by Robyn Carr
There was a hand on her shoulder turning her back to the earl. This usually smiling man was not smiling now. He pulled her slowly into his embrace. This was another benefit of the little scene. She would be considered fair game from now. He covered her lips and she allowed him. This brief romantic yielding held much reason. She needed comfort, confidence, and something else she couldn’t identify. Something began to stir in her. Rochester was handsome and witty and good company. She liked him a great deal. He would not have to be persuaded; she could learn now about the special thing that could free her, that had eluded and mystified her for so many months.
But there would be nothing to hold. There were too many things she had to forget first before she could give herself. When the time did come, it would not be for another of the court’s amusing adulteries, it would be for something more meaningful and permanent. Not yet.
She pushed him away but he was reluctant to free her. “Please,” she said more sternly. “My lord!” she cried as a hand crept under her cloak to inspect more closely a prize.
Rochester settled back, bemused by her reaction. “You take too much for granted, my lord,” she said quietly. “To have an understanding is one matter. To have no discretion whatever is another.”
“You have no fondness for me, then?”
“Of course I do,” she argued. “But would you even want a woman who would yield so freely? Nay, there is time enough, I think.”
“I see,” he said, a trifle piqued by her hesitation.
“I don’t think you do, kind sir. I delay your affections, true, but not for lack of fondness. I am not a whore.”
He chuckled, cocked his brow, and spoke the naked truth. “It makes no difference to me, my lady. Whether you are whore or vestal virgin, I await your pleasure.”
Chelynne’s insides were caught in a knot. She twisted and turned until she thought she would be sick. How did the queen do it? How did she sit so patiently beside her husband, watch him go off with his mistresses, and play the part of purity, submission and blind tolerance?
And Chad moved through the scene so easily, so sure of himself and her. He thought to find no anger from her. She had no right to be angry. He had never lied to her about his intention. He did not wish to be saddled with a youthful bride and would not cater to her. She would have to manage as she could without husbandly support. They did indeed have an understanding, only she had just begun to understand it.
Night fell over London. John Bollering lingered in the tavern long past the hour Chad was to have met him. When Chad had delivered a message for John through Bess he no doubt expected it to be sent to the country by courier. But John was safer here, in this crowded city.
Chad’s message had informed him that Shayburn had requested aid from Bryant. John knew what Chad would have done. He would have informed the baron that gold and supplies would be sent to Bratonshire. The gold would be stolen en route, thieves and highwaymen were so prevalent. Times were hard all around. The supplies sent to replenish the badly damaged village would make the trip safely, however. And as for force of arms, the earl would send his own men to ensure the safety of that village. And with them would go explicit instructions as to their duties. John would have foreknowledge of their positions so as to get quietly around them. All was going as planned. Shayburn was falling into the trap perfectly.
John was not a man to rejoice prematurely. The fact that this retaliation was as fair as what had happened to his father did not make it legal. Should John be caught in the act of terrorizing that town he could be brought to trial himself. That was the very reason he was in London now, anxious to talk with Chad. The word was about Bratonshire that Shayburn thought this attack could be suspiciously linked to John. He was openly inquiring as to John’s exact whereabouts, looking for some connection. He had even hesitated to ask Bryant for support. What would his reaction be to find Chad so eager to lend aid? Would he believe that Chad was no longer interested in the old Bollering estate?
There were many sailors about, gambling, drinking, and tussling with women. John had chosen sailor’s garb for himself and was unnoticed here. He finished his ale and headed out into the night.
It was in his mind to seek out Bess and leave another message for another time. He could afford to spend a few days in London now and it was imperative that he meet with Chad.
He would walk the distance to Bess. A sailor could ill afford a hell cart and he was not inclined to lead anyone to suspect his circumstance. ‘Pressment gangs would not trouble a man in sailor’s dress but thieves would not be hindered. His eyes burned on all sides of him, aware of eyes where he could not see faces. So many years had molded his warrior’s instinct for the enemy that John could be roused from a sound sleep by a falling leaf or breaking twig.
A squeal split the night, and he saw a young woman engaged in a tussle with a mangy character. He wouldn’t interfere. There were two companions to this aggressor that wouldn’t take kindly to any gallant gesture from him. She kicked at her assailant and her cloak was flung wide to expose a gown of some expense. His curiosity stirred as he thought of a woman of quality in this part of town. He couldn’t help remembering the night he found Chelynne in similar straits. Her vizard was ripped off. He was regretting more with every step that he must pass this riotous scene to get to Bess. He hoped he wouldn’t be pulled into the fray just for his chance presence.
He fought reality against the stirring memory and then with a start he realized his mind wasn’t playing tricks. It was the countess, again, grappled in the hands of thieves. A quick survey told him there was no coach, no escorts.
John found his knife and with a cry that sounded like a wounded beast’s, he flung himself on her assailant and felt immediate penetration. Chelynne fell to the ground and landed with a thud. John stood ready, knees bent and arms wide, anxious for the challengers. The look of pure rage in his eyes and the scowl on his lips sent the thieves fleeing in one direction and the countess off in the other. Everyone but John was running.
Chelynne was dodging down the street frantically and with great speed, leaving John no choice but to follow. He called her name but she did not slow her pace. The jagged street caught at her shoes and she stumbled but kept up the flight. Hysteria gripped her and she was running madly, no light to guide her but what little bit showed through covered windows and doors bolted early against the dangers in this city after dark. Her screams could be heard as she flew down the street but not one door opened to give aid.
The footfalls were close behind her as she passed a last dwelling and the road became a dirt path to the river. That was where she fell, defeated, with an aggressor close behind. She gave up, totally beyond caring what happened to her now, and sobbed into the dirt beneath her.
John looked down at her, watching the little body racked with frightened sobs and, with a sigh, dropped down beside her. He wiped the blood off his dagger and replaced it in his boot. Feeling helpless when faced with a woman’s tears, he touched her back as if to comfort her.
Chelynne rolled over and looked at him. “You,” she breathed.
“Come on, sweetheart. Tell your gallant knight what’s caught you this time.”
She sat up and wiped her tears away, looking at him in wonder. “I had no idea it was you,” she said, still stunned. She shook her head. What strange plan put her in dire straits twice, and both times this simple man was the one to risk his own life to save her?
He stood and drew her to her feet.
“Looking for your earl again?”
Her chin trembled like a frightened little girl’s and large tears fell from her eyes. She could manage only to shake her head while twisting her hands. John opened his arms to her and she fell to him gratefully, sobs shaking her. He gently stroked her hair, giving comfort and time and companionship, filling three of her greatest needs. When she quieted again he held her away from him and looked into her eyes.
“All I’ve ever asked for my services is your explanation. Tell
me what happened.”
“It was a foolish thing,” she replied with a sniff. “I was with a party of courtiers to the Fox and Hounds. We’d been at the theater and his lordship...my husband, was there with his mistress.” She shrugged and said simply, “There was no choice for me. There were so many witnesses to my husband’s indiscretion that to save my own pride I explained ours as a marriage of convenience. While he assured me it was only business, he felt free to leave me there, taking away his friend, one of London’s most well-known whores.”
“And that brought you here?”
“Oh no,” she assured him. “We supped not far from here and at the tavern Rochester made quite a play of our marriage. They were cruel, making Chad...His Lordship the world’s greatest lover and me...I dare not say what they made of me! I had to be away from there. I took the first offered escort home.”
“I think I can see now. You were put upon at once?”
She sighed and lowered her eyes. “Before the door was closed to the coach. What was I to do? I made such a struggle that he couldn’t be bothered and let me out. I thought to find a hackney and—and—well, you saw the rest.”
“Wouldn’t it have been better to have gone back into the tavern? You could have awaited another escort home.”
She shook her head dismally. “I think not,” she murmured. She was quiet, not daring even to look up, and then her voice began slowly, the pace of her words building with anger as she spoke. “He’s brought me to this and how I hate it! See your simple garb. Do you think yourself unfortunate? Look at my rich clothes, my fine fur. Oh, God, how I hate this game we play.”
“Who, darling? Who?”
“He has never loved me, never wanted me! He is not even embarrassed to flaunt his mistress before the world! That is the way here, every man takes a whore, a mistress and another man’s wife!”
John laughed, softly so as not to hurt her. She had a very accurate perception of the court. “I’m your friend, sweetheart. Talk to me.”
“If you are truly my friend, take me away. It’s killing me. Oh, John, it’s like living without food. Truly, the pain of his indifference is worse than a thousand beatings.”
“I’m not that kind of friend. Not the kind of friend who takes a woman from her husband.”
“He would sooner be rid of me.”
“If that were so, he would be, don’t you think?”
She looked at him with such a sad face, her eyes red and swollen and liquid with unhappiness. “Why, then? Why does he even bother with me?”
“Darling, would I know his mind? When a man does not care for his wife he sends her where she would be no trouble.”
“John, did you meet the earl?”
“I did.” He nodded.
“What did you judge his character to be?”
“Kind and fair, so I thought.”
“Does a kind and fair man use his wife as he uses me?”
John chuckled and touched her face. “How does he use you, darling? Does he clothe you in rags? Are there bruises on your body?”
“I am a virgin,” she said softly, lowering her eyes.
“Christ,” he breathed, understanding Chad better now than he had in years. “A virgin bride.” He raised her chin with a finger and looked into her eyes. “And you love him?”
“I don’t think I can any longer, John.” She shook her head. “No, I loved him once. I wanted him, wanted to bring him happiness, give him a child.” She touched his arm and the question in her eyes overwhelmed him for a moment. “I spoke of a child once, a son, and he was so angry it frightened me. I didn’t bring it up at all,” she said in confusion. “‘Twas him mentioning a son and I...” Her words trailed away. “But the marriage was forced and he does not desire it. In time he will send me away and it will be over.”
“I think if he was of a mind to send you away, he would have done so.”
“Then why would he keep me here and hold himself from me so purposefully? How long am I to endure this?”
John shrugged. “Is it possible that time will see his manner change?”
She laughed a little bitterly. For someone who knew nothing of her husband he certainly sounded like him. “A warrior goes into battle again and again, suffering his wounds and healing and doing battle again. Is it for the end glory, the final victory that he fights, or is it for the love of war? Truly, which?”
“I think for both,” he said truthfully. “A man who does not cherish fighting cannot do so and stay alive.”
She gently touched his hand. “John, a woman’s purpose is not to war, not to exist among hostile creatures. My purpose on this earth is another entirely. ‘Tis love and warmth that would see me flourish. If a warrior is maimed and can battle no more, his purpose is done. What of a woman then, whose love is bent and torn? Sullied and decried? Now my husband’s standards have been witnessed by so many that they all assume I am likewise engaged. My own doing, for I stood quietly and watched him take his pleasures as he would. But I cannot stay them as Chad stays me. Tonight proves that. What am I to do now?”
“Then you are certain he has a mistress?”
“Oh, many, I am sure.”
“He is a condemned man,” John sighed.
“What do you mean?”
“You have no proof and his very word denies it, yet you have condemned him. Is that how you play the understanding wife?”
“Oh, trust you see my plight clearly!” she cried. “The man has not shared my bed, fool! What more proof is needed?” With a choked sob she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and again the tears crept out from pinched lids, trailing in painful streams down her cheeks. He drew her to him and held her, letting the pent-up emotion spend itself.
“As I hold you so near I wonder if there is some name I might put to you, other than this title you wear?”
She looked up at him. “Aye. Chelynne,” she whispered.
John tilted her tear-streaked face up to his and planted gentle kisses on it. She was soft and lovely and hurt, so vulnerable. They were secluded and she was needing love too desperately. She responded to him and encircled his neck with her arms. So hurt. So beautiful. His best friend’s wife.
“You want me to make love to you, don’t you, Chelynne?”
Her eyes dropped and her arms slipped slowly down to her sides. She couldn’t look at him. “Forgive me,” she mumbled despondently.
“You needn’t be ashamed, darling. Wanting, needing, it’s very natural and would not be thus if you were tended by the man you love.”
“But I am ashamed! I have toyed with the feelings! He touches me, leads me, and halts himself! If he had a favored lackey I wouldn’t think him even a man, but I feel his desire and I’ve wanted him, too!” She was crying again, those same jagged sobs that seemed never to be done. “That’s all I am left with, John. That shameless wanting...and I’m not at all sure for what. I...oh, I don’t even know what to do!”
Had there been light enough he would have seen the dark flush creep over her face as she choked out her words. She burned with it. She was ashamed first, then sorry for having divulged so much personal information, and now humiliated beyond anything she had ever known for the whole of it.
“It’s going to be all right, Chelynne.”
She hugged her arms about herself and mumbled something unintelligible.
“You’re shivering,” he observed. She could not look at him or answer. “Come, we’ve got to get you warmed, you’ll catch your death.”
“I can’t go back.”
“I’m not taking you back.”
“Then where?”
“I’ll take you home with me. We’ll find a hell cart. It’s not far.”
“I can’t, John,” she said, pulling back a little. “Stella would be frantic.”
He pulled her to him and stood there, very close to her with one arm around her waist. “You’re coming with me, you know that, don’t you?” She nodded. There was nothing else to be done. “And you’re g
oing to be mighty displeased with me later. There’s quite a lot I have to tell you and you’re not going to like my deceptions.”
“We hardly know each other. How can you deceive a stranger?”
“When you’re warm and dry I’ll tell you a story. Until then let’s make walking our task.”
John’s arm gave aid. Her slippered feet throbbed from the stones beneath. They passed several surly characters and John’s tense body close to hers gave her comfort because she knew he was constantly ready, alert for any danger. It had been a very long time since she had been purposefully protected, a long time since she had felt there was nothing to fear.
It seemed they went a great distance before they came upon a coach for hire. John gave instructions to the driver and there was one stop. He left her in the coach and went to the door of some private residence. It did not occur to her to question this, but she was very conscious of the fact that he did not enter or take his eyes off the coach where she waited. It brought a flood of reassurance that she had not felt since she was bounced on her uncle’s knee.
“Now we’ll go. Don’t expect much. It’s fairly humble.”
“I must be mad to go with you,” she mumbled.
“Or just very confused.”
“You could be quite dangerous,” she thought aloud.
“You don’t think that. Indeed, you’ve little reason to fear me, but perhaps you should.”
“Should I, John?”
He leaned the short distance across and looked at her, gravely serious. “I know that even if I give you my promise that you’ll be hurt, you will still come with me, won’t you, Chelynne?”
She gave a weak affirmative nod, not even knowing herself why she was doing this.