Besieged and Betrothed

by Jenni Fletcher

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lothar peered down at the white carpet beneath his horse’s hooves and knew that he’d arrived just in time. One week away from Haword and winter seemed to have arrived with a vengeance. Looking out at the snow-filled clouds from his room in Devizes Castle two mornings before, he’d known that he’d had to leave then or not at all. Once the cold weather set in, the roads could easily become impassable, and the last thing he’d wanted was to get cut off from his new wife.

  He’d already stayed away longer than he’d intended. Despite what she’d said, Matilda had seemed in no hurry to dismiss him, wanting to talk about her plans for her son Henry instead. He’d had the uneasy feeling that she’d been watching him, too, trying to gauge his behaviour. He’d striven to maintain his usual impenetrable façade, but inside he’d been restless, anxiously counting the hours of his absence. The idea of Juliana looking after her father on her own set his teeth on edge every time he thought of it. What if she needed him? What if she wasn’t sleeping again? Whether she wanted him there or not, surely a husband’s place was at her side?

  At last he’d been unable to stand the tension any longer. He’d finally asked permission to leave, though it had taken Matilda another full day to give him an answer. He’d actually thought she’d been going to refuse, though for the life of him, he hadn’t been able to understand why. She’d already admitted that she’d no more stomach for fighting and she hardly needed a bodyguard in Devizes Castle, so what could it possibly matter to her where he spent the winter? Ultimately, he was left with the same strange suspicion of jealousy he’d felt on his way to Devizes, only this time from a different source, as if both the women in his life were jealous of each other when neither had any cause to be. He had a strong attachment to both of them, but the feelings—no, he corrected himself—the way he thought about each of them was completely different.

  At last, the ramshackle tower of Castle Haword rose up out of the snowy twilight ahead of them and he felt a swell of relief. If it had been safe, he would have taken the last part of the journey at a gallop, but instead he had to control himself as much as his stallion, reining in his anticipation until he thundered across the drawbridge.

  ‘Sergeant?’

  He heard Ulf call out the moment he entered the bailey.

  ‘What’s happened?’ One look at the Constable’s face told him something was wrong. ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘The evening you left.’

  He swung out of his saddle at once. ‘The same evening?’

  ‘Yes, sir. There was no pain. He just slipped away in his sleep, but Lady Juliana... She took it badly, sir.’

  He swore violently. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Up on the roof.’ Ulf gestured up at the gatehouse. ‘She’s been there every day since.’

  ‘Outside? In this weather?’

  ‘She won’t come down, sir. I’ve tried everything.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ He put a reassuring hand on the Constable’s shoulder. ‘See to my horse. I’ll fetch her.’

  He ran up the gatehouse steps, wishing now that he’d insisted on leaving Devizes earlier. He seemed to have done nothing but comfort women for the past few weeks, but this time he felt as if the pain were his, too. He hadn’t felt even half so worried when he’d gone to Matilda.

  ‘Juliana?’ He flung open the trapdoor at the top of the stairwell, holding an arm over his head to peer through the gathering snowflakes, but there was no sign of her.

  ‘You came back.’

  The voice was faint, but he honed in on it at once, feeling a strange, cracking sensation in his chest as he did so. She was sitting in the far corner, wrapped up in a woollen cloak the same grey shade as the stone around her, as if she were trying to blend in with the wall.

  ‘I said I would.’ He crossed the roof in two strides and crouched down beside her, gently lifting the hood from her face. ‘Ulf told me what happened.’

  ‘He was sleeping.’ Her voice was so quiet that he had to lean closer to hear it. ‘When you left, he was sleeping, but then...he just never woke up.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He reached out for her hand. It felt like a block of ice. ‘If I’d known... Forgive me.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She looked up at last with eyes that seemed alarmingly blank, as if the spark in them had gone out. ‘It just happened.’

  He tightened his grip on her hand convulsively. Her very calmness was unnerving, so unlike her that he felt almost afraid. He would have rather she attacked him than this.

  ‘Come inside.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head slowly, but firmly. ‘I like it up here. I feel as if I’ve been inside for months. I want air.’

  ‘You’ve had enough. You’ll catch your death if you stay up here. That’s not what your father would have wanted.’

  ‘I’ve done a lot of things he wouldn’t have wanted. What’s one more?’

  He frowned at the note of despondency in her voice. This was more than just grief. It sounded like guilt, too, though he had no idea what to do about that. A man of words might have been able to comfort her, but he wasn’t one of those. Actions were all he knew.

  ‘Enough.’ He tugged on her hand, pulling her to her feet.

  ‘What are you doing?’ She sounded more bewildered than angry. ‘I said I didn’t want to go in.’

  ‘And I made a promise to your father to take care of you. Now come on.’

  ‘I said I don’t want to!’ There was an edge to her voice this time.

  ‘Too bad.’ He wrapped his arms around her, scooping her up off her feet and carrying her along the ramparts.

  ‘Put me down!’

  ‘Not if you won’t see sense. I wouldn’t wriggle like that either, not in these conditions, or you’ll knock us both into the moat.’

  She stopped resisting and glared at him instead, all along the walkway until they reached the side entrance to the keep.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ He kicked the door shut behind them, turning his head just in time to see her roll her eyes.

  ‘Is something amusing?’

  ‘No, you’re just always asking me that. Next you’ll be telling me to go to bed again.’

  ‘You’re right, I will.’

  ‘Lothar...’

  ‘No argument.’ He pushed her chamber door open with his shoulder and lowered her back to her feet. ‘Wait here.’

  He went back to the gallery briefly and came back with a candle, putting it down beside the bed before wrenching the covers away.

  ‘I’m not tired.’

  ‘That’s what you always say as well. It’s never convinced me before and it’s not going to convince me now. Now take off your cloak.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Her voice was quiet again. ‘My hands are too cold.’

  ‘Here.’ He reached up and unfastened the clasp for her, unwrapping the woollen garment as gently as he could and resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her instead. ‘Now get into bed.’

  ‘There’s no point. I won’t be able to sleep.’

  ‘You can rest.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘But you can sit on top of a gatehouse in the freezing cold?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Then tell me why you can’t sleep.’

  ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘I said I don’t know!’ She tried to put her hands over her face, but he pulled them away, grasping her wrists firmly in front of him. She looked overwrought and exhausted, more than he’d ever seen her, which was saying something, but temper was a good sign. If he could rouse that then maybe he could shake her out of her lethargy, too. She was starting to sound again like the
Juliana he’d married. He wanted to see her...

  ‘Tell me, Juliana.’

  ‘Let me go!’

  ‘Tell me why.’

  ‘Because he’s gone!’ The words seemed to burst out of her suddenly. ‘My father’s gone and I never told him what I did! I was too afraid to tell him about Stephen and now it’s too late!’

  He frowned, confused by her words. ‘We agreed that it was best if you didn’t say anything. The truth would only have upset him.’

  ‘I know.’ She shook her head with an expression of pure anguish. ‘I know it was for the best, but don’t you see? Now I’ll never know what he would have said! I’ll never know if he would have forgiven me.’

  ‘He would have forgiven you.’

  He drew her gently towards the bed, sitting down on the mattress beside her. He was still holding her wrists, but he wasn’t holding her any more. She wasn’t trying to get away, but he didn’t want to let go either.

  ‘How do you know?’ She was facing in the other direction so that her voice sounded muffled.

  ‘Because I knew him. He was proud of you. That was obvious every time he spoke about you. He loved you, Juliana. He would have forgiven you anything.’

  She turned her head slightly, though she still didn’t look at him. ‘Did he mention me often?’

  ‘Every chance he could get. Too often for a soldier like me. Of course, now I’ve met you, I understand why.’

  Her hand trembled slightly and he fought the urge to rub his thumb against the inside of her wrist.

  ‘He didn’t regret anything?’

  ‘Like what?’ He could barely concentrate, distracted by how silky soft her skin felt beneath his fingertips.

  ‘I thought he might have regretted the way he raised me. Sometimes, when we spoke of the future, he looked worried. I thought perhaps he was disappointed with me.’

  ‘You?’ He was genuinely taken aback. ‘Why would he have been disappointed?’

  ‘Because of the way I am.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the way you are?’

  She threw him a look that was part-accusing, part-exasperated. ‘Because I’m not a lady, not a real one anyway. I’m not good at the things I ought to be good at. I can’t sew or recite poetry, remember?’

  ‘I doubt either of those skills would be much use in a siege.’

  ‘No, but sometimes I feel as if I’m neither one thing nor the other. Neither a lady nor a soldier, just someone in between.’

  ‘Maybe you’re both.’

  Her head dropped even lower. ‘Then why did he force me to marry you? I don’t understand.’

  He felt a dull ache in his chest. ‘Because he knew the war wasn’t over and he wanted you to be safe. He wanted me to protect you, Juliana. It’s what I’m good at.’ He tightened his grip on her hand. ‘Let me protect you.’

  She drew in a breath. ‘Do you really think he would have forgiven me?’

  ‘I know that he would have. He might not have been happy about it, but he would have understood.’

  ‘You’re not just saying that?’

  He arched an eyebrow. ‘I never just say things. You ought to know that by now.’

  ‘True.’ Her lips curved slightly. ‘I just wish I could be sure.’

  ‘You can. Trust me, Juliana, you don’t have to feel guilty. Sitting in the freezing cold punishing yourself won’t do any good. You can’t punish yourself for doing what you thought was right. It was right at the time. He would have done the same thing for you.’

  ‘Choose me over the Empress?’ She made a sceptical sound.

  ‘Of course he would have. He loved you. Anyone who loved you...’

  He faltered, unsure about how to finish the sentence. What was he trying to say, that anyone who loved her would make the same choice? The words cut too close to the bone for comfort. Besides, it didn’t sound like something he would say. Love wasn’t a word he ever used at all.

  ‘What did the Empress say?’ Her voice had a slight tremor in it. ‘About what I did?’

  ‘She understood.’

  ‘And our marriage?’

  He stood up, letting go of her wrists finally. ‘What the Empress said can wait until the morning. Now lie down.’

  She gave him a look as if she were about to protest and then seemed to change her mind, clambering under the bedcovers and curling up on her side.

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  ‘I know how to sleep.’

  ‘Then you know you have to start by closing your eyes. I’m not going anywhere until you do.’

  ‘You’re just going to stand there?’

  ‘If that’s what it takes.’

  ‘Until I’m asleep?’

  He folded his arms.

  ‘But that’s ridiculous!’ She sat up again. ‘You can’t just watch me all night.’

  ‘Then go to sleep.’

  ‘Aren’t you tired, too?’

  ‘A little.’

  She hesitated briefly and then shuffled across the bed, making space beside her. ‘Well, if you’re going to wait, you might at least do it in comfort.’

  He didn’t move at first, considering all the options before him. He’d been in the saddle since daybreak that morning, hell-bent on reaching Haword by nightfall. The thought of lying down and stretching out his tired muscles was certainly tempting—though, next to his wife, perhaps a little too tempting...

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Her expression was faintly challenging, ‘I won’t tie you up again.’

  He stiffened involuntarily. There were worse things he could think of, though now definitely wasn’t the time for imagining any of them. Now was the time to keep his mind focused on sleep. Just sleep, nothing more. Certainly not the fact that she was his wife and offering to share her bed with him.

  ‘Are you coming?’ She rolled away, turning her back as if whatever he decided didn’t matter to her.

  Slowly he removed his cloak and gambeson, wincing at the smell of horsehair. If he were really going to share a bed with her, then he’d prefer a bath first. But he was tired—and so was she, if the dark shadows under her eyes were anything to judge by. If he achieved nothing else this winter, he intended to banish those. Before he left, he wanted to make her feel better again, to restore her to health and something, hopefully, resembling happiness. With any luck, he might even make her smile—and if he could do that, then maybe their marriage, however brief it was destined to be, might be called a success after all.

  He drew in a deep breath and lay down.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Juliana rolled on to her side and opened her eyes with a start, alarmed to find herself lying face-to-face with her new husband. Not just face-to-face either. Their chests were actually touching, her breasts pressed up against the thin linen of the undertunic he was mercifully still wearing. Somehow they must have rolled together in sleep, the mattress dipping in the middle to form a U-shape around them, the blankets wrapped tight around their bodies like a cocoon.

  She held her breath, wondering how to extricate herself from her current position, before deciding against it. She’d never shared a bed with anyone before, but she had the distinct impression that if she tried to roll away then the movement would disturb him. For a horrifying moment she’d thought she’d seen his eyelids flicker, but then they’d stilled again, his breathing just as deep and regular as ever. She wanted to keep it that way. Bad enough that she’d actually invited him into her bed. How much worse would it look if he woke up and found them like this? Not to mention that she was his wife and in bed with him. What might he expect from her? Nothing, in all likelihood, given that he’d just come back from Matilda and thought she looked like a stablehand, but they’d never discussed that particular aspect of marriage. No, she definitely didn�
��t want to wake him. With any luck, he’d roll away by himself soon enough, none the wiser about how close they’d been, and in the meantime the warmth from his body was surprisingly comforting. His chest felt sturdy and strong, just like the rest of him. She hadn’t expected to sleep at all, but she must have and for a while, too. The last thing she remembered was him lying down beside her, but now, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt rested.

  Slowly, she let herself breathe again. She hadn’t used her chamber at all since the night her father had slipped away in his sleep, roaming aimlessly around the castle instead, sinking ever further and deeper into a morass of grief and despair. Despite Lothar’s assurances, she hadn’t expected to see him again either. After everything she’d said and accused him of, she’d doubted that he’d want to come back, yet she’d found herself wishing he would. Her father’s death had put their quarrel into perspective. As much as she’d still resented their marriage, ironically she’d wanted her husband. Wasn’t that why she’d gone up to the battlements every day? She’d told herself that she’d been looking for solitude, but deep down she knew that she’d been looking for him, too, as if he were the only one she could talk to about her loss, the only one who might understand...

  And he had understood. The things he’d said about her father had made her feel better in one evening than she had in a whole week of her own tortured self-recriminations. Once he’d said them, it had all seemed so obvious, as if he were actually lifting the burden of guilt away from her shoulders. He’d seemed to care about how she felt, too, as if their marriage were more than just a promise he’d made to her father, or a means of getting a castle. She’d been scared to be left alone again afterwards, afraid that if he went then the feeling of relief might go with him, asking him to lie down beside her because she’d had the bizarre notion that she wouldn’t be able to sleep without him. She certainly hadn’t thought of the other implications, though now she was acutely aware of the fact that they were married and lying in bed together.

  On the other hand, being in such close proximity gave her a chance to look at him properly for once. They’d barely had a pause to draw breath since they’d met, lurching from one crisis to another—Sir Guian, her father, Matilda. Now there was only the two of them, she could finally look at him. Not that she could see a great deal. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but his face was still cast deep in shadow. Only the jagged white line over the left side of his face stood out in the blackness, like the streak of lightning she’d first imagined it to be. What had he said, that his father had kicked him? She shuddered at the thought, seized with a powerful urge to reach out and touch it, to stroke the sides of his face, to press her lips against the damaged skin... She half-lifted a hand, yelping in surprise as his eyelids sprang open.