Excitement over a gift tangled with disappointment in Johanna's gaze. Avarice won. His daughter let Helewise lead her into the forebuilding.
"Go with them, Arthur," Master Walter told his younger apprentice. As Arthur complied with foot-dragging slowness the spice merchant scanned the watching men. He raised a brow. "Have you nothing to occupy you this morn?"
There was a sudden flurry of activity as the servants turned back to their chores. Once he was assured a modicum of privacy Master Walter looked at the one he'd chosen to be his daughter's mate. "Katel, what reason had the lad for his attack?" It was an oddly pointed question.
His apprentice sighed as if in deep regret. "Mayhap the fault lays on me, master. I found he'd been passing himself off as legitimately born when he is a bastard. No doubt it was thoughtless of me, but I insisted he speak the truth about his birth." This said, he bowed his head, as if taking to heart the sin to which he had just confessed and absolved himself.
Rob's mouth opened in astonishment. Katel was twisting his attack into something it was not. He drew himself up in honest outrage, ready to launch a defense, but Master Colin squeezed his shoulder. When Rob glanced up at him, the apothecary shook his head, warning him to silence. Despite his need to protect himself from slander Rob did as he was bid and held his tongue.
"But thoughtless, was it?" Master Walter laid a big hand on Katel's shoulder. His tone said he knew his apprentice was not the innocent he pretended. "You said nothing to provoke him?"
"I did nothing wrong." Katel threw back his head in righteous protest of his master's subtle accusation. "It was he who attacked me."
"So he did." The spice merchant eyed the crusting blood and the now purpling spots on the youth's face. "From the looks of it he gave you good return for the slur he felt you did him. Fit punishment for the one who was taunting him over his parentage." Master Walter's brows rose in condemnation. "The bedchamber window is open, Katel. I heard you."
With a raging glance toward Rob, Katel bowed his head. "He is but a servant, Master. No matter what I did, he should not have attacked me," he said sullenly, yet trying to shield himself from his attempt to bend the truth. "If he had cause to mislike what I said then he should have taken his grievance to you, as is meet."
"In that you are right, Katel, but I'll be asking you to have patience with him, forgiving him for my sake. He's not been in the house long enough to know what is what," his master replied, then turned his attention on the lad he'd rescued. "Well now, Robert of Blacklea, I think me you look a sight better than when I last saw you."
Rob cleared his throat and launched into the pretty words he'd spent weeks practicing for the master's return. "My thanks Master Walter for taking me into your household—" It was all he managed to spew before the words dried up and blew away. He stared at the big man, tongue-tied and shy.
"You are most well come, Robert," the master replied, politely accepting these few words as full thanks. "Do you find the apothecary's shop to your liking?"
Katel's head bobbed up from his pose. "He was to be in the scullery! What is he doing in the apothecary's shop?"
Master Walter waved the youth to silence as he awaited Rob's reply. Joy flowed through Rob as he thought of his time spent under Master Colin's tutelage. "I do, master. There is so much to learn. Although I must wait for your say-so to begin counting in the books, already I keep inventory here." He touched his forefinger to his head to indicate his mental tally of the bags and barrels they had in store. "So too, have I memorized the names and places of each cure in our shop, so I might put all where they belong. Arthur has helped me to recognize that each name is made of letters and that the letters are all arranged differently. This is so I cannot mistake the jars that resemble each other."
Across the courtyard Arthur darted out the forebuilding where he'd been hiding to spy on his master, and waved his hands in frantic warning at Rob. There was a horrified look on his face. Rob dropped into instant silence; how could he have forgotten that such sharing of knowledge between an apprentice and a servant was strictly forbidden?
"Is that so?" Master Walter asked, seeming not at all disconcerted by this break with tradition. "More and more, you interest me, Robert. What think you of life among the clergy?" Even as he asked his question, he frowned, as if the thought of making a churchman out of Rob did not sit well with him.
Katel straightened to stare at his mentor, new outrage coloring his expression. "Master Walter, what sort of lesson do you give this lad when you reward his violent behavior with the promise of yet more boons? Is it not enough that he already owes you his life, itself?"
Master Colin squeezed Rob's shoulder once again. Rob glanced up at him. The shadow of this morn's speech lived in the apothecary's eyes. Rob caught his breath in terrified understanding. Master Colin wanted him to ask Master Walter about apprenticeship. He shook his head in refusal. In this much, Katel was right. Rob already owed Master Walter his life. How could he possibly ask for more?
Master Colin's brows rose, both to chastise and to encourage. His master's expression warned that this was his second chance. There would be no other.
Fear filled Rob's chest, nigh on squeezing his heart into stopping, but his longing for apprenticeship was the stronger. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the reaction his words might wring from Master Walter, opened his mouth and let his heart's desire spill from him.
"Master, I do not wish to be a churchman. I wish to be apprenticed to you."
"Why, you ungrateful piece of ox dung!" Katel shouted with such violence Rob ducked, expecting a blow. "How dare you ask this of the master when he has already dug deep into his heart and purse on your behalf!"
"Katel, you overstep yourself," Master Walter snapped.
Katel froze, but his was the stillness of deep rage, not compliance.
"So you wish to be apprenticed, do you?" the spice merchant asked of Rob as if he truly meant to consider the request. Rob's spirits dared to soar in hope. "I do, Master, more than anything. I would be a good apprentice. In time when I have become a master, then will I repay you every pence I have cost you."
"Walter, I am willing to pay his fee as well as bear the cost of his upkeep," Master Colin offered. "You can take it out of my portion of the shop's profits, the part I've been putting toward its purchase."
"Nay, you will not!" Katel howled. His shoulders squared, his fists closed as if he but restrained himself from attacking either Rob or Master Colin by the barest margin.
He whirled on Master Walter. "If you consider this farce you not only mock me and my honor, you besmirch the name of your house. Mark my words. Should you agree to this ludicrous proposal, every righteous apprentice within Stanrudde's walls will rise to tear both the bastard and Master Colin limb from limb!"
The spice merchant stared down on his protegé from his superior height, his gaze taking in his apprentice's menacing stance. The moment stretched, the courtyard's quiet broken only by the steadily growing calls from the regraters pacing the streets. So far this morn, there were onions, garlic, fresh apples, pears, and cheese available from the passing carts. When Katel did not relax the merchant's expression grew as icy as the cool color of his eyes.
"This is the second time you harangue me over this lad when what I do with him is mine to me. Disapprove if you wish, Katel. Such is your right as a man. But it is not within your rights to attempt to bend me to your will. Continue, and, despite my contract with your father, I will know I erred in entrusting my daughter to you."
Katel gasped, his face ashen against the insult he perceived done him. His shoulders slumped, and his hands opened. "How can you favor him over me?" It was an aching plea.
Master Walter's expression softened in new understanding. "Ah, here is the crux of the matter. Katel, open your eyes. Whether or not I apprentice Rob, know you this lad is no more to me than Arthur. Look at me. I am not your sire, nor is Robert your half-brother. Remember, it is you I have named as my daughter's husband, no other."
"Nay, I will not speak of this," Katel cried, his voice choked and hoarse as if he were close to sobbing. He turned his back on his master. "I would go now and seek counsel from my confessor."
"That would be proper," Master Walter replied, nodding at so appropriate a course of action.
As Katel nigh on raced from the courtyard, Johanna's sire turned his attention back to Rob. "You will have to pardon him, lad. He is the youngest son of his sire, who placed his older bastard ahead of Katel in his heart, his shop, and his will. I fear Katel sees his half brother's face atop your features."
Then, shaking off the upset of the past moments, the spice merchant dropped a huge paw onto Master Colin's more delicate shoulder. "I think me you are right, Colin," he said, "this lad is not only bright, but bold and brave as well. Look on how he attacks a man three and ten years his senior and carries the day! If he owns the fire in his belly for trade as you contend, I'd say we've a lion on our hands and I, a third apprentice."
"Master!" Rob breathed in joy, looking from one master to the other. He gasped, clutching at his chest as his heart expanded until it pressed against his ribs. His mouth moved in words of thanks, but no sound exited; his throat had closed in ecstasy. For an instant, he feared he'd swoon.
"Once again, Robert, you are well come to this, having earned it by your own efforts." Master Walter grinned, revealing the gaps where he had lost his teeth. He turned Master Colin toward the house. "Colin, think you no more on the cost of his upkeep. After this year's profit I can bear them well enough without asking your aid, old friend. If you wish to repay me, walk before me to shield me from those rude enough to stare. I feel like a damn dancing bear in this." He laughed as he plucked at the robe.
As the two merchants started toward the house, joy washed in a new wave over Rob. This time, it demanded he share his happiness. He looked for Arthur—not Arthur, his better, but Arthur, his friend and fellow apprentice.
Master Walter's second apprentice yet peered around the forebuilding's far end. The lad's face was dour, his mouth downcast. This set Rob's feet firmly back upon the earth. Mayhap Arthur also believed Rob shouldn't have been made apprentice. It hurt to think Arthur would no longer be his friend.
Rob worked his way to the forebuilding's end through the throng of adults who were either entering the house or returning to their labors. "Are you angry that I am 'prenticed to the master?" It was a hesitant question.
"Angry?" Arthur looked at him as if such a thing never occurred to him then surprise died into deep gloom. "Nay, I am only sad. You're going to die, and I will miss you so."
"I am not going to die," Rob cried, shocked and more than a little concerned at this sort of talk.
"Aye, but you are," Arthur sniffed. "I pray you Rob, watch yourself," he continued, his voice solemn as he turned his mournful gaze on his dearest friend. "No matter how long it takes, Katel will see you dead for what happened this day. This I vow."
Johanna didn't dare move her gaze from the wall before her as Rob once more walked out of her life. Just as his last departure had shattered her, this leave-taking was doing the same. How could she drive him away when she needed him so?
"Nay, he betrayed me once, I will not let him hurt me again," she commanded herself too late. Her heart was already broken.
Closing her eyes, as if such a thing might stave off pain, she sought desperately for hate's shield. It was no more. Rob's claim of caring had torn open the ancient wound on her heart, allowing what festered for so long to flood forth.
Johanna buried her face in her hands. What sort of fool persisted in loving the man who had so cruelly used and discarded her? Her sort, it seemed.
"Nay!" she cried into her palms, "I will not love him! He abandoned me."
The same accusation that had once generated seething rancor now rang hollowly in her ears. She sighed as she realized Rob's rescue made it a lie. The Rob who risked his own life for her was not the sort of man who would have deserted her for coins. That was something Katel might do, but not Rob. Never her Rob. He loved her.
Once again the sweetness of his embrace filled her. This was followed by the glory of his mouth on hers, each kiss speaking of his love for her. Joy died, slaughtered by her own hard and hateful words. Rob loved her no more, she had seen to that.
Only then did Johanna understand how clever her father had been in forcing his daughter to wed where she did not wish to. Had Rob been killed or castrated, either fate his due for having bedded his master's daughter, she might have made a martyr of him and loved him still. Instead, Papa must have placed Rob with a new master—she knew not whom—then bequeathed his former apprentice a substantial amount of money to make it seem his daughter had been betrayed. Even then, her sire had not been convinced of his success in destroying their love. It had been against the possibility of their reunion that Papa had bound her children's inheritance to the requirement she never commit adultery.
That reminder set Katel's threat ringing again in her ears. Johanna started in fear. Mary save her, but Katel hated Rob even more than he despised his wife. It wasn't just her pain or those properties he meant to gain with his false tale of adultery, it was Rob's destruction.
She had to warn him!
Clutching her torn gowns closed, she hobbled to the alley's entrance and peered out into the muddy lane too late. The narrow street was deserted, brigands gone to ground, the poor retreating to their barren corners and rooms.
Johanna shuddered, helplessness washing over her. Every gruesome tale she'd heard of mutilation or murder done to those caught committing adultery came to vivid life within her. This was how Katel meant for them to die. Panic for them both set her heart to rattling in her chest.
"Mistress!" The call rang against the houses lining this narrow street from where the coopers' lane entered the chandlers' enclave.
She whirled and panic leapt to even greater heights. Theobald, along with one of their menservants, hurried toward her. No doubt alerted by the town guard Katel meant to fetch her home, where he'd hold her tight until she suffered the fate he wanted for her.
Once again, she sought for hate's shield, only to again find herself vulnerable and unprotected. The urge to run rose and died. She was sore hurt and filthy, her clothing was in tatters, her hair uncovered and unbound. Where could she go?
Theobald came to a halt before her, boldly eyeing the damage done her attire. Johanna's stomach turned at his leer, and she slid her hand upward along the tear until she was certain none of her was revealed to him. This protective motion stirred wicked pleasure to life in his eyes.
"I see some man finally dealt you the lesson you so deserved. I've heard bold bitches like you enjoy a forceful coupling. Am I right?"
As his cruel words brought back the thief’s attack in horrible detail, despair set its fist around her, dragging her down into hopelessness. This was a nightmare that would not end. Not only did her husband wish her dead; she'd been attacked and nearly raped. Worst of all, she'd destroyed the affection of the only man she ever loved. Somehow, to live beyond this day was more than she could imagine.
With a jerk of his head, Theobald beckoned forward the man who followed him. "Watt, take her to the master," he snarled as he turned and started toward the abbey's field. "I've got business to tend to."
In silence Johanna and Watt watched him until they could see him no longer. Only then did the servant remove his mantle and set that sturdy garment over his mistress's shoulders. Startled by this unexpected kindness, Johanna looked up at him as she concealed her ruined attire within its thick folds. There was nothing to see in Watt's plain face save the blank disinterest of a servant doing his duty.
He offered her his elbow, the continuing icy drizzle spotting his tunic's gray sleeve. She caught hold of his arm and took a step forward; he did not follow. Again, she looked up at him.
"I could turn my back, leaving you to go where you would, then say you had escaped me." His words were barely louder than a whisper.
Johanna eyed him in surprise. What he offered meant a beating and dismissal for himself, guaranteeing naught but starvation to look forward to after as he joined the ranks of the jobless. "What reason have you for aiding me?"
He shrugged, the motion anything but nonchalant. "It's but repayment for what you did for Aggie, Mistress. She wasn't like Leatrice, who went seeking her own downfall with both eyes opened. The master had no right to force Agnes, then discard her like yestermorn's garbage." His voice rose with the depth of his feeling. "There comes a time in a man's life when he sees his honor is more important than employment. I tell you there's more than me who'll be thanking you for what you did this day."
As kind as his offer was, Johanna shook her head. There was no escaping either Katel or the fate he planned for her. Not even her convent was beyond his reach. Despite her protests against leaving this morn, Theobald had pried her from its walls as easily as scooping soft butter from a dish simply by reminding the prioress that Johanna was yet Katel’s wife.
"I have nowhere else to go," she replied, her voice flat in hopelessness.
Watt gave a single nod in understanding and they strode forward together. By the time they entered the spice merchant's courtyard, Johanna was leaning heavily on his arm. She ached from head to toe, her weariness bone-deep. They and the gatekeeper were halfway across the tiny space when Katel charged out of the forebuilding.
"May God damn you as a slackard, what took you so long?" was the thanks Watt received for completing his chore. "Best you be grateful I am in a generous mood, else you'd not remain in my employ another day. Now, hie yourself inside."
As Watt and the other man swiftly and silently complied, Katel glanced at his wife and breathed sharply in dread. He snatched for her mantle's opening. Lifting one side of the garment, he hissed at her missing chain and what remained of her expensive gowns. He grabbed one of her hands, seeking the rings he demanded she wear in the pretense of the wealth he no longer owned. There was nothing for him to see but tattered leather and scraped fingers.
Katel dropped her hand. This loss of wealth was so devastating he was rendered momentarily beyond speech or movement. In the long moment of silence that followed, the wind howled around him, tearing fine strands of pale hair out from beneath his cap, flattening them against the brim with its ferocious breath.
Slowly, bright red color stained his neck. It seeped steadily upward, until his bloated face was suffused. Catching his wife by her arm, he dragged her toward the kitchen shed at the back of the courtyard, craving privacy in which to scream at her. As Johanna stumbled along beside him a touch of gallows humor woke beneath her paralyzing depression. It would hardly do for the neighbors to overhear Stanrudde's most loving husband abasing his wife.
The kitchen door slammed against the wall behind it as he shoved her into the usually crowded room. Johanna caught herself against the thick worktable. The chill gust of wind that accompanied her entry barely teased a forlorn crackle from the fire. She stared in shock at the hearth. The flames were dying, choked by the day's ashes. Impossible! The kitchen's fire was never allowed to die.
Johanna turned. Walls stripped of the foodstuffs and tools that usually cluttered their lengths stared blankly back at her. Where was Wymar, their cook, and his scullery lads? She caught her breath in understanding. Were the hungry really so great a threat that the cook and his supplies had to take refuge in the house?
Katel slammed the door. With the tiny windows shuttered the room plunged into smoky dimness. A single step brought them nose to nose. "You stupid cow," he shouted. "Do you realize what you've cost me?"
Exhaustion tightened its grip on Johanna as she prepared herself for what would surely be a long session of belittling. The only thing of which she was certain was that Katel would not strike her. Just as her father's will forced Johanna to remain virtuous, Papa had found a way to restrain Katel's native violence against her. Upon her complaint of abuse, those properties her husband so coveted, the ones whose rents now supported him, instantly ceded to Stanrudde's abbey.
"Thank God I will soon be rid of you! You cannot know how that prospect fills me with joy," he went on, his voice vicious and dark. "Only when I see you on your knees, pleading for your life, will I know the Cosmos has righted itself. It will be justice come at last when all that was stolen from me is restored."
Johanna bowed her head. Her eyes closed as she sought to shield herself from his venom. In the depths of her weariness, she forgot that she wore no wimple to hide her face from his view. Katel drew a sharp, startled breath.
His slap was so hard it spun her around and knocked her feet out from under her. Ears ringing, Johanna hit the beaten earth of the room's floor. Her mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood as she bit her lip. Shifting onto her side, she braced her forearm beneath her. As she lifted herself just a little, she shook her head, not so much to clear her thoughts, but in dazed disbelief at what he'd done.
Her husband leaned over her, his face nigh on purple with rage. "May God damn you to hell for the arrogant woman you are! You will heed me when I speak to you!"
Johanna looked up at him from where she lay. "You hit me," she said, yet too stunned by his attack to own any other emotion.
Katel stiffened. Frantic worry leapt to life behind his rage as he only now realized what he'd done. His gaze shot to the reddened spot on her cheek as if to gauge the possibility of a mark. Worry disappeared, eased by the scratches and ripening bruises that already covered her face.
"Why not," he murmured. "The whole town will soon know you were mauled. There's no one to say who laid which bruises."
Shielded behind the damage already done her a new and wicked eagerness came to life in his eyes. His fists closed. Fear shot through Johanna. Once he started, years of hatred would goad him to continue until she was no more. When she was gone, he'd cry to the world it was injuries suffered in the rioters' attack that had killed her.
In her exhaustion and hopelessness, a strange calm took possession of her. Trapped in its unearthly grip, her soul opened, and she looked in disappointment upon the woman she had been.
What a selfish child she was. Only once in his life had Walter of Stanrudde denied his daughter her will: when he took Rob from her and forced her to marry Katel in his stead. Rather than accept this and find what happiness she could in her fate, she had chosen to tantrum, setting herself to hating everyone and everything connected with the life her father had given her. She sighed. The only one she hadn't hurt by this was the sire she'd childishly sought to punish.
"Beg," her husband demanded, ready to play out the last act of this black farce. "I would hear you beg for mercy."
At the sound of his voice she looked up at him, her revelation so shattering that she was stirred to speech. "Do you know what I am thinking, Katel?" In her strange state, her voice was quiet and considering. Stark surprise filled her husband's gaze. Of all the responses he'd expected his threat to generate this was not one of them.
"I am thinking our son deserved better than me, a dam more intent on hating and hurting all those around her than seeing to his needs. I find myself regretting my selfishness. In my determination to repay the world for the wrongs I perceived done me, I cheated myself of what was good in my life. I cheated Peter. And," she shook her head in regret, "I cheated you of what any good wife owes her marriage."
Katel blinked rapidly. His fists relaxed, and he took a step back from her. There might have been a softening in his eyes, but it was gone in the next instant, indeed, if it had ever existed. Katel tensed and she could nigh on see his thoughts spin as he sought for the traps that must surely be hidden in her words.
In that moment the bell at their gate clanged in anxious call. Not content with a single announcement, the ringer continued yanking upon the string until the jangling grew to an urgent clamor. "Master Katel, Master Katel! The council calls you to come with all haste. There is new trouble afoot!"
This call brought triumph's glow to Katel's eyes, banishing both the desire to hurt her and his worry over his wife's strange words. "Nay, you will not get the better of me," he hissed at her, "not now, only days before my vengeance is complete. In fact, I must thank you for distracting me. I want you whole and well so you might cry to the world of your innocence as you die. I think that will be what I most enjoy." He started to leave, only to pause and turn to her again. "How I will laugh as I watch you and that bastard die for what you have not done."
Still, the bell jangled. "Can anyone hear me?" the desperate messenger shouted.