Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  The room exploded with good-natured laughter, and under the cover of it Ned whispered, “I must go back, Bess. Will you be all right?”

  “Of course. Go with God, my friend.” Her voice shook a little at the loss of this good friendship.

  Ned lifted his head. “I’ll tell Mum you’re fine, Bess.” Then the small figure was darting out into the light and toward the road.

  “Ale to celebrate!” A beefy farmer called out the order and others took up the cry. Madge waved her hands in mock horror and spoke softly to Julian, “Your village? Where is it?”

  “Beyond Sittingbourne and off the road. My husband is a tanner there. Shall I fetch ale, mum?” She kept her voice flat and steady, the dull look unwavering. Could she hope to fool this shrewd woman who must match wits with others constantly?

  The clamor behind them rose again, and Madge yielded to it. She pointed out tankards and supplies, and they began to work. There was no time to talk or even think, for the inn continued to fill and empty, the tale of the drunkard repeated with variations all evening. Julian was thankful for her hood and the set expression of her face as well as for the bundling shawl that hid the contours of her figure. Once again safety had been bought, and she was still whole.

  The thought rang clear in her mind and almost made her smile as she set down yet another tankard before a gesticulating man. Hermes, god of wayfarers and thieves, watch over me, for soon I shall be both!

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Julian slipped noiselessly from the communal back room where Madge had tossed in earlier abandon with a lover and now slept snoring heavily. She knew it was very late; the air had that feel about it that conjured up visions of demons and ghosts while good folk remained safely abed. The inn had calmed down by the time Madge sent her to sleep, but she did not doubt that several drunks must still be sleeping on the floor. The noise of Madge with her layer had roused her, but weariness had been too great for concern. Now she only hoped the woman was truly exhausted.

  Nothing stirred as she made her way to the small stable just off one side of the inn. Her eyes this past afternoon had not deceived her; two horses stood chewing placidly inside, and the door, a ramshackle thing at best, swung ajar. She moved toward the nearest and touched it with gentle fingers, murmuring as she did so. The moonlight slanted, showing the reddish coat and wide back of the mare. A working horse but surely well enough to travel rapidly on. She threw the shawl over its back and attached the makeshift bridle with trembling fingers as the soft mouth drew back over great teeth. Any sign of fear and she would be lost; one whicker would be enough. The penalty for horse stealing was death, and anyone would uphold such a sentence.

  She put her bare feet into a crevice in the wooden wall and gave silent thanks that the mare stood close by it. Then she was on and urging forward. There was no other sound except the soft clop on the dirt as they went out of the stable and around the edge of the inn.

  A maniacal howl split the air, and the mare quivered as Julian went stiff. Discovery might come at any second; the gold piece she had left for the horse might adequately cover its value, but she did not think Madge would quibble at keeping both. The cry came again and dwindled to a low sob. It was almost female in nature, and she hoped that the person making it was only having a fearful dream. She did not wait to find out. She dug her heels into the mare’s sides, and moments later they were moving down the Canterbury road.

  Speed was the essential thing now. Julian leaned over the animal, urging it to greater effort as they went along. Her murmurs were soft and compelling, an attempt to keep herself from thinking as much as to encourage horse and rider. The road was wider here since it was much traveled, and the dimming moon gave enough light for free movement. She rode until it was full day but too early for many to be about. A grove near the road gave protection, and she was able to go deeper into the wood where it was moderately safe to rest. Still, she jerked awake often in that hot day and felt the strain of the journey and the masquerade telling on her. But she lived and was free; that was enough.

  She started out again in the midaftemoon, a dangerous time, but this was the day that the procession would be setting out from London. It was not all that far from the capital to Dover, even moving slowly overland. Time was still the important factor. Once again she rode and watched, pausing only to water the mare at a convenient stream, wash her face, and press on. She feared that her description might have been circulated, so she let her hair down in two plaits on her shoulders, unfastened the belt of the brown dress and turned it on the wrong side, let her dirty bare feet hang, and rode with an intent expression on her face. Many called to her but none ventured near, and when she dismounted she held her little dagger at the ready. She had taken bread and cheese from Madge’s store of supplies, but her stomach contracted and she was able to eat little. All that mattered was reaching Dover and Charles as soon as possible.

  With all the urgency that pressed upon her, Julian was still able to look upon the beauty of cultivated land, orchards, woodlands, and drifts of flowers under the summer sun and find all fair. Blanche had not jested when she called Kent the fairest part of England. But she could not help but see the marching soldiers and hear the sharp comments of some of the travelers or miss the palpable tension as the columns went by. Canterbury town she bypassed along with some other people who wished to hasten on to the coast. The shimmering cathedral, holiest of those in the land, rose above the walls and seemed to shed beneficence into the pure air.

  Soon Julian could smell the sea breezes and taste the tang of salt on her lips. The downs were softly contoured, the horizon blue and misty, even the green here seemed muted. She had been riding once again since early cock crow and had tried to make herself as presentable as possible, since today, for good or ill, would mark the end of her journey: the brown dress was rearranged and brushed with a stiff green branch; her hair was bound demurely behind her head and she wore no coif to cover it; her face was clean and shining; her mouth curved up with excitement.

  She patted the mare’s neck as she breasted the last hill before the seaport and paused briefly to look out toward France and the shimmering Channel, where gulls rose and dipped. “You shall have corn and hay in plenty, my beautiful one, if all goes well; if not, we starve together.” She could not imagine that matters would not resolve themselves favorably. Had they not gone well thus far? Surely the hand of Hermes was over her. She crossed herself hurriedly and murmured to the Blessed Virgin at her own whimsy, then turned the mare toward the great chalk cliffs and the castle set high on them. Here her fate would be decided, but by her own hand and none other.

  “I seek Lord Charles Varland. My business with him is urgent.” Julian faced the stern guard at the entrance to the grim castle that guarded the harbor. Her chin was lifted, and she gave him stare for stare. His companion eyed her with relish and smoothed his gloves.

  “Aiming a bit high, aren’t you, sweeting? Won’t I do?”

  Her gaze was cold. “Lord Varland. Is he here?” A pang touched her. What if the journey had been in vain and Nan wrong? He might have gone to Cornwall or just out into London.

  The elder guard was saying, “He is here and so are some other gentlemen of the court, but I'd not disturb them for a draggly wench in search of a thrill. . . .”

  She rounded on him and the aquamarine eyes spat fire. “I serve the Queen’s Majesty, and we are at war. News does not always travel by coach and is announced by trumpets. Get him this instant!”

  The command in her voice nearly convinced him, but he was cautious. “Jeremy, fetch Lord Varland here. Warn him, however, and the lady stays here while we wait.”

  Julian stifled a smile at her change from wench to lady in the breath of an order. Her legs shook with relief, but she could not yield as yet. Her expression did not change as the other guard went rushing to do the other’s bidding. She folded her arms and stood very straight in the pouring light.

  It seemed hours and years yet only seconds befo
re the tall figure behind the guard resolved into that of Charles. He seemed taller, more somber still, and the lines from nose to mouth were more pronounced. He wore dark gray today, adorned with no jewels, and she knew that his eyes would reflect that same darkness. The blood thundered in her temples at the sight of him, and her mouth was dry as she struggled for speech.

  There was no need. He paused before her and executed a perfect court bow. Then, looking gravely at her, he said, “Madam, you bring news of our sovereigns? Come, let us speak privately.” He extended his arm, she took it, and they swept into Dover Castle, leaving the staring guards behind them.

  The room into which he steered her was the first available, very dank and cold, a type of storage place. He slammed the heavy door and turned to her, rage palpable in the lines of the dark face. Julian faced him determinedly; after all she had endured, this was just one more hurdle.

  “Madam, have you quite taken leave of your senses? Has the madness come upon you that you appear in this manner? Do you think you will have any reputation left that you pursue me in such a fashion?” He drove one fist into another and glared at her. “How did you come? Where is your escort?”

  “You think that I pursued you for your manly attributes!” She almost choked on her own rising anger. “Truly, your vanity has taken over your own senses. Nay, I have come to you for protection, fled to you as the only resource in a world that seeks to twist and mold me . . . gods, you are laughing at me!”

  Charles leaned against the wall and roared with laughter. Julian stamped her foot and advanced on him but thought the better of it and scowled instead. When he could catch his breath, he gasped out, “Forgive me, but your words are right out of the old romances! The gentle, clinging woman and the noble knight! Except your face is shiny and your hair tangled and you give me murderous looks that quite belie a soft request. It makes me think you want to stab me!” He collapsed into laughter again.

  Julian’s dignity fell from her, and she took the opportunity offered. She could not quite laugh at herself, but she said, “Well, Charles, this reception is not out of any tale of chivalry, but my tale is long and well worth the hearing, and my request to you will be an honorable one. Will you hear it?”

  He sobered instantly and the dark look came over him again, quite erasing the youthful appearance amusement had given him. “Aye, lady, but it shall be in more salubrious surroundings and when you have refreshed yourself.”

  He himself conducted her to a small inner chamber which was hung with tapestries and blazed with candles. Water was fetched, and she washed hurriedly while he spoke with the servant outside. Then she smoothed her hair, bound it back, sipped the tangy wine he had poured out for her, and settled herself on a comfortable chair. Her awareness of him grew by the second; did he feel it as well?

  He sat across from her in a carved, high-backed chair, the very figure of a remote lord. His long fingers played with the figures of gargoyles that made up the arms, and the gray eyes glittered in the light as she talked. Julian felt herself before a judge, but her voice rang musician sweet as she summoned all the lure in her power. She told him everything, holding back nothing, speaking of Attenwood, the subterfuges she had used, the trickery employed, trusting him at the end with her hopes and her very life.

  “Believe that I would not interfere in any relationship between you and Isabella, but she did try to gain my death twice, and I suspect that that attempt to force me into a nunnery was well known to her. Charles, I ask you to use your influence for me and my safety.”

  He turned his goblet around and around, then held it up to the light. “You are eloquent in your own cause. Lady Julian, and have shown yourself as brave as any woman I have known. Still, there is much to consider. I am not so powerful as you think.” He stood up abruptly. ‘These matters must rest for a time. I have been at council for the past day and find myself in need of fresh air. You will come with me.”

  “Charles, do not toy with me. You are a man of decision and know what you will do.” She stood up, too, and lifted her gaze to his.

  “Do not order me here, Julian. I do not take well to that from women.” The banked fire in his eyes began to glow. “I shall order as I like. Is that quite clear?”

  She nodded. What choice had she? Did he believe her story? He was her last resource and she knew it. One last weapon was left to her, and she would not quibble before use of it. The timing must be chosen, the opportunity taken when it was presented.

  An hour later they walked on the beach that seemed to stretch to infinity below the great cliffs and the port city. Gulls cried in the brilliant sky, and the salt tang was in their nostrils. The fresh wind drove out the heat of the day and whipped color into their faces. They were alone in a secluded world, and yet their own ghosts walked with them. Julian wore the white and green clothes of an archer in the royal service, old but still good and far too small for the young man who had once worn them. The fit was baggy, but the coat covered much of that, and the cap hid her chestnut hair. The shoes were large and uncomfortable, but cloth had been stuffed into their toes and they would do. Charles had not changed clothes, but he had added a long dark cloak and cap that disguised him to some degree. Nothing could alter his air of nobility, but he did not seem a peer of the realm in those muffling folds.

  Julian stopped suddenly and jerked at the toe of one of the offending shoes that had threatened to trip her. She hopped on one leg, swayed, and sat down in the shelter of a rock. Charles came back and stood watching, an amused grin on his face. She took off the footgear and handed it to him. “Can you fix the thing so I can walk?”

  “Of course. How can you be so helpless in small things and so bold in others?” He laughed once, and then their eyes locked so that neither could look away. His tongue moistened the carved lips, and the pulse in his throat began to beat.

  Julian knew that her opportunity had come. Here on this stretch of deserted beach, in the golden noon, she could offer the only thing she had left. Instinctively she arched her body forward just a trifle so that her breasts strained against the cloth of her coat, and the shirt underneath parted to show the creamy skin. The curls at her temples had strained loose from the plaits and now blew gently against her face. The aquamarine eyes were the color of the sea in early morning, and the flush on her cheeks was that of a climbing rose. She began to tremble, and the world faded down to the man in front of her.

  She moved very slowly to put both hands on his as she leaned inward so that he could feel the rasp of breath in her throat. “Charles.” His name was a caress as her mouth parted so that he saw the tip of the small pink tongue. The gray eyes ignited then, and they tumbled backward on the sand, mouths locked, tongues probing savagely, his hands hard on her breasts. Desire licked at Julian and burned aside all else. They pulled at each other’s clothes, twisting and jerking at each knot or tie. The world swam in front of Julian as she saw the lift of Charles’s manhood, the strong shaft that alone could assuage this hunger that threatened to split her apart.

  He caught her roughly to him, and they lay in the shadow of the rock where their clothes had fallen. His mouth was caressing her neck, her breasts, her stomach, while her small teeth clenched on the cries she wanted to utter. Her hands went down him and caught the long shaft, touching the pearled tip and moving on it so that he cried out with the pleasure of it. Then he pinned her hands down and rose above to thrust deeply into her and hammer through her warmth. His face was avid, almost greedy, and she knew that hers must be the same. She felt the spreading heat, the lifting rhythm, the feeling that she would melt and fall if he did not sheathe himself more powerfully yet in her wet loins. She caught his bare buttocks and raised her own to them, but he twisted a little and pulled her down beside him. His mouth found hers and their tongues joined.

  She pulled back in her turn but kept her mouth on his, her hands running up and down the smooth expanse of his skin. The hard shaking had started again in her body, and his answered it. She could not hol
d on much longer, yet she could not yield. Charles moaned as she took her mouth away. Then she was astride him, fitting him into her flesh, her hands on his shoulders and his startled eyes gazing into hers. The feeling was different; it was one of power and strength and thrusting as his body gave and answered. He lifted her so that they sat joined with her legs behind him as they writhed for a long moment that went into eternity. Then she threw her arms around him and heard his groan as the holding ceased and they fell into timelessness.

  Joined still they floated in the mist of the netherworld, a place of liquid and peace. Julian felt the first stirrings of his captured member and tensed her own responsive flesh. Her skin grew warmer, and she felt her nipples lift as the return of passion was heralded. She opened her arms and sought to pull him to her the more closely. A gull cried above them as his thumb and forefinger circled her wrist and pulled her hand down. The gray eyes shone expressionlessly into hers as he extricated himself from the embrace that was suddenly so different.

  “Charles, what is it?” She pulled the shirt across her lower body and wondered strangely if this were the way Eve had felt after the sin in the garden. Sin? How could love be a sin?

  “Clothe yourself, Julian.” He was dressing hurriedly now and glancing about at the empty stretch of land and sea to make sure that none had seen.

  “Charles, what is it? Tell me.” She was on her knees, scrambling for her clothes as best she could while watching him.

  He looked down at her, at the white body, the spilling hair, and the oval face. The lines around his mouth twisted, and his teeth glittered in the sun. “You have obtained what you wanted, Julian Redenter. What do such as you know of holy vows or good intentions? You have bought my obedience with your flesh. Would you have tried some other method if that had not worked? Serpent!”