Joanna, as soon as she was old enough to understand, who had taken over the care of the garden. She loved everything about it, from the rich odor of earth and manure in the early spring to the sweet, heady scent of the flowers in summer. Even the bare stubble of winter was dear to her with its promise of new life. She never tired of walking through the garden, looking attentively for signs of trouble in the growing season, planning for the spring in winter, and choosing what must be harvested in the autumn.
At the gate, Joanna turned and said firmly, “Stay!” Brian whined, but he dropped obediently to the ground. Having fastened the gate carefullyBrian was not above testing it and “forgetting” he had been told to stayJoanna walked slowly down the central path. Her eyes were bent upon the plant beds, but the light was going and she could see very little. A rustle off to the right drew her attention. Joanna uttered an exclamation of irritation and hurried down a side path in that direction. Inside the keep walls the number of pests a gardener had to contend with was limited. Hares, marmots, and moles were excluded, but cats and rats, too, liked to chew the tender, aromatic new growth. Joanna’s step was soundless on the turf path. A cat could be driven away; if it was a rat, traps would have to be set. Her eyes swept the neatly dug rows seeking the telltale flattening or disruption of the earth that would mark the pest’s presence. Nothing.
Just ahead were the rose trellises enclosing a bench on which one could sit. Joanna hesitated. There was nothing there to attract an animal. Still, it might have taken refuge among the canes or behind them. It was nearly full dark now and useless, really, to pursue the creature further, but Joanna circled, determined to stamp and shout and at least give the invader a fright.
She never had a chance to make a sound. Before she came quite around, a hard hand closed her mouth and a strong arm encircled her waist. “Hush, Joanna, do not cry out. It is I, Geoffrey.” The body tensed to resist, relaxed. Geoffrey’s grip loosened, a little reluctantly. It had been a very sweet-smelling, well-curved armful he had held. “I hope I did not frighten you.”
“You startled me, certainly,” she replied, but in a perfectly calm voice. “What are you doing here like a thief in the night, Geoffrey? How did you get in?”
His teeth flashed in the dusk, waking warm memories in Joanna of many mischievous pranks planned and executed. “Getting in was no trouble. The men all know me. I only had to say I wished to surprise you. They all know alsoGod knows howof our proposed betrothal. JoannaJoanna, I mustI had to speak to you.”
For a moment she did not reply, straining her eyes in the very last of the light to see his face. The features were barely visible, but she could not determine his expression. “Speak to me about what?” she asked slowly.
All during his ride from Hemel, Geoffrey had been framing logical speeches and clever questions that would explain his presence and expose Joanna’s knowledgeor lack of knowledgeof the gathering and dispatch of war supplies. What he said, however, was, “Are you willing? Really, Joanna?”
She gazed at him steadily, looking only slightly upward because they were much of a height. “I have no objection,” she replied, a bit tentatively.
“Your mother did not overawe you?” Geoffrey asked.
Joanna blinked. “I am not afraid of my mother,” she said, and Geoffrey stared at her at the tone of voice.
“But you are always so obedient,” he protested.
Now she smiled. “Not
always
. But, Geoffrey, why should I not be obedient? My mother and I think alike on most everything. Do you suggest I should thwart her, against my own common sense and agreement, just for spite? Besides, I do not like to quarrel. There are very few things important enough to quarrel about.”
For a moment, he was speechless with surprise. Then he said sharply,
Learning to Kill: Stories