by Tamara Leigh
Her lips quivered, but the smile she surely fought slipped through. “Nay, he has finished turning. Ever it startles me, even when I know it is coming.” Another gasp, and she drew his hand to her side. “There is his head.”
He looked down, caressed it, felt their son shift beneath his fingers. “So much movement,” he murmured. “How do you sleep?”
“Of late, oft he awakens me, but when he settles I usually return to my rest.”
And when she did not, did she lie here storing away memories such as this? Of course she did.
Movement opposite, and it was he who took Juliana’s hand and slid it to what were surely the babe’s feet—not a great distance from his head. Such a fragile being this was.
“There is so little to his clothes,” he said. “Will he truly be that small?”
“The smaller for me the better.”
Alarm sounded through him. No matter the size of the woman, birthing could easily take not only the babe’s life but the mother’s. And Juliana was of slighter form than many.
“Though with a father such as you,” she added with haste that left little doubt her thoughts had gone the way of his, “he shall not remain small for long.”
Dear Lord, he silently prayed, preserve her.
The babe kicked, moving her hand beneath his.
“Also like his father,” she said, “he is strong. So strong that when all the day is at rest, sometimes I feel his heart beating beneath my hand. At least, I think it his heart. It may be the coursing of my own blood.”
“May I listen?”
She was slow to answer, and he thought she would refuse, but she drew a shuddering breath and said, “You may.”
He bent nearer. Continuing to cup her hand over the babe’s feet, he pressed an ear to her belly just beneath the little one’s head, then closed his eyes and ceased breathing.
Almost immediately, he caught the beats—rapid and strong. He counted them and, upon reaching two score, started over.
“Can you hear our babe’s heart?” Juliana said softly.
Continuing to listen, he lifted his lids. Past a hank of hair that had loosened from the thong at his nape, he peered up into her face above a bosom grown fuller in readiness for their babe. And was surprised by her less sorrowful smile.
“If it is not his heart I hear, ’tis yours, Juliana. It beats most fast.”
He was further surprised by the laugh that parted her lips, the smile moving into eyes that shone with something he dare not think love, and the hand with which she swept the hair off his brow.
“Certes, my heart is beating fast,” she said with just enough teasing to name it that.
Moved by what he knew he should not allow, he looked to her mouth, then raised his head to taste her.
She drew her head back, with urgency said, “Gabriel.”
He met her gaze, saw sorrow once more dwelt there.
“I did not mean to tempt you—or myself,” she said. “But you do not want to do this, and neither do I.”
There was no rebuke or condemnation in her words, but they were still a blow. And he ached that she had to speak them, that their mutual joy over their child made them forget the bridge between them was only as strong as that of which it was constructed—a fragile, misbegotten babe.
He removed his hands from her, set them on the chair arms. “Forgive me. My only excuse…”
Do not say it, he silently warned. But should he not repay the honesty gained from her this day—her acknowledgement this was his child—with that which also wounded him?
As he struggled over which way to turn, she scooted forward and set her feet to the floor.
“My only excuse,” he said, “is that you make me want what can never be.”
She tensed as if to rise, then dropped her face into her hands.
“Juliana?”
She shook her head.
Cursing himself, he pulled her back, and she sank against his chest.
In that moment, he determined he would not send her from Mergot when she recovered from birthing. If she agreed—and she might not if it made the parting to come unbearable—he would have her remain a time so she and the babe would know each other as much as possible.
Juliana wept quietly and not long, then went so still he could feel her heartbeat merging with his. And once their hearts kept time, her breathing turned deep.
Over the next hour, shadows crept the walls and gathered night about the candlelit room. The guard knocked, doubtless to deliver supper viands, and when his request to enter went unanswered, withdrew—well aware his lord was inside and likely of the belief he did more than hold the lady.
When fatigue once too often lowered Gabriel’s lids, he reminded himself the morrow’s early departure made it imperative he gain a good night’s sleep and eased forward in the chair.
Juliana moaned softly and tipped her head back. Breath a warm breeze against his throat, she slid a hand up his chest and around his neck as if to ensure he did not leave whilst she slept.
Securing his hold on her, he rose from the chair and carried her across the room. As he laid her atop the bed, she said, “Do not leave me. Not yet.”
He drew the coverlet over her. “It is late.”
“Pray, just a while longer. The night can be lonely.”
It could be, though he had not realized how much until after banishing her to the tower and every eve feeling her absence from the chamber near his solar.
“A while longer,” he conceded and retrieved her sewing chair and set it alongside the bed.
She spoke no further word, and he sat back and thrust his legs out before him. Certain she would soon return to sleep and deciding it would not hurt to rest until he could slip away, he closed his eyes. And slept.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Dawn brought with it the unkind reality of what this day held—if he stayed his course. Thus far, he had not. He ought to be in the saddle, several leagues nearer negotiations with Faison, but he was with Juliana.
The coverlet down around her hips, she lay on her side facing him, all the more beautiful with their child pressing its way into the world. Hair into which he had pressed his mouth whilst she wept last eve draping her pillow, the color of roses in her cheeks, mouth softly bowed as if she liked her thoughts, eyes so warm he hardly felt the chill of a room whose brazier needed kindling, she watched him.
For how long? More, what did she think of him passing the night with her though he had said he would not stay long? From the turn of her lips, she did not mind. But then, she had not wanted him to leave.
And neither had he. When he had closed his eyes, he had known he would not soon slip away. Had known he would be with her come morn. Had known his course would be altered.
The final fold in his plan to take back his child dropping atop the other folds of the night past, he released his breath. The question was no longer when it was best to return Juliana to Tremoral but when he could give her what she sought. As soon as Blase’s tidings arrived…
He ground his teeth. He had hoped to receive word ere now but had yet to accede his brother’s silence portended ill. It was a foul time of year to pass news between the island kingdom and the continent. The weather was surely the cause of delay—else Blase was having difficulty learning how Alaiz fared.
The bedclothes rustled, the bed creaked. “Gabriel?”
He returned her to focus. Auburn tresses spilling over her shoulders, smile lowered, she sat facing him.
“I am sorry I cried. My emotions are here and there, at times everywhere, as is common with women who are with child. That is all.”
All? he snatched at the word spoken with apology. Those others surely did not prepare to surrender their babe to another woman.
“Though I know this is an unpleasant situation, I am glad you came.” She moistened her lips, said in a rush, “It is good for you to know your child ere he is born.”
Desperation. But not for herself. Certes, she longed to streng
then the bond between him and their child to ensure legitimate children did not entirely displace his firstborn.
He stood.
“You are going?”
“I have pressing matters to attend to.” The most important, he did not say, being the missive to Faison alerting him to a delay in negotiations. Only a delay.
“Of course,” she said softly.
“Ere I leave, there is something I meant to tell you yesterday—should have told you weeks ago.”
Questioning lined her face. Wariness smoothed it.
“Blase has returned to England.”
She blinked. “When?”
“Four weeks past.”
“Then the day after you brought me here.” She nodded. “I saw him depart but thought he went to minister at a village. Why did he leave?”
“In answer to his bishop’s summons. However, I asked him to pass through Tremoral and inquire after your sister.”
Her eyes lit, then she was on her feet and much too near. “Pray, what word have you?”
“None yet, but I expect tidings soon.”
Her brow furrowed. “It has been nearly a month.”
“It is winter, Juliana,” he said, as much for himself as her.
She looked down, gripped her hands so tight he heard her knuckles pop. “What if he has been recognized? What if—?”
“Blase is wise, cautious, and nearly as capable a warrior as he is a priest.” Again, as much said for himself as her. “Now I must go.” He strode opposite.
“I thank you,” she called.
He opened the door, looked around. “Save your thanks for when your sister is returned to you.”
She startled. “Returned to me?”
“Once I know her situation, I shall take her from Tremoral as I should have done when I came for you.”
Juliana was certain her heart stopped, feared it would not start again. She dragged her hands apart, raised them in a gesture of such utter supplication it surprised her knees did not hit the floor. “You cannot do that, Gabriel.”
Annoyance flashed across his face. “I can. And more easily than you.”
“Nay!”
His lids narrowed. “Are there yet more lies I ought to be made aware of?”
The greatest of all, even were it by way of omission.
She hastened across the room and gripped his arm. “You know not the depth of Bernart’s hatred. Were you captured—” She drew a shuddering breath. “Even do I fail, I am in less danger than you.”
His nostrils flared. In a voice on the edge of anger, he said, “You told you do not believe me a coward. I am not. You told you do not believe me a betrayer. I am not. But both I would be if I allowed you to go for Alaiz. I shall see her to safety, just as I saw the mother of my child to safety. Then never again will either of you set foot on English soil.”
She gulped. “We are to live in France?”
“If you and your sister are to remain under my protection, greater distance must be put between Bernart and you.”
Juliana did not understand. He could not possibly mean Alaiz and she were to reside here. Did he, once more Gabriel and she would be at odds. Though she knew he suggested nothing unseemly, even greater than the temptation they would face was the danger to their child. Her presence here—and Alaiz’s—would eventually draw Bernart to Mergot.
“Thus,” Gabriel continued, “your sister and you will enter the convent ten leagues distant from here. Though I shall raise our child, on occasion I will bring him to visit you.”
Not at Mergot, but near enough to allow her to remain a part of his life. Struggling against once more subjecting Gabriel to tears, she said, “I thank you for so generous an offer, one I will embrace. However, I stand firm that I be the one to bring Alaiz out of Tremoral.”
His eyebrows rose. “Firm, Juliana? The ground you stand on is not that. And never will it be. You are no warrior. I am. Once I have word of your sister, I will go for her whilst you remain here with our babe.” He removed her hand from him. “On that, I stand firm.”
“Listen to me!” She reached for him again.
He swept his arm aside. “This is no argument! It will be done as I say.”
“Gabriel—”
“What are you not telling me?” His voice was so near a shout, she retreated a step. “What, Juliana?”
What she could not. Or could she? If he would not be moved, surely he ought to know the full extent of Bernart’s hatred and the foul of a mind going mad. Only then would he understand how much danger he was in. And be better prepared.
“Or mayhap you but play with me,” he scorned, then stepped into the corridor and slammed the door.
Juliana flung herself forward. But before she could wrench open the door, the key turned in the lock. “Gabriel!”
Receding footsteps.
“Gabriel!”
Boots on the stairs.
“I will tell you!”
Silence.
She slammed her palms against the door, called to him, pounded her fists on the planks. But he was gone. Or almost.
Determined to tear an oilcloth from one of the windows and call to him as he crossed the bailey, she started across the room. But her belly tightened and nearly doubled her over.
Breath coming fast, she prayed she had not harmed the babe. Though this was not the first time she had experienced cramping, it had never been this intense. Trembling, she slid a hand down the swell of her belly and between her thighs. Her skirts were dry. For now.
As she waited for the muscles to ease and to feel movement again, she crooned, “Stay, sweet babe, stay. Your mother will behave. But another month and you will be in her arms. Stay.”
The hard ball made of her abdomen softened. More blessed, the babe nudged her hand with what might be an elbow.
How she loved this child! And how she loved his father though he could not possess as much heart for her.
She hugged her belly and whispered as she had done every day these past four weeks, “Know you are wanted. Know you are loved. Never question it, Gabriel’s son.”
Blessedly, no longer would she forever be gone from him. On occasion, Gabriel would bring him to her.
If he bettered Bernart.
Having missed the opportunity to call to him in the bailey, Juliana straightened, crossed to the basin, and washed herself in chill water. When the guard brought her morning meal, he agreed to her request to summon his lord to her.
But Gabriel did not come that day, nor the day after, nor the next.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The parchment crackled.
Curse Kinthorpe! Gabriel silently raged as he turned a fist around words written by a monk of Briarleigh.
Though Blase did not detail what had been done him, his injuries were severe enough he could not inscribe the missive himself. Forget his assurance he would heal. It did not cool the fury burning through Gabriel. Only one thing might—blood for blood. And according to the missive, he would not have to seek it out. Kinthorpe was coming for him.
He could not come soon enough.
And what of Alaiz, accused of attempted murder? Was she still in hiding? Or had her brother-in-law found her? If not, might other ill have befallen her?
Regardless, Gabriel was at fault. Had he let Juliana be—
Nay! he balked. The babe she carried was his. Never could he turn his back on his child knowing he might be abused—especially if the timing of his birth caused Bernart to realize he had been cuckolded.
Rather, his plan should have been better conceived. Had he allowed more time to ensure he took Alaiz with her sister, Blase would not lie infirm, Juliana’s sister would be safe, and Bernart would not be bringing an army against Mergot to kill and maim.
Gabriel thrust out of the lord’s chair. Though he bore the blame for vengeance gone awry, he hungered to cross swords with Kinthorpe. And he would. Though most would wait for spring to cross the channel, Juliana’s husband would not. As soon as possible h
e would come to claim a child not his and a wife who ought not be. Hence, more weapons must be struck, repairs to the inner wall completed, stores of food and water brought in, and his men’s training intensified.
Gabriel strode from the hall into a day so cold his breath billowed across the air. He paused in the outer bailey and considered the tower.
How did Juliana fare? He listened intently to the guard’s meager reports, but he had not gone to her since closing the door on her beseechings a sennight past. Daily she sent word she wished to speak with him that she might reveal something of great import, but his course was set, and he would not be dissuaded. Nor would he subject himself to further temptation. And now it was more imperative he stay away.
If he went to her, she would ask for word of her sister, and he would have to lie. Regardless of whether Kinthorpe arrived before the babe was born, Gabriel would not reveal the contents of Blase’s missive. Its ill tidings portended too great a risk to Juliana and their child.
But there was something he could do. Though it might be in vain, he would send Erec to England to root out Alaiz. If she yet eluded her pursuers, his vassal would find her and deliver her to France.
This day he would dispatch a messenger to the knight. Then yet more practice at arms—until his every muscle screamed for mercy.
Two days it had been thus. The gaps in the inner wall filled twice as quickly as on days past, with greater urgency workers darted bailey to bailey, wagons loaded with food stores clattered over the drawbridge, and the forging of steel was synchronous with the sound of men hard at training.
It frightened Juliana where she stood peering through a gap in the oilcloth she had loosened. It could mean only one thing—siege was coming to Mergot. Though she prayed the one responsible was Baron Faison, it was hardly likely with Gabriel soon to wed the man’s cousin. Thus, it had to be Bernart who came in the yawn of winter.
She dragged a hand down her face and chest, folded it over the other at her swollen waist that grasped scissors and a piece of cloth.