Castles in the Air (31 page)

“Then why can’t he stand to be in the same room with me?” Juliana jutted her chin. “Huh?”

“Because he’s an ass,” the queen pronounced.

Tears filled Juliana’s eyes again. “He’s not an ass. He’s wonderful, and I will wither and die without him.”

“Tell him that.” Eleanor surveyed the watery Juliana as she shook her head, and insisted, “Tell him. It is your queen’s command.”

Juliana fought her way through the crowd to the doorway and stepped out of the keep. A sea of mud glinted in the bright, new-washed day, and she warned, “I don’t know, Madame, this looks treacherous.”

“Good,” Eleanor said robustly. “I need some excitement. I’ll go first.”

Clambering down the ladder, she put her foot on the ground—and sank, and sank. “I suggest removing your overshoes, and your shoes, too.” With an expression of delicious disgust, she put her other foot down. She saw Papiol trying to sneak back into the keep and, in her most authoritive voice, ordered, “All of you.”

With resigned sighs, and a few squeaks from Papiol, the court sat down and removed their shoes. Barefooted, Juliana watched as the queen, dressed in the finest wools, held her cotte high and began to negotiate the slippery bailey.

“Mama! Mama!”

Margery and Ella stood at the drawbridge, their skirts trussed up, waving madly. “Come see your wall! Come see the seats we made you!”

Juliana waved back with considerably less enthusiasm, then descended into the mud. Cold as last night’s lamprey pudding, it slithered between her toes. She sank halfway to her knees, and when she lifted her foot out to take a step, the mud released her reluctantly. The sucking sound it made embarrassed her, and the lady-in-waiting who followed close behind her exclaimed, “I know knights who sound daintier after a supper of pease porridge.”

Juliana laughed.

She couldn’t help it. She was outside for the first time in days, the sun shone warm on her shoulders, and every time she lifted her foot that dreadful, mortifying, funny noise erupted from the mud. Ahead of her strode the queen. Behind her in a long line stretched Eleanor’s courtiers, dressed in fine clothes, speaking fine French, and as each one of
them lifted a foot, it sounded like a vulgar digestive noise. It always brought forth the same response.

They laughed.

They laughed and tripped, held on to each other and laughed. They laughed at Papiol, trying to tiptoe as he muttered a dialogue with himself. They laughed until Raymond roared from the keep, “What are you doing?”

Turning, Juliana waved at him as he stood with a cask under each arm and his eyes wide. “We’re obeying the queen’s orders. Come on, it’s fun!”

She didn’t wait, but followed the queen across the drawbridge and down the hill to the low hedge of stone blocks Keir had placed as a bench. Shaped in the elegant curve of a Roman amphitheater, it faced the curtain wall and provided seating for the court. The queen took the highest block, of course, and as the courtiers straggled down they filled in, jostling for position. They cheered when Lord Peter appeared, and they cheered louder when Raymond appeared, holding the two casks.

They were ready to be entertained.

“Keir, take the ale and tap the cask,” the queen commanded. “Raymond, put the wine close on that low section of wall, and since you did the wall, you’ll do the christening.”

Raymond nodded, knowing full well what was to come and dreading it.

“Juliana will help you.” Eleanor made shooing motions toward the construction and stage-whispered to Raymond, “The bride gift is up there.”

Juliana glanced at the half circle of grins, then at Raymond. Clearly dubious, she took the cup and started up the steep hill. Raymond followed, and he
groaned at the whispers and giggles that broke out behind them.

Taking advantage of her smaller steps, he passed her on the slope and placed the cask on the wall.

He’d ordered the bride gift when he was determined to make their marriage a true one. When he was hopeful of winning her love. He’d dreamed of presenting it to her in private, when she could express her appreciation properly. But everything had gone wrong, and now he had to present it to her in front of the court. ’Strewth, how he feared her scorn.

With his cloak he concealed the unattached pile of sandstone holding his huge, square gift. When she had placed the cup beside the cask, he moved aside and gestured—not grandly, as he’d once planned, but with a flip of his arm. “It’s your bride gift,” he said in an undertone. “They all think I’m a fool to give a lady such a thing.”

She stared, and doubt grew in his mind.

“It’s the bear off my family crest,” he explained. When she still said nothing, he cleared his throat. “Carved into a block of stone. To set on the top of the wall when it’s finished. Like a gargoyle.”

She lifted her gaze from the ugly creature of curved fangs and claws. Her eyes swam with tears, and she whispered, “A bear. You gave me a bear.”

He didn’t know if she cried from joy or distress until she flung her arms around his neck. “You are the most generous…”

The press of her body against his soothed him, aroused him. He wrapped her close, but she started, her hands loosened, and she tried to pull away. “I’m sorry,” she apologized breathlessly. “Your neck—”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“You don’t like to be confined,” she insisted.

“No, I don’t.” He shrugged in surprise. “I had forgotten.”

But he released her, and she circled the bear. “Look at the great arms outstretched, the ferocious snarl, the wild hair.” She touched the stone.

He didn’t know what made him say it. “’Tis I, set in stone and bound to protect you.”

She leaped back as if his words made it so. Then, uncertain, she cocked her head and examined the bear once more. “It does have a resemblance, does it not?” She chuckled, a wavering laugh, but her smile faded, and she twisted her fingers until they were white. “I will join this stone one day, cold as the earth, staring out at the road, waiting for you to return to me.”

Her agony sounded real, but he would do what was best for her, regardless of how she fought. “’Tis better if I leave.”

Whipping around, she pushed him with her hands on his chest. “Better for whom?”

He staggered backward and sat down with a plop in the mud. The courtiers cheered, but Raymond scarcely heard them.

“Better for you, perhaps. You’ll be away from this provincial castle, away from the children, away from the responsibilities. You’ll be at court, giving Henry his advice while I stumble along alone. Always alone. You’ll be bringing your love skills to other women—prettier women, sweeter women, richer women, braver…” The words clogged in her throat.

A pain twisted in his chest, a pain greater than any he’d endured in all his loveless life. “Advising Henry holds no charm for me. As for other women”—he chuckled mirthlessly—“I’ll never see another woman
without seeing your face, nor hear a voice without recalling your song, nor—”

“Then why do you turn from me so coldly?” she cried. She pointed at the bear. “Here’s the answer, is it not? You blame me for everything that happened at Moncestus Castle. ’Twas my failure to confront and curb Sir Joseph that caused it all.”

He struggled to stand. “Confront Sir Joseph? You did. I saw you.”

“I should have done it as soon as my father died.”

Unable to pull himself out of the sticky embrace of the mud, alarmed at Juliana’s despair, he put his hand down and pushed himself to his feet. “He would have killed you!”

“I doubt that.” She took his filthy arm and wiped at it with her skirt. “I think it would have removed the sting from his tail most effectively. He wouldn’t have influenced Denys, Margery would never have been taken, Bartonhale would not have been stripped, Felix’s men wouldn’t have been murdered, you would not have been chained—”

“Are you God to have so foreseen these events?” he asked angrily.

“Not God, but a coward.” He shook his head, but she insisted, “I am. I avoid confrontations at every turn, and if Margery and you had not been in his hands, I would have turned tail and run. I have earned your scorn.” She dropped her head. “I’m not like you, a warrior, never fearing. I’m only a snivelling milksop.”

His hand, still rich with mud, cupped her chin. Lifting it, he looked into her eyes. “You labor under a misapprehension. When a knight prepares for battle, he’s sick with fear. His hand slips on the hilt with sweat. His knees knock. His teeth chatter.”

“Nay.”

“Aye. ’Twas always so with me. ’Tis so of Lord Peter, and William, and Keir.” She didn’t believe him, he could see, and he told her, “Long ago, before my first battle, Lord Peter told me that courage isn’t facing an enemy without fear. Courage is facing an enemy who terrifies you and doing your duty anyway. You’re as valiant as any person I’ve ever met. Your life was smashed, destroyed by Sir Joseph and your father, the men you trusted. You rose from the ashes of fear and contempt to rebuild your life. I admire you, Juliana.” His hand fell away, but her head remained high, and he realized he had dirtied her chin. Finding a clean edge on his cloak, he wiped at her skin. “I salute you for your courage.”

Trusting as a child, she let him clean her while hungrily searching his face. “If you believe this…stay with me.”

He realized he was caressing her neck, and jerked away. Glancing out at the court, he found them staring as if Juliana and Raymond were mummers providing entertainment. Lowering his voice, he said, “I will remain your husband.”

“And stay with me?”

“Not far away.”

“Nay. Stay with me.”

“You tempt me even as Adam was tempted.”

“Had Adam resisted, we’d not be here and I’d not have to beg you to stay with me.” He snorted, but Juliana bent her mind to the puzzle that was Raymond. If he wasn’t leaving because of her, then he must be leaving…because of him? Summoning the courage he praised, she said, “I do not fear you, nor the beast inside you. Do you believe?”

He nodded reluctantly.

“I do not despise you because a cruel and petty tyrant forced chains upon you. Do you believe?” He did not indicate he’d heard her, and she shook his arm. “Do you believe?”

She had to raise up to hear his thin reply. “Aye.”

“I believe you are everything that is noble and knightly. Do you believe?”

“Aye.”

“If you believe that I believe in you, then why do you wish to deprive me of my heart?”

“Because it’s best.”

She started shaking her head.

“Aye, it’s best for you and the children. It will benefit the lands and…” His voice trailed off. He stared at her as if the sight of her daunted him. Taking flight, he marched to the wall with Juliana on his heels. He faced the cask, and with his face safely hidden, he confessed, “
I
don’t believe in me. I can no longer live a lie, pretend I’m a knight when I know I have no right to that title.”

They had reached the heart of the matter, and Juliana was determined not to falter now. “You fought eight men in one battle and beat them all.”

He shrugged. “Of course.”

“And your fury when you came upon Denys and Margery drove a whole troop of mercenaries to flight.”

“Sir Joseph had his horse atop of the poor lad, trampling him to death.” He pressed the inner corners of his eyes with his fingers.

Juliana wrapped her trembling hands around her waist to keep from reaching out to him. “Such mercy to Denys does you credit.”

“He kidnapped Margery.”

Remembering the penitence she’d been assigned by the priest, and the time she’d spent on her knees every morning for the sins on Denys’s soul, she answered, “He paid for his foolishness.”

“One can never pay for dishonor one brings on oneself.” Fumbling, he pulled a tap from out of his purse and worked it into the face of the cask. Taking several deep breaths, he stated, “It stains one’s soul forever.”

A belief in the knight’s code. A man who was only too human. It was a difficult dilemma, and with a craftiness she didn’t know she possessed, Juliana asked, “Is Lord Peter a very wise man?”

Raymond smiled ruefully. “So he says.”

“But you respect him?”

“More than any other.”

Not wishing him to read the purpose in her face, she asked, “If a warrior cannot win a battle, what says Lord Peter?”

“If, after every attempt has been made to win, a warrior should do what he must to preserve his life, and live to fight another day.”

“I know of a man, an honorable knight, who lost a battle and did what he had to to preserve his life.” Raymond made a sound of disgust, but she ignored him. “And when he could fight again, this knight escaped, stole an infidel ship, saved the lives of all his followers, and won the respect of everyone. I have even heard a minstrel sing the song of this man.”

He flipped open the tap, wine splashed at their feet, and he stared at it as if he didn’t know what it was or where it had come from. “The Saracens broke me.”

“It seems I have heard that before.” Cup in hand, she filled it and shut the spigot. “I don’t think you
broke. I think fragments of you broke. The cruelty and indifference I see in knights every day are absent in you, Raymond of Locheais and Avraché. But there is one thing the Saracens never touched.”

Grudgingly he inquired, “What?”

“Your pride.” He jerked, and she drove eagerly into the breech. “Your overweening, excessive pride, that says Keir may bend to the Saracens, Valeska and Dagna may bend to the Saracens, all those knights you rescued may bend to the Saracens, but Raymond, the almighty Raymond, may not.”

“That’s not true.” But he looked as if he’d been struck by the great sword of truth and suffered the discomfort of facing his own conceit.

Taking swift advantage, she gripped the earlobe pierced by his earring and pulled until he came down to her level. “What’s more, I find myself resenting it when you reproach yourself for the very things which I admire in you.”

Still grappling with her first accusation, he glared at her. “I don’t think I’m better than Keir or Valeska or Dagna or any of the other knights.”

“Your compassion, the pleasure you take in the children, in the everyday things of life, in me—that’s all because of your experiences in Tunisia. I’m sorry about your back, about your neck, about the tortures you endured, but you survived, and I’m not going to let you throw away our lives for your pride.” He was listening now, and nose to nose, she said, “I will order Layamon not to allow you to leave Lofts Castle.”