A Knight’s Enchantment (26 page)

Joanna said nothing. She too had known David as learned and polite, even a little jesting in a good-natured way. When had he changed? When had imprisonment changed him? After he had been in the pit, or earlier? When had she become his enemy?

It hurt, to think of Hugh’s brother so distrustful. Had she not talked to him in the donjon, brought him news, tried to lift his spirits? Had she not given him books to read? It seemed David had forgotten all this.

Like Mercury, he is a man out only for himself.
She had not thought David was like that, although she knew Mercury was. And it had been a long time since she had considered the mystery Frenchman. Was he still at Sir Yves’s castle? Did he still claim to have no memory?

“As long as he is being well fed and entertained, why not?” she muttered.

“What now?” Hugh was asking. “Do you wish to see David? You can for me—and take him back with you.”
For all I care,
ran the unspoken but obvious conclusion. If she had been surprised and aggrieved by David’s seeming change of heart, how much worse for Hugh, who had striven so mightily for his brother.

But Sir Brian was stretching again and slapping his legs, possibly to stir the blood, and missing all of Hugh’s bewildered hurt.

“I would see him, Sir Hugh,” he said. “He wrote word to me; he remembers me, and kindly, I hope. We could talk of our time in Outremer.”

“I think David would like that,” Joanna observed, recalling the comfort she and her father had from speaking of old times, of times when her mother was alive.

“I want to tell him, too, that not all Templars think only of gold, or of relics.” Sir Brian’s cheeks became more red: he looked as bright as a red kite. “There is also good fellowship, true companionship in arms.”

“He is fortunate to have you as his friend,” Joanna said, feeling that needed to be voiced, while Hugh jumped to his feet and whistled to the hounds as if they were his own.

“Elspeth will be surprised.” He winked at her in passing and strode off down the hill to catch the horse, leaving nothing settled between them.

So he was returning to his father’s castle, with his brother. That thought, which should have been a victory, brought Hugh no pleasure. He was estranged from David, who was as remote and unfathomable as the moon these days. His father would give them no welcome, and he mistrusted Sir Brian, too. The fellow seemed honest enough, but when was that a guide? Before David turned against him and Joanna, Hugh would have said that his brother was as true as steel.

Most of all, he disliked this traveling out on the open road. Elspeth had heard nothing from West Sarum. His own men, also, had no news, but that meant nothing. It could be that the bishop was playing a new and more subtle game, one that involved the Templars. What if Bishop Thomas and that smooth bastard Sir Gaston de Marcey of Templecombe had joined forces? His own men, though seasoned, were a small, tight force. If the Templars and the bishop’s men came at them on the road, it might go hard.

Worse, Joanna was with them. He had left the other maids at Elspeth’s, and Solomon, ever sanguine, had taken over the painting of her hall, but Joanna would come. She had wished to come and in truth he wanted her with him. He wanted this nonsense of her being his mistress resolved. He wanted to kiss the top of her head as she rode before him, in her now accustomed place, but David was watching.

No grief to me,
Hugh thought defiantly, and kissed her, squeezing her lightly with his legs. She briefly released her iron grip on Lucifer’s name to pat his hand and he smiled at her forced daring. She was a brave little wench: they would have doughty youngsters.

Soon, soon, I will get you alone and then I will know the truth. I have seen enough mares in foal, I will know. Once I have you stripped, I will know.

He could think no more of plots or counterplots. Daydreaming of Joanna, he let the miles slip by.

Arriving unannounced with Hugh at Castle Manhill just after midday, Joanna found SirYves at his dining table. Sitting beside him, in the place of honor, was a slim, handsome, dark-haired man she knew well, even though neither she, nor any other, could put a true name to him.

She tugged on Hugh’s sleeve but he had already leaned down to whisper, “Look who it is: Master Mercury. Looks well, does he not, for a man with no memory?”

He did indeed, Joanna agreed. Sprawling on his chair with a pale hand draped languidly about a pretty serving maid, he sported new clothes and a broad new smile: a possessive, contented smile, all dimples and teeth. He looked cared for and in control. He ordered the servers as if they were his and not Sir Yves’s.

With a pang and a certain exasperation, Joanna saw that Mercury’s fine black hair shone and waved, as Hugh’s had once done, before he daubed it with red dye.

“What is this?” demanded Sir Brian, who had entered the great hall and taken up a space beside her. On her other side was Hugh, waiting for his father to notice him. David, meanwhile, detached himself from them and sank to his knees in the herbs strewn on the floor. Snatching up a handful of rushes and meadowsweet, he buried his face amidst the heady white blossoms.

“David, attend me here,” Hugh commanded in a low growl, but Joanna doubted if his brother had even heard. She sensed that for the first time since returning from Outremer, David felt to be truly at home.

Which was a pity when his own father did not seem to recognize him. SirYves was peering at Joanna through the steam from a dish of stewed fruit of some kind, and seemed puzzled by her sudden appearance. She watched his eyes pass over her, then Hugh, then look very quickly away from David. He clicked his fingers at a page and the lad approached, clearly about to ask them who they were.

“He has very bad sight at long distance,” Hugh said, “and with my hair changed, he will doubtless not know me. And he has not seen David for two years or more.”

“Yes,” said Joanna. She understood Hugh’s need to make excuses and truly she could think of nothing else to say. “Yes, Hugh, I understand.”

“Well, I do not.” Sir Brian rocked on his feet as if he wished to hurl himself at the seated diners. “That is David’s father? Hugh’s, too?”

Joanna felt a rush of indulgence for the older knight. His clear indignation at Sir Yves’s casual treatment made her want to laugh—it was that, or weep. “Hugh’s also,” she said softly, to make him turn to her. The page had not yet reached them through the milling servers and she thought it would be more seemly for all if the lad could whisper to the lord here that two of his sons were before him. Perhaps then Sir Yves would make a semblance of welcome.

“But I know him.” Sir Brian flicked his eyes at Mercury: for him a most discreet gesture. He looked at David, still kneeling in the rushes, and obviously decided it was better to whisper urgently to Hugh. “My lord, why did you not say that you are connected to the king?”

“King John? What mean you?” hissed Hugh.

But Joanna hushed them both. Mercury was rising from the table. He had deigned to glance at the latest supplicants to SirYves’s justice and charity and now his pale face was a little less smooth.

“Sir Brian!” he called out, strong and clear. “God’s bones, this is a blessed day! You restore me to myself! You are Sir Brian de Falaise, late of Outremer. In recognizing you, I know myself!”

“Truly, Mercury?” Sir Yves had finally risen. Clasping Mercury’s outstretched arm, he regarded him as fondly as any father might a favored son. “Your memory has at last returned?”

“It has indeed,” said Joanna and Mercury together. Joanna could almost predict his every word and gesture: the surprise, wonder, and delight. As a performance, she thought it as good as any dance.

“Finally, we come to it,” remarked Hugh, grimly. “Will he remember you and David, I wonder?”

Joanna shrugged: she thought it unlikely that Mercury would trouble to recall her, but she was mistaken. He leaped right over the dining table, almost knocking a basin of washing water flying, and ran straight to her.

“My lady Joanna! My sweet lady!” He fell on his knees before her. “My dearest dreams and wishes have come true, now you are returned!”

“The alchemist woman who was with Hugh?” Sir Yves was slowly walking round the table, his earlier pleasure fading quickly. “She is here? What is happening?”

“And your sons, Sir Hugh and Sir David!” Mercury winked at Joanna, jumped to his feet, gripped Hugh’s arm, and brought David off his knees. “My former comrade in captivity!”

He made it sound a great adventure, Joanna thought, as Sir Yves stared at Hugh.

“You are a mess, sir!” he barked, his mouth a rigid line of distaste.

“Nothing changes,” said David, speaking for the first time in an age. “I am home and nothing changes.”

“But the kin that is true stays true,” said Hugh, and now David finally stretched out a hand to him and shook Hugh’s: a silent compact of reconciliation, Joanna guessed, and one she was glad to witness.

Still, she wanted more and wanted to know more. “What should we call you?” she asked Mercury directly.

Mercury again dropped to his knees before her and kissed the hem of her gown. “You, lady, may call me your slave.”

“And to the rest of the world?” Joanna asked, determined not to smile.

“I am Lord Roger-Henri Angevin of Aquitaine, a son of King John of this proud country.”

The whisper,
“The king’s son!”
rustled through the great hall like a flood of water. Joanna’s own heart was racing again. She had guessed him to be noble, but a son of the king, even a bastard son of the king, as surely Lord Roger-Henri was, changed everything.

“How came you into the bishop’s tender care?” Hugh asked. Of all of them, he seemed the least alarmed by this revelation.

Lord Roger-Henri snapped his fingers for wine and only replied when he had taken a sip. “My main estates, you understand, are in France.”

Which perhaps accounted for why Sir Brian de Falaise knew him, Joanna thought.

“The journey to my English holdings is not one I wish to make: I do not like the sea.” Lord Roger-Henri sighed. “But then I thought in good conscience that I should come, and so I ventured from the places I knew best.”

There was doubtless more to this pretty tale, Joanna thought, but they would never know it. She listened intently as the prince explained a little more.

“I chose to come with a modest escort. I wished to travel discreetly, you understand.”

Everyone in the hall nodded and no one dared ask why.

“Coming into the barbarous west, we were set upon by bandits. These ruffians wished to take me hostage for gold and coins, but then I and they were swept up together by the bishop’s men, and I was deposited in the bishop’s donjon as a likely hostage.”

Where it was prudent for him to lose his memory, Joanna thought, and where he was content to remain unknown, at least until Bishop Thomas decided that this noble stranger might be too dangerous to keep.

“But my lord,” stammered Sir Yves, coming late to the threat that he was now under, “you have never been a hostage here! You have been my guest!”

“I know that and I thank you for it,” said Lord Roger-Henri. “You and yours have ever treated me with kindness and respect. And you will be rewarded.”

He smiled, and the whole hall, including Hugh, thought it best to applaud and kneel to him. Joanna would have also knelt, but the prince stopped her. “I do not forget your care for me, my lady,” he said in a low voice, as the men and women in the hall tried to outdo themselves in clapping. “I will help you in return.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She inclined her head so he would not read her face, or her rebellious eyes. Over and over, a question beat in her mind.

If Sir Brian had not come with them, for long how would this prince have kept up the pretense of his lost memory? And what of his men, still languishing in the bishop’s cages? Or were they free now? Whichever, it was clear that Lord Roger-Henri did not care. If he was in comfort and safety, then the world could go to the brink of hell, that much was plain.

He will do nothing for Hugh or me. Nothing.

“Are we right to come here?” Joanna asked. They had ridden through the night from Castle Manhill, but she was not weary. Too much was going on for her to be tired.

First Lord Roger-Henri had sent out messages. Then he ordered a feast. Next he embraced David and Sir Brian, calling them “my dearest brothers-in-arms” and praised Hugh lavishly, calling him “a true champion, better than William the Marshal.”

Under this SirYves had merely observed that he should send word to his eldest son, Nigel, so he might come to show honor to his great guest. He had seemed dazed throughout the feast and scarcely spoke a dozen words to either of his sons.

“No grief to me,” David had said, using Hugh’s words as he tossed a candied fruit at his brother with a little show of his former lightheartedness.

Late on in the feast Lord Roger-Henri called for musicians and dancing. At that point, Hugh lifted his eyebrows and caught Joanna’s eye.

They had slipped out of the hall at different times and met on the stairs.

“Will you come with me?” Hugh had asked her.

“I will.”

So they had gone to the stables and taken Lucifer and left Castle Manhill. Joanna’s mood lifted more as they rode away without looking back. Where they were heading, she did not greatly care, so long as they were together. It was not a cold night, but Hugh asked if she wanted his cloak to wear and she said yes, because it was his.

On the road they did not speak much, although Joanna did ask once, “Are you and David friends now?”

She felt Hugh kiss the top of her head and sensed him smiling.

“We are, and more: he admits he was a fool over you. I think David will do well enough now, especially as Sir Brian has offered to be with him when he returns to the Templar house at Templecombe.”

“Good!” Joanna snuggled more deeply into Hugh’s cloak. She and David would have years to make peace between each other, so for now no more needed to be said.

“Should I guess where we are going?” she said later, as the full moon winked at them through gray clouds.

“If you like.”

“The village of the bees.”

Hugh tapped her thigh lightly with a finger. “Almost.”

“There is more to tell?” She twisted round and almost fell off Lucifer. Hugh grabbed her back and steadied her till she had caught her gasping breath.

“You are a half-wit on a horse.” He was chuckling: she could feel his laughter roll against her ribs.

Joanna agreed but she was not about to admit it. “I think I should teach you to read. Then I can look down my nose at you for a change.”

“I am a bad pupil.” Hugh lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck. “My old teachers could tell you much.”

Joanna wriggled her hips against his thighs to distract him. They rode past a darkened hut, then an orchard, then a field of some crop too dark to see.

“Enough,” Hugh said then, and he rode Lucifer off the track into the field. In another moment they had stopped, Lucifer was grazing the crop, and Hugh had pulled her, and his saddle, off the stallion’s broad back.

Before she could speak, Hugh had dropped the saddle off into the darkness and was kissing her.

“You will marry me, or I will tie you over this saddle and use you thus until you beg that we are wed.” He cupped her backside as he had earlier that day and lifted her off her feet. “I know your passion, harem girl, and I will use it in my favor.”

His hands were where she most liked them, caressing, scooping, lifting, tickling. His manhood rose like a standing stone between them and all Joanna could think of was of ripping back his clothes. “Use me, Hugo,” she moaned, barely aware that she had spoken aloud.

He had bared her breasts but now he paused. “Say yes.”

The night air peaked her nipples but she felt as warm as the summer. “Yes?” she whispered, tonguing his chest through his tunic.

“To our marriage. Yes?” He lowered his head and sensation flooded her as he kissed her breasts, first quick and darting, then slowly.

Her legs buckled but he had her safe. Caught in his arms he floated her safely down amidst the sweet-smelling crop of hay.

“The priest will marry us at his house. The churches may be closed by the will of the pope and King John, but he will see us truly wed.”

He was drawing off his cloak and lifting her skirts and she was saying nothing. When he dragged the saddle out of a nearby ditch and rolled her onto it, facedown with her rump in the air and her head cushioned in his arm, she said nothing.

He did not enter her, as she hoped, but stroked her flanks and her bottom, kissing down the length of her spine.

“You are a little more plump, my lady,” he drawled. “A little rounder here and here. I think you are in lamb.”

“You are the expert when it is we women who bear?” Joanna gasped, not as keenly as she would have liked, for Hugh was caressing her more intimately. Even as a nightingale burst into midnight song from the nearby hedge, she was singing and soaring herself, in her head.

“I have seen mares in foal.” Hugh drew her more over the saddle, wrapping an arm about her middle. “You are in foal to me, and I will have your answer: Do you say yes?”

“But my father—”

“I spoke to him at the start of that never-ending feast. He is happy we wed and says I must do as I will. I will this.”

His stroking hand had quickened, his fingers questing more deeply. Joanna clenched her teeth and tried to ignore the building pleasure within her. She wanted to tell him first of Elspeth’s generous gift.

“I have a dowry!” she gasped out.

“From the lady Elspeth? I guessed as much. And when were you going to tell me that, eh? Wicked wench.” He smacked her lightly and said in a more urgent tone, “Good girl, rise yourself to me. Come now.”

The moon broke through another bank of clouds and Joanna raised her hips, feeling the delicious reward of Hugh’s fingers exploring, fondling, playing between her thighs. With her face half smothered by the cloak and half on hands and knees over the saddle, she raised herself again to follow Hugh’s caressing hand.

“Yes!” she cried, as the silver moonlight seemed to change to rose about her and the sweetness of her yielding was richer than gold.

“Marry me, Joanna.” Hugh had turned her again and now they were face-to-face and he was in her, deep within her. “Say you will.”

“Yes.”

“Say you will.” He began to move.

“I will.”

“Say it!” He was kissing her and staring at her, his eyes fierce with possessive tenderness.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

He caught her rhythm and moved with her, their joining suddenly urgent yet luscious, honey of the body and spirit. As he reached his climax he roared her name; as she crested her second she was beyond speech, but that no longer mattered. In this they had their own language, their private language, one they were constantly learning and re-shaping.

As one they flew into slumber, rocked and locked tight into each other’s arms. When the new day dawned, it was only the alarm call of a blackbird and Beowulf’s baleful howling that roused them reluctantly from sleep.

“To the priest’s house?” Hugh asked.

“To the priest’s house,” Joanna agreed, privately hoping that the holy father might give them breakfast, too.