Suzanne Robinson (26 page)

“Well? What do you three want?”

Laudine and Yolande glanced at each other. Yolande nudged the older girl, who sighed and began.

“You’ve been ill?”

Juliana paced around the room, hands on her hips. “You know very well I haven’t been ill. Do you want me to tell you what I’ve really been doing?”

“No, no.”

Again Laudine glanced at Yolande. Yolande clasped her
hands together and rubbed one of her knuckles against her front teeth. Bertrade’s prayers rose to an agitated buzz. Juliana looked from one to the other, then threw up her hands.

“For God’s love, out with it. Such reticence isn’t like you, Laudine.”

Folding her arms over her substantial chest, Laudine lifted a brow. “Very well. We’ve come to ask you if …”

“Thunder of heaven! If what?”

Again the glance at Yolande.

“If—if you perchance quarreled with Edmund Strange and, and … perchance lost your temper and, and—”

“And shoved a knife into his throat?” Juliana bellowed. “By the blessed Trinity, how do you dare ask me such a thing?”

Bertrade whimpered and began chattering her prayers loudly. Yolande scurried behind Laudine, whose color was rising.

“Don’t roar at me, Juliana Welles. We only asked so that we could help.”

“Oh, then I suppose I should thank God for the labors my family takes for me.” Juliana folded her arms over her chest and planted herself in front of Laudine. “Just because I become somewhat agitated when people annoy me doesn’t mean I’m capable of murder, and it’s a great heaviness that my own sisters and my dearest friend could think such evil of me.”

Laudine sighed and gave Yolande a smiling glance of reassurance. “Then you didn’t do it.”

Tossing her head, Juliana said, “I didn’t say that.”

“For shame,” Yolande said. “You’re just being stubborn because we offended you, but we remember how you were when Edmund spurned you. You vowed to dose him with purgatives and secret herbs to make him impotent, and then you swore to—”

“I know what I said.” Juliana turned her back to them.

Yolande straightened to her full height, low as it was, went to Juliana’s side and touched her arm. “We haven’t been allowed out of the keep since they found him, but we heard what happened. You must have been sickened by the sight of him. All that blood …” Yolande went on in a whisper that only Juliana could hear. “Blood in the sand, sand in his throat …” Yolande whispered a few more words, then covered her mouth and swayed, leaning against Laudine.

“Stop,” Juliana hissed. “Saints give me patience, you’re going to make me sick too.”

Bertrade rose from the altar and joined them. “I pray God give you temperance and charity. We’re only trying to help. Confession is the only way, Juliana.”

Slowly Juliana turned around, inclining her head to the side like a hawk does when suddenly glimpsing its prey. Her damp hair swung across her face with the movement, and she fixed the three girls with a white-hot stare through its thickness.

“Holy hell!”

All three of them jumped at her ferocity. The exclamation seemed to rebound off the chamber walls. Cursing, Juliana sprang at them, and they scattered. Juliana snatched a water basin and threw it at them. It hit the wall beside the door as they retreated across the threshold.

“Interfering, faithless sows,” Juliana called after them. “Close the door, Alice.”

Alice had taken refuge in a corner. She obeyed and stood wringing her hands.

“Mistress, folk don’t think you did the murder, do they?”

“I don’t know if folk do, but that rutting, silver-haired
barbarian accused me, and you heard what my own sisters—God be merciful.”

Wincing, Juliana rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers and moaned. “Oh, all this misery has made my head ache. Heat some spiced wine, Alice, and add betony to it. I think there’s some left in my healing box. And then pack for me. I’ll not stay in this castle and endure suspicious looks and addled questions. It’s not my fault if everyone’s too blind to see that his brother had the most to gain from Edmund’s death. I care not. Vyne Hill has gone too long without my attention, and I need privacy in which to think about—about …”

“My lord de Valence?”

Juliana scowled at the maid. “About this terrible murder.”

“And your betrothed.”

“No reason to think about him. I’ll not marry a man who thinks me capable of murder. Now prepare that wine and speak no more of that lascivious churl.”

Juliana sat on the bed, pressing her palms to the sides of her head in an effort to still its throbbing. She’d spouted brave words, but they were hollow. There was little choice for her as long as Gray threatened to expose Eadmer, Bogo, Warin, and Lambert. There must be a way to escape his grasp. She needed to think, and she couldn’t think with him lurking around the castle. He would seek her out and ply her with the soft dove’s-wing touch of his fingers, tempt her, lure her into succumbing—what was she thinking!

Thunder of heaven, she wanted him again. Visions of his body, the memory of his sweet breath on her neck evoked an onslaught of heat. Thick, steaming, turgid, it fed on her blood, spreading and enveloping her.

“You’re an evil thing, Juliana Welles,” she said to herself.
“Lusting after that man when he’s trapped you into marriage.”

She still didn’t trust his intentions, still suspected he would avenge himself can her by spurning her at the last moment. And now there was this terrible murder. It was no surprise to her that Edmund had gotten himself killed. A man with so many schemes and so much evil in his nature was bound to come to an evil end. But who could have done it? If folk really did suspect her, she would do well to try to think of someone else for them to accuse.

His brother Arthur was no doubt tainted with the same sinful nature. Perhaps he had done the deed. Gray had been incredulous at her accusation, but heirs had been murdered by jealous brothers many times. Hugo’s days would now be spent in search of the murderer, but with Gray unwilling to suspect Arthur, the search might be futile.

How badly did Gray wish to protect his friend? He hadn’t voiced his suspicions of her before others, but she knew how ruthless he could be. If he had cause, might he accuse her to save Arthur? No. She didn’t want to believe that. Yet he had suspected her, accused her.

Alice handed her a cup of hot wine. Juliana sat back against the pillows, sipped the potion, and wished it would banish her confusion along with her headache. She was afraid. Not of being suspected, but of falling in love. No, that wasn’t right. She was afraid that it was too late to stop herself from falling in love.

Gray de Valence infuriated her, insulted her, bullied her, and she wanted to kick him in his flat, hard stomach. But beneath all the fury and ill will lurked timorous, uncertain, and yet thrilling feelings; wide-eyed, fluttery, soft feelings. And searing, hot-breath, churning feelings that left her with an urge to claw his back and rake her teeth
along his bare chest and belly. If only she could be sure of him. But how could she when she hardly knew him, despite their intimacy.

Pressing the cup against her forehead, Juliana sighed. She had committed a woman’s most terrible sin, one of them anyway. The church condemned fornicators. If Clement knew, he would say that she should wipe out the sin by marrying Gray, but it was beyond her imagining that a man as wondrous as Gray de Valence would truly want to marry her.

“What am I going to do?”

“Mistress?”

“Oh, Alice, are you still here?”

“I be waiting to prepare the bed, mistress.”

Juliana left the bed and huddled in the chilly window embrasure. It wasn’t like her to be so confused. Everyone knew how strong-willed she was. She always knew what choice to make, never faltered over decisions, gave orders without hesitation. But all her decisiveness seemed to have vanished. No longer certain of her judgment, she feared she had fallen in love with a man who was secretly bent on destroying her. How was that possible? Perhaps it wasn’t. Could she have lost all her wits? No. She hadn’t suddenly lost her ability to judge men’s character. Gray was annoying and ruthless, yes, but not vicious or evil. Was he?

“You’re confused,” Alice said as she pulled a gown from a chest at the foot of the bed.

Juliana gave her a rueful smile. “Yes, most confused.”

“It’s because he be a match for your famous temper, mistress.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He stands up to you. Gives blow for blow and returns for more. When you two clash, the heavens be racked
with thunderbolts. I always knew you’d never marry a man you could beat.”

“Are you saying he’s won?”

“No, but he hasn’t lost, has he?”

Juliana began removing her gown with quick, agitated movements. “I’ll never lie down under his boot, and don’t you say I will.”

“Never did.”

“He hasn’t bested me yet.”

“No, mistress.”

“And he won’t.”

“No, mistress.”

“If he thinks he can make me do his bidding, he’s got the wits of a mayfly. Gray de Valence isn’t going to make a spectacle of me with his pretense of a betrothal and his foul suspicions. Go to bed, Alice. We’ll start for Vyne Hill before dawn.”

“Ah, then he’s given you permission to go.”

Juliana grabbed a pillow and hurled it at the maid. “Donkeys will sing and priests fly before I ask that Viking’s permission. Get out.”

The door shut. Juliana glared at it while she tried to strangle the covers. Then she got up to retrieve the pillow. Crawling into bed again, she lay on her back, arms folded, fuming. Even if Gray hadn’t voiced his suspicions of her, even if he hadn’t shamed her in front of the entire demesne of Wellesbrooke, she wouldn’t marry him. Why? Because the rutting knave had ordered her to marry him, ordered.

No one commanded Juliana Welles, especially not some conceited rooster knight used to women quivering and swooning at the sight of him. She was going to show him that Juliana Welles submitted to no man.

THERE WAS A MURDERER LOOSE IN WELLESBROOKE castle. Gray ran his fingers through his hair while he walked the length of his pavilion. Seated on folding stools, Arthur and Lucien were talking quietly while Imad prepared a late serving of wine and bread. Arthur’s voice rose in distress, to be quieted by Lucien’s soothing tones. Knowing the brothers’ past, Gray hadn’t expected his cousin to regret Edmund’s death, but Arthur seemed genuinely grieved. Perhaps he sorrowed more for what he wished his brother had been than for what he really was.

And perhaps God had blessed the Strange family by replacing the older with the younger. Or perhaps Satan had taken one of his own to hell. Whatever the case, there were mundane tasks to be performed. Edmund’s body had been moved. He would be buried quickly, tomorrow night, before the corpse could decay further. No time for ceremony, no time to bring the rest of the family here. His funeral would be as irregular as his character.

He should have been distressed for his aunt, Edmund’s mother. He should have been consoling Arthur or searching for the culprit, but all he could do was pace and worry about Juliana. Gray spun around and stalked back to the other end of the pavilion. His route took him past the hangings of peacock green and blue, past a candle stand almost as tall as he was, past a table bearing the treasures with which Imad insisted he travel—a covered
ewer of agate mounted in silver, ovoid gilt flasks for wine and water, enameled silver spoons.

Outwardly he appeared as hard and smooth as the surface of those utensils. Inside he still felt dazed with the discovery of Juliana’s secret. And he was aghast at himself. On the ride back to Wellesbrooke with her in his arms his rage had faded. He had tried to keep hold of it, but he was holding Juliana, and her warm body and soft hair seemed to have a greater power than his anger. He had fought against this loss of rage, trying desperately to reject the idea that, in spite of his hurt, he couldn’t endure the thought of not having Juliana. And she still wanted him, something he was sure she’d never admit.

It was still hard to believe that she was a bandit. Not an ordinary bandit, but one who—according to gossip—preyed on vainglorious knights in need of humbling. He had to admit that her victims included knights who were the embodiment of arrogance and pomposity. He could imagine what she must have thought of their strutting, puffed-up pleasure in their own existence.

He smiled to himself. He could think of a few men in need of Juliana’s remedy for presumptuousness. His pacing had taken him to the corner where Lucien and Arthur sat. Arthur had lapsed into brooding silence.

“Lucien, you’ve reminded everyone not to reveal Mistress Juliana’s little habit of playing bandit?”

With a glance at Arthur, Lucien stood and came over to Gray.
“Oui, messire
, they’ve been sworn to silence.”

Gray closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I was furious with her, but … What Edmund did to her, she must have been deeply hurt.” He sighed and glanced at Lucien. “I suppose I should be grateful that her vengeance upon all those men was as mild as it was.”