Lady Betrayed

by Tamara Leigh

  However, this was different. Though for nearly four months he denied it was his greatest enemy who had taken Juliana, in his depths he had feared it was so. In everything, Gabriel prevailed. He was what Bernart could never be, had what Bernart could never have—Juliana.

  Jealousy spewed its venom through him. He had wanted a son, but she had not done it for him. For her imbecile sister she broke her marriage vows. That knowledge pained him, and more deeply when he put a question to himself that begat others.

  Had Juliana lied? Had she told Gabriel of the plan to steal a son from him? Plotted with him to deliver her from Tremoral? If so, what of Alaiz? Had Gabriel refused to take her and Juliana allowed it as she would never have allowed Bernart, placing Gabriel not only above her husband but her sister?

  Bernart squeezed his hands closed. He would not believe it! She had been stolen. As long as she believed he held Alaiz, his secret was safe. And none would tell her different.

  He looked to Blase de Vere. Was he dead? If not, then soon. Meaning it was time to prepare for the crossing to France.

  “Pray, help me. I cannot do it alone.”

  The woman’s voice dragged Blase from the comfort of senselessness as it had done when he lay on the floor of the wood—how long ago?

  Narrowly, he opened an eye and looked to where she struggled beneath his arm over her shoulder. When he had lain at Bernart’s feet, he thought it mere imagining he had seen the village woman who had offered herself to him. For some reason, she risked her life to aid him.

  Determinedly, he commanded his legs to take some of the weight off her. It was not much, but perhaps enough to see them to his mount.

  “We are nearly there,” she huffed.

  With effort, he opened his other eye and moved his gaze side to side. “There,” he croaked when he caught sight of his horse near the edge of the ravine.

  “I see him.”

  Though Blase ached to close his eyes, he looked to his bloodied right shoulder, then his left side, from which the woman had drawn the sword.

  Too much blood. Though he might reach the nearest abbey, only a miracle would see him healed. Death drew near, but all he asked was time in which to warn Gabriel of the man who came for him and Juliana.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Castle Mergot

  France, Late-January 1196

  As it would be all the time she had with her child, she squandered none. She touched her belly often, with palms and fingers chased feet and fists across the surface, cradled and sang to it.

  Though the past four weeks were spent alone—or mostly, Gabriel having sent Lissant every morn and afternoon though he had said she would be afforded no companionship—it was only solitude in that she could not set eyes on the precious one who shared her quiet.

  Instinct continued to tell her it was a boy, and she imagined one day he would stand as tall and broad as his father. And his eyes would be blue.

  Gabriel’s face rising before her, Juliana blinked to dispel the vision. It hurt to love him—more than ever it had hurt to love Bernart.

  From his voice that carried to the tower, she knew when he came to the outer bailey to oversee restoration of the inner wall though it had slowed with the digging in of winter. At such times, she was grateful for the oilcloths that had been secured over the windows to keep out more of the cold than the shutters could block. Otherwise she might have yielded to the longing to look upon him.

  Instead, she sang louder and more vigorously applied needle to the disassembled bliaut from which she had fashioned four garments to keep the chill from the babe when it came into the world. However, the delight an impatient mother ought to feel in handling the small clothes was denied her. Thus, she tucked them away at the bottom of the chest. As she would this one, only Lissant aware of the gifts her lady left behind, which would be all the babe had of his mother.

  Emotions straining, Juliana moved her thoughts to the maid whose visits she would miss, Lissant having this day departed the castle to assist her sister who had recently birthed twins. For only a sennight, she had said, assuring her lady she would return well before the arrival of Gabriel’s son.

  “Gabriel’s son,” Juliana breathed, ever circling back to the man and the child they had made. She looked down, by the light of several candles lit in advance of the dark fingered the embroidery around the neck of the fifth garment. It was almost finished, but as with each one nearing completion, she was loath to make the final stitches.

  She considered the sewing implements she had asked Lissant to deliver a fortnight past. Though fairly certain they would be denied her when the maid told she must seek Gabriel’s permission, Lissant had brought them the next day.

  With great care Juliana completed the last stitches, then said a prayer for the one whose sweet skin would be softly embraced by material that had first passed through his mother’s hands.

  She drew a deep breath, pushed her bulk off the bench, and crossed to the chest. As she raised the lid, she heard the scrape of metal on metal. Was it supper already? Had time passed so quickly? Not that she wished it to. The more it dragged, the longer she had with her child.

  Back to the door, she lifted a blanket from the four little garments. Though all were fashioned of the same material, each was a different cut. Their son would look handsome in green.

  The door opened, and she heard the guard who delivered her meals step inside.

  “I thank you,” she said and bent to place the garment. As she smoothed it atop the others, she realized there was no movement about the room as when the tray was brought inside.

  She looked over her shoulder. “Gabriel!”

  Head and shoulders filling the doorway, he stared.

  Forgetting the reward of subtlety, she swept the blanket over the babe’s clothes, dropped the lid, and spun around.

  He narrowed his lids.

  Clasping her hands beneath her belly, a mistake that emphasized the swell and drew his gaze, she said, “For what do you come to my prison, Lord De Vere?”

  He lingered over the evidence of her advanced pregnancy, then entered and closed the door. “What do you plan now, Juliana?”

  Unable to bear what would be revealed of her heart if he looked upon the tiny garments, she said, “Naught. What do you wish?”

  He halted before her. “I would see what you hide.”

  She held his gaze. “I hide nothing. You surprised me, is all. I thought you the guard come with my meal.”

  His hands settled on her shoulders, tempting her to lean into him and making her wish the man in the garden at Tremoral who had told he had not easily surrendered his friendship with Bernart would show himself again.

  “You are not resolved to it, are you, Juliana?”

  It took a moment to make sense of what he asked, and when she did, her smile felt more bitter than sad. “I try to be, but you must know it is no easy thing you require of me.”

  A muscle jerked at his eye. “Methinks you will forget our child as easily as you forgot your marriage vows.”

  She lowered her gaze to her belly between them, struggled to hold back denial, could not. “The sin is mine, but you err in believing I thoughtlessly laid ruin to my marriage vows.”

  “Then set me right.”

  The strain in his voice brought her chin up, and once more she glimpsed pleading in his eyes. “If I could, do you not think I would?”

  He loosed something between a growl and a sigh, then moved her aside. “Let us see what deception you work.”

  Suppressing the urge to fling herself atop the chest, Juliana crossed to a window whose shutters she had laid back to allow daylight to filter through the oilcloth.

  As Gabriel rustled the chest’s contents which contained only pieces of her heart, she fixed her gaze on the cloth as if she could see into the bailey below.

  Silence fell. When he moved behind her, she tensed further. When he turned her, the breath shuddered out of her.

  “Why do you sew clothes for our c
hild?”

  She stared at his throat. “He comes into the world bared and vulnerable. Surely he ought to know warmth and comfort—”

  He gave her a shake, but it was so slight it barely moved her, unlike when her refusal to foul her body had pushed Bernart to violence that had snapped her head back and seen her thrust against the tapestry-covered wall.

  “Do you truly love this child?” he asked.

  Tears blurring her vision, she looked up. “In the garden at Tremoral, you said you were not the devil I made you to be.”

  “Well I remember.”

  The depth of his words made her heart lurch. “Neither am I the devil you think me to be, Gabriel. Fearing you will take this child from me, I have tried not to love him so much, but I do. Ever he will be a part of me. Ever I will feel his loss.”

  Emotion slipped past the armor in which the warrior clothed it, lit his eyes, lined his face. And made it easier to speak what she had days past promised she would when next she saw him.

  “This babe’s place is here with you. Though I struggle to resolve myself to it, I agree it is best he remain at Mergot.”

  Gabriel drew back slightly. “You concede he is mine? Not Bernart’s?”

  “He is of you. Just as ever he was meant to be.”

  He frowned. “Meant to be?”

  “Though I told I retaliated against Bernart for his infidelities, it was a lie. The reason I came to your bed in the dark of night was to steal a child.”

  His jaw shifted. “To secure your place at Tremoral.”

  “Nay!” she exclaimed and wished she had not. Since all she had to gain by revealing Bernart’s shame was the pain of pushing that sliver all the way through her heart—and burdening Gabriel with guilt of which he was undeserving—it was best he continue to think ill of her.

  “Then?” he pressed.

  “I longed for a child.” It was true. Just not that she would have done what she had in the absence of Bernart’s threat against Alaiz. “Much I regret deceiving you,” she rushed on lest he pressed again. “Even when I convinced myself what Bernart believed of you was true, never did I intend you harm.”

  His eyes brightened with what might be tears, making her chest tighten and hands long for him. She looked down. “I am determined to be content in remaining here until I give birth and you secure a wet nurse for…your child. Then all I ask is that you provide for my return to Tremoral.”

  She startled when he set a hand on her jaw and lifted her face. “I am grateful for what honesty you afford me, Juliana, but there is more you do not.”

  “I-I am not done.” She tried to moisten lips less dry than her mouth. “Be assured, you need not concern yourself over Bernart riding on Mergot to lay claim to our—your—son.”

  “How can you be certain he will not?”

  “A great lie I shall tell, of which you know I am capable.”

  His nostrils flared. “The lie?”

  She drew breath to the bottom of her lungs. “I do not know my captor’s identity. I but know I was held in the south of England somewhere outside London. When I miscarried, I fell so ill it was months ere I recovered sufficiently to escape. Once I slipped away from my captor, I kept to the wood whilst traveling north—home to Tremoral.”

  Was it disbelief that dropped Gabriel’s hand from her? Disgust? “You make it sound easy, Juliana.”

  “Forsooth, it will not be, but I have endured—and will endure—harder things.”

  “You truly expect Bernart to believe your great lie?”

  “He will have to, for I have naught else to tell.”

  “And when you have told it?”

  “The plan is as before.” Or almost, she silently corrected. It would not do to reveal that to appease Bernart for losing his heir she would offer to lie with whomever he chose and—once more God willing—escape ere that could be arranged. “When Bernart eases his watch over me, I will take from his coffers, and Alaiz and I will steal away and enter a convent.”

  Gabriel stared at Juliana, hated this was how she had spent these past weeks—sewing garments she would never see upon their child whilst desperately plotting a future free of the abusive Bernart that, if she succeeded, would see her shut away the rest of her life. If she succeeded…

  “Thus, as I know you will ensure this babe’s future is as good as possible for a misbegotten child,” she continued, “I ask only one thing—that you see me safely and discreetly returned to Tremoral.”

  Only that. As if sending away the mother of his child were easily done. The weariness that had pressed upon him all day growing weightier, Gabriel stepped past her and dropped into the chair beside a table topped with sewing implements that evidenced she sat here to fashion garments so small he was alarmed by how fragile his son would be—all the more vulnerable for lacking the arms of his mother.

  He leaned forward, set his forearms atop his thighs, clasped his hands between them. Would Faison’s cousin make a good mother to one not of her body? It was as he had prayed ere coming to Juliana—and before the morrow when he would depart Mergot to conclude negotiations for his betrothal.

  Long he had stood in the chapel remembering how, before his father set him aside, he believed himself versed in the Lord’s voice. Though unheard, it had made itself felt when Gabriel happened upon two roads, both of which led opposite the other. When he had heeded the voice, few were his regrets and trespasses. When he had not, many they were.

  This day, when he had knelt before the altar and sought the Lord’s guidance and blessing in the still of that holy place, he felt it more strongly than in all the spaces between. But rather than be assured Lady Louisa could be the mother it was impossible for Juliana to be, he had been burdened by the wrong of taking the babe from the one who birthed him. And further burdened over Juliana’s suffering, some of which could have been alleviated had he not been so angered by her disregard for their child’s well-being he had not revealed the task set Blase.

  But was this burdening of the Lord? It did not seem possible, for if he was not to take the babe from Juliana, then what? She was another man’s wife. He could not—would not—allow her to stay at Mergot. The voice felt had to be his own. And yet…

  His plan to take back what was stolen from him was threatening to fold—to make a bigger mess than even Blase had foreseen.

  Juliana stepped near. Skirts brushing his chausses, she said, “Well I have thought this through.”

  As well as she could with what little was available to her, and mostly that was the belief she could further deceive Bernart whose loss of the child he believed was his heir could turn him more abusive.

  He moved his gaze from knuckles gone white to her hands at her sides, remembered when last he looked upon them. Mostly healed of the injuries suffered during her quest to escape, they appeared soft, tempting him to discover exactly how they felt compared to the leather of his own hands.

  “Will you provide me an escort to Tremoral?”

  He looked up. “I cannot say.”

  She blinked. “How can you not?”

  He also wished an answer to that—or was it he needed to accept the answer?

  She dropped down beside him, gripped his wrist with fingers and palm even softer than expected. “Do this for me, and I shall ask no more of you. I give you my word, I will go from your life and stay out of it—as well as this child’s.”

  Staring into a lovely face desperation laid wide open, he felt his plan fold. And when her other hand rose and fleetingly pressed her side that rippled with movement, his plan folded yet again—making him reach for her and pull her onto his lap.

  “Gabriel!” She strained against his arm around her back, pried at his hand cupping her side. “I have repented, vowed I would not repeat my sin—”

  “I would not have you repeat it. I want only to feel our child.” It was not entirely true, but convincing enough that she ceased struggling. But she did not give him her gaze, and as he awaited it and permission to track their ch
ild’s movements, he felt her roiling.

  When she lifted her chin, her eyes sparkled beautifully, and he wished it was not with sorrow. “In a month,” she choked, “well you will feel him, for he shall be here.”

  He ought to honor her unspoken request to be released, but he could not. “Here, but no longer within you.” He looked to her abdomen. “I would feel him whilst he is there.”

  She swallowed loudly. “Why?”

  How was it a man of the sword could unflinchingly wear the blood of those who sought his blood and yet balk over so simple a question—one he had invited? Though tempted to retreat from the tower room, he more than wanted to feel their child. He needed to.

  He sighed. “You are his first home, Juliana.”

  Her lids fluttered.

  “I ought to wish to forget that, but I do not.” And will not, he silently added and offered a hand as done in the chapel the first time he sought permission to touch her there.

  Though this time she did not herself place it on her abdomen, she inclined her head.

  Gently, he laid it to where he had glimpsed movement. Moments later, there it was again, pressing up against Juliana’s taut skin, languidly moving from his wrist down his palm to his fingertips.

  A chill born of thrill, wonder, and awe shot through him. “What is it, you think?” he rasped and was struck by how much he sounded like a boy.

  “An elbow…mayhap a hand.”

  The babe stilled, then more movement—lower and rising.

  “He is turning,” she gasped. A moment later, her hand was atop Gabriel’s, guiding it to the center of her belly.

  That which slid into his palm was considerably larger than a foot or hand. “What is it?” he asked again. “His head?”

  “Nay, his bottom, and here…” She moved their hands inward. “…his back.”

  He had only moments to feel its curve before it rolled inward and Juliana gave a little cry. He swept his gaze to hers. “He has hurt you?”