“So young,” he whispered. “And so beautiful.” She was pretty—or had been—and even now, in death, her body was so lovely, slim and firm, though a little too much of her ribs showed.
“Please.”
The word was whispered, so low that Jocelin almost did not hear her. He turned his head and saw her eyes were open, or one of them since the other was swollen shut.
“Water,” she gasped through
a parched and burning mouth.
At first he could only stare in disbelief then he grinned in sheer joy. “Alive,” he whispered. “Alive!” He quickly got some watered wine, then carefully cradled her head in the crook of his arm while he held a cup to her swollen lips.
“Slowly,” he said, still smiling. “Very slowly.”
Constance leaned back against him, frowning as she tried to swallow, revealing deep bruises about her throat.
He ran his hand over her shoulder, and realized it was still cold to touch. What a fool he was to take Edmund’s word of her death! She was freezing. That’s what made her seem so cold. She lay on his one blanket, and since Jocelin knew of no other way to warm a woman, he lay beside her, holding her close to the warmth of him as he drew the blanket across both of them with great concern. Never had he lain with a woman and felt this way.
It was late when Jocelin woke, the girl cradled close to him. She stirred in his arms, grimacing because of her aching body. He moved from her side and placed a cool cloth on her brow, which had grown too warm with the beginnings of a fever.
Now, in the light of day, Jocelin began to see the situation realistically. What was he to do with the girl? He couldn’t very well announce that she was alive. Edmund would take Constance as his again as soon as she was well. There was little likelihood that she could survive a second beating. If Edmund did not kill her, Jocelin was sure Alice would. With new eyes, Jocelin looked about the little room. It was private, well sealed against outside noises and difficult to reach. With luck and a great deal of care, he might be able to keep her hidden there until she was well. If he kept her alive and safe, then he would worry about what came next.
He lifted her and gave her more of the watered wine, but her swollen throat could take little of it.
“Joss!” a woman called from the foot of the ladder.
“Damn!” he said under his breath, cursing for the first time in his life his lack of freedom from women.
“Joss, we know you’re there. If you don’t come down, we’ll come up.”
He walked through a maze of baled hay to the open doorway and smiled down at Blanche and Gladys. “A beautiful morning, isn’t it? And what might you two charming ladies want of me?”
Gladys giggled. “Are we to shout it for all the castle to hear?”
He grinned again and after one last glance over his shoulder, descended the ladder. He put an arm around each woman’s shoulders. “Perhaps we could talk to the cook this morning. I find I’m famished.”
The following four days were hell for Jocelin. Never in his life had he had to keep a secret, and his constant acts of subterfuge were exhausting. Had it not been for the stableman’s wife, he would not have been successful.
“I don’t know what you have hidden up there,” the old woman said, “but I’ve lived long enough not to be surprised by anything.” She cocked her head at Jocelin, admiring his looks. “It would be my guess it’s a woman.” She laughed at the expression on his face. “Oh, yes, it’s a woman, all right. Now I must set my mind to figuring out why she must be kept hidden.”
Jocelin started to speak but she held up her hand. “No need to explain. No one loves a mystery more than I do. Let me have my puzzle and I’ll help you keep the other women from your room, though that won’t be easy with the numbers that plague you. Someone ought to put you in a jar and pickle you, boy. You ought to be preserved—that’s for certain. No other three men alive could pleasure as many girls as you do.”
Jocelin turned away in exasperation. He was worried about Constance, and almost everyone had begun to notice his distraction. All except Alice. She demanded more and more of Jocelin, calling him constantly to play for her and every night to her bed, where the violence she desired drained him more each night. And constantly he had to listen to Alice’s hatred of Judith Revedoune, and of how Alice was going to visit King Henry VII and get Gavin Montgomery back.
He looked to see if anyone watched him as he climbed the ladder to the little loft room. For the first time, Constance was awake to greet him. She sat up, clutching the blanket about her nude body. For days, while she’d been dazed with fever, Jocelin had cared for her, becoming as familiar with her body as his own. It did not occur to him that he was a stranger to her.
“Constance!” he said joyfully, not completely aware of her fear. He knelt beside her. “How good it is to see your eyes again.” He took her face in his hands to examine the bruises which were healing quickly, thanks to her youth and Jocelin’s care. He started to move the mantle from her bare shoulders to attend to her other wounds.
“No,” she whispered, closing the mantle.
He looked down at her in surprise.
“Who are you?”
“Ah, sweet, don’t be afraid of me. I’m Jocelin Laing. You met me before with the Lady Alice. Don’t you remember?”
At the mention of Alice’s name, Constance’s eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. Jocelin pulled her into his arms—a place where she’d spent much time though did not know it. She tried to pull away from him, but she was too weak.
“It’s all over now. You’re safe. You are here with me and I won’t let anyone harm you.”