by Julia Latham
After a valet came with water, she quickly washed and dressed for the day’s journey. Paul returned before the rest of the Bladesmen, hair and skin damp. He ducked behind the screen and soon emerged as a pampered, wealthy man; even his traveling cloak was of the finest fabric.
And then the other Bladesmen arrived, crowding into their chamber. She liked the feeling of being among men, the camaraderie, the easy way of their conversation. Old Roger gave her a wink as if it were a call of good morning. Some of the others nodded and looked away too quickly. She felt a moment’s unease, wondering if Michael had said something about her, but then she banished it. He would not be so dishonorable.
Their meeting was brief, as Timothy quietly said he’d had confirmation that word of Paul’s arrival in London had gone north with messengers. The first part of their plan had been a success. And then when he was seen to leave London quickly, many would wonder about his intentions.
Timothy looked at Paul, who lounged against the door with lazy elegance. “Your work in the tavern yesterday eve had the correct spirit.”
Paul’s nod was his only acknowledgment of the compliment. Juliana watched him with curiosity, then looked back at Timothy, who met her gaze.
“Juliana, do you have any concerns so far?”
“Only one, sir. Am I to play my part throughout the journey, or only when we’re in public?”
“On the journey as well. We shall take no chances.”
As they rode through London, the overcast day grew occasionally misty, not enough to soak through Juliana’s garments, but enough to be uncomfortable. By the time they reached the countryside, the rain was coming down in earnest. Old Roger took the first duty as scurrier, roving ahead of their party to check for problems down the road. Michael fell back to guard their rear.
The road had briefly narrowed as they forded a small stream, and to her surprise, when they’d paired up again, Timothy chose to ride at her side. She saw Paul pull up, his expression unreadable even as he slid into line beside Theobald, who guarded her back.
“And how are you, Juliana?” Timothy asked softly.
His look of concern made her uneasy. “Well, sir. Do I seem otherwise to you?”
“Now, now, you do not need to be defensive with me. ‘Tis my duty to be watchful of my young Bladesmen—and Bladeswomen.”
But he wasn’t asking anyone else how they were coping.
Timothy glanced up at the sky from beneath his hood, eyes narrowing as the rain lightly splashed his face. She waited patiently, knowing he was trying to find a way to say something he considered important.
“You did not take offense at Paul’s behavior in the tavern?” he finally asked.
She glanced at him in surprise. “Behavior, sir? I felt he was playing the part of his character well. Why should I have cause to complain?”
“Do not misunderstand me, Juliana. You have never been one who complains. But … this is a new situation for you.”
“And I will meet it as I do all others, to the best of my ability.”
“Even sharing a bed?” he asked.
“And what else did Michael say?” She kept her tone impassive.
“I knew how this would look, Juliana. I knew the risks you would be taking, closest to Paul in any danger, the last guard before an assassin can reach him.”
That mollified her. “‘Tis important that we give no one cause to think Paul not what he seems. I will not risk that.”
“There are not many who would be as dedicated as you.”
“Timothy, I mean not to sound defensive, but we’re all taking the same risk. I simply happen to be a woman. But I am not your daughter, and you do not need to worry about me. I made my decision to accept this assignment to protect the Crown. ‘Tis an honor, regardless of what I have to do.”
He smiled at her, shaking his head. “‘Tis a difficult lot you face, always being with men who try to protect you.”
“As long as we all protect each other, then I will be content.”
Riding behind Juliana, Paul could not hear the conversation she was having with Timothy. It was just as well. The countryside was a gray blur in the rain, fields separated by hedgerows, the occasional village clustered about a stream in the distance.
He felt solitary, even among the Bladesmen. There was always a faint sense of distance, for they knew he was reluctant to be with them, reluctant about the League. They could not befriend him if they wanted to, for that was not their role.
Surprisingly, Theobald was the easiest companion. There was no sense of condemnation or disapproval. With his mask a part of him, he was a man at ease with himself and his place in life.
Paul had thought the same of himself until he’d returned to England and realized how much he’d missed his brothers, the only family he’d ever known. He had thought he would return directly to France when this was over, but now didn’t know.
It was a long, damp day, and they were all glad to reach an inn that night in Ware, instead of camping in the open. A valet started a fire when he showed them to their lodgings, and if the room was smaller, including the bed, it did not matter.
He and Juliana took off their wet cloaks, then stood side by side before the fire, letting the heat sink in to their damp clothing. She gave a little shudder, rubbing her hands together.
“We need to get out of these garments,” he said.
And then he realized there was no changing screen, and saw that she did, too.
“I have to speak to Timothy,” he said.
She eyed him. “You are being too gentlemanly for a man who is supposed to be vain and self-important.”
“Are you talking about the real Sir Paul?”
She smiled then, something he’d seen little of since their taunting of each other just two days before.
“I am trapped here regardless of your behavior,” she said.
He wanted to tease her, but he’d watched her too much today. “You never complain, do you?” he said.
Her smile faded. “You expected me to?”
“Nay, not you. I knew your bravery from the moment we met. You chose the League, when by now you could have been married with your own family, regardless of the death of your parents.” It was all he’d known of her past. He’d been warned that she was an orphan, that it would hurt her to speak of it. “Surely there is someone you can return to, some way to escape their hold on you. You are practically their prisoner.”
“Their prisoner?” she echoed wryly. “Paul, you make it sound like the worst of prisons to be one of the League. But they saved me when everyone else refused to take me in.”
“Refused—” He broke off. This was a part of her story he’d never heard before. He felt the need to go forward gently, to find a truth about her background that made her so willing to be loyal, to live a life unlike other women. “Why would anyone refuse to shelter you? Your parents had just died.”
She turned back to the flames, her dark eyes flickering with the light. “You do not understand,” she said softly. “No one would take me in, but for the League. My father had been accused of treason.”
Paul felt the first stirrings of uneasiness, of recognition. “Treason?”
“He was innocent, but the king’s men arrested him anyway. He died in the Tower before even being brought to trial. Another prisoner took his life.”
“So he was never cleared,” Paul said slowly, his mind whirling with the truth of it.
“But I know he was innocent. I knew everything about him, and although we’d grown apart as I’d matured, that had nothing to do with my understanding of his loyalty. Grief over his arrest nearly destroyed my mother; I had a difficult time even making her eat or sleep, as if she couldn’t even care for herself. When she heard of his death, I thought her weakened heart gave up rather than go on.”
Leaving her only child alone, Paul thought in bitterness.
“I cannot blame my mother’s relatives for refusing us—we were a scandal, outcasts. And then I w
as alone, soon to be destitute. The League found me, Paul,” she said, looking up at him with shining eyes. “They saved me from a life of poverty, gave me a purpose when no one else would bother with me, when I was a burden on our servants, who wanted to risk themselves to keep me safe.”
She didn’t know the truth, he thought, feeling dazed.
“I am doing more with my life than I ever thought possible. They saved me,” she repeated, “and in return, I’m helping them save others. I do not understand how you can’t see that.”
He was now certain that he knew the story of her father—it was surely the same one he’d overheard the League discuss, just months after she arrived. That was why the League had taken her in—they’d ruined her father’s life with a false accusation of treason, all to further another Bladesman’s mission.
Chapter 5
Viscount Gresham, Paul remembered. The name of Juliana’s father had been burned into his brain after he’d overheard the Council of Elders—and Timothy—discussing their regret that the man had suffered, that he’d died under a traitor’s disgrace. Paul hadn’t been able to remain with a League that used whatever methods necessary to further their cause. Aye, the king was saved, but the cost had been great—too great, he knew, looking into Juliana’s cool eyes.
Timothy had been involved in the Gresham case, just as he’d handed over three orphaned brothers. Paul felt sick with anger and frustration. The king had taken everything away from Juliana’s family—land, money, reputation—and the League had welcomed her to the fortress to hide their part in it. Now they were using her just as they’d used Paul and his brothers.
The League was all she had, and she was happy with them and proud of her accomplishments. She fully believed they’d given her purpose. It would destroy her to know what her supposed benefactors had done, how they’d assuaged their own guilt by housing her.
How could he tell her the truth? Or should it remain a secret, as the League obviously preferred? He would eventually have to make a decision. There was no one else who cared as much as he did—as Juliana did. King Edward was dead; there would be no repercussions if the truth came out about treason against him.
“I am not convincing you, am I?” she said with obvious regret.
“Convincing me of what?” He’d lost all track of their conversation.
“That I want to be here, that I see the goodness of the League. Why do you not? They took you in, the same as they did me. I always felt we had a bond because of that. They protected you.”
He stalked away from her and pulled his damp tunic off over his head. “We were three small boys given no choice in the matter.”
“But your parents had been murdered—you told me the murderer hadn’t been caught. Who else could protect you so well?”
He thought of Timothy, and the foolish ache he used to feel when his foster father had to return to his real life, leaving them behind with the League.
“If it had simply been protection, I would have understood it better, but it wasn’t.”
“Then what was it, Paul?” she demanded. “Tell me.”
He looked at her, at her damp, straggling hair, at the earnestness in her face, at her belief in the League’s very goodness.
And he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t burden her with the truth, didn’t want to see her dawning understanding, her pity. He hated pity.
He began to take his shirt off instead of answering. The linen stuck to his cold, damp flesh, and by the time he’d drawn it over his head, he caught her staring at his bare chest. Again, he waited for her blush, for a maidenly protest, but none were forthcoming.
Roughly, he said, “Turn your back, and I will change.”
She did so, but said over her shoulder, “This is not finished, Paul. We will be together many weeks. You should talk to me.”
“And speak of things that have nothing to do with our mission? I’m surprised at you, Juliana.”
He stripped down to his braies, the thin, short undergarment about his hips. It felt very arousing to disrobe behind a woman he didn’t plan to sleep with the same night. He was more and more convinced she wasn’t an innocent, and that was another sin to lay at the League’s door.
Yet, he could not regret her knowledge, the choices she’d made as an adult.
She stood near the table, where fresh linens had been piled. He walked up behind her and reached past her shoulder, just brushing her with his arm. She didn’t flinch, only glanced up at his face.
“I need a towel,” he said softly.
“You are taking your time,” she answered. “I am wet, too.”
He paused, closing his eyes, savoring her words as if they meant something altogether different.
Though it pained him, he remained behind her back to dress. “I’ll stand outside the door while you—”
“Nay, Paul.”
She turned around while he was still shirtless, but to his regret, she kept her gaze on his face.
“We’ve left London. You must stay with me at all times.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “All the time, Juliana?” He glanced pointedly at the closed chamber pot in the corner.
At last he’d coaxed a reaction out of her, as her face flamed red.
“Oh.”
He went to the wall adjoining several of the Bladesmen. He rapped three times, paused, then did it once more.
“What are you doing?”
“I chatted with Joseph today, and he expressed his concern about you. I suggested a system to give you privacy, and to give you peace about your assignment as well.”
There was a knock on the door, and then Joseph leaned his head in. “You called, Sir Paul?”
“I’ll be out in a moment.”
After the door had shut, Juliana was watching him, a smile tugging the corners of her lips.
“Very thoughtful of you,” she said. “I believe you are trying to win your way into my good graces.”
Into your bed, he thought, then chastised himself. But he could torment himself by playing the lady’s maid, if he couldn’t seduce her. He caught her by the shoulders and turned her away from him. Gathering the thick mass of her hair in his hands, he draped it over her shoulder, out of his way.
“What—”
“Your laces are damp. Surely they will not be easy to untie.”
She didn’t even stiffen, simply stood there while he tugged at her garments, slowly pulling the laces apart, revealing the softness of her smock. It, too, was damp and clung to her. Every inch downward, her torso narrowed, and her spine curved inward, leading him slowly but surely toward the swell of her buttocks.
He reached the last of the laces, and he couldn’t move, though he told himself to. His hands spread out until he rested them on her waist. He could hear her breathing, even above his own heartbeat, which thundered in his chest, in his ears. His thumbs stroked her spine as he lowered his head. He could smell the damp sweetness of her skin at her bare neck. When he was but an inch from pressing a kiss to her flesh, forgetting himself, she suddenly stepped away from him.
“My thanks, Paul,” she said, her voice showing no sign that he’d affected her at all. “I believe Joseph is waiting for you.”
He was relieved to escape before doing something he’d regret.
When Paul had gone, Juliana’s entire body sagged, shuddering, as she closed her eyes. Her skin still seemed to tingle, to hum, where he’d touched her.
What was wrong with her? Many men had touched her, adjusting her position with the bow, demonstrating grappling techniques. She’d rolled around on the ground with men, for God’s sake. Yet … all Paul had to do was span her waist with his large hands, making her feel so delicate, so feminine, and she’d turned into mush.
She liked these feelings too much—and she despised herself for them. Having always thought of herself as a strong person, mere days with Paul were showing her otherwise.
She was forced to gather herself together when some one knocked on the door, but
didn’t identify themselves in the League manner. She slid her dagger out of her boot, and positioned herself against the wall, calling, “Aye, who goes there?”
A woman’s voice said, “Servants, milady, with the bath yer lordship ordered.”
They hadn’t used titles, but Paul’s very demeanor made all think him of the nobility. And now he was proving himself a thoughtful gentleman—for show or in reality? She didn’t know or care.
“Enter.”
She remained near to the door, the dagger hidden in her skirts, her unlaced back against the wall. Carrying two steaming buckets, a woman entered first, and two valets came behind, with a padded, wooden bathing tub between them. Juliana relaxed her tense stance and tried not to stare greedily at the tub. They made two more trips with water and clean linens, and then she was alone, stripping her garments off and sinking into the unbearably hot water.
It was delicious, stinging and cleansing all at once. She groaned aloud, closing her eyes, wishing she could submerge herself all the way, but the tub was too small for that. And she couldn’t afford to take her time, either, for Paul would return soon enough.
She silently blessed him while she scrubbed the day’s travel from her body. After lathering the soft soap into her hair, she stood up and poured the last bucket of fresh water over her head, letting it sluice away all the soap. Regretfully, she stepped out of the tub and dried herself with the linens, donning a fresh night rail and the dressing gown. Soon her dirty garments were laundered and hung on chairs before the fire. It wasn’t a thorough cleaning, but it was better than washing them in a stream, as she might be doing soon enough. She even went through Paul’s bags and washed his laundry, too.
When he returned, she smiled at him as he closed the door.
“Your thoughtfulness was appreciated,” she said, from her place before the fire, where she combed through her hair to dry it.
“Selfishness, you mean.” He set down the steaming bucket he’d carried in, then gave a shiver as he began to disrobe.