Blackheart

by Tamara Leigh

  Juliana quaked as she lay beneath him, thrilled as his breath warmed the cradle of her neck. She didn't wish to open her eyes, didn't want this moment to end. Though he could never love her, he was the lover she'd dreamed of long ago. How she yearned to sit with him awhile, to talk, to laugh over silly things, to hold hands, to ease whatever pain blackened his heart.

  Minutes later, he levered up from her.

  She felt his searching gaze. Though she dreaded what she might see when she looked into his face, she opened her eyes.

  Regret. It was in the draw of his eyebrows, the flat of his mouth, the set of his jaw. He rolled onto his back. "God, what have I done?"

  Her heart constricted. If only things could be different...

  In silence, Gabriel cursed his weakness. All these years he had believed there to be no woman who could tempt him from his path, but that was what Juliana had done. As much as his conscience had demanded he send her away, he'd wanted her more. Was it the same for the numerous men Constance De Vere had taken into her bed? Gabriel had hated her lovers for stealing from his father, for making his mother a whore, but now he was among their foul ranks.

  Juliana leaned over him. "Forgive me. I did not intend this to happen."

  He shifted his gaze from the ceiling to her flushed face. "Did you not?"

  Hurt flickered between her eyes. "Why are you so willing to believe the worst of me?"

  The answer was simple. "You are a woman."

  She sat up and dragged the coverlet around her. "Who taught you to hate women so?"

  He had been asked the question before, but had never answered it. And still he shouldn't. He ought to send Juliana away. Were his defenses not in dire need of repair, he would have. "That honor goes to my mother. A man's best tutor where women are concerned."

  "What did she do?"

  He sat up. "She stole from me."

  Juliana shook her head. "What did she steal?"

  Bitterness seeped into his every pore. "Everything."

  He could see Juliana's mind working, searching for meaning in his words; then, suddenly, understanding swept the confusion from her face. "She is the reason for your lost title and lands?"

  He should have said nothing. Should have sent her away. "She is."

  "How did it happen?"

  Should he tell her that his mother had whored herself the same as she? Nay, it would hurt her, and he had said too much already. "It does not matter. 'Tis done." Now Juliana would press him as women were wont to do, but it was just as well. Anger would drive out the damning desire he felt just looking at her: her auburn hair spilled around her shoulders, her face aglow with spent passion, her mouth soft.

  "I am sorry," she said, and averted her gaze.

  Gabriel waited, but she said no more.

  Juliana wondered at what Gabriel had revealed, but she knew she had no right to ask more of him, nor did she think he would enlighten her further. He had told her more than he wanted to. So how had it happened? Had his mother favored another of her sons over Gabriel? Had she somehow convinced her husband their firstborn was unworthy? Juliana had heard tales of such things. Still, even before Gabriel had been set aside he'd shown little liking or respect for women.

  A rattling sped Juliana's gaze across the chamber to the door. Was it Bernart? Her heart straining her ribs, she looked to Gabriel.

  Though he was still, his muscles were bunched and ready to spring.

  "Lord De Vere?" a voice hissed through the door.

  His shoulders eased. " 'Tis only Nesta," he said low.

  Only Nesta. Juliana was grateful, but hardly relieved. Though Gabriel had had the blessed foresight to bar the door, soon she must venture forth from the chamber, and do so without Bernart to ensure she made it to the solar with their secret intact. Their terrible, treacherous secret. Juliana met Gabriel's gaze.

  Over and over Nesta rattled the door and called to be let in. Finally the noise ceased and was followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

  Juliana dropped her chin to her chest and sent a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward, then lowered her legs over the side of the mattress.

  "You are leaving?" Gabriel asked.

  She nodded. "I must." The coverlet slipped from her shoulder. As she reached to retrieve it, Gabriel caught her hand.

  "Stay."

  Struck by the depth of his voice, she looked up. His eyes were dark again. "Gabriel?"

  "She is gone." Without further word, he pushed her back and covered her. This time he was not gentle, but neither did he hurt her. He introduced her to a depth of passion that appealed to a side of her she would have denied possessing. They mated—there was no other word for it.

  Afterward, with the beat of Gabriel's heart matching hers, Juliana pushed her hands through his hair, slid them over his muscled shoulders, down his back. There were things she wanted to do to him, things she wished to experience before he was gone from her forever....

  When she stole from his bed an hour later, she felt a rending sense of loss. Though previously she'd retreated from the chamber as quickly as possible, this night she lingered, moving slowly as he slept.

  Remembering Gabriel's caresses, she pressed her hands to her throat, dropped her head back, slid her palms down her breasts to her hips. Never again. Never again. But always she would have the memories of these past nights when she had been made to feel a woman. Through her tears, she smiled.

  Gabriel stirred, murmured something, then turned.

  Quickly Juliana donned her clothes and crossed to the door. She stood there a long time, listening for sounds beyond the chamber to alert her to the presence of another. Naught. She lifted the bar and eased the door open. The corridor was empty. Heart heavy, she left Gabriel for the last time.

  Never again, the voice in her head whispered as she pulled the door closed. Even if a child did not take in her, no more would she know Gabriel. Bernart would have to find another. The vile thought gripping her, she turned to the solar. It was then that she remembered the reason she had sought out Gabriel this night. In his arms she'd forgotten what the morrow would bring.

  How was she to keep Bernart from his raging? Come the morn, the commotion in the hall would surely awaken him from his stupor, but if he were in the solar... Aye, that might do it. She would bathe herself, then enlist a man-at-arms to carry Bernart abovestairs. God willing, he would not awaken until the tourneyers were gone from Tremoral.

  Chapter Nine

  A greater fool had not been born, Gabriel acknowledged as he resolved to do the unthinkable. Consequences be damned, he would take Juliana with him when he returned to France. And they were dire consequences, indeed. He did not fear excommunication, for his tourneying had seen to that. Nay, if it were discovered he'd taken another man's wife he could lose everything he had labored for these past years—specifically, Mergot. God knew, he ought to care, but for some reason he did not. That reason was Juliana.

  He raked a hand through his hair. Fool, you are thinking with that which is between your legs, not that which is between your ears! Cursing his weakness, he leaned over the basin and splashed frigid water over his face, but it did naught to cool his desire for the one woman forbidden him.

  Desire. That was all it was. He did not love Juliana—knew the true nature of women too well to waste a moment on so senseless an emotion. But to have her at his side, to taste her sweet mouth and be one with her again, he would risk all.

  He wiped the moisture from his face and turned to the bed. Not surprisingly he'd awakened alone, but soon that would change. Within a sennight Juliana would be his, in his bed only.

  In the morning light that penetrated the window's oilcloth, Gabriel donned the garments that would see him from Tremoral, then gathered the few items he'd brought with him and put them in his leather pack. At the door, he swept his gaze over the room in which he and Juliana had come together, recalled the sight of her beneath him. He stirred. It was a long time since he'd wanted anything as badly as he wanted
this woman who bore another's name. He truly was without honor.

  Gabriel flung the door open. Commotion in the hall wended up the stairs—raised voices, the scrape of benches, booted feet pounding the floorboards, a woman's squeal of laughter. The guests were readying to depart, but though this day was yet newly born, it would be well past the nooning hour before Tremoral saw the backside of the last tourneyer—if then.

  When Gabriel stepped into the hall he was greeted by the familiar sight of disorder that always came with the conclusion of a tournament. Some sat at tables, others sat upon them, some wandered about, others congregated to relive recent victories. Among them moved beleaguered servants and the occasional tourneyer eager to begin the long journey home.

  Though the lord's table was without its lord and lady, Gabriel knew Juliana was somewhere among the throng. Unfortunately, she lacked the height needed to distinguish her. He would have to search her out. Intending to do just that, he stepped forward.

  "Lord De Vere!" Nesta's hand closed over his arm.

  With an inward groan, he looked into the wench's upturned face.

  She affected a pout. "Ye barred yer door last eve."

  Luckily, else she would have come upon her lady in a most dishonorable state. "Did I?"

  "Aye, surely ye heard me call to you."

  He touched his brow. "Too much drink."

  Nesta's pout lingered a moment longer before stretching into a seductive smile. "There is always now, sire." She pressed nearer, sliding her palm up his manhood.

  Gabriel pulled her hand away. "Regrets, but I cannot linger."

  She was not deterred. "I would not keep ye long, Lord De Vere."

  He looked past her. "Where is your lady?"

  "What would ye be wanting with that shrew?"

  "Shrew?" Gabriel repeated. It was hardly a word he would use to describe Tremoral's lady. But then, women were a jealous lot, and doubtless Nesta envied her mistress.

  "Aye, shrew." The wench made a closer fit against Gabriel and slid her palms over his chest. "M'lady may be fine to look upon, but she is as cold as the night wind. A most harsh mistress. It cannot be soon enough that she is gone from here."

  Alarm shot through Gabriel, but there was no way Nesta could know of his plans to take Juliana with him. What did she speak of? "Lady Juliana is leaving Tremoral?"

  Nesta rubbed her breasts against him, causing her nipples to pebble the bodice of her homespun gown. "Aye.

  Does her belly not soon ripen with child, Lord Kinthorpe vows come the autumn he will commit her to a convent and take another to wife."

  Bernart intended to cast Juliana aside? Though it could be taken as justification for stealing her from Tremoral, something festered at the back of his mind.

  " 'Tis sure to happen," Nesta continued, "fer m'lady is frigid and most certainly barren. No son will she give Lord Kinthorpe."

  Frigid? Hardly. Barren? Perhaps. Else the blame lay with Bernart... The festering at the back of Gabriel's mind sprang forward. He recalled the second night when Juliana had come to him and determinedly coaxed his seed from him, and last eve when she would have again had he not lost himself in her and freely given it. It was a child she sought. A child whom she would claim as Bernart's to secure her place at Tremoral.

  Once more, anger opened a place in him. Juliana had used him, had professed to have feelings for him when all she wanted was for him to sire a child on her. But why him? Why not another? Revenge as he'd first believed? That she might present her faithless husband with a child whose veins coursed with the blood of his enemy? There could be no other explanation.

  Gabriel turned his hands into fists. For a deceitful whore he would have risked everything. Would have bared himself as he had done for no other woman. What excuse would Juliana have given for refusing to return to France with him? Honor? Fear of excommunication? How she would have laughed when he was gone from Tremoral!

  Gabriel pushed Nesta aside and, amid her sputtering, forced a path through the crowd. Ahead, Juliana stood before the great doors, her back to him as she conversed with a neighboring baron.

  "My lord husband sends his regrets, Lord Payne," Gabriel heard her say. "I fear he took ill during the night and is unable to leave his bed."

  The baron, who looked as if he ought to have remained in bed himself, thanked Juliana for the fine festivities, took his wife's arm, and guided the graceless woman toward the doors.

  Juliana turned as Gabriel reached her. She looked momentarily surprised, but in the next moment wary. She had cause to fear him.

  It being all Gabriel could do to keep his arms at his sides, he said in a hiss, "We must needs speak."

  She moistened her lips, then glanced left and right. "I have guests, Lord De Vere."

  "So you do. Would you like them to hear what I have to say?"

  She swallowed, then looked again to see if they'd fallen beneath the regard of others. "The garden," she said low. "I will meet you there."

  "Do not keep me waiting." He turned on his heel.

  Juliana's heart pained her as she watched Gabriel's long strides carry him across the hall, his pack over his arm. What had happened between last eve and this morn? What wrath must she now suffer and for what reason? Dreading the answer, she began to make her way toward the corridor that led to the gardens. Lest she was watched, she paused to direct servants and chat briefly with one of the ladies, then slipped into the corridor. The door at the end was ajar. She braced herself and stepped through it. Gabriel's pale gaze went through her.

  Braving it, she closed the door. "Of what do you wish to speak?"

  "Come nearer."

  Barely ten feet separated them and he wished her to come nearer? To look more closely upon his seething anger? "I must return to the—"

  "Nearer!"

  In that instant, she realized he knew her secret. Dear God, what had revealed her? Though instincts urged her to flee, she knew there would be no escaping his wrath. Somehow she must convince him he was wrong. Her in-sides trembling like leaves in autumn, she lifted her skirts and stepped onto the path.

  "What is it?" she asked, halting before him.

  His nostrils flared as he lowered his gaze to her belly. "I know the truth."

  She swallowed hard. "The truth?"

  He swept his unforgiving gaze back to hers. "That you are a liar, Juliana Kinthorpe. A whore. A thief."

  It was true. She was all of those things, as Bernart had made her. She clasped her hands at her waist. "I have already apologized for last eve," she feigned misunderstanding. "Truly, I did not come to your chamber that I might lie with you."

  His hands fell to her arms and gripped them so fiercely she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. "Of course you did. Now the only question is whether you gained that for which you came."

  She shook her head. "I do not understand."

  "Aye, you do. You came to steal a child from my loins!"

  Did he feel her trembling? "A child? Whatever do you speak of?"

  "I know, Juliana. I know that Bernart intends to rid himself of you do you not soon provide him with an heir."

  Where had he heard that? Was it Bernart's doing? In the two months prior to the tournament, he'd talked openly of his quest for a son so that all would know he was attempting to get a child on her and would not be surprised when she swelled. But that he intended to send her away if she did not conceive was something she had not heard. Not that he would truly send her away. If Gabriel's seed did not take, he would simply find another to prove his stolen manhood.

  "Who told you that?" Juliana asked past a tightening throat.

  Gabriel lowered his face near hers. "As 'tis the truth, it matters not. You have no feelings for me as you claimed to have, Juliana. You feel only for yourself."

  How she hated that he thought so ill of her. How she wished she could tell him everything. But, as always, there was Alaiz. The two sisters had only each other, and that was more important than this man who so readily condemned he
r. She raised her chin. "You are wrong, Gabriel De Vere."

  The corners of his mouth turned up into what could hardly be called a smile. "I was not drunk the second night. I remember how you mounted me, clung to me, held me inside."

  Shame warmed her face. She lowered her eyes to his chest. How she remembered! Like the whore and thief Gabriel named her, she had sought and taken what he had not wanted to give. She was a poor liar. No matter how she denied his accusation, never would he believe her, but neither could she confess to seeking to steal a child from him. What was she to do? As she frantically searched for an answer, a voice resounded above the commotion in the bailey beyond.

  "Juliana!" Bernart bellowed. With a gasp, she looked up. Though the lord's solar was not visible from the gardens, she knew it was from there the shout issued. If she did not answer it, Bernart would come looking for her. And he would be wrathful, suffering from such ale-passion that any who crossed his path would regret it. Dreading the spectacle he would make of himself and fearing the confrontation sure to ensue if he found her with Gabriel, she looked back at the man whose anger was his due. "I beg you, Gabriel, leave Tremoral. Now."

  His anger no less palpable, he stared at her, searching her face. "Leave without thanking my old friend for his hospitality? For the gainful sport, the food and drink, the warm bed, for sharing his wife?"

  Tears touched her eyes. He could have no idea how near the truth he was. "Have you any heart, Gabriel, you will go."

  "Heart," he repeated with a sardonic grin. "I fear not, but I will leave." He dropped his hands from her. "However, this I vow: I shall be back."

  She did not have to be told. Gabriel De Vere was not a man to be made a fool of and then simply walk away. For certain, one day she would pay for her sins. Fortunately, Gabriel was without influence. Though he had been awarded a demesne in France, he was not the great baron Wyverly would have made him—he lacked the power Bernart enjoyed in England. Thus he had no recourse. To accuse a noblewoman of Juliana's rank of having lain with him would only see him the worse for it. Still, he would return, God willing many many years from now. It was a day for which she would have to prepare. Feeling suddenly cold, she hugged her arms about her.