Free Lavender Vows by Colleen Gleason

she gasped. “I will stay. Safe.”
     
    Maris hesitated, then, seeing the wisdom of searching for someone who could carry an ill woman, gave a quick nod and stepped back, looking carefully to see if Joanna would be noticed should Ralf erupt from their chamber. “I’ll get my father.”
     
    ~*~
     
    Bernard raged into the great hall, pushing past revelers and serfs, using his bound elbow as a battering ram. His eyes focused on the dais where Joanna’s father sat…and where Ralf had also eaten his meal. He saw immediately that Ralf was no longer at his father-by-law’s side, and worry for Joanna propelled his feet even faster.
     
    “Lord Wyckford,” he bawled, charging up to the high table, caring little that he interrupted a jongeleur at his tricks. “Lord Wyckford, I must speak with you!” He nearly leapt upon the dais, and was at the man’s side in one quick stride.
     
    “Who are you to accost me so boldly?” The Lord of Wyckford shot a disdainful glance at Bernard, and buried his face in his goblet.
     
    Bernard restrained the urge to knock the cup from his hand and instead planted his one free hand on the table next to the man, bringing his face into his. “Your daughter Joanna lies near death in her chamber—”
     
    “What say you?”
     
    “And ’tis the fault of her husband that she has been beaten near to her grave. You must place guards at her door to keep him from further harming her.”
     
    Wyckford looked at him and blinked slowly. “Do you not give me orders in my own home,” he grunted. “And I cannot interfere betwixt a man and his wife—for ’tis the law of the church that the wife is the chattel of her lord.”
     
    Bernard’s rage blinded him. “She lies near death, man! She is your daughter !” He curled his fist into the table and splinters pierced the skin under his fingernails.
     
    Wyckford glanced over Bernard’s shoulder and seemed to reconsider. The hall had grown quiet and all appeared to listen for his response. “I shall send guards as you have requested. But I do not relish coming between a husband and his wife…and you, sirrah, should have a care for yourself, else you are accused of worse. Now begone!”
     
    Bernard’s teeth creaked as he turned away, clamping his jaw in fury. He would send his own men, damn the man! He spun on his boots, jumped off the dais, and began to push his way out of the hall with the same force as he’d arrived.
     
    The crowd melted away as he stalked through them, his face a set, still mask that likely brought fear to more than one man’s heart. In a haze of anger, he started for the quarters of the men-at-arms in search of his own men…then again spun on his heel and started back down a long corridor.
     
    Foolish! Whilst Bernard berated Wyckford and sought his own men, Ralf was nowhere to be found…and with a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him, Bernard had a fear that he knew where the man had gone.
     
    He ran down the corridor, through the twisting passageway lit by flickering torches and silent as a tomb. As spirited as she was, Maris would not be able to stand up to Ralf should he appear…and Joanna was so weak that one blow could send her to her grave.
     
    His footsteps rang with hollow thuds as he dashed down the corridor and around the corner to the hallway leading to the chamber where Joanna lay. He stamped to a halt when he reached the room and saw that the door was slightly ajar.
     
    A heavy fear settled over him as he prodded the door open with his toe, uncertain of what he would find. The door swayed open, silently, baring the chamber to his gaze. Bernard stepped onto the threshold and saw that the room was in shambles: stools overturned, the bed empty, clothing strewn about, the only light from a sputtering fire.
     
    He started into the dim room, fear clutching him. Joanna was nowhere to be found, nor was Maris….
     
    He did not know what alerted him, but aught caused Bernard to swivel just as