Suzanne Robinson (13 page)

There was another reason. In that Egyptian quarry, when he’d been desperate, worn down with shame and hopelessness, he had imagined himself back in England. In those dreams, he was untouched by scandal, a knight worthy of the greatest prize a man could win—a pure and noble bride.

During that time of beatings and hunger, he’d promised himself such a prize, an ideal woman of ideal beauty of the
amour courtois
, with pale skin, golden hair, and sky-blue eyes. A girl like Yolande who through her purity
and excellence would banish corruption and shame from his soul. With a wife like that, people would forget the lies that had been spread about him.

Thus he’d chosen Yolande. Not that he would have been allowed to select anyone of lesser rank. An heir had a duty to safeguard the family rank.

Gray sighed. What had seemed a most pleasant obligation was growing into a chore. Yolande was a sweet girl, but increasingly he realized that her delight in childlike things wasn’t affected. She liked blindman’s buff and hide and seek, pastimes too simple for Gray, who had sampled far more complex pursuits. And Yolande was young, too young to have gained that fascinating patina that comes with experience of life. No, he was beginning to fear that poor Yolande was—uninteresting.

It was Juliana’s fault. He hadn’t been able to forget her since that first meeting in the mud. When he should have been planning trysts with Yolande, he was thinking about black curls intertwining around Juliana’s breasts. When he should have been dining with Yolande, he’d gone chasing after Juliana, burning with curiosity about where and why she’d vanished from the tournament.

He was vowing to forget Juliana’s damascened eyes and to keep himself away from the wench as he followed Richard and the object of his desire over the east bridge to Castle Wellesbrooke. Torches lighted their way, and the drawbridge had been lowered when a shout came from the riverbank. Another party was riding in behind them. He rode back to meet them, and found his cousin Edmund at the head of the party.

“By Our Lady of Mercy,” Gray said as he pulled up alongside Edmund. “What addled folly is this?”

Edmund was grinding his teeth. His dark blond hair was plastered to his head with sweat. Long-limbed and wide-shouldered like Gray, he was more round of shoulder.
His nose was long, which gave him the appearance of an intelligent fox. He had the habit of looking at people as if he were a gold merchant and they ingots of gold he suspected of impurity. Arthur said his soul was part demon, part counting clerk. Edmund bent to rub his leg, and Gray noticed that he wore no boot on his left foot. His ankle was swollen.

“Just God, Edmund, how can you show your face here?”

“God’s greeting to you, cousin. I’m not here apurpose. I was on my way to London and my horse threw me. My ankle caught in the stirrup, and I can’t ride much farther.”

“You should have camped in the forest. Even if this weren’t Wellesbrooke, Arthur won’t welcome you, and I’ll not have you snarling and snapping at him.”

He would have gone on, but Edmund suddenly bent over his mount’s neck and would have fallen if Gray hadn’t caught him. A squire ran to help, and soon they had the injured man draped over his saddle. Gray found a lump on Edmund’s head and realized his cousin was in worse condition than he appeared. There was no help for it. He would have to take Edmund to the castle.

Leading his cousin’s horse, Gray rode back over the east bridge to find Richard and Juliana waiting for him. They hadn’t moved from their position before the portcullis.

“Richard, it’s my cousin Edmund. He’s been hurt in a fall while traveling to London, and I must beg refuge for him.”

He barely heard Richard’s reply, because he was looking at Juliana. For most of the trip her face had sported varying shades of pink and red due to thwarted fury. As he watched, color faded from her skin until it resembled bleached parchment. For a moment, the briefness of a
candle’s flicker, her eyes widened, and he glimpsed a well of pain. Then she narrowed those damascened eyes, and the pain was gone.

“Another craven succubus. I’ll not have him in the castle.”

Richard stared down at the girl sitting before him in the saddle. “Juliana!”

“Forsworn cheating cur. Let him go with de Valence.”

Shaking his head, Richard said, “Your father would never approve of sending an injured knight away from his hall, even Edmund Strange.”

As if in answer to this, Hugo himself bellowed at his daughter as he barreled toward them. At the sound of her father’s voice Juliana clamped her mouth shut. Hugo arrived and would have berated his daughter had he not been distracted by the sight of Edmund Strange facedown over his saddle.

Everyone dismounted, and the men discussed what was to be done with Edmund. As expected, Hugo extended his hospitality to the injured man. Juliana snorted and would have walked away in disgust if Gray hadn’t blocked her path.

“Where are you going?”

“To my chamber. Now get out of the way, Sir Barbarian Heathen.”

She tried to step aside, but he moved with her.

“You never told me why you left the tournament. Imad said you refused my gift—”

“Thunder of God! Let me pass.”

They both jumped when Hugo bawled her name and strode over to join them.

“For God’s pity, what madness made you vanish in the midst of the tourney? No, don’t tell me. There’s no use listening to your foolish reasoning. You’re an ungrateful daughter and should be taught a lesson.” Hugo paused
while Edmund was carried past on a litter. A gleam entered his eye. “The leech is busy treating wounds gained in the tournament. Therefore you’ll have to care for our new guest. See to it at once.”

Gray saw that well of pain open in Juliana’s eyes and vanish again. “Lord Welles, I’m certain my squire can attend to him.”

“Juliana will do it, my lord.”

“I will not!”

Gray winced at the bellow that issued from Hugo’s lungs, but Juliana stuck out her chin and crossed her arms. Hugo pointed a thick finger at his daughter.

“You’ll tend to him or you’ll get no more help from me for your rat-ridden old manor. Do you hear?”

Juliana growled, “Faaahther.”

“No, I’m adamant.”

Gray was startled when she turned on him. “You. You’re to blame for this, and I’ll see you sharply punished for it, Viking.”

Uttering a wordless snarl, Juliana whirled around and stalked after the litter Gray stared at her back with his mouth open. Hugo came to join him in watching Juliana’s retreat.

“Watch yourself, boy.”

“My lord?”

“I don’t know what you’ve done, but she’s right evilly disposed toward you, and foul things happen to men who cross Juliana.” Hugo brightened. “At least she won’t be coming after me as long as she’s pointing her sword at you. Good e’en, my lord.”

Hugo left him then, and as he went, Gray heard him begin to whistle. So, Mistress Juliana was going to try to punish him, was she? Gray chuckled at the thought. There was little she could do to him, but he was going to
enjoy showing her what happened to impudent maidens who tried.

The night passed with no more upsets. The next day was the one chosen for the mêlée. As he expected, Juliana was in her proper place in one of the lodges set up in a meadow near the castle, where she was forced to watch the contest from beginning to end. Gray had been asked to lead one of the two opposing forces. Throughout the day he engaged the enemy in a pitched battle along with friendly knights, including Richard.

In the great rush of men and horses, he was nearly trampled several times. Richard was wounded slightly in the arm after lances had been broken and the battle progressed to swords and maces. Great clouds of dust rose, blinding him, his allies, and the enemy as well. At last a breeze cleared the air for a moment, and Gray was able to muster his men for a final onslaught. He caught sight of the enemy banner, swooped down on the knight holding if, and knocked him to the ground. His men rushed forward, swamping their rivals, and the mêlée was over.

He rode back to the lodges bearing the captured banner to Hugo and lowered it in salute. Face smudged with sweaty dust, he wiped his brow and listened to his host proclaim him the victor and ask him to choose the Queen of Love and Beauty. He glanced aside at Juliana, but she wasn’t at her mother’s side as she had been earlier.

Searching the onlookers, he finally found her sitting in the back row of benches with the waiting women. She was whispering something under her breath. The maids giggled. She lifted a mocking brow at him, and he scowled. What was she saying about him?

He heard his name again, and looked at Hugo. The
older knight was holding out a circlet of gilded vines and flowers.

“To the victor goes the honor of choosing the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Ah, yes. Duty. He lowered his lance and snagged the golden filet. The sooner he dispensed with this folly, the sooner he could corner Juliana. Holding the circlet on the tip of his lance, he nudged his horse until he came to Yolande. Bowing to her, he let the circlet slip into her hands.

“There can be but one choice, a lady of unsurpassed beauty whose grace has pierced me like a dart.”

Through the cheers, he heard another sound. Was it a contemptuous snort? He slid his gaze up to find Juliana Welles looking down her nose at him. Everyone else was cheering him; she sneered. His brows drew together. Had she not seen his prowess? Did she think it easy to fight off a hoard of charging knights whose whole business in life was war? The girl knew nothing of valor and knightly skill.

No doubt she thought she was punishing him as she had vowed to do by withholding her admiration. But he could do without her praise. She whispered something to the maids again, and he was drenched in a shower of giggles. She was making a jest at his expense again, the wretched little wight.

Before he could think of a suitable response to this mockery, a trumpet signaled the end of the day’s contest. Hauling on his reins, he turned his horse and rode with the other knights back to the castle. He accepted congratulations from all and sundry, but his mood was foul. At last he was free to go to his pavilion where Simon began to disarm him while he fumed.

He hadn’t expected Juliana’s mockery to goad him so. What cared he for the approval of an evil-tempered little
black duck? He’d been schooled in courtesy and chivalry at the courts of Poitiers and Troyes, in the French heartland of grace and manners. He had shown himself to be a skilled and lethal warrior. Every lady at the tournament had thrown flowers, ribbons, and kerchiefs at him today. Not Juliana, though. Aghast, Gray realized that the thought rankled. No, it infuriated him.

Why couldn’t she play her part in
l’amour courtois
? No doubt she was ignorant of its finer aspects since she wasn’t married. If he weren’t so irritated, he might teach her what he’d learned from the traditions begun by Queen Eleanor and her daughters, even though it was the married woman who was supposed to be the prize in that dangerous game.

He was still nursing a foul mood when a page announced the maid called Alice. The woman rushed into the tent without leave and began babbling at him.

“Oh, my lord, you must come quickly. I think she be going to kill him, and if His Lordship finds out, oh, I can’t imagine—”

“What are you gabbling about?”

“Master Strange, my lord. He be calling for you. You must come to his chamber in the castle. They’re quarreling, the mistress and him. I shut the door so no one could hear, but I’m afeared they’ll come to blows.”

“God’s pity,” he said as he pulled on a robe over his mail and boots. “You left them alone. Hurry, woman.”

Alice led him to a room in one of the guard towers set in the curtain wall. They passed through a room that served as barracks and went up the stairs. As he followed the maid, he could hear muffled voices. They grew louder as he gained the second floor. Alice stopped outside a closed door. As she put her hand on the latch, something crashed against the door and broke. Alice cried out and removed her hand.

Gray shoved her aside and pushed through the door. His cousin lay on a narrow bed, his bandaged foot propped up on pillows. Juliana stood near the bed, her arms folded across her chest, her foot tapping on the floor. Gray stepped over the fragments of a ceramic cup and avoided the splatters of its contents that graced the floor. When they saw him, they spoke at once.

“Cousin, help me. She’s trying to poison me.”

“Go away,” Juliana said. “I can only endure one vain rooster at a time.”

He ignored her. “What’s your lament, cousin?”

“She’s trying to make me drink some foul brew. I vow she hates me and is trying to poison me.”

“I think not, cousin. Feeble-witted as she is, she knows she’s the first one we’d suspect if you were to die.”

“Oh!”

Juliana picked up a clay bottle from the table beside the bed. He thought she was going to throw it at him, but instead she marched up to him and thrust it into his hands.

“He thinks I poisoned this. Why don’t you serve as his taster since you’re so sure I haven’t?”

He tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but her anger had caused her to breathe quickly. The rapid heaving of her breasts interfered with his wits. He remonstrated with himself and dragged his gaze to her face—where he promptly became enthralled with the soft pink of her lips. What had she said?

“Are you going to drink the potion, my lord?”

“What? Oh. There’s no need, mistress. I’m certain it’s as well made as those you gave Imad.”

Edmund scrambled around in the bed until he was sitting straight. “I’ll not touch it.”

“Excellent,” Juliana replied with an evil smile. “Then you’ll be in pain the whole night.”

“You malformed bitch!”

Gray was at the bed before the sound of the words faded. He grabbed Edmund by the neck of his shirt and twisted the material until his cousin began to gasp for breath. As Edmund clawed at his hand, he spoke quietly.

“If you ever speak so to her again, I’ll make you swallow my war axe.”

Smiling and calm, he watched Edmund turn purple before releasing his grip. His cousin fell back on the pillows and lay there gasping. He turned to Juliana. She sheltered behind the door, her eyes wide. When he looked at her, she was regarding him with a look of startled surmise, as if no one had ever defended her before. Perhaps no one had. Her eyes were bright, glassy. Was she going to cry? God, his sodding cousin had hurt her, and he wanted to take the pain away.