HealingPassion (2 page)

“With the Earl of Pennington, my lady.”

She struggled to catch a breath before she could speak.
“Good man, the Earl. Have you traveled much lately? Were you on the Continent?
Have you met the Black Prince?”

Juliana drew a sharp breath as her mother fired questions at
him. “Mother! If you please! Sir Thomas has just arrived. He’s tired and has
yet to eat his fill. Give him a few moments of rest before you quiz him.”

Thomas did laugh out loud this time. Juliana looked shocked,
while her mother chuckled. “I can answer your questions quickly, my lady.” He
looked at the older woman. “I have traveled a great deal lately. I have been on
the Continent and have indeed met the Black Prince, but in London, not on the
Continent.”

The old woman grinned. “Thank you, Sir Thomas.” She went on
to pepper him with a series of questions about his life, training, thoughts on
various subjects, and marital status, stopping only long enough to catch her
breath occasionally. Thomas answered them all as courteously as could,
deflecting those he didn’t wish to say much about. Lady Juliana’s discomfort at
her mother’s brazen curiosity showed in her rising color as he admitted he was
a widower, but steered the topic away from the question of how his wife had
died.

“And what is your business here with us?” the older lady
asked, reaching what he suspected was the true goal of the catechism. “We are
of no great importance to the king.”

He felt his grin fade. “You are of more importance than you
realize. But I believe my business will have to be discussed with Lady Juliana
in private. I think, though, it will wait for tomorrow. I’ve had an exhausting
journey and my mind is far from clear.”

He feared offending the old lady, but after looking taken
aback for a moment, she grinned slyly. “Aye. Of course, Sir Thomas.” The
suggestive way she said the words made him uneasy, but then she was an elderly,
somewhat eccentric, and probably quite ill woman.

She grabbed her cane and hoisted herself to her feet again,
emitting a series of creaks from joints in the process. Once upright, she took
a moment to catch her breath again. “With your permission, Sir Thomas, I
believe I shall retire now. I need my rest.”

He stood to acknowledge her. When he sat again, he looked
across the table at Lady Juliana. He had expected amusement or the continuation
of her exasperation. Instead he saw fear in her eyes.

She masked it quickly when she realized he looked her way,
putting on a show of rueful amusement. “Please forgive my mother, Sir Thomas.
She means well, truly, though her manner is somewhat forward.”

“There’s naught to apologize for, my lady. Mothers are
allowed much by virtue of the lifetime of sacrifice and care they’ve given
their children. Are you her only child, since she lives with you now?”

“Aye. I had an older brother, who died young, and several
other brothers and sisters who died at birth.” The lady’s expression softened
in sympathy and love. “She has suffered much. And now her body is failing and
she suffers with that. Yet never does she voice any complaint.”

A manservant approached and waited for her attention. Lady
Juliana nodded to him and the man drew close and leaned over to say something
to her, speaking so low only she could hear. After a moment, she nodded. The
servant withdrew a bit, though he waited nearby, and she looked back at him.

“Your quarters are ready for you, if you wish to retire, Sir
Thomas.”

He’d stopped eating a few minutes past. His full belly
combined with the effects of an exhausting journey and the potent ale to bring
him to a point of having to expend all his energy to prevent his head from
drooping onto the table.

“My lady, I cannot tell you how pleasant is the prospect of
sleeping this night in a warm bed. I am more grateful than I can say for your
hospitality.” He stood, noting with some embarrassment that his own knees
creaked as he did so.

“If you’ll follow Daniel, he’ll show you the way.” She
nodded toward the waiting servant.

Thomas hoped he wouldn’t disgrace himself by tottering or
falling over in his exhaustion. He made it to his feet without incident and
bowed his goodnights to the lady.

“Good rest and sound sleep find you, Sir Thomas,” she
returned.

Ralf and Bertram followed behind as they trailed the manservant
along a corridor, up a flight of stairs, and then along another corridor.

Exhaustion couldn’t account totally for his lack of
alertness. Some of it also came simply from not expecting any threat in this
place. Only a mixture of instinct and luck kept him from being killed or
seriously injured.

The sound of a footstep well behind roused his awareness at
some deep level. He was already turning when he recognized a faint clicking
noise behind him as the sound of a crossbow bolt being released. He threw
himself back and to the side, knocking both Ralf and Bertram into the wall.

The bolt whizzed past him, close enough to tear the sleeve
of his shirt at his wrist, just below the edge of his chain mail hauberk, and
scrape across the flesh. He noted the sting as he whirled to go after whoever
had fired the bolt. The torches were widely spaced in this corridor, leaving
several recesses in deep shadow. He went to the one he thought closest to where
he’d find the shooter. A door there opened at his touch, but it gave onto a
steep stone staircase going down. He raced down the steps, but found no one in
sight in the corridor that led off it.

Thomas sighed and gave up. Too many doors offered places the
shooter might have ducked into. And clearly his assailant knew the keep far
better than he did. He wouldn’t find him.

As he neared the top of the steps again, a crowd of excited
people met him head-on. Ralf and Bertram led the group. “Are you well, my
lord?” Bertram asked.

At the same time, Ralf asked, “Did you find him?”

“Nay,” he said, answering the second question first, and
added, “I’m well. The bolt merely grazed my wrist. Did someone retrieve it?”

“I have it here, Sir Thomas.” The servant who’d led them
thus far spoke from behind the group, which parted as all turned to stare at
him. The man looked shaken, his eyes very wide, his face pale. He held out the
crossbow bolt. Sir Thomas took it from him, then grimaced in disgust. It bore
no markings or distinctive shape that would tie it to a specific individual.

A group of ladies, drawn by the commotion, hurried down the
hall toward them, a pair of maids, and Lady Juliana herself. She ran ahead of
the group when she saw him.

“Sir Thomas, what has happened?” She gasped out the words
between panting breaths. She looked down at his sleeve and her breath caught on
a sharp gasp. “You’re injured!”

He noticed the sting at his wrist again for the first time
since he’d taken off after the wielder of the crossbow. A red stain spread on
the fabric above.

He shook his head. “It’s naught. Just a scratch. I’m more
concerned with who fired the bolt. And why?”

Her eyes widened as she looked at his arm then up looked up
to meet his gaze. “A bolt? A crossbow bolt? Was fired at you?”

He nodded toward the manservant still holding the bolt on
his outstretched hands. “Had I not heard him a moment before he fired, ‘tis
likely I’d have been killed.” He stopped and considered. “Unless ‘twas not I
that was the target. Yet I cannot imagine why anyone should want to kill Ralf
or Bertram or your manservant. In truth, I know not why anyone should be bent
on my murder either. Is your household always given to such violence, my lady?”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Nay, Sir Thomas. I…I know not
what to say. I’m beyond words.” And for a moment, it appeared she was. “Never
before, to my knowledge, has a guest been threatened or harmed within these
walls. I’m mortified that it should happen now. May I see it?” She nodded
toward the bolt.

He handed it to her. She called one of her ladies, who bore
a torch, to move closer to allow her a better look at it. She turned it over in
her hands several times before she sighed and gave it to one of her maids. “I
see nothing on it to indicate who it may have belonged to. Save that in my
chest, Avice.”

She turned to Thomas and reached for his sleeve. “A scratch
this may be, Sir Thomas, yet does it need cleaning and possibly stitching. In
your quarters, please.” She signaled the manservant to lead the way again.

“You needn’t concern yourself with it, my lady,” he said. “I
barely feel it. I doubt it needs stitching.”

In truth he wasn’t so sure, but he did know that the lady’s
presence was doing things to him he could scarce bear. In her concern for the
attack on him, she appeared to have forgotten that she’d removed her overgown.
The shift she wore now did little to conceal the curves of her lovely figure.
He could see clearly beneath the fabric the outline of her breasts and the
darker tips pressing against the fabric. He desperately wanted to reach out and
touch them, test whether they were as soft as they looked. She’d removed her
cap as well, and her hair hung loose around her face, a fall of thick, glossy
brown curls halfway down her back.

She looked smaller this way, and younger, yet the strength
of her will and authority forestalled all argument, and he allowed her to
accompany them to his quarters without demur.

While Ralf and Bertram helped him remove sword and mail, she
sent her maids for water, clean linen, and salve. When he stood in his shirt
and breeches, she took his hand and pushed the sleeve up from his bleeding
wrist. She used the sleeve to wipe away the blood, promising to have the shirt
repaired and laundered.

As he’d told her, the wound was little more than a scratch.
He heard her sigh with relief as she realized it as well.

Still she washed it carefully, holding his hand in hers to
steady it, then smeared salve across the injury and wound a length of clean
linen around the wrist. Her hands shook the entire time, whether from fear,
anger, or something else, he couldn’t judge.

When she’d finished, she continued to hold his hand a while
longer. Her gaze ran up his sleeve and paused a moment at the opening where his
partially unlaced shirt showed his chest and throat. Her hand tightened around
his, though he was sure she wasn’t aware of it. She slowly looked up from his
throat to his jaw, his mouth and then met his eyes.

He stared back at her, meeting the blaze that lit her light,
greenish eyes. There was much more within this calm, sweet-seeming lady than
could be read on the surface. Deep, raging emotions boiled inside her, held in
check by her strong will. Among them, he was sure, was a passion she just
barely contained. And his presence roused it in her. Her eyes widened. Moist,
glistening lips parted.

How could Lord Groswick leave a lady such as this alone for
so long a time? She was so lovely, so warm and welcoming. It raised a deep
anger and even deeper doubt in him. A man surely wouldn’t leave the side of
such a lady for any length of time without desperate reason. Were she his, it
would take some truly grave need to force him from her for more than a few
days.

His men must have put more wood on the fire. His body was
blazing. The warmth gathered and settled in his groin, making him hard and
needy. He dared not let it show and fought with all his will to contain the
raging inferno that fired his blood.

The lady abruptly realized the danger. She closed her eyes,
lowered her head, and took a deep, noisy breath. Her breasts bounced as she let
the air stream out again. It took her a moment to get control, but then she
opened her eyes and released his hand.

“Sir Thomas, I apologize. None of this should have
happened.” She rose to her feet. “Every measure will be taken to discover the
culprit and ensure he’s punished.”

He suspected her apology was intended to cover more than
just his injury.

“I trust you will, my lady.”

Chapter Two

Her skin was petal-soft where it pressed on his. Her
breath fluttered softly against his throat, while her bare breasts skimmed his
chest. He reached out to put his arms around her slim shoulders and draw her
even closer against him.

She made a sound like a hoarse kitten’s purring as he
pressed a line of kisses up along her throat to the underside of her jaw. He
rubbed up and down her spine and she shivered in response.

Her lips were moist and soft against his, fluttering
gently at first as he sucked and nipped at them, then parting to let his tongue
invade the sweet recesses of her mouth. His hard, full cock pressed into her
belly.

He wanted her so badly he ached all over with it. A sheen
of sweat slicked his body as he moved against her. Her breasts were springy
comforting mounds—small, pleasant handfuls in his palms. The tips beaded hard
when his questing fingers searched and tweaked them. Her moan reverberated
against his body, sinking in, setting his blood on fire in his veins.

He rolled over, taking her along, so that she ended up
below him. He kissed her brow, her cheeks, her jaw, and down her throat to her
breasts. The tips were sweet and hard against his swirling tongue. She squirmed
and panted beneath him.

He brushed a hand down her belly and into her cleft.
Fingering the folds there, he found the damp proof of her readiness.

Her legs parted easily when he shifted her. The tip of
his cock found the entrance. A quick push and he was in. Hot, hot, hot, tight,
damp, and sweet. He began to pump in and out. The walls of her tunnel tightened
against him, trying to hold him within.

He pushed forward again….

“Sir Thomas. Sir Thomas!”

He rolled over and let go the dream with an irritated grunt.

Ralf stood over him, wearing a worried frown. “Are you well,
Sir Thomas? You were moaning and groaning in your sleep, and we feared your
injury pained you.”

He pushed hair off his face and rubbed his eyes. “No pain. I
dreamt. What is the hour?”

“Just past dawn, Sir Thomas.”

Time to rise and be about the business of the day. A part of
him longed to roll over and sink into the dream again. “A moment. Give me a
moment.”

The young man nodded and backed away until Thomas indicated
he was ready to dress.

On his way to the great hall, he realized he felt less than
rested, though he’d certainly enjoyed being in a real bed for the first time in
days. The scratch on his wrist burned faintly but it hadn’t kept him from
sleep.

He found platters laden with bread and fruit set out in the
great hall and sat to it gratefully, again noting the good order and management
of the keep. Servants appeared, bringing more food and drink. One stopped near
his seat, hesitated, and leaned over to ask, “Is there anything more I might
bring you, my lord?”

When Sir Thomas turned toward him, the man drew back
sharply, almost as though he feared a blow or other reprisal.

“The cider in the pitcher is low,” he said. “You might bring
some more.”

“Aye, my lord.” The man snatched up the pitcher.

Sir Thomas tried to puzzle out the odd expression on the
man’s face. Not fear, exactly, but worry and suspicion creased his brow and
carved deep lines around his eyes. It looked like more suspicion than an
unknown and unexpected guest should deserve.

He didn’t see Lady Juliana during the meal, though various
people came and went while he ate. When he was done, he asked a passing servant
where he might find her.

“I believe she’s in the storeroom with the steward, my
lord,” the man answered. “I can show you the way if it suits you.”

“It does.”

He followed the man along a couple of long corridors, past
doors that led off to various parts of the keep, around a sharp bend, and down
a short flight of stairs. The storeroom was a large, dim, and gloomy room,
lined on one side with rough shelves, and on the other with barrels and racks.

They followed the sound of voices, weaving around wooden
bins and crates, stepping over sacks lying near some of the barrels, and skirting
a huge vat that took up nearly half the width of the room. They found Lady
Juliana at the far end, consulting with a man of middle years who held a list
and a charcoal marker.

Lady Juliana and the man looked up at the sound of footsteps
approaching.

For a brief moment before she controlled it, a glow of sheer
welcome and pleasure lit her face. It passed too quickly to do more than make
his pulse jump, but he knew that a longer look like that would warm him all the
way down to his toes.

Then the flash of delight was gone, and her expression
showed nothing but polite interest. “Sir Thomas. I trust you rested well this
past night? Your wound didn’t pain you overmuch?”

“It did not, and I rested well enough, thank you, my lady. I
see you are busy, but I hope you might have a few minutes to spare me. There
are matters I must discuss with you in private.”

Worry creased her pretty brow for a moment, but then she
relaxed her expression. “Of course.” She turned to the other man, the steward,
he presumed. “You’ll talk with the miller about that allotment again?”

“Aye, my lady,” he answered. “I’ll go myself this
afternoon.”

The steward stared hard at him, a wary, almost fearful look.
For a household run by a gentle, seemingly sweet-natured lady, there seemed to
be a great deal of that going around. Yet the man’s expression had been much
milder while dealing with the lady herself.

“Thank you.” She turned and began to walk away, stopped, and
waited for him. “If you’ll come with me, Sir Thomas?”

He followed her from the room and back along the
endless-seeming corridor. “We’ll go to the room my lord used as his office.
I’ve taken it for my own purposes as I see to things in his absence.”

“He’s been gone for some time now, has he not?” Thomas asked
as they traversed the hall.

“Aye. Nigh on a year.”

“You don’t find running the keep and the demesne too large a
burden?”

At first he wasn’t sure she’d heard. It took her a moment to
answer. “Nay. Well, aye, at times, it is a burden. But someone must do it, and
I am the lady. All look to me for their well-being and protection.” She drew a
deep breath and blew it out slowly. “‘Tis a great deal of responsibility.”
Juliana stopped in front of a closed door, pushed down the latch, and opened
it. When he was inside, she nudged it shut again. “We can be private here, my
lord.”

The room was small but comfortable. The morning sunlight
shone in through a window on his right, adding extra warmth to a space already
heated by a low fire on the left. A table, a set of shelves, a cabinet with drawers
and two chairs furnished the space. Each of the chairs bore a stuffed cushion,
though those were the only feminine touches in an otherwise plain and
businesslike space.

“Have a seat, if you will, Sir Thomas,” she said.

“If
you
will, my lady.”

She smiled. “I should prefer to stand right now. I like to
move around when I need to think.”

Or when you’re nervous
. He didn’t say it aloud, but
the lady was clearly worried, and he didn’t think that was due solely to being
closed in a room with a man she barely knew and was too aware of. Did she fear
the news he might be bringing about her husband?

He nodded acknowledgement and remained on his feet as well.
“You’ve no doubt guessed I’ve come to ask about your husband. The king is
concerned about him, as we’ve had no word of his whereabouts for nigh on a
year.”

“He is fighting with the Prince on the Continent, Sir
Thomas, though I’ve had no word from him either and cannot say anything more of
his exact location.”

Sir Thomas drew a deep breath. “My lady, please forgive me
if this discomposes you unduly, but I fear no one knows where he is or what he
is now doing.”

She gave him a quick, panic-stricken look and turned to face
the window. “Is he not with the Prince in France?”

“The Prince is back in London, my lady. And Lord Groswick
was not with him. In fact, the Prince has not seen him at any time, either on
the Continent or here. He has no knowledge of his location. The king was
concerned that one of his barons should disappear thus and asked me to
investigate the matter.”

Without moving her gaze from the scene outside the window,
she reached out for the back of the chair nearby. Her palm slipped off and
nearly unbalanced her, but she didn’t turn around. She reached again and found
the top edge. Before she clenched her fingers on it, he saw that her hand
trembled.

“He did not join the Prince in France?” Her voice sounded
thin and strained.

“Nay, my lady.”

“And there’s been no word at all from him?”

“Save you’ve received some message from him, nay.”

“I have not.” The words came out on a sigh.

“Have you had any word at all from him since he left the
keep last year?”

She shook her head. “Nay.”

“Know you how many men rode with him when he left here?”

For a moment she didn’t answer. “Some twenty, I believe. He
was to meet others along the way.”

“Have you asked if any other families heard from others who
went?”

“I’ve inquired. No one has heard anything.”

“Why did you not send word to the king? Surely a year is a
very long time to go with no message?”

Her fingers tightened on the chair. “Sir Thomas, had you
known my husband, you would not think it so strange. He was a man of few words
at the best of times.”

“But to go a year…”

“‘Tis not inconceivable.”

The silence that followed was not comfortable. He hoped she
would expand on why she thought her husband would remain silent, would even
remain apart for so long from a wife as lovely and sweet as herself. She did
not add anything, however.

“Lady Juliana… I know not how to ask this delicately. How
well did you know your husband?”

That brought her whirling around to face him. Some of the
color had drained from her face, but there was also a look of fear, almost
panic, in her eyes. She controlled it with an effort and made herself smile.
The expression curved her mouth but left the rest of her face unmoved. “How
well do most wives know their husbands? Perhaps they know them well after many
years of living and working together, but I had only three years with my lord
before he left. I knew the surface well enough and little of what was beneath.”

“Did he ever give you reason to believe—or even think—he
might be doing something other than going to battle?”

Her eyes unfocused for a moment as she thought. “Nay, I
cannot remember him giving any such indication.” She threaded her fingers
together in agitation. “What shall we do? Have you talked to his uncle, the
Earl of Everham? Perhaps he spent time there?”

“I spoke to him in London,” Thomas said. “He knows no more
of his nephew than do we.”

She was starting to lose the struggle to control her expression.
“I don’t… What enquiries will you make now?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how his shoulder
muscles could have gotten so tight so early in the day. “With your permission,
I would speak to some of your people here. Perhaps someone heard a stray word
that might give us a clue. I’d like also to speak to your crofters. Already I
have spoken with many who live along the way from here to the sea, seeking
someone who might have remembered seeing his party, but I have turned up
naught. Not a one admits to knowing anything about them, or even recalls seeing
him or his company pass.”

“Does that not seem passing strange to you, Sir Thomas?”

“It does, my lady. Can you think of any reason why he might
want to hide or disappear?”

Juliana shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them she
shook her head. “Nay. No reason.”

“Did he not have enemies?”

She thought for a moment. “A few. I don’t believe that any
of those would have the nerve to attack him, save possibly from an ambush.” Her
sharp glance speared through him. “Sir Thomas…” She struggled to get the words
out. “Do you think my husband yet lives?”

He stared at her, studying her expression. She had already
more than half accepted that her husband was gone. She must have begun to
wonder if it were so after so long a time of silence, but perhaps she did not
want to believe. With him echoing her own suspicions, she could no longer avoid
the likelihood of her husband’s death. He could not read how she felt about
that, other than that it left her afraid. The fear was natural and not
surprising, for if Lord Groswick were dead, it put her future in grave doubt.
It was his turn to find difficulty in speaking.

“Lady, you seem to be one who believes in plain words and
open thoughts. I hope it is a courtesy I grant when I speak plainly in return.
I do not believe your husband walks this Earth anymore, though I cannot begin
to guess the method or location of his passing.”

“Oh.” The series of hard breaths that followed that small
exclamation weren’t quite sobs, but perhaps a shortness brought on by strong
emotion. “Might he have been captured by enemies on the Continent?”

Thomas shook his head. “We would surely have heard. A baron
is too valuable a pawn. There would have been a demand for ransom or exchange
of prisoners.”

“But then what could have happened?”

“An ambush, as you mentioned, is a possibility. Perhaps he
was beset by robbers or brigands.”

She nodded and rubbed her brow with a hand that shook. “What
am I to do now?”

Her distress called to him. Without thinking or willing it,
he moved toward her. “Lady Juliana. The king will see no harm comes to you.
Should it be shown your husband is dead, the king will appoint a new lord for
the lands and keep, but I’ll have a word with him and request he have a care for
you as well.”