A MORNING OF CLOSENESS
Mist. And darkness. And pain. They pressed in on Joanna, making her head ache as if wires were boring through her temples. Hot wires, insistent and sharp.
“Ugh,” she groaned. She rolled onto her side. Where was she?
She opened her eyes. It hurt, so she closed them again. Wherever she was, it was bright. It was morning. Memory tugged at her mind, but would not speak to her.
She opened her eyes.
White. She touched it, and found white linen. All around her. She was, she realized, lying on a coverlet. On top of a bed. She remembered where she was.
In Dougal's bedchamber.
She sat up, memory flooding her. The shadow, the attack. The person grabbing her assailant. Dougal! Where was he? She reached out, pressing on the ridged, cool linen. She sat up.
“Dougal...”
“Good morning,” a voice said somewhere above her head. She blinked. Looked around.
He was over by the fire, a long gown draped around his shoulders, his hair freshly brushed. He was holding a beaker of some kind, she noticed. His face was serious, but his eyes shone. “I am so glad you're awake.”
Joanna frowned, wishing she could remember something more. “Where...?”
“You are where you were yesterday,” he informed her. “I have been downstairs and fetched up something for you. Mrs. Kine said you should drink barley water, though I thought milk would perhaps be a better alternative. It's warm,” he added, holding out the mug.
Joanna took it. It was hot, and the warmth seeped into her fingers. The milk was steaming, a thin skin forming on it. She tasted it, letting the creamy warmth spiral down to her toes. It was good. She sighed.
“What happened last night?” she asked. She was already feeling stronger. There was honey in the milk, she realized, and the mix restored strength to her. Her heart was beating harder and she could feel her fingertips coming back to life.
Dougal dropped into the chair opposite her. He reached out to pull the blanket around her shoulders. She was wearing her day gown still, but she was cold. She sat still and let him, feeling her heart thump insistently as his fingers lightly grazed along her shoulder bone.
“A man attacked you,” he said quietly. His voice shook with emotion and Joanna reached out to touch his hand. He tensed, and then breathed out. His eyes met hers. “He wanted to finish me,” he said quietly. “But you were there. You stopped him and...Joanna.” He covered his eyes with his hand, face stiff. He met her gaze, then, eyes empty. “If you had been hurt. If you'd died...” He shook his head. “I would have died inside.”
Joanna felt her throat close with emotion. “No. Don't. Don't say that.” She cleared her throat. “One of us has to stay alive. Bring an end to this misery.”
Dougal let out a shuddering breath. “It's not worth the risk, Joanna. I should tell you to leave. You don't need to be here, facing this risk. I should send you out of here.”
“Don't even say it,” Joanna said quickly. “I won't have it. I'm staying. And you too. We will resolve this. We're almost done. I know it...we can't stop trying now.”
Dougal looked at her. His dark eyes were sad, though they held a spark of interest.
“You think so?”
“Yes,” Joanna said firmly. She was not as sure as she was trying to act, but she did have a deep sense that they were getting close. She closed her eyes. She had dreamed, while she was unconscious. She had also seen something, the night before, to increase her conviction. What was it?
“You should sleep more,” Dougal said, his touch stroking her hand. “I should not let you work yourself so hard.”
Joanna sighed. “You should sleep more, too. Though I don't notice you taking that advice.”
He smiled a little sadly. “I try,” he said simply.
“Well,” Joanna said, feeling her strength return. “We should try and get some breakfast. And then...” she paused. She had been going to say: “And then we should interview this unknown attacker.” Then she stopped. Memory tugged at her, insistent. She suddenly recalled something, the fact that had been nagging at her mind since waking up.
“I do know him,” she said quietly.
“What?” Dougal said quickly. Then he demurred. “Begging your pardon, Joanna. What did you say?”
“I said, I know him. The man who was here. In the room. I knew his face.”
“You did? Where had you seen him?” He looked at her, his gaze searching.
“He was at the wake. It was the minstrel. Francois.”
Dougal stared at her. “For Heaven's sake! You're right!” He shook his head. “How could I not notice? I suppose I didn't notice him then. But you'd think...” he sighed. “But why? Of all people, why on earth would he wish to harm me? He isn't even from around here.”
“I think that's the point,” Joanna said quietly. An idea was beginning to form in her mind. She could see, suddenly, more of the picture. Pieces were falling into place, suddenly. Words that had seemed unconnected, suddenly joining up. It was a picture she did not like. However, she had to try to build it.
“Joanna?”
“I should go,” she said, standing. She felt shaky, and held onto the back of his chair, feeling the room sway and her legs hurt.
“Where?” he asked, standing at once. “Joanna, don't...don't wear yourself out like this. I can send someone else to carry you downstairs, if you must go down.”
“No,” Joanna said, shaking her head to clear it. “I don't mean downstairs. I mean away...” She felt frustrated as her vision blurred again, dark specks dancing at the margin of her eyes. He was, she thought crossly, right. She had been overworking herself. Now she was paying the price for her neglect. She could ill risk it, when she had so much that needed doing.
“Away?” Dougal was there, at her side, a hand on her shoulder. “No. I can't allow it. Joanna, you can't walk! How are you planning to go anywhere? Listen to me.”
She looked up at him, feeling deeply weary. She summoned a spark of irritation, fanned it, and made it grow to carry her through this weariness.
“Dougal Blackheath,” she said regally. “You do not command me. If I mean to leave, I'll do it. Am I clear on this?”
He stared at her. She saw the expression in his eyes change from worry to affront, then to surprised joy.
“Joanna!”
“What?” she said sourly. Her head hurt. She was exhausted. At that moment, she just wanted him to go. Leave her to do as she must. She was tired and annoyed and she felt as if all her bones were bruised and aching, even her feet pained where she stood.
“You are the dearest, most stubborn...Joanna. I love you.”
His arms were around her then, holding her close. She felt her heart jump and, very gently, she wrapped her arms around him.
They embraced and his lips moved over hers. Slow at first, tender, nibbling along the edge of her mouth, their touch made her want to smile. She did smile, and then, very slowly, licked along his lips. He stopped. She relished his sudden surprise and then gasped as his own tongue thrust between her lips.
She met his kiss with passion of her own, their lips meeting, sliding, and parting. When she looked up at him, her mouth bruised with kissing, his eyes were sightless with wanting.
Joanna let out a ragged breath. She knew she was in no better way herself. She made a shaky attempt at a grin.
“If we were caught now, we'd have little choice left,” she laughed lightly. She meant they would either wed or flee the town. He caught her meaning and his eyes kindled.
“Well, you make me wish the door opened out onto the courtyard, and all the staff outside it, rapt.”
She roared with mirth. “Dougal, you are shocking. But I could hope likewise, too.”
He took her hands and clasped them. She sighed, feeling the warmth of them gripping her fingers, wishing they never had to leave her grasp.
She turned and cleared her throat, then looked up at him.
“I,” she said, extracting her hands deliberately, firmly, from his grasp. “Will have to go.”
Dougal looked at her, his eyes filling with a sort of desperation. She shook her head.
“I'll come back,” she said, turning in the doorway. He looked after her, face stiffly blank.
“Do so.”
Joanna walked away then, heading briskly down the hallway to her own room, his voice ringing in her ears.
She sat down on the bed, covered her face with her hands.
She was smiling.
“Dougal Blackheath,” she said under her breath. “You are shocking. Utterly. I love you.”
Her heart soaring in her chest, she moved about the room, packing a few necessary items into a cloth sack. She would travel light. It would be her, on her horse, alone.
She had to go quickly.
The trail would cool if she left it much longer. She had to find out as much as she could. Before it was too late.