Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (22 page)

The twins nodded. "He could not attract a bride because of his transgressions. At least 'tis what Father said."

"I want to hear more about this transgression," Juliana said, looking at Gawain.

"The first or the second?" Catherine asked brightly.

Juliana watched him somberly. Gawain shrugged. "I overstepped my bounds in Scotland," he answered. He had not planned to tell her yet, comfortable with his habit of keeping matters to himself. And it was hardly the time with the twins here—he wondered if he would ever find a good time for it. "I begged icing's peace. Twice. 'Tis done." He half turned away.

"What did you do?" Juliana narrowed her eyes curiously.

"The first time," he said, clearing his throat, "I abetted the escape of rebels in Scotland."

"At Elladoune?" Her glance was keen.

"Aye." He looked away.

"You were seen the night we met?" she asked quietly. "And punished for it?" He nodded, and she frowned. "I never knew."

"'Tis done, as I say," he answered. "I pledged anew, and was admitted into king's peace again."

"And the second time?" she asked.

"Similar to the first," he said dismissively. "I helped a Scotswoman in need, and a few months later, had to petition for king's peace again. My reputation was not the best after that, as you can imagine. Helping Scotswomen is apparently frowned upon in the English court." He glanced at her quickly.

"I am glad that you have that penchant," she murmured.

"The marriages that Henry and my mother tried to arrange were refused by the ladies' fathers or the ladies themselves. I have been left to find my own bride," he said, "and I was little interested in pursuing the matter—until now." He bowed and smiled, taking the conversation into a lighter vein.

"And so you see why Gawain is no prize," Eleanor said, turning from fervent whispering with her sister.

Juliana tilted her head to consider him. "Is he not?"

He gave her the sour look he had bestowed upon his sister a moment earlier. Eleanor, who tended to giggle and chatter more than Catherine, tittered behind her hand.

"I wish you and Juliana would stay here, Gawain," Catherine said. "Mother seems so much better today. She may not be with us long," she added in a whisper. "The physicians say—" She lowered her head.

Gawain touched her shoulder. "She is stronger than you think," he said gently. "Mayhap she will surprise us all."

Though Juliana turned away, he saw her brow fold, her eyes mist over. She was touched deeply by his mother's illness, he realized. He was grateful for her tender heart.

The girls ran back toward the castle, waving and calling to their mother. Robin and the pages walked to meet them, and they crossed the drawbridge together. Gawain strode beside Juliana to cross the meadow after them.

"I owe you my thanks," he said somberly. "You have done far more than I asked. You have brought my mother joy." He watched their feet as they walked through grasses and wildflowers.

"Do you think she will surprise everyone, and get well?"

"She is weaker than when I saw her last, even a month ago."

"Then why did you tell your sisters so?"

He sighed. "What am I to tell them?" he asked. "That she will lie in her grave by winter, as I believe will happen? That they should gather their rosaries and purchase black silks?" He swore suddenly and halted, drawing a breath against the onslaught of grief that came at him like a strong wind.

Juliana touched his arm, then lifted her face and kissed his cheek, quick and sweet.

He blinked down at her. "Are the twins coming this way?"

"That was for you," she said, her cheeks pink. "A seasoned knight who is not afraid to show love for his mother—nor is he afraid to help Scots in need. That man deserves praise and reward, for he is a rare creature indeed."

He felt himself blushing. "Ah, well. 'Tis my name, you see. I am obligated to match the perfection of Arthur's knight Gawain every day of my life. 'Tis not easy to have that name."

"You do honor to it." She smiled gently. "Tell me what ails your mother."

"A disease of the lungs, they say, that saps her strength and will kill her someday. Her physicians dose her and bleed her, and annoy all of us. They cannot help her. But she seems to have accepted it more graciously than I have." He paused. "My lady mother is one of the finest people I know, strong and kind. She and I survived... a tragedy together, years ago, before she wed Henry. 'Twill be hard to lose her." He could not look at her, then.

She touched his arm, a quiet comfort. "You are fortunate to have such a mother in your life for any space of time."

"Your mother," he said after a moment. "Is she gone?"

"Gone into the religious life. She will never come out of the convent she chose, and I will not see her again unless I travel there, and 'tis far. She left me to watch my brothers while she cared
for
her soul. 'Twas more important to her than the souls of the children who needed her," she added quietly.

"Juliana," he said, feeling a surge of sympathy. "That must have been difficult for all of you." She shrugged admittance.

"You have a wonderful mother," she said softly. "Be grateful for her company as long as you have her."

"I am," he said. He knew that his mother would love Juliana as if she were her own daughter—then he shook his head at his own fancy, for he truly did not know what would become of this marriage once they returned to Scotland.

He walked on with her. After a moment, she linked her arm firmly with his and looked up, smiling shyly.

"I must be very deserving today, to earn such affection from a lovely lady," he teased.

She grinned. "Look, I have saved you once again, I think. There are the girls—and they have a book with them. More forfeits in store for you, sirrah."

"Not more verses," he groaned. The twins waited in the courtyard, one of them holding the new volume he had given them tucked under her arm. Juliana laughed up at him.

He looked down at her and smiled. He did not think he could pay these forfeits much longer without paying a serious price in the bargain.

* * *

Avenel was paradise. She felt as if she walked through a dream world. The sun shone brightly, and love and kindness and laughter surrounded her. The Avenels and their servants, and even their dogs and cats, were attentive and friendly. She wanted to look around, now and then, to be sure they talked and smiled at her—at Juliana Lindsay, a Scottish rebel in their English nest, and not some beloved princess come to call.

A few dark notes sounded, like a heavy knell, beneath the melody: Lady Clarice's serious and undeniable illness, and the fact that the Avenels were English, and enemies to the Scots.

But the sweetest note of all was Gawain. Kissing him, laughing with him, felt heady and wonderful. Affection, kisses, and casual touches made her feel like his friend, his lover, truly his wife. When he was near, she blushed, and her heart beat hard, and she remembered the joy she had felt waking in his arms that morning. She yearned to be alone with him again.

Even if they only played at love for a little while, she felt cherished; she belonged. Surely she would melt before day's end, flow into a puddle of joy and contentment—a raindrop on the river in enchanted Avenel.

The grim world of truth waited outside the gates of Avenel, and soon they must return to it. Tomorrow Gawain would take her back to the escort, to the cart, to silence—and chains.

And to Scotland, at last, for which her heart also longed. Desperate to return, she would pay any price, play any game.

But she suspected that the game she played with Gawain would forfeit her heart and her very soul into the bargain.

Chapter 16

By late afternoon, he had kissed her so often at the twins' urging that he knew the fragrance of her, the taste, the softness of her. Each time they touched, a tide swelled within him that made his body throb, his heart pound.

He wondered how he would endure another night alone with her in his bed after a day of pretended wedded bliss. Thoughts of the ecstasy that had stirred between them, while both were half asleep and dreaming, pulled at him. He had to master his passion, and remember honor. Otherwise, he would take her up the stairs and make her his own, there, then, forever.

Awareness of their departure tomorrow cooled his ardor somewhat. As the day wore on, he dreaded leaving Avenel; he wished the surprising joy he had found here could continue.

He left his mother's chamber, having sat with her to read verses by the Gawain poet until she fell asleep. Hearing laughter through a window in a stairwell, he looked outside.

Juliana and the girls were on the practice field at the side of the castle grounds. Descending quickly, he crossed the courtyard to find them.

As Juliana's keeper, he could not let her leave the castle alone with the girls. As her husband, and as a man honest with himself, he found it difficult to stay away from her.

The large field, grazed flat by sheep, was used for jousting, weapon practices, and for exercising horses. Three large bales of hay were placed at the far end, with painted cloths pinned to them, for archery practice. The girls stood at the other end, closest to his approach. Each was armed with a short hunting bow. Robin walked back and forth among them as, one by one, they lifted their bows to shoot at the targets.

"'Tis the bridegroom!" Catherine exclaimed, turning as Gawain walked toward them. She still held the bow and nocked arrow in her hands. Gawain turned her away, so that she aimed toward the target.

"Careful, Cat," he said. "Would you deprive the lady of her bridegroom after only a few days of marriage?"

"You will owe Juliana another kiss for making me unhappy with that remark," Catherine said saucily. She turned to release her arrow. It came down at a crazy angle in the grass barely ten feet away.

"Aha," Gawain said. "We will have no problem with field mice with this cat on the prowl."

Robin laughed outright. The twins turned mirrored scowls upon their brothers. Gawain saw Juliana grin, eyes sparkling. She stood to one side, a lady's short hunting bow in her hand, and bent to choose an arrow from a pile at her feet.

"Forfeit a kiss," Eleanor said. "'Tis rude to mock Cat."

"Oh, come now," Gawain said. "I only teased her. I should not have to pay a kiss each time I speak to one of you."

"You made a promise," Catherine insisted. "Each time we ask, you must kiss your bride, because we missed your wedding."

"And each time you are rude or ill-tempered, you must pay a forfeit, too," Eleanor said. "And kiss Juliana."

"That was not part of our agreement," Gawain said.

"It is now," Eleanor said blithely.

"The
Fifteen Joys of Marriage
says that kisses make a kind marriage, and so a couple must grant them liberally to each other," Catherine said. "We read it just this morning, so that we could let you know the rules of a good marriage. You have never been wed before."

"I must find a book penned by a nun for you two next time," Gawain muttered.

Robin grinned. "Honor the forfeit, brother."

Looking at Juliana, Gawain lifted his brow. Cheeks pink, she gave the arrow fletching her close attention. He moved toward her, lifted her chin with a finger, and kissed her cheek.

Then, not because his sisters insisted, but because he suddenly wanted to, he kissed her on the mouth. He saw her eyes close, and his entire being seemed to whirl inside.

"'Oh, that I loved as my own heart's blood!'" Eleanor cried, clasping-her hands.

"Bevis again?" Robin asked. Catherine nodded happily.

"I will never," Gawain grumbled, "purchase another book for you if you do not desist with those quotes." The girls chuckled and walked away with Robin, who began to instruct them again.

Juliana's cheeks flamed. "You do not have to kiss me each time they demand it," she murmured.

"I know. We are blissful newlyweds. And I like it," he added in a light tone.

"When they learn the truth, they will demand apologies, not happy kisses." She was scowling.