Devil's Knight

by Geri Borcz

  Richard leaned near. "I take it you have settled this matter to your satisfaction?"

  "I'm too old to scold, Papa."

  "But not too old to receive a boot in the arse," Richard pointed out. "What's got into you, son? I've never seen you so addled."

  "If it pleases you, you're the second person this day to wonder," Rhys said and stepped away, then turned back with a secret smile on his face. "Now that I think on it, you're the third."

  Richard shook his head in annoyance. "We need to plan."

  "My lord?" called a man-at-arms who rushed into the hall and hurried to Rhys's side. "Riders approach in great haste under a white flag."

  "A truce?" Rhys said and shared a suspicious glance with his father. "How many?"

  "Seven and a priest."

  "Do you know their standard?"

  The guard bobbed his head. "They carry Stanmore's banner."

  A soft cry filtered down to them from the gallery. Rhys squeezed his eyes closed.

  God curse Roger's eagerness.

  Rhys had never intended for Juliana to learn his gruesome news this way.

  * * *

  The announcement of the riders shocked Juliana to her toes, and she bit her lip to keeping from screaming for them to go away. A truce meant only one thing—Roger had come to take her home. And God help her, she wasn't sure anymore that Rhys would try to stop them.

  Her faith in anything or anyone rode shaky ground.

  Standing between Isobel and Lady Angharad, Juliana now turned stiffly toward the gallery's arched doorway upon hearing Rhys's boot-step. Like a leaf in autumn, her fate rested on which way the wind blew.

  To be accused of turning a weapon on him, when she'd contemplated doing just that vile act a few nights before, hit much too close to her guilty conscience. But that he'd felt she would actually do it wounded her tender heart.

  She'd spurned his trust once and now realized how much she'd lost. Her confidence couldn't withstand another blow, so she swallowed her design to agree to wed him and seek concessions.

  The timing was now entirely all wrong.

  "You're tired unto death, and now this," she said with the uncertain smile of one who seeks to be polite.

  Rhys quietly stepped onto the aisle.

  "Isobel," he said. "Go to your chamber and remain there until summoned. I have matters to discuss with our arriving guests that I'd rather you not witness."

  "Shoo," Juliana said, flashing a her warm grin. "Do as your Papa bids."

  With a reluctant nod of her dark head, the little maid skirted around the adults to disappear up the stairs.

  "You heard?" Rhys said, addressing the two women.

  Juliana trembled, but now as all her hopes faded, she needed to understand. "I know bad blood existed betwixt you and Roger long afore it involved my land. Why?"

  The question dropped into the silence and hung there. Lady Angharad moved beside Juliana and clasped her hand. That one tiny gesture, filled with support and kindness, swept dread through Juliana.

  Was the lady correct? Did Juliana truly want to rattle this skeleton?

  Rhys dragged a hand from forehead to stubbly chin and heaved a sigh. "I haven't time to explain it all," he said, his eyes darkening with memories long repressed.

  He waited so long, she thought he'd stop there, until he resumed in a quiet voice.

  "Isobel's mother and Roger were once lovers."

  Juliana gasped. Of all that could spur two such strong and proud men to fight, she never expected to hear this shameful confession.

  "You needn't go on. I hadn't meant to pry."

  "Nay, 'tisn't what you think, Ana. She never cuckolded me. 'Twas before his face... well, when it seemed he wouldn't survive his grievous wounds, her family hastened to seek a husband for her. But he did survive, only... only too late to claim her for his own."

  "Jesu," Juliana breathed. "And then she died... how he must have loved her."

  "Aye," Rhys said without a trace of malice.

  Juliana detected no hint of bitterness towards his late wife, and for that she was glad. No words of comfort sprang to her mind. Instead, an incredible suspicion struck like lightning. Comments she'd once thought innocent now crashed into her memory and assumed a different meaning.

  Then what did you think Isobel was?

  Rhys seeks only to retain Isobel's birthright and see her contentedly safe from all harm.

  You will do well as Isobel's mother. You look enough alike, perhaps 'tis the similar coloring.

  Ana, you hate me because of Isobel?

  Nay! Juliana's mind disavowed the hasty conclusion.

  Had Roger ever suspected his lover carried his child he would have....

  The implications rocked Juliana, but no good would come from voicing her suspicions. In addition to branding the dead woman a harlot and bringing cause to war against her scheming family, there was the possibility that Isobel stood heir to land not legally hers. If declared a bastard, she would lose all she'd been conditioned since birth to expect.

  And Rhys would lose not only Adington, but his beloved daughter as well.

  Guard your tongue. Too many lives hang in the balance.

  Suddenly, Juliana recognized the untenable position in which Rhys had been thrust and remembered Lady Angharad's words about choices.

  The choices Rhys had been forced to make.

  Juliana now realized the magnitude of her brother's devotion to a woman long dead and came closer to understanding the complex man. A part of her envied the faceless woman.

  If only Juliana could command such a strong love in a man.

  Her heart softened toward Roger. She wouldn't forget his attempt to so wrongly use her, but she could forgive a broken heart. Except the unfortunate stroke of a weapon, relations might have turned out differently between their two families.

  "Come here," Rhys said.

  Juliana trembled. Was this goodbye? Did he mean to give her back?

  "Come here, Ana," he said, tenderness eclipsing the weariness in his face. He opened his arms.

  One step, two, then she swept into his waiting arms, where he buried his face in her hair and crushed her in his embrace.

  "Forgive me, love," he whispered, then released her and swiftly descended toward the hall and the arriving men.

  Startled, Juliana stared at the empty archway, his ominous plea sinking like a dead weight to the bottom of her stomach. Rhys mistrusted her, she knew that now. But did he regret their time together?

  Or did his regret owe to something much worse?

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 21

  To Juliana's immense relief, it wasn't Roger who strode into Adington's hall ahead of the sneezing priest and five of Stanmore's men. Instead, Rowland announced his presence.

  "Where's my sister?" he roared. "Julianna? You had best treated her well, Adington!"

  The floor planks vibrated beneath her feet. Her freedom from tension short-lived, Juliana tore down the stairs and into his bear hug of an embrace, dismayed at his usual coarseness and worried about the reason for his coming. That Father Duncan accompanied him surely signalled grave news.

  "Calm yourself, I'm well," she said with a glance that contained a full measure of appeal. "Truly I am."

  "Do you act for your brother?" Rhys demanded without preamble and strode toward them.

  Alert guardsmen angled themselves around the hall, the torch flames reflecting in angry bolts against their mail.

  Rhys halted in the center of the hall, feet braced apart, with Richard and Alain flanking him. A formidable trio for any man to face.

  Juliana's heart skipped a beat. No stranger to warring men, she'd heard that phrase and knew its dire meaning.

  "Nay, my lord of Adington," said Rowland.

  He released his sister and accepted the rolled parchment Father Duncan passed to his meaty hand, then deliberately enunciated each word.

  "Roger is no longer at Stanmore." He advanced the few feet and thrust the document at Rh
ys. "I come in my father's stead in answer to your message. But I come to sue for peace... and to beg your aid."

  "What has happened to our father?" Juliana said, her eyes wide with apprehension. "What has Roger done?"

  Rowland shifted his weight to one foot, then the other. He glanced back, but failed to meet her eyes.

  Her trepidation increased.

  "You gave us a fright, Ana," he said. "Never before has such a battlefield existed as does at Stanmore. Even the new countess has felt father's wrath." He shook his russet head, then turned his attention back to Rhys. "As doubtless you realized, Adington, Roger overstepped his bounds."

  Juliana shot a puzzled gaze to Rhys, only to see him nod in understanding. Her gaze swung back to Rowland.

  "What do you mean?" she cried. "What has he done?"

  "Ana," Rowland said, raking his fingers through his lank hair. "The alliance with the Scot. . . 'twas Roger's doing. And Roger's alone."

  "He lied to me?" she said in a small voice. "But how? How could Roger dare? Nay, Agnes tried to warn me," she answered herself. "She feared Roger would one day challenge our father. That's it, isn't it?"

  "Baldwin's health fails him," Rhys said to her brother, more statement than question.

  "For some time now," Rowland said.

  "He's a strong man," Juliana insisted, "with more years ahead of him."

  "He's old, Ana," Rowland said. "The years have caught up to him, and he suffers from every battle in which he ever fought. Think. Why has he deferred to Roger so much of late? Don't you see that he'd planned to pass him the reins of Stanmore, but Roger grew weary of the wait?

  "You haven't witnessed our father in such a high rage as when he confronted Roger with the consequences of offending the king," Rowland continued. "He railed to the heavens at the machinations done in his name and at how far Roger's hatred has led. 'Twas a bitter dispute that left him weak and shaken. We haven't seen Roger since."

  "What aid do you seek from me?" Rhys said.

  "Malcolm," Rowland said, disgusted. "In the last few days, he's burned and pillaged each of my father's holdings. What with the men Roger took with him and those sent to reinforce the manors, our garrison is spread so thin, few are left to man a defense at Stanmore."

  "You think he means to strike there next?" said Richard.

  "My father," Rhys said. "Lord Richard of Monteux."

  "As I thought," Rowland said and acknowledged the elder with a nod. "You have the look of him."

  "To answer you, Papa, aye," Rhys said. "'Tis exactly what I'd expect Malcolm to do."

  Again, Rowland nodded.

  "We may only assume Roger came to an agreement with the greedy Scot," Rhys continued, "and I spoiled his plans. Malcolm gained little by his raid on our village, and Adington's too heavily manned, so he's retaliating against his former partner to recoup his supposed losses."

  "Former partner?" Rowland said.

  Juliana prayed her brother continued to check his temper. Though he may disagree with Roger, he permitted few others to do so in his hearing.

  "Your brother's no fool," Rhys said. "He needed Malcolm only to keep the Lady Juliana's land from my reach. Once she came to me, he had no further use for Malcolm. But I reach the same conclusion you have—something went awry in his scheme. Stanmore is Roger's patrimony and he'll fight to keep from losing it. 'Tis my guess he's tried to keep Malcolm at bay."

  "That's why we haven't heard from Roger?" Juliana said.

  "A fox and hound game." Rowland snorted. "With none of us the winner, except that damnable Scot."

  "You said Baldwin seeks peace," Rhys reminded him. "So I must assume he offers something to entice my aid. What?"

  Rowland cast a guilty look toward his sister.

  "Sorry, Ana," he murmured. "'Twas no other way."

  "What terms?" Rhys insisted, dragging Rowland's attention back to him by raising the document into the air.

  The twin cleared his throat.

  "'Twas never my father's intent to go against Henry's order," Rowland said. "Nor to embroil him in a dispute with the Scot's king. To end this folly and assure peace betwixt our houses, my father proposes an alliance. He gives you my sister, Juliana, to wife, and the land lying betwixt Stanmore and Adington as her dowry."

  Juliana gasped upon hearing herself so coldly described as a commodity to be bought and sold.

  "The contracts are drawn and but lack your seal, my lord," Father Duncan said to Rhys with a drippy nod toward the parchment. "If you wish me to read them...?"

  Rhys thrust the contract back to the priest, and pierced Rowland with a hard stare. "I won't wed with your sister."

  Sensations bombarded Juliana from all sides—disbelief, anger, disappointment, hurt, remorse—and weakened her legs.

  "Not unless," Rhys said, turning to her with an unreadable gaze, "she willingly agrees to wed with me."

  What?

  This unexpected move startled her speechless. She scanned the faces avidly awaiting her answer and read encouragement in Lady Angharad's delicate smile, amusement in Lord Richard's, impatience in Rowland's scowl, and blandness in Father Duncan's placid face.

  Holy Mary and Joseph, hadn't she acted in this play before?

  This time, though, she realized far more was wagered on the outcome than her paltry concerns. But would she have done anything differently had she known the truth of the quarrel between their families from the first?

  "So Juliana?" Rhys said. "What is your wont? Your future, my lady, is yours."

  His voice flowed over her like a warm breeze. An undefinable emotion seeped into his words, a curious note she failed to recognize.

  He gave her the choice, wanted her to decide. But why? He coveted her land, that had never changed. Did he no longer want her as well? Or did he seek to start anew?

  Holy Mary and Joseph, the uncertainty.

  Not one to question a gift, however, Juliana recognized her advantage. The time had come.

  Her palms grew clammy.

  If ever, now.

  She swallowed, her tongue seeking moisture in a mouth gone dry, and gazed straight into the face that she loved beyond reason.

  "I have three conditions to add to the contract, my lord, upon which you must first agree."

  "Aw, Ana," groused Rowland, slapping his thigh. "For the love of—"

  Rhys raised a hand for silence.

  "The lady wishes to bargain," he said. "So be it. Your first condition?"

  "Oliver," she said.

  Rhys's eyebrows arched.

  "For aiding me," she said, "my cousin's not safe where Roger may reach him. Release Oliver to Lord Richard's service and allow him to accompany your father when he returns to his home in Normandy."

  She waited while Rhys turned a questioning gaze to his father. Lord Richard answered with a brief nod.

  "Done," Rhys agreed without hesitation. "And the second?"

  The urge to wring her hands nagged at her, so she clasped them at her waist. She debated whether Rhys would take insult at her insistence upon the second, but no other way to insure that he'd never push her aside seemed plausible.

  "I want children. A dozen, at least, perhaps more."

  Alain coughed into his hand, suspiciously like a laugh to Juliana's ears.

  "You must agree to give them to me," she added.

  "A dozen?" Rhys choked out, then said with a faintly amused curve to his mouth, "by all means, my lady. I'll do my best. And the third?"

  "Fidelity," she blurted into the engaging silence, and held her breath against his blast of anger.

  "God's balls, Ana," exploded Rowland, forgetting any pretense at diplomacy. "Now you go too far. No man—"

  "Enough," shouted Rhys. "This is betwixt the lady and me."

  Scarlet flooded Rowland's cheeks, and he mumbled a pardon.

  Rhys turned back to Juliana. From the glint in his stormy eyes, she knew she'd overstepped the bounds of good breeding in demanding that her husband remain faithful. Although
she read nothing of rebuke in his face, she trembled inside.

  She had pushed too far.

  He strode towards her, reaching out his hand, and she mentally braced for the blow. Instead, he halted a breath away and tipped her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger.

  "Will I ever have reason to seek another woman's bed, Ana?" he asked.

  She bit back a groan. His scent, his nearness, his light touch, all surged frissons of heat to every secret place.

  "I swear," she said, relieved by his calm tone. "You need never look elsewhere."

  After a moment, Rhys nodded and bent his dark head towards hers. "You do make bargaining worthwhile, my lady," he whispered. "I accept your terms." He brushed her lips with his mouth. "All of your terms." Another brush, warm, full, and promising. "Will you wed with me, Ana?"

  "Aye, Rhys," she sighed against his mouth. "I will."

  The scratching of Father Duncan's quill upon the parchment and his, "I've written it all down", accompanied by a hearty sneeze, set the bargain.

  Juliana accepted Lady Angharad's glad embrace, while Rhys signed his name to the amended contract and Rowland endorsed as Baldwin's representative.

  There was no betrothal, no reading of banns, no titled guests, and no great wedding feast. Instead, a half hour later Father Duncan presided over a brief ceremony. To his sniffled blessing—borne of habit or sentiment, Juliana couldn't decide—the people of Adington added their cheers.