Bride of the Tower (9 page)

“Of course she’s not, you dolt!” Trudy jabbed her elbow into Diccon’s side. “’Tis clear enough to
me
. Can’t you see what’s ailin’ her?”

“Enough o’ that, wench.” Diccon moved Trudy a handbreadth away with a gentle nudge. “See what? You don’t
look
sick, milady,” he assured Julianna with what was no doubt meant to be encouragement.

“I didn’t say she was sick,” Trudy told him, winking. “Ailing, I said. ’Tis not the same at all, if you know what I mean.”

Julianna
didn’t
know what Trudy meant—nor did the others, judging by their bewildered expressions.

Trudy sighed, leapt to her feet and swept her hand toward her mistress. “’Tis that man,” she said. “The handsome knight our own warrior lady carried here, across her saddlebow, like in the old legends,” she added. “Don’t you all see? Lady Julianna is in love! Our Bride of the Tower is about to become a wife in truth.”

F
rom his vantage point by the window, Will observed the scene in the bailey, his interest piqued when Julianna hung back for a moment before joining the others. Why did she hesitate to jump into the fray? The crowd seemed to be made up of servants and a few men-at-arms—surely nothing of much concern to her. Besides, he didn’t imagine his warrior lady feared much of anything.

In truth, he didn’t know much about Tuck’s Tower, definitely not enough to know if how Julianna managed it could account for her reluctance. So instead he allowed himself to hope her reason for waiting there had something to do with him.

Will could only imagine what Gillian might say to that! “Arrogant knave,” she’d call him, accompanied
by a poke in the chest and a shake of her head, most likely. The fact that she was the lady of l’Eau Clair, a wife and mother, didn’t keep her from reverting to their childhood behavior when she felt that circumstances warranted. Will scratched at his bewhiskered chin and chuckled. She’d be right—it
was
an arrogant thought.

Though he’d never before considered himself an exceptionally arrogant man, the attention of a woman like Julianna was apt to make him so.

In his own defense, however, how could any man, having encountered Julianna, not seek to capture her interest?

Or feel damned proud of himself—become cocksure indeed, he thought, groaning at his feeble jest—to have attained it?

As he watched her interact with the irate mob, to his eyes she seemed impatient, annoyed. Now that no one was shouting, the voices had faded to a mere buzz of sound. He couldn’t hear what was going on down there, but no doubt something they’d said had caused her to appear ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

Or perhaps she hadn’t yet been ready to leave
him
, not quite willing to end the enticing give and take they’d scarcely begun to explore. Lord knew
he
felt annoyed—nay, more than that,
aggravated
—that they had been so abruptly interrupted.

Could it be he’d had as much of an effect upon her as she’d had on him?

He had never reacted to any woman with the driving sense of need that he felt when he held Julianna in his arms!

His injuries nigh forgotten, Will folded his arms and leaned back against the wooden frame surrounding the window. He’d much rather focus his interest on the lovely woman who had so easily captured his….

His what? His attention, of a certainty, mind and body both. There was something about Lady Julianna d’Arcy that held his interest, his thoughts, far too easily for his peace of mind.

Lust he was familiar with, ’twas straightforward, understood by any man.

Or so he’d believed. ’Twas easy to recognize his body’s aching need for a woman, for the ease satisfying that ache could bring.

Yet despite his desire for Julianna, a craving far stronger than any he had felt before, he didn’t believe that a simple coupling with her could come close to satisfying his need.

Nor did he feel the slightest urge to fulfill that
desire with any other woman. It wasn’t that he wanted a woman, he realized, staring down at the light glinting off her shining hair.

He wanted
her
.

Will allowed his thoughts to dwell on the startling idea, surprised that it caused him no panic or fear—no sense of discomfort at all. In truth, he recognized with a startling sense of certainty that Julianna might be the woman he would never tire of.

How that could be, he had no notion.

While the concept of one woman for a man—
the
woman—each attached to the other with ties more binding and constant than those of squire to knight, vassal to overlord—might be unusual, he was aware of the concept. Will had seen that sort of relationship firsthand, several times in fact. Between Lord Rannulf and Lady Gillian, of course, as well as with others in Gillian’s family; they did seem to be a faithful lot. And most recently during his time in Ireland, for none could mistake the ties of love and devotion uniting Connor Fitz-Clifford, Rannulf’s twin, to Lady Moira, his Irish bride.

Now that he considered it, nigh every couple
within Lady Gillian’s milieu had been stricken with that particular ailment.

Was he next?

Whatever had caused him to believe he was about to embark on
that
lunacy?

He didn’t know Julianna well enough to feel anything more than desire for her. By the rood, he knew next to nothing about her. She was lovely, brave and unusual. Although he’d met women who possessed those same characteristics, he’d never felt driven to recklessness by the mere scent of their hair.

He’d be a fool to forget the plans he’d made for his future. He’d already progressed far in his strategy for establishing and improving his place in the world. His approach didn’t include a doomed-from-the-start liaison with a woman so clearly above his station.

Despite his ambition, he was the son of a simple archer. Knight though he’d become, he knew better than to aim his bolt so high as that!

’Twas a sure way to lose everything he’d worked for, perhaps even his life, depending upon Julianna’s connections of blood or fealty.

Not to mention that he knew nothing of what Julianna might feel for him. While a lady could—and
often did—desire a simple knight, she’d no reason to do anything more than to bed him to satisfy that inclination. He understood that well enough. ’Twas arrogant indeed for him to assume anything more.

He knew what he felt must be a form of madness, irrational and apparently haphazard.

Why didn’t that fact concern him?

Whatever it was that Julianna made him feel was completely foreign to his own experience. He wanted her, of course, but he also believed she’d be a captivating companion, a distraction from life’s trials, a fellow warrior to share tales of battle.

Now there was a thought to strike fear in the heart of a man of war! Had the fact that one of the fellow “warriors” of his childhood had been female altered his view of the world? After growing up with Lady Gillian—back when she’d called herself Gilles and dressed in the same boy’s clothing as he—Julianna’s choice of garb, and her penchant for arming herself with a fighter’s gear as she went about her business, didn’t strike him as odd.

She seemed an extremely capable woman, well trained to care for herself and her people…well
suited to care for him, a tempting voice in his mind added.

What would it be like to know that care? To be the center of her notice, to have the intensity of her affection, her attention, focused solely upon him?

He leaned his hands on the window frame and stretched, the pain in his arm a mere twinge in comparison to the emotions pouring through him.

The effect of those feelings struck him with the power of a lance, making his heart thunder in his chest and his stomach twist. Julianna was nigh a stranger to him; how could his reaction to her be so strong?

Mayhap ’twas naught but the effect of that noxious draught Dora had forced upon him, he reassured himself, nothing more. Something about it had played havoc with his brain, caused his thoughts to shift and swirl, made his pulse thunder and race.

Who knew what the old woman had put in it? he wondered with a touch of dread. She did seem a lusty wench, in spite of her years; perhaps she’d knowledge of some arcane art that could keep her supplied with bed partners. He’d heard stories of herbs that could compel a man to passion, potions
to make him ache for satisfaction until he was driven to couple with the first woman he saw.

Could Dora have dosed him with something to spur on his lust? She’d believed she’d be alone with him a while, that much had been obvious from her surprise when Julianna had arrived. Recalling the comments—the insinuations she’d made—set his stomach roiling uneasily. What if she’d thought to have her way with him while they’d been alone together?

He’d just as soon avoid that scenario.

Reconsidering
all
that Dora had said and done before Julianna joined them, her good care of him and her obvious love for her mistress, sent a wave of shame rolling over him.

Jesu, but he must be losing his mind to even consider such a thing. Perhaps the fever had over-heated his brain and made him susceptible to bizarre delusions.

Uncomfortable with that thought, instead he shifted his attention to Julianna once again. The sun made her hair glow, discovering the hints of reddish blond woven among the brown tresses. Her simple beauty shone in her honest face, her clear amber eyes, her forthright manner, independent of the usual female artifices. When he looked
at her, he saw
Julianna
, not a woman tricked out in fine clothing and paint.

’Twas a pleasure simply to watch her.

However, he noticed her actions lacked her usual grace of movement as she swiped a bit of cloth over the face of a grimy woman who seemed to be the focus of the commotion. ’Twas a kind act, one he didn’t believe many noble ladies would have made, nevertheless one he wasn’t surprised to see Julianna perform. She’d nothing of haughtiness about her. Yet her expression and bearing revealed a tension about her at odds with her thoughtful gesture.

A flash of temper crossed her features, although something one of the men-at-arms said made a hint of amusement lighten her expression as the others laughed.

She looked weary, Will thought, and no wonder, if she’d remained by his side and nursed him through his fever and delusions. His recollection of that time might be vague and confusing, but Julianna didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who would abandon him to his illness to take her rest.

Remorse filled him; he owed Lady Julianna his gratitude for his life, and his respect for her kindness
and patience. He glanced down at the blanket drooping round his hips and dragging on the floor. Why hadn’t he dressed as soon as she’d left, prepared himself to leave Tuck’s Tower and return to his duties? He felt immeasurably better since he’d swallowed Dora’s potion.

Nay, instead he’d stood there gawping at Lady Julianna like a lovesick lad, thinking thoughts about her that he had no business permitting to enter his mind. All in all, his behavior toward her had been disrespectful in the extreme.

He’d been taught better manners and duty both.

’Twas time to leave, to thank her and allow them both to get on with their lives and duties.

Ignoring the crowd, Lady Julianna looked about the bailey, then up at the windows. He recognized the moment she saw him standing there, for her expression darkened, and her words rang sharply through the bailey.

If she’d looked annoyed before, ’twas nothing to her bad humor now.

And it appeared he’d been at least partially the cause.

As soon as she passed from view, Will thrust aside the blanket and carefully made his way across the chamber. Aye, it could be a good opportunity
for him to leave—now, while she had other things on her mind to distract her attention from him.

There was no time to waste, for he needed to discover what she’d done with his message pouch, find some way to slip into the stables for a horse and a weapon before he slipped out the gates with none the wiser.

He didn’t know what he’d done to set off Lady Julianna’s temper, but he didn’t want to linger here too long to find out. He didn’t dare give her any further chance to hold him here, not when he’d other places he had to be.

When Will stooped to pick up his clothes from the floor, he nigh toppled over onto his pallet. Determination fired him, however; he straightened, closed his eyes and waited till his head ceased whirling like a top before attempting to thread his legs into his braes and pull them up. His arm and shoulder were stiff and hurt like the devil, but he ignored the pain and managed to tug his shirt over his head before he had to sink down on the stool Dora left by the bed.

He sat there a long time, far longer than he liked, concentrating deeply. He breathed slowly and willed himself to calm, sought to regain his
usual sense of purpose, if not of power. Eventually the strength returned to his legs and his head felt firmly attached to his neck once more.

Barefooted and barely dressed, Will scooped up his boots and tucked them under his arm. Moving silently, he made his way to the door Julianna had neglected to bolt. While it wasn’t the one to her chamber, unfortunately—for he thought she might have stored his letters there—thankfully he had a way to leave the room without being forced to climb out the window and down the wall of the keep.

He pressed his ear against the stout oak panels and listened, but all was quiet without. He opened the door easily, the hinges making not a sound. He peeked through the narrow opening. Not a soul in sight.

Mouth curving into a faint smile of satisfaction, Will crept through the opening and out into the deserted hallway.

“…L
ady Julianna is in love! Our Bride of the Tower is about to become a wife in truth.”

Trudy’s words echoed in Julianna’s ears, making her breath seize in her chest before the obviously demented woman had finished uttering her absurd assumption. If Julianna hadn’t been frozen in place, she’d have found a way to halt the flow of words before Trudy could finish saying them.

In truth, however, despite her earlier fears, she would never have expected to hear such a thing. Not from Trudy, at any rate. The laundry maid had never even
seen
Will!

Though Dora had, Julianna reminded herself. And she’d seen the two of them together. She bit back a groan. The old woman had wasted no time spreading her gossip, embellished to season the
tale, too. Dora had clearly allowed her surprisingly romantic nature to overcome her sense.

This was all she needed, to remind everyone of the Bride story. ’Twas difficult enough at times for her to maintain command of the Tower and its inhabitants, without them seeking a mate for her so she could relinquish control of her home—and herself—to him.

Heat crept up her neck. She’d been a fool, she thought bitterly, to permit her guard to lapse for a moment. Evidently her desire for Will
had
been blatantly obvious.

Had it been worth the risk?

She didn’t know.

She glanced from Trudy to the others. Julianna hadn’t been the only person struck silent. Mary and Diccon both stared at Trudy; Diccon’s expression amazed, Mary’s derisive.

Since they weren’t watching her, thankfully, Julianna took the opportunity to compose herself.

Trudy’s excited smile began to fade. “Aren’t ye happy for our lady?” she asked. “’Tis a wonderful thing! Dora says—”

“Dora says a lot of things,” Mary pointed out, her voice faint, but as bitter as her expression. “Who do you think has been accusing me of all
manner of sins?” She tugged her bodice into place, pulled the laces snug and knotted them, her movements abrupt, jerky. “’Twas that old besom!”

Evidently Mary felt safe here, for her voice rose a bit louder with every word. She sat up straight on the bench, no longer seeming to fold in upon herself the way she had outside. Even dirty and tattered as she was, she wore a mantle of self-assurance at odds with her position in the world.

That confidence caught Julianna’s notice; intrigued, she observed the woman more closely. Mary might be dressed in a servant’s coarse woolen garb, but her bearing could have been learned from Lady Marian herself, had Mary been at Tuck’s Tower when Julianna’s mother yet lived. By the Virgin, Mary’s hands, resting at ease in her lap, were better groomed than her own.

The incongruity jarred loose something that had nagged at the edge of Julianna’s awareness in the past; the maid’s speech placed her outside a servant’s status as well. Though
plain
-spoken, Mary also could sound
well
-spoken, though that seemed to come and go. When they’d been outside, Mary’s language had sounded pretty much the
same as the other servants’. Just now—in her agitation, perhaps?—she’d reverted to a more refined accent.

“Aye, Mary, you’re right, Dora says any number of things, many of them not quite right,” Julianna agreed. “Some aren’t true at all.”

No matter how fervently she might wish for them to be—that they
could
be true.

Restless, she slipped her dagger from her boot, rose and went to stand by the window. Though her attention remained on the room’s inhabitants, she absently shifted the knife from hand to hand. “What you heard, Trudy, is completely wrong,” she reaffirmed.

Who was she trying to convince? The others, or herself?

Suddenly realizing that her movements bespoke her inner agitation as clearly as her words, she tucked the dagger into her belt and willed her hands to stay motionless, her face to remain calm. “Whatever gossip Dora is spreading doesn’t concern me at the moment, however.”

A lie, she chided herself. Another sin to do penance for
.

The others didn’t appear convinced, but any
further protests on her part would only convince them Dora’s words were true.

“I brought you all here so we could put an end to the nonsense I saw outside,” Julianna added. She rubbed the back of her neck, the movement slow, tired—and the only concession of the bone-deep weariness she felt that she’d permit herself to show. “All you seem to do is to shout and accuse. That serves no useful purpose whatsoever.”

Diccon appeared ready to burst out with something, so Julianna nodded for him to speak.

He stood and nodded respectfully to Julianna. “Joan’s got things all wrong,” he assured her. “Mary’s not anything like Joan says.”

“Aye,” Trudy said tartly. “Joan wouldn’t know the truth if it bit her in the arse—I mean backside, beggin’ your pardon, milady. But Joan—she’s always stirrin’ up trouble ’bout somethin’.”

Julianna couldn’t mistake their sincerity, and she knew herself that gossip ran through the household like wildfire over the slightest thing. Joan tried to defend herself, but Julianna raised her hand to silence her.

The appearance of a beautiful woman like
Mary provided the rumormongers, including Joan and Dora, with a wealth of fodder by her mere existence.

Shame brought a flush to Julianna’s cheeks. Had she been as guilty as the others in assuming Mary to be little better than a whore?

She needed to speak with Mary, a conversation better conducted without the others present. “Trudy, Diccon, I’m certain Mary appreciates your defense. I’m glad you were able to keep the mob from harming her further.”

Mary nodded, her expression as open as Julianna had ever seen it. “Aye, ’twas kind of you. Otherwise they’d have stoned me for certain.”

Julianna crossed the chamber to the door and swung it wide. “You all may go about your business now, with my thanks,” she said.

Apparently Trudy and Diccon believed Mary would be safe with her, for they filed past her and left, their expressions untroubled. Joan followed them out of the chamber.

Julianna stood in the doorway and waited, watching until they were all on the other side of the empty great hall before closing the door with a decisive snap.

She turned and leaned back against the door,
arms folded across her chest, her relaxed posture inviting, open.

And completely misleading.

“Now that they’ve gone, Mary, why don’t you tell me who you
really
are, and why you came to Tuck’s Tower?”