Suzanne Robinson (15 page)

“Juliana, what are you doing?” cried Yolande.

Gray dodged another swing of the beef joint. “Fires of hell!” He wiped butter from his armor and glared at Juliana. “By God, it’s the evil-tempered witch!”

“Better a witch than a man without honor,” Juliana said, and she swiped him on the head again.

Gray swore, then ducked as the joint came down at him again. Thrusting himself upright, he snarled and
hopped over the wall to the scaffolding. Juliana hadn’t expected him to recover before she could toss him off the wall. Aghast, she backed away, hurled the joint at him and scurried along the scaffolding.

Gray batted the missile aside, his clothing slick with butter and his face red from anger. He lunged at her, and for the second time, Juliana was plucked off her feet. She sailed in the air and landed across his shoulder with her bottom uppermost. She let out a wild cry of rage, but it was smothered by the laughs and cries of the men and women around them.

Her vision blurred as Gray jounced her across the scaffold, over the wall, and down the ladder. Her hair prevented her from seeing much, so she was horrified when her enemy lowered her so that she rested on his hip. More laughter from the onlookers told her just how ridiculous she appeared as Gray mounted his horse with her under his arm like a sack of meal.

Suddenly the world spun, and Gray hefted her across his lap. Without a word in answer to the thunder rolls of knightly laughter and feminine jests, he kicked his mount into a gallop. Juliana gasped as she was bumped and jostled across the lists. All she could see was dirt and grass flying by.

The sounds of the tournament faded as the horse slowed, and they clattered across the drawbridge into the bailey. When the animal stopped she saw packed earth and heard gasps and excited cries. Suddenly she sailed upright and was thrown over Gray’s shoulder again.

“You cankerous sodomite, put me down!”

“Thy will is mine, noble lady.”

He righted her so that she rested in his arms. She glared up at him; he gave her a buttery, wicked smile. She drew back her fist, ready to pummel that smile off
his lips. He dropped her. She fell into a great washtub filled with soapy water and sank like a foundation stone.

Gray water invaded her nose and mouth. Juliana gagged and thrust herself to the surface, sputtering and choking. Gray was standing there, arms folded over his chest, grinning, while around him washing women, stable boys, and servants stared in astonishment. Several noble guests came out of the new hall, and Juliana heard two women whisper and giggle.

When she caught her breath, she began to shout. “You unchivalrous heathen, rabid cur, lascivious knave!”

“Certes, good folk,” Gray said to the onlookers. “Mistress Juliana is a right ill-tempered and discourteous maid in need of correction.”

“Aaaahhhrgh!” Juliana swept her hands up and sent a wave of dirty water into his face.

It was Gray’s turn to choke and sputter. He dashed water from his eyes, and when Juliana beheld his expression, she turned and waded toward the opposite side of the washtub. She wasn’t quick enough.

Hands fastened around her waist. Desperate, she twisted around and shoved him. He didn’t budge, and she was lifted out of the water. As she went, she planted her feet against the side of the tub and pushed. The force of her movement pulled Gray off balance. Juliana cried out as his feet lost their purchase and he fell on top of her into the tub.

Her head hit the side of the tub as she fell. Underwater, she hit bottom with a bounce, and Gray’s body followed, touching hers. Juliana thrashed about only to feel Gray’s hands slide over her breasts as he searched blindly. He slid them down to her waist, gripped her, and lifted.

Her body hurtled upward, and she was set on her feet. She stumbled and fell against him. His arms surrounded her and held her steady. With her cheek pressed against
his chest, she gulped in deep breaths of air. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought his fingers touched her cheek and lips with the lightness of an angel’s breath. Then she heard him chuckle.

“You’re a most inconstant, mad creature.”

“Inconstant!”

Juliana thrust herself out of his grip. Her gown clung to her legs and nearly tripped her. She slicked her hair back so that she could see him clearly.

“You’re the inconstant, you foul corrupter of other men’s wives. You’re plying poor Yolande with courtly wiles when not a few hours ago you spewed honied words at me.”

There was a sudden silence. The area around them emptied of washer maids and servants. Gray had been looking down at her with amused mockery. Her words drew a veil across his features. His eyes reflected the still iciness of a snow-bound winter night.

“I promised myself never to answer such slander again. I’ve heard talk about you too, Juliana, and now I understand why you’re to take vows of chastity and leave your father’s house. Were I he, I would have clapped you in a nunnery long ago, but I’m sure no worthy order would take you.”

Turning his back on her, Gray leaped out of the tub, mounted his horse, and galloped out of the bailey. Juliana watched him while she shivered in the middle of the washtub. She hated him for looking so magnificent, all those wet muscles moving beneath clinging fabric and mail. He’d deceived her for the last time. She promised herself and God that she’d make him a greater spectacle than he made her. By this evening, she’d have every tournament-goer, from the haywards to the noblest baron, laughing at Gray de Valence.

SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE IN HER CHAMBER, overcome with the mortification of the scene with de Valence. Juliana hugged a patched and tattered cloak around her body and poked her head around the central stone newel of the stair in the Maiden’s Tower. She was listening for her sisters’ chatter.

Earlier Yolande had come to her chamber while she was bathing away the grime of the washtub and accused her of trying to steal her suitor.

Once again Osbert had stood guard outside the closed door, but Juliana was sure he could hear Yolande’s bellowing.

“How could you disgrace me so!” From her bow-shaped mouth to her tiny slippers, Yolande was quivering. “By the wrath of God, you’ve committed a great sin against me. Everyone saw how you tricked him. Everyone! You shamed me, made me a laughingstock.”

“But I was trying to save you from him.”

“Save him for yourself, you mean. Everyone laughed at me. At me, me, me,
me.”

Yolande’s voice rose to a screech. Juliana had forgotten how shrill Yolande could be when aroused. But this was more than anger; this was rage. All reason left her eyes, and she came after Juliana with her fingers curled into claws. Juliana backed away until she hit a wall, then slapped Yolande as she struck with those talonlike nails.

Havisia had appeared to take Yolande away and calm
her. Juliana had been left alone to suffer remorse and grow even more furious at Gray de Valence. He had a great sin upon his soul.

Juliana decided that the Maiden’s Tower was deserted. Everyone was at the dance being held before the mock castle. Now all she had to do was get out of Wellesbrooke unnoticed. Turning away from the stair, she went through the narrow door of the garderobe, edged around the stone convenience, and began to shove at a portion of the wall behind it.

With much exertion, the concealed door swung open. She lit a torch sitting just inside, closed the door, and was soon on her way down a passage. The corridor led beneath the bedrock upon which the castle sat to a sally port in the curtain wall. No one camped near it because the garderobe drain was nearby.

She and her sisters had found the passage years ago while playing hide and seek. Their parents assumed they knew nothing of it, and they hadn’t revealed their knowledge. Why ruin an excellent hiding place when it was so convenient for escaping lessons? Neither Bertrade nor Laudine used the passage anymore, but Juliana did.

She reached the end of the corridor quickly. Dousing the torch in a pot of sand, she opened the door. The sword at her side scraped the portal. Cursing herself for her carelessness, she clamped the weapon against her leg and peered outside. The small expanse of land between the sally port and the riverbank was deserted.

Before going into the open, she checked to make sure her hair was stuffed beneath the pointed hood of brown wool. It covered her head, neck, and shoulders. Tightening the squire’s sword belt that bound her tunic at the waist, she stuffed her leggings into a pair of Tybalt’s old boots. They were too big and wrinkled at the ankles, but
she’d had the cobbler fix the soles like her other footwear.

Using ashes from the torch, she dirtied her face, then slipped outside. The door swung closed to blend perfectly with the rest of the stones around it. During a siege, the passageway would be blocked from inside with boulders, but Wellesbrooke was at peace at the moment. Juliana hurried away from the sally port. She had to breathe through her nose to keep from gagging at the stench of the drain as she hurried around the base of the wall to mix with the traffic crossing the east bridge.

Soon she was walking through pastures and fields into the Hawksmere Forest, leaving behind the crowds of merrymakers and the scores of vendors and entertainers who had descended upon Wellesbrooke hoping to turn a penny. She left the well-traveled path that led north through her father’s domain to the lands of Chessmore and chose her way carefully through thick stands of oak and dense brush until she came upon a small ravine.

There she found Eadmer, Warin, Bogo, and Lambert, all dressed as she was and keeping watch over five horses. She emerged from the trees with a whistle. The four waved at her, and Bogo hurried over to her. He was the smallest of the four, but also the widest, and when he smiled he revealed a gap between his two front teeth.

“God save you, mistress. We been waiting a perilous long time.”

“I was delayed by a—an accident. Did you bring your bows?”

“Oh, aye, mistress. Now will you tell us what ill-willer has offended you?”

“Not yet. We must ride to Hawkesbrooke quickly. Once we’re there, I’ll tell you.”

“Yes, mistress,” Eadmer said as he pulled his horse alongside hers. “And on the way, will you tell us another
story of chivalry? I liked the one about Roland and Charles the Mange.”

Juliana winced. “Charlemagne, Eadmer, not Charles the Mange, Charlemagne.”

Eadmer repeated the name several times. His watery eyes were bright above a nose that seemed permanently red and crisscrossed with tiny crimson veins.

“I liked them laws of love,” Warin said as they all mounted. “Avoid avarice and falsehood, obey your lady love, and speak no evil. Never reveal a love affair, and ever be polite and courteous. Do you think I could win Jumping Jean if I was to be chivalrous to her?”

The taciturn Lambert, who was skilled with the longbow, merely grunted, but Eadmer laughed.

“Blessed be God, Warin. You’d do better to give her gold. They say she jumps from one man to the next by the weight of his purse.”

“You’re a liar!” Warin hauled his mount around and would have cuffed Eadmer if Juliana hadn’t interfered.

“For God’s pity, keep silent,” she growled. “You two have this same quarrel at least once a month.”

They arrived at Hawkesbrooke, a small stream that cut through the forest to join the Clare. In a short time Juliana had positioned her men and settled down with Bogo to wait. She and her companion were perched on the thick branch of an ancient oak. It arched over the brook, and its leaves concealed them as it shaded the water. Warin lurked on the opposite bank, his body stretched out along another branch of a tree. Eadmer had taken up a watch high in the top of another oak.

Juliana signaled to each of them, and they pulled lengths of dark cloth over their faces. Through slits in their masks, she and Bogo watched the track that emerged from the direction of the castle. They would rely
on Eadmer’s signal, for the dancing water in the brook would drown out the sound of someone approaching.

Bogo was hugging the branch with one arm while he carefully laid down his bow. A quiver was slung across his shoulder. “Mistress, who’s the unfortunate we’re after this time?”

“Um, it’s better you don’t know.”

Bogo pulled an arrow from his quiver and glanced at her with widening eyes. “Better? How better, mistress? You said we’d never have to worry about getting caught. You promised—”

“Fear not. Alice sent him here, and there’ll only be one or two men with them since everyone else is dancing.”

“But mistress.”

“Very well, it’s Master Edmund Strange.”

“Ohhh, mistress. What are you going to do to him? I thought he’d hurt his leg.”

“He has. Alice has told him he must soak his ankle in this pure, cold water to take away the swelling.”

Eadmer uttered a robin’s call. Juliana drew a knife and held it by the blade, ready to throw. Bogo nocked an arrow.