Rebellious Love Read online

  The long hours of talk, the haggling over each tiny point, the ever-present danger that John would suddenly back out and plunge the country into war, combined to bring all the negotiators to the very brink of their endurance.

  Petty arguments broke out even among the allies who knew and respected each other well. John made no secret of the perverse satisfaction he derived from such bickering. Understanding that he would try to press it to the utmost, the earl quickly called a recess. After which, Curran prayed, the latest impasse threatening all they had so far gained would be overcome.

  He entered the tent quietly, but Verony was nonetheless instantly aware of his presence. She looked up eagerly, her smile fading as she took in his exhaustion.

  Setting Gawain in his cradle, she went to her husband and took his arm, guiding him to the bed. Curran sat down heavily, rubbing his face wearily.

  Moving around to sit beside him, Verony touched a gentle hand to his shoulder. "It goes badly?"

  He nodded mutely. Every bone and muscle in his body cried out for rest, but he knew that at most he could count on only a few hours' sleep. And tense as he was, he doubted they would do him much good.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" Verony asked softly as she began to rub the bunched sinews of his back.

  Curran hesitated. He was glad simply of her presence and didn't want to overburden her. But it would be good to speak of the problems plaguing him.

  "There's not much to tell," he said slowly. "John is being fairly reasonable about most points, only because he knows he has no choice. But now we've hit a wall where he refuses to give an inch and we can't afford to back down."

  Verony knew that the d'Arcys' basic strategy lay in getting the more minor points out of the way first, hoping that whatever concessions they agreed to there would lay the ground for John to be forced to accept their major goals without change. But she was not clear on the exact details of what they intended to demand.

  "Why is he objecting so strenuously? He's already relinquished major rights to seize property and render judgment."

  "This is different. I've said all along that whatever agreement we work out here would be meaningless unless there was some way of enforcing it. This informal coalition of the barons that my father managed to put together was enough to get us this far. But now we need something more."

  Careful not to break the rhythm of her gentle massage, Verony asked: "What more can there be?"

  Curran stretched languorously, the soothing motion of her hands already beginning to have effect. "We need an established body of men whose authority is recognized by both the nobles and the king. Much like the old Saxon Witan that served as a kind of intermediary between the throne and everyone else. Beyond that, we must have a clear procedure for pinpointing any future abuses of royal power and at least trying to get them rectified peacefully."

  Verony's hands were momentarily stilled. She stared at her husband in surprise. Like everyone else, including Curran himself, she looked to the Earl Garrett as head of the family and leader of the coalition against John. His wisdom and strength could not be doubted. Serving him loyally, his sons tended to be somewhat eclipsed by him.

  But now as she listened to Curran, she realized that it was her husband who more than the earl or even the revered Stephen Langton held the clearest vision of what might be. If his hope for a formal organization of nobles with recognized powers could be achieved, the way would be paved to assure true justice in fact as well as word.

  In their violent, strife-torn world, differences of opinion were almost always settled by the sword. Even when outright bloodshed did not erupt, negotiated compromise came about only when costly war became a real threat. Runnymede meadow would be empty just then of all but grazing cows and nesting birds were this not true.

  How wonderful it would be if there was some other way. Verony did not fool herself into thinking that any such effort would be easy. Certainly the barons would continue to fight among themselves, the king would work to undermine all of them, and hot tempers could turn even the simplest problem into armed conflict. But at least there would be a chance to stop the horrible, wasteful violence that went on year after year.

  For just a moment, Verony allowed herself to imagine a world in which crops could be planted without wondering if they would ever be harvested, peasants could go to sleep at night not fearing that the morning would find their women raped and their

  own throats slit, children could grow up without the ever-present threat of violent death.

  If such a miracle could ever come to pass, then the vast energy now expended on warfare could be turned to other things. Perhaps ways could be found to increase the yield of the earth so that poor weather did not automatically mean starvation for many. Maybe it would even be possible to discover ways of controlling the diseases that frequently carried away entire populations.

  Impatiently, she shook her head. It was all very well and good to dream, but such indulgence achieved nothing. Her thoughts could be far better directed toward giving her husband whatever help she could.

  Softly she murmured: "It sounds as though you don't think John will honor the agreement even after he signs it."

  Curran offered no denial. "I don't believe I could ever really trust any king. The office itself seems to corrupt even the most noble. But in John's case . . . Let's just say I think we would be wise to always expect the worst. That way we will never be disappointed."

  His speech was slightly slurred, as the full calming effects of her touch began to be felt. Gently, Verony urged him to lie down. Curran protested that he could not sleep long, but obeyed. Removing his tunic, he stretched out on his stomach, head cradled on his bronzed arms.

  Verony studied him lovingly. Surely there could be no finer figure of sheer male beauty anywhere. Despite all the hardships of the last months, he remained the epitome of virile strength and grace.

  She longed to be able to reach out to him without the slightest hesitation or doubt. To know that the vast love she felt for him was truly returned. The thought that he might still regret their marriage made her bite back tears.

  She was caught in a quandary from which there seemed no release. She could not be the wife he had said he wanted without destroying herself, and by that very destruction she would surely lose all hope of happiness.

  Tired as she was, Verony was prey to dismal thoughts. Her mouth quivered as she imagined a future wherein she and Curran remained only formally wed for the sake of the children and convention while he sought another to fulfill his image of what the woman he loved should be.

  Her hand stifled the sob of denial that rose within her. Whatever might happen between them, this was not the time to burden Curran with her fears. He would need all his strength to face the last, most treacherous phase of the struggle.

  When she was certain he still slept, Verony lay down beside him. The warmth of his hard, lean body offered some comfort. She curled close against him, but did not close her eyes. Every moment they were together was to be savored. There might be all too few left.

  CHAPTER 18

  A hand shoked Verony's shoulders. She started instantly aware that the bed beside her was empty. It took a moment for her eyes to focus. When they did, she found Arianna bending over her.

  "I'm sorry to wake you, but they're about to sign the document. Curran said you would mot want to miss it."

  "No ... no, I wouldn't. ... But what happened? I thought there was some problem? Something John was still arguing about." As she spoke, Verony rose hastily and began to dress.

  "There was, but very early this morning he gave in. I'm not sure of the details, but I know the earl sent someone for Curran and Mark and the other lords. They wasted no time drafting the final provision, and now it's all ready to be signed."'

  "Thank the Lord," Verony breathed, following her sister-in-law from the tent. Whatever suspicions John's sudden capitulation might spark could be chewed over later. Just then it was enough to know the days
at Runnymede had not been in vain.

  Lady Emelie was waiting for them near the Earl's blue-and-gold tent. She fairly glowed with excitement. "I can hardly believe it. Curran got exactly what he wanted. When I first heard he was demanding a council of twenty-five barons to oversee the keeping of the charter, I thought there was no hope of the king's agreement. But John must have mulled it over and decided it wasn't worth fighting about."

  "Especially not if he intends to fight later anyway," Arianna suggested cynically.

  Lady Emelie hushed her. "This isn't the place to say such things. Until the charter is signed and we are away from here, we must pretend to believe John means to honor it."

  Verony followed their talk closely. She was reassured to learn that the d'Arcys were already planning for events beyond the signing of the charter. No matter how important the agreement might be, it would not be worth the paper it was written on if preparations were not made to promptly defend it against any challenge.

  John, looking tired and sullen as he took his place at the table with his lords, was no doubt already planning how to undo what he was about to put his name to. He had a crafty glint to his eyes his small stock of self-control could not hide.

  Verony smiled faintly. No doubt the venal monarch was congratulating himself on tricking Curran and the others. By accepting the last provision, he believed they would consider themselves the victors and let down their guard.

  In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. The king's capitulation on such a major point was a clear sign that he intended to subvert the charter. The barons, rolling bleary-eyed from their tents, might seize the opportunity for celebration. But the d'Arcys' rejoicing would be far more restrained.

  Looking around, Verony saw what John had failed to note. Baggage carts were pulled up behind the family's tents, and their possessions were already being loaded. Before the king himself could be gone, the d'Arcys would be on their way back to the impregnable fortresses where their superbly trained, utterly loyal men waited.

  If it did come to battle, John was undoubtedly counting on dissension among the barons to weaken their defenses. But the d'Arcys would not wait for their contentious allies. Their forces would stand ready to thwart John's every move until either his will or his strength gave out. They would not rest until the charter was secure in deed as well as name.

  The sight of the wagons brought home to Verony that her need to speak with Curran was fast becoming imperative. Searching among the group seated around the table, her eyes moved over him with reluctant intensity.

  Despite the great occasion, he was simply dressed in a bleached wool tunic and heavy leather surcoat sturdy enough to deflect a sword blow. The clothing was what Curran and the other d'Arcy men who were similarly dressed wore for traveling.

  Had John not been totally absorbed in himself, he would have wondered at their manner of dress. But self-centered as he was, Verony knew he was conscious only of his own plans.

  For a moment so long in coming, the signing of what was being called Magna Carta, the Great Charter, passed very swiftly.

  Stephen Langton made a brief statement about the agreement being reached through the grace of God and for the benefit of all free Englishmen. In a sop to the king's vanity, he praised John's wisdom in realizing that even kingly power had to bow to the rule of law. This earned an angry scowl from the monarch, which was pointedly ignored.

  The Earl Garrett, as secular leader of the nobles, also spoke. His words were carefully chosen to emphasize once again that the actions taken at Runnymede this day of June 15, 1215, were for the good of all the barons and not just the d'Arcy clan.

  His audience, elated over what to their simple minds seemed an easy victory, heard him out good-naturedly. They even cheered when he finished, a gesture that wrung a rueful smile from the man who had no delusions about their loyalty.

  Banners fluttered in the breeze as the scribners moved forward. The senior man among them, a grizzled, stooped monk, laid a roll of parchment in the center of the oak table. Another set down a jar of ink and an ivory pen. A third stood by with melted wax.

  The crowd pressed closer. John appeared to hesitate, but only for a moment. Having accepted the inevitability of the event, he wanted only to be finished and away. Slowly, as was to be expected from one not used to writing for himself, he penned his name. In a country where few could read and even less were capable of recognizing his signature, this was necessary but not sufficient.

  Next, and far more important, he slipped the signet ring from his hand, dipped it in the melted wax, and firmly pressed the image to the base of the parchment.

  A long sigh left the watchers. No great shouts of rejoicing went up. This was not like a battle where a man was raised to a peak of excitement, only to be either cast down in defeat or elated even higher by victory. Oblivious to the subtleties of diplomatic combat, the barons knew only that they were at last free to get on to better things.

  As the parchment was carefully rolled and tied before being given to the archbishop for safe keeping, discussions broke out about the promised tournament. There was arguing over whether or not the fair weather would hold. The merits of various contestants were debated and bets laid down.

  Saying a quick word to the countess and Arianna, Verony took her leave. Throughout the proceedings, she had kept a careful eye on her tent, making sure it was not dismantled. Even so, she arrived back just in time to stop eager servants who were about to pack it away in the cart.

  "You can wait a few minutes," she told them firmly.

  The small shelter offered the only privacy she could find for her talk with Curran, and she wasn't about to give it up a moment before she had to.

  As it was, she had little time to wait. Surprised at not finding her with his mother and sister-in-law, Curran hurriedly sought his wife. He meant to explain why they were leaving so suddenly and assure himself that she could make the trip comfortably. But he didn't get the chance.

  "I understand all about that," Verony said the moment he began. "But before I go anywhere, we must talk." Her courage carried her thus far but no further. As her voice began to quaver, she broke off.

  Puzzled, Curran took a step forward. Though he had much on his mind just then regarding what the next days and weeks would bring, he could not help but savor the beauty so long denied him. Even in the shadowy light filtering through the tent walls, he could make out the ripe swell of her breasts lightly covered by a thin blue tunic, the gentle curve of her slender waist the tempting arch of her hips, the long, well-shaped line of her legs.

  Curran took a deep breath. He wanted to reach out and take her into his arms, but some hint of stiffness in her made him stop.

  Gathering all her strength, Verony tried again. "Are you going back to Langford?"

  "Yes. I must drill the men, equip them with more arms, perhaps bring others into the force there. You see, we suspect that John will ..."

  Again Verony interrupted. "I know about that, too. Only an idiot would trust John to honor the charter. Of course you must go to Langford. But you see . . . the problem is . . . I'm not sure I can go with you."

  Beneath his tan, Curran turned white. He tried to tell himself he had not heard correctly, but her meaning was unmistakable. Slowly, fighting the terrible pain gripping his heart, he asked: "I-is the thought of life with me so . . . unbearable . . . ?"

  "No! Well, perhaps ... I don't know. ... If you loved me, I would never ask for anything but to be at your side. But if you regret our marriage so much ... if I will always be less than what you truly want. . . then I cannot bear it. No torment could be worse than to see you every day knowing you wish for another. The twins and I could live with your parents until Gawain at least was old enough to be with you, s-so we would not have to see each other. ..."

  Anguished, Verony hid her face in her hands. She could no longer stem the flood of tears that broke from her at the thought of being separated from the man she loved with all her being.

/>   For a long, pain-filled moment, Curran said nothing. He reached out a hand to touch her, then pulled back as though thinking he would be burned. As her sobs continued, a steady, explicit stream of curses left him.

  Verony looked up in horror. She had expected her proposal to be received with anger, but not this unleashed rage that set a pulse to pounding in his corded throat and clenched his fists into deadly weapons.

  "C-Curran . . ." she began, thinking to explain herself further and plead for his understanding.

  He leaped up, striding toward the door. "Wait there. Don't move. Not an inch!"

  Verony shivered, staring after him wide-eyed. What could he mean to do? Had he gone for a lash to chastise her with? Or perhaps he meant to summon his father and the rest of the family to hear him denounce her?

  Fresh tears rose to burn her indigo eyes before Curran speedily returned. He was carrying a small wooden box recovered from the baggage wagons. Crouched on the bed as far away from him as she could get, Verony did not at first want to accept it. But he pressed it into her hands, insisting that she look inside.

  Trembling, she obeyed even as Curran said, gently now: "I've wanted to give this to you for weeks, but there hasn't been a chance." Ruefully, he ran a hand through his hair in a gesture she knew well. "And perhaps I was trying to put off this talk it seems we're finally having, hoping that somehow it wouldn't be necessary."

  Tenderly he drew her closer. "I'm not normally a coward, not in battle or in the sort of treacherous negotiations we've just completed here. But When I thought about facing you . . . trying to get you to understand and . . . forgive ..." He laughed disparagingly. "I seized every excuse to put it off. Even when you came here, instead of making the most of what little time we had together, I told myself the charter had to be worked out first. When in fact nothing in the world is more important to me than you and your feelings."