by Julia Latham
“I do not have to know your feelings, Alex. You owe me nothing.”
“But I want you to know that I … that I understand. I am relieved to find that you did not hide yourself away, spending your days kneeling in prayer. It may be blasphemous, but I am glad you have been in the world, and perhaps known some happiness.”
She was Juliana the wise concubine as she said, “Happiness? You show your ignorance, Alex.”
His smile faded. “Does he beat you?” he demanded softly, his hands fisted, his body tense as if he’d attack Paul.
“Nay, please, nothing like that,” she quickly said, reaching to touch his arm, then stopping herself.
He noticed and dropped his gaze awkwardly.
“But I am his toy, Alex. I do what he wishes. And in return I am safe and warm and well fed. I never expected happiness, but I am content.”
“Content?” he echoed, his tone tinged with sorrow. “Is that how we dreamed of our lives when we were children, lying by the stream waiting for fish to nibble our hooks?”
She smiled at the image of such innocence; it seemed so long ago. Alex had been her one true friend, for the little girls hadn’t understood her, and the boys were the children of her father’s soldiers and servants, trained not to become too personal. They’d tolerated her on the tiltyard, with her little dagger and her wooden sword, because she was the viscount’s daughter.
But Alex … Alex had befriended her. He’d come to them homesick at eight years of age, away from his parents for the first time, and been teased by the other little boys. Juliana had understood his pain of being an outsider, and they’d become playmates, and then friends, until his parents had taken him away for good when he was fifteen.
“Juliana?”
She realized Alex was studying her with concern. She fluttered her hand. “I am simply remembering. Pay me no heed. I had a much better childhood than most, and you improved it.”
He blushed, and she wondered if he could still be so innocent.
“Alex, I need a favor.”
He glanced at Paul once more, then said resolutely, “Anything.”
She chuckled. “Nay, I do not want to be spirited away from Sir Paul. But … I told Lady Kilborn that I was the daughter of an impoverished gentleman who sold me against my will to a Frenchman before I met Sir Paul.”
His expression softened with compassion.
“I no longer use my surname. I do not wish to hide our friendship, but … would you mind not mentioning my real family?”
“Of course, Juliana! I understand you not wanting to remember such pain.”
“Yet I am of Yorkshire, and bound to meet others I know. If that happens, so be it. They’ll think the truth, that I’m lying to cover a shameful past. I do not think anyone I know would deny me that small comfort.”
“Your true parentage will be our secret,” he said sincerely. “Does Sir Paul know?”
She shook her head. “Nay, he is a man who thinks appearances are as important as a person’s worth.”
“Then he has no depth to him, Juliana. You should—”
“Don’t, Alex,” she said sharply.
He stared at her.
“My life is private, my decisions my own. You would not want anyone to gainsay you, now would you?”
His smile was reluctant, but it appeared at last. “You always were a strong woman, Juliana.”
She met his smile with one of her own. “And how are you?” she asked brightly.
“A subtle change of topic.” He shook his head in amusement. “I am well. My older brother is now the baron.”
“I did not hear that your father had died. You have my sympathy.”
He smiled. “Thank you. But save your sympathy for my brother. He is married, with three unruly children and a shrew of a wife.”
She laughed aloud, then saw several people look her way in curiosity. Tamping down her mirth, she said, “Did you not always say he deserved such a woman?”
“Aye, and he’s paying for his years of bullying me. I almost feel sorry for him.”
They both paused, and she asked the question she found herself surprisingly reluctant to vocalize. “And are you married, Alex?”
“Nay, I am not.”
Was that another blush?
“Surely, there is a lady you are interested in.”
He shrugged. “No one in particular. I am the younger brother of a baron, Juliana, and not supremely wealthy. There are better choices for young ladies.”
“Then they’re fools,” Juliana said firmly.
This time, his laughter turned heads.
Paul had seen the man approach Juliana from the beginning. Since Paul had easily managed to appear stupid and distracted all at the same time, most of the men around him surely guessed he was jealous of this stranger making his concubine smile.
And he hadn’t seen that kind of smile on Juliana in … well, perhaps never. When he’d first known her, she’d been a brave, eager young woman, still tense with hidden worry about her future. Now he’d been with her a fortnight, and he’d seen her sensual smile, her confident smile, but this stranger inspired a new softness in her, one that made his chest feel uncomfortable. It was easy to portray simmering jealousy when he suspected he felt a bit of it himself.
He shouldn’t be jealous; Juliana was focused on the mission, and somehow, she must believe that this stranger could help her.
But that smile …
He tried to distract himself with consideration of Michael’s revelation about being a Keswick knight. It made the man’s anger toward Paul perfectly understandable.
Michael was loyal to Adam, and thought Paul ungrateful and perhaps even selfish. He could not change Michael’s opinion of him—he would never explain the full truth—but at least now he understood and could even sympathize with the knight.
But Paul had a mission to perform, and it required getting to know his host and the other guests. Besides Lord Kilborn, there were a number of aristocrats present, from two dukes all the way down to several barons. Thrown into the mix were several dozen wealthy, influential knights of property. Most of the guests were from the north of England, so that did not narrow down his list of suspects.
But someone in this castle had brought Paul here for a reason; someone wanted to use him to throw the kingdom into an uproar, lure foreign invaders, and overthrow the king. Much as he could only wait to be contacted, he had the ability to study the guests and make his own deductions.
But he kept hearing Juliana laugh.
When at last he’d run out of simple things to say, and it was obvious Kilborn was growing tired of explaining things to him, he took his leave and began to move across the crowded hall.
Many couples danced to the musicians’ lively tune. Men played dice against the wall, and he saw Joseph and Michael in that crowd. Theobald stood beside the great double doors, near to Juliana, his charge, arms folded across his chest, his expression impassive. The mask was like a wall between other people and him, and Paul suspected that was the way the man preferred it. Old Roger sat before the hearth with other men his age, appearing to drink far too much.
And then he saw the stranger lean toward Juliana as if he would touch her arm. And she was still smiling that soft smile at him, and it took everything in Paul not to jerk the man away from her.
Juliana saw him coming, and her expression turned sensual for his benefit, even as he knew it was part of a facade.
“Sir Paul, you finally returned to me,” she said, tucking her hand in his elbow and briefly leaning her head against his arm.
Paul looked down at the stranger, whose height did not reach his chin. “Do I know you, sir? You and my companion seem already the best of friends.”
Juliana gave a low chuckle. “And we were. Sir Paul, may I introduce Sir Alexander Clowes. We knew each other in childhood.”
Sir Paul the Dissolute wasn’t supposed to know about her life, but the real Paul understood her message. Clowes knew the truth o
f her background. But Juliana seemed so at ease that she must not fear that Clowes would reveal her.
Then they’d had a close friendship, Paul thought, feeling again that awkward pressure in his chest, that need to hold her against him as if he owned her.
And to everyone here, he did own her, he realized. He slid his arm about her waist. “Sir Alexander, ‘tis good to meet a friend of Juliana’s. We can exchange stories about her.”
Juliana rolled her eyes. “Paul, you say such silly things. You need not know the boring details of my life.”
Paul studied Clowes. “So you two did boring things together?”
“We were but children,” Clowes said, “playing games of childhood.” He reddened, glancing between Juliana and Paul as if he didn’t know what to say.
Paul assumed the man worried about protecting her secrets, but perhaps that was not all. Had there been more between them?
“By games, do you mean helping her learn to use weapons?” Paul asked.
Clowes’s mouth dropped open, and Juliana stared at Paul, projecting shock at first, then the bemusement of the real Juliana underneath.
“I never told you that,” she breathed, fake fear quickening in her dark eyes.
“I know much about you, my little duckling,” he said, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “And now here I have the chance to learn even more.”
She gave a halfhearted smile, as if she still feared Paul’s mention of her past. “You know I’ve always answered any of your questions.”
“Aye, but ‘tis not the same as meeting someone who’s known you much longer than I have.” He elbowed Clowes. “But you haven’t known her that well, eh, Sir Alexander?”
Clowes shook his head. “She was but thirteen when I was sent home. ‘Twas a friendship we shared, nothing more,” he said firmly.
Trying to protect Juliana. Admirable, of course, but revealing.
“Glad I am to hear it,” Paul said. “Juliana, let us find a tankard of ale and listen to the minstrels. A good evening to you, Sir Alexander.”
When they retired to their bedchamber, Paul allowed Juliana to shut the door. He removed the belt at his waist, then glanced about, only to realize that Juliana had leaned back against the door to regard him.
“Looking forward to watching me disrobe?” he asked lightly.
She said nothing for a moment, her expression quizzical. “We had agreed to never mention my past. Why did you speak of it to Alex?”
“Alex, is it?” He smiled.
“We were children, so I would call him nothing else.”
“Of course, of course.” He walked slowly toward her. “But I cannot help my curiosity about you. I can hardly talk to ‘Alex’ about you if we’re pretending.”
“Why would you want to talk to him about me?” she demanded, putting a hand on his chest before he could get too close.
He had her boxed in near the door, and enjoyed the feeling of looking down on her, knowing she couldn’t retreat.
Softly, he said, “How else can I get to know the little girl who played war games with the boys?”
Juliana’s expression softened. “In truth, as I grew older, Alex was usually the only boy who would play with me. He fought the others on my behalf.”
“Did he?” Paul crossed his arms over his chest and continued to study her. “Why would he do that?”
“Because the boys began to treat me differently, and he would no longer permit me to fight my own battles.”
“Smart young man,” Paul mused. “I imagine many a maturing boy would have liked to wrestle with you.”
“I did not like how things were changing.” She pushed past him and walked farther into the chamber. “I could understand, of course. I was the lord’s daughter, and the boys were finally realizing they’d been crossing swords with someone they could marry.”
“But not Alex.”
She tilted her head as she watched him. “As I told you, we did not think of each other like that. Do you find jealousy stirring in your breast, Sir Paul?”
“Sir Paul the Dissolute certainly does. He knows he doesn’t have the brains to keep a woman such as you for long.”
“A woman such as I doesn’t require brains in her man—or so I told Alex,” she added, beginning to smile.
“He must have been very curious about our relationship.”
Though her smile didn’t fade, it became tinged with melancholy. “He understood all too well. He thought I’d gone to a nunnery.”
Paul wanted to wince, but knew she hated pity. “Would he have preferred that?”
“Strangely enough, nay. He said he was glad I wasn’t shut away, that I was out in the world with a chance at happiness.” She shook her head ruefully.
“Juliana the Concubine would not admit to that.”
“Nay, she would not. She is in the profession of serving you—Sir Paul the Dissolute, that is.”
“Serving me,” he repeated, dragging the words out.
“I believe I already served you today,” she said, picking up her night rail.
“You did not finish,” he reminded her.
“I offered to finish bathing you,” she said sweetly.
“And you know that’s not my meaning.”
He wished he could push aside the screen to watch her. He heard the splash of water into a basin, and knew Michael must have been here to prepare for them. Michael was behaving appropriately for his character as manservant—Paul found it too easy to behave exactly as his own character would. Juliana was a woman he desired—an experienced woman, who’d already given herself to a man.
He pulled off his tunic and hose, dragging on a thin pair of breeches to sleep in. He opened the shutters to let in the night air, feeling overly warm—overly aroused. But he could be patient.
He’d been saying that to himself for days now, he thought ruefully.
Juliana heard the door softly open, and she snapped to alertness from a deep sleep. She pulled her dagger from beneath her pillow, knew Paul was doing the same.
Her fellow Bladesmen would have heard the footsteps in the corridor, were monitoring who came and went. They’d allowed this person to pass.
In the dimness of the chamber, she saw only one man, a dark silhouette. Instead of approaching the bed, he set something on the table, then pulled the cover off to reveal a lantern.
Quickly, she undid the laces at her neck, let the dressing gown and robe reveal her shoulder. She had to hide the fact that she’d worn a dressing gown to bed. Giving a little gasp, she half sat up. “Paul?” she cried, then realized that her thin garments had fallen so much they revealed the upper curve of her breast. She didn’t cover herself.
“I am not here to hurt you,” the man said in a quiet, impassive voice.
Paul scrambled over the top of her, standing in front of the bed as if he were partially shielding her. “I know you not, sir. Do you have the wrong lodgings?”
The man remained in front of the lamp, which kept his face in the shadows. “I do not, Sir Paul.”
“You know my name, but I know not yours.”
“My name is not important, and neither is yours. You will soon be pretending ‘tis a false one, regardless.”
Paul said nothing for a moment. “Speak freely, for my companion knows of the bargain I made that put us in too much danger.”
“You made the bargain, Sir Paul.” His voice took on a dangerous edge. “We agreed to cancel your debts and pay you more besides. And now I hear you are threatening to leave.”
Sitting up, Juliana held the coverlet to her breasts, and kept her breathing loud and full of fright, as she looked back and forth between the two men in worried confusion.
“No threat, sir, but a statement of fact,” Paul said. “I was promised there would be no danger to myself—and we were attacked on the road!”
“By highwaymen,” the man said dismissively. “They are everywhere, and if your men could not handle them, ‘tis not our fault.”
“I am
here, without a scratch upon my person,” Paul insisted. “My men acquitted themselves well. But that is not the point. I thought I would be playing a part for you, an amusement, and now—”
“You are not so much the fool,” the man interrupted impatiently. “You know ‘tis no amusement we are about, not for what we are paying you.”
“Then tell me!” Paul demanded.
“Keep your voice down!” the man commanded in a low, threatening voice. He moved toward the door, head bent as if listening.
Juliana squinted her eyes, trying to see his face, but he was too good at hiding it.
“You know the truth, Sir Paul,” the man said with sarcasm. “You made yourself quite visible at every major town between here and London, spending money and showing your fine clothing, all while not saying your surname. ‘From Flanders’ I heard—as if many do not know what that means, or who might be backing you.”
Paul said nothing.
“You know that your features resemble the boy king and his brother. You know that desperate men will take great chances to right the wrongs done to our country.”
Juliana let herself gape at the man in confusion.
“You have offered yourself up, and we intend to use you. Change your mind, and suffer the consequences as you’re tossed in debtor’s prison—and that would be only if you were lucky. Right now, you live because we protect you. Go to prison, and you’re on your own.”
Paul remained stiff with tension at the center of the chamber. “What do you want me to do?”
“Wait. Make yourself visible, as you’ve been doing, but reveal nothing. Be a mystery—which means keep your mouth shut. We begin to question whether you can do that.”
“I can do what I have to,” he said heavily.
The man covered the lantern again, and the chamber went dark. “We will contact you soon,” were his parting words.
Then the door shut behind him.
Chapter 13
Paul lit a candle from the embers of the near dead fire, and turned to face Juliana. Her hair was disheveled, her shoulder bare as if they’d just finished bed sport.