Suzanne Robinson (27 page)

Lucien snorted. “She should thank
le bon Dieu
you’ve stopped her before she came to harm.”

“She’s not thankful, Lucien.”

“No,
messire.”

“Now, what have you found out?”

The knight glanced at the silent Arthur, who appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. “Pardon,
messire
, but the news isn’t good. Already talk has spread, rumor and speculation feed each other.”

“What rumor?”

“That the one who hated Edmund the most was—”

“Juliana,” Gray said. “Go on.”

“Folk speak of her rage at him, of how she lets nothing and no one deny her will, of her promise to avenge herself upon him one day. She spoke of it—no, shouted it—after he spurned her. The talk is spreading rapidly,
messire
. The whole barony will be whispering the rumors by week’s end.”

“Curse it. She fed the gossip by lurking around the body and calling attention to herself.” Gray threw up his hands. “And did she swoon or cry out like a gentle demoiselle? No, she made herself conspicuous by accusing my cousin of murder, thus making more than a few people think she had reason to divert suspicion from herself.”

Arthur sighed, left his stool, and joined them. “She was right. I might have been the killer.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Gray said. He studied his cousin, whose color wasn’t good. “You should go to bed.”

“I can’t sleep, and you should realize how difficult our position is, cousin. Everyone was asleep last night when my brother was killed. I could have stolen out of my tent and killed him.”

“So could anyone,” Gray said. “So could Juliana.”

“I regret to say,
messire
, that it appears that the lady’s
father is also fearful of just that possibility.” Lucien shrugged. “The castle is brimming with such rumors.”

“Hell’s fire!” Gray pounded his fist against his thigh. “Her maid says she spent the night in her herb chamber, whatever that is. But no one saw her, so no one can vouch for her innocence. And her contrariness only adds to her appearance of guilt.”

“She does have a fire-and-brimstone temper,” Arthur said.

“Oui,”
Lucien said. “I’ve never seen such an adventurous demoiselle.
Mon Dieu
, when I think of how she robbed you of your garments and sent you back to the castle, er, most ungentle of her. Most un-Christian.”

Gray fastened a chilly stare on the knight. Lucien covered his mouth, but Gray heard a snigger. He thought he heard a titter and glanced over his shoulder at Imad, who was placing wine on a serving tray. The youth’s face was placid, immobile, but he avoided Gray’s eyes.

Imad came to them bearing the tray. The flagon was of porphyry mounted in gold; the drinking vessels were mazers of silver-mounted boxwood. Imad refused to travel without such luxuries, insisting that Gray’s position required them, and that having to serve from plain ceramic or wood was beneath him. Gray watched the youth closely for traces of amusement, but could find none in those almond-shaped black eyes. His thoughts returned to the dilemma of Juliana.

“Of course, she couldn’t have done it,” he said as Imad poured wine into his mazer.

Lucien and Arthur exchanged looks. “Of course,” they said together.

“She was being obstinate when she ranted at me about how much she hated Edmund. She did it out of spite but still …”

“Her manner is unfortunate,” Arthur said.

Lucien swirled wine in his cup and nodded. “Indeed. If she remains silent about where she was and becomes furious if questioned, she appears guilty. Especially since her hatred of Edmund has been bruited about the countryside for months.”

“Her willfulness and bitchy temper will ruin her,” Gray said.

He frowned into the bowl of his mazer. How was he going to protect her when she didn’t want his help? God, he was weary. This murder was the culmination of a day crowded with momentous happenings. He was still reeling from that encounter with Juliana in the cave—that explosion of pleasure in a sightless void—followed by the discovery of her foul offenses against him as the bandit. He’d made her pay for her transgressions, he would continue to do so, but he didn’t want her falsely accused of murder. The thought of her in danger near drove him mad. And if she continued to go her contrary way, she would end up in some dungeon.

“Gray?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry, Arthur. I was thinking.”

“It’s late. We should all take our rest. Good e’en, cousin.”

He bid good night to Arthur and Lucien. Imad came forward to take his mazer.

“You haven’t eaten, master.”

“Not hungry.”

He went to the arras that divided his bed from the rest of the pavilion and brushed it aside. Imad had fashioned his idea of a proper sleeping arrangement—a couch upholstered in Arabian silk, cushions and covers of brilliant hues, the finest of Stratfield furs, miniver and fox. He sank down on the couch, then got up and shoved a pile of pillows off it. Imad had followed him and knelt to retrieve the expensive cushions. Gray sighed and tugged
on a lock of Imad’s black hair. He could talk to the boy as he could to few others. They had shared a place in hell. When he first met Imad, he had vowed to save him from destitution and slavery as he himself had not been saved.

“You’re feeling well?” he asked gently.

Imad looked up at him, his arms full of pillows. “Yes, master. Mistress Juliana has taken excellent care of me. Did you know she even gives her herbs to passing beggars and peddlers? This unholy land allows its women too much liberty.”

“Mistress Juliana would physic the devil himself if he came to her door. I’m worried about her, Imad. Everyone will forget her kindness. Do you think they’ll remember how she drags herself out of bed and into the dark, no matter how cold, despite storms or snow, to care for sick peasants? The whole barony has benefitted from her skills, but will anyone remember that once these rumors take hold?”

“That is a danger, master.” Imad stood and set the pillows aside.

“Damnation, she’s going to make her own ruin.”

“Yes, master.”

“I’ve sworn my men to silence, but if anyone finds out she’s this stripping bandit …”

“A most unhappy possibility.”

“If it becomes known, then everyone will realize that she can handle weapons better than most women and steal in and out of guarded places, and folk will say how fierce she must be to behave so.”

Imad knelt in front of him and gripped one of his boots. Out of habit Gray let him pull it off.

“And she grows more and more peevish, damnably irritable, thus fostering the appearance of guilt. The talk will get worse.”

“When the truth is that Mistress is mostly annoyed with you.”

Imad pulled off the other boot and set it beside its mate. Gray stared at him.

“How do you know that?”

“I have seen it in the stars, O master. Fate has ordained that your constellations meet and merge. Even though you’re both unbelievers. You and Mistress are like the fire stars that clash in the heavens and rain showers of gold upon the earth.”

“You mean we fight all the time. But it’s her fault.”

“Of course, master.”

“It is! I would have been generous, sweet-tempered, chivalrous, but she has been obdurate from the beginning, the very beginning. Remember, she threw mud at me.”

“I remember, master.”

Gray glanced down at Imad suspiciously. “And now her evil temper and spiteful ways have put her in danger. She has to be protected from herself.”

“Women are always in need of guidance.”

“Especially this one,” Gray said.

He rested his forearms on his knees and thought in silence for a while. Imad arranged the covers on the couch and began extinguishing candles.

“Imad, before you retire, tell Lucien and Arthur we’re rising early tomorrow morn. Have them prepare to leave Wellesbrooke quickly and quietly, before dawn.” He lay back on the couch and propped one leg on his knee. “I have to make her tell me the truth, make her see she has to stop behaving as though she’s capable of murder.”

“Yes, master.”

“She must be stopped, Imad. She can’t skulk about the castle and the demesne alone with a killer abroad. She’s going to learn the manners of a gentle lady, and I
think she’ll take her lessons better at Stratfield, away from her servants and the protection of her father.”

“But master, her father will come after you.”

“Not if I marry her.”

Imad inclined his head. “Thy wisdom is unbounded, O great master.”

“You won’t think so for long,” Gray said. “You’re coming along this time.”

“Me? In the wilderness? Oh, master, you know I hate rough travel. I can follow with the baggage, at a sedate pace that doesn’t kick up clouds of dust and jar my bones.”

“You’re coming, so be ready. Mistress Juliana is going to be furious, and I’m counting on you to keep watch over her when I can’t. Otherwise I’ll find myself standing in front of the priest with no bride.”

He stopped at the sound of a hail. Imad went outside; Gray rose from the couch and emerged from the sleeping enclosure when the servant returned with Hugo Welles. Concealing his surprise, Gray offered wine and a cushioned stool, both of which his host refused. Hugo planted himself in the middle of the pavilion, thick arms thrust behind his back, his jaw thrust forward like a belligerent hound and proceeded to make courtly conversation. He talked of the hunt, of hawking, of the young king’s health, until Gray set aside the mazer of wine he’d been nursing and confronted him.

“Is something wrong, Welles?”

The jaw jutted like the head of a war axe. “Wrong, wrong, wrong? What could be wrong? A knight has been murdered while under my roof. Naught is wrong. Of course something’s wrong. Er—you were gone a long time today.”

“Yes, chasing that bandit.”

“Thought you caught that fool Eadmer, didn’t you?”

“A misunderstanding by my men.” Gray eyed Hugo, whose gaze slid away from his. “You’re not concerned about bandits.”

“Juliana was in her chamber all day. Her maid said she was ill, and the night before, she was in the herb chamber. But no one saw her. Even Juliana doesn’t usually lurk in dark corners so much. I wish …”

“Yes?”

Hugo slanted his gaze in Gray’s direction. “The whole demesne is full of talk about you and my daughter.”

“No doubt they’re right glad for our happiness,” Gray said in his most courtly manner.

“You’re a young man, de Valence. Young and full of vigor. I know what it is to be a young stallion in need of a mare. Now that we’ve arranged the betrothal, I can be tolerant.”

“Welles, what are you talking about?”

Gray watched Hugo’s face turn burgundy. “The devil take you, de Valence. I’m talking about my daughter’s absences. No! Don’t say anything. I don’t want you to speak, and I especially don’t want you to deny anything. I’m telling you that I think that, for my daughter’s sake, I’ll be tolerant.” Hugo rocked on his heels and glared at Gray. “As long as the marriage takes place, I’ll keep silent about it. I don’t want to know where she went with you today—
or last night
. Do you understand?”

“But last night I—”

“Hold your tongue!”

Gray looked at Hugo closely, then whispered, “You think she did it.”

“I don’t understand you, and don’t wish to speak of it.”

“You’re so afraid, you’re trying to divert suspicion.”

Hugo drew himself up. His brows crashed together as he said, “I would never engage in such a dishonorable
course. Are you saying you haven’t pursued my daughter after the antics I’ve witnessed?”

“No.”

“Are you saying you haven’t had intimate encounters with my Juliana?”

“You’re right, Welles. I should hold my tongue.”

“Then I’m right. Juliana spent much of her time today with you.”

“Aye.”

“And last night as well.”

Gray turned away and began pouring more wine into his mazer. “Perhaps.” He was surprised when Hugo strode swiftly over to him and placed a wide hand on his arm.

“You’re betrothed to her, de Valence. Therefore Exodus doesn’t quite apply. You know, ‘And if a man entice a maid that is not betrothed, and lie with her, he shall surely endow her to be his wife.’ So long as you marry her

“You’re afraid for her,” Gray said quietly.

“I’ve said nothing, nor will I.” Hugo’s complexion had regained its customary ruddy hue. “Just marry her, quickly, and take her to Stratfield.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Then we’re agreed.”

“But what if she did mur—”

Hugo bellowed at him before he could finish. “By the Trinity! Hold your tongue or I’ll cut it out.”

He was wine-colored again. Gray drew away from him and favored his host with a remote stare.

“You should labor to curb that temper. Someday you’re either going to bellow yourself into a fit or annoy someone without my Christian restraint. Oh, don’t bother to argue with me. Due to this evil occurrence I
was considering speeding up the marriage plans. However, Juliana is as inflexible as ever.”

“God’s curse on her. You’re right.” Hugo began to rock on his heels again. “I’ll order her to consent.”

“How often does she follow your orders?”

Rubbing his chin, Hugo seemed incapable of words.

“I may need to use—persuasion,” Gray said.

Their eyes met in understanding, and Hugo grinned.

“I knew you were the match for my Juliana. By the reverence of God, de Valence, that girl has been a trial to me since she was born. She was stubborn in the womb. Refused to be born. Three weeks late she was, and when she was little, she used to wheedle and coax me into allowing her treats. But then when she got older, whew! The longer she remained unwed, well, the more she went her own way. I was remiss in not making her accept another husband before now. Perhaps she wouldn’t have become so headstrong.”

“Some arse would have tried beating her, and she wouldn’t have tolerated that. She would have …”

Neither of them wanted to complete the thought. They looked away from each other. Hugo cleared his throat.

“Yes, well, then we’re agreed.”

“Tomorrow morning we’ll go to her together,” Gray said. “We’ll put it about that I fear for my betrothed’s safety and thus want to put forward the marriage date.”