by Rue Allyn
“Excellent . . . ”
“Nonetheless,” Luigi lifted his palms outward, “I fear I must ask for greater incentive than the lovely Dona Juliana has offered. An extra passenger and a horse will occupy much space that would otherwise be used to take additional cargo.”
Juliana sidestepped around Robert. “But, Luigi, we have no additional coin to offer.”
“Perhaps you have something else of value?” Luigi grinned and lifted Juliana’s hand to his lips.
Robert pulled Juliana behind him once more. He would have beaten Luigi soundly were the man not the only available means of sailing south. Instead, Robert smiled with all the geniality he could muster. “Perhaps my letters of safe conduct from the courts in Rome, Palestine, and England would provide the incentive you require.”
Luigi snorted. “I do not doubt, sir, that you have letters, but possibly you exaggerate.”
“Do you call me a liar?”
“Not at all,” Luigi backed down with a nod followed by a flourish of his hand through the air. “But I know how rarely such safe conducts as you speak of are given. In particular, the Palestinian emir is not known for his generosity to Christian knights. Pray, what entitles you to so unique an item?”
“His Royal Highness, Edward Plantagenet, Duc of Gascony, and King of all England and Wales appointed me envoy to the courts of the pope in Rome, and to the emir of Palestine. I doubt any of those men would care to hear that an envoy was denied passage on a ship bearing one of their flags.”
“I beg your pardon, baron. I had no idea. You wear only the marks of a simple pilgrim to Jerusalem, and you do not have the retinue an envoy would usually enjoy.” Instantly, Don Luigi fawned over Robert. No doubt in attempt to cover any offense he might have given.
“I travel as I do for my own reasons. Suffice it that I have letters that can be produced, if need be, to prove the truth of what I claim.”
“Of course, of course. Where is your horse? I will have my crew make arrangements immediately.”
Once given the information, the Saracen hurried off. Robert turned to Juliana, holding out his arm for her to take. “Come, let us get settled on board.”
“Aye, ’tis past time for this part of our journey to begin.”
As he escorted her up the gangway and onto the boat, Robert pondered the difficulties presented by the little Saracen. Don Luigi paid far too much attention to Juliana, and the lady was far too independent. The captain would need careful watching. Robert resolved to make certain the Saracen kept his distance from Juliana.
Chapter 5
A day later, Juliana stood at the ship’s rail and frowned at the sea. Everyone on deck was occupied this early in the morning, so a frown or two was permissible. But only while she contemplated the problems represented by one Sir Robert Clarwyn, Baron Ravensmere.
He had wheedled out of her that promise to return to England. How had she been so careless? To go back to England meant to abandon freedom and the Beguine way of life. It meant subjugation and misery as some man’s wife. She would not marry. She could not go back, yet she had promised.
Right now, no better solution occurred to her than disappearing into the streets of Palermo when Robert decided it was time to leave. That she would be breaking a promise bothered her. ’Twould leave a stain on her soul. To eradicate that stain would require much prayer, many good works, and perhaps years in purgatory. No doubt God would forgive her, for her dedication to his work was without question, but would she be able to forgive herself?
She shook her head. No sense borrowing trouble. Time enough existed for a viable solution to present itself. Her other problem was more pressing. Sir Robert Clarwyn, himself.
On those few occasions when she imagined someone coming to take her back to England, she had thought it would be one of her uncle’s knights. Perhaps even Uncle William in person, although she knew that to be unlikely. He would hardly consider a woman important enough to bestir himself from the comfort of his home. She never dreamt her royal cousin would take an interest in her.
Robert had promised Edward to return her to England, and to keep that promise he must guard her safety. He seemed to value his word as much as she did her own. Part of her wished he had made no such promise. Foolishly, she wished he guarded her safety because he desired it.
Not that she longed to depend on him, but for once, just once in her life, she yearned to be valued by a man for who she was. To see admiration, even respect, in the eyes of a man might well be worth her hope of heaven. She cast a quick glance across the deck to where Robert conversed with Berthild and Gretle, causing the older women to blush. Despite his often visible anger, he was a more than capable guide and leader who tolerated much that other men would not. His care of her fellow Beguines throughout the journey would endear him to any woman. She was coming to have a great deal of admiration and respect for Sir Robert. Too bad he would never return that regard.
Steps approached from her left. “Juliana, mia bella adorata. Your eyes put the sea to shame, for its blueness cannot pretend to compare. Do you know, bella mia, why the sea is so full and blue? As punishment, a jealous god placed in the sea a woman who chose to love over him an ordinary man.”
Juliana arranged her expression and turned to Luigi. She brushed a stray curl behind her ear and folded her hands. The little man made her nervous with his fulsome compliments. He also made her laugh with his nonsense.
Across the deck, Robert glowered at her, as if he thought her smile some sort of sin. The look reminded her too much of her uncle and smelled of hypocrisy, given Robert had just been laughing with Berthild and Gretle.
“I have heard this story,” she said to Luigi. “Do you truly believe that an ancient god put this woman in the sea where she would see her lover wherever he traveled but could never touch him? That she weeps so greatly that the seas will never run dry?”
“But of course, bellissima. There can be no other reason for the beauty and majesty of Il Mare Mediterraneo than as home to a woman of great passion. A woman like yourself. No?” He lounged against the rail and much too close.
“And how would you know if I am a woman of great passion?”
“By the fervor with which you pursue God’s work and from the pink on your delicate skin that moments ago was an exquisite, yet pale, alabaster.”
He had taken her fingers and played idly with them. Juliana longed to snatch them away. To do so would reveal feelings other than the placid serenity she wanted the world to see. So she brightened her smile and waited patiently for an opportunity to retrieve her hand.
“You speak a great deal of nonsense, captain,” Robert said.
At his approach, Luigi straightened, loosening his hold on her fingers.
Juliana carefully removed her hand from the Saracen’s grasp and hid her fingers in her skirt, where she rubbed his touch from her skin.
“Do you not believe in the old legends, baron?”
“I believe the old legends are just that. Airy tales invented by minstrels and jongleurs to entertain. For amusement, I often sang such at King Edward’s court. You do Lady Juliana’s eyes injustice by using so poor a comparison as ancient legend.”
Juliana felt her lips twitch in surprise as she resisted the impulse to drop her jaw. Who knew that gruff Robert Clarwyn could act the courtier and sing ballads?
“And to what would you compare the lady’s eyes? Or have you no poetry in you with which to show a lady your admiration?”
Ignoring the Saracen, Robert turned to Juliana. He placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. One calloused digit stroked the delicate flesh beneath her jaw.
Her skin shivered and burned where he touched her, but she could not look away.
“I would say,” Robert continued, “that because her eyes are as blue as the Madonna’s robe, I find my only hope of heaven in her glance.”
Her smile fled, and her heart raced after it. “Oh my.”
“Very good.” Luigi sneered. �
�You have caused the lady to lose her smile.”
“Aye, I have.” He grinned broadly. His fingers lifted, and he turned away.
She placed her hand against the spot where Robert’s touch had lingered.
“Did the brutish knight hurt your delicate skin, mi amore?”
“What? No.” She dropped her hand. “Not at all, sir.”
“Then you liked what he said? That pompous comparison to the Virgin’s robe?”
“Yes. No.” She had liked what Robert said very much, too much. And therein lay a problem. She could not cleave to both her Beguine beliefs and a man. Juliana took a deep breath, quelled her confusion, and rebuilt her equilibrium. “That is, I did not dislike it. You are both very skilled at flattery.”
• • •
That night after the evening meal, Robert watched from the bow as the sailors gathered in the center of the ship. Juliana and her fellow Beguines stood on the upper deck. One man took out a mandolin and began to strum a tune. Another sailor found a reed pipe; a third produced some drums. Several other men sang quietly until one of the crew approached the Beguines.
Whatever the man said, the ladies followed him to the middle of the deck.
The music swelled and grew faster. Gretle joined a short fellow in a rapid jig. Soon several crewmen danced to a lively tune, the activity spreading throughout the deck.
Robert noticed Luigi give instructions to a sailor at the ship’s wheel, then head for the dancing. The jostle of shifting people separated Robert from Juliana, and he found himself hurrying to her side, arriving there at the same moment as Luigi.
“Bellissima, may I have this dance?”
“Milady, would you care to dance?” Robert bowed.
Juliana looked up at him, pleading in those heaven-blue eyes.
He held out his hand.
She shook her head. “I really must honor our host before I dance with a friend.”
He watched her walk into the crowd with Luigi. Robert felt elated and crushed. She thought of him as a friend. That was a good thing, an indication that she trusted him. Then why did he feel so sad?
He considered the question until a rousing cheer broke over his ears. Raising his head, he saw Luigi toss Juliana into the air and catch her. ’Twas most unseemly.
Robert could not be bothered with feelings now. He had to be certain Luigi behaved himself, so he pushed to the front of the group. Berthild and Gretle had joined the dance with a couple of the sailors. Luigi could not try anything untoward with so many people looking on. Still, Robert fixed his gaze on the captain’s hands throughout the song.
At the end, the man escorted a laughing Juliana back to Robert. She grasped his hand as the music started up again. “Come, Sir Robert. ’Tis your turn.”
He allowed himself to be pulled into the center of the dancers and bowed.
The event was supposed to be innocent fun. But nothing about dancing with Juliana was innocent—except the lady herself. Robert doubted she knew the power she held. A touch of fingers here. A brush of arm there.
’Twas nothing like the heated kiss they had shared in Genoa, but the tremors of delight at each touch were the same. In Genoa, he had the excuse of protecting her and the anonymity of a huge crowd. Here, before her sister Beguines and men to whom she was known, he could only look and hold her gaze as the movements required. He had no excuse for the heady rush of passion that seized him.
While they capered, he could see the rise and fall of her breasts, remember their softness pressed against him. He could stroke the barest tip of her finger and recall her grip in his hair as she had kissed him. Even with the tang of the sea, he could smell the sweet scent of her and feel his body harden as it had in Genoa.
Saints, how he wanted her, and he could never have her. He was in agony. Yet, he would not give up this tender pain for Gabriel and all the trumpets in paradise.
• • •
Juliana hurried up the short stairs that led to the quarters assigned to the women. Behind her, laughter continued apace with the music. She hated to stop, but many more of Robert’s casual touches and she would surely faint from sheer pleasure.
She needed to get away from Robert, away from her treacherous emotions. She needed time and space to think.
Luigi stepped between her and the door to calm and safety.
“Do not go, bella mia.”
Not wanting him to see her distress, she smiled, but her hands fluttered for a moment. Luigi caught them, covering her fingers with kisses before she could fold her hands together. She tugged, but he refused to release her, pulling her closer instead.
Still gripping her fingers, he raised one of his arms over her head in a move used by contra dancers and adroitly settled it at her back, his palm resting at her hip. He had secured her between her own arm and his. Unless he let go, she could not move.
“Please.”
“Si.” He kissed her swiftly, then raised his head to study her face.
As kisses went, Juliana supposed Luigi’s caress was adequate. She had only Robert and her former betrothed for comparison, but she found the Saracen’s lips dry and passionless.
“That touch did not stir you in the least, did it?”
She blushed and lowered her eyelids. “I . . . you mustn’t think . . . ”
“Shh.” He laid a finger against her lips. “Do not dissemble, bellisima. ’Tis a shame, but I can tell that your heart lies elsewhere.” Abruptly he dropped his hand and stepped back from her.
“Is all well here, Lady Juliana?”
She started. Robert’s stern tones came from over her shoulder. What must he think to find her alone with Luigi?
“All is perfectly well, Sir Robert. Our captain simply wished me good night.”
Robert raised a brow. “Then allow me to add my wishes for happy dreams and a peaceful rest.”
“Thank you, and good night to you both.” She escaped into the cabin and prayed for calm.
Finally alone, Juliana considered the encounter with Luigi. The captain did not strike her as a person who easily gave up when he wanted something. Yet, he had been the one to back away when he recognized her lack of feeling for him. He had pointed out that her heart lay in another direction. Somehow she did not think he meant her devotion to good works and the Beguines. No, he meant Sir Robert, a much knottier problem than a captain whose ship she would leave in a few days. Robert would be at her side for far too many days. The terrifying truth was, she wanted him in a most elemental and disturbing manner. Worse yet, she liked him.
She sat on the narrow cot and dropped her head into her hands. This was horrible. She liked Robert Clarwyn . . . truly liked him . . . a lot. The kiss they shared in Genoa was never far from her thoughts.
“Hmpf,” Berthild grumbled as she entered the room. The older Beguine sat beside Juliana and studied her. “Why, child, did you say you were tired when you clearly are not? Overwrought perhaps, but not tired.”
“Oh, Berthild, I am cursed. God has not forgiven me for my sins.”
“Child, you are so young, what could you have done that is so unforgivable?”
“What haven’t I done? ’Tis my fault that Basti rampages against the Beguines. Had I not beaten the man with his own crook, chased him from his own chapel, then told the bishop of Basti’s abuses, he would not have been sent away to Rome. He would never have drawn the pope’s attention or become so powerful that simply by wishing it aloud he could decimate an entire beguinage. He would not hate us so, nor would he stir his agents and others against us.”
“Tut, you blame yourself needlessly. Giorgio Basti terrorized many of our community. You simply did what others before you should have done. You were right to stop Basti’s attacks on young girls. Accusing him to the bishop was the only means you had to be heard. What happened to the priest afterward is on the shoulders of those who sent him to Rome and those who gave power to such a monster.”
“What of the trouble I’ve caused you and Gretle? Because of me, you w
ere forced to endure a dangerous delay in Genoa, travel separately from the safety of the caravan, and take passage on a Saracen ship.”
“True, true.” Berthild patted her hand. “Yet without you, most likely we would lie smashed to bits at the bottom of that bridge you had the good sense not to cross.”
“And look where that has brought us. At any moment, I am like to be snatched back to England against my will. I swear I know not why Sir Robert has yet to haul me bodily across his saddle and ride off to fulfill his precious promise to Edward Plantagenet.”
Berthild placed a hand under Juliana’s chin and lifted her face upward. “Come now, dearest sister. You must know that Sir Robert has not taken you away because God needs you in Palermo. If you have confessed your sins to God and made amends for them, you must also know you are forgiven.”
“Then why am I cursed with these feelings for Sir Robert? I do not want to end up like my sister and my aunt. I will not!” She beat a fist against the thin mattress.
“My dear girl. ’Tis not such a curse. I have a few feelings about Sir Robert myself.”
“Berthild!”
“Do not be so surprised, child. I may be older than you, but I am not dead, and Sir Robert is a very handsome man. Well-mannered, too, if a bit somber. I wonder what troubles he bears?”
“His troubles are of no moment. All I know is that I cannot have feelings for him. I will not!” Juliana thumped her fist upon the mattress once more, as much to convince herself she believed what she said as to emphasize the point.
“’Tis not always for us to decide where our affections will lie.”
“You do not understand.” She stood and paced the small chamber. “A woman’s love for a man is a terrible thing for the woman. He becomes her entire world, her sole reason for being. And the man . . . such love is less than nothing to him.” She halted before her friend and struck the air with both fists. “Dogs receive more attention from men than the women who love them.”
“I have not found that true. Look at our groom, Henry. He is most tender in caring for our needs. My own father was generous and kind, as was the priest in the village where I grew up. The lord of our county was also a good man. Stern but fair. Only when I married against my father’s advice did I meet men of a different stamp.”