Claudia Dain (45 page)

She turned him with soft hands upon his shoulders, letting their eyes see the high profile of his manhood in the fiery light.

"He is risen and shall not fall," she said.

"Let him pierce you and all will be settled," Walter said. "Can you not hurry? I grow desperate for a long draught of wine."

Avice made a squeaking sound of assent. Edward, looking askance at Avice, grumbled.

"I think you like having Avice here," Juliane said, sliding into humor, her fears fading at the soft smile in Ulrich's eyes. There was nothing of Nicholas here; he had never made her feel like this, like flying into laughter, lost in the sun upon a mountaintop.

"
I
did not choose her," he said as her hands came down to stroke his length. His voice ended on a groaning grunt.

"Shall I take you now?" she breathed against his chest, caressing herself against his skin. "Shall I release Walter to his wine?"

"Release me, lady," he said, running his hands down her back, pulling her hard against his cock. "What care I for Walter and his thirst? I have my own needs calling loudly to my ears."

"I am certain you do," she said, laughing and throwing her arms about him, nuzzling him with laughter and with smiles.

"Then take me, Juliane," he said, suddenly serious. "For I am yours and ever will be."

"You were slow to learn it," she said, lifting her face to him. "I did despair of you for a moment. I will confess it."

She opened her mouth to his, wanting the taste of him on her tongue. Their kiss was long and deep and full of groaning need. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she sought him out, like a blind chick seeking food, and so she felt. Blind with need and hunger for him. Wanting all he was and all he had to give her.

She pushed him to the floor, upon a wolf pelt near the darkened hearth, and straddled him, lifting her skirts to cover him. Walter, Edward, and Avice came forward and leaned over the bed, watching all, their eyes wide, caught by the sight of Juliane lowering herself upon the shaft of her husband. Though they could only guess. They could not see. Unless they could judge by the sigh upon her lips or the look of rapturous surrender upon her face.

And she had surrendered. Surrendered to passion and to love. Surrendered all false dreams of power. Nay, she had it wrong still. She simply surrendered to Ulrich. An easy falling, after all.

He gripped her about the waist and lowered her onto his shaft. She slipped easily down upon his length, taking him into her, letting him fill her up, pushing all remnants of Nicholas from her. There had been no Nicholas. There had ever and only been just this.

He held her fast, thrusting up into her, pulling her hips down hard against his thrusts. Her head fell forward, her mouth upon his throat, sucking hard at his pulsing vein. Wanting the taste of him in her mouth. Wanting to absorb him into her skin, to take him in, all in. To possess him as he possessed her.

He came fast and hard, as did she. A blinding fall from the sky that left her gasping. A hammering, throbbing fall. An invisible clutching at her heart. A binding of souls that would stand until they stood before the very judgment seat of Christ at the falling of the world.

They fell against each other, into each other, merging, blending, becoming one in heart and will and body. Healed of past wounds and old aches. Finding love. Finding each other in a dark, cold world.

"Is it done, then?" Walter asked, his voice a rasp, his face flushed.

"Aye," Ulrich gasped, his hands deep within her hair, mapping her skull, stroking her nape.

"More than your word is needed," Walter said.

"Then look, Brother, and see," Juliane said, lifting her skirts to her waist.

She was impaled upon the length of Ulrich, her thighs clasping his hips, his shaft lost in the golden tangle of her curls, gleaming wet in the timid light of a faltering candle.

"He has done it," Avice said in wonder, looking hard into their faces. "I did not think he could."

"He has done what any man could do," Edward said, taking her by the elbow and pulling her back into shadow.

"Yet Juliane is not any woman," Walter said. "Let there be no doubt."

"As you say," Ulrich said. "Let there be no doubt, now or ever."

And so saying, he lifted Juliane from him, and he was shown to be still firm and long, though not so long as he had been. He had been taken by Juliane and had stood the test of it.

"You did not fall," Walter said to Ulrich. "The marriage stands. St. Ives is yours in fief, my sister yours in all."

Edward ushered the others from the chamber before Juliane could bite out a retort. Of course Walter would see it that way, but was it not so that Juliane had taken Ulrich, making him her own?

"You have won," Ulrich said, standing and raising her to her feet, distracting her from Walter. "I did not think you had it in you."

"You did not think it in me to win?" she asked, looking him over well and proper. He was a most wonderful-looking man.

He turned her and began unlacing her, stripping her efficiently. In moments, she was as naked as he. And just as unashamed. Though when he looked at her, his face grew hard with stony anger. She looked down and saw what he saw. She was covered in bruises. Her ribs were gripped by bands of purple, her shoulders dark red with bruises in the blurry shape of fingers, and she knew her face was a mass of red. Her eyes were swollen and her vision blurred, the result of Nicholas's brutality. But did Ulrich find her so awful to look upon?

"If I had seen this, you would never have seduced me. Did I hurt you?"

"Nay, nothing you have done has ever hurt me. Can you not see that, or do you only see that the wife you have claimed is not beautiful?"

"Not beautiful?" he said, running his hand lightly across her skin, as if he would heal her with his touch. "You are more beautiful to me now than you ever were."

She melted into his embrace, twining her fingers in his dark hair, smiling as he lifted her and settled her upon their bed.

"You love me," she said, grinning up at him.

He lifted the blankets and climbed in beside her. She kicked her left foot free of covering and laughed up at him as he braced his head upon his hand and looked down at her.

"You do love me," she said again. "Come, tell me that you do."

"I love you," he said with a smile, leaning down to nip her throat and trail his mouth to her ear, licking her. "But only as much as you love me," he whispered.

She shivered and pulled him against her, reveling in the feel of his skin against hers, the smooth glide of bodies in a soft bed.

"Oh, I think you love me more than I love you," she teased, grinning as she kissed her way across his muscled chest. "I am so very lovable, after all. You loved me from the first look. Admit it."

"The first look? Lady, you are not so powerful as you think. 'Twas your hawk that had me entranced. Never have I seen such a fine, mettlesome bird," he said, lying on his back and crossing his hands beneath his head, letting her have her way with him.

"Liar," she breathed against him, her tongue flicking his navel. His stomach muscles tightened into ridges and he swallowed an audible moan. "You were lost in a mist of love from our first shared words. I could read it in your eyes. 'Tis no use denying it."

"I think you must speak of yourself, lady," he said, crossing his legs, the image of a man in repose. "You have loved me long, and fought against the power of it. 'Tis time for you to rest in love, to give in to its call, to admit how deep and strong your love for me does flow. I await, at my ease."

"At your ease?" she said, lifting herself up from him, letting her hair tickle his torso. "No man is at his ease with Juliane le Gel."

"But that name no longer suits, my love," he said, sitting up and dragging her into his arms, where she went most contentedly. "A new name must be found for you."

"I will not be called Lady Mutton. Lord Mutton suits you well enough, but for me—"

"Trust me as you love me," he whispered, stroking her hair, kissing her on the sensitive corners of her mouth. "This name you will enjoy.

"You must think I love you very much," she said, raking her fingernails down his belly.

"Only as much as I love you," he said, catching her hand in his own and holding her still against him.

"That much?" she said, grinning.

"That much," he said, his grin a perfect match to her own.

A perfect pairing they made together, and it was only to be expected that they knew it.

* * *

Below, the watchers in the vast hall of Stanora observed with open mouths as first Edward, then Avice, and finally Walter left Juliane's chamber, closing the door firmly behind them.

"What do you think happened? Is it over?" Christine said to the hall at large.

"It is over, whatever happened," Marguerite said. "I do not think we should be standing here gaping. 'Tis not proper deportment."

"Go on, then. I will tell you later what occurred," Christine said.

"He has won her," Maud said softly.

"What? How can you tell?" Marguerite asked.

"Look at their faces," Maud answered. "They did not expect this."

"Look at Edward's face," Lunete said. "
He
expected it.

"Aye, 'tis so," Maud said on a sigh. It was over and she had not played Juliane false. She was free to enter the abbey and would not be handed over in marriage. She sat down suddenly with the relief of it.

"I wonder how Juliane's face will look," Christine said.

"Not disappointed," came a voice from across the hall. "You can wager any and all on that."

They turned. They knew that voice well. 'Twas Roger, with William at his side, and at his back a tall, handsome man of dark and curling hair who carried in his arms a toddling boy of sultry beauty.

Lunete ran across the wide hall to William and took his hands within her own. "You are returned! I was afraid..." she stammered, blushing. "I thought never to see you again."

"I only went to find my father," William said, "and so I have. This is he, William le Brouillard of Greneforde, and about his neck, the son of Ulrich, young Olivier."

"But it was thought," Maud said, after the ladies had bowed their welcome to Lord William, "that Roger was in league with Conor, that squire William's very life was forfeit."

"It was thought?" Roger said in outrage. "I will wager all I own that Ulrich did not think it."

"Nay, he did not," Lunete said, releasing William's hands and looking up at Lord William. Who had not heard of him? The folds of his scarlet cloak flowed about him like streams of silken water, his raw masculine beauty of such strength as to rob a soul of breath.

"Where is Ulrich?" William le Brouillard asked, clasping the squirming boy about the waist and holding him like a bundle beneath his mighty arm. "And where is Walter of Stanora? I have words to speak to both of them."

"I am Walter," Walter said, coming from out of the dark tunnel of the stair, Edward and Avice trailing behind him as they entered the open hall. A fire had been lit, and all within were cast in glowing shades of yellow and gold as the fire took breath and soared upward. "Who wishes words with me?"

"William le Brouillard of Greneforde," William said stiffly. "My son had hard welcome here and would have met a death most foul if not for poor choosing in accomplices."

"Lord William," Walter said, trying to control his flush of embarrassment before this older, more warlike man, "that was not of my doing and done when my father still ruled Stanora. None here would harm your son."

"Yet it was not my son who was the intended target," William said. "'Twas the boy here in my arms, who struggles even now to find his father's embrace. Where is Conor, the author of the act? I would have my pleasure of him."

"Dead," Walter said with some apparent gladness that he could say it. This man was formidable. "Killed by Ulrich's hand for daring so."

William grunted and nodded in what appeared to be disappointment. He set Olivier down on the floor, whereupon the boy tried to find his feet by holding fast to Lord William's knees and wobbling ferociously.

"And where is Ulrich?" Lord William asked.

"Upon his marriage bed, I would wager, my lord, and finding good pleasure there," Roger answered pleasantly.

"Is that so?" William asked Walter. "He is wed?"

"Aye, and to my sister," Walter answered readily and with great gladness in the face of such stern justice. "They even now consummate their vows."

"You gave him to your sister, he who had killed your uncle?" William said. "Strong doing. That took some mettle upon your part. And who is your sister? She is worthy of him? For I hold Ulrich in no small measure. He is like a son to me, and so my son was entrusted well into his care, and his son into mine. A tangled and strong bond we have forged between us. I would have him well served in the matter of his marriage."

"My sister is Juliane le Gel. You may have heard of her," Walter said with some pride of his own. Greneforde was not the only holding that had its share of legends.