To Win a Lady's Heart Read online

  The rats’ answering squeaks echoed off the walls.

  Joanna kept her eyes off the movement on the floor and hurried to the far corner of the room. She placed her basket on top of the nearest casket of ale, then she reached out her free hand and ran her fingers along the stones, carefully counting the slabs: four up and six over. She recognized the indentation in the stone as soon as she felt it. Pushing with the palm of her hand, she stepped back, and almost immediately, a grating sound filled the cellar.

  At her feet, a large block of stone shifted, and by the light of her torch, Joanna watched a hole appear. She waited until the grinding stopped before lowering her light enough to expose the first two rungs of a wooden ladder leaning against a rock wall beneath the cellar floor. Joanna reclaimed her basket, threaded her arm under its handle, and carefully stepped onto the first rung.

  Rats aside, she couldn’t help but smile at how accustomed she’d become to this clandestine method of leaving the castle. The first time she’d attempted to visit Agnes, it had taken her over an hour to locate the stone that hid the lever to the secret passageway. The ease with which she now descended the ladder, with a torch in one hand and a basket over her other arm, was a far cry from her initial attempt, which had almost ended in her landing in a heap on the rocks below. Even the coarse fabric of the peasant clothing she wore to protect her identity, which had felt so itchy and uncomfortable when she’d first donned it, now felt almost normal.

  She reached the lowest rung and stepped into the tunnel. The limestone walls glinted in the torchlight, the sound of distant dripping water magnified by the empty passageway. Quickly, she bent over and pushed a smooth rock hidden behind the ladder. A shower of grit fell from above as the stone slab slid back into place. Then, raising the torch to light her way, she hurried down the winding tunnel.

  Water seeping off the walls made the rocks slippery. Twice Joanna nearly fell as her worn shoes slid out from under her. But both times, she caught herself and continued on. She didn’t have time to spare. Not only did she need to return to the castle before anyone missed her, but she also had to be mindful of the tide. Within a couple of hours, the sea would rise too high to allow her reentry into the tunnel.

  At last, the passageway widened to form a cave, and Joanna slowed her steps. As the intense blackness lessened slightly, she knew she’d reached the cave’s entrance and the narrow ledge that marked her path down the remainder of the cliff. The scrub bushes that clung tenaciously to cracks on the ledge blocked her view of the moon above and beach below, so she paused, listening. When she heard nothing but the rhythmic rushing of waves, she left the protection of the cave for the barely discernible rocky trail on her right.

  Seconds later, she pressed her hand against her lips to prevent a scream from surfacing. Someone was on the ledge. The scraggly branches of the farthest bush concealed most of the man’s head and torso, but his long legs lay directly across her path. She leaned back against the mountainside. Who was he? And why was he here? Had her secret trips out of the castle been discovered?

  As these frantic questions spiraled through her mind, she hesitantly lifted the torch a fraction and forced her reluctant feet forward. The man remained silent. Why had he not questioned her sudden appearance? Merciful heavens, was he dead? She bent down, holding the light over him. Still he did not move. He appeared only a few years older than she was. His face, covered in angry scratches, was pale, and the dark hair that fell across his forehead could not completely cover the goose-egg-sized lump above his right temple. She placed her hand near his nose and felt the slight movement of air against her skin. He was still breathing.

  Quickly, she moved the torch, searching for any other signs of injury. His clothing was not the simple apparel of a peasant, but his white shirt and green doublet were torn and stained. A two-inch slash through the hose on his left thigh was the center of a dark-red stain that covered half his leg. Blood coated his left hand as though he’d pressed it against his leg, and even now, more blood was dripping onto the rocks beneath him.

  With shaking hands, Joanna placed her basket and torch on the ground, lifted the hem of her homespun tunic, and pulled at the lower edge of the smock beneath. The coarse, thin fabric tore easily, and within seconds, she had a ragged strip long enough to tie around the man’s leg. She cinched the knot as tightly as she dared and heard a faint moan. Her hands froze, and she looked up. The man’s eyelids flickered open, and for a fleeting moment, he held her gaze. Then, as though his eyelids were too heavy to keep open, he closed his eyes again.

  “No!” she said, taking his arm and giving it a gentle shake. “You must waken. You cannot remain here.”

  He did not respond, and panic filled her. Apart from the fact that he was in desperate need of a healer’s care, the man had to be moved. If he shifted any more than ten inches from his current position, he could fall to his death. He obviously could not climb down to the beach in his present condition, and he was far too heavy for her to lift. She would have to get help.

  With dawn approaching, the night sky was lightening. Surely she knew the trail well enough to leave her torch behind. She glanced at the makeshift bandage she’d placed around the man’s leg wound. The white fabric was now red. Tamping out the torch’s flame, Joanna set the bundle next to her basket, and with a new sense of urgency, she began her descent.

  Tufts of grass, rocks, and roots became her anchors on the steepest portions of the trail, and even though she stumbled, she did not stop. Her sole focus was reaching the bottom of the cliff as quickly as possible, and when her feet finally touched the loose shale of the beach, she picked up her skirts and ran.

  Agnes’s small cottage was tucked away between the trees where the woodland reached the shore. In years past, Agnes had lived at the castle and had served as the healer for all the knights and nobility there. But when she’d been unable to stem Lady Anabel’s bleeding at the time of Joanna’s birth, Lord Gilbert had blamed the healer for his wife’s untimely death and had turned Agnes out.

  Unwilling to let Lord Gilbert’s bitterness define her, Agnes made a new life for herself, living quietly in the woods outside the town walls, treating the townsfolks’ various ailments whenever called upon to do so and making her cottage a sanctuary for the less fortunate.

  Joanna had first learned of Agnes through her maid, Eva. She’d been twelve years old when Eva had discovered her sobbing in her room with Grey, her lame puppy, on her knee.

  “Why, whatever’s the matter, my lady?” Eva had asked.

  “My father says that Grey cannot be my guard dog because he’s crippled,” she responded through her tears. “He’s going to have one of the stable hands dis . . . dispose of him.”

  More tears fell, and Eva knelt beside her, running a gentle hand over Grey’s small back.

  “Take him to Agnes,” she said softly. “Agnes will care for Grey. I’m sure of it.”

  “Who’s Agnes?” Joanna asked, not sure if she could trust in the glimmer of hope Eva was offering.

  “The healer, of course,” Eva said.

  Joanna’s brow puckered as she tried to understand. “But I thought Beatrice was the healer.”

  Eva shook her head. “For those in the castle, maybe, but most of the commoners still seek out Agnes if they’re needing a curative.” She bent a little closer as though imparting a secret. “She lives in a cottage down by the seashore.”

  Joanna immediately sought out Sir Edwyn, whose expression clouded when he learned of Grey’s impending fate, and he wasted no time in saddling his horse and Joanna’s pony for the dog’s rescue attempt.

  Just as Eva had supposed, Agnes willingly took in the puppy. But as Sir Edwyn was disinclined to do anything more against Lord Gilbert’s wishes, he refused to facilitate repeated meetings with Agnes, and Joanna did not see either the banished healer or the lame dog for another four years. Then, on a rainy day in the spring of her sixteenth year, Joanna found an old map inked on parchment in a trunk that had be
longed to her grandmother. The map outlined the way in and out of Moreland Castle through a long-forgotten tunnel beneath the cellar. This remarkable discovery had suddenly provided Joanna a way to leave the castle unattended and had enabled her to come to know and appreciate the kindly healer as a friend.

  Now, as the outline of Agnes’s cottage came into view amongst the tall, shadowy trees, Joanna heard Grey bark, and a chink of light appeared from within the house as the front door opened and someone stepped outside.

  “Garrick!” Joanna tried to shout the young man’s name as she ran toward him, but it came out as only a breathless whisper. She tried again. “Garrick!”

  Grey barked once more and trotted toward her with his distinctive three-legged gait. He was old enough now that he rarely left Agnes’s hearth, but he still recognized and welcomed Joanna.

  The young man stopped and turned to face the beach, peering through the dim light.

  “Garrick, it’s me, Lady Joanna,” she said, finally close enough for him to recognize her.

  “Oh, hullo, Lady.” Garrick smiled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was leaning on her knees, gasping for breath. He raised the sack he was holding. “Checking my traps,” he said. “Got to get them rabbits before the foxes do.”

  “Wait!” Joanna tried to remain calm, knowing she desperately needed this gentle giant’s assistance. “I require your aid.”

  “I’ll help you, Lady,” he said. “I’ll bring back the rabbits, and I’ll help you.”

  Joanna tried a different approach. “Is Agnes awake?”

  “Yes,” he said happily.

  Even though Garrick was almost as old as she was, she grabbed his hand and drew him back toward the cottage door. “We must talk to Agnes before you get the rabbits.”

  Confusion showed on his guileless face. “Before?”

  Joanna opened the door and pulled Garrick in after her. “Agnes?”

  A woman was bent over the fireplace, stirring something in a large black pot. At the sound of Joanna’s voice, she turned and gave her a warm smile. “Good morning, my lady,” she said. “What a lovely surprise.”

  “There’s an injured man on the cliff,” Joanna blurted out. “He’s unconscious and bleeding badly.”

  Agnes’s welcoming expression immediately turned to concern. She took Joanna’s hands in hers. “Now then,” she said. “Take a deep breath and tell me everything from the beginning.”

  Joanna rehearsed all that had happened from the moment she’d stepped out of the tunnel until she’d arrived at the cottage. Agnes listened without interruption. Garrick alternated between staring at her and wringing the hemp sack in his hands.

  “Garrick, go wake up Slip,” Agnes said as soon as Joanna finished her account.

  Garrick obediently lumbered over to the corner of the room, calling for the boy as he went.

  “I don’t think Slip will be strong enough to lift the man off the ledge,” Joanna said, her anxiety rising as she realized the virtually impossible task she’d given her friends.

  “I don’t either,” Agnes said, already bustling around the room, dropping various items into a leather satchel. “But Garrick trusts him. And I’m hoping that he can help Garrick get the man down.”

  Agnes hung the satchel over her shoulder and was tucking her long gray braid under her wimple when Garrick returned with a very sleepy Slip behind him.

  “Why did Garrick wake me up so early?” Slip grumbled, pulling his tunic on over his nightgown.

  “Because you’re needed,” Agnes said simply.

  That seemed to get Slip’s attention. “Needed?”

  “Come along,” she said, not elaborating any further. “We don’t have much time.”

  Chapter 2

  Dawn was painting the sky pink when the unlikely foursome reached the base of the cliff. The rising tide was lapping at their ankles, and Joanna’s worry for the man on the ledge was increasing with the passage of time. Perhaps she should have returned through the tunnel to fetch some of her father’s knights instead of going on to the cottage, but her focus had been on getting the man’s wounds treated, and Agnes’s home had been the closest.

  “We’re going up there?” Slip asked, his face shining with excitement as he studied the craggy rock.

  Joanna wished she shared his enthusiasm. Slip was a wiry ten- or eleven-year-old—even he wasn’t sure of his exact age—who had fended for himself on the streets until Agnes had rescued him from the baker who’d been soundly boxing the boy’s ears for stealing a loaf of bread. Known in town as Slippery Fingers because of his aptitude for lifting coins out of purses and food items off stalls, Slip had little fear of anything.

  Garrick followed Slip’s gaze. “I’ll wait here,” he announced.

  Joanna gave Agnes a worried look.

  The older woman squared her shoulders. “We’re all going up,” she said. “Lady Joanna will show us the way. I need to see to the man’s wound, and you two boys will help bring him down.”

  “Come on, Garrick.” Slip took the young man’s large hand. “It will be an adventure.”

  “An adventure?” Garrick repeated the words slowly, as though he were trying to work out exactly what they meant.

  “That’s right,” Slip said with a grin. “You and me. On an adventure together.”

  “Together.” Garrick seemed to seize upon that idea. He nodded. “I’ll go with you, Slip,” he said.

  Agnes gave Joanna an encouraging smile. “Show us where to go, my lady.”

  Joanna started up the trail. Agnes followed behind her, with Garrick and Slip bringing up the rear. Joanna moved as quickly as she dared, pausing only occasionally to turn back and check on the others. She noticed that Agnes watched her carefully, using the same rocks and roots for leverage when needed. She was close enough that Joanna could hear her breathing hard, but not once did the older lady stop to rest. Garrick’s and Slip’s progress was also steady, but they were considerably noisier.

  “Garrick, that was my hand, not a rock,” Slip said. “Watch where you put your great big feet.”

  “Sorry,” Garrick mumbled. He slid sideways, and a shower of small rocks rained down on Slip.

  “A mouthful of grit to break my fast,” Slip said, spitting between words. “Just what I wanted.”

  “Sorry,” Garrick said again, and after a few minutes of silence, he added, “Are we having an adventure now?”

  Slip sighed. “I s’ppose so. But next time, I’m going first.”

  “Right,” Garrick said. “Agnes says it’s good to take turns.”

  Joanna reached the ledge, and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart. When there’d been no sign of a body on the beach, her relief that the man hadn’t fallen had quickly turned to fear that he was already dead. Now she saw him lying exactly where he’d been before, and that fear intensified. She knelt beside him and placed her ear to his chest.

  “Well?” Agnes asked. She had joined Joanna on the ledge and was already pulling items out of her satchel.

  “He’s still alive,” she said.

  “Then there’s hope,” Agnes said. “Now let me take a look at his leg.”

  Joanna shifted slightly so Agnes could move closer to the man’s left side. While the healer tutted over the condition of his wound and the loss of blood, Joanna leaned forward to study the large bump above the man’s right eye. Gently, she brushed the dark hair off his forehead. Now that there was more light, she could see the extent of the swelling and the purple discoloration that spread around his eye and along his cheekbone.

  This was not the man’s first injury, she realized. A thin white scar ran through his left eyebrow, ending just above his eyelid, and his nose was not quite straight. She guessed he’d broken it at least once. He had an angular jaw, currently covered in dark whiskers. His eyes were still closed, but regardless of their color, Joanna had already ascertained two rather unnerving facts: first, she’d never seen this man before today, and second, his injuries did li
ttle to detract from his appearance.

  “Move over, Garrick!” Slip’s voice brought Joanna back to reality.

  “I’m trying.” Garrick was inching his way along the ledge, looking at anything and everything except the drop-off. “This adventure’s too high,” he said. “I’ll go down now.” Joanna rose and took his hand. It was shaking. Giving it a comforting squeeze, she led him to the cave entrance, where he could be farther from the edge.

  “You were magnificent, Garrick,” she said. “You climbed that cliff like a mountain goat.”

  “I did?”

  Joanna smiled. “Yes, you did, and I’m very proud of you.”

  Garrick smiled in return. “Is Slip like a mountain goat too?”

  Slip appeared beside them, brushing the grit out of his hair and off his tunic. “No, Slip is more like a mole,” he said. “I may as well’ve crawled through the mountain.”

  “Well, don’t get too comfortable,” Agnes said, coming to her feet. “I’ve stitched and bandaged the leg as best I can, but he’s lost a fair amount of blood. We must get him to the cottage right away.”

  “But we only just got here,” Slip said in dismay. “I didn’t even see inside the cave.”

  “That will be for another day,” Agnes said, gathering her leftover bandages and thread and dropping them into her satchel. “Now we must go.”

  “Down there is better,” Garrick said, already shuffling his way to the end of the ledge.

  Agnes reached out and touched his arm. He paused and turned to face her.

  “Will you carry the injured man for us?” she asked.

  Garrick glanced from Agnes to the man on the ground, then back.

  “He’s big,” he said, his forehead creasing.

  “Yes,” Agnes said. “But you are strong.”

  Garrick studied Agnes’s face for a moment and must have seen something in her eyes that convinced him because with an assenting nod, he crouched down beside the prone body, wrapped his large hands around the unconscious man’s torso, and raised him until he was high enough to place over his shoulder. Then, clasping the man’s legs with both hands and with an enormous grunt of exertion, Garrick pushed himself to his feet.