Ashlingford to perform the wedding ceremony. The priest, appearing to have sought the Baron of Thornemede’s gaze for the same reason, answered Liam’s nod with his own and hastened to the hearth where a wave of his hand quieted the minstrels’ instruments.

Excepting a group of children who continued to chatter and chase about, among them Oliver, Gertrude, and Emrys, the celebrants were soon silenced—an expectant silence amid which Meg gathered her ducklings and shushed them.

Father Warren cleared his throat. “Now we have come to this day’s good end, all that is left is to put the bride to bed.”

As good-natured murmurs and chuckles moved among the guests, Gunter shouted, “Our lord and lady be wed. To bed! To bed!”

Others, including Sir John and Sir Hugh, who were seated on Liam’s left, quickly took up the refrain, “To bed! To bed!”

Face brightening further, Joslyn eased her hand from Liam’s and rose, as did several women she had chosen to prepare her to receive her husband when he arrived in the company of his men who would see him properly slid beneath the sheets alongside his bride.

Moved by Joslyn’s discomfort—and his own, though his was surely of a different nature—Liam stood. “Make haste, Father Warren! My wife and I follow.”

The priest turned upon the stairs. “My lord, ’tis not for you to come to the solar until the bride is abed.”