His Fair Lady (36 page)

“Stop! I do not wish to hear it!” she
flared, throwing her hands over her ears.

His temper spiking anew, Royce took hold of
her wrists and pulled her hands away. “God’s teeth, I do not
understand your stubbornness. Why do you resist the truth? Why do
you resist reclaiming your past?”

“Because I do not wish to reclaim it, or
remember it, any of it!” she shouted, frantic now, struggling
against his hold.

Royce stared at her, stunned. “You’ve no
wish to remember your true parents, or your life before Vaux?”

“Do not ask it of me. Leave it be, leave it
be.”

“Why?” he demanded, jerking her against him,
bewildered by her obstinacy. “Tell me why Juliana. Why?”

She tried to draw back from him, but when he
held her fast, tears flooded her eyes and tumbled over her cheeks.
“Because I cannot face it. Oh, don’t you understand? If I strive to
remember the past, I am doomed to relive it.”

“Relive it?” Royce furrowed his brows, still
not comprehending.

Her eyes fastened on his, her tears falling
unabated. “Whether I am Ana the miller’s daughter, or Juliana the
heiress of Penhurst, I can’t remember anything without reliving
that horrible night of the attack on Vaux.” She swallowed deeply,
quivering against him. “I know, deep inside, I saw my mother slain
before my eyes. Others too, so many others, so much blood . .
.”

She pressed her lashes shut against some
image. Opening them again, she gazed past his shoulder.

“You ask if I want to remember. I thought I
did once. But I cannot face it, cannot endure it again — the awful
slaughter, my mother’s death, the sheer horror of it all. At times,
I catch glimpses of that night. And each time, I taste again of the
terror I have known, a terror no one should suffer. ‘Tis best to
leave the past buried, as it was before you took me from
Chinon.”

The maid brought her gaze back to look
directly into Royce’s eyes, her face wet with tears. “I found
happiness there, but you stripped it all away. You took me from the
very people who gave me joy and love and security through the
years. You brought me here to an alien land where I no longer
belong, and where I am so utterly, so desperately alone.”

Royce gazed on Juliana, thunderstruck by her
outpouring, his heart feeling as though it had just been slammed
with a battering ram.

“Alone?” He choked back his own emotion,
drawing her into his embrace. “Nay, sweet Juliana, you were never
alone. Nor are you now.”

He felt her shudder against him, sobs
wracking her slender body. Unable to bear her sorrow, Royce brushed
his lips against her hair, her temples and cheek, then sought the
soft warmth of her mouth, closing his over hers, comforting her
with his kiss.

Honey. Her lips were sweetest honey, soft
and pliant beneath his. Her sobs quieted as he prolonged the kiss,
and her shaking became faint tremors in his arms. Heartened, Royce
yielded to impulse, deepening his kiss, wishing to draw all the
pain from her and let it become his own.

“Juliana, my precious Juliana,” he murmured
against her lips, as he continued to console her, owning no wish to
cease, nor the will to do so. He felt her hand lift uncertainly to
his bearded jaw, then slip to the back of his neck and head, her
body pressing against him.

“Royce.” She voiced his name in a breathy
whisper.

Her unexpected utterance fed the fires
already burning within him. ‘Twas the first time she’d ever spoken
his name, and the sweet sound of it roused a desire he’d long
suppressed. Desire and a towering need.

Swiftly, Royce lifted Juliana in his arms
and carried her to where a pile of fresh hay filled one of the
stable’s corners. Kneeling down with her, he lay her back, covering
her with his body, his mouth never leaving hers. He coaxed her to
open to him, felt her yield. Plunging in, his tongue sought hers.
She met him tentatively at first, then grew more bold as she
learned his play. Giving in to their passion, their mouths
possessed one another’s, their tongues coupling in a quickening
dance. Juliana wrapped herself around him, making a pleasurable
sound deep in her throat.

At her encouragement, Royce left her mouth
to lavish kisses over her face and along her neck, seeking the
hollow at the base to press more kisses there. Feeling her arch
against him, he pushed back her mantle and cupped her breast,
nearly rejoicing to find she wore only her kirtle.

Lord’s mercy but she filled his palm fully,
as he knew she would. He reveled in its warm pliant shape, in its
weight. He drew his thumb across her nipple, drawing a gasp from
her lips, a gasp that soon turned to a moan as he continued to
caress her and felt her hardened beneath his touch. Juliana’s
senses were awake to him. The very thought caused a fine madness to
take hold of him, to bare her flesh and savor her fruits.

Royce covered her mouth once more, seducing
her with his tongue as he slid his hands to the back of her gown
and fumbled with the laces there. She must have dressed herself,
and hurriedly, he guessed, for the laces were loose and untied.

Loosening them further, he parted the
cloth and opened the neckline. Drawing the gown from her shoulders,
he pulled it downward, exposing the creamy swell of her breasts,
kissing a path over them as he did, advancing steadily toward the
prize. Seized with impatience, he swept
the fabric
away, laying her breasts naked as he bent to press a kiss between
them. Instantly, his lips met with cold metal.

Startled, Royce braced himself up, then
spied the silver cross guarding the treasure he ached to possess.
The cross rose and fell with her breasts, as Juliana panted for
air. Her eyes, darkened with desire, fixed on his, questioning why
he’d stopped.

Royce wished to groan aloud as he gazed on
her perfect breasts awaiting him, ready for his ravishment. But the
cross might as well have been a sword to forestall his plunderings.
‘Twas his gift to her long ago, and now a reminder of his knightly
duty. Juliana was his ward. Would he deflower her as though some
willing chambermaid, despoil the heiress of Penhurst for her bridal
bed?

“What am I doing?” Royce pulled painfully
away, mastering himself with the greatest of difficulty. “Juliana
forgive me.”

The questioning look in her eyes turned to
one of confusion, then hurt. She reached for the front of her gown,
covering her nakedness as she scrambled to her feet and fumbled
back into her clothes.

“You need not worry, Sir Knight,” she said
briskly. “I’ll not tell Lady Sibylla or ruin your plans.”

“Lady Sibylla?” His muddled brain could make
little sense of her words. He started to reach toward her. “Juliana
—”

“Please, there is nothing more to say.”
Clutching her mantle tight about her, she fled the stable.

Royce rose unsteadily and moved to the door.
Bracing his hand on the wood frame, he watched the maid flee across
the ward, astounded by his own actions, as much as by all else that
had just passed between them. If she’d despised him before, she
must more so now.

Slowly Royce straightened, considering what
he should do. Deciding his course, he left the stable. He would
depart Penhurst on the morrow.

»«

Friar Tupper leaned out from the last
stall and watched as Sir Royce strode from the stable. Assured that
he and his drinking companion were alone once more, the
friar
struggled clumsily to his feet, sloshing the ale
from his cup as he did.

“Good friend, would you know who this Lady
Sibylla is?” He shifted his stance to better observe the knight
where he retreated across the ward. “Is the lady Sir Royce’s
wife?”

Guy of Lisors rose slowly, steadying his cup
as he brushed the straw from his garments. “Nay, leastwise, not
yet. But if the countess has her way, I suspect the two will
announce their betrothal at Christmas. ‘Tis then, by the express
wish of the king, that Sir Royce must announce his choice of a
husband for Lady Juliana.”

“Indeed?” The friar pondered that, rubbing
his finger across his bottom lip. “And what do you know of the
two?”

“Sir Royce and Lady Sibylla?”

“Nay, the knight and Lady Juliana.”

The side of Guy’s mouth dragged upward in a
crooked smile. “Here, you’ll need a bit more ale for that.”

He nabbed the pitcher from where it sat on
the floor of the stall and replenished their cups.

“I first encountered the couple at Le Mans
when I joined a group of travelers heading north to Rouen. The
entire group was abuzz with news of the knight.”

“He’s a Crusader, is he not?”

“Aye, and a hero of some renown. But the
reason for the excitement was due to the knight’s feat of the night
before. The others claimed he slew a boar single-handedly.”

“Single-handedly?” Friar Tupper choked on
his swallow of ale. “Can it be done?”

“By few and at great risk. I am told Sir
Royce slew the beast most courageously to save Lady Juliana.”

“God’s truth,” the friar mumbled in awe,
then tossed back another mouthful of ale.

“But there’s more.” Guy topped off their
cups and launched into a most remarkable tale of the couple, ever
at odds, the maid defying the knight at every turn, attempting to
escape, even filching his horse and setting Scotsmen on him.

Guy chuckled. “I’d originally intended
to stop for a time at Rouen then head on to Paris. But I became so
fascinated
by the two, I decided to follow them to
England and watch the progress of their story.”

“There is still more?”

“Much more, and I am setting it all to
verse, preserving it for time to come.”

“And are you nearly finished, my son?”

Guy shook his head then sighed. “‘Tis
my sense the
lai
doesn’t take
up the story of the knight and the maid at quite the right place.
Nor does it yet possess an ending.”

“Perhaps, you will have one come
Christmastide and can entertain the Court.”

“Mayhap, but I’ve found where Sir Royce and
Lady Juliana are concerned, naught is predictable.”

“Such is life, my friend.” Tupper clunked
his cup against the minstrel’s, as if toasting that thought, then
returned his gaze to the now empty ward. “On the other hand, God
doth work in mysterious ways.”

Ana counted herself among the lowest of the
low, her guilt unbearable as she gazed out her bedchamber
window.

For so many years, she’d saved herself for
her beloved squire. When ‘twas clear he would not return and she
agreed to marry Gervase, she’d kept herself chaste for their
wedding bed. Now, deplorably, she’d betrayed them both with the
knight. She would have given herself willingly to Sir Royce, like
the most shameless of wantons, had the squire’s cross not stopped
them both, jarring them back to their senses.

She’d not seen Sir Royce since that night,
nearly three weeks past. He’d departed Penhurst before dawn,
leaving word only that he did so on a matter of import and for
Edmond to oversee her lessons. Sir Royce had been quick enough to
leave, Ana reflected. Was he as regretful as she of their tryst in
the stable?

How had it happened? she asked herself an
endless time. They’d both been swept up in the emotion of the
moment. He’d sought only to comfort her at first, of that she was
sure. But quite astoundingly, his efforts ignited a fiery desire in
them both.

Heaven forgive her, she’d welcomed his
kisses and caresses and craved much more. Even now she could still
feel the knight’s mouth upon hers, his hand fondling her breast,
his beard prickling her flesh as he kissed a path down her neck and
lower still as he undressed her. Ana felt her breasts tighten at
the memory, a fire beneath her skin spreading through her.

Moving from the window, she wiped a hand
across her brow. Though she’d set her mind and heart firmly aright,
her body continued to betray her. She should seek the confessional,
yet to whom would she confess? Penhurst’s resident priest had left
the estate to meet with the bishop in Winchester. Ana felt too
embarrassed to confess to Friar Tupper and then be forced to face
him from day to day.

Perhaps she was overly sensitive, but it
seemed as though everyone watched her, in particular the monk and
the minstrel. Was it possible, by something in her manner, they
could tell she’d frolicked in the hay with Penhurst’s guardian,
allowing him liberties with her person?

A horn sounded long and loud from the
gatehouse, announcing the approach of visitors. Shouts quickly rang
out and were repeated throughout the ward. Sir Royce had
returned.

Heat stung Ana’s cheeks. How could she face
him? The knight had seen her half naked and knew well her
responsiveness to his advances. Knew she had been willing and ready
to surrender herself to him completely.

Ana drew the silver cross from her gown and
let it hang suspended over her breasts, a reminder to them both.
With that, she hastened to the hall.

»«

Ana called for ale as she entered the back
of the Great Hall. After receiving the goblet from the maidservant,
she headed toward the entrance to meet Sir Royce.

Regardless of her embarrassment, she need
confront him on matters that remained unspoken between them. Above
all, she wished to learn of her squire and what the knight knew of
his fate. Since Sir Royce’s return from Beckwell, there’d been
scant opportunity to do so. First, there’d been the suitors who’d
immediately descended upon him. Then there were the continuous
clashes and heated words between her and the knight. Time and again
Ana had found herself too furious to speak with him, let alone
broach the subject of her squire. But she would not allow the
stable incident to delay her further. She would have her
answers.