Suzanne Robinson (34 page)

Havisia slammed the door shut. Juliana sprang to her feet and shouted at the portal. “A scold and a drudge!”

She would have said more, but fear overtook her. Was she a scold? A drudge? She glanced down at her skirts. Stains decorated them from girdle to hem, mostly from the tincture of feverfew she’d made this morning. Sitting down again, she resumed her grinding, and with each pounding movement her worries and fears grew.

She went to bed worried, and woke on her wedding morn in a state of wordless trepidation. Gray hadn’t arrived. While Alice, her sisters, and Havisia helped her dress, Hugo sent men down the road to Stratfield to search for the missing bridegroom. Juliana suffered, silently for once, while Alice fastened a girdle of gold links set with good-luck stones—sardonyx to prevent malaria, agate to guard against fever. At last her mother put a transparent, emerald-colored veil over the masses of her loose hair and secured it with a golden circlet. In too short a time, she was ready, and there was no word of Gray.

HANDS COLD, KNEES WOBBLY, JULIANA FOUND herself mounted on a white mare and riding up to the front doors of the Wellesbrooke village chapel. Crowds lined the road, waving and shouting. She barely noticed the salutes of Piers and the other Vyne Hill villagers, or the cheers of Alice, or Eadmer and his companions. Her father rode beside her and helped her dismount. He held out his hand to her, and they walked up the steps as Friar Clement emerged from the dark interior.

He met her with tears in his eyes. “Dear Juliana.”

Her heart banged against her chest, and she was barely able to get out a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

The chapel door swung open again.

“Naught is wrong, my joyance, except that you look like you’re going to a burial rather than our wedding.”

Juliana’s lashes fluttered, and she stared at the apparition before her. From surcoat to boots, Gray shone in the morning sunlight that reflected the gold in the chains at his throat, the heavy cloak pin in the shape of the dragon rampant, the chaplet that encircled his silver hair. Emeralds flashed in the circlet and on the signet ring on his finger. Yet despite the richness of his garb, he outshone the precious metal and costly fabric. Behind her, Juliana heard Laudine’s whisper.

“Mmm, doesn’t he make you shiver, Jule?”

Wearing his fine garments as easily as he wore chain mail, Gray seemed unaware of the murmur of appreciation
that rose up from the crowd that had gathered to witness their joining. Juliana’s gaze filled with wide shoulders draped in gold. She looked up at him, even more apprehensive now that she beheld this evidence of his rank, and met the teasing gaze of the man who had tossed her in the mud only a few weeks past. Fear melted away. Her knees stopped shaking, and she nearly strangled on a cry of irritation when he bent down and whispered to her.

“You thought I wouldn’t come, didn’t you? What a secret, whimpering little coward you are.”

He kissed her hand, his tongue stealing out to taste her skin.

“Cursed smirking savage,” she hissed. “You hid inside apurpose to give me a fright, you tyrannical, arrogant Viking.”

“I adore you as well, my love.”

“Then let Friar Clement begin the ceremony, if you dare.”

He did dare. To Juliana’s astonishment, she found herself a new bride in moments. His green gaze flared as he consented to be her husband, and challenged her to say her own vows. How could she not accept his challenge? And so she married him. The shock pushed her into a fugue that lasted through the mass that followed and on into the wedding feast and the dancing and merriment thereafter.

What jarred her from her state of bedazzlement was the ribald jests that circulated from knight to lady to jongleur and baron. She was seated with Gray at the table of honor in the great pavilion set up before the castle while her sisters and their guests ate, drank, and danced. Raucous laughter recalled that of her first, aborted wedding and made her shiver.

The bedding of the bride. Its terrors were still to come.
At her feet were strewn roses and lilies. The air rang with joyous congratulations from damsels and knights, but all she could do was look for dark corners in which to hide.

Fingers trembling, she clutched the golden goblet she shared with Gray. Warm, strong hands wrapped around her cold one and held the cup to her lips. She drank sparingly and then glanced at her new husband. He was watching her with wicked amusement while she ached with fear. Her brows drew together.

“Thunder of God, how can you sit there and leer at me when soon—”

He rose suddenly, grabbed her hand, and shouted. “A dance, a dance for my new bride!”

Whistles and raucous laughter greeted them as he dragged her from the dais to the circle of dancers. Crowds of guests cheered them drunkenly. Juliana’s gaze darted from one tipsy knight to another, knowing that soon they would huddle together and plan ways to embarrass her in her own bedchamber. She yanked her hand from Gray’s.

“I don’t want to dance.”

He grabbed her hand again and, while she tried to free herself, signaled to the musicians. Flute, drum, trumpet, and lute struck a loud note. Gray nearly pulled her off her feet as he led the chain in a dash to make a circle. Around and around they went until Juliana thought she would never catch her breath again. She glimpsed Laudine’s round cheeks and teasing eyes. She heard her father’s loud laugh. Suddenly the music’s pace doubled, and Gray increased the speed of their steps. Her vision blurred, and she almost stumbled.

Then there was a jolt. Gray broke from the circle and pulled her with him. She sailed after him into the crowd of revelers. It parted and seemed to swallow them as the guests cheered the lusty dancers and clapped in time to
the music. Lungs heaving, Juliana could only follow as Gray threaded his way through the crowd to a shadowed corner at the back of the pavilion. He tugged on her hand and pushed her behind a trestle table piled high with food. His arm came over her to push aside hangings. She was shoved into darkness and then outside into the fading daylight to bump into someone’s back.

Arthur Strange turned around. “Well met, cousin.”

He held out the reins of a horse to Gray. Lucien stood nearby holding Juliana’s mare and his own while several other knights formed a concealing barrier with their own mounts. Juliana turned to Gray, who was guiding her to her horse.

“What are you doing?”

“Stealing my bride.”

“But my father, the guests, the—the—the—”

A look from Gray made his cousin and his knights put distance between them and their lord. He took Juliana by her shoulders.

“My love, do you really want to stay here and endure the bedding ceremony?”

“Help me mount.”

“That’s my fire-tempered wench.”

He mounted his impatient hunter and they galloped away from the pavilion, around Wellesbrooke castle and over the east bridge. Juliana hardly slowed her pace until they rode over the drawbridge of Vyne Hill. As they rode across the deserted courtyard, dusk turned into night. Gray dismounted and swung her to the ground.

Taking her hand, he said quietly, “I sent everyone away.”

The door opened, spraying warm candlelight over them and framing a damask-clad Imad. The youth bowed low.

“Welcome, O noble master and mistress. May the light of Allah bless you.”

Holding her gaze, Gray drew her over the threshold without looking at Imad. He murmured her name in that rough, breathy voice that betrayed his intent. Liquid fire coursed through her veins, leaving behind an ache she knew would only grow.

“Does the master wish to dine? I have prepared roast peacock.”

“No.” Gray raised her hand to his lips and raked his teeth across her knuckles.

“Wine, master?”

“No.” He placed her palm against his cheek.

“Sweetmeats?”

“Imad, you are dear to me, and I thank you for your service. Now go away.”

Juliana was about to add her thanks when Gray swept her up in his arms.

“You may thank him tomorrow.”

Her last glimpse of Imad was over Gray’s shoulder as he raced up the stairs. Imad sank to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor, but Juliana wasn’t fooled, for he was smiling as he called after them.

“Thy will is mine, O master.”

Gray yanked open the door to her chamber, went in, and kicked it closed. He set Juliana on her feet. She turned around in a slow circle, unable to form words that expressed her consternation.

Her makeshift furniture was gone, and in its place were hangings of peacock-blue, -green, and -gold. Bronze lamps lit iridescent colors. A great bed sat against one wall, hung with blue silk bordered in green and gold. The old fireplace had, been newly restored and a fire burned while her slippers sank into a carpet that Imad had extravagantly placed on the floor. She glanced at a flagon of
wine and two goblets, then at the bed, then her gaze settled on the tips of her slippers.

She jumped when Gray came up to her silently, bent down, and touched the tip of his tongue to her cheek. He slipped his arms beneath hers and encircled her. His breath made the curls at her temples dance.

“Admit it,” he said. “You were as frightened as a mouse cornered by a ferret at the thought of a public bedding.”

“I—”

He nuzzled her hair back from her ear and began doing wicked things to her neck. “And you were afraid I wouldn’t come back from Stratfield.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Liar.” He lightly grazed her throat with his teeth.

Juliana swallowed, but found that she’d lost her voice when he placed soft little bites down the back of her neck. Without warning her gown loosened and his hand slipped inside the neck to rest just above her breast.

“No one knows where we are,” he whispered.

“Your men.”

“Value their lives and won’t betray us.”

“Then we’re alone?” The idea was finally beginning to settle into her mind.

“Except for Imad, who is more discreet than an abbess.”

She whirled around in his arms. “No priest is going to stand over us in our bed and mutter blessings?”

“Not even an acolyte.”

She smiled then, in wonderment. “You knew how I dreaded the bedding. You knew. You’re a devious knave, Gray de Valence, and I love you for it.”

“I couldn’t let you endure it, my joyance. I regret that I couldn’t return sooner. I tried, but after my father died, there were so many obligations.”

“Gray.”

“Yes, my joyance.”

“Shouldn’t we speak of such things later, or perhaps you’d like me to mix you a potion to spur your desire.”

He laughed, picked her up, and put one knee on the bed. “If you dose me with an aphrodisiac, you’ll not get out of this bed for a week.”

“Thunder of heaven, what a promise. My healing box, where’s my healing box? There’s mandrake in it.”

Gray released her and she landed on the bed with a bounce. He sank down on top of her and took her mouth in a long kiss. She stirred when she felt his hand drawing her skirt up her thigh. His lips left hers and he looked down at her leg.

“No boots,” he said.

“I have the heels of my slippers made specially—”

He placed his fingers over her lips, and she looked into the depths of emerald-green.

“No, my joyance. I meant that I prefer the boots.”

“I do too.”

“No, not under your gowns. Just the boots, and perhaps your stockings. By my troth, Juliana of the damascened eyes. I’ll never forget the sight of you stripping off your gown and standing before me in your boots. I have dreamed of you that way.”

Juliana trailed her fingers through thick, heavy locks of silver. “And I’ll never forget that you noticed me and not my legs.”

“Verily, my love, who could fail to notice such a fire-tempered wench?”

Their fingers intertwined, and Juliana’s glance caught the gold signet ring he’d given her when they wed, a small version of his bearing the dragon rampant. His larger one vanished from her sight beneath the silk of her gown. She captured it as it slid over her breast.

“So,” she said as she spread little kisses over his lips and cheeks, “I’ve captured the lord of the dragon.”

“Alas, fair lady, captured, bound, and enslaved, willingly.”

She released him and took his face in her hands. “Then show me the dragon, my lord. I want to see it, and feel it. Set the dragon free.”

SUZANNE ROBINSON has a doctoral degree in anthropology with a specialty in ancient Middle Eastern archaeology. After spending years doing fieldwork in both the U.S. and the Middle East, Suzanne has now turned her attention to the creation of the fascinating fictional characters in her unforgettable historical romances.

Suzanne lives in San Antonio with her husband and her two English springer spaniels. She divides her time between writing and teaching.