of.”
Joice looked around at her sharply. Frevisse made a small, refusing shake of her head, telling her it had nothing to do with her.
“I’ll come with you,” Benet said.
She nearly told him she was forbidden to have aught to do with him, that even being seen with him could cause her trouble, but his voice had an edge to it she could not read and she held back, waiting by the door while he made his farewells to Joice and Lady Eleanor, then going out ahead of him and halfway down the stairs, as private as they were going to be, before she stopped and turned to ask him, “Is there something I should know?”
He had the solid Godfrey build but not the thrusting arrogance that was so usually a part of Godfrey blood, and no longer hiding his urgency, he said, “It didn’t go well with her.”
“Could you expect it to, this first time?”
“Not after yesterday, no.”
Mindful it was not his success she should be concerned for but to win time for Joice, she asked encouragingly, “But you’ll go on trying?”
“As long as may be,” Benet said fervently. “As long as she’ll let me. To keep her safe, if nothing else.”
Frevisse tensed. “Safe?”
“I couldn’t tell her, it would frighten her too much, but it’s Sir Reynold. He doesn’t mean for any Fenner to have her. He says her dowry is for the Godfreys. If I can’t bring her to marry me and I don’t…”—he flushed red from his collar up to his dark hair but forced out anyway—“and I don’t take her, I’m afraid he’ll force someone else on her.”
“He’s told you that?”
“Not the last part, but it’s there behind what else he’s said. You have to make sure she goes on seeing me, no matter how much she hates me. It’s the only way I have to keep her safe.”
He was right: Joice should not be told that while she was protecting herself from him, he was protecting her from Sir Reynold. She was already holding too close to one fear to need another added to it. But at the same time Frevisse realized she could not tell him that Joice was deliberately using him with no intention of ever giving way to his suit. Better he go on believing he had some hope.
“I’ll do all that I may,” Frevisse said, then added for her own sake, “but Domina Alys has forbidden any of us to notice you coming and going through the cloister. I’ll be in trouble for speaking to you now, so after this, if there’s aught you think I ought to know, tell Ela in the guest hall, and I’ll send word to you the same way.”
“Ela,” Benet repeated. “Ela. I’ll remember.”
“Good. Now go, please.”
He made her a bow and left her, loping away down the stairs and out of sight along the cloister walk, an overgrown boy who was going to be in worse trouble than he probably deserved if he went on with the company he presently kept. She waited until she heard the outer door close behind him with a muted thud before she followed him. Though it hardly mattered if they had been noticed or not. Tomorrow in chapter she would have to confess, along with other disobedience, that she had spoken to him. It was only a small comfort that her other confession would put her so far in trouble that this one was hardly likely to make matters much worse.
And in the meanwhile there was the matter of the man she had seen beside the well.
When she came out into the yard, the men who had been gathered around him were drifting off toward the guest halls but he was still seated on the top step of the well curb, head bent over the lute he held as he made some adjustment to its strings. Frevisse stopped a ways away from him and asked, “Joliffe?”
He looked up. Merriment and recognition danced into his eyes, and snatching off his cap, he stood up to sweep her an excessively deep bow. “Dame Frevisse!”
He had been part of a company of players the only time they had ever met—five years ago? six?—so slender and fair-faced then that he had played the woman in whatever
Joice looked around at her sharply. Frevisse made a small, refusing shake of her head, telling her it had nothing to do with her.
“I’ll come with you,” Benet said.
She nearly told him she was forbidden to have aught to do with him, that even being seen with him could cause her trouble, but his voice had an edge to it she could not read and she held back, waiting by the door while he made his farewells to Joice and Lady Eleanor, then going out ahead of him and halfway down the stairs, as private as they were going to be, before she stopped and turned to ask him, “Is there something I should know?”
He had the solid Godfrey build but not the thrusting arrogance that was so usually a part of Godfrey blood, and no longer hiding his urgency, he said, “It didn’t go well with her.”
“Could you expect it to, this first time?”
“Not after yesterday, no.”
Mindful it was not his success she should be concerned for but to win time for Joice, she asked encouragingly, “But you’ll go on trying?”
“As long as may be,” Benet said fervently. “As long as she’ll let me. To keep her safe, if nothing else.”
Frevisse tensed. “Safe?”
“I couldn’t tell her, it would frighten her too much, but it’s Sir Reynold. He doesn’t mean for any Fenner to have her. He says her dowry is for the Godfreys. If I can’t bring her to marry me and I don’t…”—he flushed red from his collar up to his dark hair but forced out anyway—“and I don’t take her, I’m afraid he’ll force someone else on her.”
“He’s told you that?”
“Not the last part, but it’s there behind what else he’s said. You have to make sure she goes on seeing me, no matter how much she hates me. It’s the only way I have to keep her safe.”
He was right: Joice should not be told that while she was protecting herself from him, he was protecting her from Sir Reynold. She was already holding too close to one fear to need another added to it. But at the same time Frevisse realized she could not tell him that Joice was deliberately using him with no intention of ever giving way to his suit. Better he go on believing he had some hope.
“I’ll do all that I may,” Frevisse said, then added for her own sake, “but Domina Alys has forbidden any of us to notice you coming and going through the cloister. I’ll be in trouble for speaking to you now, so after this, if there’s aught you think I ought to know, tell Ela in the guest hall, and I’ll send word to you the same way.”
“Ela,” Benet repeated. “Ela. I’ll remember.”
“Good. Now go, please.”
He made her a bow and left her, loping away down the stairs and out of sight along the cloister walk, an overgrown boy who was going to be in worse trouble than he probably deserved if he went on with the company he presently kept. She waited until she heard the outer door close behind him with a muted thud before she followed him. Though it hardly mattered if they had been noticed or not. Tomorrow in chapter she would have to confess, along with other disobedience, that she had spoken to him. It was only a small comfort that her other confession would put her so far in trouble that this one was hardly likely to make matters much worse.
And in the meanwhile there was the matter of the man she had seen beside the well.
When she came out into the yard, the men who had been gathered around him were drifting off toward the guest halls but he was still seated on the top step of the well curb, head bent over the lute he held as he made some adjustment to its strings. Frevisse stopped a ways away from him and asked, “Joliffe?”
He looked up. Merriment and recognition danced into his eyes, and snatching off his cap, he stood up to sweep her an excessively deep bow. “Dame Frevisse!”
He had been part of a company of players the only time they had ever met—five years ago? six?—so slender and fair-faced then that he had played the woman in whatever
Similar Books
