Joanna by Roberta Gellis Page B

looked sharply from Beornwho had spoken excellent French to himto Joanna, but nothing showed in her face. After a moment of staring at Beorn, as if she did not understand what he said or was surprised by it, she smiled uncertainly at Sir Henry.
    “This has thrown me all of a maze,” she murmured. “I never dreamt to have so much honor done me as for the queen to call me to her. Thus, I am all unready for her gracious summons”
    “I would not deny her, Lady Joanna,” Braybrook remarked. “She iserof high spirit and easily offended.”
    “Oh, I would not want to offend the queen,” Joanna twittered in a high, unnatural voice, as if suddenly stricken by fear.
    She unclasped her hands and allowed them to flutter apart, to her throat, to her lap when she had seated herself to play with her jeweled belt. Had Geoffrey been there he would have roared with laughter. Joanna was imitating Lady Ela with devastating effectiveness. Like a snake-charmed bird, Braybrook’s eyes followed her hands, fixed on them when they nervously, seemingly unconsciously,   smoothed the fabric of her gown so that her thighs were sharply outlined. Joanna, meanwhile, had raised her eyes to Beorn’s, dropped them to Braybrook, and looked at Beorn significantly again. Infinitesimally the old man nodded. He would do nothing until he received orders.
    “No, no, of course I cannot deny her, but I cannot go today, nor yet tomorrow”
    “Why not, Lady Joanna? I and my men will escort you safely. There is naught for you to do but bid your maids pack your garments. The queen will find all else for you.”
    Find all else, indeed, Joanna thought, rage at being considered such a ninny taking the place of fear, which had momentarily drained her face of color. Doubtless Isabella would find a locked room for her, bonds for her hands and a gag for her mouth. Yes, then Ian would come home. He would fight for the king; he would allow himself to be spitted like a pig to get her free. And her mother would come, weeping for her daughter’s life. Oh yes, Isabella would certainly find all else.
    “Oh yes, oh yes,” Joanna twittered, picking at her skirt so that it rose and exposed her pretty slippers and ankles. “Of course. Then I can go tomorrow, but not today. See how it rains. Why my lord, how silly a thing I am. You are soaked through. You must have a hot bath and dry garments immediately.
    Before he could protest, she had clapped her hands and a maid came running. “A bath for Sir Henry in the east wall chamber,” Joanna gasped nervously. “You will pardon me,” she cried, jumping to her feet. I must find you something suitable to wear. Oh, dear!” And she fled away, unheeding of Sir Henry’s denials.
    Upstairs, Joanna stood for a moment to catch her fluttering breath and rearrange her thoughts. Her first instinct, born of terror, was to order all of them killed. Reason corrected that notion at once. That would be open treason, an act of war. An accident might befall Sir Henry; that would solve the problem also because the men-at-arms were not dangerous without their master. Another moment’s thought   made Joanna dismiss that idea also. First of all, there was no reason to believe Braybrook was guilty of anything beyond carrying out his mistress’s orders. He might be totally innocent of any evil intention and totally ignorant that treachery was intendedif it was intended. There was no proof yet that Isabella wished to do harm, except her known antipathy to Geoffrey. Perhaps there was some other reason for the invitation.
    As practical thought supplanted fear, Joanna began to wonder if she had not leapt to a false conclusion. Geoffrey and Salisbury would be at Whitechurch also and in control of a great part of the army. How could the queenor even the king, shielding himself behind the queenplan to do her any harm then? Nonsense. In general, Salisbury might love his brother and look aside from the evil the king did, but Geoffrey would never allow