Lavender Vows (Medieval Herb Garden 1)

“Where is it? Where is the map, Joanna?”

As she’d hoped, greed proved a stronger force to Ralf than anger. She managed to nod her head, barely.

“You have it?” His hands flew to grip her shoulders and she gasped in pain. “Where is it, bitch? Tell me and I might spare your life!”

“Fire…place,” she whispered, streaks of agony catching her breath and making the words nearly unbearable.

He was on her in a moment. “You burned it?” The rage turned his face into a grey stone mask with burning yellow eyes, and he reached for her with clawed hands.

With all of her effort, she half-rolled away, her denial little more than an agonized moan. “Nay!”

He whirled away from her, toward the fireplace, and began to pull on the stones, kicking them, shoving at them. “Is it here?”

Joanna stifled her sobs of pain as she struggled to rise from the bed.

She managed to pull herself up to sit, her head spinning crazily and her mouth dry with pain, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. If she’d had any strength, she would have screamed in shock and fear…but when she saw Maris of Langumont pull to her feet from the floor, Joanna’s fears subsided.

She watched as Maris moved quickly and silently, taking a heavy wooden bowl and, stepping behind Ralf, brought it down with a loud crack! onto his head.

He slumped instantly into a heap at the fireplace hearth.

Maris turned to Joanna, staggering slightly as she made her way to the bed. “Come, we must go. ”

She slipped an arm around her, and eased her off the pallet. Joanna tried to find her feet, but the room spun and she sagged against the taller woman. “Come,” Maris puffed, half-dragging her to the door. “Come. ” ’Twas as though she said the words to keep herself moving.

They made it to the door, and a moan from Ralf nearly caused Joanna to faint. Maris managed to prop Joanna against the wall, and Joanna, for her part, kept her knees from buckling whilst her friend got the heavy door open. They fairly fell into the dark, empty passageway out side of her chamber, and Maris shut the door behind.

Joanna summoned more energy and managed to wrap her arm around Maris’s waist and to actually take a step. They paced slowly down the hall until they came to another corridor. A small alcove recessed behind it, and Joanna pulled away toward the dark corner. “Go. You cannot…carry me…. ” she gasped. “I will stay. Safe. ”

Maris hesitated, then, seeing the wisdom of searching for someone who could carry an ill woman, gave a quick nod and stepped back, looking carefully to see if Joanna would be noticed should Ralf erupt from their chamber. “I’ll get my father. ”

Bernard raged into the great hall, pushing past revelers and serfs, using his bound elbow as a battering ram. His eyes focused on the dais where Joanna’s father sat…and where Ralf had also eaten his meal. He saw immediately that Ralf was no longer at his father-by-law’s side, and worry for Joanna propelled his feet even faster.

“Lord Wyckford,” he bawled, charging up to the high table, caring little that he interrupted a jongeleur at his tricks. “Lord Wyckford, I must speak with you!” He nearly leapt upon the dais, and was at the man’s side in one quick stride.

“Who are you to accost me so boldly?” The Lord of Wyckford shot a disdainful glance at Bernard, and buried his face in his goblet.

Bernard restrained the urge to knock the cup from his hand and instead planted his one free hand on the table next to the man, bringing his face into his. “Your daughter Joanna lies near death in her chamber—”

“What say you?”

“And ’tis the fault of her husband that she has been beaten near to her grave. You must place guards at her door to keep him from further harming her. ”

Wyckford looked at him and blinked slowly. “Do you not give me orders in my own home,” he grunted. “And I cannot interfere betwixt a man and his wife—for ’tis the law of the church that the wife is the chattel of her lord. ”

Bernard’s rage blinded him. “She lies near death, man! She is your daughter!” He curled his fist into the table and splinters pierced the skin under his fingernails.

Wyckford glanced over Bernard’s shoulder and seemed to reconsider. The hall had grown quiet and all appeared to listen for his response. “I shall send guards as you have requested. But I do not relish coming between a husband and his wife…and you, sirrah, should have a care for yourself, else you are accused of worse. Now begone!”

Bernard’s teeth creaked as he turned away, clamping his jaw in fury. He would send his own men, damn the man! He spun on his boots, jumped off the dais, and began to push his way out of the hall with the same force as he’d arrived.

The crowd melted away as he stalked through them, his face a set, still mask that likely brought fear to more than one man’s heart. In a haze of anger, he started for the quarters of the men-at-arms in search of his own men…then again spun on his heel and started back down a long corridor.

Foolish! Whilst Bernard berated Wyckford and sought his own men, Ralf was nowhere to be found…and with a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him, Bernard had a fear that he knew where the man had gone.

He ran down the corridor, through the twisting passageway lit by flickering torches and silent as a tomb. As spirited as she was, Maris would not be able to stand up to Ralf should he appear…and Joanna was so weak that one blow could send her to her grave.

His footsteps rang with hollow thuds as he dashed down the corridor and around the corner to the hallway leading to the chamber where Joanna lay. He stamped to a halt when he reached the room and saw that the door was slightly ajar.