by Susan King
“ ’Tis done, as I say,” he answered. “I pledged anew, and was admitted into king’s peace again.”
“And the second time?” she asked.
“Similar to the first,” he said dismissively. “I helped a Scotswoman in need, and a few months later, had to petition for king’s peace again. My reputation was not the best after that, as you can imagine. Helping Scotswomen is apparently frowned upon in the English court.” He glanced at her quickly.
“I am glad that you have that penchant,” she murmured.
“The marriages that Henry and my mother tried to arrange were refused by the ladies’ fathers or the ladies themselves. I have been left to find my own bride,” he said, “and I was little interested in pursuing the matter—until now.” He bowed and smiled, taking the conversation into a lighter vein.
“And so you see why Gawain is no prize,” Eleanor said, turning from fervent whispering with her sister.
Juliana tilted her head to consider him. “Is he not?”
He gave her the sour look he had bestowed upon his sister a moment earlier. Eleanor, who tended to giggle and chatter more than Catherine, tittered behind her hand.
“I wish you and Juliana would stay here, Gawain,” Catherine said. “Mother seems so much better today. She may not be with us long,” she added in a whisper. “The physicians say—” She lowered her head.
Gawain touched her shoulder. “She is stronger than you think,” he said gently. “Mayhap she will surprise us all.”
Though Juliana turned away, he saw her brow fold, her eyes mist over. She was touched deeply by his mother’s illness, he realized. He was grateful for her tender heart.
The girls ran back toward the castle, waving and calling to their mother. Robin and the pages walked to meet them, and they crossed the drawbridge together. Gawain strode beside Juliana to cross the meadow after them.
“I owe you my thanks,” he said somberly. “You have done far more than I asked. You have brought my mother joy.” He watched their feet as they walked through grasses and wildflowers.
“Do you think she will surprise everyone, and get well?”
“She is weaker than when I saw her last, even a month ago.”
“Then why did you tell your sisters so?”
He sighed. “What am I to tell them?” he asked. “That she will lie in her grave by winter, as I believe will happen? That they should gather their rosaries and purchase black silks?” He swore suddenly and halted, drawing a breath against the onslaught of grief that came at him like a strong wind.
Juliana touched his arm, then lifted her face and kissed his cheek, quick and sweet.
He blinked down at her. “Are the twins coming this way?”
“That was for you,” she said, her cheeks pink. “A seasoned knight who isna afraid to show love for his mother—nor is he afraid to help Scots in need. That man deserves praise and reward, for he is a rare creature indeed.”
He felt himself blushing. “Ah, well. ’Tis my name, you see. I am obligated to match the perfection of Arthur’s knight Gawain every day of my life. ’Tis not easy to have that name.”
“You do honor to it.” She smiled gently. “Tell me what ails your mother.”
“A disease of the lungs, they say, that saps her strength and will kill her someday. Her physicians dose her and bleed her, and annoy all of us. They cannot help her. But she seems to have accepted it more graciously than I have.” He paused. “My lady mother is one of the finest people I know, strong and kind. She and I survived … a tragedy together, years ago, before she wed Henry. ’Twill be hard to lose her.” He could not look at her, then.
She touched his arm, a quiet comfort. “You are fortunate to have such a mother in your life for any space of time.”
“Your mother,” he said after a moment. “Is she gone?”
“Gone into the religious life. She will never come out of the convent she chose, and I willna see her again unless I travel there, and ’tis far. She left me to watch my brothers while she cared for her soul. ’Twas more important to her than the souls of the children who needed her,” she added quietly.
“Juliana,” he said, feeling a surge of sympathy. “That must have been difficult for all of you.” She shrugged admittance.
“You have a wonderful mother,” she said softly. “Be grateful for her company as long as you have her.”
“I am,” he said. He knew that his mother would love Juliana as if she were her own daughter—then he shook his head at his own fancy, for he truly did not know what would become of this marriage once they returned to Scotland.
He walked on with her. After a moment, she linked her arm firmly with his and looked up, smiling shyly.
“I must be very deserving today, to earn such affection from a lovely lady,” he teased.
She grinned. “Look, I have saved you once again, I think. There are the girls—and they have a book with them. More forfeits in store for you, sirrah.”
“Not more verses,” he groaned. The twins waited in the courtyard, one of them holding the new volume he had given them tucked under her arm. Juliana laughed up at him.
He looked down at her and smiled. He did not think he could pay these forfeits much longer without paying a serious price in the bargain.
Avenel was paradise. She felt as if she walked through a dream world. The sun shone brightly, and love and kindness and laughter surrounded her. The Avenels and their servants, and even their dogs and cats, were attentive and friendly. She wanted to look around, now and then, to be sure they talked and smiled at her—at Juliana Lindsay, a Scottish rebel in their English nest, and not some beloved princess come to call.
A few dark notes sounded, like a heavy knell, beneath the melody: Lady Clarice’s serious and undeniable illness, and the fact that the Avenels were English, and enemies to the Scots.
But the sweetest note of all was Gawain. Kissing him, laughing with him, felt heady and wonderful. Affection, kisses, and casual touches made her feel like his friend, his lover, truly his wife. When he was near, she blushed, and her heart beat hard, and she remembered the joy she had felt waking in his arms that morning. She yearned to be alone with him again.
Even if they only played at love for a little while, she felt cherished; she belonged. Surely she would melt before day’s end, flow into a puddle of joy and contentment—a raindrop on the river in enchanted Avenel.
The grim world of truth waited outside the gates of Avenel, and soon they must return to it. Tomorrow Gawain would take her back to the escort, to the cart, to silence—and chains.
And to Scotland, at last, for which her heart also longed. Desperate to return, she would pay any price, play any game.
But she suspected that the game she played with Gawain would forfeit her heart and her very soul into the bargain.
Chapter Sixteen
By late afternoon, he had kissed her so often at the twins’ urging that he knew the fragrance of her, the taste, the softness of her. Each time they touched, a tide swelled within him that made his body throb, his heart pound.
He wondered how he would endure another night alone with her in his bed after a day of pretended wedded bliss. Thoughts of the ecstasy that had stirred between them, while both were half asleep and dreaming, pulled at him. He had to master his passion, and remember honor. Otherwise, he would take her up the stairs and make her his own, there, then, forever.
Awareness of their departure tomorrow cooled his ardor somewhat. As the day wore on, he dreaded leaving Avenel; he wished the surprising joy he had found here could continue.
He left his mother’s chamber, having sat with her to read verses by the Gawain poet until she fell asleep. Hearing laughter through a window in a stairwell, he looked outside.
Juliana and the girls were on the practice field at the side of the castle grounds. Descending quickly, he crossed the courtyard to find them.
As Juliana’s keeper, he could not let her leave the castle alone with the girls. As her hu
sband, and as a man honest with himself, he found it difficult to stay away from her.
The large field, grazed flat by sheep, was used for jousting, weapon practices, and for exercising horses. Three large bales of hay were placed at the far end, with painted cloths pinned to them, for archery practice. The girls stood at the other end, closest to his approach. Each was armed with a short hunting bow. Robin walked back and forth among them as, one by one, they lifted their bows to shoot at the targets.
“ ’Tis the bridegroom!” Catherine exclaimed, turning as Gawain walked toward them. She still held the bow and nocked arrow in her hands. Gawain turned her away, so that she aimed toward the target.
“Careful, Cat,” he said. “Would you deprive the lady of her bridegroom after only a few days of marriage?”
“You will owe Juliana another kiss for making me unhappy with that remark,” Catherine said saucily. She turned to release her arrow. It came down at a crazy angle in the grass barely ten feet away.
“Aha,” Gawain said. “We will have no problem with field mice with this cat on the prowl.”
Robin laughed outright. The twins turned mirrored scowls upon their brothers. Gawain saw Juliana grin, eyes sparkling. She stood to one side, a lady’s short hunting bow in her hand, and bent to choose an arrow from a pile at her feet.
“Forfeit a kiss,” Eleanor said. “ ’Tis rude to mock Cat.”
“Oh, come now,” Gawain said. “I only teased her. I should not have to pay a kiss each time I speak to one of you.”
“You made a promise,” Catherine insisted. “Each time we ask, you must kiss your bride, because we missed your wedding.”
“And each time you are rude or ill-tempered, you must pay a forfeit, too,” Eleanor said. “And kiss Juliana.”
“That was not part of our agreement,” Gawain said.
“It is now,” Eleanor said blithely.
“The Fifteen Joys of Marriage says that kisses make a kind marriage, and so a couple must grant them liberally to each other,” Catherine said. “We read it just this morning, so that we could let you know the rules of a good marriage. You have never been wed before.”
“I must find a book penned by a nun for you two next time,” Gawain muttered.
Robin grinned. “Honor the forfeit, brother.”
Looking at Juliana, Gawain lifted his brow. Cheeks pink, she gave the arrow fletching her close attention. He moved toward her, lifted her chin with a finger, and kissed her cheek.
Then, not because his sisters insisted, but because he suddenly wanted to, he kissed her on the mouth. He saw her eyes close, and his entire being seemed to whirl inside.
“ ‘Oh, that I loved as my own heart’s blood!’ ” Eleanor cried, clasping her hands.
“Bevis again?” Robin asked. Catherine nodded happily.
“I will never,” Gawain grumbled, “purchase another book for you if you do not desist with those quotes.” The girls chuckled and walked away with Robin, who began to instruct them again.
Juliana’s cheeks flamed. “You dinna have to kiss me each time they demand it,” she murmured.
“I know. We are blissful newlyweds. And I like it,” he added in a light tone.
“When they learn the truth, they will demand apologies, not happy kisses.” She was scowling.
“They will not learn it from me or my kinsmen.”
“I see that,” she said wryly. She nocked the arrow and tilted the bow, aiming it, her brow furrowed. She extended her bow arm and drew the string back with her other hand. Then she relaxed her arms and adjusted her stance, readying to aim again.
“Now ’tis Juliana’s turn!” Eleanor said. “Gawain, you must see what a fine archer she is!”
“Juliana’s brothers taught her,” Catherine added. “She has shot many times in the forests of Scotland.”
“When will Father let us go bow hunting?” Eleanor pleaded.
“When you can hit an animal cleanly, so that ’twill not suffer,” Gawain said.
“And when you can ride through forest or field without chattering like magpies,” Robin said. “Which will never happen.”
“Careful, Robin,” Gawain murmured. “Next they will demand that you take a bride and kiss her in perpetual forfeit.”
“I would gladly do so, if she were as comely as Juliana.”
“And as comely as your sisters,” Eleanor added coyly.
Robin shielded his eyes in mock horror. Gawain, despite his best effort, laughed. Catherine huffed indignantly.
“I am sure Juliana’s brothers do not tease her so harshly,” she retorted, tossing her head.
“My brothers,” Juliana said, “are not so polite as yours. They tease me most horribly at times.” The twins chuckled.
Juliana lifted the bow. The wind blew against her skirt, revealing the lean lines of her body and her confident stance. Gawain had no doubt that he watched an experienced archer: her arms were steady, her gaze intent. She looked only at the hay bale as she drew the string taut and released it.
The arrow flew true and swift, smacking into the center of the target. Gawain whistled low.
“Another stroke of luck,” Robin said. “The wind seems to be with her each time she picks up the bow.”
“That looked like plain skill to me,” Gawain remarked.
“I will wager she cannot do it again,” Robin said.
“She can!” Eleanor and Catherine cried in unison.
“Move the target back,” Juliana directed. Robin ran the length of the field to drag the bale back, then returned.
Juliana nocked the arrow again. Gawain watched her raise the bow, sight, draw, and release in a fast, fluid rhythm. The arrow flew true to thunk into the painted center of the target.
Robin bowed. “If that were a deer, ’twould be dinner now.”
“If ’twere a man, he would be dead,” Gawain drawled. He turned. “Excellent. Is that what comes of running with rebels in Scotland?”
“My brothers taught me to defend myself.”
“Ah. Ever shot an English knight?”
She looked at him squarely. “Not yet.”
“The marriage treatise says a kiss is a suitable reward for a deed pleasing to the spouse,” Eleanor prompted.
Gawain shrugged amiably and leaned forward. Juliana tilted her cheek for his kiss. Even so chaste a contact stirred him fiercely. Her skin was silken, her subtle scent intoxicating. He wanted to take her into his arms and carry her to some private place where he could kiss her wild and deep—and do far more.
He gave her a twist of a smile. “Little rebel,” he murmured. “Best to stay in your favor. You have a lethal aim.”
“I do,” she agreed, and turned her head. He kissed her again, without thinking, full and quick. Her soft sigh almost undid him. He stepped back.
Eleanor and Catherine applauded. Gawain began to sense that his sisters’ sport would kill him before long.
He took Juliana’s wrist in his. “Come with me. We need to collect some arrows.” He drew her down the field at a determined pace, walking past several arrows stuck in the grass.
“There are some—” she said. He pulled her onward.
Down the field, he reached toward a target and snatched the shafts buried in its center circle, stuffing them into his belt. Then he drew her behind a tall bale and swept her into his arms.
He kissed her deep and hard and full, as he had been wanting to do all day. She gasped out and circled her arms around his neck. Seeking hungrily, he kissed her again, and swept his hands down her back and over the curve of her hips. She pressed against him, moaned under her breath, and then pulled back.
“Oh,” she whispered, “are the twins coming toward us?”
“Nay, we have time,” he growled, and delved again. She tilted her head, her mouth eager. As he held her, she seemed to falter a bit, but his own legs felt strong and sure beneath him.
He knew he should stop, should restrain and deny what surged through him. But denial and restraint ab
ounded at Avenel. He craved honesty and passion, and Juliana had both. He could not stop his thirst, once slaking had begun.
His lips lingered on hers, and she did not pull away. Another kiss filled him, rocked him, stirred his desire—and then went further, shaking the very door to his soul.
Cease, he warned himself, or take her down in the grass, here and now, to seek the greatest bliss he could imagine. Her response made it clear she was willing.
He forced himself to pull back, cupping her face in his hands. “Pray pardon,” he whispered. “These forfeited kisses, a bed shared at night—’tis too tempting for a weak man such as I.”
“Weak,” she said breathlessly. “I doubt it.” She leaned against him, her breasts soft, her body warm against his beneath layers of clothing. He stepped back reluctantly.
She turned. “Arrows,” she said, sounding confused. “We had two dozen, and used them all. How … how many do you have there?”
He pulled out the bundle he had shoved in the back of his belt. “Four,” he answered. “These must be yours, since they were dead center in that target. My sisters could not have put them there, nor could Robin. I am not sure I could have put them there myself,” he added, bemused. “And I am no poor archer.”
“Your sisters and Robin told me you are a fine archer with a longbow. They said you are fast and sure.”
He shrugged. “I have some tricks. And I know enough to recognize genuine ability.” His body, his heart, still throbbed.
She looked flustered. “The … rest of the arrows will be in the other targets, or in the grass.” She walked around the hay bale, tucking loosened strands of pale hair back under her veil.
Gawain came with her, searching as he walked. Several arrows were planted here and there like saplings. He stepped on one or two before he saw them. A few swayed precariously at the outer edges of the hay bales. The rest were expertly sunk in the heart of another target.
“Yours?” he asked. She nodded. “You have amazing skill, lady.” He fisted the collected arrows. “I have scarcely seen such accuracy from a man, let alone a woman. You would be the devil to beat in any competition—and a considerable foe in a skirmish or on a forest path.”