Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  All Julian’s honesty rose to do battle. “Blame me not completely, Charles! You, too, wanted this. I did not wholly lure you! And, Charles, I do most truly care. You must know that. Did I not come virgin to you?”

  “Virgin your mind has never been. Let be. I will protect you because of what you have purchased this day. But from this day forward there is nothing between us. Do you understand me?” He draped the cloak around his shoulders, and it blew in the freshening wind.

  “Aye, Lord Varland.” The formal title did not sound ridiculous as rendered by the half-naked girl. To Julian it was the mark of what she had gained and all she had lost.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Trumpets rang out in the still air, faded and rose again in the triumphant salute to the sovereigns of England. The watching crowd exploded in a fervor of enthusiasm that was contagious. Julian clutched her cap with one hand and shouted as loudly as the rest. She, too, was drunk with excitement and freedom. It was her first outing in three days, and she was sick of cold Walls, dark chambers, and hiding.

  An old man in front of Julian swung round, his mouth gaping toothless in the bright sun, gnarled hands lifting as he waved to a young woman who was holding a baby aloft. “Let him see this glorious day that the Spaniard departs this land! Let him see!” Those around him muttered uneasily and drew a little apart, but their eyes belied their action. He caught Julian’s shoulder. “Eh, boy, you don’t want to waste your life in foreign wars, do you?”

  The onlookers grinned as she drew back, shaking her head. The archer’s costume did not resemble the trim ones now in the service of the queen, but a discerning eye might make the connection. More jostling might jerk the cap awry also. She put an eager look on her face and waved as if to someone over in the densely packed section closest to the royal entourage. Then she melted back into the people, laughing in spite of herself at the old one’s remarks about young men today.

  The trumpets rang again in a proud voluntary. She scrambled up on a pile of rocks recently vacated by two small boys and looked toward the harbor. The sight was a magnificent one, for the sky was pure blue and the water almost the same shade. The chalk cliffs seemed to tower into infinity and throw their reflection between earth and heaven. The massed ships hung poised on the quiet water as if waiting for a signal. Farther out she could see the tall sails and gathered power of the Spanish fleet, which boasted the colors of that country. Dominating the harbor, however, was the great flagship waiting with wings spread, pennants of red, yellow, and black hoisted, the banners of Spain triumphant. She could see the massed soldiers on her decks and see the honor escort below on the sands of Dover. A boat waited just beyond them, the oarsmen standing at attention.

  Julian took a deep breath of the tangy air and craned her neck to see if the royal pair were yet in sight. They must be, for the sound of cheering had begun again; the English ever loved a brave show. In this moment of waiting she paused to wonder again if Charles had kept his word and spoken to Philip when he and the queen lodged last night at the castle. He had escorted her curtly to the small room in the depths of the castle and bidden her remain there so that none might see her and wonder. His gaze had looked past her face as he commanded obedience, and then he had not returned. She was risking much for this breath of freedom, but surely she could be safely back in the castle before she was missed; there could be no harm in watching such an occasion. Fortunately, she thought, everyone had had the same idea, and even the guard at the gate waved her on that afternoon. What was one more late archer?

  Now the massed ladies and gentlemen were bending before the approaching couple, and the common folk were silent in awe. Philip of Spain was all in white and flashing diamonds that caught the sunlight and gave it back in the myriad colors of the rainbow. His bare golden head and small beard shone in brilliance. Mary wore cloth of gold sparkling with gems, and her slender figure moved with pride in what must be one of the most anguished moments of her life, the departure of her beloved husband from English shores.

  Julian strained her eyes but could not see Charles anywhere in the banked rows of the nobility. She bad had ample time to think of him in the past few days when she was alone with nothing to read or amuse herself. Whatever their episode had made him feel toward her, she must hope that he would keep his word. She could not believe that he hated her; his hands had spoken only of passion.

  “Move over. We were here first.” The boy who confronted her might have been twelve or so; his face was smeared with the dirt of the docks, and there was wine on his breath. The one with him was younger but just as dirty, and his hands were clenched into fists.

  She pitched her voice low. ‘There is room for all.”

  The first boy said, “No. You leave.” His mocking eyes were too wise for his age, and she saw the dawning comprehension in them as he reached for her cap.

  She pulled away, thinking to call out, but those around them were immersed in the pageantry and music far in front. Suddenly three other boys, slightly older than the ones with her, converged on her perch. All were laughing, but their faces were hungry.

  She felt rather than saw the tall presence beside her and felt the others shrink away. The low voice was accented and half amused. “What is this? Five against one on such a day? Is there no respect in this benighted port?”

  Julian looked into black eyes below black brows in a swarthy face. The newcomer might have been thirty, surely little more, and his rich dress marked him as one of the Spanish party. The boys scattered before him, and she stared, unable to flee lest they return to taunt her.

  “Boy, you can see better from the beach. Walk along with me. Those urchins can be dangerous.” He smiled with one corner of his mouth only; the effect was somehow deadly.

  “No. No. I thank you.” She spoke slurringly, knowing that she could not hope to fool him. As it was, his eyes began to glitter in altogether too familiar a look for her bruised spirit.

  The lively Spanish air of salute ceased suddenly, and the trumpets rang in a lower key. The crowd had parted enough so that she could see ahead to the royal couple, who stood a little apart while a priest spoke solemn Latin over them. Then in the same breath, young voices lifted in English song. The man beside her took a step forward, muttered under his breath, and remained where he was. Julian dared not move, but all thought of her predicament left her as the sense of the music caught and held.

  “The land fair as the blooming hawthorn and the country of eagles united but now to part, yet to come again shall be my right good will.” The simple words were for the king and queen, yet they might have been for the parting of lovers anywhere. “For one alone I am returning.” Julian felt the chills on her back and thought of Charles Varland as he had been when he comforted her beside the Thames.

  The man beside her was shifting impatiently; sentiment seemed to be no part of him. She glanced at him out of the side of her eye and wondered at the strange fear he aroused in her. Then the final phrases of King Henry’s song of farewell came gliding on the warm air, and a woman beside Julian began to weep unashamedly. “I depart but pray right well to come again. ...” A tall country man in front of her cleared his throat, and a child was shushed.

  The music died away, and the people surged forward again. The Spaniard brushed by Julian as his hand touched her breasts in an intimate gesture. His eyes shone into hers for a moment, and then he was gone toward the gathered nobility. She told herself that she was not so easily shown to be a maid, that he was but a keener observer than most.

  Now all was silence as Philip bent the knee gravely before his wife and spoke words of formal farewell, which were tossed aside by the wind. Then the combined music of England and Spain rose once more as he stepped into the boat and was rowed slowly out to where the great ship waited. The guns roared in salute and farewell. The people were silent now, and the little figure of the queen stood ramrod straight as the stretch of water between England and Spain grew wider.

  Several hours later Julian s
at demurely on a stool beside one of the faded tapestries and tried to look as if she had been there all day. She wore the brown gown again, and her hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders to contrast with the sun flush on her cheeks. How fortunate she had been! Thoughts of all that could have happened ran through her mind, and the face of the dark Spaniard with his insinuating glance rose up. No one had paid the slightest attention to her as she joined the milling throngs in the streets of Dover after the formal ceremonies were concluded. The precisely arranged function now fell into disarray, and people wandered where they would, even into the lower areas of the castle proper. Likely it would be a different matter when the queen returned, but now she experienced no difficulty, was just another young lad in the royal livery, and found the secluded room.

  Tension stretched her nerves taut as she pictured all the possible things, favorable and unfavorable, that might happen. She had wanted so desperately to order her own destiny and was now at the mercy of another. Father Sebastino’s lecture rang in the chamber as if he stood before her. “Woman is naturally subservient before man. This is God’s law and to flout it is a sin. Did He not make woman of man and later? Meekness is to be cherished. For woman to be other is to invoke the fires of punishment.”

  “No! No! I will never accept that!” She was the victim of her own memory as she cried defiance to the empty room.

  Suddenly the heavy oak door banged against the wall and bounced back. Charles, resplendent in green velvet and cloth of gold with diamond-patterned white hose, stood there, long fingers hooked into his swordbelt. His face was even more that of the falcon as he watched her from under hooded eyes.

  “Charles, what news? What did the king say?” Julian could not contain her eagerness.

  “I trust that you will not mind assuming the archer’s garb just once more, Lady Redenter? You ride with two of my men to London within the hour.” His tone was casual, but there was a tiny ripple of scorn in it that brought a flare to her forehead.

  “Tell me what happened!”

  “Did you think I would not know that you ventured forth today despite all the danger of discovery? All the danger to me and mine as well? You thought only of yourself, madam, as always. My trusted men followed you just as they have watched during your stay here. When they lost you in the crowd, one waited by the gate here, and the other sought you.” Charles spoke so carefully and slowly that Julian realized he controlled himself only with an effort.

  “I am sorry.” She spoke contritely. “It was just that there was no news, and I could not bear it any longer.”

  “Could not?” He gave the words an air of mimicry that made her shudder.

  “Aye, my lord, could not. Do you find that so strange?” She knew that she should try to conciliate him, but the words seemed to come unbidden. Her breasts began to tingle, and she felt the warm pulses between her thighs. It would be impossible if he read the longing in her eyes.

  He folded both arms across his chest, the candlelight glittering off the carved planes of his face and reflecting on the tapestry beyond. “You have used me for your purposes, madam. That which you sought is yours and may you take pleasure in it! You are to be returned to the retreat at Greenwich that, ostensibly, you have never left. No coercion is to be placed upon you either to take the veil or to wed for the period of a year. You shall serve the queen actively, and after the twelvemonth is done, may ask for return to your manor if that is your wish. It will, of course, be granted. Bribes are to be given to those directly concerned, and the queen agreed to this—as she did to more important things—because King Philip asked it directly. She wanted to give you choices that she never had, she said.”

  Charles paused and ran one hand through his dark hair in a gesture of weariness. Julian wondered when he had last slept. She had had nothing else to do and was quite restored from her journey, although emotion had taken its own toll of her.

  She said, “Did the king ask why?”

  Charles laughed harshly. “Of course he did. He is no fool. I told him that I wanted you for my mistress, that I had taken your virginity, and that you found the ways of love most delightful. I could scarcely contain my repugnance at such lies.”

  Julian knew that he wielded the whiplash to satisfy his own anger and could not take offense. She came very close to him, her aquamarine eyes lambent under arching brows. The very passion of gratitude that she felt shone in her face, and her voice shook as she said, “Charles, I know what you must think and I regret what I had to do, but I thank you with all my heart for the help you have given me. You who are a man cannot know how bitter it is for a woman to be bartered and ordered about as though she were a thing for pleasure or a receptacle of pleasure!”

  He moved back from her, and she saw that nothing she said or did would change his feelings. She lifted both hands in a gesture of resignation. As she did so, the gown

  gaped loose from its hasty lacings, and her bosom shone milky white and soft in the pale light.

  It was then that the storm broke in Charles Varland, and he shoved her away so violently that she almost tumbled over the stool. His shadow seemed to lengthen and grow menacing in the chill room as he loomed over her. It was then that she realized he was very drunk and at war with some demon inside himself, the demon of fury that now looked out of his eyes.

  “What do you seek to get now with that body of yours? A sinecure? A child you will say is mine? I invited you to be my mistress once and you fled to sanctuary, did you not? Ah, no, wench! My duty and pleasure are elsewhere!” He lifted one hand as if to strike her, then jerked it back as he fought to calm himself. “Give it out that the king of Spain took special interest in you. Say that in your country fastnesses and see if you do not see a rich and powerful lover in your future!” He threw the taunt at her and waited, a cruel grin showing the tips of his white teeth.

  Julian faced him, head up, as she swept the graceful curtsy of the English court. “In my country fastnesses, as you call them, we know the meaning of honor. It is only at the court that one must learn the devious ways of dishonor; I will say that I have had good teachers. Will you do me the courtesy to withdraw, my lord, that I may prepare for the journey to London?”

  He gave her an incredulous look that stripped her bare. “Aye, I will withdraw. At least one man has your measure.” He laughed unpleasantly and strode from the room, swaying only slightly as he went.

  “I still live and shall be free. Blessed Virgin, let that be enough!” Julian whispered the words in the still room, hating her traitor flesh that wanted the touch of his hands.

  She knew herself foolish to listen for a returning step in the hall but could not restrain the leap in her heart at each small sound. It was an actual physical relief when the two men of her escort came to fetch her. By that time she wore the garb of the archer and had rolled her brown gown in a pack to carry with her.

  The elder man, tall and blunt of feature, with hard, knowing eyes, spoke before she could give greeting. “By command of Lord Varland we ride fast and hard this night. There must be no delays. He has ordered it.” His companion, so like him that they might have been brothers, grunted in agreement.

  “I am ready, sirs. Let us ride.” She strode out ahead of them, her glance challenging. There would be no faltering before others. In time she might come to believe that she could live with the wound she bore.

  The horse given her was young and fresh, the pace hard. She welcomed it as they pounded away from the port and toward Canterbury. There was no speech between the men and herself; she expected none. They had their lord’s orders and would carry them out unquestioningly. The straight road curved slightly in the distance as the torches of pilgrims who marched by night came closer to the holy shrine. She wondered if they had come from abroad and landed only that afternoon. Would God that she could find solace in prayer!

  As the night hours faded into dawn and dawn gave way to morning, Julian found herself recalling every word and gesture that she and Charles Varland eve
r exchanged. She put different speeches in their mouths and other actions to their bodies but the result was ever the same: given the people they were, they could have done no other. She recalled what she had been told of his dead wife. Likely pain had made him as he was. Not for a second did she believe, as gossip had it, that he had been instrumental in her death.

  We are as we are. The words rang in her mind, oddly comforting and yet bitter. Within that framework she might try to order her life. She was not such who could love again or in a lesser fashion, for Charles Varland had imprinted himself in her heart and mind as long as she lived. Very well, accept that. Accept the fact that she could not have him. She clenched her teeth against the rising sob and thought of Redeswan. Home. If she could but return there with enough money to hire labor, breed animals, grow food, and have a garden, perhaps take a yearly journey to one of the smaller cities of the realm to buy books! That would be enough in time. It must be.

  So Julian came to her own measure of peace as they rode toward London town and all that awaited her there.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Julian stretched her neck forward to ease the strain, then let her eyes lift to the glory of the stained-glass windows on her left. Abraham walked with the boy Isaac, angels hymned to Sarah of the blessing her womb would bring forth; here was Jacob’s testing, yonder the long journey into the land of Egypt. Mystic blue, pale rose flaming to heraldic red, shimmering green and ivory white, all colors mingled and faded into hot patches on her gown. The prayers and entreaties for those far away and those joined in battle became one long litany to the Christian God. Candles of the finest make available burned steadily, for there was no breath of air in the chapel. Purple and gold tapestries adorned walls not covered with religious scenes and served to make the entire room hotter. Julian felt a trickle down her back and hoped that the new golden gown with the folded and draped overskirt of yellow satin would not be stained.