by Maria Ling
Juliana was entranced. She listened avidly all through the rest of their stroll together, and felt as if she had stepped into a dream. Never before had she spent so long in his company, and never with so few interruptions. He spoke to acquaintances, true, but always included her in the conversation and added some remark that connected with the topic he'd been addressing, so that she seemed to be living among his own experiences.
When he finally brought her back towards the manor house where he intended to leave her with Mother, she felt utterly bereft. They dawdled in the shade of a great tree that grew near the entrance, while two parties negotiated a way to pass each other by. In the commotion, Juliana was accidentally jostled, and she withdrew hastily towards the safety of the trunk. Emmanuel drew aside with her, one hand reassuring on her arm.
"I will see you in the morning," he said with a smile, "and you will see me also, though I dare say you might not know me from the rest. Do I have your good wishes, though?"
"Always," Juliana said. On impulse, she rose on tiptoe and kissed his lips - a light, gentle kiss, such as she would give any of her sisters. Yet it sent a tingle all through her body, and in a flash nerves overcame her at the thought of her own presumption.
The expression in Emmanuel's eyes softened. He laid his hands against her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead in return, a touch light as the fall of a leaf onto naked skin. Juliana closed her eyes, and held her breath, and waited, though she did not know what for.
She felt as if her whole existence balanced on this moment. A hasty word, a careless movement, might send her toppling down the wrong side entirely. So she waited, breathless, while Emmanuel stood absolutely still before her, his breath warm in her hair.
"Juliana," he murmured, in so low a tone that she quivered.
She leaned against him then, could no longer prevent it, her body moving with instinctive ease towards the connection with his. They touched chest to chest, belly to belly, and she slid her arms up around his shoulders and let her hands rest against the back of his neck.
Wanton. It had to be. She would chide herself, if she had the strength of will to do it. But she lacked conviction, or resolve perhaps, because instead of pulling away she softened against his body, so that the contours of hers began to follow those of his.
Emmanuel laid his arms around her back and cuddled her to him, a strong secure embrace. He kissed her hair, then leaned down a little to rest his cheek against her temple.
"I would have you married," he murmured. "To me. If that is a wish you can find within your heart."
Juliana felt as if the ground had fallen away from underneath her feet, as if she toppled through empty space. The words had been clear enough - and yet she could not have heard them, dared not believe that he had said what she longed for so intensely. Perhaps her imagination had run away with her, twisted innocent words into something she would much rather hear.
But he would not be standing with his arms around her if he did not mean to convey some affection. So perhaps she had indeed heard him right. The thought made her numb.
"Juliana?" Emmanuel pulled back a little, searched her eyes with a questioning gaze.
She tried to speak, but no words came. No sound at all. It was like an evil dream, where you try to cry out and warn of danger, but can only watch helpless as it overwhelms some mindless innocent. Her voice had deserted her, all power of expression or movement gone.
Emmanuel straightened. Did not quite release her, but the chill as his body left hers would have made her cry if any tears had been willing to come.
"Consider it," he said in a more subdued tone. "That is all I ask. Forgive me - I have overstepped the bounds of decency, I know."
Juliana fought for breath. This was not his doing, she would not have him blame himself. Nor think her unwilling. She had rather sought him - she would tell him so, if only she could find her voice.
Abruptly Emmanuel stepped away. "There, we have a clear path now. Come." He tucked her hand under his arm, the way he'd done when she was a child and pleaded for walks with him, and led her towards the open door of the manor house. Juliana followed, reluctantly, striving to find some word or movement that would convince him to linger. But habit proved too strong, or else she was still held captive by whatever strange force had gripped her and robbed her of speech.
She could have cried. But no tears came, any more than sound. All she could do was follow where he led, as if she no longer possessed any will of her own.
Mother met them in the hall, full of smiles and half-hearted admonitions. "You should not have stayed out so long, my dear. With so many people about... I was getting a little worried. Of course, I knew you were in safe hands." Mother beamed on Emmanuel.
Juliana wriggled. She felt nervous now, and did not know why.
"And I gather you have met many interesting people." Mother turned the beams on an imposing figure who loomed over Father near the dais. Guillaume, unmistakable both for sheer size and the air of lazy arrogance that hung around him.
Juliana wrinkled her nose. He was handsome, certainly, and probably a model of fine behaviour. But she would have liked the hall better without him in it.
"She seems a little tired," Emmanuel told Mother, releasing Juliana's hand. "Too much excitement all at once, I think. If I may presume to advise, retiring to a quiet room upstairs for a while might be in order."
"Oh," Mother said. "Yes, of course. Thank you so much for your care of her."
Emmanuel bowed to them both, and stalked away. Juliana watched him leave, helpless to prevent it, overwhelmed by the haunting sense of having broken something precious.
"Such a charming man," Mother enthused. "And well connected. Able to introduce you to many other suitable prospects in turn."
Juliana blinked at her. Such formal praise seemed ill suited to a family friend.
Then she realised that Mother was speaking of Guillaume. And in a flash Juliana understood what was so odd about Mother's expression. The woman was positively simpering.
At Guillaume. Oh, God. Juliana watched with horrified disbelief as Mother smirked at that looming figure. This was grotesque - ridiculous. Juliana might feel a slight quiver in the stomach at beholding a man like that, but Mother could not have such feelings. Surely not.
But she did. Visibly so. And Guillaume, catching sight of the pair of them, directed such a smile at Mother that even Juliana's knees weakened for a moment.
Appalling. The man was positively flirting. With a married woman many years his senior. It was an absolute disgrace.
Juliana scowled at them both.
"Are you well?" Mother asked crisply.
Juliana recognised that as a reproach, and smoothed out her features. "Quite well. A little tired. So much excitement."
Then realised, as the words faded, that her voice had returned. Fine timing, that.
What had come over her? She did not understand. Some strange paralysis of the soul, a withering of voice and thought and words. The reason for it, the nature and cause of such an affliction, eluded her comprehension.
But he had spoken. Emmanuel. He had said, clearly and distinctly, that he wanted her for his wife.
She ought to be happy. Delirious, even. But she wasn't.
It came to her then, the reason for her sudden silence. The cause of that abrupt chill of the spirit, the giant hand that squeezed all movement from her body and all speech from her lips.
Fear. She knew it now, could name it and stare at it full on, here in the safety of her mother's company.
Daydreaming of love was well enough. Tricking herself into believing she was seriously contemplating marriage, fantasising about what life with Emmanuel might be like - that was all of one piece.
Being confronted with his actual desire, though... That was something else. Now that he had spoken, she was not at all certain it was what she wanted.
Juliana loved her family. She loved her home. And she didn't want to leave.
But it
wasn't that, not really.
There had been an undertone in his voice as he spoke - some low, barely heard note that frightened her. She couldn't name it, didn't know what it was, but she felt it now reaching deep within her soul and gripping hard.
That was what she feared. Being held by some power stronger than any she had known before, stronger than her own capacity for escape. Not that she knew what she wanted to escape from. But it was there, the instinct of a hunted animal, hiding in the undergrowth with pounding heart, fervently hoping that the dogs chased off elsewhere.
"You probably should rest," Mother said, studying Juliana with a slight critical frown. "I suppose it has been quite an adventurous day for you so far, and we want you fresh in the morning."
Juliana would have argued, but the excitement of the gathering seemed hollow, and the relentless noise of so many people talking at once grated on her nerves. She made her apologies to Caroline with a pretty curtsy, and headed upstairs to the corner set aside for Merin and herself.
***
CHAPTER 4
"Isn't this exciting?" Merin squeed. She was in her element, dressed up and pretty, shining with innocent joy. To Juliana, she looked so much like a child it was unbearable.
"Yes." Juliana herself eyed the surroundings with critical appreciation. It was all beautifully done up, full of colourful cloths and painted rails, with the sparkle of armour and the gloss of well-groomed horses offset against the vivid blue of the sky. They were lucky with the weather, a splendid morning of light air and brilliant sunshine, with drifting clouds promising a little welcome shade later on.
Not that she was exactly exposed where she was, seated among her family on raised benches, well able to see the entire display. She could watch quietly from here, and admire the spectacle, and brood on her feelings for Emmanuel.
Whom she recognised perfectly. He'd claimed she would not know him among all the men, but of course she did. Spotted his colours first, his horse second, his position among his own troop third. But she'd have known him anyway, just by the way he held himself - with that air of relaxed confidence, perfectly at ease. No arrogance, such as Guillaume possessed, nor yet the taut eagerness of Ralph de Niege - oh, she spotted him also, off to one side, bantering with some men she did not know.
"A very pleasant young man," Mother said with approval. "Widower for some time now, and interested in taking a new wife."
Juliana frowned. That did not sound entirely like Emmanuel, whom even Mother could hardly describe as 'young'.
"I'm sorry?" Juliana turned with her pleasantest apologetic smile. "It appears I was inattentive. Did you say something, Mother?"
"Ralph de Niege." Mother directed a significant nod towards the taut figure. "If you were so inclined, my dear... I've heard excellent reports about him."
Oh, God. "No," Juliana said firmly, "I am not. He seems very polite, granted, and I take no issue with his person. But no."
"You must marry someone."
"Not him." Only Emmanuel. And yet - and yet - she wasn't sure.
"Well, there are plenty of men available for inspection," Mother said tolerantly. "Take a little time to consider, if you must. But you would do well to bear him in mind."
"Yes, Mother," Juliana said with obedient deference. She had no intention of marrying Ralph de Niege. But arguing over it would only sour the occasion. Better to wait for Mother's attention to drift elsewhere, as it invariably did.
Guillaume helped her out, by directing such a marked bow at Mother as he rode past that people turned to stare, and then to whisper.
Mother blushed. Distinctly. Juliana saw it with horrified distaste.
"You never told me you had an admirer," Father said complacently. "Should I be jealous?"
"Of course not," Mother told him in a brisk tone. "Don't be absurd."
"Can't blame a man for looking twice at a fine woman." Father grinned openly now. Juliana watched him, too, in absolute dismay.
"One can certainly blame her for looking back," Mother replied, and sat more rigid than ever.
"Eh." Father shook his head. "Handsome boy. Always has been. Got the girls swooning, even as a squire. I remember one time..." He drifted off on one of his interminable reminiscences, while the ripple of interest subsided and the spectators turned their full attention to the display.
Juliana seized the opportunity to resume her study of Emmanuel. She was amazed at how relaxed he looked, how comfortable and at home he seemed among all the noise and dazzle.
As indeed he always did. Somehow, no matter where he was or what circumstances surrounded him, he possessed every appearance of self-sufficiency. Whether seated in her mother's day-chamber, on horseback in the country lanes, or as now shining in bright armour and vivid surcoat, he gave the impression that all the world belonged to him.
A remarkable man. She felt in awe of him, as she had never done before.
He certainly cut an imposing figure - even compared to Guillaume, whom he greeted now with a friendly nod.
Parade over, the men divided themselves according to their starting positions in the lists. Juliana settled further back on the bench, and prepared to watch and admire.
The first pair charged at each other, and met with a thunderous crash. Both swayed in the saddle, and clutched the broken stumps of their lances. Juliana gasped: she had never beheld anything so brutal, and felt certain that one or the other must be dead. But they weren't, they threw down their stumps and rode to the opposite ends of the lists, where squires stood ready with new lances.
"A very good strike." Mother had regained her composure, and beamed approval on each contestant in turn. "Clean and accurate. It's always good to see such care."
"It was pretty," Father conceded. "Could have been lower, though. One of them ought to have been unhorsed."
"Won't they die?" Juliana quavered.
Mother turned a pitying smile on her. "No, no, dear. They'll be fine. A little bruised, perhaps, but that is all. See how they sit, upright and relaxed. No sign of injury."
Juliana watched the two men turn and charge at each other once more. She flinched in advance of the strike, anticipating that terrible crash. This time one of the men slumped visibly.
"See?" Father said. "Lower. Not enough force behind it, but even so. He'll concede the bout."
The slumped man raised his shield, to the accompaniment of cheers from the opposite end.
"What does that mean?" Juliana asked.
"He won't go a third time," Mother said. "Just as well, really. Points were against him from that last strike, and he's likely to do worse on the third. He'll go easy for a while now, let himself settle, come back stronger for his next bout. Clever fighting, that."
"I see." Juliana surveyed the field with critical satisfaction. Clearly there was a deal more skill behind this brutish mayhem than she had first thought.
"Wonder how they'll fare in the games," Father mused. "Be starting to bruise and stiffen up by then. Not that I argue with Alan's thinking. Get the sweaty work done this morning, save the lighter entertainment for the heat of the afternoon. Spare the horses whenever possible."
"I suppose it makes sense," Mother admitted, "but it is a little unorthodox."
"He's an inventive boy," Father said indulgently. "Not one to abide by convention. We should be grateful, my dear. It's why he values Caroline so high."
Juliana suppressed a shrug. She was happy for Caroline, of course, but the intricacies of that relationship held no interest for her. Instead, Juliana returned her attention to the combatants.
Emmanuel now, riding out to face a man she did not know. Thundered across - and sent him clear out of the saddle with a crash that rang around the field. Juliana cried out with the shock of it, and she was not alone. Many other voices rose as well: children's high and thrilled, women's high and awed, men's low and amused.
"Is he well?" Juliana asked anxiously, as Emmanuel's opponent remained motionless on the ground.
"Stunned, I suspe
ct." Mother bent an assessing stare on the prone figure. "Yes, he's well. See how carefully he moves each limb in turn. No writhing or twitching. He'll get up in a moment."
"Winded," Father said with a touch of humour in his voice. "Had the breath knocked out of him as he struck the ground. I remember that feeling all too well. There was a time, you know - "
Juliana shut her ears to Father's endless monologues on the subject of past battles. She was relieved to see the man get up, pat his attending squire on the back, and raise one hand respectfully to Emmanuel. Who in turn dipped his lance, and rode slowly alongside his fallen opponent until the latter was safe off the field.
How very like Emmanuel that was, Juliana reflected. Always kind and considerate. She struggled to reconcile the familiar image of a gentle and caring man with the ferocious jouster she had just beheld. The thought of him turning that brute strength on a smaller and weaker opponent terrified her. Yet she had never, in all the years of knowing him, had cause to fear for anyone's safety, least of all her own.
Indeed, she had never even seen him lose his temper. Even-natured, friendly and pleasant, was how he had always appeared to her. Astonishingly so, now that she came to ponder the matter. She knew of no one, not even Father, who could remained so entirely unruffled as Emmanuel.
And here he was, smashing a grown man out of the saddle and into defeat.
Strange. Rather marvellous, too.
It made her appreciate his customary gentleness all the more. She had always liked it, because such manners sat well with her, but she had supposed it to be an integral part of his nature. He could be firm, she knew. Decisive. Certainly he was not a weak or vacillating man. But seeing him so forceful, capable of such extreme yet precisely directed violence, made her realise how extraordinarily safe she had always felt with him.
A remarkable man. But she knew that already.