Bride of the Tower (11 page)

Birkland

S
ir Richard took a last look at the square of parchment in his hand before crumpling the letter and tossing it in the fire. Damned fools! Always putting their plots and plans in writing, where they might come back to haunt them later.

He’d have kept the missives himself, as possible protection in the future, if not for the fact that the messages contained too much that could incriminate him, as well.

He leaned on the mantle and watched the parchment turn to ash. Damnation! He slammed his fist against the wooden slab, barely feeling the pain of the blow.

Everything seemed to be crumbling away. Their plans to overthrow young King Henry and put their own man in place as their new monarch were not going well. Old Lord William, the Earl of Pembroke, had lost none of his wiliness with age, unfortunately. The old bastard had foiled their scheme to move several men into the king’s household, ruining their best plot.

They weren’t fools; they’d hoped to dispose of King John’s whelp without anyone the wiser that the lad had been helped from this life to the next. Nice and tidy, without the time and expense of mounting a siege, as was currently under way at Lincoln. Nor did it involve entrusting too many with the details of their strategy.

Richard pressed his now-aching fist to his lips as he considered what his own next step should be. He hadn’t heard anything more for several days from the fools he’d sent out after Bowman, and the last message simply said that they’d discovered no trace of him. Nigh a week had passed since they’d escorted Lord Rannulf’s messenger on his way; if not for the fact that Richard had Bowman’s horse in his stable, ’twas as though the man had completely disappeared once he left Birkland.

That might serve his purpose just as well as if they’d found him, save that ’twould have been a great benefit to gain possession of the sack of messages Bowman had carried. Richard knew the man had been headed to Lincoln next, no doubt carrying information for Pembroke, the king’s regent.

Information no doubt of great use to Richard and his own plans.

Still, with Bowman gone—dead, most likely—he shouldn’t have to worry about Lord Rannulf removing Birkland from his control or ruining his plans.

There was naught else he could do about any of that now, however, but to wait. Instead he would be better served to think of other options, new ways to advance his own position in life.

’Twould have to be a woman, unfortunately.

Which one? he wondered. Should he reestablish his campaign to gain Tuck’s Tower for himself? He had two choices there: wed Lady Julianna, or take the castle from her by force. Neither plan appealed to him much. He’d rather not attempt to marry that she-devil—assuming he could get close enough to her to do so. Given her reputed skill at arms, he’d likely become her
dead
husband before the ink had dried on their marriage contract.

As for taking Tuck’s Tower by force…Lady Julianna’s troops might not be great in number, but they were well-trained, far better skilled than his own, he feared. Rumor had it that there were still remnants of Robin of the Hood’s legendary Merry Men lurking somewhere in the vicinity as well, ready to take up her cause for her parents’ sakes.

Assuming, of course, that any of them were still alive, they must be ancient by now—but ’twas a possibility he should consider. He preferred to plan well for all his schemes; he’d found they tended to work out better that way.

If he chose not to try for Tuck’s Tower—though the place was a temptation, he must admit—he could always send for his sister Rachel to return, and find her a good husband to marry.

A man Richard could control, and preferably one with plenty of lands and money he was willing to share. No yeoman farmer for Rachel! She was a beauty, far better marriage barter than their older sister had been.

Rachel should have learned her lesson by now, no doubt, after several months spent swilling pigs
and caring for their numerous nieces and nephews. She knew better than to disobey him now. All he needed to do was to find a good prospect to wed her, and he’d be set.

’Twas a better plan by far than dealing with Lady Julianna, though he wouldn’t toss that scheme aside just yet, either. Perhaps if he were to find a way to be rid of her, her people would surely be upset, in disarray…he would be able to take command while chaos reigned, with no one the wiser that he’d been behind Lady Julianna’s death or disappearance.

It might work….

He poured wine into a goblet and swirled the liquid, staring into its crimson depths as he considered what to do. The drink reminded him of blood and battle—two of his least favorite things.

He’d send for Rachel, he decided. She’d never dare refuse him, and she’d serve his purpose well. ’Twould be the safest course to assure himself of gaining everthing he desired.

As for his plot against the king…

Was it truly worth the risk?

Though he was beginning to doubt it was the best way to make his fortune, only time could provide the answer to that.

Tuck’s Tower

Completely unsure what to do, Will stared down at Julianna. She was still breathing, but she didn’t respond when he called her name.

Should he move her? Try to prop her up?

He wasn’t certain what had happened, what was wrong with her. It appeared she’d swooned, although she’d seemed ill, groggy beforehand.

He pressed his palm to her cheek. No fever, but her face looked pale. Even her lips had lost their reddish tinge, and a small spattering of pale freckles he’d not noticed before was visible along her cheekbones.

By Christ’s bones, why had he made that promise to her? Surely Dora would know what to do.

But he’d sworn to Julianna; he’d not break that vow unless it appeared her life was in danger.

Someone rapped on the door leading from the chamber next door. Will stood and crossed to answer it, glad of the chance to at least ask someone for help.

He opened the door and discovered a rather disheveled maidservant standing there, a large basket
filled with small bundles and bunches of dried plants propped on one hip.

“Is Lady Julianna all right?” she asked.

Will blocked her view of the room with his body, but the impertinent wench stood on tiptoe and tried to look past him. “I’m sure she is.”

He tried to close the door, but she thrust herself into the gap before he could swing the heavy portal closed. “What are you about?” he asked, still keeping her out of Julianna’s chamber.

“She was unwell when I helped her up the stairs earlier. I’m a healer,” she told him. She held up the basket. “I thought mayhap I could help her.”

If she already knew Julianna was ill, there was no reason why he should keep her from her mistress. Clearly Julianna hadn’t realized that her malady—whatever it might be—was not as secret as she believed.

“Come in.” He let her into the room, then closed the door quickly, lest anyone else who was in the other chamber look in.

The maid gave him a strange look, but ignored him as soon as she saw Julianna on the bed. “What happened?” she asked as she hurried to her mistress’s side.

“She collapsed nigh as soon as she got here,” he told her.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left her!” Setting the basket on the bed, she began to examine Julianna. “Was she able to speak?”

“Aye, though not clearly. I could tell something was wrong, but she wouldn’t allow me to get help,” he explained. “It looked as if she swooned just before you knocked.”

She nodded absently. “Bring me the water pitcher,” she ordered, her attention focused on her patient. “And the basin as well.”

Though surprised to be ordered about by the young woman, Will did as she asked.

In no time the maid had settled Julianna in the bed, closing the bed curtains and undressing her without Will’s help after she’d shooed him out of her way and sent him to wait near the hearth.

He took up a thick stick from the pile of kindling on the hearthstones and carved away at it while he waited. ’Twas little more than a toothpick by the time the servant finally turned away from the bed and began to pack her herbs in the basket.

“Is she all right?” He left his post and crossed to stand at the foot of the bed.

He could see Julianna through a slit in the curtains. She lay propped on the pillows, the bedding tucked beneath her arms, her shoulders bare save for a golden medallion she wore around her neck. She looked so serene and still, ’twas difficult for him to believe it was Julianna lying there.

“She will be fine once she’s slept, I believe.” She wiped her hands on a length of linen and joined him by the bed. “’Tis a headache.”

“A headache! She looked nigh dead! How can that be?” he asked.

“’Tis an ailment not many suffer, thank the Virgin. Very painful, with little to be done for it. If I had some poppy juice, ’twould help her sleep, but the tisane I gave her should work well enough.” She sighed. “I should have realized once I heard her speak—she could scarce form the words.”

“I thank you for your care of her,” Will said, his gratitude heartfelt. “I had no notion how to help her. What should I do now?”

“Let her rest, milord. ’Tis all the medicine she needs.”

“I’m no lord,” he protested.

“But you are a knight, aren’t you? Should I call you ‘sir’ then?”

“Call me whatever you like, it matters not to me,” he said, impatient to return to Julianna’s side. Though he could do little, at least he could remain with her in case she needed him. She’d done the same for him, after all.

Besides, he needed to stay with her. The sight of her sprawled across the bed, apparently lifeless, had jolted him, made him realize that despite his earlier plan to simply leave Tuck’s Tower—to leave Julianna—he could not. Though her ailment provided him the perfect opportunity to slip away unhindered, he refused to take that cowardly course.

He rounded the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle Julianna. To his worried gaze her color seemed more normal, though she barely moved except to moan quietly every so often.

After a while he realized that the maid had remained as well. She’d taken a seat on the edge of the hearth, sorting through her herbs.

“You need not stay,” he told her. “I’ll send for you once she awakens.” He didn’t know her name, however. “Who shall I ask for?”

She stood and curtsied, the courtesy more formal
than he’d expected. Now that he thought of it, her speech was finer than usual for a servant.

“My name is Rachel Belleville, Sir William. Richard Belleville is my brother.”

Belleville! Will glanced from Julianna to Rachel, from Rachel to the piles of herbs scattered across the hearth.

She’d been with Julianna earlier, before she’d collapsed. Eyes narrowing, Will stood and crossed the chamber in three long strides.

Rachel stood there unmoving, even when he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “What have you done to Julianna?” he demanded, his voice harsh. He shook her again. “Did your brother send you here to harm her?”

J
ulianna awoke to the sound of voices, low-pitched but angry nonetheless. She carefully opened her eyes—the dim light of dusk filtered into the chamber, soft enough that she could bear to keep her eyes open.

By shifting her head on the pillow, she could see Will and Rachel standing near the hearth, arguing.

She raised herself up and crawled over the mattress toward the foot of the bed. “What is going on?” she demanded.

Though her voice sounded weak as a mewling kitten, the combatants heard her and ceased their squabbling.

Suddenly realizing she was naked, she eased herself down on the coverlet and tugged at the
sheet until she could wrap it about herself. Though all she wanted to do at the moment was to slump down and close her eyes, she forced herself to prop herself up on her elbow and peer at them over the footboard.

“Julianna!” Will spun about and headed for her, pushing aside the bed curtains and reaching for her. He gathered her up into his arms and held her to him as though she were precious.

She grabbed at her makeshift garb, gathering the linen in one hand and resting against Will’s chest, for she couldn’t let pass the chance to be in his arms.

’Twas a wonderful sensation, precisely what she needed at the moment, for the headache had left her feeling frail and fragile.

And quite disgusted by her body’s betrayal. She had no time to give in to illness—nor did she enjoy the pain of it.

“Milady, you shouldn’t be moving about,” Rachel chided, standing back respectfully until Will eased his grip and lowered Julianna down onto the bed.

Julianna peered up at Rachel, her thoughts growing more clear by the instant. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Do you know who she is?” Will demanded, interrupting Rachel’s attempt to speak.

“Aye, I do,” Julianna told him.
By the Virgin, she hadn’t the energy to deal with this now!
“And I trust her. After all, I know at least as much about her as I do of
you
.” She shifted so she could see them better. “I told Rachel earlier to leave me. I was surprised to see her here, ’tis all.”

Neither Rachel nor Will appeared comfortable, with each other or her. Were they both feeling guilty? As well they ought, she thought darkly, since neither should be here. Hadn’t she told them both to leave her be?

A dull ache still pounded behind her eyes, making her bad-tempered and impatient. If she were wise, she’d send them both on their way and go back to sleep, lest she cause more trouble for herself with ill-considered words.

But just then her memory of Will’s promise returned full force, infuriating her more. He hadn’t merely said he’d protect her secrets, he’d sworn to do so. “Does your word mean so little, Sir William?”

He met her angry gaze with a glare of his own. “How could you believe I would break my oath to you?” he inquired stiffly, his blue eyes pale
and cold. “Rachel came here to help you, and she appeared to know how to do so. I didn’t. Should I have turned her away, when you so obviously needed her?”

His words made her feel lower than a worm. She, who had been schooled in knightly ways, certainly knew better than to question a man’s sense of honor.

“I beg your pardon, Will.” She reached out to him; hesitating but a moment, he caught her hand in his. “I’m too quick-tempered and easily riled. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

He raised her hand to his lips. “You’re forgiven.” His eyes warmed as he looked down at her.

Julianna followed his gaze and saw why. She jerked the sheet—which scarcely clung to her breasts—up around her throat. “I believe you should leave so I can dress,” she informed him. “Though I don’t suggest you go far. Now that we’re both feeling better, I believe ’tis past time we discussed why you’re here, who you’re associated with—” her head still felt as though ’twould crack at the slightest provocation, but she wriggled off the edge of the high mattress to stand
beside the bed “—and what you were doing with my private documents.”

Will’s questioning look was unconvincing.

Julianna held on to the bedpost and tried to convey a sense of command and strength. “You needn’t deny it, for I did see you with them. And I
will
have an explanation—soon.”

Unsurprised by Julianna’s sudden suspicion, Will took his leave of her and returned to the chamber beside hers. In his absence the place had been cleaned: the pallet was neatly pushed against the wall; soap, a basin of fresh water, and clean clothing awaited his pleasure. Sighing his gratitude, he rubbed his whisker-covered chin and took up a candle and flint to light the room more.

He hadn’t been certain Julianna had noticed the roll of parchment he’d held when she entered her room earlier, for it had been obvious she could barely function. He had questions for Julianna as well, questions about Rachel Belleville, and why she was here at Tuck’s Tower.

’Twas just as well they were to talk soon, for talk was a commodity that had been in short supply during their brief association.

In spite of that, he felt he knew Julianna well,
that the way he felt about her wasn’t a simple matter of his cock ruling his head. He wanted her, aye—what man with blood in his veins wouldn’t?—but he also enjoyed her company and her lively ways.

Since he hadn’t been able to make his escape from Tuck’s Tower and its mistress, he might as well take that fact as a sign that he should use any time they spent together as an opportunity to know her better. If she’d give him back his message pouch, he’d happily deliver the missives, then return here on his way back to Lord Rannulf’s.

He’d realized, when he sat watching over Julianna as she slept, that he wanted to build some sort of relationship with her. If friendship was her aim, he thought he could make do with that, though he knew he’d rather have more from her.

Preferably her body, he thought with a wry laugh—that and more.

A frightening thought, but one he believed was inevitable.

One that didn’t frighten him nearly as much as the concept of
not
seeing her again.

He felt surprisingly well, mind and body, especially
considering he’d been senseless with fever a day earlier.

Perhaps his life was about to take a turn for the better!

His mood light, Will stripped and set about making himself presentable. If he wanted more from Julianna, he’d better make the best use of every advantage.

What would she think of him once he was clean, shaved and capable of remaining on his feet for longer than a moment?

Julianna leaned against the bedpost as soon as the door to the storeroom closed behind Will. “I thank you for your care of me, Rachel,” she said. “I doubt I’d yet be able to lift my head without it.”

Rachel hurried to Julianna’s side and, taking hold of her arm, assisted her as she climbed back onto the edge of the bed. She sat down beside Julianna and arranged the covers about her. “I wish you’d have let me stay to help you before, for perhaps ’twould have eased your pain the sooner.”

Julianna, struggling up out of the cocoon of sheets and blankets, gave a rueful chuckle. “True.
But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of waking with Will beside me in my bed.”

“Lady Julianna!” A tide of pink swept up over Rachel’s cheeks.

“No matter how closely Diccon and the other men watched over you, after the amount of time you’ve spent in the barracks, I cannot believe you’d be embarrassed by what I just said,” Julianna said as she propped herself up against the mound of pillows.

“’Tisn’t what you said—’tis that
you
said it,” Rachel informed her. “Unless I misunderstood you?”

“Nay, you took my meaning clear enough.” For some reason Julianna felt comfortable with Rachel in a way she hadn’t felt with other women, able to speak her mind. Though she didn’t know why that should be so, she had no intention of ignoring so rare a connection. “What woman wouldn’t be best pleased to awaken with Will Bowman by her side?” she added teasingly.

Rachel’s gaze rested upon Julianna’s face for a moment, as if measuring her state of mind. Then, amusement brightening her eyes, she shook her head. “Not I. I’ve never been partial to blond,
blue-eyed, handsome men. If his hair were dark, however….”

“I’m sure we could ask Sir Will if he has any friends or compatriots—a brother, mayhap?—who would meet your requirements,” Julianna informed her, trying unsuccessfully to keep her expression serious.

She burst out laughing at once, Rachel joining in.

Her head still hurt, though not so badly. Shared merriment appeared to be a powerful medicine. A glance at Rachel, as the other woman continued to smile, lightened her own mood greatly. “Shall I ask him?” Julianna inquired, only half joking.

The amusement faded from Rachel’s eyes. “’Twould serve no purpose. My brother would never permit me to wed where he had not chosen.”

Julianna remembered the reason Rachel had fled to Tuck’s Tower and felt a fool. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I forgot that you’d a sweetheart already.”

“Do you know, I’ve scarce thought of Roger since I left Birkland,” Rachel said. “I’ve wondered if perhaps he was so appealing to me simply because I knew Richard wouldn’t approve of him.”

“Because he was forbidden to you?”

“Nay—because I knew deep inside that, no matter what I’d done with Roger, I’d never be allowed to remain with him. ’Twas safe to—” Rachel glanced away “—experiment with him. I know now that Roger never touched my emotions.”

Curious, Julianna watched Rachel closely. “How do you know that? How can you tell?”

Rachel shrugged and turned to face her. “I realize now that ’twas the idea of kissing a man that made my heart beat faster, not the fact that Roger was the man I was kissing.”

“Do you mean that
any
man would have made you feel the same?” Julianna couldn’t imagine such a thing! ’Twas Will she wanted to kiss—and more.

No one else would do.

“Not quite
any
man, but an attractive man who appealed to me.” She nodded. “Aye, I believe ’twould have had the same effect.”

Julianna mulled that over for but a moment. As astounding as she found the fact, she knew she’d never wanted any man the way she’d wanted Will Bowman—since the moment she’d held him, had seen his face, reveled in his scent.

To her, Will embodied all that was male.

She’d not felt that sensation of
rightness
before, and she doubted she’d feel it with anyone else.

Rachel reached over and gave Julianna’s hand a brief squeeze. “I’ve little doubt you make Sir Will’s heart beat faster. Does he do the same to yours?”

“Is it so obvious?” Julianna’s pulse quickened as Rachel’s first comment sank into her brain. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes and yes,” Rachel said. A smile on her face, she rose. “That being so, what shall we do about it?”

“Do we need to do anything?”

“Do you think the fish bites at an empty hook?” Rachel asked. She crossed the chamber to the chest below the window and raised the lid, sending the fragrant scent of Lady Marian’s perfume wafting through the room. “What have you here for bait, milady?”

Curious as to Rachel’s intention, Julianna swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, winding the sheet around her as a makeshift robe. “I can scarce recall what garb is stored away there,” she said as she joined Rachel, bending to peer into the coffer.

She dropped to her knees and carefully lifted out the first garment, a dark green gown of fine silk embroidered around the neckline with pearls and gold thread. “My mother made this for me, though I’ve never worn it.” She laid it in her lap, nearly giving in to the urge to bury her face in the cool material that bore her mother’s scent. Every stitch had been made with love, Julianna knew, a gift for the daughter Lady Marian had cherished.

Rachel knelt as well and smoothed her finger reverently over the intricate design. “’Tis lovely.” She glanced at Julianna, her eyes lingering on the mass of disheveled hair and the sheet drooping off one shoulder. Her gaze contemplative, she slipped her hands gently beneath the gown and lifted it up against Julianna’s face. “The gold and green make your eyes and skin glow,” Rachel said. “Your mother knew well what would suit you.” She nodded her approval. “Aye, this will do nicely, should you wish to capture Sir Will. He’ll not be able to resist you in this.”

Rather than giving Julianna confidence, Rachel’s certainty brought all Julianna’s doubts to the fore. Despite her mother’s tutelage, she knew
next to nothing about how to dress and act the lady.

If she attempted such a feat, would she simply appear an unfeminine woman, a pathetic figure who had resorted to female wiles to attract a man?

“Come, Lady Julianna.” Rachel laid the gown across Julianna’s lap and reached into the chest, drawing out an undertunic of soft gold and a while silk chemise so finely woven it reminded Julianna of mist. “You cannot ignore such beautiful clothes. ’Tis the perfect garb to catch Sir Will’s eye, though I think you’ve done that already,” she added. “If you feel well enough, I’ll help you dress and arrange your hair.”

Considering that Rachel had managed to look appealing even when bedaubed with dust and filth—she’d found an opportunity since then to wash and change her gown, Julianna noted—perhaps ’twould be useful to see what Rachel had in mind.

’Twould give her an opportunity to question Rachel further as well, while they were occupied with other pursuits. Since she was feeling less inclination to interrogate the other woman, mayhap a simple conversation between them might be more effective.

More like something friends might do.

Her scruples appeased, Julianna gathered the gown to her chest and rose to her feet. “I’d like that,” she told Rachel. “Though whether I’m doing this for Will or for myself, I have no idea.”

“It matters not a whit which it is, milady.” Taking Julianna by the arm, Rachel led her to a stool by the hearth. Smiling, she added, “’Twill be enjoyable either way, will it not?”