Castles in the Air (16 page)

Arrested in mid stroke, he demanded, “What? Who?”

“The king. Did you scold him about hurting Eleanor’s pride?”

“Oh.” He dug out another handful of snow and scrubbed his thighs. His long, sleek, muscled thighs. “Aye, I scolded him.”

She pressed her palms to her eyes until she saw colored stars. “Perhaps that’s why he gave you such a poor castle to wed.”

“You’ve been listening to my parents. Nay, there’s no truth in that. Henry gave you to me long before he was displeased with me. This castle is important to the kingdom, and will sustain us well until I inherit from my—”

He said nothing else, she looked up, and he jerked his head, indicating the couple outside the screen. And once she had looked up, she couldn’t again deny herself the sight of him. “Is your inheritance as large as they say?”

“Aye, for all the good that will do me. Can you see either of those two demons dying before they please?”

Restlessness afflicted her, and she fought the feather mattress to find a comfortable spot.

The long muscles of his thighs flexed, his toes curled, and his teeth chattered as he scoured himself. “Why do you display such consternation?”

“I…because you’re taking a snow bath, of course.”

“My people in Normandy brought this from the North long ago, and use it as a ritual cleansing before the great events of their lives. ’Twould refresh you, should you try it.”

“May the sweet Virgin prevent it,” she said with fervent piety.

He chuckled, a rich sound originating deep in his
chest. She’d grown to like this sound that warmed her with its vitality.

He shook the melting drops off and used his cloak to briskly rub himself dry. He came toward her, and she shrank back, threatened by his size, threatened by his nudity. He smelled like fresh air, like air she hadn’t breathed for too long. She inhaled in a gasp.

“Scoot back,” he ordered, pushing her to the wall, lifting the covers, and lying down.

The cold came in with him. The cold was him. His body begged for her heat from across the inches that separated them. She tucked the blankets tight around his neck, and scolded, “That was a mad thing to do. You’re chilled.”

They faced each other on the feather bolster. He was so handsome, he made her breath catch. Her lips parted. She wanted to taste him, to see if he tasted as glorious as he smelled, as he looked. She wanted to kiss him, but her courage evaporated when confronting a large obstacle.

Like Raymond.

He’d come to her bed because he wanted to prove to his parents the marriage lacked only the last of the vows. He was a lad, cocking his nose at authority and saying, “See? You can’t touch me.”

She knew that. But she also suspected he’d come to her because he wanted comfort. He’d been hurt by the people who should love him most and who cared the least, and the same lad who cocked his nose must have cried bitter tears about their indifference. All day she’d watched him do battle, and now she’d give him the comfort he wanted.

But at what price?

They were betrothed, they were alone in the master
bed, she’d have to touch him, and he’d like it. He’d consider it encouragement, and he’d seek the ultimate comfort from her. Could she give it? Just thinking about touching him made her breathe in an erratic fashion.

Once a coward, Sir Joseph would say, always a coward.

She shook thoughts of Sir Joseph away. Since he’d discovered Raymond’s identity, she’d not seen him at the fire. He, and his taunts, were best forgotten. Or, even better, she could prove him wrong.

“For shame.” She scolded Raymond in a wavering voice. “Foolish man, what if you catch a fever? What will I do then?”

“Dose me with potions?” he suggested.

“I have more faith in the power of prayer.”

“Then I pray you come closer.”

Beneath the blankets, her hand twitched and moved. It seemed to have a life of its own as it crept close to him. It settled on his waist; the cold of his flesh made it jerk back. He didn’t move, watching her with his jewelled eyes, and her hand settled back at his waist. Like a treasure, his smile flashed free of his restraint, and he sat up and leaned over her.

He wanted her. In the hut, she’d feared it with the panic of a virgin. Now she feared it with the reservations of a woman. How could she, cursed by this nightmare that haunted her, satisfy a man who looked like stardust and moonbeams?

Her eyes hurt from holding them so wide, and when he leaned to touch his lips to hers, her eyes crossed. She didn’t try to fight and scream, nor did she shudder with revulsion. She gave Raymond the same obedient response she’d given her husband so long ago, and for that she was thankful.

Raymond did not seem equally thankful. He kissed her cold, still lips for a moment, then flung himself back on the pillow.

She waited, but he made no further move and she asked, “Am I not to your liking?”

“Not to my—”

He folded his arms across his chest and made a sound like an offended boy. “Why do you hold your lips so tightly closed when I kiss you?”

“How else should I hold them?” She laughed a little. “Open?”

His arms slid apart, and his head swivelled toward her. “’Tis the usual way.”

Sitting up in one straight-backed move, she cried, “Say not so.”

He seemed to be struggling with some emotion. Amusement, perhaps, or disbelief. “’Tis the French way.”

“The French eat snails, too,” she replied tartly.

His chuckle was a seduction in itself. “Some French customs are more enjoyable than others.”

She struggled, but vulgar curiosity won. “Do you kiss like that?”

He didn’t answer her directly, only his lids drooped in sensuous remembrance. “French women kiss in that manner. French women are experts at kissing.”

Raymond seemed like a dream she’d had once, a dream that had slipped away but had never been forgotten. If he were a dream, perhaps she could touch him without fear. Perhaps…

She put her hands to his neck, but he caught her before she could touch that ridged scar where an iron collar had dug a groove in his skin.

“Don’t. I don’t
like
”—his tone was too emphatic,
and he modulated it—“to be confined in any way.” Abashed, she bit her lip, but he placed her hands on his chest and said, “Here, instead.”

With a lopsided smile that couldn’t mask his intensity, he used her wrists to stir the hair that grew in a black froth. It crinkled beneath her sensitive palms, a curious texture and one that soothed and distracted her.

She wanted to kiss him.

She couldn’t. No one had ever kissed her in the way she’d seen the groom kissing the milkmaid. No one had ever kissed her in a loverlike way. She’d shared the kiss of peace with her father, her tenants, even her husband—but this strange method he urged? Never.

Never was too long a time. Cautiously, she laid herself against him lengthwise. He moved his arm to wrap her in a hug. The sensation of his body against hers wasn’t intrusive or demanding, but gave the impression of a tremendous patience, and that patience lent her courage. Resting her cheek against his, she whispered, “Sir Raymond.”

“Lady Juliana?” he whispered back.

“Sir Raymond, this may sound rude or even demanding.…” She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it.

“Demand what you wish.”

He watched too closely. He saw too much. “It’s nothing.” She tried to crawl off the top of him, but he held her with his arm across her back.

“I am yours to command.”

A simple phrase, much used by cavaliers, but when spoken in his deep tones it convinced her.

“I’d like to kiss you.”

“I would be…honored.”

Honored? Honored wasn’t what he wished to say, she suspected. She wet her lips, wet them again, took
a breath, and swooped on him like a bird of prey. The impact shook her—and what should she do now?

Her panic eased as his cold lips layered themselves on hers. Although he let her kiss him, he expected to participate. A conundrum occurred to her. Was her own lack of participation the cause of his earlier vexation? He learned her in degrees, and she let him, encouraged him until his sweet breath entered her mouth. She tried to shut her lips against it, but he insisted in unspoken direction. She broke away with a gasp and stared wildly at him.

He touched his mouth with his finger. “Again,” he suggested.

It wasn’t so odd this time. She liked it this time. It made her move against his chest. When his tongue touched hers, she chased it out with her own, and he encouraged her with his own deep groan.

She jerked back, and stared at him.

His chest heaved as if he’d been exerting himself, and he reached for the ties on the side of her cotte. “What do you think of the French now?” He had her out of the garment in less time than it took to skin a peach, and his very expertise inhibited her. The linen of her chainse matched his in age and softness, and he must have seen her nipples through the gauze, for he took one in his mouth without fumbling or groping.

The heat of it flattened her like a runaway cart. When she opened her eyes, she was looking at the ceiling with handfuls of black hair clutched in her fingers. Life moved in her womb, but it wasn’t the quickening of a child. It was the quickening of Juliana. It was lust, forbidden and absolutely delicious.

This clawing confusion of passion and fear, of desire and revulsion brought a little moan to her lips,
and Raymond eased away. “You’re sensitive. Don’t be embarrassed. Tell me what you like.”

“I don’t like any—” she gasped as his thumb stroked her through the wet cloth “—any of it.”

“I do recognize pleasure when I see it.” He cupped his breast. “This is a symptom of arousal.”

Her nipples puckered so tightly they ached, and her head whirled so swiftly it ached. She didn’t understand these emotions Raymond plucked from her as easily as he would pluck the petals from a rose, but she did understand her own gripping dismay. “I’m cold.”

“Aye.” He blew on the wet cloth. “So you are.”

Flushing, she pulled her chainse away from her chest and wished she had remained unresponsive. Too much had changed too rapidly, and her voice quavered as she confessed, “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to satisfy a man who has…kissed so many French women.”

His hands tightened briefly on her. “You’ve made an excellent start.” Then he relaxed. “I would not have you believe I find you unattractive.”

“Oh, nay!” She blushed. “You watch me, and I suspect…that is, I realize you will gladly perform your martial duties.”

“Nor would I consider them duties,” he said. “Still, your reluctance doesn’t surprise me. Not when I think about it.” He tugged on his earring. “Not that I like it. If I had known I would be unsatisfied, I would have saved that snow bath. This is my reward for thinking I’m irresistible.”

He laid a hand against the side of her head and pushed it against him. She rebelled briefly, then yielded. Her cheek and ear rested in the hollow of his shoulder, and, by some magic, his skin had heated
until it welcomed her with its warmth. He snuggled against the length of her, and she discovered he’d warmed in other ways, too. She found it daunting to be so close to an aroused man, yet equal parts of curiosity and that mercuric quickening made her fidget.

He clamped a hand on her hip. “Gently, my girl,” he advised. “I’ve been watching you, wanting you since the day I took you to that snowbound hut, and celibacy is”—he laughed softly—“difficult. So we’ll sleep now, and my pleasure will wait on your surrender.”

Turning her until her stiff back made contact with his chest, he nestled them together like the cup of two spoons.

She couldn’t resist asking. “What if I don’t surrender?”

“I will do all in my power to bring you to rapture,” he promised.

“But if I still don’t?”

He sighed; his breath ruffled the wisps of hair on the back of her neck. “Then we shall make an end of it on our wedding night.” His arm weighed across her hip. “Are we agreed?”

“You are too good,” she said formally.

“I am,” he said with equal formality and a great deal of conviction.

His hand lay too close to the bottom of her chainse. In a sudden flurry, she dragged the hem down to her knees.

“Are you through?” he asked.

She said nothing, rigid with suspense.

“Then go to sleep. No love tonight. No matter how you beg me.”

“
I hear you heeded
my advice and eased your stone-ache.”

Raymond glared at Keir. “How would you know? You failed to appear in the great hall last night.”

Keir finished pounding a glowing plowshare and plunged it into water before he answered. “I’ve met your parents.”

“So has Juliana, now,” Raymond said gloomily.

“Will she still wed you?”

“On Twelfth Night.”

Keir put his tools aside and wiped his hand on a cloth. “In a hurry?”

“I cannot let her get away from me.” Raymond walked to the door of the smithy and grasped the frame with his hand. “I woke this morning and found her gone, and leaped up like any crazed man who thought he possessed a fairy.”

“Did you find her?”

With a disgusted look at his friend, Raymond said, “She was packing Felix’s nose in snow to slow the swelling. She didn’t want me to know for fear I’d tear him into little bits.”

“Did you?”

Raymond smiled an evil smile. “I made him think I would. He fled the hall most precipitously, and I think I’ll find him and…suggest he leave Lofts Castle just as precipitously.”

“Sir Joseph has been living in the stables. You might start your search there.”

Raymond rolled around until his back rested against the wall. “What do you mean by that?”

“They’re a cozy trio,” Keir replied as he removed his leather apron and hung it on a peg. “An earl, a baron, and the puppet master who controls them both.”

“An earl, a baron…are you saying Hugh is under the control of…?” Keir watched Raymond steadily as he thought aloud. “Now Felix, I can believe, but Hugh…and a puppet master. Is that what you see when you look at Sir Joseph? Not an old knight, disgruntled at the power of which age has stripped him, but a man who pulls the strings?”

“I see what I see.” Keir stepped outside and took a breath. “Look now.”

Raymond stepped to Keir’s side. Hugh stood before the open stable door, talking—arguing, mayhap—with someone just inside.

“From what I know of Hugh, he would not do harm to Juliana,” Raymond argued, his gaze fixed on the stable.

“Not if he realized he was doing harm. But Sir Joseph is, I think, very intelligent, and Hugh—”

“Is not,” Raymond finished. “Nay, Hugh’s a blunt man. He could be manipulated.”

“Felix—”

Raymond acknowledged Keir’s unfinished sen
tence with a bark of a laugh. “Never an original thought, never a sign of wit or wisdom. But why would Sir Joseph tangle these men in such a wicked net? What does it profit him?”

“That I do not understand, but as you know, I’m often in the position to hear things.”

“You’re insufferably nosy,” Raymond corrected. Keir said nothing else, and Raymond added, “A trait to which I’ve been indebted many times.”

Keir dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I’ve been listening to the gossip of the stable boys. They’ve suffered since Sir Joseph moved in, and they’ve found a pleasant place to congregate in the smithy. It seems Sir Joseph spoke to both Hugh and Felix when they came to inspect their horses early yesterday morning.” A stolid satisfaction spread over Keir’s face. “He believes the stable boys are deaf, you ken.”

“Ah,” Raymond said. “Hugh tried to convince me not to wed Juliana, and Felix tried to convince Juliana not to wed me.”

“More than that. Felix tried to convince Juliana to wed him rather than you.”

“What?” Raymond’s shout captured Hugh’s attention. “I’ll kill him.”

Raymond started toward the stable, and Keir kept pace. “Kill him if you like, but I think you should know this is not the first time he’s tried to convince her to wed.”

Swinging at his friend, Raymond gathered a handful of Keir’s shirt. “Tell me what you know.”

“It will tear, Raymond, and Lady Juliana will be most distressed.”

Raymond loosened his grip.

“I know but little. The stable boys—indeed, the
whole castle—labors under a conspiracy of silence out of respect for their lady. I only know her father tried to betroth her to Felix. She valiantly refused.”

Remembering the hair that frothed around her shoulders, Raymond wondered, as he always had, why it was so short. Most women of Juliana’s age had never cut their hair, and it curled around their thighs when released from their wimples. Hair was cut in case of life-threatening fever, or…as a Biblical revenge for wanton behavior. Slowly, he admitted, “I had begun to suspect something of the sort.”

“That would account for her revulsion for the wedded state.”

Raymond grinned. “As I would account for her renewed enthusiasm.”

Keir swept Raymond from head to toe with his gaze. “Women are mysterious creatures. See your quarry peek around the door.”

Raymond’s smile turned savage and he shouted, “Stay!”

His long strides ate up the ground, but Hugh confronted him before he could reach the stables. “I must take my leave.” Staring at the toe of his boot, Hugh added, “You may have surmised I have an affection for Juliana that transcends the affection for Juliana that transcends the affection of youthful companions.”

“I had suspected,” Raymond answered.

Hugh glanced toward the stable. “Juliana’s marriage will be difficult for me to accept.”

Seeing the head that bobbed outside the stable door, then bobbed within, then bobbed out again, Raymond took a few cautious steps while keeping his attention fixed on Hugh. “’Twill be a difficult matter for Juliana to accept, that her dear friend leaves even as Christmastide begins. Does Felix accompany you?”

“He has other plans,” Hugh replied.

Raymond pitched his voice to be heard in the stable. “Felix couldn’t plan his way out of a whore’s arms. He’s so stupid.” He took another few steps, still watching the dismayed Hugh. “That blow Lady Juliana landed to his nose could only improve his visage, so ugly is he. He’s not a knight, he’s a worm, the lowest thing I’ve seen since I shovelled shit from under a Saracen infidel’s horse.”

Felix popped out of the stable, ruffled up in indignation, and Raymond snatched him before reason could reassert itself. Grunting, Raymond lifted the round little man and glared into his eyes. “See? Here he comes out from under a good Christian horse.”

“I’m not ugly,” Felix shrieked.

Raymond threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. “Oh, aren’t you? Wait until that pretty bandage comes off your face.” He shook him until Felix grabbed at his nose. “It’ll be warped as badly as your morals. In fact, I find myself desirous of shovelling your ugly self right down the garderobe shaft with the rest of the shit.”

Off balance and incensed, Felix reached out, closed his pudgy fingers around Raymond’s scarred throat, and squeezed. With the roar of a wounded bear, Raymond threw Felix through the open stable door. Blind, mad with a combination of fear and fury, he rushed at Felix, but mighty arms caught him and held him fast. He fought against the restraint, ranting in the foreign words he’d thought forgotten.

Keir and Hugh shouted. Felix squealed and crawled backward into the dark interior. Stable boys scattered. And one pair of eyes inside the stable gleamed and observed with relish.

“Lady Juliana? Lady Juliana?”

The call rang through the kitchen, echoing through the high beams and thinning in the great expanse of undercroft that lay beyond. Juliana turned in a slow circle to face the cook. “Did you call me?”

Valeska and Dagna exchanged concerned looks. “Nay, Lady Juliana, it was me,” Dagna said, her contralto voice as soothing as if Juliana were a child. “Cook wants to know what to serve for the feast today.”

“Ah. Spiced cheese with walnuts to start. Goose with prune sauce. That’s a fine meat for Christmastide. Wassail, of course, and for the sweet…” Juliana stared into the fire that flamed in the fire pit. The coals, with delicate greed, ate the split oak logs. The spit stood ready to impale the meat. It reminded her of Raymond.

Raymond, warming her, tempting her. Every night she decided she would keep her wits about her. Every night he pressed those devastating kisses on her, touched her in places men never cared about, and charmed her out of her cotte. Once he’d even charmed her out of her chainse, much to her later embarrassment. “She needs a long spoon who sups with the devil,” she murmured.

“Pardon, my lady, I didn’t hear you.”

Wondering why Dagna looked concerned, Juliana said, “I didn’t speak.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Valeska asked, “What about the feast?”

Juliana lifted her abstracted gaze to the withered woman. “What? Goose with prune sauce, I think. That’s a good meat. And goose-neck pudding.”

They waited while Juliana thought.

She wished she knew what he wanted. She had thought he was a simple man. She had thought he wanted his pleasure of her, but he reminded her of a river that flowed to the sea. Slow, steady, relentless: moving stones, rocks, boulders by the constant exertion of his will. If he couldn’t push the boulder of her fear aside, he’d undermine it, slip around it, twirl about until she was so confused she didn’t remember why she was afraid.

He’d accused her of tempting him; how dare he turn the tables so cruelly? How dare he wait for her to beg him, as if he were in no hurry? Oh, nay, he wanted more than just his pleasure of her.

The noises originating behind the screen convinced her servitors and his parents that marital activity occurred nightly, yet Raymond’s increasingly short temper confused them. For while between the furs, he held himself under tight rein, never allowing himself a shred of satisfaction. He seemed delighted with her new knowledge, but watched her during the day in the manner of a starving man before the feast.

“The feast, my lady.” Valeska shook Juliana’s arm. “What do you wish for the sweet?”

Juliana snapped back to the present. “I told you. Plum-and-currant tart. And I want goose with prune sauce as the meat.”

Mouth puckered, Valeska nodded. “As you wish, my lady. Many thanks for coming below to consult with us. We never expected such an indulgence from the woman who will soon be a bride.”

“Nonsense. I’ll be a bride in eight days—”

“Six,” Dagna said.

Juliana glared. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of handling all my duties. That’s why I’m
down here. To—” To avoid Raymond. The servants had complained—politely, and, of course, erroneously—that Juliana was distracted.

And if she was distracted, the fault rested with Raymond. With the eagerness of a new scholar, she’d learned the lessons he taught. How to kiss, how to touch. Where to touch, and more important, where not to touch.

The depths of him frightened her, yet lured her, and as long as she followed his rules, he brought her close to satisfaction, stopping her just short of some exotic release. Like a ripe plum’s, her skin felt close to bursting. Her fingers failed to shut properly, and she frequently dropped things. “And I talk to myself,” she said aloud.

“My lady?” As Juliana wafted away, Dagna dug a malicious elbow into her cohort’s side. “I always thought the kitchen was the warmest room in this castle. It would seem that half-finished solar is warmer.”

Vaguely, Juliana wondered what they were cackling about, but the question didn’t occupy her long as she ascended the spiral stairway leading to the great hall. Since the night she’d met the real castle-builder, her life had been knocked askew. She’d grown tired of seeing smirks on the faces of every servant. She’d grown tired of the endless wedding preparations and the endless Christmas celebrations. She’d grown tired of the constant inner turmoil and the breathless physical desire.

Perhaps she was just tired from lack of sleep.

Her inattention earned her a collision with somebody who stepped out of the deep shadows onto the landing. “Pardon”—she stared and her mouth dried—“me.”

“Lady Juliana.” Sir Joseph purred. “Such a surprise. I haven’t seen you alone since your betrothed revealed himself.”

Caught in the crossroads between up and down, between the bustle of the kitchen and the business of the great hall, between the light of the torches and the light of the sun, Juliana didn’t understand how the shadows smoothed the wrinkles and the liver spots from Sir Joseph’s face and returned his youth. But she did understand her wariness. If Sir Joseph had come to wish her well, he’d have done it before an audience.

Pitching her voice low to avoid eavesdroppers, she said, “You no longer sit at your place by the fire.”

He smiled and created a pocket of tantalizing evil in the darkness. He, too, spoke almost in a whisper, but the stealth seemed a part of him and not an aberration. “When Lord Felix and Lord Hugh fled, even before the first celebration of this joyous season, I was without acquaintances in the keep. Even your noble Lord Raymond seemed abashed at their rapid leave-taking.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “He wished, no doubt, for the chance to bid them farewell, but I believe Felix felt constrained to leave before”—she straightened her shoulders, narrowed her eyes, and tried to looked menacing—“before I broke more than his nose.”

As always, as usual, he sneered at her pretensions. “You give yourself too much credit for your puny blow. ’Twas not your insanity that warned Felix away, but the insanity of the man who some would call your husband.”

A frisson of unease shivered up her spine, and something about Sir Joseph and his glistening eyes reminded her about the long, winding stone stairway
behind her, unprotected by any handrail. “Did my Raymond strike Felix? He threatened to, for he believes a man shouldn’t intimidate a woman.” She watched Sir Joseph closely. “He believes it’s a sign of degeneracy.”

“Degeneracy.” Sir Joseph was seized by a fit of silent laughter, made all the more menacing by his true amusement. “Degeneracy. Lord Raymond complains of degeneracy in another. He who embodies all that the demons of hell would celebrate.”

Shock kept her still. Such an accusation rang of witch hunts and warlock burnings. The fear of such devilish manifestations was bred into her, and into everyone who lived at one with the Catholic Church. No one was too mighty to be brought down by such a rumor. She whispered, “I do think your scurrilous soul welcomes wrongs.”