Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (9 page)

"Lady Juliana," he murmured, "this competition to win you will go on all night, unless you surrender to someone."

She narrowed her eyes. How had he known her name? The king had not announced it. He must be close to the king, or in league with the guards who watched over her. As for giving in to English will, she would rather live in a prison cell than surrender her body and her will to a king's man. She conveyed her refusal with a haughty angle of her chin.

Avenel reached into a pocket and took out another piece of bread, which he tore into pieces for the swan. "Not all these knights share my agreeable temper. A wring of the neck, a twist of a dagger, and your swan will not protect you for long. The only risk is the crime of harming a swan in England. Apparently 'tis no crime to mock a Scotswoman. You will have to cooperate with me if you would be safe." He spoke low and urgently.

She slitted her eyes. He leaned close, resting a hand on the cart. Artan, busy nibbling, did not even lift his head.

"The king makes a show of his chivalry, but he detests any Scot. If one of those drunken fools wins custody of you, no one will ensure your safety."

Frightened, she watched him with wide eyes. She had to put her faith in him. He had proven himself capable of decency at least, even if his intentions toward her were no doubt sinful.

"Show the king that I have tamed you. Then I can help you."

She would never submit to him just so he could gain favor with his cruel king. Anger flaring, she turned away.

"Better to be tamed by me," he murmured, "than one or more of my drunken comrades. Lady, tell me... did you remember the Swan Knight in your prayers, as you promised?"

Gasping, she stared at him. Only the Swan Knight himself would know of that promise.

She looked at him speculatively. Years had etched his face and made it leaner, harder, but she recognized him now. His eyes were just as she remembered, dark brown, deep and warm, framed in black lashes and serious, straight brows. This was indeed the man who had saved her at Elladoune.

He tipped his head and smiled. "I see you are still in need of a rescue, Juliana Lindsay."

Heart quickening, hope rising, she nodded in answer.

"Give me your hand." He opened his fingers, and she reached out. His grip was warm, dry, and strong. "Now do as I tell you," he murmured. "Act heartstruck for love of me." He lifted her hand and kissed it.

A thrill spun through her at the touch of his mouth. Her knees buckled, and he caught her arm under the elbow. His smile was unexpectedly boyish, tilted, and full of easy charm.

Heartstruck was not so difficult to pretend. She felt again the adoration from years ago, when he had helped her and she had asked his name.
Call me your Swan Knight,
he had said.

But she could not trust him, no matter if she wanted to do so. He was an English knight, and she was a Scottish prisoner.

She scowled at him. He kissed her fingers again. Applause fluttered amid hoots of laughter. "Smile, lady," he murmured.

The king rose from his seat and came toward them.

The warm cradle of his fingers and the brush of his lips over her knuckles stirred tears in her eyes. She had not felt comfort or gentleness for so long. Her harsh treatment had made her weak and needy, she told herself sternly. Scowling at him, she straightened her shoulders and tried to pull her hand away.

He tightened his fingers over hers. "Look at me as though your heart is mine forever," he drawled, "not as if you want to eat my heart for supper."

She closed her eyes, confused. To get out of here, she reminded herself, she had to cooperate with him. She forced herself to smile at him.

He turned toward the king, holding her hand aloft and bowing. Cheers and light applause swelled through the hall.

Artan, finished with his bread crumbs, hissed and spread his wings. Gawain glanced at the swan, whose neck swayed ominously.

"'Twould ruin the moment if he bites me," he said dryly.

Juliana felt an urge to laugh, until Gawain lifted her hand and turned to the king.

"My liege," he said, "the Swan Maiden is mine."

* * *

Gawain glanced sidelong at the girl. Her hand trembled in his, but her lips shaped a beautiful smile that struck him like an arrow shot. He caught his breath.

The king approached the cart. Gawain had to see this through; he could not abandon the girl to the king's game. Once again he had obeyed his impulse to protect others—though that had brought him more trouble than honor in the past.

His greatest flaw, he knew, lay in his tendency to help those who needed assistance, no matter the cost to himself. It was an admitted weakness, and one he could not strengthen.

Somehow Juliana Lindsay seemed to draw that out in him. Fate had thrown them together more than once, and each time he had taken up her cause, though he did not even know her.

King Edward came closer. Gawain bowed. "Sire, I have tamed the Swan Maiden as you requested. I wish to claim her as my own." In truth, he hoped to gain custody of her and send her back to Scotland.

To his relief, Juliana lowered her head demurely. The cap of feathers and her golden hair shone like crown and veil. She swayed, and Gawain tightened his hold on her arm to steady her.

The king scrutinized them. "How did you accomplish it when no one else could? With some magical incantation?" He looked back at his audience, who laughed appreciatively.

"No mystery, my lord. I obeyed the example of my namesake, Sir Gawain, who showed courtesy and kindness to others."

"Easy to be courteous to a little beauty." The king peered at her, lifting her chin with a fingertip. Juliana turned her head aside in a clear, soundless insult.

The king frowned. "And how did you master the swan?"

"With a bit of bread, sire."

"A practical man." As the king turned, the swan lashed out and snapped at him. Edward snarled and stepped back. When he reached out to touch Juliana's arm, she jerked away from him.

"Not tame yet, either of them," the king said curtly.

"'Twill be done, I assure you," Gawain murmured.

"Do it, or the task will go to another knight."

Gawain grasped Juliana's golden neck chain, tugging on it gently. "I assure my liege, the lady will be meek and obedient, and do all my bidding," he murmured. "So will the swan."

Juliana glared at him, while Edward nodded in approval and paced away, lanky and slow.

"Behave yourself," Gawain hissed to Juliana. "Try to act adoring. And keep that swan of yours still." He smiled, wide and showy. She smiled back, her teeth clenched.

The king swung around. "What a pretty pair of lovebirds—the pale maiden and her dark knight. With but a word from him, she turns into his loving leman. One caution, sir."

"My liege," Gawain said.

"Remember the Scots are known for the quick turning of their loyalties. You may lose her devotion without warning. Her countryman Robert Bruce has shown us the bitter side of his fealty lately, even though he renewed his obeisance three times in public audience... ah, much like our good Sir Gawain."

Gawain tensed at the inference. Edward paced away. "What if the Scottish Swan Maiden gave her heart to England?" He looked at Gawain, eyes glittering. "Tame the girl, and train her to your will."

Gawain frowned. "Train her, sire?"

"Surely you need no instruction for that. A woman will do all a man's will if he handles her properly." He turned to the crowd, beaming like a jester in a play, soaking in the laughter with raised hands. The king, Gawain realized, was very drunk.

His outraged silence matched Juliana's stillness.

"Take her north with an escort, and display her in golden chains," the king said. "The captive Swan Maiden led round the countryside by English knights. She will serve as an example."

"An example of what, sire?" Gawain asked carefully.

"Of the harm rebellion brings to the Scots. Teach the girl about loyalty to England. We may take her into our bosom of forgiveness if she makes a pretty oath like you did. We know that you understand the concept of loyalty by now."

Gawain flared his nostrils. "Aye, sire."

"Then demonstrate it. Teach her a pretty speech too."

"My lord," Gawain said, "the lady does not speak."

"'Tis her willful, rebellious spirit. She will surrender to your will. I want to see her in court again when 'tis done." Edward strutted now.

This was a jest to him, Gawain thought, one he would forget by morning. An urge to protest rose up in him. Then he noticed his stepfather and stepbrothers watching him, faces somber. His family would suffer if he was uncooperative now.

"As you will, sire," he said flatly.

"Good," Edward said. "She will be ruled by her English husband. Let her be a symbol of Scotland ruled by England." Edward grinned, then waved the applause into quick silence.

Gawain's hand tightened on Juliana's arm, though she pulled away like a jessed falcon. His heart pounded hard. "Husband?"

"You claimed her. Now marry her."

"Sire," Gawain said curtly. "I hoped to win her freedom."

"Your father requested our assistance in finding you a bride. This one will do for you. When she is docile, bring her to Carlisle to prove her loyalty. That will prove yours."

A bride, meted out like a punishment, and meant as a test of his loyalty. "My lord, I have renewed my oath to you."

"Your maiden swan is a rebel, hatched in a nest of rebels. This a merciful sentence for her."

"Merciful indeed," Gawain muttered.

"If she proves herself, 'twill be your success. If she rebels, 'twill be your failure."

A muscle thumped in his cheek. "Sire."

Edward's eyes glittered. "Now go and do to her tonight what we would do to Scotland." His grin grew wicked, and snickers rippled throughout the audience.

Gawain felt Juliana shudder. He held her arm, giving no indication of his own fury.

"That bird looks to be a juicy one. We will dine on it tomorrow. Tonight you will find your little swan tender and delightful, no doubt." Edward grinned again, then turned to his chamberlain. "Fetch a priest," he directed. "We will end the feast with a wedding."

"Sweet saints," Gawain muttered under his breath.

The king strode away to confer with his advisors, who gathered in a cluster, tall men with long, dark robes, gleaming chain mail, and grim faces. None of them had laughed during the spectacle, Gawain had noticed.

Juliana whimpered, the closest to a sound she had made. "I promised to set you free," he murmured to her. "But as you can see, I am not Edward's most favored knight. My apologies."

She sent him a sour glare.

The knights cleared a path as a priest hurried forward. Gawain felt as if he could hardly breathe. Juliana stood still beside him, tense in his grip. Behind him, the swan hissed.

He saw his stepfather and his stepbrothers at the edge of the crowd. Henry nodded to underscore his support, but Gawain did not feel reassured. He was about to obey the king's drunken whim and enter into a mockery of the sacred state of marriage.

At least, he thought, he could repay some of the debt of honor that he owed her cousin James Lindsay. Juliana would be under his protection now, and he could send her back to Scotland. His conscience would ease knowing he had helped a Lindsay.

Otherwise, his imminent marriage to James Lindsay's rebellious little cousin was plainly astonishing to him. He doubted the girl would ever develop English loyalties. Her kin were rebels, blood and bone, and she seemed to share that. He suspected that her insistent silence was pure stubbornness.

As the priest intoned the marriage text in Latin, Gawain repeated the phrases that bound him to her, legally and forever. He looked at Juliana. She was no loving bride, but clearly furious. Her cheeks were pink, her lips tight, her eyes dark blue flashes. In the cart, the swan hissed. Bizarre wedding music, Gawain thought.

"The lady must speak the vow," the priest said, edging away from the bird.

Juliana shook her head.

"She may nod her agreement," the priest said.

This time her head shake was more vehement.

"Is she deaf and dumb?" the priest asked.

"Not deaf," Gawain said between his teeth. She lifted her chin defiantly. He leaned down. "Nod, Juliana," he murmured.

She glared at him.

"Marry me, and I can save that bird from a roasting pan."

She glanced at him quickly, eyes intense.

"I swear it," he said. He had promised much to many of late, but he would keep this one somehow.

The priest repeated the vows. Juliana sighed and nodded.

"Well enough," the priest said, and pronounced the marriage blessing. "Give her the kiss of peace," he directed Gawain.

He bent and touched his lips to hers. Her mouth was still and soft. He felt a swirl of pleasure. His blood surged and his heart pounded as if he were a youth, smitten hard and floundering with it.