Beloved Warrior (39 page)

Before he said anything more he would regret, he mounted again and turned his horse back toward Hartlepool. He did not look back again. He knew he would be tempted to lift her back on the horse and carry her away.

But he was slowly learning what his brothers already had learned about their wives. If you loved, you had to trust.

 
THE sun was beginning to fall when Juliana and Diego were offered a ride to the castle from a farmer taking produce there. Juliana’s legs ached. She was hungry, thirsty and tired.

Once at the gates, guards questioned them as to their business. Their faces openly doubted the story they heard and they were about to tell them to leave when one hesitated. “’Tis strange enough to be true,” he told the others. “I was told to expect a ship carrying the viscount’s new bride.”

“Is the viscount in residence?” Juliana asked.

“Nay, miss, though he is expected.” He peered through the dust and grime at her, then made a decision. “Come wi’ me,” he said.

She limped to the door of the castle, Diego strolling alongside as if he had not walked several leagues. They were placed in a room opposite the great hall.

Minutes later she was ushered up circular stone stairs to a richly furnished chamber. And old man sat in a chair overlooking the bay.

“The Earl of Chadwick,” a tall, thin man announced. He then stopped, not knowing exactly how to introduce the two newcomers.

Juliana went over to the older man and curtsied to him, then knelt beside him. A blanket sat over his lap and his face was pale, his eyes watery. His beard did not look well kempt and his lips were turned down in a frown.

“I am Juliana Mendoza,” she said. “I . . . our ship sank down the coast. My uncle and most of the hands died. I have been trying to make my way here for the past fortnight. No one . . . believed us or would offer assistance.”

Blue eyes studied her coldly. “An unlikely tale. Do you have proof of what you’ve just said?”

“No. The storm came at night. I had put my jewelry in a box. I did not think about grabbing it when the mast came down and the ship started to roll.” She hesitated, then plunged on. “My father is Luis Mendoza. My mother is Marianne Hartford. I believe she is a cousin of yours. She told me about coming here and playing with Garrett and Harry.”

His gaze suddenly sharpened and he leaned forward. “Your mother? What does she look like?”

“Her hair is lighter than mine, her eyes strikingly blue. I always wanted mine to be that color.”

“And the ship?”

“The
Sofia
.”

“Who else, girl? Who else survived?”

“A sailor, Diego. I do not know of anyone else. He dragged me out of the water with some injury to himself and brought me here. I said I would try to see he was rewarded.”

His eyes studied her for a moment, then he gestured to the servant who had brought her in. “Gibbs, there is a miniature portrait on my table. Bring it to me.”

Gibbs quickly found it, and the earl studied it, then looked at her. “Jesu, you are Juliana.” His gaze went over the torn and faded gown.

“My dress was ruined,” she said. “Diego had a few coins in his pocket and bought this from a fisherman’s wife.

“The dowry?”

“Gone with the ship. But my father certainly will reimburse you.”

The earl frowned, then put a hand on her head. “Gibbs, you and Margaret must find some clothes and prepare a bath and food for this child.” He turned back to her. “My son should be arriving any time now. He will be delighted at your deliverance.”

Juliana wasn’t sure of that, but at least she’d passed the first step.

“And bring that Spanish sailor to me. I would have words with him.”

Gibbs left, leaving her alone with the earl. He gazed forlornly out his window toward the sea. She took the opportunity to look around his chamber. The bed was huge, and it dominated the room. His chair was pulled in front of the window and there was an elaborately carved table and chairs near the large stone fireplace. One large portrait dominated the wall across from his bed. It was of a beautiful woman with dark hair and solemn expression. She sat on a divan with two boys of twelve to fourteen years. One had a lean hawklike look with his mother’s coloring. The other had brown hair, merry eyes and a broad smile. She felt a stir of recognition.

“Who is in the painting?” she asked.

“My sons. They were the only ones of six who survived. The dark one is Harry. The other is . . . was . . . Garrett, my oldest son. He died two years ago.” His eyes clouded.

“Do you have any other portraits of them?”

“There is one of Garrett at twenty. It is in the hall. I fear I have delayed commissioning one with Harry.” He bowed his head and she saw grief in the lines of his face.

“Thank you for welcoming me.”

“I could do no less for Marianne’s daughter,” he said. “Gibbs will take you to your chamber. Margaret, my house-keeper, will take care of you. We will talk more later.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“It will be good to have a woman back in the castle,” he said. “And children soon, I pray.”

She followed Gibbs out, hoping that Diego was also receiving a fine welcome. She looked at the paintings in the hall and halted at one.

Stunned, she could not move for a second. Or three.

Gibbs had gone ahead of her. “Gibbs,” she said. “Is this one of the earl’s sons?”

“Aye, that is Garrett.”

A chill raced up her spine as she stood looking at a portrait of Denny!

AFTER taking a wonderfully scented bath, Juliana dressed for the evening meal. One maid washed her hair while others rushed in with gowns for her approval.

Had the situation not been so dire, she would have relished every moment. But as it was, she only wanted to see this finished. As Patrick had noted, she was not a practiced liar. She hated deception, and now everything was a lie.

She had not seen Diego since they arrived. She understood that he had been welcomed, given clothes and a bed with the earl’s soldiers.

The earl was sitting in his place at the head of a long table filled with soldiers and their ladies when she arrived. He held out his hand for her to sit beside him. His eyes were warm, and his smile welcoming.

“You look lovely, my dear,” he said in a tone that led her to believe he did not really think that had been a possibility.

“Is there any word from Viscount Kingsley?” she asked.
Please sweet mother in heaven let him dally several more days
.

“Nay, but he should be here soon. I summoned him nearly a fortnight ago. I understand he had urgent business with the Queen Dowager.”

She wanted to tell him that his son had said he was leaving days ago, the same time Patrick had left. He was not hurrying to her side.

Diego entered the great hall and sat at the end of the table. He was dressed now in new English clothes. Breeches, woolen shirt and doublet. He wore the same cocky grin.

She ate several bites, then asked innocently, “I know little of my husband to be.”

The earl stiffened, then said, “King Henry thinks well of him. He has been successful in business.”

A damning description with its omissions.

“And his brother? Garrett? My mother talked of him often. What happened?”

“He and Harry went to Castile for an audience with the king. We wanted to obtain rights to ports in Spain. I had written to the Mendoza family and they had suggested a marriage as well as a partnership. They could use our ports, and we theirs, but we needed approval from King Ferdinand.

“After the audience, they journeyed to La Coruna. Ferdinand had signaled his favor. Garrett was going to offer for marriage. On the way, they were attacked by bandits. Moors. Harry and his man were wounded but managed to escape. Garrett was killed, his body burned.”

He paused, then added, “My wife died shortly after. I believe it was from grief. Garrett was everything you would want in a son. Honorable. Brave. Just.”

“But you have Harry.”

He nodded. “He has tried hard to live up to his brother. Now tell me about your mother. She had so much spirit and laughter.”

She hurt inside even as she saw something in the earl’s face. A sadness.

She could not tell the truth. Not yet.

“She is well,” she said, refraining from saying her mother had been drained of that spirit and laughter.

And now all she wanted to do was see Diego and tell him about Garrett. The dead son. He probably had not seen the portrait.

She excused herself then. “I am very tired,” she said. She reached out and placed her hand on his. “Thank you for making me welcome.” She hesitated. “I have one request.”

“It will be granted,” he said.

“Diego. The sailor who saved me. He would like to return to Spain and he needs a mount to reach London and money for the voyage. Like me, he lost everything in the storm. I will see that you are repaid.”

The wrinkled face creased into a smile. “An easy request. Tell him to come to my chamber later.”

She left then, stopping first at the end of the table. “Sir,” she said to Diego. “I would have a word with you.”

Diego stepped away from the table and followed her out into the courtyard. She had no cloak with her, and she shivered.

“What is it?” he asked.

“There is a portrait of his dead son inside,” she said. “It is Denny. I would swear to it, though he was much younger then.”

For one of the few times since she had known him, he looked surprised.

“According to the earl, his name is Garrett. He was killed in Spain by bandits. Kingsley just barely escaped.”

A smile spread over his face. “We shall bring him back to life. I always fancied being a deity.”

“It should be before the viscount returns. I asked the earl to provide you with a mount.”

“I will ride like the wind.”

“The earl also wishes to reward you. He is expecting you in his chamber after the meal. You can see the portrait of his wife and two sons there. There is another portrait in the hall to the left.”

“I am impressed, senorita.”

“I will be impressed only when he arrives here,” she said. “As soon as possible.”

 
 
D
IEGO rode as fast as he could without killing the mount the earl had given him as a reward. He went directly to the inn in Hartlepool.

Rory had arrived earlier with an elaborate silver bowl, and he sat in Patrick’s room at the inn, drinking a cup of wine.

“I hope the bowl was not too costly,” Diego said. “I do not think it will be used.”

Patrick speared him with a look. “No more riddles, Diego. How is Juliana? Has Kingsley arrived yet?”

“Juliana is fine. Kingsley has not arrived. Yet.” He paused. “You have not heard from Jamie or Denny yet?”

“Nay, but they should be here soon. They had a more difficult route.”

Amusement played in Diego’s eyes, and Patrick had to restrain himself. He wanted to know about Juliana’s reception. Exactly what had happened.

“The Earl of Chadwick was enchanted with Juliana, as we all are,” Diego said. “He told her all about his oldest son. The one that died. He showed her his portrait.”

Patrick could barely restrain his impatience.

“He died in Spain,” Diego continued. “He and his loving brother were attacked by bandits. Lucky Harry and his servant escaped.”

Patrick was beginning to understand. “They killed Garrett?”

“Apparently they tried.”

Diego was probably the most maddening person Patrick had ever met, but he was actually beginning to grasp what Diego was saying. “He is alive?”

Patrick shot a glance toward Rory, who was absolutely still.

“Juliana recognized the portrait,” Patrick said.

“She does not know that many people.”

“No.”

“Denny!” Patrick continued. It was a statement, no longer a question.

Patrick exchanged glances with Rory. “We mentioned Kingsley many times in front of Denny. He showed no reaction, though Juliana said he seemed to recognize something on the map.”

“Maybe he does not wish to remember,” Rory broke in. “When Lachlan lost his memory, he wanted to remember and even then it took months for it to come back.”

“If his brother tried to kill him, then sentenced him to that hell . . .” Patrick said softly.

“We have to find him and get him to his father before Kingsley appears,” Rory said.

Patrick shook his head. “Mayhap the earl will not want him now.”

“I think he would,” Diego said slowly. “Juliana said he talks about Garrett in a different way than he does Harry.”

Rory grabbed his saddlebags. “I’m going to take the road to Carlisle. Mayhap we can find him.”

Patrick wanted to do the same. God’s blood but he should have brought Denny with them. But he’d watched Denny with Jamie and knew he’d come to trust the Campbell. He thought it best that Denny learn to trust others, and he did not want any of them riding alone. There were too many reivers and bandits along the border. If nothing else, Denny could fight.

“Take one of the hobblers,” Patrick said. “They will last longer.”

Rory nodded.

After he left, Patrick stared at Diego. “Can you go back?”

He nodded. “Aye. I seem to have the worst of luck. My ship sinks. My horse goes lame.”

Patrick smiled. “You wear hard on people and animals.”

“A talent.”

PATRICK hated being left behind. He hated staying in the room at the inn, but he had built a very carefully crafted story. He told everyone his wife was still in the room but did not want to see anyone. No servant was allowed inside. After that first night, food was left outside the door.

There were no objections. The word pox incurred such fear and dread that no one wanted to be even near someone afflicted. But it also meant he could not leave.