The Velvet Promise Read online

  He was not surprised when he saw Chatworth at the foot of the ladder, flanked by two armored guards. “What have you done with her?” Jocelin demanded as he jumped from the second rung of the ladder, his hands going for Edmund’s throat.

  Edmund’s face was beginning to turn blue before his men could disengage Jocelin. They held him securely by the arms.

  Edmund pulled himself from the dust and looked with disgust at his ruined clothing. The velvet would never be the same again. He rubbed his bruised throat. “You will pay for this with your life.”

  “What have you done with her, you piece of pig’s offal?” Jocelin sneered.

  Edmund gasped. No one had ever dared talk to him like that before. He drew back his hand and slapped Jocelin across the face, cutting the corner of his mouth. “Indeed, you will pay for this.”

  He stepped out of range of Jocelin’s feet, more wary of the jongleur than he had been. Behind that face lurked a man he had not guessed existed, thinking Jocelin only to be another pretty boy. “I will enjoy this,” he sneered. “Tonight you will spend in the oubliette, and tomorrow you will see your last sunrise. All day you will suffer. But tonight perhaps you will suffer more. While you sweat in that jar, I will take the woman.”

  “No!” Jocelin yelled. “She has done nothing. Let her go. I will pay for taking her.”

  “Yes, you will. As for your noble gesture, it is hollow. You have nothing to bargain with. I have you both. Her for my bed, and you for any other pleasures I choose. Take him and let him think on what it means to defy an earl.”

  Constance sat at the window of Edmund’s room. Spirit was gone from her. No more would she see Jocelin again, no more would he hold her in his arms and tell her he loved her more than the moon loved the stars. The only hope was that he had managed to escape. She had seen the way that Blanche ran from the room. Constance prayed that the woman had gone to warn Jocelin. She knew that Blanche cared for him, had heard her call for him. Surely, Blanche had warned Jocelin, and together they were safe.

  Constance felt no jealousy. In truth, she wanted only Jocelin’s happiness. If he’d asked her to die for him, she would gladly have done so. What did her poor life matter?

  A commotion and the sunlight on a familiar head drew her attention. Two burly guards half-dragged a struggling Jocelin across the yard. As she watched, one of the men cuffed Jocelin hard on the collarbone, causing Joss to slump to one side. With difficulty, he kept on his feet. Constance held her breath, wanting to call to him, but she knew it would endanger him more. As if he sensed her, he twisted and looked up at the window. Constance lifted her hand. Through her tears, she could see the blood on his chin.

  As the guards jerked Jocelin around, Constance suddenly realized where they were taking him, and her heart stopped. The oubliette was a horrible device; a jug-shaped chamber cut into the bowels of solid rock. A prisoner must be lowered through its narrow neck by a pulley. Once inside, he could neither sit nor stand, but must half-squat, his back and neck continually bent. There was little air and quite often no food or water. Nobody could last more than a few days, and only the strongest that long.

  Constance watched the guards strap Jocelin to the pulley and lower him into that hellhole. She stared for a few moments longer as the cover was fastened, then looked away. There was no hope now. Tomorrow Jocelin would be dead, if he lived through the night, for Edmund would surely devise some additional torture.

  On a table a large wine beaker and three glasses were set. These glasses were for Edmund’s private use, as he saved all the most beautiful objects for himself. She did not think of what she did, for her life was over and only one last act was needed to complete the deed. Smashing a glass against the table, she took the jagged base in her hand and went to the cushioned window.

  It was a lovely day, summer in full bloom. Constance hardly felt the sharp edge as she slashed it across one wrist. She looked at the blood flowing from her body with a sense of relief. “Soon,” she whispered. “Soon I will be with you, my Jocelin.”

  Constance cut her other wrist and leaned back against the wall, one wrist in her lap, the other on the windowsill, her blood seeping into the mortar of the stones. A soft summer breeze blew at her hair and she smiled. One evening she and Jocelin had gone to the river, spending the night alone in the soft grasses. They had returned very early the next morning before the castle was fully awake. It had been a night of rapture and whispered love words. She remembered every word Jocelin had ever spoken to her.

  Gradually, her thoughts became lazier. It was almost as if she went to sleep. Constance closed her eyes and smiled slightly, the sun on her face, the breeze in her hair, and thought no more.

  “Boy! Are you all right?” a voice called down to Jocelin in a hoarse whisper.

  He was dazed and had trouble understanding the words. “Oubliette” meant chamber of forgetfulness, and it earned its name.

  “Boy!” the voice demanded again. “Answer me!”

  “Yes,” Jocelin managed.

  A heavy sigh answered him. “He is well,” a woman’s voice said. “Put this around you and I will pull you up.”

  Jocelin was too dazed to fully realize what was happening to him. The woman’s hands guided his body through the neck and up to the cool night air. The air—the first real breath he’d had in many hours—began to clear his mind. His body was cramped and stiff. When his feet touched the ground, he unbuckled the pulley strap.

  The stableman and his fat wife stared at him. “Love,” she said. “you must leave at once.” She led the way through the darkness to the stable.

  With each step, Jocelin’s head cleared more. As he had never before in his life experienced love until recently, neither had he known hate. Now, walking across the courtyard, he looked up at Edmund’s dark window. He hated Edmund Chatworth, who now lay with Constance.

  When they were in the stables, the woman spoke again. “You must go quickly. My husband can get you over the wall. Here—I have packed a bundle of food for you. It will last you a few days if you are careful.”

  Jocelin frowned. “No, I cannot go. I cannot leave Constance with him.”

  “I know you won’t go until you know,” the old woman said. She turned and motioned for Jocelin to follow her. She lit a candle from another one on the wall and led Jocelin to an empty stall. A cloth was draped over several bundles of hay. Slowly she pulled the cloth away.

  At first Jocelin did not believe what he saw. He had seen Constance once before when he thought her to be dead. He knelt beside her and took the frigid body in his arms. “She is cold,” he said with authority. “Fetch blankets so I can warm her.”

  The old woman put a hand on Jocelin’s shoulder. “All the blankets in the world won’t help. She is dead.”

  “No, she is not! She was like this before and—”

  “Don’t torture yourself. The girl’s blood is gone. She has none left.”

  “Blood?”

  The woman moved the cloth back and held up Constance’s lifeless wrist, the vein exposed, severed.

  Jocelin stared at it silently. “Who?” he finally whispered.

  “She took her own life. No one else did it.”

  Jocelin looked back at Constance’s face, finally realizing that she was gone. He bent and kissed her forehead. “She is at peace now.”

  “Yes,” the woman said, relieved. “And you must go.”

  Joss pulled away from the woman’s clutching hand and walked purposefully toward the manor house. The great hall was covered with sleeping men on straw pallets. Jocelin was silent as he slipped a sword from the wall where it hung amid a mixture of many weapons. His soft shoes made no noise as he went up the stairs to the fourth floor.

  A guard slept in front of Edmund’s door. Jocelin knew he would have no chance if the guard was to waken, for Jocelin’s wiry strength was no match for a seasoned knight’s. The man never uttered a sound as Jocelin rammed the sword through his belly.

  Jocelin had never kille