Devil's Knight

by Geri Borcz

  "And I should have gone with you, or Sir Costin should have ordered the gates barred to you, or Roger should have seen you back, or her horse should have thrown a shoe in the courtyard." Oliver drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Ana, 'tis useless to fault yourself. Don't you see?"

  Juliana brushed the wetness that spiked her lashes and grimaced at the tenderness in her battered face. Her sensible side understood, but understanding didn't lessen the regret. She knew from bitter experience only time offered a better perspective.

  "I expect 'tis why Roger lingers," Oliver added. "Whatever his quarrel with your lord husband, Roger doesn't war on women and children. That you and Isobel came to harm, when he might have prevented it, I daresay, sits ill with him."

  Oliver started to say more, but halted when Rhys entered the hall.

  Panic filled Juliana's veins. She sent a quick prayer to Isobel, hoping her soul was still near. Then, rising from the window seat, Juliana started toward her husband.

  Her every nerve was alive to him, to his sorrow, but, when he turned, he frightened her more than she ever imagined, for there was nothing in his expression at all. Nothing. Eyes like a bottomless pit gazed through her, as if she no longer existed.

  Juliana faltered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roger finally abandon his position by the hearth, but uncertain what her brother might do, she forced her feet forward.

  They reached Rhys at the same time.

  To now, she'd given little thought to her brother, little thought to the reason why he'd chosen to stay.

  "My thanks for your aid in bringing Agnes," she said to him, before either man could speak, "but leave us in peace now. 'Tis not the time--"

  "You're wrong, Ana." Roger sloughed off her hand and faced Rhys squarely. "I have no right to ask, my lord, instead... I beg your permission to be allowed to see Isobel."

  Did Roger know? Nay. How could he?

  Juliana felt the hall closing in. She inched backward, searching her brother's face. For the first time since he'd recovered from his grievous wounds, so many years ago, she saw compassion soften his harsh features. But even that revealed nothing of his thoughts, for pity and grief abounded in the keep.

  "Rhys? Please," Roger said.

  That was all, yet it was enough.

  Roger humbled himself, more so that he called her husband by his Christian name. An understanding passed between the two men, and Juliana shrank farther back, like an eavesdropper who'd stumbled upon an intimate conversation.

  "Were our places reversed," Rhys said, and nodded, "I'd ask the same."

  "I'll stay but a moment," Roger said, then his voice turned cold and menacing. "I have unfinished business north and I'll not rest until 'tis done."

  Rhys nodded again, his tone now as sharp as the blade hanging at his side. "We both have business north."

  Juliana searched her husband's unyielding face, vaguely aware of Roger's nod and departure.

  Was that regret she detected? Accusation? Or a trick of the light?

  Then she knew.

  "Oh, my God," she cried in a frenzy as she rushed to him. "Rhys, please, you must listen. . . must forgive me."

  And he coldly sidestepped her.

  "Forgive?" He barked an ugly laugh, fisted his hands, and she drew up short. "Don't plead with me. We've made our bed, the both of us. Be prepared to live as polite strangers forever--for if you touch me now, I'll not beg pardon for what happens."

  Thousands of words clamored in her head, but none were able to pass the knot of fear in her throat. She wanted to bathe him in comfort, soothe his hurt, make him listen, and beg his forgiveness. But the deadness in his eyes killed any glint of hope within her and she swayed on her feet.

  "Rest," Rhys commanded.

  He brought his hand up, as if to steady her, then dropped his arm back to his side.

  "I'm so sorry," she said. "I tried."

  "Enough." He sucked in a breath and blew it out. "Haven't you done enough? Go. Rest. Leave me to find what peace I may."

  She choked back a sob and turned to withdraw.

  "There are messages I must see to," he murmured.

  "Father Duncan will be here anon," she said. "And I've sent word to Lord Richard."

  So many anxious hours, yet so little to fill them. But to her ears, her competence sounded aloof, as if she purposefully tried to unman him.

  "If you have others to send?" she said, then winced. Patronizing sounded worse. "'Tis that we didn't know when to expect you. Or where to send you a message."

  His face grew icy.

  Realizing she babbled, she gave up. The wall between them stretched higher, and she had no idea how to safely breach it.

  Rhys gazed past her shoulder, dismissing her from his mind with the same look. "My father will send word to any others. I will be staying down here with my men, and you have my oath that I won't disturb you."

  A cold hand squeezed around Juliana's heart.

  What she'd feared the most had come to pass. Rhys was pushing her aside.

  With all that she'd suffered the last few hours, she had no fight left in her to face another battle so soon. She'd depleted her reserves and now recognized the wisdom in retreating the field to devise another stratagem.

  Nodding mutely, she headed for the stairs to help Agnes. One problem at a time, she reminded herself, over and over. Finish with Isobel first, then she'd focus all of her energies upon winning back her husband.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 25

  The chance Juliana had hoped for never arrived.

  A brittle atmosphere settled over the keep, drawing everyone's awareness to the tension roiling around husband and wife. Rhys had concerns pressing for his time and energy, and evaded any contact with her.

  She spent hours on her knees offering prayers for Isobel's soul, the daughter she'd known so short a time, but had grown to love so well, then added prayers for the two babes lost to her years before. But more than any other, she prayed for an easing to her husband's burdened heart.

  And burdened it was. She heard him prowling the keep in the dead of night, saw the dark circles under his eyes.

  His absence disturbed her sleep, and the yawning void between them grated on her nerves. He sat inches away from her at mealtime, yet miles beyond her reach. When she ate, food tasted dull and sat heavy in her stomach.

  They had laid Isobel to rest on a sunny day. Not a cloud marred the sky, and all considered that a good omen.

  Afterwards, Rhys wasted no time in joining Roger to ride north in the hunt for the elusive Scot. Malcolm, it seemed, had finally provoked his king's wrath and now hid from a writ of attainder.

  Juliana's grief funnelled into sorrow, sorrow into hurt, and hurt into anger. Three weeks into Rhys's absence, her temperament soured completely and she jumped at every creak of the floor planks and snapped at anyone within range. The day a messenger arrived from Rhys came as a relief to everyone.

  She hadn't expected an intimate message; Rhys knew someone else's eyes—more likely those of a priest—would see his words to read them to her. But the absence of any personal tone ignited her simmering frustration into a blaze of ire.

  "God's teeth!" she said, jumping from the bench to slap the parchment from Oliver's startled hands. "One would think a commander sends a missive to his troops."

  "You make too much of it," Oliver said, retrieving the page from the rushes. "He writes that the king orders him to duty, so he leaves the Scot to Roger and travels to York. I'd think you'd be pleased to hear that your lord husband gives such high assurance in your abilities. He knows you are well able to hold for him until his return... whenever that may be."

  "'Tis the point, Sir Oliver," Agnes said, keeping her attention on the sewing in her lap.

  "What point?"

  "That my lady is capable."

  Juliana quit her pacing and swung around to the old nurse.

  "You have my thanks for staying and seeing to my wardrobe, but either you cease thi
s droll attitude and make sense, or I'll send you back to the countess. I hear she's turning out not to be a fragile thing after all."

  Agnes snorted, unfazed by the rebuke, and forgot her sewing.

  "You're stubborn, my lady, and your lord husband, too. 'Tis a sin, that. You need him and he needs you, yet what do I witness? Two stubborn people, neither one willing to admit their suffering or that they care for each other."

  Wide-eyed, Juliana dropped to her knees in front of the nurse. "I had hoped for him to care before, and since... well, oh Agnes, I'm afraid. He's so distant."

  "And why should he not be?" Agnes said, patting her hand. "Lady Isobel's death was a hard blow to accept for one who loves deeply. You, Lady Juliana, have had the misfortune to deal with such a loss before, yet my Lord Rhys had naught but his pride as mainstay."

  "He's a man," said Oliver. "Wailing is for women."

  "Men," Agnes pointed out to him, "are just as frail as women in here--" And she touched her chest.

  Oliver snorted.

  "'Tis that they are better at hiding it than women," Agnes continued, shooting him a glower. "The woman who captures a man's heart is the one who shares her weaknesses, as well as her strengths."

  "My Lord Rhys is a strong man," said Oliver. "And from his message, Ana, 'tis plain he admires that same quality in you."

  "Mark my words," said Agnes. "Whether he wills it or nay, he wants to know that you need him, my lady, so he may share his burden with you."

  "Ana," Oliver said, amazed. "Do you love him?"

  "Aye," she sighed. "I do."

  "Aha, but do you need him?" Agnes prodded.

  "More than anything," Juliana said. "I'll die without him."

  "Then show him," Agnes said with a brisk nod. "He won't come to you. 'Tis up to you to take the first step, my lady."

  "I would have thought she overstepped in negotiating her marriage contract," Oliver pointed out.

  "With another, perhaps," Agnes said. "My Lord Rhys is a fighting man and giving ground isn't his way, but crying peace and seeking terms, well...."

  Juliana screened her thoughts behind downswept lashes. She forced herself to look beyond her fear, to recognize the gnawing truth in what her old nurse said, and admit the estrangement between her and Rhys had to end before it deepened beyond mending.

  What was it Lady Angharad once said?

  When a woman loves, there's nothing she won't do.

  "You're a wonder, Agnes," Juliana murmured, rising to her feet. "Truly a wonder."

  The old woman stared at her, clearly unimpressed with hearing this well known fact.

  "'Tis plain I must be the first to yield," Juliana answered Oliver's confused frown. "God knows, the words have fallen often enough from his lips."

  "You?" Oliver said. "You hate to yield... anything."

  Juliana shrugged, but emotion filled her eyes. "'Tis a chance I have to take. In the losing, I stand to gain so much more." She regarded her cousin, her voice softly insistent. "Leastwise, I'm willing to try, Oliver, but I hope I'm not too late."

  "Oh, nay," Oliver said, rising from his seat and adamantly shaking his head. "Your lord is only now looking at me without murder in his eyes. I'm for Normandy, Cousin, so whatever you scheme, seek another simpleton to aid you and spare me the details."

  * * *

  Cool winds ushered in autumn.

  With each passing day the air carried more chill than the day before, but the sun still tarried in this portion of York. Juliana halted her mount and pulled her mantle tighter against the chill, then gazed to her side at the storm clouds darkening the horizon. Ahead in the distance, she could detect furious activity at the base of the castle.

  Men and beasts trampled the turf to scurry among pavilions that littered the open ground. Bright pennants rose high above each tent and named their owner.

  Courage. You've come this far.

  Juliana inhaled a deep breath of the northerly breeze that brushed past her face and stirred the road dust, swirling tiny grains between the horses' hooves.

  The time had come.

  She lowered her gaze from the men awaiting nearby, to her mare's head, and dismounted. So many goodbyes.

  "I'll ride in with you," said Oliver, coming to her side, "if 'twould ease your mind. From the looks, Percy expects many to attend the wedding."

  "My thanks, but nay," she said, sliding to the ground. "My future lies there, and yours lies across the sea. I've stretched Lord Richard's good will enough. 'Tis time and past you took up your new duties." She sighed. "Cease worrying, I'll fare well."

  "Have you given a thought? Since word reached us of Malcolm's death, you know Roger may come here? He may be in York now."

  Juliana shuddered.

  "Don't let's speak of Malcolm," she said, then added without conviction, "may God assoil his soul. And, as for my brother, I'll face one problem at a time."

  "Don't you fear your lord husband and Roger meeting?"

  She considered a moment, remembering them when they last faced each other in Adington's hall.

  "Worry, perhaps, but not fear. I fool myself if I think they'll ever be friends, Oliver, but I suspect they'll tolerate each other for my sake." She sighed and forced a smile. "'Tis too bad Agnes would not come to see you off."

  "Fear not, she bid me Godspeed, and my ears still ring with all of her cautions against the sins to be found in the cities." Oliver grinned. "I can't wait to see them first hand."

  Juliana chuckled and playfully slapped his arm.

  "You have all you need?"

  He patted a leather pouch, hanging at his waist. "Even a potion to ward off seasickness. Agnes threatened me with my life if I embarrassed her in the crossing by being the only knight to lose his meal."

  They cleared the short distance to his horse, and Oliver glanced to the man holding the reins. Behind the restive animal, a half dozen of Lord Richard's men waited to accompany him on the journey south to their lord.

  Juliana squinted back into the stormy horizon, scuffed her shoe in the dirt, then forced a bright face.

  "You have some time, yet, to outrun the rain."

  Oliver gave a nervous laugh. "Lord Richard says he often has business in Rouen where schools of learning and music abound."

  Then, Oliver, too, worried the dirt with the toe of his boot.

  "I've never traveled so far," he said. "Do you realize 'tis the first time you and I will ever be separated?"

  Juliana smiled, even as her eyes misted.

  "'Tis time and past. Be off with you, then." And she gave him a playful nudge toward his horse. "I expect long messages telling me of all you see and do."

  Oliver pivoted and leaned toward her, placing a warm kiss first on one cheek, then the other. His eyes glimmered with pinpoints of emerald light.

  "My thanks, Cousin. I couldn't have this without you."

  Grabbing him in a tight embrace, Juliana hugged him and committed his returning squeeze to memory.

  "Have a care and Godspeed, Oliver. I will miss you."

  He mounted his horse, and the small group turned toward the opposite road. Sunbeams sparkled a golden crown to his head, his body tall and straight in the saddle.

  Juliana's heart swelled with pride. Oliver was off on the adventure of his life, closer to his dream with every step. She waved to him, a bittersweet smile on her face.

  At the bend, he halted and signalled the men to ride on, then turned his head around toward her.

  "Of all my kin, Ana," he shouted back, "I've loved you the best. Take care Lady Adington!"

  Then he goaded his horse forward and was gone.

  Juliana spun on her heel and raced to her mount, then up to a grassy rise. There, she watched until Oliver rode out of sight and took up residence, next to Isobel, in that niche her heart reserved for cherished memories.

  A discreet cough roused her from maudlin thoughts, and she turned a sheepish smile to the men-at-arms that Costin headed.

  "You know my husband's tent?"
she said, then drew a deep breath upon receiving his affirming nod. "Then let's be off."

  With the first heavy rain drops, she nudged her mount toward the sea of pavilions... and Rhys.

  * * *

  Sending the resourceful Serle to procure a bath for him, Rhys urged his mount forward and splashed through the muddy ditches that mined the land before Percy's gates.

  "You'd think an army decided to camp here," said Alain, his warm breath frosting in the early evening air. "Look how many more have arrived since we've been away."

  Over the past two rainy days, dozens of feet and hooves had trampled the ground into a quagmire, and every hoof-clop squished a protest of such abuse.

  "Late arrivals for the wedding," grunted Rhys without enthusiasm.

  His mood soured with the weather, and the thought of pasting on a civil face to join a mob in celebration required more tact than he could muster.

  "Early or late, matters not to me, as long as women abound," chuckled Alain. "Say, you could do with a cheery wench or two. Perhaps we can persuade some prettys back--"

  "Enough," Rhys snapped, casting a sidelong glance that would send other men scurrying for cover. "You forget I have a wife."

  Alain stared in unfeigned astonishment.

  "You don't mean to hold to that term in yer marriage contract?"

  "I do."

  A low hiss sounded through Alain's teeth.

  "I thought you agreed so the lady would wed with you?"

  "Whatever my reasons," Rhys said in a tone that brooked no further discussion, "I agreed and mean to stand by my word."

  Unwilling to give over the care of his destrier to one of Percy's harried stable hands, Rhys dismounted in slippery ooze and walked his mount into the makeshift shelter where scores of other horses stood picketed.