Devil's Knight

by Geri Borcz

  "God's death," he said. "Did you think me a heathen to wish to take you to wife when my wife still lived? Of course, I'm a widower. Isobel's mother died in child bed."

  "Well, 'tis a fair question," said Juliana, groping for a way out of this conversation. "You never mentioned being wedded before."

  "Then what did you think Isobel was?" Rhys said.

  Heat blanketed Juliana's face again. Oh, nay. His arrogance needed no boosting with a revealing admission.

  "Why, I thought she. . .was taller."

  Rhys relaxed his sudden tenseness, but his raised brow and doubting stare told Juliana he questioned her answer. In a flash of understanding, she realized he'd expected a spurious comment.

  "So you'll know, Juliana," he said in measured tones. "I've been wed only once before. And I've fathered no bastards."

  Witless wreck.

  Juliana bit her unwise tongue and ignored the moment's discomfort. Even if he had any, a man's natural children were his own business. A matter between him and his confessor.

  "You're still a wretched man," she said with little heat, laughter kindling in her eyes. "How can you ask if I'm displeased? I should think you'd know differently from the moment you arrived at Stanmore."

  His answering smile said he remembered the antics of the playful hound and the messy page in the courtyard.

  "'Tis that you never once mentioned what a beautiful and grown daughter you have," Juliana added.

  "Papa often forgets I'm not a babe," Isobel said, shooting a disgruntled glare to Rhys. She giggled into her hand and snuggled closer into Juliana's side.

  For a second, Juliana stared down. Trust shone in Isobel's blue-gray gaze, and Juliana caught a glimpse of the precious gift she had buried so long ago beneath Stanmore's chapel floor. Joy, like a warm wind caressing her heart, filled Juliana with peace. She squeezed the thin shoulder nestled into her ribs and smiled her affection.

  "Then you're blessed with a good Papa," Juliana whispered. "No matter your years."

  "I didn't mention anything?" Rhys said, scratching his chin.

  "Nay," Juliana said, looking up. "I would have recalled."

  "As I recall," Rhys said, a wicked twinkle in his eye. "At the time, we spoke little of Isobel."

  "You said--that is, I thought--well, 'tis no matter."

  "Are you feeling well, my lady?" Isobel tilted her head to study Juliana's face. "You have red marks on your neck. Are you feverish?"

  Rhys cleared his throat, and then tweaked Isobel's button nose..

  "'Twas nerves, imp. But Lady Juliana feels much better now." He gazed at Juliana with penetrating directness. "Don't you, sweeting?"

  Disturbing sensations echoed through Juliana. The light glinting in his sapphire depths reminded her of a predator's eyes. Intent and unescapable.

  "That I do," she said, wishing she could make herself immune to that gaze. "Hungry, 'tis all."

  He curved his mouth in a slow grin that stole her breath.

  "I know."

  "Papa?" Isobel grabbed his hand. "You detain our guest. Come. The food grows cold."

  "Rhys? Rhys."

  A sudden clamor from the hall broke the spell.

  Juliana tore her gaze from Rhys, and all eyes turned to Alain who bellowed and thrust himself through the partially opened door.

  "God's death, but it's getting crowded in here," Rhys said. "Have you come to see after my lady's welfare as well?"

  "Nay, but someone else has," Alain said. He flicked his thumb in the direction of the hall. "Best you come out here and see fer yerself."

  * * *

  Rhys rounded the alcove and saw his father standing in the center of the hall issuing orders amidst hurried confusion. The scene was clear. Their waiting was over. As Rhys had predicted, the axe had fallen upon his neck, but it had come from a direction he least expected: Adington village had been razed.

  He turned to Juliana to order her to safety above stairs and caught bright light glittering in her misty eyes. She understood too well the viciousness of her brother's act.

  Touching his hand to her cheek, Rhys then cupped her chin in his palm.

  "Ana, this once, trust me. I will deal with this."

  "Please," she whispered. "For my sake. Before Roger destroys more innocent lives. Please. Let me go."

  Rhys stiffened. To release her now served no purpose, even if he wanted to. He finally understood the full extent of Roger's twisted hatred, as Roger had intended--nothing short of destroying everything Rhys held dear would appease Roger now. And with that understanding came a swift spasm of fear, like a cold hand squeezing around Rhys's heart.

  "Never," Rhys said. "This is between your brother and me. And I mean to finish it."

  "You won't change your mind?" She pulled herself straight, her voice deadly calm. "You'd condemn others to suffer, for your own ends? Though your tactics differ, my lord, it would seem you're little better than my brother and his murdering henchman."

  Grimly, Rhys watched Juliana turn a cold back on him without another word. Her hand held onto Isobel, and judging by the maid's nodding head, she murmured to her.

  His gaze left Juliana's profile and flew to Isobel's, then back again.

  "Dear God," Rhys said under his breath.

  The same curve to the nose and chin, the same quirk at the corners of their mouth when they smiled. A fleeting similarity, gone as soon as the shadows danced on their faces. Rhys flicked his shocked gaze around to see if anyone else might have noticed.

  None did.

  But it was there.

  The deep sense of urgency that Rhys experienced each time he saw Juliana simmered to a boil and threatened to throttle him, an unreasonable urgency that always bordered on fear. Now he recognized why.

  Richard laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "She doesn't understand what's between you and Roger."

  "I know," Rhys said.

  He sucked in a slow breath and watched until Juliana and Isobel disappeared up the stairs followed by Costin. A tight feeling mingled in Rhys's chest with an overwhelming protectiveness.

  She was his, by God, and she was safe. He'd do everything in his power to keep things that way and face the consequences later.

  He turned to Alain and ordered Sir Oliver to the wall with the archers.

  "Is that wise?" Richard asked. "He's Roger's man."

  "He's Juliana's man," Rhys corrected. "He forswore Roger and Earl Baldwin when he aided Juliana to leave Stanmore against their wishes."

  "So Roger seeks his blood as well?"

  "The lackwit has no recourse now but to stand with us."

  "I'd still watch him."

  "You credit him with too much, Papa," Rhys said. "I'll grant he enjoys a place in my lady's affections, but oddly, he's given me no real trouble. But aye, if he's harmed, 'twill hurt Juliana. Alain? Take yourself to the wall and see that, in his eagerness, the lackwit doesn't shoot himself by accident."

  Alone with his father, Rhys turned to him and arched a suspicious eyebrow. "Out with it."

  Richard shook his head. "Roger seeks to draw you out. His message was clear--this time, you won't win."

  "Of what message do you speak?"

  "Malcolm's taken insult you've stolen his betrothed."

  Rhys snorted. "I doubt the Scot thought of anything beyond enlarging his purse."

  "He's sent a grievance to King David, asking David to intervene on his behalf with Henry."

  "Nay, this is Roger's doing. Do you not see? For more than a decade, his hatred has festered in his warped soul like an opened wound. "

  "But with this act, he's allied himself with the devil. "

  Rhys shook his head. "He's never ceased blaming me for taking Isobel's mother to wife."

  "He's never ceased blaming you for her death," Richard countered.

  Blowing an anguished sigh, Rhys stared at the empty stairs.

  "I will win," he murmured in a faraway voice.

  Richard correctly read his son's intent and
laid a detaining hand on his arm. A wealth of emotion bled into his tone.

  "If you leave the safety of these walls. . . "

  "Papa—"

  "Hear me out. If you leave the safety of these walls, know what you risk should you fail at David's court. Roger will yield anything in his quest to destroy you. Anything."

  "Including his spirited sister?" Rhys snapped his gaze back to his father. He straightened, and steel entered his tone.

  "And when Juliana does understand about me and Roger, Papa? What then? What kind of monster will she think me when she learns the truth of what I've done to her brother? To her family? To her?"

  "Don't be hard on yourself, Rhys. You did the honorable thing, what few other husbands in your position would do. You did naught-- "

  "Aye," Rhys said, mocking himself. "'Tis exactly what I've done these years--naught." He shrugged off Richard's hand, and with impatient strides, headed for the entry door and King David's court. "But that changes now."

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 16

  Near the solar's arrow slit, Isobel perched upon a stool and strained her ears.

  "I don't hear music," she said.

  "Of course, you do," Juliana said, cupping her hands on narrow shoulders and leaning Isobel toward the night.

  It had been three long days since Juliana had watched Rhys ride out with a handful of men, leaving Lord Richard in charge of the garrison. Thrice the usual number of sentries paced the torchlit battlements, armed and ready to repel any attack Roger might launch, but strangely, he remained silent.

  "Listen well," Juliana said. "The darkness abounds with music." She tugged the dainty earlobe exposed by black-satin hair plaited into a thick braid. "You can hear it, here." And then she laid fingers to her chest. "But you must also hear it in here."

  Snuffling animals played the overture to a chorus of guttural croaking, followed by the angry intensity of a hundred tiny wings singing into the air.

  "Sir Oliver taught me this," Juliana said, her heart aching.

  Oliver clung to the futile dream of one day being a scholar. Learning and music suited his spirit, not warring, but he'd long ago buried his weakness beneath Roger's ridicule. And until now, only Juliana shared his confidence and knew of this secret passion.

  What would become of him? He wasn't safe anywhere Roger could find him, and few welcomed a knight into their service who had forsworn his oath to his lord.

  She and Oliver had traveled the same path, each in their own way an outsider in their world. Deep in her heart, Juliana sensed their journey together neared an end, and it was her duty to aid him, to see his dream come true.

  "Worried?" Lady Angharad asked.

  Under her casual word lay the question of why Juliana kept Isobel so near. Even she couldn't understand the compelling need. Perhaps she craved the comfort that the maid's presence lent her? Juliana lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, left Isobel to her listening, and sat next to the older woman who was sewing.

  Something happened since Juliana's shameless--yet, oh so sweet--weakness in the garderobe. If not for Isobel's timely interruption, Juliana might have forfeited her pride and honor.

  Pride and honor. Heroic ideals, but in truth a cold mantle in which to cloak a smoldering desire.

  There was nothing in the nights to fill the void except to seriously ponder her options, examine her judgement, worry herself senseless, and yearn.

  "Despite my repeated petitions," she said, "God gives me no answer."

  "Perhaps he has," Lady Angharad said. "And you haven't recognized it yet."

  Even now the hot memory of Rhys's hard body pressed to Juliana's evoked sensual ripples from her breasts to her thighs. She ran her tongue slowly over her lips and tasted again the sinful delight of untold pleasures promised in his wet kisses. A taste like heady wine, bold, rich, and wickedly potent. Like the dark lord himself. Addicting.

  She longed to lose herself in his strength. Find solace in his arms. Rest her troubles in his gentle hands.

  But she lacked any practice in depending upon a man. None stayed in her life long enough to breach the impregnable wall she'd erected against hurt.

  Juliana tilted her gaze overhead. Were words flung in anger to be the last ones Rhys ever remembered from her? To her mind rose his devastating smile, the sound of his deep laughter, the silky feel of his hair....

  Despite her attempts to vanquish him from her heart, he'd wedged an unshakable foothold. Jesu, whom did she fool?

  She was a small piece of the game. A commodity. A pawn. A useful tool, but expendable in time.

  "Too many aspects of Rhys's behavior ring false," Juliana said. "Truly greedy men seldom command the respect of their people, nor do they connive to benefit anyone but themselves. Nay, he is an enigma."

  One that challenged her notions and kept her on her toes. Yet, were he Satan incarnate, she'd still pray for his safety.

  She sighed. "The lout ceases to give me peace. But perhaps you're right, and God has granted me some answers."

  If she must reside in a prison, she couldn't ask for a more attentive or patient gaoler. Lord Richard's size and demon appearance deceived. He roared like a lion to the men, but he purred like a kitten around the women in his family. He doted on his granddaughter, and his loving attention to Lady Angharad sometimes brought a blush to Juliana's cheeks.

  "I will miss you all," she whispered.

  Of late, a corrosive guilt ate away at Juliana. She'd abandoned Agnes and Father Duncan to bear the brunt at Stanmore, she'd endangered Oliver's life, and she'd dispossessed the poor people of Adington village.

  Never had she dreamt of such far reaching repercussions. The dawning knowledge of her irresponsibility toward people who depended upon her sat like a heavy weight on her chest. Worst guilt of all--Rhys never refuted her hasty accusation.

  Who was she to cast stones at him for seeking his own ends?

  "'Tis difficult to outgrow youthful follies," Lady Angharad said, "but don't waste time faulting yourself. One way or another, it would have come to this."

  "I think I understand that now," Juliana said.

  "Do you?"

  In truth, Juliana only felt sure of distrusting Rhys's motives. Something more volatile than her dowry existed between him and Roger, and she was the fuel that ignited the wildfire.

  "What I don't understand is why?" she said.

  "Why?"

  "Do you deny that your son seeks my land?"

  "Of course not, but 'tis more than that."

  "I'm not a simpleton, my lady."

  "Rhys would not have you, if you were. Have you decided, then, that perhaps he's not a man like the Scot?"

  Maybe Juliana deserved the jibe. She rubbed her temple.

  "I know not what to think anymore. I'm drowning and Rhys won't throw me a line. Help me to understand."

  Lady Angharad plied her needle, and Juliana sensed the tension seething within her body.

  "Isobel is heir to this demesne," Lady Angharad said finally. "Rhys seeks only to retain her birthright and see her content."

  Juliana frowned, seeing Roger as no threat to Isobel and unwilling to sidetrack to the child.

  "Rhys presents too many contradictions," she said. "He drags me here against my will, but inflicts his high-handedness only on me. I see him treat his people with a fairness that is returned to him in their willing loyalty, but he refuses to spare others by letting me go. I hear his daughter's love for him each time she speaks. He appears a devoted son--"

  "Yet, with all his saintly qualities, you'd gladly be rid of here and not look back?"

  "Yet . . . yet, he tugs on my one hand and Roger tugs on the other. I'm pulled betwixt the two, until I fear to snap. What grievance lies between them that keeps Rhys from seeing reason?"

  Shadows flitted on one side of the older woman's face, the other glowed with a tint of red in the flickering light.

  "'Tis a matter of what problems we face in our life," she murmured. "Of the choic
es we're called upon to make, Juliana. Of the choices we're compelled to make." She rested her hands in her lap and turned the full impact of her gaze upon her. "Which would you choose?"

  Her quiet question took Juliana aback. Days ago, she knew the correct response. Now... now her tongue tripped over a ready answer.

  "Choose?" she said with asperity. "My father demanded the same of me."

  Jesu, she'd come in a fruitless circle.

  "I can't tell you what lies between your brother and my son," Lady Angharad said. "Do not ask."

  "Can't tell me, my lady? Or won't?"

  Breath caught somewhere between Juliana's chest and her mouth, and she feared her insolence goaded too far.

  "Pray understand," Lady Angharad said, laying a gentle hand on Juliana's knee. "I break a confidence, if I say more. Why don't you ask Rhys?"

  Juliana exhaled on a slow breath. "Would he tell me?"

  Lady Angharad's eyes flared open, then narrowed. "Has my son ever lied to you?"

  "Nay," Juliana said with a bitter laugh. Rhys wants to take my land and bed me in the process. "He's been painfully truthful."

  "And he'll never lie to you, but think well on what you do. You may not wish to hear the answer."

  With that, an ominous chill swept through Juliana, a feeling of foreboding. She nodded her head in resignation.