Authors: The Betrothal
“As Gwanwyn will do at Wynwydd,” Braden said. “She is known in both Wales and England for her healing abilities.”
He still would not look at her as he spoke. The practice continued as the meal progressed and they talked on a range of topics including the king’s recent second marriage, the possibility of being called to fight for their liege lord and the past glories of the Plantagenet kings.
Finally they finished the meal and Orrick offered to show her an intriguing family secret about the altar’s design. She walked at his side to the front of the church as he explained the intricate pattern carved into the main stone of the altar.
“He feared that he had ruined any chance with you,” Orrick whispered. “He asked for our assistance in taking this first step.”
“Braden is afraid?” she asked, shaking her head. “He is angry and frightening and stubborn and…”
“Afraid, Joanna. This marriage to you means more to him than simply a wife and possible heirs. Whatever has happened to his family in the past has scarred him. His anger hides much of the real person inside him.” Orrick outlined the carvings of his, his wife’s and his children’s names. “Something deep drives him and all he will tell me is that you are the one he must wed. And it must be accomplished soon.”
“Do you know of his family, Orrick? Did he tell you of them?”
Orrick shook his head. “Nay, he would not. He would only say that there is more to know.”
Joanna thought on his words. What did he hide? Could she bear it? Would she live through it?
“You were still ill when you came here. I know that now. I think your illness made you believe things that you other
wise would not have. I think it was the fever that made you run away. If you had been thinking clearly, none of this, or most of this, would not have happened.” Orrick took her hand and clasped it in his. “He is not a warlock, Joanna. I think you know that somewhere inside of you, but the fear built by that fever’s distortions is keeping its hold on you.”
“But, is he evil, Orrick? Are the stories true?”
He was correct—a part of her recognized that the magical powers attributed to Braden were fabrications of scared minds.
“All men are both good and evil, Joanna. And so much of the balance depends on those around him.”
“Orrick?” Margaret called out to him. “I wish to retire.”
“Joanna, these old eyes see a man molded by his family’s misfortunes, surrounded by rumors and tales, who is searching for a way for his name and family to survive. He has pinned his hopes on you. Are you strong enough to be the woman he needs?”
Orrick held out his arm and Joanna placed her hand on top of his. “Think on my words, Joanna.”
Joanna watched as Orrick and Margaret took their leave and then she stood aside as the servants efficiently removed all traces of the meal from the chapel. It was soon only the two of them.
Braden was not certain that the meal had been an effective first step, but she was not backing away from him. A good sign, surely. Now, the difficult part. He cleared his throat and coughed a few times.
“May I stay a while longer, Joanna?”
She walked to one of the remaining chairs and sat down. “If you wish, my lord.”
“Please. Can we not follow the example of our host and use our given names?” At her nod, he sat facing her in the other chair. “I would like to apologize for hurting you. I truly did not mean to, not the other night or when I found you in the stables. And yet, I know that I have.”
Her hand strayed to her neck and the bruises that were now a mix of blues, greens and purples. In truth, he wanted to soothe those and all the others she must carry from the rough journey she made. Margaret reported that she was quite battered and only now was moving without pain.
“And I would ask your pardon for terrifying you with such behavior as you saw here. Sometimes…sometimes…”
He searched for a way to tell her that she was not the cause. The catalyst mayhap, but not the cause. He had worn himself out in the yard these past days trying to drain the rage from him. One after another of Orrick’s knights had challenged him and he had exhausted his strength there so that he would have none with her.
“My father always told me that I had the most annoying way of angering him, too. His reaction was much the same as yours.”
Her focus drifted into the shadows with her matter-of-fact words, but he heard more in them than she probably realized she was saying. Her hands opened and closed as he watched, like fists being formed. Whose fists?
“I will not strike you, Joanna. I have never struck a woman in my life and will not begin now.”
She looked at him now and he saw her chin tilt out just a bit. “Why do you want me, Braden? Why did you choose me?”
He smiled at her. Just as she might be beginning to believe he was only a man, and a flawed one at that, his words would make him sound mad.
“’Tis apparent that some kind of affliction has beset the last generations of my family. I sought relief from it and finally a wise-woman in my village told me to seek out a woman ‘of black’ and to marry her in the fullness of spring. She said that my son—” Braden stared at her as he continued “—
our
son would end this affliction.”
He waited for her reaction. Only her hands trembled. Then
she searched his face and must have read the seriousness of his intentions there.
“You want me because of my name?”
“Your name was the first thing that gained my attention. Joanna of Blackburn. Then when you were pointed out to me, your black hair seemed a confirmation of it.”
Her hand went to her hair, or what was left of it. “And I cut it off to elude you. Will it nullify the prophesy if I cut it?”
She gifted him with a smile that lit up her face the way it had been when she stood in the sun at the doorway. Her laughter, full and generous, touched his soul and he felt something other than despair for the first time in such a long time.
“I know this sounds foolish, Joanna, but I’ve lived with the prospect of going mad since my father did. And back through five generations, the lords of Wynwydd have been cur—afflicted with this tendency. The only hope in all of my searching is Gwanwyn’s words.”
He stood and approached her chair. Going down onto one knee at her side, Braden took her hand in his. “Even if none of this is true, even if it is only cruel coincidence that afflicts my family, I still need a bride and find that I want you in spite of our less-than-fortuitous beginning.”
“Your mother died birthing you?” she asked in a soft voice.
He would not lie now. “Yes.”
“And no male relatives survive? You are the only one left?”
“Yes.” He would not turn away.
“You have no…powers?”
“Nay. I know the gossip, Joanna. The lords of Wynwydd are not evil wizards or mages. We do not lay curses on others. Indeed, ’twould appear that due to some long-ago wrong, we are the ones cursed. I confess though, to encouraging some of the gossip, for it gave us some measure of privacy against the greedy or curious when we were feared.”
“I have one more question, but I hesitate to ask it of you.”
“Is it about Cecily? The woman I was betrothed to?” He knew this was her test of him, of his control, but he worried over his reaction. She nodded her head. “Ask your question.”
She slid her hand from his and clasped her hands together in her lap. Well, ’twas better than holding them in front of her face as he’d last seen her do.
“Did you cause her death?”
Braden stood and walked to the door. He feared the results of failing her test, but did not have the strength of heart to speak of Cecily with her. Nor with anyone. He pulled the now-repaired door open and stepped outside. Turning and seeing the surprise on her face, he nodded to her.
“Aye, Joanna. Her death was at my hands and marked against my soul, but I cannot, will not, speak of it with you.”
Closing the door, he walked back to his chambers and fell onto the bed. Defeat was pressing in on him. When he wanted to give her words that would have convinced her of the rightness of his course, he could not. When he wanted to explain his part in Cecily’s horrifying end, he could not.
Sleep did not come easily that night. Even as the storms outside dissipated, the ones in his heart and in his soul strengthened. There were but a few weeks left of spring and he knew that his chances of getting Joanna to leave the church had lessened with tonight’s frankness.
If he believed in Gwanwyn’s words, she was his one chance.
As seemed to be the pattern over the past week, the sun shone brightly on the morning after the three days of storms. He woke just as confused over his future as he’d felt when he’d finally drifted off to sleep. The warmer winds signaled that spring was gaining control over the days of winter. But his own life spun out of control.
Orrick’s man Royce had invited Braden to train again this
morn and he was on the way there now. His feet however took the long way to the yard, the one that passed the church.
As certain as he was that the days were growing longer, he was more certain that he would find her there, stretching as far as she could to feel the sun on her face. Braden turned onto the path and looked at the low stone building on his right. Joanna was exactly where he knew she would be. Although every part of her was legitimately in the church with her toes on the end of the stone doorstep, she somehow managed to balance herself without falling out.
Braden stopped and watched her for a moment. She wore a gown now, and the soft material of it flowed over her womanly curves, enhancing not hiding them from him. A scarf of some kind wrapped loosely around her shoulders hid most of the damage he’d done to her when he’d captured her in the stables.
She would be the perfect wife for him for all of the reasons that Orrick had mentioned and several others of his own. She was bold and there was a passion in her that he wanted to taste. She was intelligent. And, from the expression on her face as he had told of his mother’s death and father’s madness, she was compassionate. She knew when she was wrong and could accept her errors, and she fought valiantly when she thought she was right.
She was his.
Braden recognized the feeling that was becoming stronger within him for Joanna, but worried that the outcome would be the same as for the last woman he loved. He had driven Cecily from his side with words of hate, and she had met her death because of him. No matter that his intentions had been to save her from his fate. No matter that her father had agreed. No matter that he had loved her more than anyone in his life. Cecily was dead and he was still trying to cheat his fate.
He did not plan to love Joanna as he had Cecily, though.
The death of another loved one would surely send him to the brink of the same madness that had claimed his father. Was that the cause, then? The loss of so many loved ones and family members and the failure to somehow make it stop. If he followed this foolhardy plan and it did not work, was that his fate, as well?
Braden walked up to the stone fence and stood by the gate. The sun warmed the morning air and all it touched. The breezes moved over the yard, and he watched as they lifted and teased her now-clipped hair. She laughed and the sound of it warmed him. Then she opened her eyes and saw him.
He held his breath and waited to see if she would turn and run inside as she had the last time. Or would she simply turn away with disdain over his admissions last evening?
“Good morning, my lord,” she said quietly.
“I thought we had decided to use our given names, Joanna.”
She leaned her head in the direction of the guard as though his presence was the cause. “Your people will surely think it unseemly, my lord.”
Braden nodded to the guard and stepped closer, using care not to block the sun’s rays from her. “My people would think that most of what I do is unseemly. But, while here in Orrick’s domain, we can follow his example.”
She nodded and stood quietly as he watched. Within minutes, the doorway would be in the shade and any warmth would be lost to her until the next morn. He’d noticed the dampness and chill inside the building last evening during the meal and now realized that it must be a terrible loss to someone who loved the out-of-doors as much as she did.
She must be very serious about her objections to him to willingly deprive herself of the spring breezes and blossoms and all the other signs of the earth’s renewing. Joanna was not being frivolous in claiming sanctuary if it resulted in the loss of her favorite season and most likely her only pleasurable memories.
He held out his hand to her without much more thought on it. “Come, Joanna, step into the spring’s fullness.”
Joanna stepped back and shook her head. “I cannot.”
So, her fears were not yet gone or managed. He must give her some sign, some way for her to know him better and to put those fears behind her.
“As I see it, the stones in this pathway touch those of the church’s doorway so they are part of the chapel building and part of the place where you claim sanctuary. You would be safe from…interference while on those stones.”
He watched the hesitation in her eyes war with the desire to take that step, not only out into the spring but also with him. Braden moved closer and reached for her.
“I give my word that I consider the path to be part of the church.”
Joanna looked from his face to his hand to the flat stones at their feet and back to his face. He held his breath as he waited to see if she would take this step in trust.
J
oanna stared at Braden with his hand outstretched to her and thought he had never looked more like an enchanter than at that moment. His long dark hair hung to his shoulders and threw shadows onto his chiseled features. His green eyes glimmered in the sun’s light and his smile was pure temptation. His offer, though only for a step into the gorgeous spring morning, spoke of much, much more when she looked into those eyes.
He was asking for her trust.
Could she give it? Could she not?
Braden gave his word and she would love to escape from the dismal confines of the church and feel the sun and smell the flowers she could see from her perch on the doorstep. She wanted to see the green grass filling in around the yard and see how far the ivy crept on the walls of the church.
Joanna looked at his hand and grasped it for the chance it was. His fingers curled around hers and she stepped down onto the path, out of the church for the first time in over a sennight. Then, with another step, she was fully engulfed in the warmth of the sun and the breezes that moved through the yard.
“My lord,” the guard said, approaching them. “You have her now! We can go.”
Joanna felt Braden’s grasp tighten as he shook his head and held out his other hand to stop the guard’s approach. “Nay, Raymund, I gave the lady my word. Her sanctuary extends on these stones to yonder gate. Let her be.”
Daring one step then another, Joanna walked down the path to the stone fence and its bounty of flowers. Irises, eglantine, even monkshood and wild roses, all displayed their blossoms and, as she moved closer, their scents. After watching them opening over this past week and not being able to enjoy them, Joanna breathed in deeply now.
When he dropped her hand, Joanna turned around and around trying to capture all the images of the newly alive season—flowers, the sound of birds in the trees outside the keep’s walls, newly sprouted grass that filled in many empty spots in the yard’s dirt and along the keep’s walls and buildings.
’Twas spring in earnest in Silloth.
Her gardens in the south of England must be past full bloom. Who would look after them now?
“Why are you sad? I thought it would please you to be free of the church for a time?” he asked as he walked to where she stood.
“It does please me, greatly, Braden. I just thought of my own gardens and how there will be no one to tend them now.”
“You will have new challenges as lady of Wynwydd, Joanna. I assure you that you will not find my lands wanting as a place to grow your plants and herbs.”
They stood together at the fence and Joanna pointed out and named the various flowers and plants that grew there. Many passersby stopped and stared at her appearance outside the church. She knew they must think her turmoil over and her decision made, but she did still fear the punishments he would mete out for her disobediences and humiliations.
“You have that worried look again, Joanna. Tell me why.”
He offered his hand and she took it. He led her to a wooden bench inside the gate and they sat.
“I wish not to ruin this wonderful moment, Braden.”
“If ’tis some worry that I can soothe, tell me.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, sending shivers through her. “I would clear up any misunderstandings between us as soon as possible.”
She needed to discover if her beatings and mistreatments were at his order. If he had done so before, he would do so again, especially if he were in his home and answered to no one. Joanna moved a bit over from him so she could look at his face when she asked.
“Would you consider the beatings I have already received to be sufficient punishment for my misdeeds or do you plan to order more?”
“Beatings?” he asked in a soft voice. “What do you mean?”
“My parents made certain that I knew they were carrying out your wishes with every blow and with every lash. I just wonder if you consider that enough or if you will seek more.”
“Beatings?” he asked louder now. “My orders?” He stood and shouted now. “I ordered no such thing!”
“But I heard your words to my father. You demanded my consent at any cost.”
His face was red with anger and he clenched his teeth as he took a few steps away and returned. He towered over her and she began to back away when she realized that any steps away from him would take her off the stone path. Joanna gathered up her skirts and ran back inside the chapel. Once inside, she knew there was nowhere to run from him.
“Tell me of these beatings,” he whispered. She could tell he was trying to control his rage. “Tell me what was done in my name.”
Joanna did not want to face him when she spoke of her shame, so she looked away instead. “My father has a servant
who he uses for just such things. This man can punish and leave little trace. When I would not agree to the marriage, they began by withholding my food and then he was sent to me.”
She tried to keep the images from her thoughts, but she could not. Her father had watched as she was pummeled with fists and open hands. She’d managed to pick herself up the first few times she’d fallen, but the rest was a blur.
“When did this happen?” He was closer now, but off to one side.
“Right after I spoke in front of the king. My father threatened me with everything he could, including your reputation. He said only my swift compliance would save my life and my soul.”
“And you would not. What was it that frightened you the most and caused your refusal?”
“The story about your ability to curse souls. And the one about the fate of your betrothed.” She dared a glance at him now. “I did not want to die, Braden. I do not, but somehow any fate that ended with me as your wife seemed to involve my death.”
He would not meet her eyes. How much was false and how much was truth?
“A few nights later, just after you demanded that I be brought to your lands, my father began in earnest to force my compliance. First with the cane and then with the lash. I remember not ever giving my consent, but I admit to those next days and nights blurring together.”
She shivered as the memories of the sting and then burning of the cane’s touch came once more. She thought she had held her tongue during that. Not until the lash tore her skin and she was weak from the loss of blood did she think she uttered the words of her surrender. Then the fear for her immortal soul rather than her life took over and she formed the ill-advised plan to run to her sister’s home for refuge.
“I think Orrick correct when he said that the fever drove
me here. I only know that my thoughts turned to running from you and whatever else you had planned. If I could not save my life, I would save my soul from your evil purposes.”
The expression on his face was one she’d not seen before. Horror filled his face. His mouth and eyes strained with it.
“I hurt you when I touched your back that night?”
Remembering the kiss and the caresses that had touched her bottom and back, she nodded. “Wenda said they will not stop hurting until they are completely healed.”
“I would look on them,” he said, approaching her now.
“No!” she said, retreating. “There is no need.”
Never would she have thought that would be his reaction. But her objections did nothing to slow him. He reached for her and pulled her behind the screen to the pallet. Sitting down, he grasped her arms and placed her over his lap facedown.
“Please, my lord,” she argued, trying to hold her skirts in place. “Do not do this.”
“I do not wish to hurt you more, Joanna. If you lie quietly, this will be over quickly. Struggle and it will take longer, but I mean to look on the results of the words I spoke in anger.”
He was so much stronger that fighting him was useless, and she acquiesced in this. Trying not to imagine what he would see, she felt the heat of embarrassment growing in her face as he lifted her tunic and gown to her waist. Only her shift hid the rest of her from his view. With a soft touch, he slid his hand along her thighs, over her bottom to her waist taking the layer of linen with it.
His indrawn breath told her more than words would. She could not see what they looked like, but she was sure that the scars would be ugly even when healed. As a warrior he must have seen the like before. And, if she did become his wife, any physical relations they had would be in the dark so he would never look on them again.
He placed his hand, large and warm, on the small of her
back and she could hear only the faintest whisper under his breath. Then, he replaced her clothing and helped her to stand next to him. When she finally tamped down the terrible embarrassment she felt at this exposure and could finally meet his gaze, she was unprepared for the pain she saw there.
“I…” he began. “I…”
His words came out in an indistinguishable stutter until he stopped and shook his head. Then without another word, he walked past her and out of the chapel. Joanna raced to the door but dared no farther. He disappeared from her view a moment later.
Braden took the sword from one of his men and climbed over the fence into the training yard. Although more dangerous than practicing with wooden ones or with quarterstaffs, both he and Royce were experienced enough to do it without killing each other. Since this was not warfare and the day was getting hotter, they stripped down to their breeches and, at the call of the weapon master, they began.
Braden lost himself in the steps of the fight that came without thought after so many years. Royce was more than competent and Braden had the feeling that he had seen the man fight before. With the practiced moves of a champion, his opponent blocked Braden’s usually successful thrusts and parries.
Soon, those gathered to watch began betting on the outcome of the fight and he felt the intensity of the weapons play rise. ’Twas at the worst possible time, as he struggled to keep ahead of Royce, that his thoughts turned back to Joanna.
He was no stranger to cruelty and had seen any number of examples of it across England, but none had turned his stomach so thoroughly as the marks and scars on her body. No wonder she flinched at his touch and feared his actions. If she thought him the cause—and she did—he had no chance of her
coming willingly to his side. Inviting certain death was not only madness, it was stupidity, and Joanna suffered from neither.
Even if he had calmed her fears over the rumors of supernatural powers, she would be a fool to put herself in the hands of a man who would have the power of life and death and the infliction of such punishments over her. And she was not a fool.
The shouts brought him back to the fight and he felt the tip of the blade as it sliced the skin on his chest. Blood trickled down his stomach, but it was a mere scratch. He motioned to Royce to continue and he went on the attack. He forced Royce backward from his onslaught and laughed as he finally took control. He managed to nick Royce’s arm and now his opponent’s blood mixed with his in the dirt of the yard.
Had hers left a trail across England? Was that the source of her illness and fever? Every mark on her spoke of deep, bleeding wounds, wounds that would have been painful and would have drained her strength and life as she ran away.
From him.
From being his wife.
From tying her fate to the lords of Wynwydd.
He stumbled and his sword barely deflected Royce’s swing. Regaining his balance, sweat dripped into his eyes and he swiped at it with his hand. Too late he spied Royce approaching from his side and, as he tried to move out of the reach of his sword, he felt it cut into his side and down onto his thigh. Startled at the pain, Braden fell back, never seeing the rock tucked into the dirt of the yard.
Oblivion reached up and claimed him.
The voices reached into the tranquility of the chapel and gained her attention. She walked to the door and crouched down to see the source of it. A crowd, mostly men, from the look and sound of it, was running to the keep from the yards where Orrick trained his men. She recognized a few of Brad
en’s men in the lead as they came closer. They did not pause, but she could see that they carried someone on a plank of wood between them.
Braden.
All she could see was his dark hair and his blood-covered body as they ran past her. Then, she could see nothing of them. Loud voices called out orders. Her guard walked to the end of the path and watched as they carried his lord.
“Raymund, you must go and discover what has happened to your lord!” she called to him. “Go now!”
He hesitated, torn between his duty to his lord and his duty to stay there, but after a few moments, he ran off to the keep.
Was Braden dead? How had it happened? Joanna knew he’d been training with Orrick’s men, but they were not supposed to be real battles. She shivered as she remembered the moment that the crowd had moved and she saw the blood pouring from his head. Would he die?
Turning around, she realized that no one was in the yard. No one between the chapel and the keep. And from the silence that covered the area, no one between the chapel and the gates.
Her stomach clenched. Joanna knew that this was the best time to get away. She was healed and well rested and stood her best chance of completing her journey north. She noticed the sack of clothing she’d pushed under her pallet.
She could escape.
Grabbing the sack and the scraps of bread and cheese from her morning meal, she stepped outside and peered around the yard. Convinced that the way was clear, she ran from the chapel, through the gate and toward the walls of the keep. Still not seeing anyone paying attention to her, she crept nearer the open gates that led to the village and freedom.
A few more paces was all that stood between her and escape from Braden. Then, her chest tightened and she realized
that she no longer feared him as she had before. Was he still alive in the keep? She did not want him to die.
The urge to run dissolved.
She wanted to have the chance to talk with him, to come to some agreement with him about his plans and her place in them. She needed to hear the truth about his family from him. They might have a future together once he explained his past.