by Maria Ling
"What's that?" Jean's mother said. "Goodness, they're getting the best of it. I never would have thought as much. Those without are strong today."
"Those within are stronger," Juliana exclaimed. And they were - they forced the attackers back now, and down. Guillaume was unhorsed, she could no longer see Emmanuel - no, there he was, likewise on foot, while Alan on horseback circled the pair.
"Hardly sporting," Jean's mother said, but with half a smile. "Mind you, I don't blame them."
"Two against one?" Juliana shook her head. "With most men, perhaps - but when one is a giant..."
"No, I meant remaining on horseback against an unhorsed opponent. But then, if a man won't yield, I suppose he must take his chances." Jean's mother shrugged expressively, as if to disavow all such folly. And her own son, Juliana reflected, had been quick enough to yield.
Juliana said nothing about that, however. It might be taken as a barb, and she had no wish to hurt or offend such a kindly companion.
"I wonder how long it will take for them to beat him down," Jean's mother said. "They should get him, of course - two against one. Still..." She trailed off, and watched the little cluster of men with an indulgent gaze.
Juliana gratefully seized the opportunity to settle back and watch with unashamed interest as the small private battle unfolded.
***
"Yield, you bastard." Alan circled Guillaume for the third time, whacking at him with a sword.
Emmanuel, much amused, was content to hold back and watched the two friends at play. For playful it was, now, he could see that much despite the blows and snarls.
"Never to you," Guillaume growled. "Fucking runt." He slammed his shield up to drive off Alan's blows.
"I would intervene," Emmanuel said pleasantly. "But you're beaten in any case, so I'll let my host do the honours."
"Why, thank you." Alan took a moment to bow in the saddle. Guillaume seized the opportunity to stab up at his face.
Emmanuel took one long stride forward and slammed his shield into Guillaume's exposed back, forced him over, then kicked out hard to bring him to his knees. Alan levelled his sword at Guillaume's throat. Emmanuel quietly levelled his own at Guillaume's neck.
"You're dead many times over," Alan said patiently. "Give in now and we can all go back to the house for a couple of drinks."
Guillaume muttered an oath that startled even Emmanuel's much-abused ears.
"Matilda is waiting," Alan went on in a reasonable tone. "See, she's over there, laughing at you. Why is she not coming to your rescue, I wonder?"
Emmanuel glanced aside at the mounted knight who watched the spectacle from a short distance away. She certainly showed no inclination for an urgent assault.
"It's because she's thirsty," Alan said, in the tone of one explaining swordcraft to a child. "And believes she's worked enough for one day, which happens to be true. And also, perhaps, because she would dearly like to see you act rationally for once."
Guillaume had turned to study the knight likewise. Then whirled around with a sudden blow that caught Emmanuel completely off guard. Instinct brought Emmanuel a quick shuffle back and something approaching a block, but it took him another step to regain composure.
"Yield," Alan said.
"Never." Guillaume swung back to stab at him again.
Emmanuel brought his shield up, and with a pang of regret slammed it into the back of Guillaume's head. Alan followed with a sword-blow that rang against the helmet. Guillaume crumpled to his knees, slumped forward and seemed sure to fall, but still held off from total collapse.
The knight rode closer, unhurried. "For God's sake, man. Let them take you down for once." Her voice was pleasant - amused, and more than a little exasperated.
Guillaume merely growled.
Emmanuel permitted himself a moment of rueful admiration. Then he slammed his shield down against Guillaume's head and finally forced the man to the ground.
"Victory at last." The smirk was audible in Alan's voice. "You're down, Guillaume. No need to yield now, because you've forfeited that right. I'll have your horse and armour, the moment you're safe off the field."
Guillaume muttered an obscenity and attempted to rise. Emmanuel shoved a quick boot against the man's neck.
"You're long gone," Emmanuel said. "Fought with honour, died with pride. Don't make us humiliate you in front of the lady."
The knight chuckled. "I don't mind."
"You're not taking my horse," Guillaume objected, his voice muffled. "I fucking like this horse." But he lay still. The fight was over.
Emmanuel stepped away and scanned the field for other opponents. None presented themselves.
"Victory for those within," Emmanuel declared with great satisfaction. "Battle over." And how pleasant it was to see the fallen rise again and shuffle off the field, laughing over the blows that brought them down, instead of writhing in their death throes. He did enjoy fighting for sport.
He turned towards the stands, paused long enough to pick out the one figure he most wanted to see. Raised his shield to her in triumph. She wouldn't know what it meant, perhaps wouldn't see it at all. But he wanted to dedicate this moment of success to her.
Dear Juliana. His own love, to guard and keep and cherish for the remainder of his life and hers. How long that would be, he did not know. But it was worth paying any price, even if they never achieved the perfect union of a loving husband and wife.
At least for him, it was.
She must be the guardian of her own body and heart. He couldn't do that for her. All he could do was swear to himself now, in his heart, and on peril of his soul, that he would always do his utmost to keep her safe and happy and well.
For an instant he thought there was an answering gesture from her, a raised hand that gleamed pale against bright-coloured cloth. But perhaps it was only his imagination, led astray by wishes and hope.
She did not want him for a husband. He knew that now - though no longer with bitterness and grief. With calm clarity, rather. Whatever she wanted was dear to him as it was to her, be it with him or without.
He could not foist his wishes on her. Although she had not given him an absolute refusal, her silence had been answer enough.
Emmanuel reviewed the moment again in his mind. She'd stood completely silent and still, as if stunned. Which was hardly the response of a girl whose affection towards him might possibly deepen into love.
And yet he could have sworn, by the way she touched him in the moment before, that her heart brimmed with adoration for him, just as his own did for her. That had led him to speak - far too bluntly, he acknowledged that without pretence, and far too hastily as well. He'd meant to lead up to the question by stages, ask it with greater decorum and respect.
He'd forgotten, in that moment, how young she was, how sheltered and inexperienced. She'd heard of love, no doubt, dreamed of it perhaps - but that was a far cry from finding herself in the midst of the real thing. Emmanuel knew that well, he recalled his own ardent dreams as a youth, his astonishment when all of a sudden they took physical form and breathed alive beside him.
Juliana could not have been prepared for that. And he'd been a fool to spring the reality on her so abruptly.
Emmanuel shook his head at the thought. Apparently he could still behave like the impetuous boy he'd been once, despite the years that lay between them.
But one thing he had learned during that time was that few mistakes were irrecoverable. He would speak to Juliana again. Not to press her - if she did not want him, then that must be answer enough - but simply to make certain that her hesitation was not based on fear or dread or uncertainty.
If she knew what she wanted, and it was not him, then he must accept that and learn to be content. But she was young in years, and cautious by nature. Her silence, which he had taken for rejection, might have another cause.
If so, he owed it to both of them to speak again. Once only.
After that, he would be silent forever.
<
br /> Guillaume struggled to his feet. Emmanuel offered a steadying hand, and the pair of them slowly made their way off the field of battle, while Alan and Matilda rode side by side behind.
***
CHAPTER 6
Alan had sacrificed an entire field for the sake of the banquet, and it simmered now with a crowd of chattering guests. Shadows lay cool over the grass, but the air remained mellow from the day's sunshine.
With the weather both warm and dry, there was little need for the awnings that stretched between sturdy poles to protect the long tables from any threat of rain. Most of the guests congregated in the ample open space between the tables and the smoking pits where the charred carcasses of spit-roasted pigs waited to be devoured.
Juliana hung back from the crowd, sought the relative solitude of the shade under the awnings. There she could be at peace to watch without engaging, provided she stayed out of the way of the many servants, borrowed in from the visiting retinues, who carried platters of carefully arranged foodstuffs to appointed places on each table.
She could not see Emmanuel. His men were there, she knew their colours, but the man himself remained stubbornly absent. It worried her a little, she hoped he'd not sustained any injuries.
"Alone?" Jean de Cote approached her from beside one of the tables. He looked rather the worse for his encounter on the field: red-eyed and swaying slightly. Juliana eyed him with concern. She'd never seen him like this before, and it frightened her. Perhaps he'd taken a knock to the head. That could set a man entirely at outs with himself, so Father claimed. In which case, she had best continue to behave as if everything was normal, and trust that he would recover with sleep and care.
"For the moment," she admitted with a smile. "But I'm happy with your company. How is your head?"
"Aching," Jean replied, caught in a mix of honesty and embarrassment. "Got a bash to it. But nothing to trouble over."
"Oh, good." Juliana felt the vagueness of her answer, but she couldn't think of anything more scintillating to say. Although now that she studied him closer, he didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. Just tired, perhaps.
She wished Emmanuel was with her. He would know what to say and do. Juliana resumed her search of the crowd.
"My mother tells me we're engaged," Jean blurted out. "Sort of. I mean, I'd be happy to get married if you are. But I do think our families could have handled it better."
Juliana flushed. This was an awkward situation.
"Anyway we might as well," Jean went on. "It's not like you've got suitors beating down the door, and I know there's a pack of you girls to find homes for. As for me, at least it might get Mother off my back about marrying. I swear it's all she ever talks to me about."
"I'm afraid - " Juliana began politely.
"Why? No reason to be." Jean patted her shoulder, clumsily. He smelled of wine, and while that would not usually trouble her, she flinched at it now. "We'll be fine. I can - " He broke off, looking past her towards the crowd. "God, what does she want with me now?"
Juliana spotted Jean's mother some distance away, beckoning for him to come over. "She probably wants to tell you that - "
"I'll be right back." He set off around the tables, but got held up by a tangle of servants. Juliana withdrew a little further towards the pool of emptiness beyond the awnings. She felt immensely relieved. Clearly no one had told Jean that the deal was off, but his mother would do so now and spare them all further embarrassment. All had ended for the best.
"Juliana?" Emmanuel's voice sounded from behind her, low and reassuring but so unexpected that she jumped. "Forgive the presumption, but you ought to be attended."
She turned then, fighting to conceal the extent of her emotional reaction at finding him so close.
"May I offer you my company?" Emmanuel asked, so courteously that he might have been speaking to a wrinkled old grandmother. There was no trace of the passion that had overwhelmed her before.
Calm, then. She willed herself to remain steady, but it was impossible: she started, trembled, met his eyes and quickly looked away.
"Juliana?" He took her hand, very gently, as if he feared to break it with too earnest a touch. "Despite your misgivings about my feelings for you - and I am sorry I spoke freely of them before, I know it came as a shock - I hope you'll still consider me a friend."
How could she not? He'd been dear to her all her life, and done nothing whatsoever to forfeit that regard. It hurt her to think he might imagine she would turn away from him now. And yet she could not bear to meet his gaze.
Nor speak. Her voice, so fluid when little was at stake, had deserted her again in this most precious of moments.
But she must have courage. Considering how bravely he fought, how staunchly he carried himself through every situation, he deserved a lady of equal mettle. No trembling coward, but a woman who rose to each new challenge and conquered it with a spirit that matched his own.
She could do that - because she would borrow a little of his courage, whenever he was by. He would not miss it: he already possessed so much. And she would learn, in time, how to increase her own.
Juliana raised her head to look straight at Emmanuel. It made her eyes ache, yet this time she did not break the connection. She held his gaze, lived fully within it, stayed with him even as her body shook.
Emmanuel's eyes widened, darkened with intensity, and he caught his breath - almost on a gasp. "Juliana? I do love you - " His voice broke, skidded over high notes like that of a young man.
She had no need of words. She could speak to him with her eyes, with the tremble that shot through her body and quivered in her hand as it rested in his, with the blush that rose from her heart and bloomed within her cheeks.
"Juliana." He spoke her name again, almost in wonder, and his voice settled into the deep tones of a mature and established man - one who spoke with authority. "I do most truly love you. As a friend, yes, and always will. But I would love you as a husband also. If you would consider it - if you would dare take the risks of marriage with me? I know I ask a lot."
"I would risk anything," Juliana whispered. Her voice and confidence returned to her then, strong and sure. This moment she had waited for, patient yet unknowing - it seemed she had waited all her life. "For you? Anything."
Emmanuel slid one arm around her waist and drew her to him. His body lay against hers, firm under the cloth. He bent a little, and Juliana raised her face towards his and met his lips with her own. The touch sent fire through her, from her mouth down into her groin in a single flood and then a warm stream within each of her limbs.
This was where she belonged. With Emmanuel. In his arms, in his heart - in his life. She saw herself now, not at his manor or in his bed, not as his lover nor lady companion, but simply with him, the two of them together. At ease, as they had not been since she first became aware that her feelings for him had deepened and grown more intense, that she loved him with the passion of a woman instead of the the devotion of a child.
He eased out of the kiss, rested his cheek against her hair, held her body close to his own. Such a gentle grip, in all the years she had known him she had never guessed his touch could be so light. She nestled her forehead against his shoulder, breathed in the warmth of his body, wished he need never let her go.
"Will you marry me?" Emmanuel asked, his voice soft and low. And the answer rose so clear and jubilant within her that she could have shouted it with the full force of her lungs.
But she didn't, of course. It would startle everyone. She murmured instead: a "Yes" so filled with certainty that no lingering doubts could ever intrude on it again.
"Then if you'll permit," Emmanuel said, "I'll speak to your father tonight."
Juliana snuggled closer to him, joyful in the freedom to do so. "And after that, what happens?"
"I whisk you away." Emmanuel was smiling, she could hear it in his voice. "At a time of your choosing. Perhaps we should wait until the festivities are over."
"W
e probably should." And she leaned back a little, smiled up at him, relieved that there need be no pretence between them any more. The love that shone in his eyes dazzled her, but this time she did not look away.
"Stand back from her," a man's voice said from behind her. Or not a man's, exactly - deep enough, yes, but without the solid assurance of maturity.
Emmanuel looked past her, all trace of affection drained out of his face. "What do you want?"
"My intended."
Juliana turned a little, still safe in Emmanuel's arms, to see Jean standing a few paces away. Disengaged from the servants, but clearly none the wiser about how things stood. Juliana scanned the crowd for his parents, saw them caught in polite exchanges with some visiting lord.
It must fall to Juliana, then, to deliver the blow. "Jean - " she began in a hesitant voice, for she did not know how best to explain.
Jean ignored her, merely glared at Emmanuel with a grim expression that sat ill on his boyish face. "She's promised to me."
"She is what?" Emmanuel snapped back, and Juliana flinched at his tone.
"Engaged to be married. To me." Jean 's voice cracked with false bravado. "So you'll refrain from touching my intended, or I'll ask you to step aside for a moment."
Juliana winced in sympathy. She liked Jean - would never have hurt or embarrassed him, not for the world. And now he'd made a great fool of himself because of her.
"I didn't hear that," Emmanuel said. "Go back to your father, boy, and ask him to teach you some manners."
"It's not his fault," Juliana began eagerly. "My mother and his mother - "
"I don't care." Emmanuel's expression was grimmer than she'd ever known it to be. "He does not claim you under that name, now or ever. And you will not defend him."
Juliana stuck her chin out. "It's the truth."
"Nevertheless." Emmanuel still wasn't even looking at her. He glared at Jean, stern and fierce, a man entirely unlike the one she'd known all her life. "Boy? You heard what I told you. Leave now, unless you have the stomach for a fight."