The Wise Virgin: Medieval Christmas Romance Read online

  Disrupting the pageant would be a mere splash of oil. Kidnapping only a cupful. But rape... rape of Lord Henry's only daughter would be a whole barrelful. It would start a conflagration quenched only by the blood of a whole family.

  And if only Cousin Joan was available, well, a jug of oil would make a violent enough flame.

  Joan sent an urgent, silent prayer to Mary, protector of all virgins, and tried desperately to think of a way to escape.

  Fight him off? Ridiculous.

  Jump off the horse and run? She'd be caught in a moment.

  Push him off the horse and escape on it?

  A trained warhorse wouldn't be taken, and she might as well try to push the hills alongside the stream as push this man off this horse!

  Helplessness started an uncontrollable shivering, and a whirling panic in her mind.

  "Cold?" he said. "We'll be in a shelter soon."

  "Where? What? Where are you taking me?" Her voice turned shrill, and with a curse, he clasped his hand over her mouth again.

  "To a cave," he said, sounding irritated. "It's prepared for a lady's comfort. Now, stay silent until we reach there, woman."

  Since he kept his hand over her mouth, she didn't have a choice. However, Joan's fear shrank a little. Thrown back against him as the horse picked its way up what was probably a sheep track of some sort, she considered his irritated tone. Could a man intent on rape and murder really speak like that?

  How could she know? With a bundle of brothers, she knew men quite well, but she knew nothing of how they behaved in war, or in a bloody feud. At the thought of her brothers and her family, tears smarted in her eyes.

  In trouble again. That's what they'd say if she lived to face them. Her brothers would rush to kill her defiler, but that wouldn't do much good after the fact. They'd all think it was her own fault, and as usual, they'd be right.

  When Joan had arrived at Woldingham, wrapped in furs and hoping for new adventures, she'd found her cousin Nicolette a feeble, weepy sort of person. She'd been summoned, apparently, because of that—to be a companion and raise her spirits. Her aunt Ellen had informed her that Nicolette suffered from a case of a lovesickness—that she was even having to be guarded from running away with the man. She was not to be encouraged in her folly.

  "Your parents report you to be a young woman of sense, Joan, and not given to foolish fancies."

  Joan had not been feeling particularly sensible at that moment as she was temporarily staggered by the opulence of Woldingham—by the size, the number of retainers and the glittering treasures everywhere she looked. She'd mumbled meek agreement—she had promised her mother she'd behave—but ventured a question. "Whom does Cousin Nicolette love, Aunt?"

  "It doesn't matter. He is completely impossible. Completely."

  Joan couldn't imagine how Nicolette could be so silly as to imagine herself in love with a landless knight or a troubadour, and she was happy to help her recover. She herself was firmly of the belief that love could be guided toward sensible, suitable targets.

  Nicolette had seemed to welcome companionship and distraction, and soon became a lively, charming friend—even if she did sometimes relapse into sighing, unhappy moments. Joan had enjoyed the wealth and comfort of Woldingham, and the rich selection of handsome, eligible young men paying suit to Nicolette.

  She'd already decided an older, sensible man would suit her better as a husband, but she had no objection to flattering flirtation with toothsome gallants.

  Even though Nicolette was clearly not tempted by any of her gallant swains, Joan had expected the excitement of Christmas to banish all sighs for a while. The closer it drew, however, the more distracted and melancholy Nicolette became. Her loving parents fretted, but never gave the slightest sign of bending.

  The man must truly be impossible.

  Then one day, Nicolette fainted. After she'd been carried into the luxurious bedchamber they shared and left to rest, Joan gave her a piece of her mind. "Nicolette, this is foolish beyond measure. No man is worth starving and fainting over!"

  "Yes, he is," her cousin said mutinously, but then tears glistened in her eyes. "But it's not that exactly... I'm so afraid..."

  "Afraid? Of what?"

  "The... the play."

  "The Holy Family one? On Christmas Eve?"

  Nicolette nodded.

  "What is there about that to make you ill? You've played the Virgin for three years, haven't you?"

  "Since I started my courses, yes. The youngest virgin of marriageable age..."

  "So?"

  Nicolette's eyes searched the private room as if someone might be lurking, then she whispered, "I'm not."

  "Not what?"

  "A virgin."

  Joan gaped. It was so outrageous she'd not believed it.

  Except that it instantly explained so much.

  "What's worse," Nicolette added, covering her face with trembling hands, "l'm with child! What am I going to do?" She looked up, wild-eyed. "Don't tell Father and Mother!"

  "Of course not." Joan, however, felt ready to lose her breakfast herself. "Why? How...? I assume," she snapped in outrage and terror, "you weren't visited by the Archangel Gabriel! Were you raped?" It seemed the only explanation.

  Nicolette sat up. "Of course not. I love him!"

  Joan stared. Mooning over Sir Nobody, or a charming troubadour was one thing. Giving her body to him...? "When?"

  "At the Martinmas Fair. I didn't plan it. I swear it. It just happened. We stole a few moments. We were so unhappy, and... oh, if only Father would relent! But I never thought until recently that I might have conceived."

  Would Uncle Henry soften when he learned of the child? She knew the answer without asking. Nicolette's parents doted on her, but that meant that if they'd refused the match so firmly the man must have been truly unsuitable. A baby would change nothing.

  Except that it changed everything.

  She shuddered at the thought of the reaction when Nicolette had to confess. Would the baby save her from blows? From being thrown into the foulest dungeon? Would her parents' love survive the shock and shame?

  Whatever the immediate reaction, Nicolette would end up in a convent until she bore her child, and it would be either strangled or given to serfs to raise. After that, she would either stay behind walls or be married off to whatever man would take money to overlook her flaw.

  Joan gathered her weeping cousin into her arms, though she had no real comfort to offer. The growing child could not be hidden forever. It was all just a question of time.

  When her cousin had collected herself a bit, Joan gave what little comfort she could. "Don't worry about the play. Nothing shows. No one will know."

  Nicolette stared at her. "Joan, God will know! I can't represent the Blessed Virgin! It will bring a curse on us all."

  "Your baby will bring a curse on all soon enough. What difference does a play make?"

  "All the difference in the world!" Nicolette put her hands to her stomach. "I know I carry disaster, but that means I cannot add to it. Ever since the de Graves stole the Bethlehem Banner—" she hiccupped on new tears "—ever since then, Woldingham's well-being comes of the Holy Family play."

  Joan hoped she was as good a Christian as any, but she had little belief in God paying attention to plays. The reenactment had a lot more to do with human rivalry than with piety.

  The grand de Graves and de Montelan families had many estates and moved between them, but they both celebrated Christmastide here in the area. The de Graves displayed the banner that had been carried into Bethlehem during the Crusade. In direct reaction, the de Montelans welcomed the Holy Family into their home, proving their superiority to the rest of mankind. Both families were thumbing their noses at one another rather than engaging in an act of piety.

  "You're going to have to do it for me," Nicolette said, jerking Joan out of her thoughts.

  "What?"

  "Play the Virgin."

  "I can't do that!"

 
"You have to. You are a virgin, aren't you?"

  "Of course, lam!"

  "Well then. I looked at the family records, and I think you are the youngest virgin of marriageable age anyway."

  Joan considered what she knew. Her mother was Lord Henry's sister. Of three brothers, two were unmarried, and one had only sons. She had four older married sisters and five brothers. It did seem likely.

  "But I can't pass as you."

  "Yes, you can. To preserve the illusion of the Holy Family, you'll slip out of the castle secretly."

  "With no guards?"

  "The guards will just see you down to the village, then return. They won't notice anything. You'll be enveloped in a head-cloth and cloak, with a big cushion for the pregnancy. Besides, it's not their place to speak with you. And remember, when you appear in the hall no one here is supposed to recognize you, either, so you stay well swathed."

  Joan had to admit that it seemed possible. "But what of you? You can't be seen. And won't anyone notice that I'm not at the celebrations?"

  Nicolette leaned back, frowning over it. "Your courses!" she suddenly said. "You suffer so much from them."

  "That's true," Joan agreed. She always had terrible pains and, for at least one day a month, had to take to her bed with soothing potions and warm stones to hug.

  "You'll have your pains on Christmas Eve."

  "My courses are not due until a week later."

  "I don't suppose anyone will be counting. And I'll pretend to be you."

  "That won't work. Your mother fussed over me the last time."

  "You'll make it clear you don't want fussing, and then she'll be so involved with the Christmas Eve festivities that she'll not have time. I'll huddle down in the bed and moan if anyone comes."

  "I can see a hundred ways for this to go wrong!"

  "So can I, but we have to try. Please, Joan. I won't commit sacrilege."

  In the end, Joan had sighed and agreed. "But the problem still remains, Nicolette. What are you going to do?"

  For a moment she thought her cousin wouldn't answer, but then she whispered, "I've been in touch with him. I've told him about the child. He's going to find a way."

  It was a solution, but a terrible one. "Run away? Leave your family?"

  "I have no choice."

  "Oh, Nicolette!" Joan leaned forward to embrace her cousin, tears stinging her eyes. It was tempting to berate her again for the string of follies that had led to this suffering, but she knew her cousin must recognize every single one. Now, in this dire situation, what choice was there? It would be hard enough to evade the guard around Nicolette and steal her away. Then Nicolette would be cut off from her family forever, and everyone at Woldingham would be cast into misery. And for what? For that phantasm called love, that wildness called lust.

  The best Joan could pray for was that in this dreadful situation, Lord Henry would bend and decide that accepting an unworthy husband was better than losing his daughter forever. After a month at Woldingham, she had doubts. Though just, Lord Henry was relentlessly stern. The innocent were not punished, but the guilty were not spared. He seemed to regard any flexibility or hesitation as if it were a deadly plague.

  And, she thought, clasped in the enemy's arms, here she was. Guilty of deception, and possibly sacrilege. What's more, Nicolette was stuck in the castle, presumably still huddling and groaning; the play and feast were both ruined; and the de Montelans were out in furious pursuit of the de Graves, murder on their minds.

  Chapter 2

  The horse halted, and she glared up at the man. "You," she said, "have made a stupid mess of everything."

  "This mess is none of my making," he said shortly, sliding off the horse. He reached up and lifted her down as if she weighed nothing, which certainly wasn't true. She was instantly reminded that she was the prisoner of a very strong and ruthless man who might have evil intentions.

  "Come into the warm," he said, leading her toward an ominous opening in the hillside. "Perhaps it will improve your mood."

  A curtain had been hung at the cave opening, probably to hide the light, for inside, the space was lit by three dish-shaped oil lamps. There must have been an opening above, for the smoke wasn't choking them. It was a little warmer, but not much.

  Hay and water stood ready for the horse, and he cared for the beast first. Joan hadn't been aware of how much warmth she'd drawn from his body during the ride, but now she shivered. Perhaps also with fear. A fire was laid ready, so she lit it from one of the lamps and held her hands to it as she looked around. Two fine wooden chests, three jugs and thick furs spread over a ledge of rock.

  To make a bed? She swallowed, trying to decide if she were better off trying to pretend to be Nicolette. Then she shook her head. Even neighbors who were deep and ancient enemies couldn't help but meet. This man doubtless knew Nicolette by sight, and no one who knew them would confuse them.

  Nicolette was slender, with fine hair the pale gold of rich cream. Joan was well-curved with curly hair closer in color to honey. The huge bolster that faked her ripe pregnancy was proving useful in hiding the shape difference, but that couldn't outweigh the rest when he had a chance to really look at her.

  With a final pat of the horse's neck, he came over to her.

  "Please, Lady Nicolette, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the furs.

  Joan stayed facing the fire, putting off the moment. "Who are you, and what do you want with me?"

  "I'm sorry," he said, sounding sincere. "I thought you truly would have guessed, Nicolette. Beneath dark cloth and grime lies Lord Edmund de Graves, and you are now safe in my care."

  Joan turned slowly, dizzy with shock.

  Golden hair, and beneath the soot on his skin, a face handsome enough for the Archangel Michael. His skill with the horse. The very quality of that horse. His effortless air of command.

  The Golden Lion.

  And he'd rescued Nicolette. Why?

  Because, of course, he was her lover!

  She took the few steps backward to the ledge and sat with a thump. What man would be attractive enough to turn her cousin's wits, and yet the most unsuitable husband in the world for Nicolette of Woldingham?

  Lord Edmund de Graves.

  "Don't be afraid," he said, pulling off his leather jerkin, revealing a rich green tunic beneath. "We're safe here. In a little while, the first hunt will have died down and we can make our way to Mountgrave."

  He dipped a cloth into a bucket of water and scrubbed his face clean. Joan just sat there, stunned and bitterly disappointed. She supposed he was going to be as bitterly disappointed any minute now. Dense of him not to have realized he had the wrong lady, but after a lifetime with her dense brothers she wasn't completely surprised.

  At least she needn't fear rape. Instead of pure relief, however, she ached with regrets. Regrets for a tarnished hero. Edmund de Grave—the sort of man to ruin a maid in some corner of the Martinmas fair.

  He turned to her. "Please, my lady. We are safe. Make yourself more comfortable."

  There was no point putting it off. Joan unwound the enveloping head-cloth.

  The smile disappeared. "So. Who are you?"

  "Joan of Hawes, cousin to Lady Nicolette."

  He sank cross-legged beside the fire, in a breathtakingly elegant movement that seemed unconscious. "Then we have a problem, my lady."

  Fighting tears, Joan stood and loosened the low girdle that held her paunch in place. With a wriggle, she made it fall to the ground so she could kick it away.

  Well-shaped lips twitched. "Such a casual way with offspring."

  "I'm sure many women wish pregnancies could be ended so easily."

  "True enough. Why were you playing the part, Lady Joan?"

  "You know that, my lord," Joan snapped, sitting down again, and gathering her cloak around her.

  "Ah," he said, eyes widening slightly, "the virginity of the Blessed Mary. Truly, I should have thought of that."

  "Indeed you should!"

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nbsp; His brows rose a little at her tone. They were lovely brows—golden and smoothly curved. His hair was lovely, too, waving down to his shoulders.

  What a deception.

  What a waste.

  What a temptation, even so.

  This was doubtless a lesson planned by heaven to reinforce her belief that a woman who chose a husband by looks was a fool.

  Suppressing a sigh at a bitter lesson learned, she rose. "Now will you return me to Woldingham before folly turns to tragedy?"

  He didn't move. "If I had a magic wand, I doubtless would, Lady Joan. As it is, we still must evade the first fury of the hunt. We'll have to rest here for a while." He swiveled, reaching for a jug and two cups, then poured wine for them both. He held one out, and Joan took it, noting that the cup was heavy silver, richly worked. When she sipped, she found rich mead. Even as a fugitive in a cave, Edmund de Graves did not live simply.

  That part of the myth was true. The splendor of Mountgrave was part of the myth.

  And part of the bitterness between the families, since the de Montelans attributed the de Graves's extreme wealth to their possession of the banner.

  Joan wanted to insist that they leave but knew he was right. This area would be full of Woldingham men by now, men who would kill first and think later. The Golden Lion was reputed to be a warrior of almost miraculous skill and strength, but even if that were true, he couldn't defeat ten or twenty—especially unarmed.

  Then she saw his armor and sword in the corner near the horse, dull steel and glittering gold, glinting in the firelight. Even armored, however, he couldn't get her safely undetected back to Woldingham yet.

  Which blew away any hope of returning before Nicolette was discovered and their actions were known to all.

  With a sigh she leaned back on the luxurious makeshift bench.

  "Where is Lady Nicolette?" he asked.

  "In bed, pretending to be me and unwell."

  "Can she remain there undetected for long?"

  At least he was as clever as described. No need to lay it all out for him. "Perhaps for a while, my lord. If no one suspects."