Castles in the Air (14 page)

“As you are every daughter-in-law’s nightmare,”
Raymond answered, disengaging himself from the tangle of arms that clung like tentacles.

Isabel sputtered, surprised for once, but Raymond didn’t pause to savor his victory. It had become important to reach Juliana’s side, to protect her from these manipulating monsters who called themselves his parents.

“Wait, son!”

Raymond stopped with his back to his parents. “Father?”

“We have a little gift for you.”

A little bribe, more like. Swivelling on his heel, Raymond murmured, “Indeed?”

Geoffroi thrust a heavy purse into Raymond’s hand with barely a wince. “’Twill buy you a handsome outfit. You haven’t been appearing before the king like that, have you?”

Spreading his arms wide, Raymond glanced down at himself, then cast an amused glance at his parents. “Not good for the family?” he mocked.

The derision missed Geoffroi. “The king might not approve. But the purse is filled with gold.” His gaze lingered on the leather pouch. “Buy what you need.”

Raymond balanced the purse. “Gold,” he repeated. Gold, they thought, would erase his memory of past injustices and render him more amenable to their schemes. “I’ll keep the gold—and buy Juliana a marriage gift.” Ignoring their sputtering dismay, he indicated the wooden stairs that led to the second story which housed the great hall.

“Primitive.” Geoffroi snorted. “Primitive.”

Ignoring both his father’s comment and his mother’s curled lip, Raymond held the stairs steady as his parents climbed. When they stood perched on the landing, eyeing the unrailed space around them, Raymond
bounded up. In an unkind grip, he held their arms and warned, “You’ll not hurt Juliana, or you’ll be dusting the dirt of the road off your rumps.”

Beneath his hand, Geoffroi’s pectorals tightened. “Now see here, boy—”

“I am not a boy.” Raymond looked at his father’s face, so similar to his own. “I’m not as heartless, or as treacherous, or as cunning as you.” Geoffroi tried to interrupt, but Raymond raised his chin and Geoffroi stopped. “But I could be. I had, after all, the best tutors.”

“Ah, Raymond.” Isabel sounded unutterably sad, but a slight shake of Geoffroi’s head halted her.

He sounded gruff and sincere when he said, “Our son’s right,
ma cherie
. We’ve been dreadful parents, and if this lady is the wife he wants, why, we should help his suit in every way.”

By which he meant, Raymond supposed, that they would have to sneak around to perform their dirty deeds. He didn’t care. He’d surrounded Juliana with a cushion of devotion, and during those few times he would have to leave her side, his dear witches were more than a match for his parents. With a chilly smile, he opened the door and led them down the dark passage. “Juliana is a woman without guile. Her voice is ever low, her smile sweet and soft.”

A shriek cut off his recital, and Raymond stopped to listen.

“What was that?” Isabel asked.

“One of my new daughters, possibly, playing with her puppy.” He moved on, hugging his delight in his heart. “Did you know you were now a grandmother, Mother?”

From behind, a choking sound rewarded him. He’d stabbed her vanity—surely a major wound. Bland as
new-cream pudding, he continued his lecture. “Juliana is gentle and kind. Wherever she goes, birds sing.” Another shout echoed off the stones, closer this time. “Flowers blossom.” He quickened his step. “The sun shines.” This shout sounded angry. Raymond broke into a run and burst into the great hall.

Across the room, Juliana fought with a red-faced Felix. Raymond leaped toward her, but too late. With one mighty swing of her arm, she brought her open palm up under Felix’s nose. Cartilage crunched, blood spurted.

Felix screamed and doubled over.

Gaping stupidly, Raymond stared at his bride as she cried, “Never touch me again, or not even your dog will recognize you!”

From behind Raymond came the encouraged voices of his parents.

“Gentle and kind?” Isabel cooed.

“Sweet and soft?” Geoffroi chuckled. “How like you, son, to describe your Valkyrie as a saint.”

Juliana heard the voices. She didn’t understand, or care. She could only stare at Felix, who screamed imprecations while the blood from his nose seeped between his fingers. Lifting her hands, she stared at them. They trembled. Bruised by the force of her blow, one throbbed to the beat of her heart.

Felix straightened, and his reddened eyes bulged as if he couldn’t comprehend that she had been the instrument of his defeat.

She almost said, “I’m sorry,” but she would have been lying. She was sorry he was hurt, but not sorry she had done it. Someone should have done it years ago.

She should have done it years ago.

A roar filled her ears. She was shoved back; she
realized Felix had sprung at her. Dagna caught him. Valeska joined the wrestling pair. Hugh arrived. They took hold of Felix, subdued him, sat on him. The women shouted words Juliana couldn’t understand. Hugh’s bass boomed, “Let me see it.” They grappled with Felix, and Juliana’s hysterical laugh bubbled up.

Felix feared to have them touch his nose.

Juliana wanted to snicker at his absurdity.

She wanted to cry at her own cowardice and laugh at her own bravery.

She felt sick, yet at the same time a sense of wonder gripped her.

She had defeated Felix.

She wanted to savor her victory, but her stomach churned. Closing her eyes, she held her breath. Someone caught at her. She opened her eyes—Raymond. Raymond, looking intense and questioning. Raymond—oh, God, she didn’t want to vomit on Raymond. Pushing him aside, she headed outdoors. Another man veered into her path; she stepped aside to avoid him, but his face shocked her into temporary sanity.

It was Raymond’s face. Raymond’s face worn by an older man. Raymond’s face with cold brown eyes. That was too much. With a wail, she fled the great hall.

“
You can’t throw
Felix out. He can’t ride with a broken nose.”

Raymond ignored Juliana’s tug on his arm. “He doesn’t sit on his nose.”

Digging her heels into the reeds that littered the floor, she slowed his angry march. “Felix is harmless.”

He turned fiercely on his betrothed. “Then why did you hit him?”

“Oh…” She shuffled her feet and gazed at the beamed ceiling of the great hall. “Just to prove I could, I suppose.”

“Prove to whom?”

She thought about that. “To me.”

Something about her—her breathless glow, her amazement—softened him, and he bolstered his ire. “Then let me prove I can hit him, too.”

“’Tis unnecessary. I struck him in his weakest place.”

“His nose?”

She grinned. “His vanity.”

He laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Bold woman, how you delight me.”

Geoffroi agreed. “Bold indeed. To think you called her sweet and soft. I had forgotten your droll humor.”

“Not Raymond, my dear,” Isabel said. “He has no humor. He’s depressingly earnest.”

Raymond stiffened. Ever since their arrival this very afternoon, his parents had been shamelessly eavesdropping, poking and prodding at him and at Juliana like warriors circling to break a siege.

Juliana had been all that was gracious.

He had not. Juliana pushed him down onto a bench by the fire. “Let me get you some wine, my lord. ’Twill relax you.”

“I don’t want to relax. I want to show that twitching, moaning gazob what happens when he treats my woman poorly.”

His voice rose, and she rubbed his shoulders. “I already showed him.”

“Why did you show him?” he demanded. “Did he advise you against marrying me?”

Her startled expression answered him. He leaped to his feet and started toward the prostrate Felix, but Juliana caught him before he reached Felix’s pallet. “Aren’t you pleased with my response? Once I would have agreed I should not wed you.”

He looked down at her, all rumpled and pleading, and his fury gave way to her wiles once more. “Aye, once you would have agreed. Have you then changed your mind about wedding the king’s choice?”

“Did she pretend she didn’t want you to whet your appetite?” Isabel asked.

“I’ve had the devil’s own time convincing Juliana to wed me.” Raymond snarled. “And now she’s met my kinsfolk, she’ll be doubly reluctant.”

Isabel tittered. “How naive you are, son.” To her
maid, she said, “Set up my embroidery frame here, close to the fire. There are drafts in this keep. You should put up tapestries, Juliana. Decorative, and so useful, too. I see you’re constructing a solar. Most fashionable. All the best castles in Europe have them.”

Juliana’s hands dropped from Raymond’s arm. “So I’ve heard.”

Raymond rolled his eyes at Hugh, and Hugh buried his nose in his cup to contain his laughter. Keir, the coward, was nowhere to be found. Raymond said, “Juliana is like the wild rose, glorious in texture and scent.”

Isabel sniffed. “The thorns are thick.”

“I’m not a clumsy boy,” Raymond answered. “I know how to pluck the rose.” His parents exchanged glances over his head, but he tossed the purse of gold. It annoyed his father, he knew, to see his money treated so casually, and Raymond enjoyed the unique sensation of coins in his possession.

Never before had the great hall, with its central fire and its torches dipped in pitch, seemed anything less than welcoming. It had been an extension of Juliana; old-fashioned, none too comfortable, but his. Tonight the room overflowed with his parents, their pallets and furs and screens and retainers. The smoke irritated his eyes, the light flickered ominously, and the great hall reminded him of the netherworld.

But of course it would when this paternal devil and his dam came to call.

The unwieldy wooden contraption that supported Isabel’s needlework was placed before her. Her maid threaded a needle and passed it to her mistress. Isabel dipped it into the delicate cloth and asked, “Juliana, where is your needlework?”

Juliana glanced up. “I don’t do needlework.”

“Don’t do?…” Isabel cleared her throat. “I see.”

Juliana answered Isabel’s unspoken accusation of laziness. “I prefer weaving. I like to see the cloth take shape under my hands, and to plan the garment I will make from it.”

Isabel smiled with chilly politeness. “How quaint. She sews, too.”

“Weaving is less intricate.” Juliana hugged Ella and Margery, who were waiting for her to kiss them good-night. “With these children and the larger male children”—she looked pointedly at Hugh and at Raymond—“all clamoring for attention, weaving suits me.”

“You consider my son a child?” Geoffroi picked his teeth with the golden toothpick his serving man had presented after the evening meal. “An insulting view from a woman, but nevertheless I must agree. He takes action thoughtlessly. Witness his disastrous foray to the Crusades.”

Raymond’s hands flexed in his lap, and the coins jiggled. “Father.”

Geoffroi slapped his palm to his forehead. “Doesn’t she know? Rest assured, son, I’ll not tell her.”

“Nothing could be shameful about taking up the cross to win back the Holy Land from the Infidels.” Juliana patted her daughters and said, “Wish our guests a good-night.”

Geoffroi waved the curtseying children away as he answered in a voice guaranteed to stir curiosity. “There’s much you do not know.”

Juliana refused to seize the bait offered so temptingly. “The basest slavery is ennobled when endured for our Lord’s sake.”

Raymond was amused by the almost painful dis
dain on his parents’ faces. When he had first announced his intention to take the cross, they told him that only knights who sought riches and salvation joined the Crusades. With the cockiness of youth, Raymond had asked which of those he had a surfeit of. They’d been sour, but they were unable to promise him heaven and unwilling to release lands to his control. So he had gone to Tunis, and paid the toll with his courage. “My bride’s piety is to be commended.”

“She cooks well,” Isabel said, obviously displeased with the direction of Raymond’s thoughts. She, too, waved the courtesy of the children aside. “The meal was adequate, considering the supplies she works with.” She turned to her husband. “We should give them a wedding gift of spices. Perhaps some peppercorns. They add such savor to the food, and mask that aged taste of the meat.”

Juliana sat down at her loom as if she hadn’t heard, and Raymond murmured, “Your frustration is showing, Mother.”

“The food was hot,” Geoffroi commented in his sonorous voice. “An amazing feat in this weather.”

“Hot? Well, not hot, but not cold.” Isabel considered Juliana, her head cocked to one side. “Not even in the king’s palace does the meat arrive without being congealed in its juices. How do you do it?”

Picking up the shuttle, Juliana ran her hand over its smooth wood and admitted, “My kitchen is below stairs.”

Isabel blinked. “Below stairs?”

“In the undercroft,” Juliana clarified, her gaze on the web of cloth.

“In the undercroft? That’s madness! What of fire?” Geoffroi asked.

Annoyance brought a sharp edge to Juliana’s voice. “The fire is contained.”

“Contained? Contained? I find it hard to believe this keep isn’t a burned shell.” Geoffroi lifted one foot as if he already felt the flames licking his toes.

Juliana looked up now, her lips set firmly. “The kitchen’s been in the undercroft for two years now, and we’ve had no such incidents.”

“No one has the kitchen in the undercroft,” Isabel said.

“I do,” Juliana said stubbornly.

“In noble castles, this isn’t done.”

That seemed to be Isabel’s final word on the subject, but Geoffroi turned to his son. “You’ll cure her of this lunacy, of course.”

Raymond said, “ ’Tis a woman’s decision.”

“A woman’s decision?” Geoffroi seemed honestly scandalized. “When a fire from within could destroy a castle’s ability to repulse attackers?”

Raymond swallowed his trepidation. “Not all can remain as it was during your youth.”

“I see what it is. You’re soft on the woman.” Geoffroi bent his lips into a dictatorial smile. “Let me give you some advice. It never pays to be soft on a woman.”

Raymond looked at his mother. She formed the other half of the iron tongs that pinched him, gripped him, threw him in the fires of hell, for money or prestige. “I’ll remember that.”

Unconvinced of his son’s sincerity, Geoffroi leaned into the attack. “If you were a real man, you’d settle this matter right now.”

The battle cry of manipulative fathers caught Raymond unprepared. He rose to his feet, primed to satisfy the masculine challenge even if he had to
crush Juliana’s pride to rubble. Only a small, eager voice saved him.

“Lord Raymond,” squeaked Ella, “may we sit in your lap?”

He looked down at the two skinny, smiling children. Ella was blissfully unaware of the fire raging in him, and even Margery underestimated the danger. She watched him with grave eyes, waiting to see if he would accept the invitation to join her inner circle, not realizing she’d picked a moment of raging male ego to extend the invitation.

Juliana knew. “I yield!” she proclaimed. “The kitchen shall be as my lord commands. Only don’t…” She clasped her hands in supplication. “My lord Raymond, I beg you, don’t…”

He understood her plea. Don’t hurt the children, she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to suggest such violence within their hearing and destroy that newly forged trust between Raymond and the girls. With a smile that showed all his teeth, he reseated himself and patted his knees. “Sit,” he invited. When the girls had settled themselves, and he’d wrapped an arm around each one of them, he said to Geoffroi, “You see? A simple matter, easily settled. Lady Juliana will do as I command—and I command the kitchen remain where it is.” He ignored the huffs of indignation emanating from his father and asked Juliana, “If that is what you desire?”

Confused and overwhelmingly thankful, Juliana agreed, “Oh…aye.”

For all that it was almost justified, her gratitude and the accompanying distrust it betrayed irked him.

Tucking her short cloak tighter around her shoulders, Isabel stepped into the breach. “Raymond, you
know we only want the best for you. Now that we’re here, we’ll begin negotiations on your wedding contract and perhaps plan the day you can say your vows. ’Twill be a lengthy process, of course.”

“The wedding date is set,” Raymond said, the muscles of his neck straining as he tried to muffle his frustration.

His mother picked at her needlework. “For next spring, I presume?”

“Much might happen by spring,” he answered.

“Aye.” Geoffroi sheathed his toothpick with the flourish most men reserved for a sword. “Much.”

The air hung heavy, and the unpremeditated words flew from Raymond’s mouth. “We wed on the morning of Twelfth Night.”

“Twelfth Night?” Ella cried.

“Only a fortnight away!” Margery said approvingly.

“What a Christmas this will be.” Ella’s eyes shone, and the two girls giggled together.

Juliana said not a word, but the hand bar thumped and the shuttle flew. Perhaps she hadn’t heard—he could only pray that was the truth.

“
Mon petit
”—his mother drawled, and he hated it when she assumed that superior tone—“you were always so impetuous. Surely your bride doesn’t wish to marry so soon.”

Juliana didn’t lift her head from the cream-colored wool stretched before her, but a hectic color rose up her neck and burned in her cheeks. “According to the king’s command, we should have been wed a year ago last spring. So whenever we wed, ’twill be late.”

Some of the tightness in Raymond’s chest eased. Regardless of what she would say later, for tonight she supported him.

“Ah.” His mother nodded, understanding. “So many girls long for the moment when they may unite with a great family and raise themselves to a higher station. Raymond has come to you, and your dreams are fulfilled.”

“Mother.”

Wrath exploded from Raymond, but Juliana waved him to silence. “It is my assessment that I am raising Raymond’s station, since he comes quite without coin or land.”

Raymond winced. A good parry, he acknowledged, but she hadn’t pierced the thick armor that surrounded his parents. Only his pride had been wounded. In a battle between his parents and Juliana, he suspected, his pride might be fatally overcome.

“You want both an honored family name and title
and
riches?” Isabel tittered. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. His honored name and title are of no use to me. His only use is as a warrior, and for that he might as well be an itinerant knight.”

Geoffroi smiled patronizingly. “My child, perhaps you don’t understand. Raymond is the king’s cousin.”

“The king has many cousins,” Juliana retorted, repeating what Raymond had told her.

“He’s the king’s
favorite
cousin. They ride together. They hunt together. Henry asks his advice on state matters and personal matters.” Geoffroi walked to his son, threw his arm around him, and hugged him with the enthusiasm he displayed only for his most useful treasures. “Raymond is one of the most influential men of the court.”

Geoffroi’s patronizing tone visibly shook Juliana’s composure. She sought Raymond’s eyes, asked for
the truth without words. Sheepish, he shrugged and spread out his hands, palms up.

“The king’s dearest cousin?” Juliana said slowly, and Raymond’s parents began reciting the greatest doings in the kingdom in a light, chatty tone that made them all the more corporeal.

“He’s Queen Eleanor’s cousin, too.” Isabel lifted one eyebrow. “Didn’t you know?”

She’d been ordering a great lord to build her wall? Numbed by embarrassment, Juliana shook her head.

“Eleanor of Aquitaine is a great woman, a powerful woman, a true statesman.” Isabel clasped her hands to her slight bosom.

“Making a damn fuss about Henry’s newest mistress, though,” Geoffroi said. “Henry’s gotten Eleanor with child again. What else could she desire?”

Raymond interposed, “War—if Henry doesn’t show her some respect.”