Sin and Surrender (15 page)

The inner ward had several courtyards setting apart the stables, the soldiers’ barracks, carpenter shop and smithy, and sheds for storage. Juliana spotted a wall enclosing a lady’s garden, with the kitchen garden located
behind. Half-timbered buildings lined the curtain wall, more lodgings for the earl’s family and guests.

Grooms from the stables came to take their horses, and Paul blathered on about the best oat mix and the perfect currying. Juliana paid no attention, and she knew the grooms probably didn’t either, though they appeared to focus respectfully on their lord’s guest.

Steep stairs led up to the first floor of the castle, and the massive double doors were wide open. Inside the great hall, high windows had been cut out of the stone to light what had once been a grim fortress. Fireplaces taller than Juliana bracketed both ends of the hall. Lines of trestle tables had been set up for dinner, the most elaborate meal of the day. Servants were even now adding final touches to the top layer of tablecloths that would be taken away with each course.

“Good sir!” shouted a voice from somewhere to their right, barely heard above the cacophony of guests and servants and dogs.

The Bladesmen all turned together to find a table laden with stacks of parchment, and several harried men sorting through them. The man who’d called for their attention now gestured, and Paul walked toward him. He was short, thin, with a head of dark curls.

“Sir—my lord,” the man began, looking at Paul’s elaborate clothing as if he couldn’t tell how to classify him, “my name is Bevis, and I am the usher for the great
hall. I must register you for the tournament.”

“God, no,” Paul said. “I do not know if I even mean to remain. My party was attacked last night and we barely escaped with our lives. I will have to be greatly assured of my safety or I will be gone.”

They’d all decided that a supposed attack would be a good way to speed up contact with the traitors who might believe they could lose Paul after all.

Bevis, eyes wide, bobbed his head. “I am sorry to hear that, sir, and I hope none of your party were hurt.”

Paul only grumbled a response.

“May I have your name, sir, so that I may introduce you to the steward, Sir Reginald? He will reassure you as to the precautions we’ve taken to guard our guests, and see to your lodgings.”

“I am Sir Paul, late of Flanders,” he answered stiffly.

The two men seated at the table looked at each other. Flanders was well known as a country sympathetic to Yorkists who’d fled England.

“My thanks, Sir Paul,” Bevis said, furiously writing on the parchment. “Please sign here to approve that I’ve numbered your party correctly.”

He did so with a flourish. “I need to be introduced to the earl immediately.”

“I will tell Sir Reginald. While you wait, please quench your thirst. Dinner will be served shortly.”

Paul’s nod was brusque as he turned away from the
usher. Juliana put her hand in his elbow, offering comfort to her patron.

With his hand on hers, he gave her a reassuring smile. “All will be well, my little duckling. I will keep you safe.”

Several footboys appeared carrying platters of tankards brimming with ale. Paul and the Bladesmen each took one, but Juliana accepted a goblet of wine.

She noticed that other than servants, the women of the hall were all finely dressed, their hair covered in headdresses that varied from caps with veils hung behind to gable hoods. They regarded Juliana with the wariness of birds defending their nests, but she saw no open animosity, even received a faint smile or two. She imagined all would reserve judgment until they knew exactly who her patron was.

At dinner they were assigned seats above the salt, a mark of importance, though not even the steward had yet been introduced to them. However, at least they could now see their host, Lord Kilborn. He sat on a raised dais, white-haired, but with the leathery face of a man used to the outdoors. His wife, younger than he and bearing his child, sat beside him. There were surely two hundred guests crowded into the spacious great hall. Several elaborate courses were served, and although Paul ate with gusto, his demeanor was that of
an impatient man. To the men seated near him, he told of being attacked.

And during it all, Juliana glanced at the earl’s guests and wondered if she would eventually encounter someone who knew her. Her father’s castle was less than a half-day’s journey away. The king had yet to decide upon whom to bestow it. She didn’t like to think about someone else holding her father’s viscountcy, but the ache of it had long since left her.

Her parents had never been the kind to host tournaments or festivals of their own, but they’d attended the events of others, and Juliana thought she recognized a face or two. But how could anyone know her, when the last time she’d been seen, she was a girl dressed as a boy? There had been no official mourning for her parents; no one came to grieve, only gave whispered offers of condemnation and secret sympathy.

After dinner, as the trestle tables were being cleared, a short man with a serious, lordly bearing approached them. He bowed briskly, as if he didn’t enjoy doing so, and then looked at Paul. “Sir Paul, I am Sir Reginald, steward of Castle Kilborn. Bevis told me of the unfortunate attack upon your party. Lord Kilborn expresses his regret, but hopes you do not leave us because of something out of his control.”

“The highways leading to his estate are not in his
control?” Paul asked loudly, hands on his hips like a crowing rooster. “What else isn’t in his control?”

Sir Reginald bowed his head again. “Lord Kilborn wishes you to know that his soldiers will scour the countryside for these thieves. Please be at ease, and enjoy the tournament.”

Paul continued to bluster, and at last, Juliana touched his arm.

“My love, surely Lord Kilborn will see to our security.”

He seemed to grit his teeth, then said to Sir Reginald, “We will spend the night, but I do not promise more. Tell Lord Kilborn that. Now see us to our lodgings, where we can tend our bruises. I will need a chamber for my companion and me, and a chamber on either side for my men to share.”

“Soldiers are housed in the barracks, Sir Paul. I cannot—”

“I cannot be left unprotected,” Paul interrupted, his expression urgent rather than arrogant. “Surely you understand that.”

It was a test of words—did Sir Reginald know why Paul was there? Were he and his master involved in treason?

Sir Reginald spoke in a placating manner. “I understand that you fear being attacked again. I will see what I can do to accommodate you.”

And then he was gone, moving through the crowds and disappearing down a corridor.

“His response revealed nothing,” Juliana murmured.

Paul smiled down at her intimately, as if she’d just whispered words better suited to the bedchamber. He patted her hand, still tucked within his arm. “I agree.”

Sir Reginald returned and gave Paul a brusque nod. “Your lodgings will not be as spacious as I could have granted had you only needed one chamber, but this will suit your needs. I’ve even been able to house you within the keep itself, rather than the outlying apartments.”

She wondered if there was a darker reason for that. Did someone wish to keep Paul close, to better watch his movements?

Their bedchamber was small, but generously furnished with woven mats on the floor instead of rushes, coffers for their garments, several cushioned chairs before the hearth, a changing screen—thank God—and a bed, large enough that perhaps their shoulders wouldn’t overlap. In the chamber on either side, servants were even now setting up several pallets for the comfort of soldiers rather than noble guests.

The baggage from their horses had already been brought up—“Searched?” Paul mouthed with amusement—and even now a maidservant began to unpack for them.

Juliana smiled at her. “I will finish that for Sir Paul.”

The servant curtsied and left them. Although she would have liked to collapse back on the bed and rest, Juliana went to the window first. It overlooked one of the tiltyards, and off in the distance, beyond the castle walls, she could see the village of Kilborn, and the spire of its small church.

When Paul joined her, she smiled up at him. “You played your part well. I think word of your displeasure will spread to the right people.”

“If not, I can be even louder at supper.”

They became silent then, memorizing the layout of the grounds, landmarks in the countryside, anything that might be useful during their mission. Timothy stopped by to announce that he and the others would explore the grounds, while Juliana and Paul should examine the keep itself.

It was most important for a Bladesman to know every entrance, any vulnerabilities in defense, ways to escape if all traditional exits were blocked. So Juliana and Paul strolled the keep, every level, every corridor, occasionally pretending too much interest, or pretending they were lost. They made certain no one saw them enter the undercroft beneath the castle, for there could be no reason guests would enter storage rooms.

As they headed back toward their lodgings, they passed an open door and the chattering of women. They were surprised to hear someone call Paul’s name.

They stepped inside what could only be the sewing and weaving chamber, for there were many servants and ladies busy at large tables and looms.

Lady Kilborn was the one who’d called for their attention, and even now she slowly, awkwardly rose from her chair, her stomach hampering her movements. She was a plump woman with deep dimples meant for laughter, and she regarded the two of them with interest, blushing a bit when she looked at Juliana.

“Sir Paul, I am so glad you brought your …” She gestured to Juliana as words failed her. Her blush deepened.

“My lady, I am Mistress Juliana, his concubine,” she said, her voice warm and frank. “You do not need to feel awkward calling me what I am.”

Paul squeezed Juliana’s hand. “We are companions in every sense, my lady. Alas, if only we could marry.”

He didn’t elaborate, but that seemed to relieve some of the countess’s confusion. To Juliana’s regret, she found his explanation touching, as if he’d tried to ease her way with the judgmental people they’d encounter.

“Ah, how sad for you both,” Lady Kilborn said. “Marriage is a wonderful comfort for two souls to share.” She patted her stomach. “And good things come from it, of course.”

Behind her, ladies twittered with laughter. More than one looked at Juliana as if she should fear such a result, but she kept her expression serene.

“Surely, you have manly things to attend to, Sir Paul,” Lady Kilborn said. “Leave Mistress Juliana with us.”

The thought of Paul wandering the castle without protection made Juliana squeeze Paul’s hand harder than she intended to.

He smiled down at her. “She would enjoy that, my lady. She does not always need to be looking after me.”

But that was her assignment, she thought. Yet she couldn’t alienate these women. Through friendships with them, she might discover much about their husbands’ loyalties.

“I will see you in our chamber before supper, Sir Paul,” Juliana said, hoping he understood her hidden message:
Stay there until I return!

As Juliana sat down among the women, she asked for something to sew, so she could be of help. They gave her a man’s shirt, which needed embroidering at collar and cuff. At times such as this, she was glad her parents had insisted she learn the basic skills of a woman, however rebellious she’d acted about it. She was never going to be praised for amazing talent, but she could get by.

Conversation flowed about her, and she absorbed the noble titles of guests and where they were from, the size of their parties, and news from London. There was heightened interest when all discussed Paul’s brother,
newly revealed as the long lost earl of Keswick—not that anyone knew that Paul was related to him.

She tried not to think of Paul himself, although concern for him always simmered beneath her thoughts. What if someone had told Lady Kilborn to separate them with ill intent?

To the women, Juliana slowly revealed the background she’d carefully constructed for herself: daughter of an impoverished London gentleman, forced by her father into accepting a Frenchman’s protection. It was scandalous, but might evoke some sympathy. Now her liaison with Paul seemed more the product of a love that could never be legalized due to her disgrace. Most of the women seemed sympathetic, while a few, obviously, felt she should have thrown herself into the Thames rather than submit to such degradation. They didn’t understand what hopelessness felt like, she thought.

At last they released her, and she was able to hurry to her own bedchamber. As she passed through the corridors, she received much in the way of speculative stares and open lascivious interest, but she was growing used to it. She was now a concubine after all, and the character was becoming part of her. Plain Juliana, who could disappear even among men, had faded away. It was as if she were playing a part onstage, except that it had become her life every moment of the day. Even
with Paul, she was playing a part, she thought, feeling a touch of regret.

At her door, she paused, hearing feminine voices. She stepped inside, only to see Paul towering over three women, who were calmly stripping him of his garments.

He looked over their heads at Juliana and grinned with charming helplessness.

P
aul felt a surge of satisfaction when Juliana opened the door. He’d been hoping she’d arrive, had imagined the look on her face at seeing the women preparing him, their guest, for a bath.

But all Juliana did was blink her eyes for a moment, then calmly said, “Please allow me to fulfill my duties by assisting Sir Paul.”

The maidservants had only removed his mantle, boots, and doublet, and were working on loosening the laces at his neckline with nimble fingers, but they all ceased at once, to his disappointment. Juliana held open the door for them.

He could not allow her to triumph so easily. “Elizabeth, please remain and assist my companion.”