LADY UNDAUNTED: A Medieval Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

about the manor.”
    Meaning his men would ensure she remained a prisoner in her own home. Joslyn thought twice on the impulse that gripped her, stood, lifted her skirts to her sides, and bowed low. “Your thoughtfulness is beyond measure, Sir Knight.”
    Silence, then the sound of boots over the floor.
    She straightened, watched Liam Fawke stride from the hall, and shifted her attention to Father Ivo. Expecting him to admonish her, she was prepared for the hard frown he gave her before following his nephew.
    Next, she met Father Paul’s gaze. “I tried, Father, but still it came.”
    Eyes reflecting memories of the mischief she had worked as a girl, he sighed and departed.

CHAPTER FOUR

    Prisoners in our own home.
    Joslyn once more turned that truth over as she stepped from the wooden tub into the towel her maid held for her. Upon Liam Fawke’s return from the church with verification of her marriage to Maynard and Oliver’s legitimacy, what would they then become?
    Though when Maynard’s brother had ridden on the manor she had believed murder was his intent, it more and more seemed an irrational fear. If misfortune befell Oliver or her—especially so soon after Maynard’s death—suspicion would fall on Liam Fawke. He would gain naught and might well lose his life.
    She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her robe. “You may go,” she told the maid. “I will put Oliver to bed.”
    “Very good, my lady.”
    As the woman gathered the soiled garments and withdrew, Joslyn crossed to the table where she had earlier set out her sewing kit, removed her finest needle, and began picking at the splinters she had taken in both palms while wielding the rake. Every one Liam Fawke’s fault.
    “I did it, Mama!” Oliver cried as his wooden top careened across the floor from which he had cleared the rushes.
    “My, but you did. All by yourself.”
    He grinned.
    Realizing she had given him too little attention these past hours, she set the needle on the table and went to him.
    As they watched, the top whirled toward the rushes, grazed the bordering pieces, corrected its course, and moved back onto the bare floor where it began to lose momentum.
    “Quick, Oliver! Spin it again ere it falls.”
    He cornered the wobbly toy as if it were a beast to be tamed, whipped it with his stick, and set it to spinning again—away and beneath the bed.
    He groaned.
    Joslyn ruffled his damp hair. “Fetch it and you may try once more ere I put you to bed.”
    His scrubbed cheeks plumped like shiny apples, and he dropped to his hands and knees beside the bed.
    She would have to tell him about his father. Though Oliver knew of him, he had not known him. Only twice had Maynard come to see his son—following his birth and when Oliver attained his first year. Thus, he knew only of his father’s existence, which was not much less than Joslyn had known of Maynard.
    She sighed. If only she could grieve for her husband, shed tears for the man who had fathered her son. However, as Liam Fawke had guessed, there had been nothing to their relationship beyond Oliver. But as she once more breathed in shame, she caught the sound of light tapping.
    Crossing the chamber, she called, “Who goes?”
    “Father Ivo,” his whispered voice slid through the door’s seam.
    He had returned from the church, meaning Liam Fawke had as well.
    “May I enter?”
    She glanced at her robe, then to where Oliver’s searching made him oblivious to their caller. The priest had said he would come to her this eve, but surely they could talk as well on the morrow. “I prepare for bed,” she called.
    “It cannot wait, Lady Joslyn.”
    “But—”
    “Make haste, someone comes!”
    Knowing it would not do for him to be caught outside her door, she opened it.
    With a rustle of robes, he slipped in. As she closed the door, she met eyes that gleamed with an appreciation she had never seen in Father Paul’s.
    “Why, you are not without comeliness, lady!”
    She pulled her