Suzanne Robinson (4 page)

“Please, mistress, not again.”

“You may stay home this time.”

“Someday you’re going to meet a man who’ll turn your own tricks against you.”

Juliana smiled. “There’s not a man alive clever enough, or if there is, he’ll be too full of his own male importance to reason out the solution.”

Alice crossed herself and muttered a quick prayer. “God preserve you, my lady.”

“I like to help God along in his care of me—what’s that noise?”

Juliana leaned farther out the window and listened. On top of the keep the sentry was blowing his horn. She heard a shout. Her gaze swept the river valley and found a mass of riders poised on the west bank. Ranged along the river, they formed a long line of glinting metal and rich colors, the most dominant of which were green and gold.

“De Valence! I’ve no doubt he’s as hateful as his cousin since they share the same evil blood.” Juliana left the window and raced out of the room. “Come, Alice. Let’s see this scandalous phoenix Father so dreads to meet.”

She ran downstairs and shouldered her way through the throng of servants in the hall who were preparing it for an evening feast. Outside she saw her parents, their younger daughters, and their highest retainers hastily putting themselves in order as they rushed across the bailey to the drawbridge to greet the new arrival. Juliana ducked behind the dovecote before they could see her, then went to the stairs that led to the wall walk. With Alice protesting behind her, she gained the wall walk and dodged men-at-arms on her way to a turret beside the gatehouse.

Once at the turret, she hurried up a winding stair to the top. There she perched in an embrasure and watched as a standard-bearer rode across the west bridge. He bore a great emerald banner that snapped in the wind. The breeze tossed her hair in her eyes, and she brushed it away. When she could see, she beheld a winged golden dragon rearing on the standard. The wind made the standard furl and billow so that the dragon appeared to twist, snarl, and claw in attack.

Behind the standard-bearer rode a long line of men,
three abreast. Juliana surveyed their number. Thunder of heaven, there must be almost two hundred men! Only the most powerful barons had riding households of that size. This was indeed a powerful phoenix.

She searched the first line of men riding behind the standard-bearer and in the middle found de Valence by the colors he was wearing—an emerald-green surcoat of the finest silk over gleaming silver chain mail. A glittering dragon of gold breathed fire on his chest. She wished he would remove that great helm, for all she could see were black slits where his eyes should be.

Suddenly that great helm turned and tilted in her direction. Juliana ducked behind a merlon, then peered out at him. The black slits in the great helm pointed at her, and for some unknown reason, she shivered and couldn’t make herself leave her hiding place. Thunder of God, she was frightened, and for no reason. Swallowing, she chanced a peek. To her relief, de Valence had ridden up to the gatehouse where her parents, sisters, and cousin Richard waited.

He pulled up his mount, a black destrier Juliana now noticed for the first time. A quiver of uneasiness passed through her. Ah, what a foolish thought. There was more than one black stallion in the world.

De Valence was still sitting on his horse. He gazed down at Hugo, who was giving a host’s greeting. Hugo finished, and still de Valence sat on the black horse that was growing restive. He controlled the animal easily with one hand, then dropped the reins.

The stallion planted his hooves and went still. Silence settled over the welcoming party. Juliana noted that Richard, a knight of renowned prowess, was caressing the hilt of his sword. His hair as black as Juliana’s, he had Hugo’s girth and courage as well. There was much between him and this silver-haired lord. De Valence unfastened
his great helm. Juliana leaned down from the embrasure to get a better view. A gloved hand pushed back the padded mail hood that protected his head, and she cursed. Silken hair the color of moonlight and pearls spilled forth in thick cascades that almost reached to his shoulders.

“The Viking!”

Alice, who had been craning her neck in the next embrasure, let out a low whistle. “Oooo, mistress, that be a fine, beautiful man, that be.”

“Hush, Alice, you’re babbling.”

“But look at them wide shoulders,” Alice said. De Valence swung a long leg over the saddle as he dismounted. “And such grace for so long-limbed a man. Look at your sisters.”

Laudine and Bertrade stood behind Richard, their veils fluttering, their whispers almost audible behind their hands. Juliana glared at them as they fidgeted, giggled, and stared at de Valence like two twelve-year-olds. The whole company in front of the gatehouse seemed to churn and stir, so great was the agitation among the inhabitants of Wellesbrooke.

Even Richard, who was as refined and chivalrous a knight as any in Christendom, revealed his agitation. He bowed to de Valence, but watched him uneasily until the other must have uttered some pleasantry. Then he gave de Valence a slight smile and gestured toward the gatehouse. Hugo fell in step with his guest, and a wave of relief seemed to pass over the crowd.

Juliana crossed to the opposite side of the turret to follow the progress of host and guest until they disappeared into the new hall. Then she whirled on her heel and began striding back and forth while Alice babbled on about the magnificence of Gray de Valence, his great personal
dignity, his unparalleled beauty, his obvious strength, his magnificent apparel.

“And did you see how he bowed to your mother? What grace, such a true, perfect gentle knight.”

Juliana swept back across the turret again. “Be silent, Alice! What nonsense. Did I not tell you he’s the Viking?”

“You mean the arrogant beast?”

“Aye, the arrogant beast of a Viking who attacked me in the mud. By God, no wonder he was so unendurable. It was Gray de Valence. The pompous cur. Evil-minded brute. Slavering, scourge-ridden blight—Oh, no.”

An unexpected thought made her stumble. She righted herself and twisted her hands together, intertwining the fingers in a nervous habit she couldn’t seem to break. There would be a welcoming feast tonight for all those attending the tournament. A feast and dancing afterward.
He
would be there. And he would recognize her.

“Thunder of heaven,” she muttered.

She remembered his strength, how he’d lifted her as easily as she lifted her veil. She remembered his violence, the fury directed at her when she threw mud in his face. He could have broken her in half with one hand.

Juliana leaned against the turret wall as the enormity of the peril she’d been in dawned on her. She’d thrown mud in the face of Gray de Valence, a man her father feared, and who made Richard more than a little apprehensive, who like some demon had vanished from England into a land of evil heathens and survived. Gray de Valence, by God.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t hide from him. Father would be furious if she stayed away from the feast tonight after she’d promised to be good. But the thought of confronting de Valence made her legs weak and her stomach queasy. What was she going to do?

“Alice, I’ve fought with Gray de Valence.”

“Oh, mistress, I hadn’t thought …” Alice joined her in pondering the difficulty. “Ah!”

“What?” Juliana asked.

Alice clapped her hands and chuckled. “This morning you were in your old clothes, mistress.”

“Yes?”

“Well, mistress, you were bundled in one of them old wool gowns and a cloak with patches on it, and covered with mud besides. Just you meet him all cleaned up in your fine clothes. He won’t recognize you.”

Juliana frowned. “He called me a little black duck.”

“We’ll hide your hair. Wear one of your flaring hats with your wimple and barbette and put a veil over that. You’ll look the gracious eldest daughter.”

Juliana glanced across the bailey to the new hall. Through Hugo’s expensive glass she could see wavy figures moving around. One of them wore green and gold; this one she knew possessed emerald eyes and a heathen ruthlessness she didn’t care to arouse.

“Viking beast.”

Wait. She couldn’t let this man frighten her. After all, he was only a more fabulous version of those feeble-witted rooster knights she detested.

“Alice, I refuse to let him scare me. He was the one in the wrong.”

Alice gave her a wary look. “Now, mistress.”

“It’s true.” Juliana began to pace again, swiftly, with jerky movements that matched her temper. “He shoved me into the mud with his leg, the monster. I won’t have it. If I have to hide and disguise myself, he’s going to pay for it.”

Juliana stopped to gaze at the new hall again. “Indeed, I’ll make it my special task to make certain he pays. In a way that will mortify Gray de Valence as he did me.”

She smiled then, a sweet nun’s smile that caused Alice to groan and shake her head. Juliana left the turret then, with Alice dancing at her heels.

“Now, mistress, now mistress. You don’t want to do this, you don’t. He’s not the kind of man to take such a thing without avenging himself. Think of your father, think of your mother …”

Juliana said nothing, but her smile grew wider and wider as she walked toward the keep. By the time she reached her chamber, she was grinning.

THE NEW HALL AT WELLESBROOKE ECHOED with song. A minstrel held the company spellbound with his ballad of love and chivalry at King Arthur’s court. Between the tall glass windows that ran along one side of the great room, gilded sconces were affixed to the wall and bore the luxury of beeswax candles. Their sweet scent filled the air and chased away the rougher smells that lingered after dinner. Soft golden light flickered in pools on the newly swept floor. Tables had been cleared away, and Hugo and his most prominent guests sat on chairs and stools on the dais before the fireplace. Ladies, barons, and knights disposed themselves about the hall in groups grown quiet with awe at the brave deeds expounded by the singer.

Surfeited on Hugo’s venison, pleased with himself and the preliminary success of his plan for revenge, Gray reclined next to the Earl of Uvedale on a curved chair. He’d taken care to practice the guile learned from Saladin, a man who could smile, compliment, and charm his enemies while poisoning their wine. Hugo’s wariness of him had faded in the face of Gray’s courteous demeanor. Richard still eyed him uneasily, but he had returned Gray’s civility.

While pretending to listen to the song with as much fascination as his fellow guests, Gray leaned back into a shadow and looked around the hall. Hugo was a prosperous baron. Tapestries woven in Burgundy, Brussels, and
Flanders reflected their brilliant colors in the firelight. White walls bore paintings of the creation, the Holy Family, and the apostles. Sideboards still bore serving vessels of gold and silver, while myriad servants in dark blue and silver, the Wellesbrooke colors, gave further proof of wealth.

Hugo could keep his tapestries, his growing list of fiefs, and his precious plate. Gray wasn’t interested in his host except as a means by which to reach the man whose lies had cost him his reputation, his honor, his freedom, and nearly his life. Richard. He dared not look at Richard Welles, who was ensconced in the midst of a group of admiring ladies. Gray closed his eyes and fought off evil memories. He couldn’t afford a lapse now.

Later he would pay for his control with nightmares in which he relived the branding. Slowly, making certain he wasn’t observed, he slid his hand up to press against the scar on his upper arm. How many times in the years since Saladin had given it to him had he imagined that the wound still burned?

Gray forced himself to lift his hand and put it on the arm of his chair. Glancing at Uvedale, he was relieved to see that the older man was engrossed in the ballad and hadn’t seen the gesture. Uvedale had been most cooperative. He’d gone to the earl before supper and presented the letter from the king’s justiciar and unofficial regent, Hubert de Burgh. On behalf of the young King Henry, de Burgh had given permission for Gray to betroth himself to the heiress Yolande de Say. He also instructed Uvedale to allow Gray to woo the girl in his own way. The earl wasn’t to reveal this agreement until Gray consented.

A wily and jaded courtier, Uvedale had recognized the favor and power Gray must wield to obtain such a letter. The earl hadn’t objected despite the fact that Hugo was rumored to be about to ask Uvedale to consider a match
between Yolande and Richard. Now Gray was free to carry on with his scheme.

His hands almost shook with excitement and anticipation. A black veil of rage threatened to obscure his vision as he contemplated how near he was to avenging Welles’s betrayal. He dared not look at the man who evoked such hatred within his heart. Just God, he longed to be free of it, for this hatred gouged deep scars in his heart, as if acid were slowly dripping on it and eating it to the core. Had it only been a few hours ago that he first faced Welles after all the years of degradation and torture of the soul?