Sin and Surrender (30 page)

There were now soldiers everywhere, squeezing some guests out of the great hall for the royal banquet. Tasters ate the king’s food before he did, making a poisoning unlikely.

Juliana realized that the best time for the king to be attacked would be during the actual melee itself, when men on horseback would be roaming the open countryside looking to defeat each other. And the king would be seated in the stands, mere yards away from knights with blunted weapons hoping to impress him with their skill and daring.

And someone would attempt an assassination.

Juliana and her fellow Bladesmen could not simply wait in front of the stands without calling attention to themselves. They would have to participate in the melee—all of them, she thought with satisfaction.

Late that night, Paul once again stared at the ceiling, Juliana lying as far from him as possible. He’d wanted
to talk to her, try to explain the things, but she’d wanted to remain focused on the mission. She’d sharpened her daggers and sword, examined the armor they’d appropriated for her from the armory, and made herself very busy throughout the evening.

And Paul had felt frustrated. He’d waited too long; she was determined to avoid a relationship with him, and he felt helpless to do anything about it.

The fact that she could sleep on such an evening infuriated him. He was about to wake her up, demand that she hear his thoughts, when he heard the faint knock of a Bladesman at the door.

He climbed over her to get out of bed—she still insisted on protecting him—and knew by her tension that she was no longer asleep. But he said nothing, only went to the door, opened it—and gaped.

His brothers, Adam and Robert, stood there, grinning. Before he could warn Juliana, they pushed past him, then came to a stop. Paul shut the door and found Juliana already standing, her dressing gown tight to her chin, her body looking tall and lean yet somehow fragile without the bulk of her clothing.

But she was smiling at his brothers, and even smiling at him. “Gentlemen, I thought you might make an appearance,” she said. “Come to see what your brother can do?”

Adam, Lord Keswick, smirked. “We’ve already
heard all about him in the great hall—his fondness for clothing, his mediocrity in the tournament—”

Paul groaned, and Robert elbowed him playfully.

“—the concubine he owns but will not marry,” Adam continued.

Paul smiled stiffly at Juliana. “He must have been talking to Lady Margaret or Alex.”

“And of course,” Robert said, gesturing grandly, “he is the long-awaited Prince Richard. Strange how those rumors quickly died with the king’s arrival.”

“No one wants to be beheaded for treason.” Paul shrugged. “But there are men here who wish that end for me.”

“They’ve tried to kill him several times,” Juliana informed the Hilliard brothers.

“But my personal guard has saved me more than once,” Paul said.

Juliana didn’t blush, only acknowledged her role with a nod.

Adam and Robert exchanged glances, then looked at Paul again, assessing him a bit too much. He didn’t want his brothers saying anything to offend Juliana, and perhaps ruin his last chance to redeem himself in her eyes.

“Will she save you again on the morrow?” Adam asked.

“‘Tis likely,” Juliana said. “Someone has to.”

Though Paul enjoyed the brief visit from his brothers,
they didn’t stay long. And then Paul and Juliana were alone again. He expected her to climb back into the bed and turn her back.

And although she did return to the bed, she gave him a curious look instead. “You have brothers you love. ‘Twill be difficult to leave England again.”

“I do not intend to.”

He thought that perhaps that would soften her stance toward him, but her eyes narrowed even as they searched his face. With a sigh, she turned away from him.

Juliana took her place in the charge line, visor lowered, body tense with the need to begin. She’d barely escaped her bedchamber that morn, dressed as a man, before Margaret had come to visit. In fact, she’d passed Margaret in the corridor, and although wearing her helm, her face had been visible. She’d bowed to the earl’s daughter. Margaret had nodded politely, barely looking at Juliana as she’d hurried by.

Margaret was watching now, along with over a thousand soldiers, guests, and villagers. The entire countryside would be the battlefield as mounted knights clashed and tried to be the last man still in the saddle. Though facing each other in charge lines, the knights didn’t fight on a team, but only for themselves. Every defeat meant the victor could lay claim to a man’s armor or horse, or even ask for a ransom in coin. The best man here would
be able to outfit his party many times over before the day was finished.

She could identify each Bladesman one by one, because of the small black smudge on the upper right of his shield and his helm.

And any assassin could identify the king. He sat on a special raised viewing stand, several noblemen—including the pale earl of Redesdale—on either side of him. Soldiers guarded three quarters of the dais, except where the king’s view of the melee would be obstructed.

Juliana’s horse moved restlessly beneath her, but did not stray from the line. Horses on either side neighed and shifted, controlled by their masters. She heard more than one man cheerfully call out that she would be an apt target, so small was she. Another answered on her behalf, to “let the squire have some enjoyment.”

And then the horn sounded, the crowd cheered, and she urged her horse into a gallop, lance lowered, shield raised, eyes trained from within her helm on the galloping charge line of the enemy.

She’d long ago accepted that she did not have a man’s thickness of muscle or brute strength. But the element of surprise, keen agility, and a well-trained horse beneath her could often defeat a far stronger man. She employed that now, dodging the first thrust of a blunted lance, and using the knight’s motion to pull him off balance and off his horse.

She heard him swear, even in the midst of the crash of weapons and the screaming neigh of horses.

“Take yourself to the loser’s pavilion,” Juliana shouted in her deep voice. “I will find you there.” Not that she intended to, but it would be expected of her.

And the man trudged off, leading his horse between small individual battles.

She used the terrain as best she could, dodging into a copse of trees or behind the occasional stands set up all through the fields. She took turns with other Bladesmen, remaining near the king’s stand. And always she looked for Paul, who had a far more difficult assignment than she did, for he had to appear untalented while still managing to remain on the field.

She unseated another knight by shattering her lance against his shield. But that weapon was destroyed, and she was down to her blunted sword and sharp daggers. She didn’t want to hurt anyone if she could help it.

And then she saw an armed man just coming out of the trees she herself had used for protection. He was not looking for opponents, but kept his head focused on the royal dais. It had to be Colfe, the assassin.

He began to gallop toward the king, parrying one blow with his shield, using his sword to twist the weapon out of another man’s hand. And still he kept coming toward the dais.

Juliana urged her horse into a gallop.

Paul saw everything begin to unfold—the knight coming out of the trees, letting nothing stop his charge toward the king; the soldiers idly watching, pointing out individual combats to each other, not paying attention as Colfe came inexorably forward.

Juliana, riding low over her mount’s neck, was on a collision course.

And in that moment, Paul wanted to protect the woman he loved from every danger, even as he knew she was not a woman who needed protection. And that he’d lose her if he took her life into his hands.

The decision cast him upon the sharp edge of a sword, teetering each way as he fought the internal battle of his life. And although it cost him dearly, he held back, letting Juliana make her move.

He watched her gallop her horse across the field of combat, aiming for the assassin, who closed in on the king. Paul did not hang back, knowing he had to be within striking range if she failed.

Colfe stood up in his stirrups, never slowing his pace, and Paul realized the man meant to fling himself from his horse and at the king, sword first. The king’s soldiers were too slow to realize what was happening, were too late to stop the man due to their position behind the king and courtiers.

But Juliana was there, and even as Colfe vaulted forward, she’d already done the same from the side, smashing into him armor to armor, her sword knocking away his, their horses screaming as they, too, collided. Juliana and the assassin crashed to the ground, rolling in a loud, metal-grinding heap. A fall while wearing heavy armor, from a horse moving at such a speed, could kill a well-muscled man.

A swarm of soldiers and Bladesmen descended on the two combatants writhing on the ground, and Paul was in the lead. He grabbed Colfe away from Juliana, and held the man up. The crowd jeered and roared, the soldiers stormed to grab him, and Paul was able to hide her escape.

Juliana needed no urging, knew she had to get away before her identity was revealed. Since she was close to the king’s dais, she was able to roll beneath. Her armor caught more than once on a wooden beam, pressing against painful new bruises, but at last she reached the far side.

But her helm was too wide, and she ended up having to leave it behind as she crawled from beneath the dais. Everyone was concentrating on the assassin’s threat against the king, and no one was watching her get to her feet, pulling her coif of chain mail closer about her face.

And then Alex came racing along the side, Marga
ret holding her skirts as she ran behind him. Juliana stopped, her head turned away, but they were blocking the direct path to the castle.

“I saw what you did!” Alex called triumphantly. “And I know who you are!”

Margaret almost skidded into his back. “Alex, what are you—”

She broke off, because Juliana had been forced to glare at Alex from beneath her coif, revealing herself. “Quiet!”

Margaret’s mouth sagged open.

“Aha!” Alex cried, keeping his voice softer this time. Then he seemed to realize what was at stake, and looked about to see if they were overheard. “I saw you save the king’s life, and I just knew!”

Margaret pointed at Juliana’s armor, “You—you—” but could not come up with words.

“I told you of her talents on the tiltyard,” Alex whispered to Margaret, whose hand he clutched.

“But … tossing a dagger is not the same as …” Again, Margaret’s voice briefly failed her. “That was …
you?
Flinging yourself from the saddle? Saving the king’s life?”

“I cannot explain,” Juliana said, “I must change before I’m discovered by someone other than the two of you. Only know that you cannot reveal what you’ve seen, and trust that all will be well.”

“But—but—” Margaret stammered. “Does Sir Paul know?”

“He was the one who grabbed the villain,” Alex said, his face beaming with happiness. “We must let her go, Margaret. Juliana—I am proud of you.”

Those words meant more than she could say. Feeling foolish tears dampen her eyes, all she could do was nod and turn away. She blended back into the streaming crowds who gossiped eagerly as they followed the bound assassin.

At last she made it to her bedchamber, only to find Michael waiting to assist her.

“Do you know what happened after Paul captured the assassin?” Juliana asked, as Michael began to work on the buckles holding together her chest and back plates.

“I did not linger, knowing you needed me. But I do believe Colfe was disgusted with his masters’ cowardice, and was quick to spill names. The noblemen were apprehended trying to flee the stands.”

She felt satisfied at the outcome, and at the moment, could not allow herself to think about the families of the traitors. “And Paul?”

“Everyone saw him lift the assassin out of the melee of pouncing soldiers. But most know he did not actually bring the man down.”

Juliana felt suddenly cold, even though perspiring under all her padding and armor. “Some might think
he was only turning the focus away from his own part.”

“Perhaps. But Colfe did not call out his name. We shall see what the king decides.”

Juliana did not exactly trust the king to do what was best for Paul, if what was best for England was something different. Paul had taught her these doubts, but they would keep her alive, and strip away the last of her naiveté.

After Michael stepped outside, Juliana donned her finest gown, and wore a veil to hide the fact that her hair was damp with perspiration. They met up again in the corridor and silently went down through the keep to the great hall, which was filled with the sounds of hundreds of excited voices. Soldiers searched Michael before they were allowed to enter the hall, and even ceremonial swords were being set aside.

Juliana spotted Paul’s blond hair first, and made her way toward him. He still wore his armor, though he’d removed gauntlets and helm. No one spoke to him, as if until his fate was decided, the risk was too great. But Timothy and the other Bladesmen, his guards, were but a sword’s span away.

Juliana took Paul’s arm, and he smiled down at her.

“Where is the king?” she asked softly.

“Closeted in Kilborn’s solar with the highest-ranking nobles and his councilors. Making decisions, I imagine.”

“About you?”

He shrugged. “We shall see.” And then he put his hand on top of hers and gently squeezed. “You were magnificent.”

His admiration warmed her. “You saw the whole thing?”

He nodded.

“And since you apprehended the assassin, you must have been very close.”

He nodded again.

“But you did not stop me.”

His smile softening, he caressed her cheek briefly with the back of his fingers. “Make no mistake, I wanted to. But not because you couldn’t handle it yourself.”

“I know.” She leaned against his shoulder, basking in the only praise that mattered. Whatever happened between them, she had his respect, and he had her love.