His Fair Lady (42 page)

Juliana’s brows rose high over wide, rounded
eyes, as though she, too, thought of the stable and feared he would
say more.

“And yet your bride wears no ring,” Friston
challenged, blackest anger lashing his features. “Neither of you
do.”

Juliana thrust her hands into the folds of
her gown. “I—I have a ring. We both do. We didn’t wear them
because, well—”

“Because we didn’t wish the fact to be known
until we’d spoken first with His Majesty and sought his, er,
blessing,” Royce quickly added.

“How comforting to know.” King John appeared
to be taking some amusement in his struggles.

Friston continued to scowl. “I do not
believe you. There are no pale marks upon her finger, or yours,
where a band might have been worn. And to be blunt, Lady Juliana
possesses a virginal quality about her, an innocence that betrays
that she’s never known a man.”

Furious at the man’s gall, Royce swept
Juliana behind him once more. “Take care in what you say of my
lady, Friston, or we will yet cross blades.”

“Then let us do so,” the Frenchman sneered.
“But first, produce the priest who married you. Let him be called
to court.” Friston turned his burning gaze to the king. “Majesty, I
have supplied documents giving proof to support every word I’ve
claimed. Sir Royce must be required to do no less. If he is to be
allowed to assert his rights as Lady Juliana’s husband and claim
the lordship of Penhurst, then he should provide proof of his
marriage to her.”

King John lifted a brow at that, then
glanced to Sir Royce. “‘Tis reasonable enough. Can you produce the
churchman, Sir Royce?”

Curse the meddling Frenchman, Royce fumed.
He was like a badger who’d bitten into his prey and wouldn’t let
go.

“Aye, Majesty. ‘Twas Friar Tupper who
performed the ceremony. He is presently visiting Penhurst from
Beckwell.”

Friston’s eyes narrowed. “Majesty, while
this friar is being summoned, I insist Lady Juliana be lodged apart
of Sir Royce, until their marriage can be confirmed or denied. ‘Tis
my understanding the papal legate is due to arrive here tomorrow. I
hope to have no cause to seek him out with any complaints.”

“Do not dare to threaten me, unless you wish
to discover what lies in the bowels of Guildford’s keep!” the king
barked, standing eye to eye with the Frenchman. “I will send my own
men to fetch Friar Tupper, lest you next claim his cooperation was
influenced. Gratefully, Penhurst is not far, and we’ll soon have an
answer. Meantime, Lady Juliana will stay with my queen and other
arrangements will be found for you, Sir Royce. I assume, Friston,
that you have your own hole to climb into somewhere?” The king
glared at the man.

“Comfortable enough quarters, Majesty.
I shall withdraw to there now.” He sketched a bow and started for
the door. Pausing, he shot a glance back at Royce. “Until the
matter is resolved, be assured,
chevalier
, Lady Juliana, I will be
watching.”

»«

The “other arrangements” found for Royce
were in an isolated corner, high in the keep, a tiny chamber on the
topmost floor. ‘Twas a snug, out-of-the-way room that the king
suggested, claiming to have used it on occasion himself — before
his recent marriage, of course.

No sooner had Royce moved in his small trunk
than a priest arrived at his door, bearing a message from John.

“I am to await your instruction, Sir Royce,”
the priest said as he removed a small scroll from his sleeve and
handed it to Royce.

His interest piqued, Royce unrolled the
parchment. The message it bore was brief, but the meaning
clear.

The cunning fox spreads word of his presence
and purpose at Court, as well as your claims concerning Lady
Juliana. Acting the aggrieved relative, he now openly demands Lady
Juliana submit herself to an examination by the royal physicians.
If she proves yet chaste, he will appeal to the papal legate and
have the marriage nullified, assuming your friar confirms one
exists.

The examination I will allow but have
delayed till the morrow. To do otherwise invites suspicion and
further interference. Meanwhile, I send you my priest, Father
Andrew Des Roches, to aid you in whatever way he might. He may be
trusted.

John Rex

Seeing Royce re-roll the parchment, Father
Andrew stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“I am to advise you, what with the
continuing arrivals at Guildford and the Court diversions planned
for this evening, that your presence will not be missed. Nor will
that of Lady Juliana. His Majesty said you would understand.”

Royce tapped the scroll thoughtfully against
his palm. “That I do, Father. That I do.”

»«

Juliana sat woodenly in naught but her linen
chemise while Luvena combed out her hair. The other ladies in the
bedchamber were busily applying the final touches to their
appearance and departing for the Great Hall below. Juliana,
however, had no wish to leave the confines of the room. She feared
encountering Friston and was far too embarrassed to face Sir
Royce.

Dear Lord, what had she done? She may well
have ruined Sir Royce’s opportunity to marry the countess and
become the next Earl of Linford. She’d acted solely on impulse, the
sight of the Frenchman panicking her to the bone. If only she could
attach his face to some place or time, but her mind would not give
up the memory.

On the other hand, she’d thrust Sir Royce
into a most difficult situation. She must right things for him —
seek out Lady Sibylla and explain what had happened. Despite Sir
Royce’s gallantry, Juliana could not allow him to sacrifice his own
future for her sake.

It still amazed her that he’d supported her
wild tale that they were wed. Had he done so because of the special
bond they shared? Because he felt some obligation to continue
saving the “little sprite” who’d “inspired him through the years,”
as he’d said of her? No matter, he’d proved himself a most
chivalrous knight, jeopardizing much for her this day — a bride and
an earl’s coronet. She must amend things for him, even though doing
so would break her heart.

“Are you sure you do not wish to go down, my
lady?” Luvena asked as she finished working her hair into a thick
braid. “There will be the most splendid amusements this eve —
mummers, tumblers, little dogs leaping through hoops.”

Before Juliana could answer, a knock came at
the door. Luvena bustled across the room to open it, and Juliana
next heard a male voice, speaking low and rapid.

“I seek Lady Juliana. Is she here?”

“Aye, Father. That she is,”

“Then inform her she is to come with me at
once.”

“She will first need dress—”

“At once!” he insisted. “There is no
time.”

Juliana caught up her fur-lined mantle from
where it lay over her trunk and quickly wrapped it about her.
“Luvena, who comes?”

“A priest, my lady, and two of the king’s
guard.” Juliana joined the maid at the door and confronted the
churchman, her stomach knotting. “Where is it you wish to take me?
If to Rennart de Friston, I warn you I’ll not go.”

“My lady, I am Father Andrew, His Majesty’s
spiritual advisor. I am to bring you to the owner of this.”

Opening his palm, he held out a silver
cross, the same cross she’d worn these ten years past. Taking it
from him, Juliana forgot all else and nodded.

“Of course. Please lead the way,
Father.”

No sooner did Juliana emerge from the
chamber than new fears seized her. Sir Royce must be hugely angry
with her for all the trouble she’d caused him this day. On the
other hand, it struck her as extraordinary that the king’s own
priest should be sent to find her and escort her to the knight.
What was this truly about?

Juliana braced herself and continued to
follow the priest along the corridors, hazy with torchfire, the
guards tracking behind. They climbed high in the keep, arriving at
last before a door in the southwest corner. Father Andrew rapped
thrice then pushed the door open and stepped aside. Motioning her
through, he then closed the door behind her.

Juliana drew a breath as she took another
step into the chamber. There, waiting before the fireplace, stood
Sir Royce, as strikingly handsome as ever. She hesitated as his
eyes pulled to her, expecting to find them fired with anger.
Instead, they were weighted with thought, his look sober,
unreadable, causing her to tense all the more.

Uncertain of his mood, Juliana clutched her
mantle close and moved cautiously into the room. “Sir Royce, I — I
am so sorry . . . for the trouble I have caused you . . . but
thankful too. Once more you have saved me, it seems.”

She tried to form a smile but found her lips
suddenly dry. As she moistened them, the motion drew Sir Royce’s
eyes, his gaze lingering upon her mouth.

“When Friston tried to claim me, I could
scarce think,” she continued, self-conscious, her words jumbling
together. “I knew only to seek your protection, which I did, by
saying you were my husband. The man is evil, I’m sure of it. How, I
don’t know, but he’s no cousin of mine. Heaven knows what he wants
with me—”

In a single step, Sir Royce closed the space
between them, drawing her to him and dropping a kiss to the top of
her head. “Shhh, Juliana. ‘Tis all right.”

Surprised to find herself solaced in his
arms, rather than tasting of his anger, Juliana glanced slowly
upward. “I promise to explain everything to Lady Sibylla—”

“Do not worry about Lady Sibylla.”

Juliana sought his gaze at that, sensing
something amiss. “What is it, Sir Royce? Why have you sent for
me?”

His eyes quested hers a long moment, then he
eased his hold of her. “Perhaps you should sit down, Juliana.”

She pulled away, stiffening. Something
indeed was wrong. “What has happened? Tell me. I’ll not break or
throw myself into a fit.”

“Nor would I expect you to, my brave
Juliana, though you may still decide it best to sit.” He brushed
the back of his fingers over her cheek, then coupled his gaze with
hers. “These past weeks, you’ve asked me to allow you your own
choice. That I will do this night, though the choice I must offer
you is far from any you might have expected.”

“Go on,” Juliana prompted when he paused
overlong, steeling herself for his next words.

“At the insistence of Friston and by the
command of the king you are to undergo an examination on the morrow
by the royal physicians. They will verify whether you yet be a
virgin or not. If so, our ruse will be exposed and the Frenchman
will reassert his claim over you.”

Juliana wavered at his revelation. “But
still, we can maintain we have spoken our marriage vows—”

“An unconsummated union can be dissolved and
Friston stands ready to appeal the matter to the papal legate.”

“I see.” Juliana’s heart sank to the
vicinity of her toes. “You said there is a choice?”

“I see but two alternatives, Juliana. Either
we allow the truth to be revealed, in which case you will be given
over to the guardianship of your ‘cousin’— “

“Oh, nay, we cannot do that! There must be
another way. Anything. Tell me what I must do and I shall. What is
the other choice?”

Sir Royce cupped her face in his strong
hands. “We must lie together this night, as though truly man and
wife, so that on the morrow you will in truth no longer be a
virgin.”

Juliana’s pulse pounded in her ears as she
stared up at him. She couldn’t seem to get any sound past her
lips.

“I am sorry, Juliana, there is no delicate
way to put this. To keep you from Friston, you must give me your
maidenhead.”

She felt herself color hotly.

“
There are, shall we say, less
natural
ways to—” He shook his head
against the notion, then sighed. “Friston will not abandon his
claim easily. He may insist you face the prelate and even take an
oath. You must be able to claim with all honesty that we have been
intimate. To lie to the papal prelate would be as if to lie before
God, a sin. ‘Tis best we—”

“I understand.” She must have swayed for Sir
Royce’s hands moved to steady her, capturing her about her waist
and by her arm.

“Juliana, I’ve no wish to dishonor you, and
certainly would not take your gift without benefit of vows, but I
cannot marry you. I’ve already spoken with the priest, but as ‘tis
Advent, no marriages may be performed either now or before Twelfth
Night. He can make no exceptions.”

Confusion crowded her brain. “You asked him
to marry us? But, of course, you did. You are ever a man of honor.
I wouldn’t have agreed, of course. I won’t marry you.”

Her words brought a startled look to Sir
Royce’s eyes, but she’d not deny him the brilliant future he
deserved. She loved him too much to stand in his way.

“I will truly speak with Lady Sibylla,” she
assured, her heart tearing.

“Juliana, listen to me—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips — warm,
wonderful lips — and stopped his words.

“Your countess need know nothing of what
passes here. ‘Tis no secret I was betrothed before coming to
England. Let her believe I arrived on these shores already
deflowered.”

He caught her fingers in his. “Juliana, I
appreciate what you seek to do. Let us speak of it another time.
Still, I’ve no intention of bedding you without some benefit of
vows. This much I can offer you — our own betrothal, blessed by the
Church.”

Juliana blinked at Sir Royce’s
insistence. The vows of betrothal were as solemn as those of
marriage, though not as binding. “Very well. Once Friston leaves
Court, we
can have them quietly dissolved. Meanwhile,
we must reveal them to no one, especially to Lady Sibylla.
Agreed?”