Leigh, Tamara (40 page)

"And to steal the mother of this child, as it was also told," the king reminded her.

Juliana pushed her hands into the folds of her skirts so that none would see her grip on them. "That is true, Your Majesty."

"But the child's mother would be you, Lady Juliana—
wife
to Bernart Kinthorpe."

She nearly flinched. "You are correct."

"Hmm." Richard shifted his lower jaw from side to side. "It is most serious what you tell, and yet if it be true, your husband comes to claim a child not his—a bastard."

Anger leaped at the foul name put to her innocent babe. "It is true, Your Majesty," she said tightly. "Gabriel De Vere is the father of my child."

She did not need to look to Bernart to know his fury. It coursed the hall as if lit by fire.

The king lifted a goblet of wine. "Do you speak of ravishment, Lady Juliana?"

She gasped and shook her head. "Nay, Your Majesty."

He pulled a long drink, then set the goblet back to the table. "Then De Vere seduced you?"

Were it not so dire, she would laugh. "He did not, Your Majesty."

Annoyance gathered Richard's brow. "Then willingly you went to him?"

Far from it, but could she tell of Bernart's infirmity? Speak the words that would dismiss his claim? After all he'd done, it ought to come easily. She gulped. "Nay, Your Majesty, willingly I did not go to Gabriel, but neither did he ravish me."

Richard's boots hit the dais with a resounding thud. He grasped the chair arms and leaned forward. "What riddles speak you, Lady Juliana?"

How shallow her breath. She must calm herself. "Not riddles, Your Majesty. The truth."

"And what is the truth?"

"That..." She looked to Bernart. There shone the threat, but also a glimmer of fear. Confident as he was that Alaiz would keep her from speaking the truth, a sliver of doubt festered.

His lids narrowed, his nostrils flaring. "The child is mine," he said.

The king's head snapped around. "How know you? By her own tongue she confesses to having made of you a cuckold—given herself to a man she chooses over you."

Bernart's face burst with crimson. As for Gabriel at Juliana's back, he was as a spring ready to snap.

"Cuckolded I may be," Bernart said, "but it was my seed that took."

The king swung his gaze to Gabriel. "What say you, De Vere?"

"He is my son, Your Majesty."

The tip of Richard's tongue pushed at the corner of his mouth, then disappeared. He came again to Juliana. "When was the child born?"

Dear God, not that.

"Do not think to lie," the king said menacingly. "I have but to ask of the household to know."

She pulled a long breath. "He was born a month past, but—"

"As due?"

Chill bumps swept her. "Three weeks early, Your Majesty."

"Ah." He looked again to Bernart. Juliana followed his gaze.

Bernart's lips spread. He thought to have won. "There, Your Majesty, it is proven the child is mine, for De Vere was not at Tremoral those weeks before the tournament. Already a child grew in my wife's belly. My heir."

"The babe was born early!" Juliana protested.

Richard released a gust of breath. "Bring the child to the hall that we might see him, Lady Juliana."

There went her heart, twisting and grinding in her chest. She had no choice but to reveal Bernart's infirmity. "Your Majesty, there is something—"

"Now!"

She pressed her lips against argument, bowed, and turned. As she stepped past Gabriel, their eyes met. His were hard. Might he never forgive her for sending Sir Erec to the king? Prayers frantically coursing through her mind, she withdrew from the hall. Out of sight, she let her feet drag the stairs, then the corridor. Deny her though the king might, he would know the truth when she brought Gabrien to him. Never would Bernart hold Gabriel's son.

When she entered her chamber, Gabrien was gurgling his little sounds from the cradle of Lissant's arms. The maid stood. "My lady?"

Juliana halted before her and looked upon her son. Aching for his innocence, she touched his cheek. "Sweet Gabrien," she murmured, then looked to Lissant. "I must take him to the king."

"For what, my lady?"

"Worry not." Juliana lifted the babe. "Gabrien will return shortly." Of course, though she revealed Bernart, the king might not believe her, might not demand evidence of Bernart's inability to sire children, might give Gabrien to him. What then? Blood?

When she returned to the hall, it was as if not a word were spoken in her absence. The king picked at the viands while the two men before him stood unmoving. Hating the lusty gaze Bernart put to the babe, Juliana pressed Gabrien nearer.

"Come," King Richard beckoned.

She accepted Gabriel's gaze as she approached the dais. Regardless of what the king determined, she knew he would not surrender their child. It could mean his death....

Heart contracting, she passed near him and ascended the dais.

The king did not stand, but stretched up from his chair to look upon the babe. Gabrien blinked at him.

"Hmm." Richard resettled himself. "They all look the same." He turned to Bernart. "How long have you been wed, Kinthorpe?"

Bernart shifted his weight. "Now four years, Your Majesty."

"Four years without an heir. A long time." Bernart's larynx pitched. "My wife is not as fertile as I would wish her to be, Your Majesty." Juliana gasped.

"Lady Juliana!" Richard bellowed. "Keep your tongue." She bit it.

The king returned to Bernart. "Then you have been long in waiting for an heir."

"I have, Your Majesty. But now he is come."

"Hmm." Richard put a hand to the chair arm, swept it into a fist, and began beating out a rhythm.

On and on it went, thumping through Juliana like a lead ball. What was he thinking? When would he allow her to speak?

At last he met her gaze. "Lady Juliana, give the child unto your husband."

She stumbled back a step and shook her head. He had decided? No more to be said? As she searched for words, Richard lurched forward in his seat.

"De Vere," he thundered, a particle of food vaulting from his mouth, "for what do you put your hand to your sword?"

Juliana looked over her shoulder. Gabriel's hand was upon his hilt, his legs braced, his face as unmoving as stone, his eyes defiant. How large he looked—as if he could bring mountains to their knees. And the king's guards were prepared, did he think to try.

"Gabriel," Juliana entreated.

He was slow to drag his gaze from the king, but finally gave it to her. She shook her head. "Do not."

She saw him swallow and knew he struggled, but he released the hilt.

"Wise," the king rumbled. "Now, Lady Juliana, we say again, deliver the child to his father."

That
she could do. "As Your Majesty commands." She turned from the dais and crossed to Gabriel. "Hold your son, Gabriel," she said amid stunned silence. "Protect him." She passed the babe into his ready arms.

"Your Majesty!" Bernart protested, his voice squeaking as if a mouse sprang from his throat.

The high seat scraped loudly as Richard thrust to his feet. "You wish our wrath upon you, woman?"

Juliana turned. Was it the devil in him that caused his face to contort? She pushed past fear and clasped her hands at her waist. "Surely Your Majesty knows I would not be so foolish. As you can see, I have done exactly as bidden—delivered the child unto his father."

Richard slammed his palms to the table, causing the platter to clatter. "Lady Juliana!"

She hurried forward and stepped up to the dais. "Pray, Your Majesty, allow me to speak to... my husband. Do you, I vow all will be explained."

"You test us mightily," he said between his teeth.

"It is not my intention, Your Majesty," Juliana said, consciously softening her voice, "I but wish to right that made wrong."

His anger flickered.

She took a step nearer, smiling beseechingly. "Pray, allow me this." Though she was unaccustomed to using her woman's wiles, she prayed it would serve her.

The king looked closer upon her. "And if we allow it?"

She moistened her lips. "Then ever shall I be grateful, Your Majesty."

He considered her a moment longer, then inclined his head. "Though it does not please us to grant your request, we shall."

Juliana nearly wilted.

"But we warn you"—he resumed his seat—"keep us not long."

She bowed. "I thank you, Your Majesty." With a glance at Gabriel, she stepped from the dais and crossed to Bernart.

The red gone from the king's face had found its way into his. "Juliana," he bit out.

"Bernart." She stepped past him.

He followed her to the far end of the hall and into an alcove curtained by shadows.

She turned to him. "You must stop this now—put an end to it before it puts an end to you."

Bernart took a step nearer her. "Your threat is without heart, Juliana."

She stared into his fleshy face, catching the shine of saliva he had yet to wipe from his chin.
"Is
it without heart, Bernart?"

He snorted. "If you could have told, already you would have. You cannot."

"But I can. And I have."

His lids snapped nearly closed. "What speak you?"

"Gabriel knows."

The air rushed from him and set his jaw to quivering. With a groan, he turned and clawed hands down his face.

The door Juliana had been so certain was closed against him creaked open. She lifted a hand, reached to him, and stopped. The past was done. She had not been able to reach him then, and could not reach him now.

He came around. "Whore!"

Laughter croaked from her throat. "Whore? And who made me such?"

"Who else have you told?"

As there was no reason to reveal Sir Erec, she said, "It need go no further. Withdraw your claim to Gabrien and your secret—"

"Gabrien? That is the name given the little bastard?"

She swung, and with the flat of her hand jerked Bernart's face hard right. "Do not speak so of him!"

He staggered back and pressed a fist to his seared cheek. "When I take him from Mergot," he heaved, "he shall be called by a name of my choosing."

Dear God, why did he persist?
Because for Alaiz you did for him what you would do for no other.
She shook her head. "Nay, Gabrien will not be leaving Mergot. It is his home, and one day, as Gabriel's heir, he will be baron."

Bernart stared at her.

She drew herself up. "Do you force me to it, I shall reveal all to the king."

"Then you have no regard for your sister?"

There it was. "You know I do, but through Alaiz you shall not have Gabriel's son."

His lips drew back. "Deny me, Juliana, and she will suffer. I swear it!"

It was time. "How fares my sister?"

He hesitated. "Well—for the moment."

Bitterness coated Juliana's tongue. "Such lies you tell. Alaiz is no longer at Tremoral, and can no longer make of me your puppet."

A sharp breath whistled through his teeth. "Who told you this?"

"Blase De Vere."

Bernart shook his head. "He is dead!"

"Though 'tis as you would have him, he lives, and is well enough to send word of that which befell my sister."

Bernart's confidence poured through his feet and puddled out from under him. He lurched to the alcove wall, braced a hand to it, and put his head down. "You love him," he whispered.

Clasping her hands to keep from reaching to him, silently commanding her tears to quiet, Juliana said, "I do."

"After what he did to me?" He turned and pressed his back to the wall. "His betrayal cost me my manhood!"

"It was not betrayal, Bernart. Though you may never admit it, twice as many men could have done no more than those who followed you. More spilled blood is all you would have gained."

He slammed his fists against the stone at his back. "Gabriel left me to die!"

She stepped forward and put a hand to his shoulder. "You are wrong. He followed you into Acre."

"What?"

"It is true, and for it he was beaten and imprisoned until the coming of King Richard." "He told you this?" "Nay, it was Sir Erec."

Bernart shook his head and scowled. "What knows he of it?"

"He was among those who could not be convinced to turn from your quest. Afterward, he and Gabriel shared a cell."

Clearly Bernart longed to cling to the bitterness and hostility that were more familiar to him than breath, but it was as if her words stirred a memory.

She squeezed his shoulder. "Believe it, Bernart. Believe it and turn from this wrong you seek to do Gabriel."

He stared at her hand upon him, then shuddered and dropped his chin to his chest. "I shall lose all."

His despair caused a tear to slip from her eye. "Nay,

Bernart, only that which you do not need." She drew her hand from his shoulder and cupped his cheek. "That which does not belong to you."

He squeezed his lids closed, drew a deep breath, and opened his eyes. Tears sparkled at her. "Once you belonged to me."

She fought the knot in her throat. "Once."

He knocked her hand aside. "Damn you, Juliana! Damn you and Gabriel." He pushed past her and stalked from the alcove, his limp more prominent than ever she had seen it.

Then he would not withdraw his claim upon Gabrien. Her chest burning with the cry she would not allow herself, Juliana followed. Bearing the king's impatient gaze, she crossed the hall.

Gabriel looked from Bernart, who trembled so violently the movement was visible across the distance, to Juliana. Sorrow grooved her mouth and brow. Had she convinced Bernart to leave Mergot with his secret intact? Or would hate destroy what remained of him?

Regaining Gabriel's side, Juliana looked to the babe, who contentedly sucked his fingers. "Bernart forces me to it," she murmured, and lifted her gaze to Gabriel's. "I am without choice."

In that moment, his anger at her for having summoned the king turned. He caught her hand and squeezed it. "I will tell it."

"Nay, 'tis for me to do." She turned to the king.

"And now all shall be explained, Lady Juliana?" Richard asked.