Castles in the Air (19 page)

He lowered her to her feet and headed toward the stairway once more.

As he knew she would, she drawled, “If that is my punishment, I will displease you often.”

His cape did not swirl so well when wet, but he turned with a competent flourish and said, “Swear not so, lady mine. First you should find out what I do when I am pleased.”

That smile. All flashing white teeth, tanned and dimpled cheeks, eyebrows cocked at a quizzical angle. His smile. A taunting smile, as if he knew she would be tempted to please him, just for an introduction to those delights he promised her.

As if there could be more delights than the ones he had taught last night.

Taking care not to break the heat blister on her palm, Juliana folded the tightly woven brown cloth in half and spread it over the trestle she’d set up by the arrow slit.

“Th’ tunic first, m’lady?” Fayette asked.

Juliana nodded absently, and Fayette laid Raymond’s ragged old tunic over the cloth to use as a guide. With a rough chunk of chalk, she outlined it, then whipped it away. “There ye be, m’lady. All ready fer yer cuttin’.”

He was lying. He had to be lying. There could be nothing he hadn’t done to her in bed.…But a niggling bit of curiosity kept her wondering, and a smile tugged at her mouth. No demon, he. Sir Joseph had lied about that, too. All through the night, she knew Raymond had retained his manly form. She knew, because she’d explored every bit of him and found him to be quite human. Or perhaps more than human, with his stamina and his expertise.

Fayette knelt beside the chest which held the woolen materials, dyed and packed with camphor to keep out the moths. “Will ye be wantin’ t’ cut th’ cloak next?”

“Bring the scarlet for that. ’Twill look elegant with his new surcoat, yet ’twill be serviceable enough for everyday wear.”

“Aye.” Fayette winked in saucy appreciation. “An’ ’twill make him up pretty, him wi’ that dark skin an’ hair.”

“I suppose it will.” Untying her scissors from her belt, Juliana tested the edge. “I hadn’t thought about it.” Fayette’s coughs sounded suspiciously like laughter, but Juliana ignored her. Keir—who really seemed to know his smithing—had offered to sharpen them. She jerked her finger back and sucked the tiny cut. It seemed he had done as he had promised.

Keir.

That bit of betrayal ached like a sore tooth. While she wanted—needed—someone of trustworthy character to take over the care of Bartonhale, nothing could sweeten the fact that Raymond had given the position to Keir without her permission.

The scissors bit into the cloth with a snap.

Her permission.

He didn’t need her permission. By every law in England and France and Aquitaine, by every law in the known world, the disposition of her lands now rested in his hands. And though they were competent and caring hands, the years on her own had taught her much, and she wasn’t ready to give up control. There was no safety in dependence.

“Well done, m’lady.” Fayette whisked the tunic away and handed Juliana the bundle of scarlet cloth. “I’ll have th’ sewin’ maids start on it at once.”

“Have them finish it by tonight,” Juliana instructed. “Lord Raymond is in rags. Until he moved his trunk in with mine, I had not realized…” That his shabby dress wasn’t merely male carelessness. She’d been horrified to discover he owned only the clothes on his back.

“Aye, ’tis a shame.” Fayette cast a dark look at the well-clad Geoffroi and Isabel where they sat, heads together, by the fire. “Smell like rotten meat, they do.”

Juliana didn’t answer. What could she say? She couldn’t approve such criticism of the maid’s betters, yet she would not reprimand Fayette. With a flip of her wrists, she spread the thick wool on the table, looking up only when Fayette whispered, “God help ye, m’lady,” and moved swiftly away.

Isabel stood beside the table and with a bitter kindness that could turn sweet milk to curds, she asked, “Are you talking to yourself, my dear?” Not waiting for an answer, she sat on the tall stool her maid had provided. “I’ve been hearing the most interesting rumors about you.”

Juliana snipped the scissors and watched the flash of the blades in the sunlight. Should the cloak close with a string tie around the neck, or should she create a more elaborate yoke? With the yoke, she could attach a hood for warmth, but from what she’d seen of Raymond, he preferred to grab a hat and jam it on before leaving the keep. Or to go about bareheaded. She frowned. Although she’d reprimanded him, still he forgot, and just this afternoon she’d had to chase him clear to the door with his hat.

“Well might you frown.” Piqued at being ignored, Isabel sounded a little sharper. “I know the whole story of your escapade three years ago.”

A string tie was the simplest, Juliana decided, and would therefore be Raymond’s choice. A string tie it would be. Having distanced herself from Isabel’s blatant cruelty, she answered, “No one knows the whole story.”

“Enough of it to condemn you, and even if you were to deny every word”—Isabel lifted one brow, but Juliana refused to justify her silence or her behavior—“there is still the matter of your reputation.”

“My—”

“Which is in shreds.”

“You have been busy.” Juliana tightened the cloth and walked her fingers across it as a measurement. “To whom have you been speaking?”

Isabel waved an airy hand. “Everyone.”

“I can hardly believe
everyone
has the bad taste to talk to you.”

“Such sharpness is not attractive in such a young woman.” Isabel turned Juliana’s face to the light. “But you’re not too young, are you?”

“I’m getting older all the time,” Juliana said drily. “Why don’t you tell me what you want, and then I’ll tell you to go to the edge of the earth and drop off?”

Isabel tittered, not at all offended. “Go to the edge of the earth and drop off. How amusing. You have a witty tongue, my dear. I suspect you would do well at court. It’s almost a shame Raymond can’t keep you.”

“Ah, so we come to it.” Juliana tried to be as sophisticated—or at least as uncaring—as Isabel. “Why can’t Raymond keep me?”

A swift change of masks, and Isabel became the caring, commiserating bearer of bad news. “We told you before. Raymond is the only heir of a great house. He can’t have a woman like you as his wife. No matter how carefully you hid them, no matter how firmly he quashed them, the rumors would overwhelm you. He’d have to banish you or be banished with you.” With a sob in her voice, she said, “And you know how honorable Raymond is. He’d insist on being banished with you. He would spend the rest of his life in this provincial backwater. The king would be without his greatest counselor. The kingdom would suffer.”

“All because of insignificant me,” Juliana fin
ished. She distrusted the smile that curved Isabel’s reddened lips.

“You doubt me.”

“Not at all. Everything you imagine may come to pass. But I didn’t want to marry your Raymond.” Juliana set the scissors and began to cut a straight line guided by the weft. “Why should I care what happens to him?”

Isabel tapped one curved nail on the table. “Look at what you’re doing.”

Juliana glanced at the scarlet material that seemed so significant to Isabel. “Cutting?”

“Cutting what?” Isabel demanded impatiently.

Still puzzled, Juliana said, “Cutting a cloak?”

Isabel leaned over the table. “For whom?”

“For Raymond.”

“What kind of clothes?”

Now Juliana understood, and the scissors began their trek across the material again. “Everyday clothes.”

Isabel tossed her well-coiffed head in triumph. “One can easily understand the import of that.”

Deliberately stupid, Juliana asked, “You’re offended because you think I shouldn’t have Raymond work?”

“Nay, nay.” Isabel slapped her hand on the cloth just ahead of the scissors, and Juliana jolted to a halt. “You’re making clothes for Raymond because you’ve conceived an affection for him.”

Juliana stared at the thin, aristocratic fingers so close to her own.

Scornfully, Isabel continued, “One of those sickening, all-consuming affections like Queen Eleanor’s troubadours sing about. I thought nothing of it when you made him that fine outfit—and it was fine, my dear. If
you should ever desire a position in court, I’m sure I’d be glad to recommend you as seamstress to her majesty.”

“My thanks,” Juliana said with a sarcasm that eluded Isabel.

“Where was I?” With cupped hand on forehead, Isabel thought. “Ah, the clothes. Well, of course I understood when you made Raymond that princely tunic and surcoat, but these everyday clothes betray you.”

Juliana did not have to feign puzzlement now.

“My dear, I myself kept Raymond’s court clothes in excellent condition, for of what use is a son except to further the family’s ambitions? And if he doesn’t embody wealth and power, how can he gain further wealth and power? It’s part of the image, you see.”

Juliana did see, and it sickened her. “You believe I made Raymond fine clothes so he could go to court and gain new honors from King Henry. But you believe I make him everyday clothes—”

“Why, to keep him warm.” Isabel braced both hands, leaned across the table, and smiled fatuously. “’Tis obvious by the thickness of the material, the generosity of the cut.”

“Perhaps,” Juliana offered, “I only wish to assure myself he’ll not sicken and die, thus ruining my chances for advancement.”

Unable to conceive of any ambition other than her own, Isabel agreed. “Possibly, but there’s a passion between you, both in bed and in battle.”

“That’s lust.”

“Ah, is it lust that makes you gaze on him when you think he’s not looking? Is it lust that brings the color to your cheeks when he glances up and catches you? Is it lust that makes you hum while you weave, and is it lust that makes you run after him
with a wool cap when he goes out into the cold?”

A longing, previously undetected, called itself to Juliana’s attention. It centered itself in her chest, quite unlike the other longing Raymond had called up, but still she insisted, “It’s lust. I don’t wish to lose so skilled a bed partner.”

“Your actions bespeak a greater emotion. Doesn’t your breast ache with it?”

Juliana’s hand flew to her chest like a guilty confession, and she mumbled, “Lust.” But this was a pain of the heart.

“You love him. Confess it.”

The scarlet cloth, lit by the strip of sunlight, burned Juliana’s eyes. Isabel’s hands were spread like a spider’s legs across her cloth. The scissors flashed temptation, and Juliana yielded. With an unsteady laugh, she cut through the material, chasing Isabel’s hands backward until Isabel gave a shriek of pain.

“You cut me!”

“Aye. I did.” As Isabel sprang across the room to Geoffroi, Juliana reeled away from the trestle table and fought her way outside. Standing on the platform outside, she took big breaths of the fresh, cold air and looked over her bailey. Like iron to a lodestone, her gaze found Raymond. He held her palfrey for young Denys, patiently showing him the ways of a horse.

His ragged brown cloak could not detract from his aura of masculine glory, and although he laughed the wind whipped the sound away. He was strong and brave, kind and clever, and too loyal for his own good. Juliana put her hand to her chest. The ache now burned like unshed tears. “I do love him. And I’m going to make him hate me.”

Juliana had been
the image of the perfect woman all night. Her voice had never risen with excitement. She’d never laughed aloud. She took extra pains to ensure that the young squire, Denys, was well fed, slept on a pallet, and had a blanket. She moved with grace, dealt patiently with servants, and refrained from pointing out the superiority of the supper Cook had prepared on her makeshift fire in her undercroft kitchen.

The entire castle was worried.

What had dampened her vivacity? Raymond leaned his elbows on his knees and watched her as she moved from torch to torch, removing them from the sconces on the wall and giving them to Layamon to extinguish. “Is she really so offended that I gave you Bartonhale Castle?” he murmured.

“I tried to warn you,” Keir said. “You look out over the lands and see the place where you will put down your roots. She looks out over the lands and sees her home.”

Raymond glanced at Keir. His usual imperturbable friend had a slight pucker between his brows—a sure
sign of agitation. Raymond said, “I’ll convince her ’twas my own blundering that disgruntled her.”

“Do so,” Keir advised. He stood and stretched. “You have ways to sweeten her disposition I do not, and I would prefer that if the lady is angry, she is angry at you.”

Slyly pleased, Raymond chuckled. “A bit in love with her, aren’t you?”

Keir looked right at him. “Aren’t we all?”

He left Raymond with a half smile on his face. “Oh, aye,” Raymond whispered. “Aren’t we all.”

He welcomed it, this sweet emotion for a woman. So long ago he’d seen her, captured her, then found himself captivated. He hadn’t liked it, hadn’t liked the softness she engendered in him. He’d seen it as another manifestation of his monstrous cowardice, but now he wondered…was it only the recognition of one kindred soul for another?

One by one, the servants found their places among the reeds or on pallets, rolled themselves into their rugs, and closed their eyes. The usual banter was absent tonight; they all experienced the strain of living with an unhappy mistress. Rather than retreating to the solar, Juliana pulled a bench closer to the fire and sat down. Her back was to Raymond—deliberately, he was sure. A man, when he was angry, would roar and bluster. A woman took refuge in silence until like a chastised dog the man came to beg pardon. Raymond stood, checked to make sure his tail was firmly tucked between his legs, and went to ease her manner toward his friend. If not…well, perhaps he could lure her to their bed and bribe her with love. He smiled at his body’s immediate response. He’d bribe her, regardless. Casually, he wandered over to rest his hand on her shoulder. “Come to bed.”

She shrugged in a rude attempt to dislodge him. “I’m not sleepy.”

Raymond considered her. True, she didn’t sound sleepy. She didn’t sound angry, either, or offended, or any of the ways he’d expected her to sound. She sounded frightened.

Frightened. That he would beat her about the scene in the kitchen? About Keir? Hunched over the fire, cradling her bandaged hand, she watched the embers as if they would speak to her if she waited long enough.

With his toe, he shoved at the figures sprawled around the hearth and they rolled obediently away. He perched on the other end of the bench, as far from her as she could wish. “I’m not sleepy, either.” Stretching out his hands to the flames, he said, “This reminds me of our first night together.”

“Two moons ago. So much has changed since then.” She sounded distracted. “So much remains the same.”

He watched her rub the scar on her cheek, and thought he understood her thoughts. Words were his tools, and he picked them with the care of a master craftsman. “You thought I would force my will on you.”

A shudder shook her, and she lifted her gaze to his. The despair he’d suspected, the shame and fear, filled her eyes. He scooted closer, lifted his arm to wrap it around her shoulders, but she cried, “Don’t touch me!” Glancing around at the wrapped figures around them, she lowered her voice, but her intensity did not diminish. “You don’t want to touch me.”

What a statement! He suffered when he didn’t touch her. He sweated, struggled with demons while he waited to touch her. Joining in the dance of love each night had not eased him. It had only made him
aware of his needs, of his growing sense of possession, and of how delightfully she danced to his music. Cautiously, he said, “I like to touch you.”

“Nay.” She shook her head. The copper-colored hair flew around her shoulders, and she couldn’t seem to stop. “You wouldn’t want to if you knew.”

He exhaled in a long, comprehensive breath. So—this wasn’t about the day’s events. He gripped the edge of the bench with his hands and tested her. “I want to apologize about Keir.”

Her fevered gaze found his. “Keir?”

“My knight. Your new castellan.”

“Oh.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Keir. Why do you distract me? This is of no moment now. I have a confession to make.”

He swept a strand of hair off her cheek to prove he
could
touch her, and when he leaned back she looked at him as if he were dead to her. Unable to find adequate words, he crooned, “My lady love, don’t hurt yourself so.”

Her hand pressed the place above her heart, and her head drooped. She seemed to be listening to some dirge inside herself. Whatever swept the hope from her life and the joy from her face was so terrible—so she believed—he wouldn’t long for her once he knew it. And for some reason, she had decided he should know now. He didn’t hesitate. Voice rough with smoke, but luxuriant with compassion, he said, “Secrets are a burden on the soul. Tell me yours, and I’ll carry half the burden.”

She made a sound in her throat, half snort, half sob, and all skepticism. “No one wants a woman like me,” she answered. “Certainly not a man like you. The king’s kinsman, heir to a noble title and fortune.”

“Ah.” He drew out the breath. “You’ve been talking to my parents.”

“Your mother. Isabel.” She choked on the name. “She’s a dreadful woman.”

“Surely an understatement.”

“But she knows the truth of matters.”

“Such as how I should live my life?” Her stricken face forced him to take a grip on himself. “Isabel knows the truth of nothing.”

“She knows what you don’t know.”

He took a breath and took a chance. “About your rape?”

Her anguish wasn’t pretty, and he could no longer restrain himself. He snatched her close against his chest, wrapped her in a hug so tight she couldn’t escape. He murmured, “You see? I did know, and it doesn’t matter.”

She fought her way out of his arms as if they were instruments of torture, not protection. “You don’t know anything.”

Heads lifted off the floor, and he propelled them away with one sweep of his hand. “Tell me.”

“You’ve been asking questions.” She wrapped her shawl closer in a self-protective gesture. “Just like your mother.”

Setting his teeth, he refused to answer.

Her accusing gaze wavered, then dropped. “Nay, you wouldn’t ask questions. Who told you the rumors?”

“You did.”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “Nay. That is…did I talk in my sleep?”

“We haven’t been sleeping enough for you to talk,” Raymond said, taking her hand. He stroked the rough knuckles, watching as his thumb dipped into the hol
lows and scaled the peaks. “You dropped clues, my girl, bits of a puzzle to piece together. At first, I thought you had taken some inappropriate lover to your bed and been caught. But then I thought—would a secure woman ever strike a man as you struck Felix?”

“You’ve taught Margery to strike,” Juliana mumbled.

“
Taught
her. Women are so imbued with gentle qualities, they must be
taught
to defend themselves.” He gripped her wrist until she looked up at him. “Who taught you?”

“No one.”

“Exactly. No one. So some hard experience taught you. When Sir Joseph taunted you, threatened you with such violence, and expected you to cower, it became too clear.”

“Sir Joseph,” she said with loathing. “You knew because of Sir Joseph.”

“’Twas not all Sir Joseph.” Catching a handful of her glittering hair, he said, “This told me.”

She froze.

“Someone cut it, didn’t they?” The firelight painted a false color on her face, now white and strained. “Sir Joseph?” he asked, knowing it to be false.

“Nay.” She formed the word with her lips, but no sound escaped her.

It sounded like a guess, but he already knew the truth. “Your father. He cut it so all the world could read the sign of your shame.”

Tears filled her eyes and overflowed in silent, wrenching agony. Her intense whisper sliced through the sighs of the sleepers, the crackle of flame. “But I
wasn’t
raped.”

Taken aback, Raymond studied her.

Her trembling chin firmed, her hand squeezed his so hard his knuckles popped. “I fought so hard, and I escaped unscathed, but the truth didn’t matter. Only what appeared to be the truth mattered. My father wouldn’t listen to me. I told him and told him. He said he didn’t believe me. He said it was my fault I was taken. He said it was my fault anyone wanted to take me, because I dressed attractively and smiled at the men. He said it was my fault I was hurt, and he told me I had to marry…had to marry.”

“Felix?”

She turned on him in something like rage. “Aye, Felix! Do you know
everything
?”

“Not everything. Not nearly enough. Not soon enough. If I’d known before he left…let me kill him,” he said.

“Nay!” Horror bathed her in stark shades of white skin and red cheeks. “He’s not worth going to confession for.”

Any other time, he would have laughed at her succinct summing up. “’Tis a sin I’d carry lightly on my soul.”

“I might as well blame Sir Joseph’s staff for striking me when Sir Joseph swings it.”

“You believe Felix is an instrument of some greater authority?”

“My father had wanted me to wed Felix, and I had refused.”

“Your father.” Raymond condemned the man by his very tone.

He could have forced me. He could have locked me up and beat me until I agreed, but then he would have had to tend to my children. The servants would have been unhappy, and they would have burned his
dinner, let the fire go out, and made his life a misery. And I would have been angry at him. It would have been uncomfortable for him, and he was a man who liked his comforts. So it would have been easier…” She rocked back and forth, holding her belly as if it ached. “I think sometimes my father conspired…”

She took a deep, quivering breath, fighting to keep the tears at bay. “Father said his reputation would be repaired if I wed.”

“Your father’s reputation?” he asked ironically, hiding the rage that made him want to rail at a dead man.

Here was the anguish Raymond saw. It wasn’t a rape that destroyed Juliana, nor the violence she’d been subjected to. It was her father’s betrayal, and the suspicion of a yet greater betrayal. She knew her father had wanted her to marry Felix. She knew he believed she had been raped and his subsequent humiliation of her had etched her soul.

But had her father been the driving force behind her kidnapping? Had he encouraged Felix to rape her and thus force her to wed? Could he have ignored her anguish and pain to enforce his will? It seemed a sly, sideways method of coercing his only daughter, but Raymond had heard nothing to admire of the man.

With a show of fierceness, she said, “Aye,
his
reputation.” Then her vehemence faded. “When I wouldn’t wed Felix, he hacked off my hair with his knife so he would remember, every time he saw me, my shame.”

Raymond’s heart misgave him, for he comprehended more than he would say. He, too, had been subjected to the greatest indignities a person could
sustain, and found his survival instinct too powerful. He’d compromised his religion, his upbringing, his principles. Her confession tempted him, made him want to tell her of his own guilt, but he couldn’t. His iniquity was so much greater than hers, she would eventually come to despise him—and her disgust would wound him beyond reparation. As a sop to his conscience, he pushed his hair behind his ear and turned it toward the fire. His glittering earring drew her gaze, and he asked, “Haven’t you ever wondered why I wear this?”

Her hand lifted, reached in a slow and almost reverent manner, touched the beaten gold.

“’Twas one of my master’s whims, to have all his slaves marked with one large loop in the ear.”

“It’s so large. Didn’t it hurt when they put it in?”

“All the marks of slavery hurt, and I still bear them all. I’ll bear them as penance forever.” He ran his fingertips along the edges of her shimmering hair. “So you see, your father didn’t understand shame.
We
understand shame.”

She touched her hair as if assuring herself it had grown, and he was satisfied he’d formed another link in the chain that bound them together.

Their hands brushed, and she subsided. “Papa invited Felix back to the castle after he attacked me.”

“Why do you still let him visit?”

“Felix never seemed to realize how heinously he’d behaved. And”—she hesitated—“I was haunted. I always wondered if it was my fault that he kidnapped me. What if I did entice him without realizing it?”

Guilt had been forced into her soul as surely as the gold had been forced into his ear, and he said sharply, “You didn’t. Don’t even think such a thing. And
you’ll not have to face him again.” He looked down at his fists. “I suspect Felix now realizes his welcome has worn thin.”

“I don’t know what kind of fury transformed you. I don’t even care. I can only thank you for removing him from my life.”

She sounded breathless, almost afraid, but her gratitude shone from her blue eyes. Raymond realized she’d heard about his frenzied attack on Felix. “’Twasn’t hard to intimidate the little maggot into leaving.”

She brightened. “Is that what you did? Did you intimidate him?”

“I certainly did.”

“Good, because Papa made me wait on him as if I were a servant. He wanted to impress me with my sin.
My
sin.” She mourned, “My own father wouldn’t believe me.”