His Fair Lady (20 page)

Ana continued on with the knight, keeping
her gaze diverted from those in the courtyard who openly stared at
her. She felt painfully self-conscious and completely out of place.
Except for her brief stay in the fortresses at Boulogne and Dover,
she’d never been in anything remotely similar to a castle, let
alone a royal stronghold such as Wallingford. The fortresses had
been stark in their furnishings, intended primarily to house the
garrisons, she guessed. But here, she’d found the ladies’ chamber
to be hung with silks, its windows glazed, and even possessing a
fine fireplace, decoratively sculpted and lined with tiles. Such
luxury she’d never known.

Fortunately, she’d not encountered any of
the noblewomen who occupied the chamber. She’d been told they were
currently in other parts of the castle, some with the queen. ‘Twas
just as well, Ana deemed, since she would not know how to conduct
herself in the presence of ladies such as they. All in all, her
brief glimpse into the lives of the nobility would be a topic for
much cheerful discussion when she returned home. She now need only
meet Lord Gilbert, have him see she was not his lost granddaughter,
and then she would be free to return home to do just that.

Before she departed, however, there was one
thing she wished to learn. If Lord Gilbert had searched for his
granddaughter for as long and as extensively as Sir Royce claimed,
then it stood to reason he might know something of her squire and
whether or not he’d returned from the Holy Lands. For certain, he
would know the name of the knight her squire had served when the
Crusaders happened upon Vaux. Lord Gilbert must have given the name
to Sir Royce, for he’d spoken it on the steps of St. Maurice when
he’d stopped her wedding — a Sir Hugh Fitz something. She couldn’t
recall the last of it, but she was loathe to ask Sir Royce to
repeat it again. He was ever suspicious of her intentions, not that
she hadn’t given him cause to be.

Ana shivered as they entered the northwest
tower and began to ascend the stairs. A wintry cold was trapped in
the stones, though outside the day was most pleasant.

She slid a glance to the knight. He looked
quite striking again, dressed in formal attire, his tunic a deep
forest green. She’d have to endure his company for another week, of
course, once Lord Gilbert pronounced her to be a stranger. Indeed,
she looked forward to the shocked look on Sir Royce’s face when he
realized how wrong he’d been about her and that he must conduct her
back to Chinon.

For a brief moment she wondered if he’d
allow her to keep some of her new clothes. She’d like to keep the
one she wore now, if nothing more. She’d never owned anything so
beautiful as the rose-colored gown, or so soft to the touch.
‘Twould be small recompense for the distress caused her.

Gaining the second floor, they arrived at an
oaken door, reinforced and studded with iron. The knight gave three
solid knocks upon the wood.

The scraping of a chair sounded on the other
side of the door, then the quickening of footsteps as someone
approached. As the door eased open, a man’s narrow face appeared, a
purplish blotch on the end of his nose. He pressed his fingers to
his lips, shushing them.

“No visitors by order of the queen’s
physick.”

The man started to shut the door, but the
knight’s arm shot out, forcing it back open.

“I am Sir Royce de Warrene and this is Lady
Juliana.”

Ana’s eyes leaped to his. “I am
not
Juli—”

“‘
Tis no matter who you are. Lord
Gilbert is very ill and must not be disturbed,” the odd little man
grumbled. “His lordship is resting now and will need to be bled
again soon.”

“Bled?” Ana echoed, her revulsion for the
practice ringing in her tone. “Is that necessary?”

“Young lady!” He hissed his
displeasure. “You will keep your voice lowered and not, I
repeat
not
, disrupt his
lordship’s rest.”

The man put his shoulder and weight to the
door as he tried to close it against Sir Royce’s strength. But not
to be dismissed so easily, the knight pushed against the barrier,
driving the door and the little man back until the portal stood
fully open.

“The lady
will
disturb his lordship and so shall I,” Sir
Royce avowed. “This is Lord Gilbert’s granddaughter, Juliana
Mandeville. And if he is as ill as you say, then all the more
reason for him to see her, and at once.”

“Sir Royce?” A voice rasped from the depths
of the room. “Juliana? Have you brought my Juliana?”

“Now see what you’ve done,” the little man
carped as the knight swept Ana over the threshold and into the
room. “You must not excite him. Sir, sir? Do you hear me?”

Ana came to a halt beside Sir Royce, midway
into the chamber. ‘Twas not a large room, yet ‘twas warm, unlike
the stairwell. A fire crackled in the fireplace, while tapestries
cloaked the walls. An elaborately carved bed occupied half the
room’s space, its curtains drawn on three sides, the one facing the
fire left open.

As Ana and Sir Royce moved deeper into
the chamber, they discovered a pale figure of a man propped in a
sitting
position upon a wealth of pillows. His snowy
hair was near indistinguishable against the equally snowy linens
until he struggled to sit forward. His gaze riveted on
Ana.

“Juliana? Oh . . . oh, my child, my child,
you’ve come at last!” His voice trembled with emotion. “I knew you
would. I never gave up hope. Step closer that I might better see
you. These old eyes fail.”

Suddenly uncertain of herself, Ana moved to
the side of the bed as the old lord asked. She saw now how his eyes
swam with tears and felt a hot liquid stinging the back of her
own.

Lord Gilbert reached out toward her and
caught her hand in his, his touch cool and dry as parchment as he
drew her nearer. “Ah yes, ‘tis you, my sweet Juliana. Praise God.
How I’ve prayed to find you before I draw my last breath. And here
you be.” His shoulders began to shake as he further dissolved to
tears. “Forgive an old man to weep so, but my heart just burst with
joy.”

Overcome, he could not speak for a moment.
But Ana found her voice had deserted her as well, so touched was
she by the man’s outpouring. Tears collected in her eyes, and her
throat clogged with unexpected emotion. For a moment she could
almost believe she was the one for whom this man had searched so
long. Wanted to believe it, if only to please him. Ana could not
explain the strange feelings surging inside her.

In her mind’s hearing, a small voice
clamored that she shared no relation with this man. And yet, there
seemed a vague familiarity about the old lord’s features — his
faded green eyes of a hue not unlike her own, and his brows that
arched wide over his eyes reminding her of . . . someone. She could
not say who. Perhaps ‘twas an illusion, a trick of mind, no more
than a desire to not disappoint this man, who was so obviously
unwell.

Recovering himself, Lord Gilbert wiped his
eyes and gave a small squeeze to Ana’s hand.

“You have grown so since last I saw you,
dear Juliana. You were just a wisp of a little thing. A breeze
could have carried you away. But despite the years, I would know
you anywhere, could pick you out of any crowd. You are so like your
mother, Alyce, and your grandmother too — my beautiful Thérèse, God
rest her soul. They both had that same little mole on their upper
lips, only your mother’s was here, on the right side.” He tapped a
finger to the place above his own lip, giving a small, joyful
laugh. “Come sit here on the bed. Dear child, we have years to
catch up on, and I wish to hear everything about you.”

“By your leave, Lord Gilbert,” Sir Royce
spoke from where he’d remained standing in the center of the
chamber. “As Lady Juliana is obviously in good hands, I will
withdraw now and leave you undisturbed.”

Lord Gilbert’s eyes brightened as he looked
toward the knight. “But you must stay and share our joy, Sir Royce,
and our thanks. You found my Juliana and so quickly. How did you
manage it where I had failed after so many years of searching?”

Sir Royce smiled, giving a light shrug of
his shoulder. “A piece of luck only, a lead when I stopped at
Fontevrault to pay homage at the Lionheart’s tomb. A man boasted of
the ale of a certain brewer in nearby Chinon and of his beautiful,
silver-haired daughter with bewitching green eyes.”

“That they are.” Lord Gilbert smiled proudly
at Ana, then returned his gaze to the knight, “But Sir Royce, I see
you have sustained wounds since last I saw you. Was your journey a
difficult one?”

“It had its moments.” The knight’s lips
slanted upward in a half-smile, his eyes brushing Ana’s for the
briefest of moments.

She dropped her gaze away, aware of a
curious, fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. When she
lifted her eyes again, she found the old lord’s inquisitive gaze
moving between herself and Sir Royce. He smiled then and patted
Ana’s hand.

“The years have been long and many, and time
doth change a man. Hopefully, you remember your old grandfather?”
His words held a hopeful question as he shone a kindly, though
expectant, smile on her.

Ana swallowed. She’d no wish to disappoint
the old lord, but there was no way to avoid the truth, or even to
bend it. Casting a glance to Sir Royce, she saw concern sharpening
his features as though he feared what she might say.

His lips parted to intervene and speak on
her behalf, but before he could do so she turned back to the aged
man holding her hand.

“My lord, I must confess that my memory
stretches back only to the night of the attack on Vaux,” she said
gently. “In truth, I remember nothing of the attack itself, nor of
the hours, days, or years that came before it.”

“Nothing at all?” Lord Gilbert asked,
amazement filling his voice.

Ana shook her head, a great sadness welling
up from a place deep in her soul, a dark place she knew to be there
but dared not probe. Covering Lord Gilbert’s hands with one of her
own, she gazed into his faded eyes, unbidden tears brimming her
own.

“I want to remember so very, very much,” she
admitted truthfully, her voice breaking. “But every time I try, I
find only images of fire and blooded swords and of death all around
me. For whatever reason, I am unable to push past that horrible
night, or to reach any of the memories that lie beyond it.”

She dropped her lashes, tears slipping over
her cheeks. She’d not expected this tide of emotion to overtake
her. When she’d come to the tower, she expected only for the old
lord to acknowledge she was unknown to him and to send her away.
Not this. She bore a wound in her heart, one she kept her conscious
thoughts ever turned from. But the wound ran deep, she knew, and
had never truly healed. Confronting the past like this, she felt as
though that wound had just split open.

“‘
Tis all right, Juliana,” Lord
Gilbert comforted. “Let us speak of happier times when you were
small. I can tell you all about them, you know, and about your
parents too. At Penhurst, I have stored many things that were your
mother’s and father’s. Until we are able to travel there, I will
fill you with stories — stories that will delight you. Perhaps
something I say will stir your memories and breathe life into them
once more. But I am content simply that you are here, my sweet
Juliana. My heart overflows with such joy. You’ve come home to me
at last.”

Ana felt she was any place but home. Nor did
she accept she was Lord Gilbert’s lost granddaughter. Still, she
couldn’t bring herself to challenge his assumptions or blight his
joy. Tomorrow, perhaps, would be soon enough to address those
things. And if he had some proof to offer as to her identity, she
would listen.

She glanced up to find Sir Royce’s gaze
lodged upon her, his look unreadable. As their eyes locked on each
other’s, Lord Gilbert took note of the knight.

“Sir Royce, the last time we met my words
were harsh, if not scathing.”

“But well deserved, my lord,” Sir Royce
returned. Ana’s brows drew together as she puzzled their words.
“Pray accept my deepest thanks and a debt of gratitude, Sir Royce.
What will you do now that you’ve completed your quest and found our
Juliana?”

Our Juliana?
Ana’s brows rose at that usage. She looked from one man to
the other but seemed to be momentarily forgotten.

“I’ve an estate to claim in Kent, awarded me
by the Lionheart,” the knight was saying. “King John’s counselors
have been studying the grant. Once I collect the document, I will
be away for Birkwell.”

“There is nothing I can do to thank you
enough for finding Juliana. But if I might give you a piece of
advice, watch John,” Lord Gilbert warned. “This youngest
Plantagenet is a wily one. Best align yourself with one of the
power barons. William Marshal would be my own choice. He is wise
and much experienced in royal matters. He has had the fortune, or
misfortune as it were, of dealing with the old king as well as most
all of his sons. Whatever you decide though, keep a close eye on
John.”

A flourish of trumpets sounded from outside,
drawing Ana’s attention to the window.

“Ah, the call to dinner.” Lord Gilbert
smiled. “The king arrived this morn and Queen Isabella has ordered
a splendid feast to be served. You’ll not wish to miss it.”

Ana blanched at the thought of supping with
nobility or being in the presence of the royals. She knew nothing
of how to behave in such circumstances and could only make a fool
of herself.

“I would much prefer to take a meal in my
chamber, if possible,” Ana said.

“Nonsense, my child. You must be seen and
presented to the king and queen as well. They are keenly interested
in the outcome of Sir Royce’s quest.”