Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  Her face was no longer that of a girl. It was longer, more serious; the high cheekbones had shadows under them, and the deep aquamarine eyes almost slanted in a certain light. Her neck seemed longer, her chin more stubborn; it was, she thought suddenly, Lady Gwendolyn’s face in the rose miniature that Guy Edmont had shown her again so long ago. Pray that the rest of her life did not match her mother’s!

  “My lord will be pleased that you join him.” Edith pushed the box of jewels toward her mistress.

  Julian smiled and drew a long rope of pearls toward her, then put it back. “Not yet. I go as I am.”

  That she had made a wise choice was totally evident when she approached George in the small dining room where the table was set for them alone and curtsied with the grace of the royal court. He raised her up and kissed her fingertips. “You honor me this night, Lady Julian. I and my house shall try to be worthy.”

  “It is I who am honored.” She bent her head, then raised it to surprise a look of contemplation in his eyes. Well, what if he did decide to take what was surely his by right? She belonged to him by royal decree and by virtue of the fact that he had saved her life. Let it happen; her body could belong only completely to one man, but perhaps it would quicken with an Attenwood heir and give her surcease.

  They ate of capon and venison, strange little meat pies with differing flavors, sweet, and cheese, drank one wine that tasted of flowers and another that might have been distilled warmth on a summer night. The fire crackled in the hearth and reminded Julian of another hearth. Her fingers slipped on the golden goblet, and she fought for composure.

  “Julian, I wonder, is it too soon? Do you feel ready to talk of the future?” George wore his favorite green velvet and emeralds tonight, the color flattering the set of his shoulders and his skin, pointing up the brilliance of his deep eyes.

  It had come. She lifted her chin to face what she must. The gesture was not lost on the watching man and he smiled a little. “Aye. I am ready.” Forgive me, dear Charles, I must live as I can. You would be the first to wish me well.

  George leaned back in his chair and moved his own goblet back and forth without seeing it. “You hold no fondness for the present queen, I gather?”

  Julian’s mouth opened and shut quickly. Of all the questions he might have posed, that was perhaps the most unexpected. “Of course not.” She would never tell anyone of that pity she had felt, of her gratitude for kindness shown at first, and of the queen’s true concern for her welfare. There had been misery enough since. She repeated, “Of course not. How can you even ask?”

  “Women change their minds.” The emphasis on the word women so slight that she might not have noticed it if she were not aware of his habits. Her eyes widened and her mouth twisted in involuntary gestures before she caught herself. But he had seen. “You have no reason to change yours, so I will proceed.”

  “Please.” She held the goblet to her lips and tasted the wine that suddenly might have become water.

  “If the queen is with child, it will kill her. If not, then she is mad and the English will bear no more of this persecution. We have lost Calais; it happened in January—the last bastion we held on French soil! She can lose England if this continues, and France will be waiting, not to mention Spain. Philip is hated here, and they will fight. One can discount the bastard, Elizabeth. But the young queen of Scots, betrothed to the dauphin of France, is in the rightful line of succession—and she is Catholic. I can rouse the North Country for her, peace can be made with France, and the settlement will be generous. We could be present at the true uniting of the two countries and powerful in both. The girl would be easily managed, I have reason to know.”

  Mad, Julian thought, mad. Aloud, she said, “One ruler is like another. I do not care. The present queen trusts you, but when misfortune comes to her, your rower will fade, is that it?”

  George Attenwood said, “Precisely. I shall not be such a fool as to wage open rebellion the way Varland and his ilk did. England will be a battleground for a time, anyway, and those on the scene will come off the better. Certainly a young girl is better than a madwoman wed to Spain, which seeks to rule the world.”

  “What would you have me do?” Julian sat straighter and touched one hand to her gleaming hair. She felt untouched by the revelations; if he were so occupied with such matters there would be little time to take her body. Her mind would remain her own.

  “I will have messengers from London fairly regularly. You will speak with them after I have done so, a pretty woman offering wine and chatter, a relative who is visiting. You need not fear scandal that way, and afterward none will challenge my wife and sons. I will glean extra knowledge and you expertise. Is it a bargain?” He lifted his golden goblet and turned it so that the jewels shimmered on the rim. “Shall we drink to it?”

  Julian pushed back her chair and stood up. “To that and to power! Is that a bargain?”

  Attenwood gazed at the beautiful woman in her glowing gown and then at the candlelight which sheathed her in soft flame. “Aye, madam, to power!”

  And the shade of Charles Varland moved in the background.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “Tell me, Rob, how came you here, to this isolated country and the service of one lord? I would have thought you more interested in the livelier aspects of city life.” Julian slanted a glance at the priest as they walked on the battlements of the castle one icy afternoon just before the winter dusk settled in. They had talked often of books and life and gay foolishness but never of themselves. Now she wanted to share her difficulties with another person. Weeks had passed since George Attenwood had told her of his ambitions; he had been polite and serious with her since that time, but no one had come, and she wondered.

  Rob pulled his robes closer and shivered. “Why do you pick such a day to walk? It is far more comfortable by the great hearth. In answer to your question, I will say that when I was only a little younger I formed a great fascination for a lady, a habit which is frowned upon by the Lord Pope and our late worthy kings. We lived together, she died of the plague, and I think I have sought her counterpart ever since. To be crude, my dear, Lord Attenwood understands these things, and I have few duties of a spiritual nature at certain times.”

  Julian suppressed a smile and said, “Lord Attenwood has indeed proven to be most understanding. I have reason to be grateful for that.” She thought of the entertainments that had been arranged, the books and gowns and jewels given, conversations which, after the first personal ones, dealt with the past or with government or castle matters, nothing that might cause her to be upset or hinder the recovery of mind and flesh. In part, it had been successful. She still wept for Charles in the long reaches of the night, but she schooled herself to think of other things by day. Resignation had never been a part of Julian Redenter, but she was coming to know its value.

  A long howl came over the icy plain that bordered one side of the castle. They looked toward the band of scrubby trees that bent before the wind, and Julian fancied that she saw movement there. She shivered and drew the brown-furred cloak close to her chin. Edith had produced a warmer one of softest gray and white fur to frame her face. She had forced herself to speak calmly, saying that she did not have a liking for the color, and the girl had gone away, one hand stroking the silky surface. It had been like looking into the very color of Charles Varland’s eyes. Thank God she was stronger now!

  Altyn was a warrior castle, built near the northern coast in the days of William Rufus, a fierce gray pile made to withstand attacks of armies. Attenwood had transformed part of it into a warm and comfortable dwelling with fires and tapestries and rugs, but on days such as this, one recalled its true purpose. Julian shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of her life here or in others like it, then admonished herself sternly, knowing that but for George Attenwood she would be dead. Her strong young body rejoiced in the return to life, even the thought that soon it would be possessed by another could not diminish that joy.<
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  She thought of what Attenwood had said to her only a few days earlier: “I am well aware that you no longer hold to the faith of your ancestors and mine, but tell no others of this. Act as if you believe and trust me in these matters, for the times are perilous. We must risk, nothing.” The beige and amber flecks had run together in his strange eyes and the long face was set, eager for her answer. Agreement had cost her nothing, but she wondered anew that it mattered so much. Well, he was older and thinking of the family he hoped would come. Faith was comforting if one could obtain it. Anything so long as he did not show that other side of himself.

  “Julian.” Rob paused and faced her with an expression quite unlike his usual amused one. “Maintain your favorable opinion of our mutual master and show it always. If you falter, make sure that he does not see.”

  “What do you mean?” It was not only the wind that made her tremble.

  “Remember my words.” He smiled roguishly. “Now, come on before we both freeze here.”

  For all his kindness to her, George Attenwood had kept Julian apart from the not inconsiderable household, and someone was always with her when she walked in the tilt-yard or in the battlements. He had taken her riding in the woods and along the small beach nearby. The half-blind castle minstrel sang privately to her in the company of Edith and Barbara, the maids, and the almost senile old woman, Edwarda, who tended the gowns and spoke little. Rob was the closest companion she had, and he was always careful. It had not mattered in the days when she was grateful for human closeness and thankful for any hand that was not raised against her, but now the bruises of spirit were fading as those of the body had long ago. She was ready now to question, to take part in her own destiny. Rob would not clarify what he had said; she knew him too well to think that he would. But George—she must learn to think of him that way—was remote, yet she dreaded the time he became less so.

  “Mistress, there is a guest! All the way from London! My lord asks that you talk with him while he makes ready.” Edith was excited, the pale little face blooming with curiosity. “All the way from London!”

  “When did he arrive?” Julian smiled at the young girl. “You would think that guests were few here. I understand that my lord receives them from London quite regularly.”

  “This is the first in a very long time, lady. Months!” Edith was wary at the puzzlement in Julian’s eyes. “Shall I fetch your jewels to you?”

  “Please.” She sat still while the ice began to rise in her blood. She had not been entirely easy in her mind since that conversation with Rob five days before; he was fond of the wine and sometimes tippled to excess, but his warning was not born of that. Now her instincts lifted to the tiny threat, and she regarded herself in the mirror. This night she would be fair indeed, fair and watchful.

  “My dear, you do me proud.” George Attenwood, tall in dull yellow velvet banded with fur, lifted her hand to his lips and surveyed her with satisfied eyes that held no hint of interest in her physical beauty.

  Julian wore a gown of blue velvet with a paler satin bodice and full belling sleeves. The underskirt was of aquamarine silk, the near color of her eyes, and the material shimmered with changing lights as she walked. The pearls she loved were on thumb and forefinger and wound in her hair, which was dressed low on her neck and back from the oval purity of her face. A pearl and diamond collar circled her throat and tilted her chin higher. White slippers buckled with diamonds encased her slender feet. The cleft between her firm breasts was touched with lacy shadows from the thin satin over it, and her waist showed slim before the skirts spread out. Beautiful as the gown was, it was only one of many that had been prepared for her in the last weeks, and Julian’s delight in the beautiful clothes she had never had made the dour seamstresses smile.

  George Attenwood lifted her from the curtsy and, in the first gesture of physical intimacy that he had ever made toward her, kissed the red lips and let his own trail toward her neck. His mouth was firm but smooth, the hands that held hers warm. Julian could not help the recoil that pulled her back from him, not from any personal distaste—for she had long schooled herself to acceptance of the fate that he ordained—but from the knowledge that he found touching her repugnant and that he forced himself to it as a man might force himself to a bitter draft.

  “You are not ready. Forgive me that I press you.” The smile was not in his eyes. They were cold and bleak with distaste. “Are you finished with your toilet now?”

  “George, I am sorry. I did not mean . . .” She stuttered to a halt before the anger that blazed up in him and was as quickly brought under control so that his face twisted and smoothed out in a matter of seconds. “It must be as you wish, of course.”

  “Then let us go to greet our guest. Precede me, please.” He did not offer her his arm as was customary, and Julian knew with all the power of her intuition that he could not bear to touch her. “There is yet time for you.”

  As they walked through the cold passages Julian believed that George Attenwood was very near to demanding payment from her, but in what coin must it be given if he could not endure female flesh? Still, the debt was an honorable one and must be paid. What did men of his persuasion do with a woman, or would he require that she act to him as a male lover? She thought of Charles and their passion, then put the longing away. Those days were done forever.

  The great hall of Altyn Castle was far too cold and drafty for any festivities at this time of year. They went directly to a smaller room where a well-laid fire blazed up, a room adorned with brilliant tapestries and the finest ornamented chairs, where soft rugs after the manner of the East were laid and many candles lit the warm air. The guest was studying the major tapestry, an intricately worked thing depicting the travels and perils of Ulysses including his triumphant return to Ithaca under the aegis of grayeyed Athena, daughter of Zeus. Julian had often admired it, half longing for the days of mythology when the hands of the gods were over their favorites. Had she not laughingly prayed to Hermes when she stole the horse that time to get to Dover and Charles Varland? Let me cease to think of him! Her mind hammered out the words as she put a smile on her lips and waited to be introduced to the guest who was even now turning.

  The world spun and the candles merged into one as George said in his smooth way, “I so regret that there is an urgent bit of business I must finish before returning. If you will forgive me, Lady Julian Redenter will keep you company. She is a guest here for a short time. May I present her to you?” He took Julian’s hand, and she looked straight into the eyes of Sir Guy Edmont.

  She heard her name again and that of Sir Guy, made a suitable response, and smiled as was seemly. It was impossible that a man as perceptive as George Attenwood did not catch the bearing down on the significant words of Sir Guy as he said, “Never, ah, never have I had such charming company. You honor me. Lady . . . Redenter? My ear is slow—I do pronounce your name properly?”

  The crinkles around his eyes were deeper and his face more weathered since that day he had arrived at Redeswan to conduct her to the queen. His mouth was narrower, his body sturdier, but the appraising gaze was the same, and it conveyed a warning to her.

  “That is correct, sir.” She felt George stiffen at her side and wondered what game this was. Was a little silliness called for? “Come and partake of this wine. I have found it delicious. Will you tell me the latest fashions in London? I vow, we are so far north that I may be completely out of the style now.” She waved her arm in the long, full sleeve and began to walk toward the table where refreshments were already placed.

  “Ah, madam, I am but a soldier and know little of such things.” He took the offered goblet and held it uneasily, a man uncomfortable in the presence of a fair, giddy woman.

  “That I cannot believe.” She began to mention this material and that while George hesitated at the door and Sir Guy lowered his eyes.

  George said, “I will return very shortly, but I leave you in good hands, Sir Guy. Julian, our guest appeared inte
rested in the tapestry. Dare I suggest that he might enjoy examining it with you rather than attempting to give an account of women’s apparel?” He laughed indulgently and departed.

  Julian and Guy stared at each other and he started to speak, but she made a quick gesture to silence him, then let her voice run on in a smooth patter about the beauties of the Ulysses tapestry and the perils of the hero. He nodded very slightly and interjected a question. Time hung as they both listened, waiting for the proper moment. She saw the patina of perspiration on his high forehead and felt the palm of her hand where the sword had bitten through begin to pain.

  Julian let her voice rise and sigh away once more as the silence grew absolute. She spoke then in a low whisper. “Why did you not wish your host to know that you recognized me, Sir Guy?”

  “Why did you fall in with it so quickly?” The countertrust was sharp. “I knew the name, but you are greatly altered. I heard of your troubles and, frankly, thought you dead or imprisoned. Lord Attenwood is known to be short of temper, and I deemed it best not to let our acquaintance be known.” He sipped his wine and gave an appreciative nod. “I have come with messages from Her Majesty regarding certain fortresses to be prepared and men to be rallied for the spring. I do not wish to bore a fair lady with such things, however.”