‘My lady?’ Ulf stepped out in front of them and her hopes plummeted at once.
‘Constable.’ She shot him a warning look. ‘This is Sergeant Lothar, the Empress’s envoy. He and I will be taking refreshments together in the hall.’
‘Then I’ll accompany you, my lady.’
‘That won’t be necessary, thank you. We have a great deal to discuss. In private.’
‘It isn’t seemly...’
‘Please see to it that we’re not disturbed.’ She spoke over him, jutting her chin out as his expression darkened mutinously.
‘He ought to surrender his weapons.’
‘Constable, you insult our guest!’
She whirled around, though to her relief their guest didn’t look remotely offended.
‘Not at all.’ Lothar shrugged, though his stony gaze rested on Ulf a little too keenly for her liking. ‘It’s a reasonable request. Though there’s only one of me and...’ he glanced nonchalantly around the bailey ‘...around fifty of you? Surely you aren’t afraid of those odds?’
‘Under the terms of a truce, it’s customary to leave your weapons outside.’
‘If this were a truce I’d agree, but I don’t recall anyone uttering the word.’ He quirked an eyebrow towards her. ‘Did you, my lady?’
‘I’m mentioning it now.’ Ulf’s tone was belligerent.
‘Did you, Lady Juliana?’ Lothar ignored him, his voice dropping to an intimate undertone. ‘Perhaps when I was distracted?’
She inhaled sharply, taken aback as much by the deep, honeyed tone of his voice as by the fact that he actually seemed to be smiling. The effect was unexpectedly disarming, like the sun bursting out from between storm clouds. For a fleeting moment, his stern features were utterly transformed, still rugged and yet even more strikingly handsome. He looked more like a knight from some chivalric romance than an enemy warrior, a man she might truly be tempted by...
She tore her gaze away, alarmed by the thought. That was impossible. She could never be drawn to such a cold-blooded, fearsome-looking warrior. It was only her fear confusing her, not him. Definitely not him.
‘Our guest may do as he pleases.’ She spoke with as much authority as she could muster. She had the distinct impression that Lothar was deliberately trying to provoke her Constable, and her Constable was letting him. If she wasn’t careful there’d be bloodshed before they even made it past the gatehouse.
‘There’s no truce, just...’ she groped for a suitable word, ‘an understanding.’
‘But, my lady...’
‘Stand down, Ulf!’ She held his gaze until he stepped begrudgingly to one side, then gestured towards Lothar. ‘Shall we?’
She didn’t wait for an answer, marching ahead as quickly as she dared without making him suspicious. It was approaching noon and the castle cooks were busy making the best of their meagre rations, doling out bowls of pottage to a line of soldiers waiting outside the kitchens. She winced as they passed. She hadn’t wanted Lothar to see that. Bad enough that he could already see the full extent of their defences, but now he could see the condition of her men, too. If he did somehow manage to escape, there’d be no stopping him.
They reached the steps of the keep and she pushed on the door with a sense of relief, glad to be out of sight of her soldiers at last. Judging by their shocked expressions, they were just as scandalised by her behaviour as Ulf. Well, they’d just have to think what they liked. She could explain herself—and accept their apologies—later. If her plan worked, that was. Otherwise...
She pushed her misgivings aside, sweeping through the antechamber and on into the hall, her eyes turning at once towards a chest in the far corner. It was where she stored what was left of the wine, as well as other more potent substances in a small wooden box, the key of which she always kept tied to her belt. She wrapped her fingers around it now, gripping the metal tightly as she made her way across the room. Now if she could just open the box, pour the wine and mix one of her remedies into it without him noticing...
She heard a loud scraping sound and spun around, letting out an involuntarily squeak of alarm as she saw her companion draw the last of the iron door bolts.
‘So we’re not disturbed.’ Lothar sauntered towards her. ‘Though I’d lay good money on your Constable being right outside.’
Her throat tightened. Locked in! Despite what she’d said, it hadn’t occurred to her that he might do anything to ensure they weren’t disturbed. She had no doubt that her soldiers were close by, but if she called for help now, it would take precious minutes for them to break through. Not that she needed any help, she reminded herself. She was the chatelaine and she’d come this far by herself. She’d work out the rest, too. She had to.
‘Of course.’ She forced a smile, gesturing casually towards the hearth. ‘Won’t you make yourself comfortable?’
She turned her back on him again, unlocking the box and extracting a small leather pouch, taking deep breaths to stay calm. It was only a door after all, and if—when—her plan worked then she wouldn’t even need an escape route. She just had to concentrate, had to pour two cups of wine and mix the poppy milk carefully, get the measurements just right and make sure there was no residue left behind. And she had to hurry. She could already hear the tread of his footsteps crossing the flagstones, the swoosh of his surcoat as he cast it aside, the metallic chink of his chainmail... Chainmail? Her stomach swooped. What was he doing with his chainmail?
She clasped a cup in each hand and moved haltingly towards him. To her horror, she saw that he’d already removed both his surcoat and chainmail, leaving only his undershirt, hose and leather boots.
‘They were wet.’ He jerked his head towards the discarded pile of clothing.
‘Your chainmail was wet?’ Her voice seemed to have become alarmingly high-pitched.
‘You’d be surprised at how heavy it gets in the rain. You should get out of those damp clothes, too.’
She stiffened instinctively before remembering to turn her look of affront into a smile. After all, she was supposed to be flirting with him. This was supposed to be her idea. It was ridiculous to be offended, no matter how insolent he was.
‘There’s no rush.’ She tried her best to sound playful. ‘You wouldn’t want me to surrender too easily, would you?’
His gaze flickered down to her legs before travelling leisurely up again. ‘Forgive me, Lady Juliana, but I was under the impression that you already had.’
She caught her breath, every part of her body tingling where his gaze touched her. He was right about her clothes being wet. She hadn’t thought about it before, but they were moulded so closely to her skin that he could surely see every curve of her body. Not that she had many of those, but she might as well have been naked for all the protection her tunic was giving her. Her mouth turned dry at the thought. Now that his warrior’s face was finally showing some sign of emotion she wished it wasn’t. She wished he was a statue again. He was looking at her in a way that suggested he wanted more, far more, than just a drink.
‘Some wine?’ She held the laced cup out towards him. ‘I offered you some refreshment.’
‘I don’t drink wine.’
His voice hardened abruptly, as if she’d just insulted him instead of having offered a drink, and she froze in panic. Had he seen through her deception already, then? Was that why he’d locked the door? She felt her hands break out in a cold sweat and her scalp tighten with dread. If he didn’t drink, then she’d have no chance of overpowering him. What would happen then? What would he do to her?
She licked her lips to loosen them, pretending not to notice the frosty shift in his demeanour. ‘It’s from one of my father’s best casks, for special occasions only. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’
‘Taste has nothing to do with it. I don’t drink anything stronger than ale.’
Black brows drew together in a fierce line and then suddenly softened again. ‘But perhaps just this once. Since we’re celebrating.’
He reached for the cup with one hand and caught her fingers in the other, lifting them gently to his lips as her heart seemed to stop and then accelerate again wildly. Alone in a locked room, somehow the gesture felt more intimate than if he’d actually pulled her into his arms. His lips felt surprisingly soft and warm, brushing her knuckles with just the lightest of pressures, and yet somehow making the whole of her insides start to quiver.
It was fear, she reminded herself, fear making her body react in such a new and alarming fashion, as if she were losing control of her senses. In the flickering firelight, his eyes looked more purple than grey, shimmering amethysts rather than hard granite stones, pinning her to the spot with such compelling intensity that she hardly dared breathe, let alone blink...
On the other hand, the still rational part of her brain argued, at least while he was looking at her he wasn’t looking at the wine, wouldn’t notice any residue left inside. She was halfway to achieving her aim. He was holding the cup in his hand. Now she just had to make him drink.
She raised her own cup in salute and took a sip, stifling a cry of relief when he did the same. He drained half the liquid in one draught, his other hand tightening over hers as he did so, as if he were daring her to pull away. She didn’t move, torn between conflicting emotions of elation and fear. After all, she wasn’t out of danger yet. She still had to distract him, had to give the poppy a chance to work whilst she kept his mind off other activities. From the look on his face, it wasn’t going to be easy.
‘You look worried, my lady.’ His voice sounded even deeper than usual, sending a strangely visceral thrill all through her body.
‘Do I?’
A black eyebrow quirked upwards and she felt a sudden, faint tingle of suspicion. There was something vaguely mocking about the gesture, something that suggested he knew exactly what effect he was having on her, as if he were toying with her even. But that didn’t make sense. He’d followed her into the castle because she’d as good as offered herself to him. He thought she was a loose woman, a wanton, so why would he make fun of her? Unless that was what men did, made fun of their conquests? Though what did it matter as long as he was drinking?
‘There’s no need to worry.’ His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles. ‘The Empress gave her word that no one would be harmed if you surrendered. You’re perfectly safe, I promise you.’
Safe? She tried not to look too incredulous. Nothing about him felt safe. The way his fingers were caressing her skin felt distinctly unsafe!
‘Then I thank you...’ she grasped quickly at the idea his words gave her ‘...though I did wonder why the Empress is offering terms again? Why offer to spare us after what I did?’
‘After you swore an oath of allegiance to her enemy, you mean?’
‘Yes.’ She gritted her teeth at the accusation. ‘I thought that she’d want to punish me. Isn’t she angry?’
‘Given your father’s loyalty to her cause, she was mostly surprised. But she has fond memories of him and would prefer to spare you for his sake.’ His expression shifted slightly. ‘As would I.’
‘You?’ She gaped in surprise. ‘You knew my father?’
‘I met him on a few occasions at the Empress’s court, yes. We even fought side by side at the Battle of Lincoln. He was a good man. Loyal.’
She didn’t answer at first, struck with a familiar pang of guilt. If Lothar was trying to rebuke her, to remind her of just how badly she’d betrayed her father’s ideals, then he needn’t have bothered. She didn’t need reminding. She lived with the consequences of her disloyalty every day.
‘If he knew what I’d done, he’d be furious.’ She answered the accusation before it came.
‘Then why did you do it?’
‘Why did I swear allegiance to the man who’d just killed my father, you mean?’
The eyebrow quirked even higher. ‘Yes.’
She drew a deep, faltering breath. This wasn’t what she wanted to talk about, not at all. She didn’t want to talk about her father, or politics, or any of the reasons why she’d betrayed the Empress. Her feelings on the subject were still too painful, too raw. She’d made her choice when she’d made her bargain with Stephen, and there was no going back on any of it now. But at least they were talking. Lothar was still holding one of her hands, though he wasn’t stroking the knuckles any more. He seemed intent upon what she was saying instead, as if he were genuinely interested in what her motivation had been. Strangely enough she didn’t feel frightened any longer. He wasn’t a statue or an enemy any more. He was a man who’d fought alongside her father, someone she could talk to about him, even if she probably shouldn’t... But perhaps she could tell Lothar part of the truth. She wanted to, she realised, wanted to talk about her father to someone who’d known him. If she could make a man like Lothar understand what she’d done, then perhaps it wouldn’t seem so bad any more. Perhaps if he understood, then he might even forgive her—and if he could, then perhaps she could start to forgive herself, too...
Chapter Five
Juliana straightened her shoulders, trying to look Lothar square in the eye, though with his immense height she had to reach up on her tiptoes.
‘You know that King Stephen laid siege to us nine months ago?’
He nodded. ‘There were a number of sieges at the time, otherwise the Empress would have sent reinforcements.’
‘That’s what my father said. He always defended her, no matter how bad the situation became, but the truth was that we weren’t prepared for a siege. My father...’ she hesitated, searching for a way to explain ‘...had other things on his mind. We held out for three months, but it was no use. Our only choices were to starve, fight or surrender. Father decided to ride out and meet Stephen in battle.’
‘He died like a true soldier.’
‘Is that what you heard?’
‘Yes.’ Dark brows snapped together. ‘Isn’t that what happened?’
‘No.’ She shook her head, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. ‘He was injured and taken prisoner, but he never recovered.’
His grip on her hand tightened. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I surrendered because I didn’t want to lose anyone else. I didn’t have a choice.’
‘What about your oath of allegiance? Surely you had a choice there?’
She flinched. There was no way to explain that, not without telling him the whole truth anyway, and she couldn’t do that. But she had to offer some reason, no matter how bad it sounded.
‘I’d already lost my father. I didn’t want to lose my home and position, too.’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘You mean you swore allegiance to Stephen just so you could remain chatelaine?’
‘Yes.’ She wrenched her hand away, stung by the contempt in his voice. She couldn’t blame him for thinking the worst of her, even if, for some reason, she didn’t want him to. He actually sounded disappointed—as if he had any right to judge her or whomever she chose to give her allegiance to! She racked her brains, dredging up every argument she’d used to convince herself of the validity of Stephen’s claim.
‘And I support him because I want the war to be over. Stephen’s a crowned king. He can bring peace.’
‘He’s a usurper.’ Lothar’s tone was implacable. ‘King Henry named his daughter Matilda as his heir.’
‘Stephen has royal blood, too. They’re cousins.’
‘He stole the crown.’
‘Because Matilda wasn’t in the country to claim it! It took her four years even to cross the Channel after King Henry died. England needed a ruler and Stephen was here!’
‘She had to deal with Normandy first. Not to mention that she was with child when her fathe
r died. Absence doesn’t lessen her claim.’
‘Stephen’s an honourable man.’
‘Honourable?’ Lothar’s voice positively dripped with disgust. ‘When Henry was alive Stephen swore an oath to accept her as Queen. Twice.’
‘Maybe he was coerced.’
‘Maybe he’s a liar.’
‘He can still bring peace! It’s Matilda who keeps the war going. If she’d go back to Anjou, then we could have peace again. Isn’t that more important than her claim?’
‘Your father didn’t think so.’
‘I have a mind of my own!’ She flung her cup to the floor in frustration, clenching her fists as the metal clattered loudly across the flagstones. He was infuriating, actually seeming to get calmer the more furious she became. How dare he sound so smug, as if it were all so simple, as if all the choices she’d had to make over the past six months had been easy!
‘I can see that.’
She stiffened at once. Her father had always taken pride in having a daughter who could think for herself, but she knew most men were less tolerant. She knew what they called her, too. A virago. A shrew. Unnatural, unladylike, unsuitable for marriage. Was that what Lothar thought, too? Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. She didn’t care what he thought of her. If her display of temper had changed his mind about her feminine charms, then so much the better. He’d already drunk the wine. There was no need for him to find her attractive any more. Even if the thought made her feel strangely crestfallen.
‘Do you think I should agree with my father just because I’m a woman?’ She narrowed her eyes accusingly.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘On the contrary. I serve the Empress, my lady, I’ve no problem with women thinking for themselves.’ His voice took on a husky undertone as he took a step closer towards her. ‘Or with them taking command.’
‘Wh-what do you mean?’ she stammered, feeling alarmingly out of her depth all of a sudden. She’d been braced for another argument, ready for him to call her an unnatural female, but he was acting as if he still wanted her, as if he found the idea of a woman in command appealing. Not that she felt very commanding at that moment.
Besieged and Betrothed Page 4