by Tamara Leigh
Juliana touched the pouch at her waist. Since Gabriel had not objected when she told she preferred to take her meal in the tent, she had hidden away enough bread and cheese to satisfy her hunger a day or more. As for coin, she would sell her jeweled girdle and wedding ring if need be.
She crawled out from beneath the canvas and swept her gaze around. The night was still. She pulled the hood of her mantle over her head and slowly rose. Moments later, she gained the wood.
With her back pressed to a tree, she searched the dark. Though there was enough moon to light her way, there was too little to distinguish the figure of a man from that of trees of lesser stature. Any of the shadows could prove one of Gabriel’s men.
Slipping tree to tree, she chose her footing carefully. The snap of twigs caused her heart to speed and the crackle of fallen leaves snagged her breath, but she pressed onward, assuring herself she would soon be out of range of her captor.
Still, that would not be the end of it. Once discovered missing, Gabriel would follow. She only prayed her absence would go unnoticed until dawn when she would be well away.
Gabriel peered closer. The figure darting among the trees was no woodland sprite come out to make mischief upon the night.
It was Juliana. He supposed he should not be surprised. Still, it angered that she attempted such. Not only was she without resources in an unfamiliar land, but she was with child. His child.
With long-reaching strides, he quickly gained on her, but rather than overtake her from behind, he circled wide and placed himself in her path.
“It seems you are not resolved to your fate, Juliana.”
With wide eyes and a strident gasp, she halted. Then she swung around and ran.
Gabriel lunged after her. When he caught her around the waist, she cried out, flailed, and unbalanced him. Blessedly, he had enough foresight to turn his shoulder and take the brunt of the fall. As he lay on his back struggling to contain his anger, she strained against his arm.
He let her do her worst, and when she tired, sat up. “’Tis over,” he said and released her.
She scrambled off him and landed on all fours. As if thinking to flee again, she started to rise.
“Do not!” he barked. “You have been foolish enough for one night.”
She met his gaze through the hair flung across her face. “A pox upon you!”
There were worse things with which to be cursed. He stood and brushed the debris from tunic and hose. “I am ashamed to say you surprise me.”
Sitting back on her heels, she swept the hair from her eyes. “Did you truly believe I would not try to escape?”
“It was more hope than belief you would not put the babe at risk.”
She pushed upright. “You stole me from my sister!”
Her sister… He stilled, peered into her moonlit face.
As if realizing what she left unspoken, she hastily added, “And my home and husband!”
He understood her concern for Alaiz, especially with her failing eyesight, but considering all she had risked to gain a child, he would have thought her first concern was holding onto Tremoral and Bernart. No matter she had sought to correct her error, they seemed afterthoughts.
He stepped nearer. “Now I shall ask a question of you. Did you truly believe I would allow my child to be raised by an abusive man?”
Her mouth opened, closed, then she said, “As told, he does not abuse me. And if you think him one who beats women why did you take me from Tremoral and leave my sister behind?”
Again, she left something unspoken—her denial it was his child. And once more, her greater concern was for her sister. But with regard to the latter, he had a defense. “I would have you know—”
“More and more methinks you are the coward and betrayer Bernart believes you to be!”
He sealed his lips against revealing he had not meant to leave Alaiz. There was no gain in it. She would think he lied as easily as she. Too, he supposed the more ill she believed of him, the less difficult it would be to keep distance between them.
When his roiling calmed sufficiently to trust his tongue, he said, “Be assured, in future I will remember the child you took from me is but a means of meeting your own ends, whatever they may be.”
It was too dark to be certain, but he thought pain flickered across her face. “I say again, this child is not yours, Gabriel de Vere. Hence, he is at greater risk do I remain with you.”
He narrowed his gaze. “You think it a boy?”
Her laughter was forced. “Boy…girl…it matters not. Either way, it is Bernart’s. His heir.”
Wearying of argument, he reached for her.
She drew back. “I will escape.”
“And I will bind you for the duration of your pregnancy, if I must. So which is it to be? Relative freedom or restraint and confinement?”
He felt her struggle, but finally she said, “I shall make no more escape attempts.”
“I would have your word.”
“My word I give I shall do naught until my husband comes for me.”
He ignored that last utterance, gripped her arm, and parted her mantle. A pouch was suspended from her girdle. Though he did not doubt food was within, she had no coin.
“How did you plan to pay for passage to England?”
She stared past his shoulder.
He lifted the ends of her girdle. They were threaded with large gold beads, several of which were set with small jewels. “Remove your girdle.”
“For what?”
“Lest you forget our bargain and think to use it for trade.”
She shook her head. “I gave you my word.”
“Even so, I will have your girdle—whether you surrender it or I take it.”
She wrenched free, unfastened the girdle, and thrust it and the pouch of food at him.
As he weighted them in his hand, he said, “Your ring as well.”
She worked it free and dropped it in his palm.
Gabriel closed his fingers around the symbol of her marriage to Bernart and was more pleased than he ought to be that he would not have to look upon it again. He spread the drawstrings of his purse and dropped the ring atop the coins.
“You are satisfied?” Juliana asked.
Indignation was evident in the quick breath that made her breasts rise and fall against the material of her bodice. For all her treachery, she made his blood quicken. The dark was a dangerous place to be with Juliana Kinthorpe.
“I am satisfied.” He gestured for her to precede him and, minutes later, tossed back her tent’s flap. “Sleep well, my lady. Tomorrow, your new home.”
Without a word, she bent and entered.
Beneath the regard of Blase and the men roused from sleep, Gabriel strode behind the tent, pulled the loose corner taut, and staked it.
“Killen!” he called.
The burly soldier stepped from the fire. “My lord?”
“Lady Mary is in need of a keeper. You will stand watch over her the remainder of the night.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Gabriel looked to his brother. “You shall guard the northern perimeter of the camp.” That area which Gabriel had covered until Juliana blundered into it.
Adjusting his sword belt, Blase turned away.
Gabriel strode to his tent, stepped past his bleary-eyed squire, and lowered the flap. Other than remove his sword belt, he did not undress, and it was some time before he closed his eyes. When he did, he was visited by visions of Juliana. And wanted to hate her for affecting him so when all he wanted from her was his child.
Naught else.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Castle Mergot
France, September 1195
Like a specter, Castle Mergot rose against a darkening sky. As evidenced by the great number of torches set about its walls, they were expected. In spite of the glow, it was difficult to determine much about the castle other than its immense size, but soon she would see for herself that which was to be her prison.
Urging her mount to keep pace with Gabriel’s, her thoughts turned to Bernart. It was three days since she was taken from Tremoral. By now word of her disappearance would have reached London. Providing Bernart was still at court when the news was delivered, he would now be traveling home. By the morrow or the day after, he would arrive.
Juliana imagined Alaiz falling prey to his raging. That fear had poured into her desperation-driven anger on the night past. Thus, her words roused Gabriel’s suspicion over her motives—and his ire when she flung coward and betrayer at him, neither of which she believed.
But something good had come of their encounter, perhaps even her abduction. As she had lain awake afterward, time and again she heard Gabriel’s words—Did you truly believe I would allow my child to be raised by a man who abuses you?
How she wished his fear unfounded! Bernart had never beaten her, but the eve he revealed his plan to gain a son, he had shoved her against the tapestry-covered wall and his eyes had shone with the longing to strike her. Though he had exhausted that fury elsewhere, bruising only the tapestry and her bodice with flung ink, more and more it seemed likely it would not always end that way.
Ere the babe made with Gabriel was born, already Bernart disliked it. And the voicing of Gabriel’s fear forced her to accept her own fear was grounded in reality. It was not if Bernart would abuse the child, it was quite possibly when? Thus, it was not if Bernart would abuse Alaiz, it was how long ere he did so?
With each day Juliana was away, the more likely her sister would suffer violence against her person. Meaning it was all the more imperative Juliana find a way back to Tremoral. And then? She did not yet know, but somehow she would keep Bernart’s wrath from both sister and babe.
Returning her thoughts to how he was receiving tidings she had gone missing, she wondered where he would begin searching for her. Would he guess Gabriel had taken her? If so, within a fortnight he would speed his army over this same ground. For the child that did not belong to him, he would strike, and neither the Church nor King Richard would condemn him for making war on one who had stolen his wife.
Would Gabriel fight to the death for this child? Would he denounce her for what she had done to gain the babe?
She was struck by that last. What she feared, Bernart would fear. And more. Though he expected the threat of casting out Alaiz would cause Juliana to keep his secret, her abduction would evidence Gabriel knew who had come to him in the night. Bernart could not know if his desperate and shamed wife would reveal she was given no choice. Thus, if Gabriel appealed to the king, Bernart might have to prove capable of fathering this babe. Would he risk exposing his emasculation to reclaim her and the child he loathed?
She looked back at the looming castle. If Bernart did not ride on Mergot, and she prayed he would not, especially for the sake of those whose lives would be lost to siege, she must escape. And if she did not…
She touched her belly beneath her mantle. Though she had not wanted to bear a child of such an unholy union, the thought of losing it—whether to Gabriel’s revenge or Bernart’s hatred—tore at her.
“Please Lord,” she whispered, “help me do what is best for this child. And keep Alaiz safe.”
A flutter beneath her hand made her breath catch. Was it the babe? If so, it was the first movement felt. She removed her hand. Though it would be increasingly difficult these next five months, she must distance herself from the life within lest Gabriel succeeded in taking the babe from her. The less she was attached, the less it would hurt.
Looking to where her captor was silhouetted against the lit castle, she swayed in the saddle. Having slept little after he thwarted her plan of escape, and since dawn having kept pace with him and his men, she felt near to collapse.
Lids beginning to lower, she opened them wide and considered the castle’s outer wall. It looked solid, and as told by different shades of stone, several sections had been repaired. Gabriel was prepared should Bernart come calling.
Upon crossing the drawbridge into the outer bailey, she corrected her assessment. The inner wall enclosing the donjon was badly damaged. Scaffolding was erected around it and restoration had begun, but it would be many months before the work was completed. Until then, if attackers made it past the first bastion of defense, the donjon would be theirs. Of course, judging by the number of soldiers manning the outer wall, such conquest would be hard-won.
When they passed over the inner drawbridge, Juliana looked to the donjon. It was imposing but also in need in repair. Whoever had resisted King Richard’s return to rule had held until the end. For a lost cause, had the lord given his life and the lives of those who served him? Certainly the latter. Many a man’s possessions, deserved or not, were of more import to him than human life.
Juliana reined in before the donjon steps. At the landing above, a dozen servants waited to receive their lord. Before them stood the handsome Sir Erec who had danced with Alaiz. Until that moment, she had not questioned why he had not accompanied Gabriel to Tremoral, but he had surely remained at Mergot to administer the demesne in his friend’s absence.
“Come.”
She looked to where Gabriel stood with arms raised to assist in her dismount. Once inside the donjon, would she be allowed out? Or was she to be confined for the duration of her pregnancy?
She recalled his words of the day past. He said Mary Waltham had the freedom to move within the donjon. But was that all?
“It is only five months,” Gabriel said, as if wandering the halls of her thoughts.
She raised her eyebrows. “If the babe comes early. Otherwise, six.”
His nostrils flared. “Pack away your lies, Juliana.” The words were too dangerously soft for others to hear. “They have no place at Mergot.”
“Nor do I.”
He gripped her waist and lifted her down beside him, rasped, “’Tis certain you have no place here, but until you return what belongs to me, we shall have to suffer each other.”
She longed to lash out…to injure his pride…to pain him as he pained her. And he must have seen it in her eyes, for he said, “I warn you, Juliana, continue to test me and your days will be long and not a little uncomfortable.”
She quelled her anger, though not so much he would think her defeated. “Lest you forget, the name is Mary. And my prison awaits.”
Teeth set, he slid a hand to her elbow and turned her toward the steps.
As much as she resented his touch, it was necessary. Not only were the stone steps pitted and missing sizable pieces, the deceptive shadows cast by the torches made the climb treacherous. On her own, she doubted she would have made it to the landing without mishap.
“I welcome your return, Lord De Vere,” Sir Erec said.
“All is well?”
“It is quiet.”
Gabriel drew Juliana forward. “Sir Erec Wulfrith, I present Lady Mary Waltham. Lady Mary, Sir Erec.”
No flicker of surprise. He knew the reason Juliana was at Mergot. “Lady Mary.”
She looked past him to the household servants who regarded her with interest.
“The lady shall reside at Mergot for the next five months,” Gabriel said.
Sir Erec inclined his head. “A pleasure, my lady.”
He lied well since he could not possibly rejoice in receiving the one who had deceived his friend.
“The day has been long,” Gabriel said.
Sir Erec stepped aside, and the servants murmured greetings to their lord as he ushered Juliana past.
Upon crossing the threshold, she wrested her awareness from the man at her side to consider the hall. Though nearly as large as Tremoral’s and evidencing past grandeur, it was shabby. Where tapestries must have hung, the walls were scarred and blackened by fire. Rushes were scarce underfoot, as were tables, benches, and sideboards scattered around the great room. A canvas was stretched over what was surely a hole in the far wall, but though it was meant to keep out the night air, it was not very effective. The draft tugg
ed at Juliana’s hair, caressed her ankles, and caused the fire in the hearth to spark and sputter.
Would the castle rise again with Gabriel? Not if Bernart—
“Hardly Tremoral,” Gabriel said, halting at the center of the hall, “but it will suffice for the short time you are here.”
She pulled free of him. “My chamber is abovestairs?”
“It is.”
“Then that is where I would like to withdraw for the night.”
“After you have eaten.”
The thought of spending another moment with him, enduring the castle folk’s scrutiny, and stomaching even a morsel was too much. Lowering her pride, she beseeched, “Pray, allow me my rest. These past days have been long and difficult.”
She feared he would refuse, but he said, “I will take you to your chamber,” and strode to the stairs.
She followed. Unlike the stone steps outside, the stairs were smooth and even, seemingly untouched by the siege. It was the same abovestairs, so different that she wondered if she had imagined the shabbiness of the hall.
Gabriel strode ahead of her down the corridor, retrieved a torch from a wall sconce, and threw open a door.
Juliana stepped inside and was met by an unexpected sight. The chamber was a good size, not much smaller than the lord's solar at Tremoral, but that was not as surprising as the rest. The ceiling was painted the blue of a spring sky, its four corners embellished with flowers—so fanciful it reminded her of her youth when she had believed in love.
Two of the walls were hung with finely worked tapestry. The one on the right depicted a garden, in the midst of which sat a lady and her lover, the one on the left a unicorn surrounded by white rosebushes. Positioned before the latter tapestry was a postered bed, its linen curtains drawn back to reveal plump pillows and a fur coverlet that so enticed Juliana’s lids grew heavier.
She stepped farther into the chamber. Not only were the rushes more plentiful here, they teased her nostrils with the scent of cowslip, hyssop, sweet fennel. More, they drew a sharp contrast between herself and the room. Having worn the same garments these past days, she smelled of dust and horses. How she longed for a soak in a tub and a change of clothes!