Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  Julian sat with the queen at intervals and read from the gospels in Latin, trying to find the comforting passages and, for all the pity she felt for this woman, could not help but think that the many she had sent to bitter deaths had had no consolation. When had the queen ever been happy? Possibly the first few years of her life when she was the beloved daughter of Henry and Katherine before all the pother of the divorce, then the year when Philip of Spain remained with her and those few months when he returned—all the rest had been pain and hardship and rejection. Out of forty-two years on this earth so little time! And now her death was a blessing to England, the land which had so eagerly welcomed her only five years before. She had persecuted unmercifully but so had her father and brother. Julian’s own early life was proof of that.

  The queen sighed, the breath barely lifting the thin, wasted chest. The omnipresent prayer book slipped to the floor, and Julian bent to retrieve it. She looked down at the creased pages and saw that it fell perpetually open to the prayers for women in childbirth. The marks of her tears were there. Julian put it back in the limp fingers and went blindly to the door. The other lady-in-waiting moved up to take her place.

  Was it the tears coursing down her face or did the guard at the end of the corridor have the very build of Charles Varland? She saw him nightly in her fitful dreams, thought of him every time she laced herself into the borrowed dark gowns, remembered him in the demands of her hungry flesh that could not be stilled. She could not bear to fit his face on every man of his height who moved about the court. Now as she shook her head at her own foolishness, she saw that the man was being relieved and walking away with a limping gait. Ridiculous!

  Julian made her way toward the chapel with the vague idea of sitting there in the profusion of stained glass, candles, and saints to hope that some measure of peace would come to her. When the hands reached out of the dark passage and caught her, clamping her mouth shut and pulling her roughly into the adjoining room, she was so startled that she barely had time to be afraid before other hands were binding hers behind her back. She was thrust into a pool of warm light and saw the devil-mask in front of her. Her mouth opened to scream and then was stopped by the horror and shock. This travesty of a face was one she knew!

  “Alphonso Diego Ortega!” The name went from her dry lips as she looked at him and the silent servant who stood just behind. “What does this mean? Let me go!”

  His smashed nose was a spreading blotch on the scarred face that had been split by a sword and healed haphazardly so that he seemed to be a blur of red and white scar tissue. The black beard had threads of white in it and was quite sparse. One of his eyes had the glassy stare of the blind, but hatred flamed from the other.

  “I cannot believe that you have returned to my hands, Julian Redenter! God is yet good!” He lifted one hand to his face. “You are responsible for this! Sly, tricky, never revealing anything to me! Little good that passion of yours for Charles Varland did you! I hated you. Did you know that? You were so bold and determined. It was a pleasure to give you to Attenwood, for I knew what he would do. He failed, unfortunately, and now I must finish the job. You shall die very slowly, Julian. Scream, I invite you to do so. The walls are thick, and no one will hear you.”

  “I will be missed. The queen is still the queen.” She spoke evenly, not wanting to stir his anger further.

  “There are few enough to hear you. They are flocking to Hatfield, where Princess Elizabeth waits for news of her sister’s death. My master will not have me around him now. He admires beauty above all things, especially in people. He will seek the hand of the princess in marriage after a short period of mourning. She will convert to Catholicism, of course. I hope she is sensible and agrees.”

  “She will not.” Julian was suddenly very sure of that.

  Ortega drew his dagger and sighted carefully along the gleaming blade. “Perhaps. Your friend, Sir Guy, babbled on about matters of state. Do you wish to do the same? He amused me for a while and then I dealt with him. Would you like to know how long it took him to die?” His mouth twisted in what might have been a smile.

  Fear and horror nearly overcame Julian. She had not spoken Sir Guy’s name in months, but anguish for him had been with her constantly—a burden borne alone. “What kind of man are you that you could do such a thing? Foul betrayer! I counted you friend once.”

  “One of my informers followed him one day. It was easy to bribe those with whom he dealt. He was taken to my private chambers and questioned. We Spanish know how to question! He lived less than a day and told me nothing that I did not already know. As to the kind of man I am? All that I have done, I have done for Spain. I came here to watch and wait, gain confidences any way that I could, plant the idea that King Philip would be better for England than the heretic Elizabeth or the young Stuart girl. A strong man, I said, was needed. People listened. I learned only too late that Attenwood sought power for his own sake through the queen of Scots.”

  Julian felt as if she were a mass of pain. Sir Guy had suffered and died at the hands of this beast. If only she could return that full measure.

  Ortega laughed outright. “Enough of this. I grow bored. I saw you a few days ago and followed you, awaiting the moment. You shall see this face as the last of your life!” Julian jerked her arms but could not free them from the cords. She screamed as loudly as she could, and Ortega burst into laughter. She screamed several more times, and then was silent, her throat raw.

  “Such pleasure as you have already given me, little Julian. Know also that I mean to pay you back in full coin for Varland’s escape. The old woman was tortured to death, but she knew little.” He smiled at her gasp of horror. “You did not think we would hurt her, did you? I attended to it personally. The guards who took your bribes died too, and the manner of it was not pleasant to them. We were after you that same day but lost your trail.”

  “Bastard! Fiend!” Julian thought that if she were free for one second she could gladly sink that dagger in the other eye.

  Ortega was growing angrier now as he slashed the dagger up and down in the air, his shadow long on the high walls. “I reported all that to King Philip personally, thinking that he would order his wife to have the kingdom pulled apart seeking for so foul a traitor. He laughed! Laughed! Said enough was enough and that Charles Varland and you were well-matched, that he envied his old friend and wished him well. I was to restrain myself or find myself back on my mountain estates. I was sent to the Low Countries but took leave and came here when the health of the queen began to go down. I may yet be able to persuade Elizabeth that her best interests lie with my master.”

  Julian thought of that whippet quality, the self-control, and the direct eyes. “She is not for the likes of Philip of Spain.”

  Ortega’s hand slashed across her face and sent her spinning to the floor. Then with a growl that was curiously animal in character, he threw himself upon her and pulled up her skirts. Julian kicked upward, but the servant caught her feet and pulled them down, his face expressionless. Ortega balanced himself on her and said, “Your left eye first, I think. Then I will taste your skill at lovemaking. Did Varland teach you good tricks? I am sure that one so lusty must have.” His laughter exploded in the room.

  With all the strength that remained in her, Julian heaved at the big body even as she spat directly into the fearful face. He remained astride her, picked up the dagger, and aimed the point directly at her eye.

  “Now! Now!” Almost gibbering, he pushed it forward. Julian swayed her head back and forth and screamed again. The heavy door burst back against the wall and rang on the stone. One man hurled himself at Ortega and jerked him from Julian, another tackled the servant and sent him crashing to the floor. Two others in the queen’s livery stood with swords at the ready.

  Julian struggled to get her feet under her and stared blankly at the man who held Ortega. It was Charles Varland.

  “Are you all right?” He was crying the words at her over the curtain of mist tha
t veiled her eyes. One of the guards loosed her wrists and supported her to a seat.

  “Yes, yes. God be praised that you came.”

  “Give him a sword.” Charles, in the livery of the queen, gestured to one of the men. It had been he that she saw then! “I will kill him in fair battle.”

  Ortega said, “You cannot. I am the best swordsman of Spain. My life if I best you!”

  “Done.” Charles raised his own blade and waited for Ortega to inspect the sword given him. “On guard, scum.”

  Time narrowed down to the flashing swords, the desperate cut, thrust, and parry of two master swordsmen fighting for their lives and more. Once Charles stumbled, and only by swiftly catching himself did he manage to retain his balance and forestall Ortega’s rush. Weapon rang on weapon as Julian’s fingers clenched and bit down. If Ortega slew Charles, she would bury his own dagger in that evil chest. She touched the blade that had been knocked aside and caught up as she moved backward. Such horror should not be allowed to walk the earth.

  Ortega was bleeding from the mouth now, and one arm was slower in motion, but he did not falter. Charles had a scratch on the side of his face, and his shirt was torn. Both men were breathing heavily, the sound of their ringing swords the only noise in the room. Ortega’s face was even more the personification of evil than it had been to begin with. Julian thought that now inner and outer man were truly one.

  A hard voice of authority spoke from the doorway. “What is going on here? Stop that at once. Do you not know where you are?”

  Charles moved to look and in that instant Ortega struck. The blow went wild and slashed his sleeve, going lightly into the flesh and causing the blood to come out in streams. Julian rose up, turned the dagger as she had long ago done at play, and sent it flashing into the very heart of Ortega. He cried out one curse and fell to the floor in the welter of his own blood. Sir Guy was avenged.

  Charles threw down his sword and caught Julian in his arms, cradling her to him, his lips moving over her hair as the incoherent words burst out of him. “I thought you dead and that I had sent you to it. Julian, Julian. There is no life without you. None. I know that now.”

  She clung to him, barely able to absorb the sounds she heard from this arrogant, silent man she loved. “Charles, I cannot believe it. Dear Charles. Dear love.”

  Over their intensity, she heard the same voice saying, “This will be investigated, but later. Now is the time to mourn.”

  They looked up and over the scene of death to see one of the queen’s priests standing with another official, both looking as if they had been battered from the inside.

  “Weep for this land. Her Majesty is dead in the peace of God. She who sought to restore Holy Mother Church now rests secure in the arms of her Lord God. Let us pray.”

  Obediently they slipped to their knees, and the fervent prayers rose to heaven. Charles held Julian’s hand in his and both clenched the other tightly. Julian did not know if he prayed for Mary or England, but she herself did not pray for the dead for whom there was no solace in this life; she gave thanks for life restored and for the man beside her who made it worth having. Yet, even in this time, Julian knew that she was stronger than many others. For her love would be the crown of life but not its whole being. She was herself, inviolate, and Charles would know that. For the first time in her life, Julian Redenter was free of the past and its shadows.

  Later they sat in one of the smaller chambers on the main floor of the palace where they had been escorted by the priest and his follower. Charles simply stated that Julian had been attacked by Ortega, who was plainly mad and who had apparently trailed her for days. They were bidden to wait for instructions.

  Now Julian said, “How did you come to find me?” She was a little light-headed from the rich wine Charles, poured for her and from his nearness.

  His wound had been tended, and he wore another shirt of a shade of green that made his gray eyes deeper. The harshness was gone from his face, and it was lit with the tenderness that he had all too seldom shown to her.

  “I was so angry that day we parted that I came to the city and drank as much as I could hold at one of the taverns. I woke on the floor of it and knew that I had lost everything that mattered to me. When I went back to find you, you were gone. But I knew your destination. On the way here I saw some horsemen ride by and barely recognized Ortega. By then I knew what had been done to those guards and the old woman. I had my own score to settle with him as well as yours. When I heard of the queen’s health it was easy enough to trade clothes with one of the guards who wanted no part of the old regime. I waited for you, and while doing so I saw that Ortega trailed you as well. You left unexpectedly, and when I came to the door to await you, I found that you were gone. I dimly heard your screams and fetched those with me.” He put his arms around her and hugged her close. “I was almost too late, God forgive me.”

  She tilted her head back to look into his face. “I am a murderess for all that he would have done the same to me. I meant to kill him, Charles. Am I then as he?”

  “You know the answer to that, Julian. It was battle and you fought as a soldier. We are quits again, for I saved your life then you saved mine.” His mouth brushed her hair, and she felt his palpable longing.

  Julian had battled all her life in one way or another. She would not soon forget the joy she had felt as the dagger hit home in Ortega’s chest, but she was a realist as well and it would not trouble her dreams. Now Charles was looking at her ardently, and she thought what a fright she must look in the dark blue gown that was too large and with her hair streaming over her shoulders in disarray.

  “You are beautiful in my sight, Julian.” He took her hands in his. “I have nothing but myself to offer, yet you have that unreservedly. I love you, lady mine. Will you be my wedded wife?” He spoke the phrase deliberately and with full emphasis.

  Her answer was her own affirmation. “With all my heart, Charles, and with all my mind, and with all my body’s love.”

  Their mouths met then in a fusion so complete that they shook with the power of it. This was the melding of one mind and one flesh; unity of the body would be the highlighting and the glory, but this was their true marriage, whatever else would come.

  In the hours that followed, Charles and Julian sat close to each other and spoke of things simple and complex as they opened their hearts. They spoke of Sir Guy and his friendship; and in that sharing Julian was eased. The question of the future was held in abeyance, for who knew what path the new reign would take or in what light Elizabeth would regard them? England was still at war. This was their time. Unspoken between them was that since they had nothing of material value, they would go on to Wales and there remain with the gypsies, for with these friends they had first known the joy and camaraderie that welded them together.

  The door swung open again, and this time a captain of the guard stood there. A tirewoman passed him as she brought in water, cloths, and a bundle of wearing apparel. The man said, “Make yourselves presentable and hasten with it. We leave within the hour.”

  “Where are you taking us?” Charles spoke with his old authority.

  “You will know soon enough. Hasten.” He withdrew and they heard the bolts fall on the outside of the door.

  Julian dressed quickly in the shimmering green-blue gown with wide sleeves and full overskirts draped over each other in varying shades of the color. There were matching slippers of blue satin and a furred white cloak with a hood. She combed her hair and fastened it loosely at her neck, then bit her lips to make them redder.

  Charles had been given the misty gray he favored with a cloak of a darker shade. His hose set off his muscular legs, and his shoes were of finest leather. His shirt was made of soft white cloth that reflected against his brown skin.

  “We are passing fair, we two.” He smiled at her, and she returned it bravely.

  They were still smiling at each other when the door opened and the same guard said, “Come. It is time.”
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br />   “Tell us where.” Julian did not really expect him to answer and was surprised when he did.

  “To be judged in accordance with the laws of this land.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The coach was closed, the ride lengthy. Charles and Julian held hands and waited. In those hours just past they had affirmed their bond, reiterated the promise that if they could they would be married; beyond that everything seemed to pall.

  “Do you think we go to prison?” Julian felt oddly calm as she voiced the unspeakable. “Or to worse and on whose authority? Do you think Philip has come or that we are invaded?”

  “Who alone can judge us?” Charles nodded at her shadowy profile. “Aye, Elizabeth the Queen, who may have been offended by us. Who knows the ways of the Tudors and those who serve them?”

  Julian reached out to him, and he put his arms around her. Here was surcease, here was the reward of the hard won battle. There was nothing else to say, their love had named it all.

  She whispered into his neck, “Do you know, Charles, I think I first cared for you when you approached me as a wench in the garden by the river so long ago?”

  She felt his spurt of laughter. “And a marvelous wench you were, too, but full arrogant and not a bit interested in my favors.”

  “I am interested now.”

  “Are you, indeed?” He set his mouth against hers, and the flames rose around them in all the richness of long denial.