Neither John nor Helen spoke.
“They keep him in a hole below the cellar. It is a slimy place, and he cannot live much longer in it. I went to him and—”
“You went into the pit?” Helen asked, astonished. “Not while you carry a child! You endangered the baby!”
“Quiet!” John commanded. “Let her tell of Lord Gavin.”
Judith looked at her mother, who usually cowered away from a man’s sharp tones, but Helen only obeyed and showed no fear. “He was very angry at me for being here and said that he had already arranged for our rescue. His brother Stephen has been sent for.”
“Lord Stephen?” John asked, then smiled. “Ah yes. If we can hold out until he comes, we will be saved. He is a good fighter.”
“That is what Gavin said. I am to keep Demari from me as long as I can, to give Stephen time to bring his men.”
“What else did Lord Gavin say?”
“Very little. He spent most of the time listing all that is wrong with me,” Judith said in disgust.
“And are you able to keep Demari from you?” Helen wondered.
Judith sighed. “It’s not easy. If he touches my wrist, his hand slides to my elbow. A hand on my waist rides up my ribs. I don’t respect the man. If he were to sit down and talk reasonably to me, I would sign half the Revedoune lands over to him for a copper if he would only free us all. Instead he offers me daisy chains and love poems. There are times when I want to scream in frustration.”
“What of Sir Arthur?” John asked. “I cannot see that man making daisy chains.”
“No, he just watches me. I am never away from his eyes staring at me. I feel there is something he plans, but I don’t know what.”
“It will be the worst, I’m sure,” John said. “I wish I could help you!”
“No, there is nothing I need help with now. I can only wait for Lord Stephen to arrive and negotiate or fight—whichever must be done. I will talk with him then.”
“Talk?” John raised one eyebrow. “Stephen is little given to talking over his battle plans with women.”
A knock sounded on the door. “I must go. Joan waits for me. I’m not sure I want Demari to know I’m here.”
“Judith.” Helen grabbed her daughter’s arm. “You are caring for yourself?”
“As well as I can. I am tired—that’s all.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I must go.”
When they were alone, John turned to Helen. “Here, don’t cry,” he said sternly. “It will help nothing.”
“I know,” Helen agreed. “She is just so alone. She has always been alone.”
“And what of you—have you not also always been alone?”
“I don’t matter. I am an old woman.”
He grabbed her harshly under her arms and pulled her to him. “You are not old!” John said fiercely before his mouth came down on hers.
Helen had been kissed by no man except her husband—and him only at the beginning of their marriage. She was startled by the chill that ran up her spine. She returned his kiss, her arms going about his neck, drawing him closer to her.
He kissed her cheek, her neck, his heart pounding in his ears. “It is late,” he whispered, then swung her into his arms and carried her toward the bed. Each night he helped her unbutton her simple gown since she had no other maid. He was always respectful and kept his eyes turned away when she climbed into bed. Now he set her on her feet by the bed, then turned to walk away.
“John,” she called, “you will not help me with the buttons?”
He looked back at her, his eyes dark with passion. “Not tonight. If I were to help you undress, you wouldn’t climb into that bed alone.”
Helen stared at him, the blood pounding through her body. Her experiences with a man in bed had been brutal times. But now she gazed at John and knew he would be different. What would it be like to lie happily in a man’s arms? She could hardly hear her own voice when she spoke. “I will still need help.”
He walked to stand before her. “Are you sure? You are a lady. I am only your son-in-law’s vassal.”