Winterbourne (29 page)

Rough hands seized her, hauled her from the cart while the king's soldiers held back the mob. By the steps, Melyssan thrust aside the painful images of Jaufre as she was confronted by other faces that were familiar to her. Her mother glared at her, lips pursed in self-righteous reproach. To her left, Enid was being restrained by her young husband.

"Lyssa," her sister sobbed.

Melyssan raised her chin and managed to smile. "Courage, Enid," she whispered. "Don't weep."

Enid stilled in her husband's arms, her swollen blue eyes opening wide as she stared at her sister. Aye, it was strange, Melyssan reflected. For the first time in their lives, 'twas she who must comfort and impart strength to her older sister. The thought kept her legs steady beneath her as the two guards dragged her up the stone steps of the church's central tower, where the canon awaited her. Garbed in his black cassock, the tall thin priest looked down his protuberant nose at her, sniffing the air as if he found her very existence offensive.

Behind her she heard the clatter of horses' hooves. She whirled around to find people scrambling away from a jewel-caparisoned charger. Flanked by a party of his courtiers, the king leered at her as he rode to the foot of the steps.

Pulling his fur-lined cloak more snugly around his shoulders, he said, "Good morrow, mistress. A chilly day for you to make your penance, but I am sure the blood flowing down your back will keep you warm enough."

The canon cleared his throat. "Then Your Majesty is aware these proceedings cannot take place within the confines of the church." He stroked the side of his nose with one fingertip. "Alas, the interdict."

"No matter," said the king. "You know this woman is guilty of the sin of fornication. I want her humiliation to be as public as possible."

"And let's be quick about it," someone in the mob shouted. "I'll wager the reverend father be in mortal hurry to get back abed with a whore of his own."

"Aye," agreed another voice. "With that nose of his, he can smell a bitch in heat clear in the next shire."

The king joined in the crowd's roar of laughter, while the indignant canon's nostrils flared. When John's fit of mirth had ended, the priest asked, with a touch of asperity in his voice, "And does His Majesty desire the woman to make her parade of penance through the town before or after the whipping?"

At this question, Melyssan's gaze flicked involuntarily to the two stout-armed guards and the thick-corded flails that dangled from their hands. She shuddered, closing her eyes.

"Oh, before," she heard the king say. "She's not likely to be in much condition to do it after."

Melyssan murmured her own silent prayers as the canon's bored voice began to drone out her penance, adjuring her to give up the evil life she had led from this day hence. She had to fight down the urge to laugh hysterically as a thought struck her. If only she had shown the king her foot the first time he came to Wydevale, he would have left her in peace to become a nun. There would have been no lies, no sins, no Jaufre…

Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared straight at the canon. "I repent of nothing," she said quietly.

She watched the nostrils flare again, one long finger gesturing to the guards to proceed. One of them cut her bonds while the other ripped the rough sackcloth gown, baring her to the waist. She shivered as the cold autumn air raked her exposed skin and the crowd whistled and shouted, urging her to turn around.

Instinctively she sought to cover her breasts, but the canon struck down her arms and forced a lighted taper into her hands. Behind her, she heard a scuffling in the mob as if a fight had broken out, but she tried to blot everything from her mind, recover the same sense of detachment she had known earlier. This wasn't happening to her. She was floating far away, watching some other poor woman endure this shame.

The shrill cry of a horse, followed by screams from the crowd, startled her. Hot wax splashed onto her knuckle, and she gasped, dropping the candle.

The canon gave her a sharp cuff on the ear, which would have knocked her down the steps if one of the guards hadn't caught her. "You stupid…" he began, and then hissed, "What in the name of God—!"

Melyssan clutched her throbbing head and rubbed her ear, but the roaring wouldn't stop. The marketplace spun before her eyes, a reeling tangle of horses' legs and human bodies as men dove and rolled to keep from being crushed.

A black stallion, its heaving sides gleaming with sweat, plunged riderless in the midst of the king and courtiers, spreading panic amongst their horses.

"Treason!" John shrieked while his soldiers grabbed for the stallion's bridle. "Stop that man!"

Melyssan's eyes watered as the canon grabbed her by the hair, as if he feared she might attempt to escape in the confusion.

"What man?" he cried.

"This one!" A dark-bearded figure hurled itself up the steps, black cloak flapping behind him so that he resembled a savage falcon swooping in, claws extended for the kill.

"Jaufre!" Melyssan called out his name at the same moment

Jaufre's fist drove into the canon's nose, splintering cartilage. The clergyman dropped to the ground, howling like a lost soul, clamping his hands over his face while the blood spurted between his fingers.

"Turn your heads," Jaufre snarled at the openmouthed monks. "I'll cut the eyes out of the man that dares look at her again." He yanked free the clasp holding his cloak and flung the travel-stained garment around Melyssan. The contact of his leather-gloved fingers, rough against her shoulders, sent currents rushing through her body, jolting her with the realization that this was no strange dream.

"Jaufre," she whispered.

His lips parted in a strange smile as he lightly touched her cheek. He was still smiling when he hurled the first guard that rushed him down the steps. Then another one leapt at him, followed by two more. All three men collapsed on top of him in a struggling heap of fists, elbows, and kicking feet.

Melyssan cried out when she saw Jaufre's head snap back from a well-aimed blow. One burly soldier had his hands pinned, while the others were beating him to death. Without thinking, she flung herself at the guard only to be shoved aside to tumble partway down the steps.

Rolling to her knees, she barely avoided being trampled by the king's horse as John pressed forward, screaming, "Don't kill him. I want that man alive. Bring him to me."

Although one of the guards was doubled over clutching his groin, the other two managed to yank Jaufre to his feet. Melyssan was nigh sick with terror to see the hatred burning in John's dark eyes as he loomed over them, but Jaufre did not spare the king so much as a glance.

Instead he stared at her, the heat of his gaze obvious even through the purple swelling that threatened to close one eye. "Lyssa, you little wretch. Wait until I have you alone…"

Jaufre felt almost giddy, from far more than the blow to his head. A thousand nameless fears tumbled off his shoulders. She was alive, unharmed—a little paler than he liked, with tears trembling on the fringes of her soft brown lashes, but still his beautiful Lyssa, within touching distance if he could make these fools trying to dislocate his arms release him.

But the gravity of their situation soon dispelled his momentary' relief as he became aware of Roland forcing his mount forward and waving his sword. "'Unhand that man at once!"

Jaufre groaned as he saw one of the soldiers bearing down on Roland, his spear ready to thrust. What folly had ever possessed him to give the boy a weapon? He struggled futilely against his captors, but Roland was saved by the quick action of another of the earl's knights, who deflected the blow in time. Undaunted, the boy maneuvered his horse around, seeking a fresh adversary.

Tristan rode up, looking from Jaufre to Roland with the same distraction as a mother hen who sees her chickens scattering in all directions at once. "Roland! Jaufre! Damn it. When we rode here, we all agreed that… Oh, hell." Expelling an exasperated breath, Tristan drew forth his own sword in preparation for the bloody skirmish to come.

"Treason, treason!" John cried out. "Help! They would murder me."

"Nay, put up your weapons," said Jaufre.

When his captors lessened their vigil to watch the king, he took quick advantage. Wrenching free, he knocked their heads together and seized Melyssan, shoving her toward her sister, who ran forward to pull her to safety. The situation was rapidly getting out of control. He had come to rescue Melyssan. not lead a full-scale rebellion against the king.

Rushing forward, Jaufre caught hold of the bridle of the king's horse. "Tristan, damn it," he called, "keep the men back. Put up your swords. All of you."

The authoritative ring in Jaufre's voice was more effective than the king's hysterical shouts. Knights and soldiers alike hesitated in their advance. Most of the barons who had ridden to Kingsbury with John for the tournament now held back, uneasily waiting to see what would happen next.

John slashed furiously at the earl with his riding whip. "Traitorous dog! We'll see you hanged for this."

Jaufre winced as the whip bit into the arm he had flung up to protect his head. He released John's horse, and although it took all of his self-control, he gritted his teeth and forced himself down on one knee.

"Pardon, Your Majesty, if I have frightened you. Tis all a misunderstanding. I have but come for my wife."

"Your wife. Your whore! You make her an excuse to murder your king. Traitor!"

Jaufre leapt to his feet as John wheeled his horse at him. One heavy hoof came crushing down on the toe of his boot, and he swore and backed away. "I am trying to remain loyal, but Your Grace is making it damnably difficult."

"Loyal!" John's face suffused a bright crimson. "You've plotted against me since the day your grandfather died. Sneaking off to see Philip of France, refusing to fight for me in Wales." The king's eyes rolled wildly toward his barons. "This man is a traitor. We demand he be killed at once. Any who hesitate will share his fate."

Jaufre fought down the urge to reach for his sword. Instead he stripped off his gauntlet and waved it aloft. "I will answer these charges. Any man who dares name me traitor come take up my challenge." He threw the leather glove into the dirt.

Even in the crowded marketplace a moment of silence lapsed before a murmur of speculation broke the tension. Most of the knights and barons fixed their gaze pointedly in the opposite direction when the king looked from one to the other, waiting for someone to champion his cause.

"What! Will not one of you defend your king against this man? Are you cowards all?"

Although no one replied, Melyssan noted one stalwart baron begin to fidget with the hilt of his sword. She could bear the suspense no longer. Wrenching away from her sister, she raced toward Jaufre's side, ignoring Enid's anguished pleas for her to return. She swooped down and snatched up Jaufre's gauntlet herself before whirling to face the king.

"Your Majesty has forgotten your promise. You swore to me on your holy relics you would never command the death of the earl of Winterbourne."

The king flushed and his eyes bulged with anger, but before he could reply, Jaufre spun her around, his voice deadly quiet as he asked, "And pray tell me, Lyssa, what did you have to do to make him give you such a promise?"

"I—I…" She flinched under his hard stare.

"Oh, nothing to cause you such dismay, my lord Earl," mocked the king. "We examined the lady for our pleasure, but, unlike you, we have no taste for deformity."

Melyssan heard the intake of Jaufre's breath and moved with lightning speed to grasp his wrist before he could draw his sword. She turned to the king. "Your Majesty, please listen to me. I can attest to the loyalty of Lord Jaufre. Why, he permits no one, not even the lowliest page, to speak ill of you at Winterbourne."

"Aye, but he willingly shelters traitors there, helps them escape my justice." John's beard wagged up and down as he nodded his head. "Aye, de Macy, did you think it would never reach our ears how you helped Sir Hugh of Penhurst and his family escape to Ireland disguised as pilgrims?"

Jaufre had placed his arm protectively around Melyssan’s shoulders, and now she felt him start. He quirked an accusing eyebrow in her direction, and she found she was unable to meet his gaze.

"I—I had always meant to explain to you about that, my lord," she whispered. To the king, she said, "Hiding Sir Hugh and Lady Gunnor was my doing, none of Lord Jaufre's. You swore to me—"

"Aye, swore that you would be punished. Where is that wretched priest? Why is our sentence not being carried out?"

"Here, Your Grace." The canon scurried forward, holding a blood-soaked rag to his nose. He was followed by two disheveled guards, who had managed to relocate their whips.

Jaufre thrust Melyssan behind him. She caught a glimpse of Roland and Tristan dismounting, inching protectively closer. "What are the charges against my lady?" the earl asked.

"Fornication," the canon said through his swelling nose. "Libbing with you unwed."

"The fault is mine, not hers. I took her by force, raped her."

"Nay," Melyssan said. " 'Tis not true."

"Hold your tongue, Lyssa," Jaufre hissed, then said aloud to the king, "I am fully prepared to make restitution for my offense by marrying the woman."

Melyssan gasped, stung more by Jaufre's careless words than the threat of the lash. She pushed past him, her head arched proudly. "Nay,
the woman
needs no such gallant sacrifice made on her behalf."

"Besides," the king said, yawning and fidgeting with the emeralds on the back of his leather gloves, "such restitution would afford us little amusement."

"Then since 'tis my offense, I will take the punishment for her."

"No!" Melyssan's protest was drowned out by the roar of approval that went up from the crowd. The king nodded his acquiescence, and even the canon's eyes lit up with unholy joy.

"Jaufre, I won't let you be whipped for me." But her words were lost as the earl sprang up the church steps, stripping off his tunic as he went. She tried to follow him, but Enid prevented her.