Love Everlasting (3 page)

“I understand, my lord.” Royce took a long
breath in an attempt to settle his thoughts. If he could prove
Julianna guilty of working for King Louis, he could stop her quite
simply, by locking her away in one of his many strongholds and
keeping her confined there, allowing her no contact with the
outside world. He would administer her lands properly and send all
due taxes to the royal treasury on time. King Henry would be
pleased by his spymaster’s discreet handling of yet another problem
that he didn’t want made public. This particular problem, and its
secret solution, was only what Royce had come to expect after years
of working for King Henry.

What he did not expect was his peculiar
reaction to Lady Julianna of Louvain when the king sent for her to
appear in his private audience chamber.

The lady’s part-English, part-Flemish
ancestry was immediately apparent to Royce. She was almost as tall
as he, with a sturdy frame, an agreeably rounded figure, and creamy
skin that was free of any obvious blemishes. Her head was meekly
bowed and her lids were lowered, so he could not see the color of
her eyes.

She wore black in mourning for her late
husband, and her white linen wimple covered all of her hair, though
from her thick brown lashes and brows he guessed it was dark blonde
or light brown, in keeping with the coloring of many folk from the
Low Countries. He judged her age at somewhere near thirty.

From Royce’s point of view Julianna’s age was
her only advantage. He had feared he was being made to wed an
impulsive, hot-headed girl in her mid-teens, who would regard him
as a repressive father or, worse, as an aged grandfather.

Royce had to wonder if it was possible for
any noblewoman to be as meek as Julianna appeared to be. Did she
lack all spirit, or was she pretending? He had known a few -
thankfully, only a few - clever female spies who looked sweet and
mild, but who were vicious killers. How in the name of all the
saints did King Henry expect him to take such a woman to bed so
their marriage would be legal and her lands would become his? It
was asking too much of any mortal man.

He wished Julianna would raise her eyes and
look directly at him, so he’d have some hint of what she was
thinking and feeling. He could not imagine that she was indifferent
to her own fate.

“My lady,” he said, making his voice as cold
and hard as possible, “I trust that you intend to put off your
mourning clothes before we are wed.”

That did it. Julianna looked up at him. Her
eyes were grey, and they appeared as bleak as the winter sea. No
glimmer of warmth shone in those eyes. Their expression was blank
and completely uninterested in him. Or was that a shaft of fear
that sparkled in the grey depths for an instant, only to fade and
be replaced by the peculiar deadness of indifference?

“I shall wear whatever you wish, my lord,”
Julianna said, so softly that Royce had to lean toward her to hear
the words. Her voice was low and pleasing to the ear, her Norman
French slightly accented. Were he not so suspicious of her, he’d
have been charmed by her voice.

He caught a faint whiff of scent. Lavender?
Rosemary? Those herbs and something more, something astringent, an
ingredient that he could not immediately identify. The fragrance
hinted at the sharp edges of disloyalty that the woman was possibly
concealing. No, she was not all meekness and soft voice. She was
hiding mysterious depths, dangerous undercurrents. She
was...intriguing. That he found her so annoyed him beyond
reason.

“I have no wish to marry a woman who is still
mourning her previous husband,” he said, testing her by
deliberately sounding rough.

“My clothing is but a convention,” Julianna
murmured. “I mourn no one.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“We are agreed, then,” said King Henry with a
joviality that Royce knew was false. He had been watching the
meeting from across the room, and now he smiled upon the pair. “I
have arranged for the banns to be eliminated. The bishop agrees
with me that with so large a dowry involved, there is a real
possibility of abduction and forced marriage. You have been a widow
for too long, my dear.”

Judging by Julianna’s expression, Royce
decided she believed she hadn’t been widowed at all long
enough.

“Therefore,” the king continued, smiling upon
the couple, “you will be wed tomorrow morning, just before High
Mass. I shall host the wedding banquet at midday.”

Royce wondered what would happen if either he
or his proposed bride should refuse to consent to the marriage. He
most certainly did not want a wife who might be a traitor, and he
had an uneasy feeling that Lady Julianna did not want a new husband
under any circumstances.

“If you would like to speak to each other in
private,” King Henry said, “you may use the anteroom, or the
garden.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Royce swallowed his
anger and made a low, formal bow to the king. After a quicker bow
to Julianna, he offered his arm. Her fingers were light and cool on
his wrist. He noted her clean hands and neatly pared nails. She was
not slovenly. He supposed that was one small thing for which he
could be grateful.

“The garden, I think,” he said to her. “The
anteroom is hardly a private place.”

“Whatever you wish, my lord.”

“What I wish,” he said, ignoring the
interested glances of the courtiers as he guided her through the
crowded anteroom and into the corridor, “is that you will speak
above a whisper and look at me. And, for the love of heaven, tell
me what you are thinking!”

“I cannot believe you want to know,” she
said, her voice a little louder. “I have never yet met a man who
cared about a woman’s thoughts.”

“Well, that’s honest, at least. Do you care
what a man thinks?”

“Not particularly.” The slight upward tilt at
the corners of her mouth was quickly smoothed away into the bland
expression she apparently wore by habit.

Royce found her expression perversely
interesting, for it suggested that a great deal lay hidden behind
it. Perhaps she believed it would be dangerous to reveal her
thoughts. He observed her out of the corner of his eye until they
reached the garden. Not once did she look toward him. Her gaze was
fastened on the stone corridor floor, and then on the pebbly gravel
path.

The garden was small, enclosed by high stone
walls, and at this late season, with the sun lower in the sky every
day, most of the plants lived in complete shade. A few faded roses
drooped half-heartedly from bushes that looked ready to give up for
the year and retire to winter dormancy. The lily blooms were
finished; the narrow leaves at each tall stem were yellow. Only a
patch of green mint showed any sign of life. Even the stone bench
in the corner was damp and uninviting.

Royce surveyed the late autumn garden and
found it a suitable image for a marriage that neither partner
wanted. Yet, he and Julianna must make something positive from
their forced association, or else their lives together would be
unbearable. He caught himself in shocked surprise at his own
thought. If King Henry was correct in his suspicions, then Royce
and Julianna had no hope of a life together and he was a fool to
think of a future with her.

“You know we have no choice,” he said,
regretting the situation even as the smoothly correct words flowed
from his tongue. “You need a husband. King Henry has ordered us to
marry. We must obey.”

“I neither need nor want a husband,” Julianna
declared with surprising vehemence, given her quietness until that
moment. “If only men would cease their continual interference, I
could manage my own properties, by myself.”

“It’s possible you could,” Royce said, the
remark earning him a quick, startled glance from her. “The problem
is, men will not stop interfering, and a lady with so much property
presents a sore temptation, especially to those who are
unscrupulous. In your case, your estates in Normandy and Flanders
are particularly tempting to King Louis of France.”

“What do you mean by that?” She looked at him
with such wariness that Royce came instantly alert.

“You appear frightened,” he said in as mild a
tone as he could muster. “Has someone approached you on behalf of
King Louis?”

“Why should you think so?” She stepped away
from him. Clasping her hands behind her back, she faced him like a
bound prisoner standing before a judge.

“From your reaction, I assume it has already
happened,” Royce said with a shrug that he hoped would suggest he
considered such an approach inevitable, and not very important.
“What response did you give to Louis’s emissary?”

“That’s the trouble with spies,” she snapped.
“You always think the worst of people, and you see subterfuge where
none exists.”

“Really? How many spies have you known?”

“A few.” She lifted her square chin and
looked down her nose at him. “Spying is a dishonorable trade.”

“Some do think so.” He refused to acknowledge
her deliberate insult, so he kept his voice quiet.

“I know men entirely too well,” she said with
chilly arrogance. “You are all alike. You want to seize a woman’s
dowry and take control of her mind and body.”

“Is that what your late husband did?” Perhaps
she had been badly mistreated and that was why she was so angry and
so averse to remarriage. She did have a point; Royce had
encountered enough cruel noblemen in his lifetime to know that
abuse of a wife was not unusual. He opened his mouth to promise he
would not beat her or force himself on her in bed, but she spoke
first.

“Which husband?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Of which husband were you speaking?”

“How many have you had?” Royce asked,
appalled that King Henry, consumed with worry lest her properties
fall into French hands, hadn’t told him much about her past.
Appalled with himself, too, for being so unhappy at the need to
obey the royal command that he hadn’t asked enough questions and
hadn’t bothered to consult with his own agents about Julianna. Lack
of knowledge about one’s spouse was a perilous way to begin a
marriage. In this case, ignorance could prove lethal.

“Two,” Julianna said. “Both of them were much
older than I. Forty years and more older, in fact. How old are you,
my lord?”

“Forty-five,” Royce said. “And you?”

“I have just recently turned thirty. Well, I
suppose your age could be counted as an improvement over the
others.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed with mocking
grace. “I am flattered by your good opinion.”

“Don’t pretend to care what I think of you.
My property is all that matters. Isn’t it?”

“Not entirely. I hold vast estates of my own,
so I don’t need yours. In fact,” he said, watching her closely to
see her reaction, “the prospect of holding still more land is just
a nuisance to me. Possibly, a dangerous nuisance, since I will have
to keep your properties in Normandy and Flanders safe from French
encroachment. But I dare to hope your estates in Cornwall and East
Anglia will present no serious problems.”

“I do not wish to marry you,” she said.

“I’m aware of that.” Interesting, the way she
swung away from the subject being discussed and then attacked from
a different angle. The lady was intelligent. She had the makings of
a skilled strategist. Or a very clever spy. Royce decided to test
her a little further. “I don’t want to marry you, either. But, as I
said at the outset, given your circumstances and my loyalty to the
king, we have no choice.”

She stared at him with such apprehension in
her gaze that he knew she was involved in something disloyal to
King Henry and, therefore, dangerous to her - and to him, once he
married her. He’d been a fool to hope the king was wrong and that
all he’d have to contend with would be a younger and most unwilling
woman. He set his jaw and regarded her coldly, knowing full well
that she was the enemy.

Yet some quality in Julianna, in her low
voice and her lovely, regular features that were currently pinched
with tension and in her frightened eyes, struck an answering chord
in Royce’s cautiously restrained heart. How odd it was that she
should affect him so profoundly, when he had remained immune to
female charms for so many years.

“Is there no way for us to avoid this
marriage that neither of us wants?” she asked.

“None that I can think of. I could refuse
absolutely, and perhaps in time Henry would forgive me. But you
must marry, and soon. If I do refuse, Henry may well choose a man
for you who is far more repulsive than I am.”

“Repulsive?” She considered the word,
frowning, and moved her head just a bit. It was not quite a shake
to reject the notion that he was repulsive, but the tiny movement
was enough to give him an idea.

“What I suggest we do,” Royce said, “is make
the best of an unwanted situation.”

“How?” she demanded.

Now, at last, her chin was high and her eyes
were flashing with the spirit that Royce had sought in her at first
and had not found. Encouraged, he decided to challenge her.

“We could begin by promising to be completely
honest with each other,” he said.

“Honest,” she repeated softly, almost as if
the word was new to her.

“In addition, I will swear never to mistreat
you.”

“Indeed?” Her eyes were stormy with doubt.
Or, perhaps, with confusion. “What will you expect of me in return
for such a vow?”

“That you will be a good chatelaine. I cannot
abide a dirty, chaotic castle. I loathe unwashed linens. And I want
to eat tasty, well-prepared food.”

“So do I. That is a promise I can easily
keep.”

A faint smile curved her lips. They were,
Royce noticed, very pretty lips when they weren’t tightly
compressed into a grim line. When Julianna wasn’t trying to be
severe, her shell pink lips were soft and gently molded. To his own
surprise, he experienced a sudden urge to kiss those lips.