Juliana Garnett

by The Vow

  “Ah.”

  Luc glanced up, annoyed. “That information should earn a more appropriate reaction.”

  “Such as?”

  “Outrage.”

  “I am properly incensed. Look you, Luc,” Robert said, rising from the stool, “it is not to me you need tell this tale, but the king.”

  “I know that, Robert. I wanted to see how it sounded spoken aloud. It is not very believable.”

  “And you fear for the maid.”

  Luc hesitated. “In her place,” he said slowly, “I might very well have done the same. She was assailed on all sides by Danes, Scots, and even Saxon earls. There was no one she could trust. Sir Simon betrayed his intentions by slaying her messenger, a boy of only fifteen years, so what was she to think?”

  “The worst,” Robert said succinctly. “In her place, I would have given control to the first capable man and then retreated to a safe corner.”

  “There are no safe corners in England. Surely you have learned that by now.” Luc’s mouth tightened. “There have never been safe corners in England, not as long as I have lived here.”

  Robert made no reply to that, but remarked instead on his intention to call for meat and wine. “And your baggage. You stink of horse and mud. Did you bring your squire?”

  “No. He is left to tend Wulfridge in my absence.”

  “Then I will lend you mine.” Robert paused at the door and turned back to look at Luc. “What of Lady Amélie?”

  “What of her?”

  “She thinks to bind you to her now that you are titled. But I suppose you are aware of that.”

  Luc grinned. “Her greeting left me in little doubt of her intentions. But it was not too long ago that she told me she could not waste herself on a man with no future, so I am not overly impressed by her sudden change of heart.”

  “Perhaps I should not worry about you unduly, after all. There was a time …”

  His grin faded. “Yes, there was a time when I might have been fooled. But that was long ago, Robert, when I had more trust in words spoken by those who professed affection. I have learned better.”

  Robert leaned against the door frame, his gaze dark and searching. “Will you go home again?”

  “Wulfridge will be my home.”

  “Once I would never have thought you would call England home again. Not after—”

  “No, not after being disowned. There are times Fate must laugh at us all, Robert.”

  A sudden noise outside snared their attention, and Robert observed that the king must have returned from his hunt. “He will be advised of your arrival, so you had best make haste.”

  Luc rose and began to unbuckle his sword belt. “Send hot water first. You’re right. I smell of horse and mud.”

  “It is not you who should worry about impressing the king, but the Saxon lady. I will assure that she has what is needed.”

  Luc wasn’t at all certain it would help her with the king, but it could not hurt to be presentable. Perhaps her youth and gender would do more than anything else to earn mercy.

  Robert’s squire arrived shortly, bringing scented water and thick cloths. Stripped down to just his linen hose, Luc splashed hot water on his hair and face and scrubbed vigorously. There was need for haste, for he must retrieve the documents he had prepared for the king as well, then find the right words to tell him about Sir Simon. The squire held out a pot of soap for him, and Luc used it liberally. The water was soon brown with dislodged mud.

  Soap lather stung his eyes, and he fumbled for a cloth to dry his face. It was thrust into his hand, and he mumbled appreciation to the squire.

  Soft laughter greeted his thanks, and he opened one eye to peer at the source.

  Lady Amélie de Vescy stood beside him, wreathed in smiles. Aggravated, he stared at her. Her green eyes were glowing and her lovely oval face lit with a welcome that fairly dripped honey. What a calculating little tart she had become. His sudden and fortuitous rise from mere knight to baron charmed her when he had not.

  Amélie slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, her long, pale fingers squeezing gently. “You rogue, to leave me like you did, without even a farewell! You have no shame, to treat me that way after all we have meant to one another.”

  He removed her hand with controlled precision, lifting a brow. “Your memory serves you better than mine does me, my lady. What did we mean to one another?”

  Her voice lowered, and her smile deepened. “Do you not recall that night in Winchester? When you spoke of longing for me?”

  “I recall it very well. Longing was not the word I used, however.”

  She shrugged daintily. “Longing, desire, they both mean the same thing, Luc.”

  “And you rejected both the word and my attentions, if I recall correctly.” He dragged the cloth over his face and throat, then his chest, eyeing her with cynical amusement. “Am I to believe that you did not mean it when you informed me I was unworthy of you?”

  “That was then. Now, you are more than worthy.” She affected a sighing lisp. “You must know that I only intended to inspire you, to rouse you to action on your own behalf.”

  “I was already roused to action, but you did not choose to bestow your favors on me that night.” Luc tossed the cloth to the table beside the bowl of water. Ignoring Amélie’s pout, he moved to where the squire had laid out his clean clothing, and she followed.

  “Ah, Luc, if I were to fall into your arms every time you asked, you would soon tire of me. I want to keep your interest.” She ran a hand up his bare back, fingers stroking softly as she whispered in a sultry murmur, “But my heart still races when I remember our first night together, and how you swept me away with your passion.”

  He pulled a fine linen sherte over his head and laced it at the throat, then reached for the elegant black tunic trimmed in red braid and emblazoned with the image of a wolf. Young wolf—Louvat. It was a name he would bear with pride now, instead of the jest it had first been. Fitting, as William had said, that he won the lands of Wulfridge. A mental image of the white wolf flickered in his mind for a moment, quickly followed by the more vivid image of Ceara. Two she-wolves.

  “Luc?”

  Reaching for his belt, he frowned at Amélie when she demanded to know if he was listening to her. “No, I am not. I have an audience with the king. I do not have time to listen to a woman’s prattle.”

  Amélie gasped with outrage, but quickly stifled it. She may be the queen’s cousin and the widow of a Norman baron, but the lady put far too much worth on her rank, and even more on her beauty. It wasn’t her fault, for men oft told her how lovely she was, and she had heard it so long, she believed her beauty could make up for a fickle heart. To him she had been only a casual conquest, and her refusal of his further advances had caused him no great concern. There were many willing women of equal fairness, with softer tongues and less vanity.

  “I came to you at the wrong time, I see,” Amélie said stiffly. “Later, we will have time for more talk, and …” She smiled. “Other things.”

  There was no advantage to being deliberately cruel when it was not required. He shrugged. “I do not have long in York. I must return swiftly to Wulfridge to hold my new lands.”

  “Of course. I understand.” She moved to the door and turned, one hand smoothing the green folds of her gown in a restless motion. “I count it fortunate that the king saw fit to introduce us last year, Luc. Do you think he had ulterior motives in doing so?”

  “No. You are his wife’s cousin, and William is too courteous to ignore either of us. Attach no importance to that, Amélie, for it was naught but pure chance.”

  She laughed throatily. “Nothing is pure chance, Luc. There will be a banquet tonight. I will seek you there.”

  Luc did not reply, and after a moment, she eased out the door. Her perfume lingered, smelling of strong spice. But it only reminded him of the gentle, arousing scent of lavender on soft flesh, and he shook his head. He was becoming too engrossed with Cear
a.

  Hefting his sword, he buckled it around his waist and finished dressing. William would be waiting for his report. By nightfall, he would officially be the new lord of Wulfridge. It would be his by law as well as deed, a Norman holding instead of Saxon.

  Ceara’s image swam before his eyes again, and he swore softly as he quit the chamber and strode down the corridor toward the great hall where William waited. Why should he feel responsible for what another had done? His sense of honor demanded that he present her defense to William, but if she chose not to accept his aid or to be foolishly obstinate, he could do nothing else for her. She would have to save herself.

  Chapter Nine

  SHE HAD TO save herself. Fighting her apprehension, Ceara wound her hands tightly into the folds of the borrowed gown. It was too short, the hem not even reaching the tops of her ankle boots, so she had been given a long mantle of ivory wool to wear over it.

  Only her insistence that Lord Luc had bade her wear it kept her mother’s necklace from being taken away, as none dared to take what he had allowed her to keep. It hung from her neck, a solid weight between her breasts that reminded her fiercely of what she had already lost, and what she may yet lose.

  Drawing in a deep breath as her guard told her in rough English to kneel in the presence of the king, Ceara did so blindly. Where was Luc? She saw only a blur of faces, none familiar to her. Had he decided not to attend after all? Her heart beat faster; her throat was tight and her mouth dry. If he did not attend, she might not be able to do what she must.…

  Then she heard him, his familiar voice rising above the clamor of whispers from curious onlookers, and her head lifted. Garbed all in black, Luc stood at the foot of the dais below what could only be the king, who was seated on a straight-backed chair. She had a brief impression of a broad-shouldered man with a stern visage before she was told to rise, and she did so with thankfully steady grace.

  Luc interpreted the king’s French, so that she did not have to betray her knowledge of their tongue, though she understood William perfectly: “Louvat tells me a most interesting tale, Lady Ceara. I would hear your version of it before I make my decision.”

  Louvat? She blinked in confusion, then saw Luc’s faint smile and realized ’twas he the king meant. Louvat—young wolf. How fitting. Her chin lifted, and she hid her trembling hands in the wool folds of the mantle as she met the king’s dark, steady gaze. She answered in English while Luc performed the translation.

  “With your permission, sire, I ask your patience. It has been a most trying experience that has left me uncertain as to the exact nature of your demands. Pray, clarify for me what you wish to know, and I will answer with the truth, for I know that is what you require.”

  “In all things, my lady. Untruths are dangerous in my court.” Steepling his fingers, he studied her over their tips with nerve-racking shrewdness. “Tell me and the court what happened when Sir Simon came to survey Wulfridge.”

  Ceara chose her reply carefully. “Sir Simon arrived hard on the heels of other invaders, and announced he had been sent by the king to secure my lands. He demanded I open the gates and yield all to his inspection without delay. I asked for time to consider his request. It was denied.” Her voice faltered slightly, but she steadied herself, somewhat strengthened by Luc’s faultless translation. “Sir Simon’s reply was to return to me my young messenger’s ears in a cloth bag. From that, I deduced he did not want a gentle surrender. I gave that unworthy knight what he wanted.”

  At the periphery of her vision she could see Luc flinch, but the words were out. Luc repeated them verbatim though he did so in a mild tone. The silence drew out, so that her heartbeat sounded loudly in her ears. Her knees weakened, and she began to think the king would order her slain right there in the hall.

  “You speak boldly, my lady,” the king finally remarked. “I see that you are quite capable of leading men to battle if you think it necessary.”

  “I did what I thought would best serve my interests and those of my people. If I have erred, sire, it is because I value life and liberty.”

  William’s brow lifted, but his expression remained the same, betraying nothing. “We all value life and liberty. What I command is for the good of all. I am not a harsh man when my demands are met. As he disobeyed my orders, I shall not require blood penance for the life of Sir Simon. He earned his fate by his feckless defiance. As you rebelled against a man sworn to me, your lands are forfeit. From this day forward, Wulfridge and the title of earl belongs to Sir Luc Louvat, who has served me faithfully and well. I reward those of my subjects who are loyal.”

  Leaning forward as Luc’s translation ended, the king held her gaze, his hoarse voice stern as he demanded, “Do you swear fealty to me as your overlord and king?”

  For a heartbeat, Ceara wavered. But she knew the consequences too well, and would not lose all for the sake of pride. Her father had been right. She briefly bowed her head in assent.

  “Yea, sire, I swear to you as my overlord and king.”

  Luc shifted slightly, and his sword clinked against stone, but she did not look at him as he repeated her vow in grave tones. Her gaze fastened on the king, who sat back in his chair with a satisfied expression.

  “You are as wise as you are lovely, my lady. It is my understanding that you are unwed. I propose to find you a suitable husband, and settle on you a small dowry as a restitution for the wrong done you by Sir Simon.”

  “Sire—I am aware of the favor you show me, and am not ungrateful. You are well known for your swift justice and sense of honor.” She took a deep breath for courage, not allowing her gaze to move for even an instant to Luc though she was well aware of his sudden wariness. “It is your renowned justice that allows me to protest a wrong done me, a personal wrong greater than even that of Sir Simon.”

  “Another wrong, my lady?” William’s brow lowered over his piercing eyes. “Tell me of this wrong that is so great.”

  “Sire, I was a maid when I left Wulfridge, but am no longer. I protest the loss of my virginity and seek a retribution of my own choosing.”

  Luc took a step forward. “Do you know what you do?” he demanded harshly of her in English. “Am I to repeat that to the king?”

  She did not look at him, did not waver in her resolve, though her nails dug fiercely into her palms. “Yea, my lord. If I am to be sold as a milch cow, the king should know my worth. Tell him what I have said, and do not change a word.”

  “You little fool, this will not help—”

  “My lord Luc,” William interrupted in a steely tone, “do you finish the translation. Exactly as it is said.”

  A muscle leaped in Luc’s jaw as he turned to the king and bowed. “Yes, sire. The lady wishes me to inform you that she was virgin when she left Wulfridge, but is no longer. She protests the loss and asks retribution of her own choosing.”

  The great hall was so quiet Ceara could hear the shuffling of feet on the stone floor, the gasps of those near enough to hear, and the murmurs of others as the words were repeated. William’s face did not change.

  “Was she forced?”

  Ceara answered hard on the heels of Luc’s terse translation. “I was offered the choice of my surrender or the life of my loyal companion. I am nobly born, and have lost much. I did not wish to lose all.”

  Stonily, not looking at her, Luc repeated her words and William scowled.

  “Did she name the man who took her virginity?”

  “No, sire. She did not need to do so. I am that man.”

  Ceara glanced at Luc sharply. She’d not expected him to offer the information. A muscle leaped in his cheek, and the faint scar along his jawline was white with tension as he turned to face the king.

  Before he could speak, William put up a hand to stop him. “We will discuss this further in private, Louvat. Bring the lady to my antechamber.”

  Luc bowed. As William rose to dismiss those in attendance, Ceara dared a glance at the king. He was very tall, but it was his
harsh visage and forceful nature that intimidated those around him. Luc was right. The king was not a man easily swayed.

  When the doors to the antechamber closed behind them, Ceara glanced at Luc. He stood stiffly, his off-hand on the hilt of his sword as he regarded William. A small flutter of disquiet stirred in her breast. She did not want to harm Luc, only keep what was hers. But how did she tell him that? He would not listen. In fact, he would not so much as glance in her direction now, but kept his dark gaze bent on the king.

  A wall tapestry shifted in a cool draft. The king moved to a small table bearing a silver bowl of fruit and a flagon of new wine. A frown crowded his eyes, and his mouth was a taut line that gave him as even more forbidding presence.

  Abruptly William demanded an explanation. “Tell me the way of it, Louvat. Does she speak the truth?”

  “Yes, sire. She was virgin when I took her.”

  “And your reason for doing so?”

  Luc flushed, a dull red color that swept up his neck to his face. “She was widowed. I did not think her to be virgin still.”

  A wry smile touched William’s mouth. “That is not quite what I meant, Louvat, though I find myself intrigued by that marvel. Granted, she is lovely, but she is a rebel and my hostage. Her father was a baron. She is no low-born wench used to sharing her favors with all who ask. Maid, widow, or matron, if she did not wish to be bedded, you should not have forced her.”

  “No, sire.” Luc offered no more explanation, though there was an undercurrent of bitter resignation to his words.

  Ceara shifted uneasily. She had not expected Luc to offer no defense. Indeed, she had thought he would protest her words and his innocence, would malign his accuser with harsh truths. For that, she had been prepared, but this? It was unexpected, and for a moment she regretted her decision to force the issue in this way. True, Luc had threatened to harm her pet if she refused to disrobe, but had she not tempted him at Wulfridge? She had wanted the very reaction he gave her, had rejoiced in his taking of her for it gave her a weapon to use against him. Yet now he had blunted that weapon with his lack of defense.