by Blackheart
Juliana knew it well, but neither Gabriel nor Sir Erec could have known whence it came.
"No words were spoken between them, my lady." Sir Erec traversed the chamber, halting before her. "None needed to be."
"Then 'tis true Bernart never learned Gabriel followed him over the wall?"
"Gabriel would not let it be told."
Juliana gripped her entwined hands to keep from throwing them into the air. "Why?"
"You would understand had you been there, my lady."
"But if Bernart had known—" Nay, no difference would it have made that Gabriel had nearly laid down his life to aid his friend. Still Bernart's manhood would be lost, and still he would put the blame anywhere but upon himself. For him, the deaths of those who had witlessly followed him and his resulting emasculation would ever be Gabriel's fault.
Juliana pried her fingers apart. "I do understand. What happened afterward?"
"Gabriel and I joined with King Richard's army and fought long beside our sovereign." Sir Erec pinned her with his gaze. "Know this, Lady Juliana: I have many times been in battle with Gabriel, and there is no coward in him. He fights with courage beyond my own and that of others, does ne'er run from danger, is ever loyal. 'Tis for this he earned the king's respect and was awarded this barony."
She needed no proof beyond that which she already knew of Gabriel. She inclined her head. "I thank you for telling me, Sir Erec." Not that there was anything she could do with the knowledge. Bernart would lay siege to Mergot, kill and plunder all for which Gabriel had worked so hard, would not be content with anything less than the drawing of his old friend's blood and the claiming of a son not his. None could stop him—except God, did He deign to dabble with common mortals. Or was there another? She blinked. How could she have been so blind?
She laid a hand on Sir Erec's shoulder. "I would ask that you help me."
His eyebrows bumped, suspicion glimmering from his eyes. "What say you?"
"I need you to deliver the king a message."
His mouth tightened. "For what, my lady?"
"If 'tis true he holds Gabriel in such high regard, he may intervene in Bernart's coming against Mergot."
The knight stepped from beneath her hand. " 'Tis not for me to summon him."
Juliana fought the impulse to seize hold of the knight. "Gabriel will not ask the king to intervene. And for that he may die—and others! Pray, Sir Erec, I do not ask that you betray him, only that you help me assure our son knows his father."
There was a struggle upon his face, but he put it from him with a shake of his head. "I am sorry, my lady. What you ask I cannot—"
"Come with me." She gripped his arm and started toward the door, but his resistance dragged her to a halt. She looked around. "There is something I must show you."
"What?"
"It cannot be told."
Grudgingly, he nodded. "Very well, but only this and that is all."
She led him from the solar to her chamber and slowly opened the door. The only sound within was that of sleep. She looked to where Lissant lay on her pallet at the foot of the bed, the flickering torchlight playing over her lowered lids.
Juliana stepped within. Sir Erec hesitated, but came behind. She halted alongside the cradle. "Sir Erec, I would have you meet Gabrien."
The knight's face softened as he looked upon the sleeping infant. "Gabriel told me you were brought to bed of a fine boy." A smile slipped to his lips and he leaned down to look better upon Gabrien. "He is that, my lady."
"Aye, and does he not deserve a fine father, Sir Knight?"
He hardened again, then straightened. "Only if he be of Gabriel."
Her turn to speak secrets long held. She glanced at Lissant, assuring herself the woman slept. "After Acre," she began, "no amount of God's mercy would allow Bernart to father a child." She bit her lip. "That which has been taken cannot be given back." No more need be said, as evidenced by the knight's start.
"I speak true, Sir Erec."
Words eluded him, though they surely clambered through his mind.
"King Richard is still on the continent?" she pushed on.
A dry laugh parted his lips. "Where else would he be, my lady? Though he is king of all England, France is his home. 'Tis held by many that he will never return to England."
She had heard it said herself. "He is in Normandy?"
"At Rouen. He intends to build a castle on the Seine." She could not ask for better. "You shall pass by there on your way to the coast, then." "I shall."
'Then you will entreat the king to come to Mergot." Displeasure unsettled his face. "Will I, my lady?"
His derision made her wince. She had pushed too hard. "I pray you will, for Gabrien... for Gabriel... for me."
His gaze wavered, and his nostrils flared. Then, with a grunt, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.
Juliana squared her shoulders. It seemed she must go herself. Somehow she would slip free of Gabriel and find her way to Rouen. And the babe? She looked to him. Gabriel would provide—would find a wet nurse to feed Gabrien's hunger until she returned. But the ache! She pressed a hand to her breasts.
"What think you the king will do?" Sir Erec's voice cut through her pain.
She snapped her head around and saw he stood before the door. Would he do it, then? " 'Tis an annulment I seek, Sir Erec. King Richard's presence will not only stop senseless bloodshed, but assure I am heard."
"Then you will reveal your husband's... impotence?"
The word caught Juliana by surprise, and she darted her gaze to the maid on her pallet. The only movement about Lissant was the breath pushing her shoulders.
'Too long I have stayed at his side," Juliana said, "borne the weight of his hatred, done as he bade." She shook her head. "No more. This babe is not Bernart's, and he shall not steal him from Gabriel."
" 'Tis what he intends?"
"Aye." She swallowed. "As always he intended." There, it was said.
The air hung grave with his questions, but he did not ask them.
"I will do it," he said, "for Gabriel."
She loosed her breath and sent thanks heavenward.
"What message would you have me deliver to the king?"
'Tell him Bernart Kinthorpe comes to steal his loyal vassal's son and the mother of that child—that he is needed at Mergot to put an end to the coming siege."
"And I should tell him who sends the message?"
Would King Richard come were he told? Stand for a man who had taken another's wife? "Only does he demand to know."
The knight nodded. " 'Twill be done." He turned and opened the door.
"Sir Erec."
He looked over his shoulder. "Gabriel cannot know."
"This I know." He stepped into the corridor and pulled the door closed.
She stared at it until the sounds of Gabrien's awakening turned her to the cradle. She lifted him. "You are hungry, hmm?"
He yawned, stretched, and turned his face to her breast.
"Patience," she whispered. Gently she laid him upon the bed, loosed her laces, and pulled the bliaut over her head. Then, propped against the headboard, chemise dragged up, she put Gabrien to her breast. Though he was quick to satisfy his hunger, she was loath to return him to his cradle. Deciding it would do no harm to hold him a while longer, she lay on her side and stared into his half-hooded eyes.
"King Richard comes," she said, and touched his bottom lip. "He comes."
Gabrien gurgled, mouth twitching as if he might smile, his eyes closed.
She closed her own, but when she tried to lift her lids, she could not. She was very tired....
Gabriel stared at mother and child as longing tugged through him. He should return to his solar as he had done the past two nights after first coming to Juliana's chamber. But something held him beside the bed. He fought it, but in the end removed his sword belt and stretched out beside his son and the woman who ought to be his wife. He stared at her shadowed face—rendered more be
autiful in sleep. In all his life he had never wanted anything more. Not even the inheritance his father denied him. Juliana was all there was—and Gabrien. But how to hold onto them?
He closed his eyes, running through the castle's defenses he had put in place to withstand the coming siege. Was all provided for—food, water, weaponry? Were Mergot's people ready? He would prevail. Had to!
"You did not tell me," Juliana said.
He lifted his lids, meeting her gaze over Gabrien's small, round head. Though there was yet torchlight in the room, it struggled to put color to her warm brown eyes. Had he awakened her? He should not have lain down.
"Why?" she asked.
He frowned. "What?"
"Why did you not tell me you went into Acre to bring Bernart out? That you were also imprisoned?"
Damn Erec! Gabriel bunched his hands. He ought not to have left them alone. He pushed up onto an elbow.
Juliana reached over the babe and caught his arm. "Tell me."
In that moment, he wished he did not feel what he did when she touched him. It was too hard to go from her. "Please, Gabriel."
"What is there to tell?" he said gruffly. "Other than that I failed? Think you there is redemption in that?"
She levered herself up. "You are wrong. You did all you could to stop him, but Bernart had to make his own way—as you have had to make yours. That you tried to turn him from his foolishness is unworthy of the guilt you let set upon your shoulders like a winter mantle." She touched his jaw. "You do not owe him a son—as I do not. You must believe that, must remember all he has done, must not forget Blase."
As if he could. What had been done to his brother demanded retribution, but what had been done to Bernart...
Gabriel remembered the day he had found his friend in a cell that reeked of death and excrement. He'd had but to look upon the man he'd grown up alongside to know that never again would they share a skin of wine, a laugh, good conversation.
"What would you have me do?" he asked. "Run? If so, know I will not. I shall fight Bernart and, God willing, arise the victor."
She shook her head. "I do not ask that you run, only that when Bernart comes against you, you not let the past darken your judgment."
"I shall do my duty, Juliana—to you, to Gabrien, to my people."
She drew her hand from his jaw and touched her fingers to his lips. "And when 'tis done? Will you let yourself love me, Gabriel? Without reservation? Without Bernart's shadow upon us?"
Her softly spoken words wrapped around his heart, pulled tight, and made him speak what he had not intended. "I do love you, Juliana, but I make no promises— not until it is done."
A sad smile turned her lips. She lowered her hand. "Mayhap if King Richard could be called upon to intervene, 'twould be done the sooner—without bloodshed."
He had considered it, but for a moment only. This was his battle—between him and Bernart. To bring the king into it would cause to be revealed Juliana's humiliation and Bernart's shame. "Nay, Juliana, I will not call on him. Bernart and I shall settle this."
She lay down. "I knew 'twas what you would do."
He sat up. "I shall leave you to your rest."
"Stay." She smoothed a hand over Gabrien's downy head. "You belong with your family."
His family. The war he waged was pitiful. He lowered himself to the mattress.
Juliana reached over Gabrien and curled her hand around Gabriel's shoulder. "I love you, Gabriel."
Her declaration was silk upon his jagged emotions. He relaxed more deeply into the mattress, lowering his lids. For the first time in a long time, his sleep was restful. For the first time in forever, he was where he belonged. Home.
Chapter Twenty-three
March 1196
War had come to Mergot. No words were yet exchanged, naught spoken between besieged and besieger, just the silence of waiting. But once the weather turned there would be siege. Soon.
Gabriel pulled his mantle closer, staring beyond his clouded breath to the bordering wood before which Bernart and his army of knights, men-at-arms, squires, and mercenaries had put down camp two days past. And more men were coming, as told by the wench Gabriel had sent into their camp. She had returned ere dawn, her pretty head filled with all she'd gleaned from her flirtations with Bernart's men. So it was told that Baron Faison, the vengeful brother of Mergot's former lord, would send reinforcements to aid Bernart's siege. Gabriel was not surprised. It was the opportunity Faison longed for, and
Bernart had never been short of cunning. That his injury had not altered. But Gabriel was prepared. Buckets of caltrops—many-pointed iron spikes that, when scattered before men and charging horses, caused appalling confusion—were placed around the wall walks. Great cauldrons to pour boiling water and hot sand upon the attackers were set at intervals between the battlements. Newly forged swords and pikes were in abundance, as were arrows and slings. Though quicklime and Greek fire were not as abundant, Gabriel knew when and where to place them so that they would have the effect of thrice as much. When the mining began—if it began—jars of water would be set upon the ground to detect underground movement. As for his people, those of the villages nearest Mergot had been brought into the castle, along with their food supplies and meager livestock. Though it made for crowded living, it would not only force Bernart to forage for his own supplies in the harsh of winter, but he would be unable to use the threat of harm to Gabriel's people.
All was provided for—or so Gabriel prayed, for no man could erect a defense another could not pull down. Which was true for Bernart as well. Beginning this night, Gabriel would lead a sortie out of the castle through the dusting of snow to destroy those siege weapons Bernart was building, the ultimate goal being to reverse roles so that the besiegers found no respite from harassing attacks.
Gabriel sighed, turned from his billow of breath, and strode to the steps. He ascended quickly, then slowed to weave a broken path through the displaced villagers who huddled against the cold. He stopped several times to speak to those whose eyes sought his, to reassure them, to thank them for their forbearance. The conditions were much the same in the inner bailey. As for the great hall, a mass of bodies fouled the air so that no amount of herb- strewn rushes could disguise the stench. And it would get no better. Henceforth, water was as gold, not to be wasted upon baths.
Finally he reached the stairs. He was halfway ascended when a hand curled around his upper arm. He knew the touch.
Though Juliana's smile was tentative, the chill of his unease warmed before it. "All is well?" she asked. "All is quiet." He could report no better. "The weather?" " 'Tis clearing."
Concern washed across her face.
Gabriel wiped a smudge from beneath her bottom lip. "For a lady and a woman who gave birth not three weeks past, you work too hard."
She glanced behind. "They must all be fed."
"Aye, though not by your hand."
She mounted the step beside him, the added inches permitting her to drop her chin from its strained tilt. "Gabrien is asleep and Lissant with him. I ought to be here."
He would not argue with her as he had done on the day past, when she'd insisted upon going among the people and tending their needs. She was too determined and too much in need of diversion from that which waited without the walls.
"At least they are warm," he said, sweeping his gaze to the hall. Some good would come of the rank press of bodies. But tomorrow these people would know cold again when they exchanged places with those in the outer bailey.
"Aye." Juliana pushed a damp tress off her brow. "There is that." Gabriel stared at her and was reminded of the third night at Tremoral, when they had come together and, for the first time, he'd seen her beneath him. She had looked much the same—dampened hair about her face, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. Feeling a rise between his thighs, he yanked his longing in. "I must make ready for the sortie."
Silence followed him to the top of the stairs, then her footsteps. She ran the length of corridor
to overtake him before the lord's solar. "Must you, Gabriel?" Pleading and fear met in her eyes.
He stopped his hand on the door. "Better a battle beyond the walls than at the walls."
"But if you are captured—"
"I will not be. We will lay fire to whatever siege engines Bernart raises and return forthwith."
She took a step nearer and touched a hand to his jaw. "There is naught I can say to turn you?"
He nearly closed his eyes on the feel of her hand upon him. Three weeks since he had been so near her, three weeks of longing, three weeks of denying himself more than the fleeting contact when she passed Gabrien into his arms. But it was better this way. After the threat of Bernart was past—were it ever, a dissenting voice reminded him of his tenuous hold on Juliana—they could look to a future together.
"Naught you can say," he uttered, and drew her hand from him. He pushed the door open to the warm fire the chambermaid had kept stoked. If not for the heat of the hall that had chased all chill from him, it would have been welcome. He pushed his mantle back from his shoulders and stepped inside. Though he had not intended for Juliana to follow, she came behind him.
"Juliana, you should not—"
"I will help you ready for the sortie." She crossed to the chest and knelt before it.
He ought to send her away. It was not good to be in a place that held both bed and her.
"What shall you wear?" she asked, lifting the chest lid.
He stepped farther into the room. "White, that we shall not be seen against the snow." As Mergot was built upon raised ground, the snow would be at their backs. And all would be lit by a generous half-moon.
As she searched the chest's contents, Gabriel crossed to the bed. He freed the brooch that secured his mantle, swept the woolen garment to the mattress, and became aware of silence. Realization struck a moment before he set his gaze upon Juliana.
She sank back upon her heels, her eyes fixed on the fistful of white trailing from her hand.