“Lord Edmund—” she whispered against his shoulder.
“No, he doesn’t know you’re here. No one does, only me. I’ve kept them all from knowing about you. He thinks you’re dead.”
“Dead? But—”
“Quiet.” He smoothed her hair. “There will be time for talk later. First you must heal. I have brought you a soup of carrots and lentils. Can you chew?”
She nodded against him, not relaxed but not stiff either. He moved her to arm’s length. “You can sit?” She nodded again, and he smiled as if she had accomplished a great feat of strength.
Jocelin had become adept at sneaking warm pots of food into the loft. No one seemed to think it odd that he carried his lute over his shoulder and the lute case in his arms. But each night he filled the case with food he hoped would nourish the feverish Constance.
He held the bowl and began to feed her as if she were a child. She moved her hand to take the spoon from him, but she shook too much to hold it. When she could eat no more, her eyes dropped in exhaustion. She would have fallen if Jocelin hadn’t caught her. Too weak to protest, he cradled her in his lap and she drifted off to sleep easily, indeed feeling protected.
When Constance woke, she was alone. It took a few moments to remember where she was. The young man with thick black lashes who hummed in her ear couldn’t have been real. What was real was Edmund Chatworth’s hands about her throat, Alice’s twisting of her arms, pulling her hair, any method to give pain that would not show.
Hours later, Jocelin returned and he held Constance in his arms, both snuggled deep under his mantle. He was not aware of time passing. For the first time in his life, the desires of women did not rule him. Constance’s complete dependency on him brought an emotion he’d never known before—the beginning of love. All the love he’d ever felt for all the women was being concentrated into one fierce and burning passion.
But Jocelin was not a free man. There were others who watched him.
Chapter Fourteen
THE LONG, THIN BLACK LEATHER OF THE WHIP SNAKED angrily across the man’s back. His back was already crisscrossed with many oozing stripes. He screamed loudly each time the whip struck him and twisted his hands frantically away from the braided rawhide thongs that held him to the post.
John Bassett looked toward Gavin, who nodded curtly. Gavin had no stomach for the punishment, and he had even less respect for the man’s womanly screams.
John Bassett cut the bindings and the man fell into the grass. No one made any move to help him. “Shall I leave him?” John asked.
Gavin looked toward the castle across the narrow valley. It had taken two weeks to find Walter Demari. The wily little man seemed more interested in a cat-and-mouse chase than in getting what he wanted. For the last week, Gavin had camped outside the walls and worked on his attack. He had gone to the walls and called up challenges to the guards at the gate, but his words were ignored. Yet, even while the challenges were made, four of Gavin’s men quietly dug beneath the ancient walls. But the walls were deep, the foundations broad. It was going to take much too long to break through. He feared that Demari would grow tired of waiting for Gavin’s surrender and kill Helen.
As if he didn’t have enough problems, one of his men, this mewling creature at his feet, had decided that since he was a knight of one of the Montgomeries, he was close to God. During the night, Humphrey Bohun had ridden into the nearest town and raped a merchant’s fourteen-year-old daughter, then ridden back to camp triumphant. He was bewildered by Lord Gavin’s rage when the girl’s father told of his daughter.
“I don’t care what you do with him. Just make sure he’s out of my sight within the next hour.” Gavin pulled his heavy leather gloves from where they hung over his belt. “Call Odo to me.”
“Odo?” John’s face took on a hard look. “My lord, you can’t be thinking again of traveling to Scotland.”
“I must. We’ve discussed this before. I don’t have enough men to declare a full attack on the castle. Look at it! It looks as if a good wind would crumble the rest of the stones away but I swear the Normans knew how to build a fortress. I think it’s made of poured rock. If we’re to get inside before the end of the year, I’ll need Stephen’s help.”
“Then let me go for him.”
“And when were you last in Scotland? I have an idea where Stephen is, and tomorrow morning I’ll take four men and find him.”
“You’ll need more protection than just four men.”
“I can ride faster with fewer,” Gavin said. “I can’t afford to split up my men. Half of them are with Judith. Now, if I ride away with half again, it will leave you too unprotected. Let’s just hope Demari doesn’t realize I’ve gone.”
John knew Lord Gavin was right, but he didn’t like his master riding away without a good guard. But he’d learned long ago th
at it was no use trying to argue with a man as stubborn as Gavin.
The man at their feet groaned, recalling their attention to him. “Get him out of here!” Gavin said and stalked toward where his men were building a catapult.
Without thinking, John put a strong arm under the knight’s shoulder and lifted him.
“All this because of a little slut!” the man hissed, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.
“Shut up!” John ordered. “You had no right to treat the girl like a heathen. If it’d been me, I would have had you hanged.” He half-dragged the bleeding man to the edge of the camp, where John gave him a shove that sent him sprawling. “Now get out of here and don’t come back.”
Humphrey Bohun pulled the grass out of his mouth and looked after John’s retreating form. “Oh, I’ll be back. And it’ll be me who’s holding the whip next time.”