Lady Betrayed

by Tamara Leigh

  His fingers turned around the hilt, brushed hers, stole her breath. “I thank you, my lady. For everything.”

  Did others hear his mockery?

  He turned to Bernart. “And you, Lord Kinthorpe.” Amid renewed applause, he descended the platform.

  Juliana stared after him. Only hours until Bernart sent her to him, and still she did not know what to do. Certes, he would reject her, furthering her humiliation.

  The knights who gathered around Gabriel clapped him on the back and hoisted slopping drinking vessels to acknowledge his prowess. Nesta handed him a tankard brimming with ale, and Gabriel turned it bottom up and put it forward to be refilled.

  “Now we feast!” Bernart shouted and thrust past Juliana.

  Trumpets sounded from the minstrels’ gallery. In anticipation, all turned their attention to the kitchen corridor. They would not be disappointed. All day Juliana had labored to ensure the banquet was worthy of the Baron of Tremoral.

  As the trumpets’ last note faded, a procession of squires and upper servants filed into the hall carrying platters of viands—herbed boar’s head, stuffed breast of veal, roast goose, leg of goat, lampreys, beef pastries. This but the first of four courses.

  Before the guests took their seats, each was tended by a pair of varlets who poured water over their hands and dried them.

  Realizing she stood alone, Juliana looked behind. Bernart sat beneath the orange-and-gold-striped canopy on the opposite side of the high table. Though he should have led her to her chair before taking his own, he had abandoned her—as if she had done him a grave wrong. And she had.

  Among the reasons he chose Gabriel was her dislike of him. Bernart had been certain she would so despise his touch he need not fear she would return to him with a head full of notions of love. Not that she loved Gabriel. She felt for the wrong done him, and though it was true he made her feel wondrous things, her heart had not turned to him. Still, perhaps Bernart sensed a change in her.

  She walked around the table and lowered into the chair between her husband and sister.

  Alaiz touched her arm. “Are you well, Juliana?”

  “I am.” She lifted her goblet. Though she tried to ignore the sensation of being watched—knew better than to search out the source—she looked to the table below the lord’s.

  Before Gabriel could harden his eyes, she glimpsed something there other than loathing. She could not name it, but it revealed he was less indifferent than he would have her believe. For this he was so angry? That his black heart included shades of gray, perhaps even white?

  “Juliana,” Bernart growled.

  She was surprised to find his meat dagger near, a morsel of roast goose on its tip. Though they usually shared a trencher, it was long since he had fed her—it being an intimacy shunned nearly as much as physical contact.

  “Take it,” he hissed.

  She leaned forward and picked it off with her teeth.

  “Does he know?” he rasped.

  Her mouth was too full to offer a vehement denial. Regardless, the lie was more easily told with a shake of the head.

  “Do not fail me, Wife.” He darted his gaze to Alaiz.

  She swallowed the flavorless meat. “I will not.”

  He reached for his goblet.

  Juliana laid a hand on his arm. “You have been drinking too much.”

  He turned his hand around her wrist and shoved his face near hers. “That surprises?”

  His grip was cruel, but she did not flinch. “You know what it does to you. It will keep you awake all night.”

  “Not if I drink enough.”

  Surely he did not mean to render himself unconscious? The last time he had done so was after Alaiz’s arrival at Tremoral. The following morn, the pain of making water drove him to such anger Juliana had barred herself and her sister in the solar.

  Never would she forget him pounding on the door with fists and feet. Though his outburst had not lasted long and afterward he was repentant, she had never been so frightened.

  She moistened her lips. “Have you forgotten the last time—”

  “When your whoring is done and he is gone, I shall leave off drink.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she drew a deep breath. “As you will. Now release me.”

  He obliged, and she yanked her hand into her lap and opened and closed it to determine if anything was damaged. Only sore, and her wrist would likely bear bruises.

  What would Bernart do if he knew the dislike she had once borne his enemy was no more? That she suffered only for the sin of her nights with Gabriel?

  He must never know.

  Affecting poise she was far from feeling, she gave her attention to the meal.

  Gabriel pondered what he had witnessed. The tension between Juliana and Bernart was palpable as they conversed between themselves and became more so when she stayed Bernart’s hand from drink. Glimpsing her tears and Bernart’s fury, Gabriel had been moved by Juliana’s plight—whatever it was.

  Did Bernart know his wife betrayed him the same as he did her? Perhaps. Did he know with whom she betrayed? If so, this moment Gabriel and he would be at swords over a treacherous woman.

  But was she treacherous? the thought crept in. Was he the first lover she had taken? Had she spoken true in professing feelings for him?

  He wished it. Though he named her a harlot, he was pained by the thought he might be one of many, wanted to believe what they shared went beyond a quest for revenge and that when he left Tremoral no others would come after him. No others would know her touch.

  God’s eyes! Juliana and Bernart might be estranged, but that did not mean they did not have relations. When he departed, once more she would lie with her husband.

  That filled Gabriel with the strength of an emotion he did not wish to feel, one that forced him to acknowledge something he had spent all day denying. In spite of his contempt for all Juliana embodied, he longed for her. He was as much a fool as his father. Mayhap more.

  All imbibed to excess as witnessed by the fervor with which they took to the floor once dancing commenced. Knights and ladies set aside pretensions, squires and men-at-arms abandoned their posts, and servants forsook their duties to join in what could almost be called a violent sport.

  Couples gripped each other's hands and whirled, and more furiously as the tempo increased.

  Juliana and her sister also drank more than usual, but it came as a surprise when Alaiz suggested they dance. Hand in hand they swung themselves around. Though jostled by others, Juliana hardly noticed as she recalled when her sister and she attended celebrations their father held for visiting nobles.

  Closing her eyes, she relived when last she had danced thus, just days prior to Bernart’s departure for the Holy Land—strong hands whirling her around, smile as bright as the sun, eyes sparkling, words of love mouthed amid the din.

  How sweet her suffering had been, secure as she was in the knowledge it would end upon his return from the crusade. Unlike other women who married men they did not love and would ever worship their lover from afar, Juliana would one day attain her true love. Every day and night she would know his kiss and touch. And she would bear his children.

  She opened her eyes. It was not Bernart’s face before her. It was Alaiz’s. It was not the year 1189. It was 1195. It was not Bernart’s child she would bear. It was Gabriel’s. Perhaps.

  The blur beyond her sister—faces, bodies, tables, tapestries—suddenly too much, she stumbled. Were she not determined to keep hold of Alaiz, she might have recovered her footing, but it was more dangerous to allow her sister to fly backward. Thus, they went down together, Juliana to her knees, Alaiz onto her rear.

  The whirling sensation coupled with drink was heady, and it took some moments for her sister’s wavering face to come into focus.

  It was no great smile Alaiz wore, but her lips curved.

  “Are you well?” Juliana asked.

  “Very well. It is long since I lost myself in dance.”
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br />   Not as long for Juliana, but she missed it. She looked around. Past swirling skirts and hosed legs, she saw others shared their fate—and were more at risk of being trampled than Alaiz and she who kept to the edge of the dance floor.

  She sighed. “Methinks I have had enough. You?”

  “I…”

  Alaiz’s hesitation surprised, and though Juliana longed to sink into a chair, she said, “Give me a few moments, and we shall dance again.”

  “Nay, find me a partner. Surely there is a knight who has imbibed enough not to mind I am nearly blind, but not so full up in his cups he cannot keep hold of me.”

  Juliana ached anew. “Are you not tired? Surely it would be best for us to go abovestairs—”

  “Juliana, I wish to remain lost, even if only a short while longer. Is there not one knight among the many who would do me this favor?”

  Sorrow pressing more heavily on Juliana, she peered at the dancers. Was there one she could trust with her sister? One kind enough to oblige without making Alaiz feel he sacrificed much in partnering with her?

  Her gaze fell first on Sir Randal, the household knight who often watched Alaiz. Dismissing him, she looked to where several knights gathered before the hearth, among them Gabriel. He sat back from the others, and bending near was Nesta.

  Jealousy Juliana had no right to feel stealing her breath, she silently repented for the wickedness of her soul and continued her search. Sir Erec stood on the far side watching the frenzied spectacle, the half smile on his lips begging to be made whole.

  “I have found a knight for you—the one to whom you gave a flower the first day of the tournament.”

  Alaiz stiffened. “Sir Gabriel’s partner in arms?”

  “Aye, Sir Erec. He seems a good man. And he is quite handsome.”

  “Is Sir Gabriel nearby?”

  “He is not.”

  Alaiz slowly nodded, and Juliana pulled her sister up beside her. They brushed the rushes from their skirts, then arm-in-arm walked the perimeter of the dance floor.

  “I shall ask him myself,” Alaiz said. “Place me directly in front of him. If the lighting is not poor, mayhap I will have his answer ere I put the question to him. If ’tis nay, we can merely exchange a pleasantry and continue on.”

  Would he be unreceptive? Would it show on his face? From what Alaiz told of her vision, even in the best light, what lay at the far center of the wide, black rim through which she peered was usually blurred.

  Moments later, Juliana did as instructed, and Sir Erec’s blink of surprise caused her to tense further.

  Then his smile was made whole. “Lady Juliana, Lady Alaiz.” He dipped his head. “The two loveliest women in the hall—and quite the dancers.”

  Though surprised he paid them any regard, Juliana smiled her gratitude. And waited.

  By the time Alaiz spoke, a frown had nearly displaced the knight’s smile. “Sir Knight, it may be unseemly to ask, but I feel unseemly this eve. Would you partner with me?”

  His eyebrows rose. “I would be honored, my lady.” He held out a hand Alaiz did not see, but before Juliana could think what to say, he moved it to her sister’s forearm. With a nod at Juliana, he guided Alaiz onto the dance floor.

  Juliana watched her sister go into the knight’s arms, watched him effortlessly move her among the other dancers, watched their faces and smiled over their smiles.

  She must not forget that even if one must look very hard, in every ill could be found good.

  He did not want her, but ever she returned to him. She smelled, talked too loudly, laughed too coarsely, and was too familiar in laying hands to him.

  “Let us go abovestairs,” Nesta said again.

  Wishing he had discouraged her rather than use her attentions to show Juliana how unaffected he was by what had happened between them—all for naught, for it was the Lady of Tremoral who took to the dance floor as if unaffected— he said, “I thank you, but your time is better spent pursuing another.”

  She harrumphed. “You are angry I did not come to you, but I would have you know I sought you that first night—would have entered your chamber had Lady Juliana not come out of the solar and sent me belowstairs.”

  Gabriel frowned. “Did she?” Foolish question. Of course she would not wish the woman in his bed when she came to it.

  “And the other nights were of Lord Kinthorpe’s doing,” she continued. “He makes most generous with me.” In the next instant she gasped, then hissed, “Son of a pig!”

  Gabriel followed her gaze to Bernart. Seated in the lord’s chair, from which he had not moved since the feast was served, he beckoned to Nesta.

  Was this Bernart’s revenge—taking what he thought Gabriel wanted? Unaware in doing so he freed his wife to work her own revenge?

  “He will have me on my back again!” Nesta spat. “What does he think me? A harlot?”

  Gabriel was grateful his mouth was not full of ale.

  “And ’tis your last night at Tremoral," she bemoaned. "You ought to have taken the opportunity when you had it.”

  He nodded.

  A smile snapped up her lips. “I shall finish as soon as I can and come to you.”

  Before he could discourage her, she strode opposite.

  Though Gabriel told himself he wanted nothing more to do with Juliana, he searched her out. She stood back from the dance floor. Alone. Beautiful in spite of the sorrow hovering about her. And her beauty had little to do with the extravagant garments and jewelry that reflected her husband’s status and wealth.

  Here is what belongs to one man and one man only, proclaimed the collar necklace lacking only a leash. Here is the Lord of Tremoral’s prize in all her glory, boasted the purple-red overgown and silver undergown. Look—and look well—but do not touch, warned the scores of pearls that lined her skirts and closed her bodice and sleeves.

  A deterrent to some, Gabriel thought, but of what use if the lady did not see herself that way? Certes, Clemencia de Vere had not. But at least she had not tried to hide what she was from those she took to her bed as Juliana surely would have done a third time had he not confronted her.

  But this night he slept alone. He loathed regretting that—was repulsed that he almost wished he had remained blind to her deceit.

  He cursed himself. He ought to have left Tremoral the moment he gained his reward.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The revelers could hold no more drink. Stretched out where they had taken their last swig, they snored and grumbled at the dreams racing behind their eyelids.

  By the light of exhausted torches, Juliana picked her way amongst the sprawled bodies toward the lord’s table and ascended the dais.

  Bernart was slumped in his chair. Before accompanying Alaiz abovestairs following several dances with the charming Sir Erec, Juliana had watched her husband consume enough wine and ale to satisfy two men. She could not know how much he imbibed following her departure, but it had reduced him to a state of senselessness. Though it meant she no longer need worry about going to Gabriel, it boded ill for the morrow.

  Whoever crossed Bernart’s path would know his wrath. All she could do was hope he did not regain his senses until the tourneyers departed. But if he did, he would likely turn on the one he had made into a greater enemy.

  She looked to the stairs. She had kept to the solar until she heard Gabriel enter his chamber a quarter hour past. Could she persuade him to leave Tremoral ere dawn? What reason might she offer?

  Dreading the encounter, she crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. At the landing, she paused. As when she had left the solar, a light shone from beneath Gabriel’s door.

  She drew a deep breath, traversed the corridor, and stepped inside.

  He stood before the open window with his back to her, dark head crowned with light cast by a torch he had brought inside.

  “I told you not to come again,” he said gruffly.

  She closed the door. “I am here only to ask you to leave Tremoral.”


  He turned. Face drawn with fatigue and what seemed less anger than when they had last stood here, he said, “This night?”

  “Aye. Methinks Bernart knows.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Were that so, surely it would be him come to me.”

  “He has drunk himself senseless. When he awakens, I fear he will—”

  “Do me harm?” he snarled.

  She moistened her lips. “Seek retribution.”

  “And if he does not know what happened here, will you reveal our tryst once I am gone?”

  She had conceded revenge had first brought her to him. And it had—just not her revenge. Averting her gaze, she said, “I will not.”

  He strode to her. “What would he do if he knew?”

  Hearing concern in his voice, she looked up. It was also in his eyes. Did he not hate her? Should he not be pleased by the prospect of her punishment?

  He lowered his hands to her shoulders. “Does he hurt you, Juliana?”

  More than he could ever know, but not in the way he thought. At least, not yet. Unnerved by how much Gabriel’s touch affected her, she said low, “He does not strike me.”

  He searched her face. “But you fear him.”

  “I am…wary, though mostly only when he drinks to excess.”

  His brow creased. “The Bernart I knew had little difficulty holding his drink.”

  Senses continuing to stir, she took a step back, but he held to her. “As told, he is much changed from the man who accompanied you to Acre. His demons bind him hand and foot.”

  “And you are made to suffer for the wrongs he believes I did him.”

  It was true, but if Gabriel did not depart Tremoral this night, he could be the one to suffer.

  Impulsively, she lifted a hand to his heavily stubbled jaw. “Pray, leave now. You know not what Bernart is capable of. He—”

  Gabriel caught her forearm and pulled her hand away. She thought her touch reviled him, but his eyes fixed on her wrist, the sleeve of which had drawn back to reveal the bruises dealt her this eve.