Rexanne Becnel (27 page)

Rylan’s eyes went quickly to Joanna. She, in turn, had darted her gaze to him. Her fear was apparent, yet he did not think her fear could be any greater than his own. For one instant he was certain he divined her thoughts. Then she averted her eyes to stare at her hands. But that solitary moment was enough to decide him once and for all on the course he must take. He’d ridden to Ely in a fury, yet for all his haste, he’d not come with any firm plan save to somehow prevent the king from using her badly. How he could manage the deed he did not precisely know, but guilt and the shredded remnants of his honor demanded that he try.

Now, however, the solution was clear, and he felt a stab of pure relief. He could hardly believe he’d not recognized it before. He was chagrined anew to realize that it was only the desperate plea for help he’d seen in Joanna’s eyes for that fleeting moment that had brought him to the logical solution.

He must marry her himself.

He reached for his wine with a hand that shook. He would marry her and thereby save her from the vulgar clutches of any of the king’s favored lords. That lot was, to a man, low-minded and selfish, completely undeserving of such an innocent as Joanna.

Conversation went on around him but it barely registered in Rylan’s mind. Bishop Ferendi burbled on about weddings and feasts. The queen reminded the king that she and her ladies would require new gowns for the festivities. John laughed, for he had seen the tremble in Rylan’s hand, and he gloated already at besting his longtime adversary.

But Rylan did not care, for he was too filled with the wonder of his reckless decision. He was already committed to the Lady Marilyn. Her father would not take his change of heart very well at all, and Rylan had no wish to embarrass either Lord Egbert or his daughter. Thank the Lord that news was still unannounced. Then there was the seemingly insurmountable problem of the king’s consent. Joanna was now a ward of the court, and Rylan was the last person John would wish wed to the heiress of Oxwich. Yet none of that truly mattered to him now.

Rylan drank deeply, then turned his head to stare at Joanna. His Joanna, he thought as a fierce sense of possession filled him.

Though his decision altered his political plans enormously, he refused to dwell on it. He’d find some other way to jell the barons’ disparate opposition to the king’s policies. He’d find the means to appease Sir Egbert. But most of all, he’d find a way to coerce the king into granting him the Lady Joanna’s hand in marriage. The king would not be willing, but that would only make his eventual capitulation more enjoyable.

But what if Joanna was not willing?

At that moment she lifted her downturned face and met his gaze directly. Once more he saw her fear and her silent plea for help. Though it cost him a supreme effort, he remained seated, giving no sign of his agitation save his tightened grasp on his goblet. Inside, however, he fought the overwhelming urge to leap up, pull her to his side, and fight off anyone who attempted to intercede.

Her eyes widened slightly at his intent gaze, and he reluctantly tore his eyes from her to once more pay attention to the royal conversation. But his mind spun with determined schemes. He drank again and this time made a silent vow—a vow on the cornerstone of Blaecston Castle itself. He
would
have the Lady Joanna Preston to wife.

She and none other.

T
HOUGH HER HEAD POUNDED
with a dull ache, and her stomach roiled against the meal she’d tried her best to eat, Joanna forced a pleasant smile to her face. Was there anything else that could possibly go wrong?

She moved slowly down the steps of the dais, imitating Marilyn and the other ladies-in-waiting who trailed the king and queen as they made their way regally through the crowded bishop’s parlor. Bad enough to be at court, when all she wished was to return to the priory. To make things worse, no one would listen to her at all. The queen had deftly turned aside her request for passage back to St. Theresa’s, saying that she was simply homesick and would soon recover. The king had patted her hand, then assessed her worth with his bold scrutiny. But he too had not listened. He’d told her to convey her conversation to the queen. Clearly he expected his wife to silence any of his new ward’s objections.

Joanna had considered the bishop as a possible ally. After all, he was a man of the church and would surely understand her desire to take up the veil. And he seemed to be the queen’s confidant. But then Rylan had appeared, and in her shock, her plans had disappeared.

Joanna concentrated on the trailing hem of Isabel’s marten-trimmed gown, refusing to search even briefly for Rylan. Yet even without seeing him she knew he was not far away—and that he was watching her.

Her stomach tightened, but this time it had nothing to do with the food she had consumed so listlessly. The certainty that Rylan Kempe was staring at her caused a heightened awareness to tingle through her body—even unto her most private places. It was that which dismayed her most, for despite all her reasons to hate and distrust him, that one intimate act they’d shared haunted her.

How could a man provide her with such all-consuming pleasure and yet be the cause of all her discontent? Worse, how could she—who knew how hard and relentless he was—still yearn for his touch? It was perverse and yet it was nonetheless true.

Steeped in her own miserable thoughts, Joanna was unaware that the royal couple had halted until she nearly trod on one of the royal garments.

“Careful,” Marilyn whispered as she stopped Joanna just in time.

“My thanks.” Joanna glanced guiltily at the king and queen, then swallowed hard when John’s speculative gaze landed upon her.

“I would have music,” he announced with a careless flick of one beringed hand. At once Sir George, the king’s ever-present shadow, scurried off to see his liege’s command done.

“Let us have some entertainments,” King John continued. “Games. No.” His eyes remained fixed on Joanna. “Not games, but dancing. Yes.” He smiled at Isabel as if he were well pleased with himself. “Music and dancing is the thing.”

The musicians summoned by Sir George were hurrying up, and in a matter of seconds their strings and horns rose in metered harmony. Lords and ladies, servants and holy people all fell back, leaving an open space in the huge parlor. Joanna fell back as well but made certain to remain near Marilyn.

Dancing, she thought with undeniable curiosity. She’d never seen dancing before.

“The king is partial to dancing,” Marilyn whispered to her. “He is most proud of his skill.” Then she giggled. “Even the bishop joins in!”

Even as she said the words, the queen took Bishop Ferendi’s hand and proceeded to the center of the room. The king tapped one finger thoughtfully against his chin as his sharp eyes scanned the room. When they lighted on her, Joanna tried to shrink back farther into the crowd, but it was a useless ploy.

“Ah, yes. Our fair ward. Come, my dear. Let us gauge your grace in a musical step. No, no. Do not pretend to such unseemly reticence,” he added when she stepped back even farther.

Despite Joanna’s clear reluctance, numerous hands shoved her forward until she stood before the entire court. She took the king’s extended hand and curtsied as she knew was proper. But when she raised her face to John, her hesitance was even greater than before.

“I know no dances, your Highness. At the priory we did not …” She trailed off under his frown.

“Then you shall learn. Come now,” he continued in a more pleasant tone. “’Tis not so hard.”

So saying, he placed her hand above his and stood her at his side. At once there was a flurry among the spectators, and as the music swelled louder, numerous couples fell in behind the two royal couples. Joanna glanced around in panic to see the other ladies-in-waiting join the growing line of dancers as well. Even the reticent Marilyn had been drawn forth by a tall red-haired man. But Joanna’s attention was swiftly drawn back to her own royal partner, and amid several false starts, she tried gamely to follow his lead.

Three steps forward, pause and dip. Twice more they followed the same step. Turn and bow, then draw away. Join hands and start anew.

To his credit, the king moved smoothly, and Joanna had little trouble accustoming herself to the courtly dance steps. But when they had progressed almost to the far end of the hall, she looked to him for guidance. At that point she was prodded into a circular step and somehow, without her being quite aware of it happening, she was suddenly partnered with the bishop as John and Isabel paraded down between the parted rows of dancers.

“My … my lord,” she stammered to the sweating bishop as he took her hand onto his fleshy one.

“Lady Joanna,” he said with a dip of his head. “Here we go again. Now look lively, for the next pass this way shall be yours.”

Joanna quickly determined his meaning. The long line of dancers followed the same dance step back across the hall, but this time she was turned into the arms of the man behind her, then paraded through the parted couples. By the time they took their places at the end of the line she understood the moves.
Le Beau Troc
was a dance of switching partners. The king had begun with her but ended up with his queen. So could any careful dancer position himself to eventually escort his partner of choice. Especially when the long line of dancers formed into three shorter lines.

As Joanna watched John and Isabel smiling and laughing together, she felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. No matter what aspersions might be heaped upon King John, no one could deny that he adored his beautiful young wife. Marriage might not be so terrible a thing if your husband felt that way about you, she admitted sadly.

When Joanna and her current partner, a tall slender young lord, reached the end of the dance, she was swiftly whirled about. By now she knew what was to come. She lifted her long skirts with one hand as she spun and reached to grasp her new partner’s hand with the other.

To her vast confusion, however, it was Rylan Kempe’s hand that closed about her own. For a moment she faltered, but his grip was steady and with barely a misstep they paraded down the long allée of arms. When they reached the end of the column of dancers, they turned to face each other. He bowed, but she did little more than bob her head, for her tumultuous emotions far outstripped her ability to be polite.

But Rylan ignored her obvious distress and took up her hand once more for the dance.

“You look quite beautiful today,” he murmured quietly.

Such words were hardly what she expected of him, and Joanna was momentarily silenced. More than anything she would like to have appeared aloof, to cloak her resentment in an icy show of manners. But her anger was clouded by too many other feelings toward him, and she was an utter failure at hiding her emotions.

“I look precisely like what I am become: a prize pet to be awarded to he who will pay the highest cost.”

They made their dip in unison but his eyes never left hers. “I will not let that happen.”

Joanna lifted her chin and tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. How dare he pretend to help her now when it was he who had caused all her misery. “It appears to be too late, even for your interferences.”

He smiled then, very faintly, and let his thumb rub over her knuckles. “It is not too late, Joanna. You must trust me in this.”

“Trust you!” she cried, then abruptly lowered her tone. “Trust you who have proven to be as trustworthy as the serpent in Eden? I trust you to abduct me. I trust you to ignore my wishes completely. I trust you to ruin—”

She broke off when he yanked her into another dip so low that she tripped upon her own gown. He quickly pulled her upright, but his grip remained rock hard on her arm.

“Perhaps you should rest your weakened ankle,” he said with a meaningful glare. Then his voice lowered so that only she could hear. “Else your indiscreet babble shall ruin your reputation.”

“Ruin yours, you mean!” But as Joanna recognized the curious gazes of the couples nearest them, she was forced to admit the futility of arguing with him in this company. Besides, she rationalized as he quite firmly led her toward a stepped alcove, she had no interest in dancing. Not with him nor any other of John’s courtiers.

Restored by her righteous anger, Joanna jerked her hand from his too-intimate grasp. “Thank you for the dance, Lord Blaecston. I believe I shall join several of the queen’s women now.”

“They’re all dancing,” he pointed out as he deftly blocked her way. “What better time for us to speak than during this hubbub when no one may overhear?”

“We have nothing to speak about. Our association is quite finished.” For emphasis she turned away from him, intending to depart his company.

“I’m afraid, my love, that our association is only just beginning.”

Those few words, murmured in such low, confident tones, halted her departure.
My love.
For an instant she was beset by memories of the other time he’d murmured endearments to her, and a disarming warmth rushed through her. The anger fled her face, and for a moment their eyes met in honest appraisal.

“I am … I am not your love,” she whispered in a voice that shook only a little.

A shadow seemed to cross his face and he did not immediately respond. When he did speak his voice had taken on a bitter edge. “You
have
been my lover.” Then he sighed, seeming to shrug off some darker emotion. “I wish to help you out of this coil, Joanna. I would not have you wed against your will.”

Had he not just referred to their shared moments of passion, Joanna would have been quick to castigate him for his abrupt about-face on the matter of her marriage. But she was too overcome by the memories of what they’d done together and too bewildered by the unbidden thrill that went through her to think coherently. Once more she tried to escape their intimate discourse, but this time it was not anger that drove her. The truth was, she feared him. He exercised some unearthly power over her—some hold she could neither explain nor control. But it was undeniably there, and he was no doubt as aware of it as she.