Love Everlasting (11 page)

“Continue the surveillance of Kenric,” Royce
ordered. “I will maintain my own watch on Julianna. A close and
very cautious private watch on her, you may be sure, Cadwallon, so
don’t look at me in that accusing way. If she makes an illicit
move, if she meets a French agent or sends a message to one, I will
know it.”

“As you wish,” Cadwallon said.

His friend’s quiet voice told Royce that
Cadwallon was worried.

On the second night of their marriage no
high-spirited courtiers accompanied Royce and Julianna to their
bedchamber. They retired alone, save for Royce’s man-at-arms who
guarded the door to his apartment. They also found Marie awaiting
them in the corridor outside the apartment. The maid was in a state
of considerable agitation.

“My lord Royce,” Marie declared in a rush of
barely comprehensible words, “this stupid sentry of yours refuses
to admit me to the bedchamber so I can arrange Lady Julianna’s
nighttime preparations. I have always done so, and since you have
promised that I am to continue as my lady’s maid, I will make those
preparations now, if only you will instruct your man to open the
door for me.”

“In fact, Marie, we will not need you
tonight,” Royce said. “You may go.”

“But, Lady Julianna’s hair, her gown -”

“I will see to Lady Julianna’s needs this
night,” Royce told her. “Leave us now.”

Thus commanded, Marie could do nothing but
depart, though she cast a long, fulminating glare at Julianna while
the guard opened the door for Royce.

“I begin to understand your reasons for
wanting to dismiss your maid,” Royce said as they entered his
bedchamber. “She does tend toward insolence.”

“Frequently. Over the years I have grown to
dislike Marie more and more.”

Julianna wasn’t certain how Royce intended to
proceed. Not knowing whether he wanted to take her to bed at once,
or first have the discussion she had promised at the beginning of
that afternoon’s interminable royal feast, she stood near the bed
with her hands folded at her waist and said nothing for the moment.
It was a familiar stance to her, one she had assumed many times
while Deane decided what his next command to her would be. She was
used to silent waiting and to hiding signs of impatience, but she
did not like the sensation that all the nights of her life were
repeating themselves endlessly, even into her third marriage.

The command that Royce did issue surprised
her. He had lit a candle and he turned to her with a smile that
left her weak.

“Come with me, my lady,” he ordered. Lifting
the tapestry over the door, he entered his office. Drawn by
curiosity and a twinge of fear, Julianna followed him.

“Your secretary has gone,” she remarked.

“You’ve met Michael, have you?” He shot a
glance at her that she could not read, though she imagined it
contained a gleam of approval. Why that should be, she did not
know.

“I met him this morning,” she said. “I was
exploring your apartment. Do you mind?” She held her breath,
waiting for a scolding.

“No.” Royce set the candle down on his desk.
“I suspect Marie was planning some explorations of her own, when my
guard prevented her.”

The comment unsettled Julianna. She wondered
if Royce was warning her that he knew her maid was a spy.

“I like Sir Michael,” she said, to divert him
from the subject of impromptu female investigations of his private
rooms.

She moved to the western window and stared
out at the cold night. Royce followed her, to stand behind her. He
pulled her back against his solid chest and his arms wrapped around
her waist, holding her close. She permitted herself a few moments
to enjoy the intimate sensation of his heartbeat and his steady
breathing beneath her shoulders before she continued with a rush of
questions.

“What happened to Michael’s left hand? Was
his leg injured at the same time, or was he born with it misshapen?
How did you come to have a knight for a secretary? To my knowledge,
few fighting men can read or write. Most of them think scholarly
pursuits are for women or monks.”

She could have imagined the slight hesitation
in Royce, a breath held for a few heartbeats, until he responded to
her questions with apparent easiness. Then she knew it was not her
imagination, for she detected the sorrow that lay hidden beneath
his quiet words.

“Before Michael became my secretary, he was
one of my best agents,” Royce said, his lips close to her ear. “On
his last mission he was caught by the French and tortured.”

“Dear Heaven.” Julianna shuddered. “How did
he escape? I thought captured spies were put to death.”

“Most are. Some lucky few are exchanged for
important agents from the opposite side.”

“Oh, so Michael was exchanged?”

“No. I went to Paris and brought him back,”
Royce said quite calmly.

“You?” She turned within the circle of his
arms, so she was facing him. “That was incredibly dangerous for the
king’s spymaster. If you had been caught -” She couldn’t
finish.

“He was my agent,” Royce said. “I had sent
him on that mission. Fortunately, he lived through his captivity,
though you’ve seen how badly injured he was. When he’d recovered a
bit, when the nightmares came less often and his daytime thoughts
returned to their usual order, he decided to enter a Benedictine
monastery for a time. It was there he learned to read and write,
while he was convalescing. A year later I visited him. Finding him
restored to reasonably good health, but bored and restless, I
invited him to become my secretary.

“Michael has no priestly vocation and he
never did desire to profess holy vows. It’s the pen and ink and
parchment he loves. Having once been a spy, he makes an excellent
assistant to me.”

Julianna thought about that for a time, about
Royce personally saving one of his men, whom he had sent into
danger, and then offering the man work, so he’d be useful again.
She thought about the quiet confidence in Michael’s manner, how his
maimed body didn’t seem to hinder his work as a secretary. Perhaps
in private he regretted what he’d lost on that fateful mission into
France, but he must be grateful to his superior.

“Royce?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“How can you bear sending men to do such
work? You are not cruel; you are a thoughtful man, aware of the
risks your people incur. How can you continue, year after
year?”

“I do it because King Henry needs a man like
me, someone he knows he can trust completely, who will never betray
him,” he said. “As for how I do it, I pretend it’s a game, that I’m
moving chessmen around a board while I match wits with my
opponents.”

“It’s not a game,” she cried. “It’s people’s
lives. What about the men who don’t come back, the ones you cannot
rescue?”

“I remember the name of every man I’ve lost,”
he said, his face solemn in the flickering candlelight. “And,
sadly, the names of a few women, too.”

His eyes met hers, cool discerning eyes that
Julianna feared would bore through her weak defenses to see
straight into her soul, where all the misdeeds and prevarications
of the last decade and a half lay festering. She shivered at the
thought. Even so, she realized that, whether inadvertently or on
purpose, Royce had provided an opening for the plan she’d
concocted.

“So, then, you do use women as spies,” she
said, managing to sound mildly surprised, though she knew perfectly
well that in the constant maneuvering between the French and
English kings, either me

n or women were used, as the assignment
demanded.

“Sometimes,” Royce answered her, “when a
mission requires a woman’s touch. In recent years, I or my agents
have even caught a few noblewomen who were acting as spies for King
Louis.”

Terror sliced through her, chilling her heart
until she feared it would stop beating. With the fear came guilt.
Did Royce know? Was he testing her, or challenging her to admit
what she’d done?

“What - what happened to those ladies?” she
asked.

“One took her own life by walking into the
sea off the island of Jersey. Another lady lies permanently
imprisoned in her husband’s castle. Fortunately for him, he was
able to convince King Henry that he was ignorant of his wife’s
activities. Since he was seldom at home and was known to dislike
his wife and to avoid her company as much as possible, his story
was believable. Neglected wives do sometimes pursue dangerous
pasttimes.”

“Do they?” she whispered through numb
lips.

“A third noblewoman was arrested with her
husband, in the very act of treason,” Royce continued, his gaze
locked on hers. “They were both found guilty and executed.
Together, of course.”

Julianna felt her knees weaken.

“I considered it my duty to watch the
execution,” Royce said. “They never spoke of repentance, nor did
they ask for mercy. As they died, I recited to myself the names of
all my agents, men and women both, whom the French have executed or
tortured to death.”

The look in his eyes was so bleak that
Julianna forgot her own fears and her defensive scheming long
enough to embrace him and lay her cheek against his. She was aware
that he had just offered a glimpse into his heart and, while she
was horrified at what his work entailed, she was grateful that he’d
confided in her. Never before in her life had she felt so close to
anyone.

The feeling did not last. Royce let her hold
him for only a short time before he set her aside and walked to his
desk.

“Now then,” he said, sitting on the side of
the desk, “before we return to the bedroom, tell me about Sir
Kenric. What was the meaning of that display in the great hall this
afternoon?”

“Kenric offered to conduct me to the high
table and I refused him. When he insisted, Cadwallon intervened,”
she said. She hesitated for a long moment before she gathered her
courage and plunged into the too-familiar abyss of half-truth and
deceit, setting her desperate plan into motion. As she had learned
to do when lying to Deane, she looked directly at her husband while
she spoke. “For years, Kenric has been collecting information for
King Louis of France. I think you must already know as much.” She
paused, hoping he’d agree that she was correct.

“Go on,” Royce said in a neutral tone that
gave nothing away.

“Kenric is a master manipulator.” Again she
stopped.

“And?” Royce prompted.

“He is attempting to play upon his
relationship to my late husband. He calls me Aunt Julianna. You’ve
heard him do it.”

This time when she paused Royce said nothing;
he just regarded her with his eyebrows slightly raised and an
expectant smile on his lips.

“Kenric came to your bedchamber this morning
after you left,” she said.

“Did he?” Looking bored, Royce crossed his
arms over his chest. “Why? What did he suppose he’d find
there?”

“He came seeking my assistance,” Julianna
said. “Kenric expects me to use my position as your wife to obtain
information that may be useful to King Louis. Specifically, he
wants to know what you have learned about a certain Lord Dunstan de
Granville.”

“If I were Kenric, I’d try the same gambit,”
Royce remarked, smiling slightly. When she stared at him in
openmouthed astonishment, he asked, “Why should he assume you’d
agree to his request?”

“It was more of a demand than a request.”

“Indeed? Perhaps you’d like to explain to me
why Kenric feels free to make demands of my wife.”

“What you said before is true,” she cried.
“You do think of your work as a game; you are playing it now, with
me. You know perfectly well that for years, until the final days of
his last illness, Lord Deane provided information to Kenric, which
was to be passed on to the French. Now, Kenric insists that I must
do the same. If I refuse, he will accuse me of being Deane’s
accomplice. The accusation will reflect on your honor, since you
have accepted me as your wife. I assume Kenric also imagines the
charge will put an end to your usefulness as King Henry’s
spymaster.”

“Fascinating,” Royce murmured, his gaze never
leaving her face.

“This morning, I refused to help Kenric.
That’s why I was deliberately rude to him in the great hall.”

“This morning you refused,” Royce said
softly. “My lady, are you about to inform me that you’ve changed
your mind, out of concern for my honor?”

“That is exactly what I want to tell Kenric,”
she said.

“
What?”

Royce came off the desk so fast that she had
no time to avoid the iron grip he placed on her wrists. Nor could
she escape the fierce glare in his grey-green eyes. There before
her stood the lion she had imagined him to be after he’d first made
love to her. But it hadn’t been love; it had been mere possession
of a chattel, and this lion was extremely and perilously angry,
ready to pounce on her and destroy her.

“We can use Kenric,” she said, struggling to
keep her voice even, so he wouldn’t guess at the fear that
threatened to consume her. “I’ve told you what he demanded of me.
Now listen to my plan.”

“You grow more interesting by the moment,”
Royce said. He released her wrists and stepped away, so he was no
longer touching her.”What plan?”

“I’ll tell Kenric that I’ve reconsidered,
that I’m worried about what you’ll do to me if he reveals all that
he knows about Deane’s intelligence-gathering, and so I have
decided to go along with his scheme.”

“You ought to be worried about what I’ll do,”
Royce growled.

“It’s a remarkable opportunity for you, one
that cannot occur very often,” she insisted. “I think we ought to
take advantage of it. You may provide to me whatever false
information you want carried to King Louis and I will pass the
information on to Kenric. I may be able to learn a few tidbits from
him, as well.”