Masques of Gold (47 page)

“There! You have confessed your kindness. You hate to cause pain even to those who deserve it.” Lissa half turned, but without leaving the circle of his arms, and touched the glowing necklet he had brought. “I have another bone to pick with you. How could you carry that beauty in a pouch? It could have dropped from your belt, and the cost—Really, Justin—”

“The cost was nothing compared with what you have given me.” He turned her back toward him so he could look her full in the face. “It is more than a little pleasure that can be bought on any road, Lissa. I do not know how to explain—”

“What is there to explain? Is it not the same for me?” Lissa asked, but dammed up any reply with her lips.

But she knew it was not. Although she and Justin were as needful to each other as foot and well-made shoe, Lissa knew that if he had not existed, other men would have courted her and she would have found another with whom she could have been content. Whether Justin could have found another woman was more doubtful; his aunt's tale marked that difference. And if she had not seen his gentleness to the bereaved after the fire—a meeting Lissa was now sure had been a special God-sent gift—she would not have read the compassion behind Justin's hard glance. Would she not have responded with fear, as she now suspected Justin had intended, when he questioned her about Peter's death?

Thinking of the goldsmith's name brought an instant solution to two problems that had been growing in Lissa's mind while she caressed her lover. The most important was a need to change the subject without being obvious before some hint of her thoughts escaped and hurt Justin. The second, minor one, was where to keep the necklet.

Lissa ended her long kiss but stood still with both arms around Justin's neck. “Well,” she said, “I think you extravagant, but I cannot complain against such beauty. I will not cast your gift back at you, nor will I crumple those delicate links so carelessly into a pouch.” She hesitated and then asked, “You will not be offended, beloved, if I keep it in Peter's box? I have put in a new lining.”

He laughed. “I may be honest enough not to believe myself the dream of all women, but I am not such a fool as to be jealous of your memories of Peter de Flael either. By all means use the box.”

Lissa went to get it from the chest in the bedchamber and spilled from it the silver chain and her mother's locket, the only jewelry left her after the robbery of Peter's house. Justin watched her arrange the necklet on the crimson velvet lining, smiling fondly at the way her fingers lingered, then bending and kissing her hair.

“It is all yours,” he said, suddenly recalling her bitterness when she discovered that her first husband's betrothal gift, although very beautiful, had been a piece rejected by one of Flael's less savory clients. “Goscelin designed and made it with his own hands from raw gold and stones I had chosen myself.”

Lissa turned to look at him. “You did not need to say that to me, Justin.”

“Perhaps not, but since our lying together is already whispered, I think that we must announce our betrothal. Once that news is public, you will doubtless hear that I was all but betrothed once before. I did not want you to think I had given you another girl's leavings.”

“Justin! You would never do such a thing.”

“No, I would not.” He smiled at her. “I have far too strong a sense of self-preservation to insult a woman with whom I must spend the rest of my life. Besides, I sold that girl's betrothal gift within hours of obtaining her father's agreement to the withdrawal of my offer—with, I must admit, great relief.”

“Stupid slut!” Lissa exclaimed unguardedly. Then she drew in her breath sharply as she realized Justin had not told her the reason for withdrawing his offer and she was not supposed to know it.

To her relief, he burst out laughing and said, “Just what my Aunt Margaret called her, and a rare piece of discernment in my aunt, who is as good and kind as any women can be but not, I fear, terribly clever. And by the by, my aunt has asked me to bring you to visit her.”

“I will be delighted,” Lissa said, “but I cannot wear your gorgeous necklet to a family meeting. You will have to take me to some grander affair. Is there not some guild celebration or mayor's dinner to which female guests will be welcome?”

“Thomas will know.” Justin reached out with the hand that was not hugging Lissa and closed the box. As he pressed the top shut, he withdrew his hand with a faint exclamation.

“Oh, did you prick yourself?” Lissa exclaimed. “I am sorry. I had no pins short enough to hold the new lining to the box and the points came through. I thought I told Paul to file them down, but I suppose I forgot.” She lifted the box and looked at the bottom. “No, there are none sticking out here, and I am sure the bottom piece is thinner than the lid. I suppose Paul did not see the ones on top because the wood is darker.”

Justin did not answer immediately, and Lissa studied the box a moment longer, puzzled by something she could not define. The thread of curiosity was broken, however, when Justin said, “You could wear the necklet if you came with me to Bury St. Edmunds.”

“To the festival of the saint!” Lissa put the box down on the table and smiled uncertainly at Justin. “But surely, my love, a display of rich jewels would be both unsuitable to the religious occasion and…er…and unwise.”

“Tchk.” Since the disapproving noise was followed by a chuckle, Lissa smiled more certainly and Justin began to laugh. “Are you implying that the monks are greedy and might expect a donation consonant with your ornamentation? To my sorrow, I am afraid I agree with you; nevertheless, you will be safe enough, one of the least among many more richly bedecked—that is, if the barons are bringing their wives, and I think they might well do so to cover their real purpose.”

“Wait,” Lissa said, realizing that there was more to Justin's suggestion then a desire to give her an opportunity to display his gift. “Let me call down for our meal, and you can explain what you are talking about while you take off your gambeson.”

They were almost finished eating by the time Justin had finished describing his interview with FitzWalter and the invitation to attend the meeting at Bury St. Edmunds. He had not intended to make such a long explanation, but Lissa insisted on hearing every word and, as well as Justin could remember, every expression of Lord Robert when they had talked about Hubert de Bosco. They had nearly quarreled over that; Justin had not wanted to discuss his complaint about Hubert de Bosco. Actually, he had almost forgotten why he had gone to speak to FitzWalter in the first place and had always considered Hubert a minor nuisance rather than a serious threat.

Partly because he was flattered by her concern for him and partly because he realized she would not attend to any other subject until she was satisfied, Justin yielded and answered Lissa's questions. It was a relief to be able to assure her that Hubert was already gone from London and that FitzWalter had promised to keep his henchman under control. He was annoyed by Lissa's demand for details, but tried to soothe her, never guessing how well she gauged his rising irritation and that she had abandoned the subject long before she was satisfied that Hubert would obey his master.

Trying to bury her uneasiness, Lissa admitted to herself that there was no way Justin could assure her on such a subject. She had been convinced by what she had drawn from him that FitzWalter was not involved in what Hubert had done and would try to restrain his servant. She could not help saying, “Justin, you will take care,” but when she saw his mouth tighten, she laughed and shook her head. “I will say no more, but you must be more patient with those who love you.”

“If you wish to fear for me, I have a better subject than that stupid lump of flesh Hubert,” Justin snapped.

Then he gestured a dismissal of the dramatic statement and assured her that he would be in no more personal danger than any other man in the kingdom. He had snared Lissa's attention most firmly, however, and was able to describe without any further interruption what FitzWalter had actually said about the baronial hopes of a renewal of the charter of Henry I and what he believed to be Lord Robert's true purpose.

“You think he will deliberately spread the word that treason was spoken at the meeting, even if it was not,” Lissa said, “so that those attending will fall under the king's displeasure and be forced into opposition, whatever their original intentions.”

“I do not know,” Justin replied, shifting uneasily in his comfortable chair and pushing forward his wine cup. Lissa refilled it, and for a long moment the gurgle of the wine as she poured was the only sound. Then Justin sighed. “I doubt it will be needful for Lord Robert to spread lies. I am sure the meeting will be plentifully seeded with the king's spies.” He frowned suddenly. “I am a fool. There can be no question of your coming with me.”

“You mean because it would be dangerous to me?” Lissa smiled. “That is foolish. I would be doubly protected by my insignificance and by the fact that I do not come as myself but only as your woman. A keener question than whether I should go is whether
you
should.”

“I am not certain I will,” Justin said. “I have spoken to the mayor, who offered me leave before the words of asking were out of my mouth. I wish I knew why he is so eager for me to attend. My cousin Richard is very suspicious and believes the mayor's purpose is to blacken the name of our whole family by connecting us with FitzWalter's cause. Thomas admits there is some danger of that, but he thinks it important enough to hear what truly passes there to take the chance—and despite Richard's fears I do not think the mayor's prime purpose is to damage my family.”

“You lean toward Thomas's view then?”

Justin nodded. “I think the mayor is desperate to know the true feelings of the barons, although not so desperate he is willing to go to Bury himself. I wish Archbishop Langton were in charge of this meeting, as he was of the council in Saint Paul's last August. Then I would be sure matters would not get out of hand by accident.”

“Does the archbishop even know of this gathering?” Lissa asked.

Justin stared at her as if she had slapped his face. “God help me, for a helpless lackwit is what I am,” he muttered. “I swallowed that whole, and FitzWalter did not even lie to me. He never said Langton knew.”

“Nor did he say Langton did not know. That is most excellent. Then it is perfectly reasonable for you to go and discuss the matter with the archbishop. Nor need you make a great song and dance about it. You can escort me to Peter's manor near Canterbury. I can look to the harvest and the house—someone must pay some mind to the estate. It is not my right, but what is to be done if young Peter and Edmond never return?”

Justin did not answer for some time. He sat sipping his wine and struggling with the unpleasant feeling that to follow Lissa's sensible plan would be a betrayal of FitzWalter's confidence. Yet if Langton did not know of the meeting, or knew of it but was not aware of the depth of FitzWalter's hatred of King John, the best hope for a peaceful solution to the problems of the realm might be lost. Once the king became convinced that the archbishop was in league with those who opposed him rather than a truly neutral mediator, whatever influence Langton had would be lost.

When Justin did not answer either her proposal to go to Canterbury or the question about Flael's estate, Lissa rose quietly and went into the bedchamber, taking with her the box holding Justin's gift. There she made up the fire, replaced her clothing with her handsome bed robe, and moved the warming stones from the hearth to the bed. A glance through the open door showed her that Justin had not moved and probably had not noticed she was gone. A faint chill touched her, but she thrust away the fear and, to clean it from her mind, opened the box. Gold and green-gold glittered up at her, and she felt a wave of resentment against the king and the opposing barons and the archbishop—all those whose “great concerns” thrust themselves into the ordinary quiet lives of common folk and made them miserable.

Even as the thought formed she smiled wryly at her foolishness, but decided it was equally foolish for Justin to worry at whatever concerned him tonight. He would make more sense of the matter with less effort when his mind was clear. Lissa's smile broadened into mischief, and she took the necklet from the box and put it on. Then she dropped her bed robe off her shoulders, supporting the neckline so that the long, silvery hairs of the fur would almost hide her breasts but not the wide delicate collar of gold and gems that covered her from collarbone to the first dip of her cleavage.

She came to Justin's side and gently kissed his temple. “Put it aside for now,” she said. “Whatever decision you must make will seem easier in the morning.”

Without lifting his eyes from his wine cup, he said, “No. I know what is right, and my decision is made. I am foolish to feel any sorrow or sympathy. Both are undeserved and would be scornfully rejected. And for a personal hatred the man may drag us all to destruction—but I cannot help it.”

Lissa's heart lurched with tenderness. He truly was the kindest of men if he could grieve for FitzWalter, a man Lissa felt had no more conscience than a crow, which would peck out the eyes of a criminal or an innocent child with equal delight. All she said, however, was “Then I am doing no wrong in diverting you. Come, look up, my love, and see how well your gift becomes me.”

“Did you—” he began, but when he lifted his eyes and saw her, he began to chuckle and admitted, “I am more easily diverted than I thought myself to be.”

Lissa never found out what he had been about to ask because he caught her around the waist and drew her close, bending her toward him over the arm of the chair so he could press his lips between the chains that suspended the stones from the top and bottom. Some places were too narrow for a kiss to fit, and Justin touched her skin with his tongue. Lissa sighed and absently put both arms around him, which permitted the unsupported robe to slip down. She exclaimed and grabbed for it, but not before Justin caught the nipple of each breast with a quick nip—teeth sheathed in lips, which made her exclaim again and let go of the robe a second time.