Suzanne Robinson (18 page)

“Why, marriage of course, my lord.”

“Marriage!” She backed away from him, noticed his bare body, and turned her back. “Thunder of God, I’ll not be handed over to a debauched villain with an evil past and, and—”

“Daughter, you’re going to marry this man, and that’s my final word.”

“He’s a rooster knight! And at the tournament he didn’t ask for my—”

“Now Juliana, you liked me a moment ago.” He should have explained himself to her, but she was too angry, and Hugo and she together produced sparks and flames that made calm reasoning useless. She was glaring at him over her shoulder. Her dark hair reflected the deep violet of
the silk she wore and made her silver eyes gleam in contrast.

He couldn’t help giving her a lurid smile. “Not a moment past you found me right pleasing.”

“You wove some spell against me. You lost Yolande, and now you’re only taking me because you’re trapped.”

Gray came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I want to be caught.”

“I don’t,” she retorted, shaking off his hands. “It’s too late, for I’ve discovered your true nature. You’re as bad as any of them, worse, for you use your appearance and your—your lewd skills to get what you want. Any woman who marries you will have to watch you rut and plow among her serving women and any hapless village wench or farmer’s wife who steps into your path. I’ve seen Edmund Strange behave so, and you’re no different. I’ll not have you, my lord. Not if you were dipped in marchpane and served with feathers on.”

Juliana cast an evil glance at him that went no lower than his chin, then marched out of the chamber, banging the door behind her. Hugo watched her go before addressing Gray.

“Pay no heed to her mad rantings. She’ll marry you. I’ll see to it.”

“I’ve no doubt, my lord.”

“I’ll send your servants to you. We’ll speak about the settlement upon the morrow, de Valence, the first business of the morning.”

Gray nodded to the older man. Welles left him and sent in the boys with the tub. Gray went to sit on the bed while the tub was filled with hot water.

He’d done a mad thing: he’d tossed aside the king’s gift of a rich heiress for a woman who thought him Satan’s minion. He’d allowed his cock to govern his head. Juliana Welles was no great heiress. Her family was prosperous,
but not the rich match the heir to Stratfield should aspire to. He’d have to fight his ailing father, the whole of his family, to keep her. Not that he would let that prospect interfere. He was going to have the tumultuous Juliana and no other.

It was unexpected, and yet utterly pleasing, this new idea of marrying Juliana Welles. Now that he thought about it, he realized that when he was with her, he forgot the corruption in his soul. Just now, when he saw her at the gatehouse, he’d forgotten the ugly memories of Saladin and slavery and nakedness. Who had time to grieve about the past when dueling with a lady whose wit was as sharp as his battle sword? And she made him burn as no woman had ever done, not even the skilled artisans to whom Saladin had introduced him.

He shied away from the memory. Saladin had been a twisted man who enjoyed watching Gray perform with his other slaves. He’d complied to save his life—and hated himself. But Juliana banished the shame and the hatred. All the ugliness seemed to burn away in his passion for her, in his desire to entice and conquer her. He’d been so intent upon his duty to marry and his schemes of revenge that he hadn’t seen it earlier. Now his vision was clear.

He would marry Juliana Welles. Of course, he would have to woo her, and much differently than he had the sweet-natured Yolande. Juliana would be a far greater challenge. And while he was courting the lady of the damascened eyes, he would find and hang the thief who had stripped him and humiliated him before her.

JULIANA RACED ACROSS THE BAILEY. SHE turned a corner of the new hall and ran inside past dozens of servants setting out the trestles and benches in preparation for dinner.

Marry Gray de Valence, by God. Once she would have welcomed it to the depths of her soul. If only he’d been so attentive and seductive the night she’d treated Imad, or the next morning when she’d been as full of timid excitement and infatuation as a lady in a troubadour’s song, ready to give her favor and her heart. But she knew better now. She wouldn’t be fooled again. She wouldn’t be hurt again.

Clutching her ripped overgown, she blew strands of hair out of her face and stopped to ask the butler overseeing the work in the hall where her mother was. Then she charged out of the hall, down an inner stair, and into one of the large storerooms beneath the structure.

Hardly pausing to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight, she hurried over to her mother, who was inspecting food supplies. Laudine was counting bags of flour while Bertrade sat on a barrel with quill, ink, and the inventory list.

“Mother, you must do something!” Juliana paused beside a barrel of vinegar, leaned on it, and panted.

Havisia stopped counting jars of oil. “What have you done now?”

“Naught,” Juliana said as she gulped in air and patted
her brow with the torn edge of her overgown. “Father says I have to marry that corrupt spawn of the devil, and you must prevent it. Yolande won’t have him, so he’s trying to—”

“By the Holy Mother,” Havisia said. “Are you saying Gray de Valence has asked for you instead of Yolande?”

Laudine clapped her hands and laughed while Bertrade let out a sigh and gave Juliana one of her beatific smiles. Juliana nearly growled at them, but persevered with her mother.

“He’s worse than Edmund Strange. He’s not been here a week and he’s cast aside the lady he was wooing before everyone.”

“But you’re the one who didn’t want him to have Yolande,” Laudine said. “And now we know why.”

“You be quiet. Go count dried fish. Mother, I’ll not be enslaved to the prince of rooster knights. Since we met he’s run me into a mud hole, thrown me over his saddle, and tossed me into a washtub.”

Havisia sighed and rubbed her temples. “I fail to understand you, daughter. Are you saying Gray de Valence has asked your father for your hand?”

Not wishing to reveal the lurid circumstances that precipitated the tangle, Juliana only nodded vigorously.

“Even though you’ve behaved in a most discourteous and insolent way toward him? And don’t deny it, Juliana. I saw you throw butter in his face and beat him with a joint of beef. And I was witness to your disrespect at the east gate. You’ve treated him worse than the meanest pot boy, and yet he has asked for you.”

Feeling misunderstood and ill-used, Juliana stamped her foot. “He only agreed because Father caught us—”

Too late she realized her lack of wisdom. Havisia swept over to her and fixed her with a sharp gaze.

“Out with it, daughter.”

Juliana worked the edge of her boot between two floorboards and mumbled, “Together.”

When she risked a glance at her mother, Havisia was staring at the rip in her overgown.

“I shall speak to my lord about this.”

Juliana let out a long breath. “Oh, thank you, Mother.”

“A betrothal must be announced quickly to stop evil tongues from ruining your honor.”

“Mother!”

Laudine laughed again. Bertrade tried to pat her shoulder, but Juliana shook off her hand and followed Havisia as she resumed her inspection of ale barrels.

“Mother, you can’t mean you want me to marry this—this Viking. I won’t. I’m going to take vows of chastity …” She faltered at this, for she recalled how Gray de Valence made her body tingle and burn. “I—I’m going to live at Vyne Hill.”

Her mother was watching her, and Juliana found herself avoiding that penetrating gaze.

“I’ll admit your wooing has been unusual,” Havisia said. “But you’re not an ordinary maid.”

“Wooing!”

“Yes, daughter, wooing. What else have you two been doing?”

“Fighting. That’s what we’ve been doing.”

“Perhaps. But few knights would endure from you what de Valence has and thrive at the prospect of more battles. No, don’t belabor me with more protests. De Valence is a brilliant match, one I never hoped for, especially for you, my willful, hot-tempered little fury. The only reason I agreed to this plan to cloister yourself was because I never thought to see you matched with anyone after Edmund Strange. Now run along and change your
gown. You don’t want to dine with Gray de Valence looking like that.”

“Mmm, mmm, mmm, sister. What will Yolande say now that you’ve stolen her lover for certain?”

“Oh, Laudine,” Bertrade said. “Juliana wouldn’t steal. Yolande has already refused him.”

Juliana’s eyes widened as she stared at her mother and sisters. “You—I didn’t—Thunder of God, you’re all mad!”

A noise made her whirl around to face a figure gliding down the stairs. For once Juliana was speechless as Yolande floated toward her, her pace slow, her complexion pale. Clutching an account book to her breast, the girl came to rest before Juliana.

Twisting her fingers together, Juliana began to stutter apologies, but her earlier fit of rage seemed to have drained Yolande of her anger over de Valence. Her head drooped as she lifted a hand to stave off more of Juliana’s explanations.

“None of this is your fault, Jule. I know that now. There’s something in your temperament that calls to the Sieur de Valence.” She sighed and managed a smile. “Besides, my lord de Valence was becoming wearisome. He never wanted to play games, nor did he want to dance long enough to suit me. I have rejected his suit. You take him. He’s more amusing when he’s quarreling with you.”

Aghast, Juliana backed away from Yolande. “Amusing! Thunder of heaven, you’re as mad as all the others.”

She stormed out of the storeroom, running up the stairs and out of the new hall. She nearly ran into Alice as she crossed the yard between the hall and the old keep.

“Mistress, I been looking for you everywhere.” The maid fell in step beside her, brandishing a kerchief. “Oh, I be terrible spent. Ah-choo!”

“What is it?” Juliana snapped.

“Long Tom has drunk too much ale again. He hasn’t stopped since the tourney began, and now his wife says he has a fever and a terrible ache in the head.”

“It’s God’s judgment, no doubt. Come along. I must change my gown and fetch my healing box, and we’ll need to fetch more vervain from the herb chamber.”

Long Tom was a drunkard, but Juliana blessed him all the same. His misfortune was her good luck this evening, for Long Tom lived in Wellesbrooke village near the mill. She would be able to extend her duties there until everyone had gone to bed, thus avoiding another encounter with de Valence. She needed time to think and time to devise a way to save herself from his mad fancy.

Late that night Juliana returned to her chamber and sent Alice to bed. Long Tom hadn’t been the only villager suffering from the effects of tournament celebrations. She’d ministered to three other men, the miller’s wife, and the hayward’s daughter. Her activities had distracted her from her predicament.

She was weary, but couldn’t sleep once abed, and she was still as confused and apprehensive as she had been when Gray de Valence first said he wished to marry her. Knowing she would toss and turn if she tried to sleep, Juliana pulled on a cloak and went to the herb chamber. There she busied herself with notes she was collecting for an herbal. She had learned her craft from her mother and also from Friar Clement and Mother Joan in the village. No one had bothered to write down all the herbs, their preparations and uses, and Juliana was determined that the lack be remedied.

She began to read over her notes by the light of a single candle. Gillyflowers were good for hard labor in childbirth and for dropsy. Wormwood taken with spikenard abated wicked wind of the stomach and comforted
the heart. Pennyroyal had many uses: for cold humors of the head, for phlegm, for ailments of the belly, and itching boils.

“That’s what he is, an itching boil,” she muttered to herself. “The vile wretch set me in Yolande’s place, as if we’re interchangeable pawns on a chessboard.”

Juliana set aside her notes. She was perched on a stool before her worktable. Resting her elbows on its surface, she put her face in her hands.

“Why? Why has he done this mad thing?”

Never had she been so bewildered. Gray de Valence could marry any of the most beautiful and noble of women. She had seen the way maidens and dames alike quivered and sighed when he looked at them. He had but to enter a room and Laudine began to arch her back and purr. Once he’d been talking with Richard and happened to glance at Alice and smile. Juliana had heard a colorful description of how that glance had affected her maid.

“Oooo, mistress. He looked at me, and me knees turned to potage, they did. I almost fell on me face. I thought my insides had turned to hot butter.”