HealingPassion (9 page)

She loved to watch the jerks and heaves of his body when she
touched him, and the way his face drew up in a strange frown of intense
pleasure. She felt enlarged herself, as though by giving this to him, it
returned to her as a gift.

His breath grew shorter and quicker and a throb raced
through his cock.

“Juliana.” He had difficulty bringing the words out. “If you
do not…stop now, I will not be able to…control myself.”

“Why must you control yourself in this, Thomas? You gave me
the gift of release. May I not return it to you?”

He watched her for a moment before he nodded and leaned
back, closing his eyes as she pumped her hand up and down his cock. She leaned
over and licked one of his nipples, drew it into her mouth and sucked on it.
His moan was almost a sob.

The throbbing in his cock grew faster, and she tried to move
her hand in pace with its rhythm. She could barely keep up though. Within
moments, he seemed to freeze in place, his muscles stiff with tension. Then he
let out a cry of ecstasy, and his seed spurted from the end of his cock,
smearing on his belly and her hand.

He pulled her against him so she lay half on top of him
while his breathing slowed to a more normal pace. He stroked her hair and
murmured how beautiful she was.

His heart thudded beneath the ear she had pressed against
his chest. Juliana wished she might never have to move from this spot, that
time would stop and let her remain in that moment of peace and love forever.
Each word he whispered to her burned into her heart. He spoke of a future she knew
was impossible, a sweetness that would soon turn sour, a love that would
shortly become hate.

Chapter Eight

Sir Thomas rode out of the castle with both Ralf and Bertram
accompanying him the next morning. He planned to spend the day talking to
anyone he could find with cottages in view of the road. Someone had surely seen
Lord Groswick leave the previous year. With some luck, he might have a start on
tracing the lord’s route.

Even before he was outside the walls, Thomas had the
strange, prickly sense that unseen eyes watched him. Once on the road beyond
the barbican, he stopped for a moment to look around, particularly behind him.
He listened, but the only sounds were the normal ones of human activity in the
bailey, birds singing, and the breeze ruffling the leaves and limbs of trees
nearby. In the distance to the left, he recognized the rhythmic clopping of a
hoe being wielded.

“Is there a problem, my lord?” Ralf asked.

“Nay. I thought I heard something odd, but I think now ‘twas
my imagination.”

Ralf gave him a dubious look but didn’t comment.

He’d picked a good day for this trip. The sun beamed down on
them from a clear, blue sky, making it unusually warm for so late in the year.
It might be the last of such days they’d see for a while. The breeze held a
hint of winter to come. Ralf’s smiling face and shining eyes reflected some of
his own joy at being abroad in such glorious weather.

Of course, some of Thomas’ joy might be a holdover from the
previous night. Had there been any doubt it in his mind, it was now expelled.
Juliana would be his lady. As a widow, she could make her own choice, and
though she was reluctant to acknowledge it as yet, she would soon come to
accept that Groswick was dead and she was free of him. It would speed the
process if he could find certain proof of the lord’s demise.

A few hundred yards down the road, they passed the first
cottage and stopped. No one appeared to be around at first, but as they
dismounted, a young woman emerged from the cottage, holding a baby on her hip.
Her eyes widened at the sight of a knight in chain mail approaching. She eyed
the sword at his hip warily. For a moment he feared she might panic, run back
inside, and bar the door.

Sir Thomas sought to reassure her. “If you please, Madame,
we mean you no harm. We merely have a question or two. No harm will come to you
or your child, no matter what your answer be. I have no quarrel with you or
yours.”

The woman still hesitated but she didn’t run away.

“I’m Sir Thomas of Carlwick, Madame. The king has sent me to
inquire into the fate of Lord Groswick. I’m sure you’re aware that he’s been
gone for nigh onto a year. His current location is unknown and we fear
something dire might have befallen him.”

Her expression didn’t change much, though she relaxed a
little bit and set down the child, who toddled off to explore a pile of twigs
on the ground nearby. “I knew Lord Groswick had gone, my lord, and that he
hadn’t returned.”

“Did you see him leave? Surely his party went right by here
as it left.”

“Perhaps they did, my lord, but I didn’t see them. Nor did
anyone here. ‘Twould have been remarked on had any of us seen him pass.”

No doubt that was true. It would be a very big event in
their lives to see the lord and his entourage pass by.

“We’ve talked about it a number of times,” she continued.
“We were surprised to learn he’d gone and we’d not seen a thing. With the noise
they make, ‘tis hard to miss.”

“Know you if any of your neighbors, or anyone around here,
did see them go?”

The woman shook her head. “None saw him that I’ve heard, my
lord. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for your time anyway.” At his nod, Bertram handed
her a coin.

The woman looked startled, then grateful. “Thank you, my
lord. Good fortune in your search.”

But good fortune seemed determine to elude them. The next
stop produced the same result: the residents remembered neither seeing nor
hearing the passage of Lord Groswick’s company. They, too, admitted there had
been much speculation on that fact when it was learned he was gone.

Twice while on the road, he felt that same prickly sense of
being watched. Each time he stopped to scan the area around, but he found
nothing to account for it.

Just after midday, they came to the village closest to the
keep and stopped there for refreshment and information. Of the two, refreshment
was far easier to find. A small tavern sold passable ale and decent bread
rolls. Sir Thomas’ appearance drew a great deal of interest. A pair of giggling
maids vied for the honor of serving him. The ale flowed freely as they brought
pitcher after pitcher until Ralf and Bertram broke out in laughter each time
one approached.

He had to take the arm of one maid to prevent the deposit of
another pitcher none of them needed. “No more ale,” he said. “But if you have a
moment, I’ve a question for you.”

The girl’s eyebrows rose and then she blinked several times
at him before her face broke into a wide grin. “Of course, Sir Knight,” she
answered.

“Do you remember when Lord Groswick set out from the keep to
go to the Continent? ‘Twas almost a year ago now.”

Her smile faded into a disappointed frown, but she did
consider his question. “I was told he’d left, but I don’t remember seeing it.”

“Would he likely have come through here?”

She blinked flirtatiously. “‘Tis the most direct way to the
main road toward London, so ‘tis likely enough.”

“But you didn’t see him. Did anyone you know?”

Again her forehead wrinkled as she considered the question.
“Nay, my lord, now that you ask. I don’t believe anyone I know has ever said
they saw him. But I’d ask Master Roger.” She glanced toward the man running the
tap on the keg in the corner. “If anyone knows ‘twould be him.”

But it appeared no one did know. Master Roger didn’t, though
he was willing to expound at considerable length concerning possible routes
Lord Groswick might have taken, the lord’s churlish temperament, the
variability of the weather, the difficulty of procuring grain at reasonable
prices, and his body’s fluxes. Before he left the man, Thomas asked, “Did Lord
Groswick have any enemies that you know of?”

Master Roger stared at him for a moment before he shrugged.
“No actual enemies that I know of. But few friends. He was not a man who
endeared himself to others. Some lords can be strict and fair, but still be
personable enough in themselves to earn respect and loyalty beyond the demands
of duty. Lord Groswick was not such a man.”

It took Sir Thomas a while longer to extricate himself,
though he had gleaned enough useful information from the conversation. It added
sufficient weight to prior observations and growing doubts to tip suspicion
over toward conclusion.

Absolutely no one had seen Lord Groswick leave the keep, a
very strange thing, indeed. A baron with a company of knights and men-at-arms
made a noisy and colorful party that couldn’t help but attract attention. How
might Lord Groswick have left with no one at all noting his passage?

And then, other than his wife, no one seemed particularly
concerned that Lord Groswick had apparently vanished. Barons were not often
popular among their own people, but in this case, all he’d heard suggested no
one honored or respected the man at all. Many had mentioned Groswick’s bad
temper, stinginess, and a general churlishness. In fact, he’d heard not one
good thing about the man since his arrival, or even before. Though the king was
concerned about his absence, he’d never mentioned any personal care for the man
himself.

If he guessed right, Lord Groswick had not left the keep, or
at least not left the area. Which meant he was either dead or in hiding.
Groswick hadn’t inspired the kind of loyalty in his people that would allow him
to remain long in hiding with no one betraying him. Nor did there appear to be
any motive for him to absent himself from his keep and comfortable life.

If he were dead, though, why had no one reported it to the
king? Juliana might be concerned about her future prospects, but she had too
much honor to let that stop her from doing her duty in the situation.

It made no sense.

They made two more stops on their way back to the keep, but
those yielded no more information or clues.

The sun sank below the tree line just as they approached the
barbican. The gate began to screech as it opened for them.

The sound must have hidden the click and snap of the
crossbow firing. It almost drowned out Ralf’s sudden cry, but Thomas happened
to be riding close by and heard it. He swung around to look at the squire.

The boy swayed on the horse and would have fallen off had
Thomas not caught and supported him. He didn’t have to look far to find the
cause. A crossbow bolt protruded from the young man’s left shoulder.

Bertram joined them and steadied Ralf’s nervous mount while
Thomas pulled the boy across to sit in front of him. The squire’s eyes were
wide and startled, but his expression pulled into a frown of pain.

“Hold on,” Thomas implored Ralf. “We’re not far from the
keep. There’s help for you there.”

Ralf nodded. His face had paled alarmingly, and his breaths
came out in loud pants, but no blood dribbled from his mouth, a good sign that
the wound might not be fatal.

“Bring the horse,” Thomas shouted to Bertram, then kicked
his mount into a canter toward the gate. It stood almost half open, but Thomas
ducked under it rather than wait.

He yelled, “To me, to me,” as he rode into the bailey,
stopping in front of the steps to the main door.

A crowd gathered and willing hands helped support Ralf while
he dismounted. “Carry him inside,” he told a pair of men he recognized from his
sessions of arms training.

As they entered the hall, several servants came running
toward them, followed by Lady Juliana herself. “Take him to my quarters,”
Thomas told the men carrying Ralf.

“What happened?” Juliana asked. “What is wrong with him?”

“A crossbow bolt. Again.”

Juliana stopped and went pale. “Oh, no!”

Thomas regretted the harshness of his words. “Juliana! We
need your help. Do not faint on me.”

“I never faint,” she answered. “I’m very strong.” She
grimaced. “Oh, dear, that was not worded as it should have been. Rather, I try
to be strong. At times, though, it seems all the strength in the world wouldn’t
be enough.”

“You manage under difficult circumstances better than any
lady I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you. I do what I must. How badly is he hurt?”

“The bolt is in his shoulder. High. More than that I cannot
say.”

She nodded and called to one of the servants nearby. “Gwen,
go fetch William Barber. I fear we’ll need his services.” The young woman
nodded, turned, and raced the other way down the corridor.

They arrived at the door of Sir Thomas’ quarters, just as
the two men lay Ralf on his side on the bed.

They had to cut away the squire’s leather jerkin and shirt
from around the protruding shaft. The bolt had entered his left shoulder very
near the armpit and gone through at a sharp angle, so that the triangle-tipped
front emerged below the collarbone nearly under his chin. It had mercifully
missed his neck. Blood seeped from the injuries on either side.

Juliana winced, but probed around the wounds on either side.
Ralf gasped and flinched several times, though she tried to be gentle and avoid
jostling the shaft.

“No blood is coming from his mouth,” she said. “I believe
that is a good sign. And I cannot feel any bones misplaced. Can we keep the
wound from going morbid, I believe he should survive this.”

She put a gentle hand on the young man’s forehead. “Hold on
a few moments, and we’ll have you put right. I’ll get you something to help the
pain as well.”

“‘Tis not so bad. I can bear it,” Ralf answered, through
clenched teeth. His pale skin, shallow breathing, and tense frown belied the
bravery of the words, however.

Juliana turned to another of the servants gathered round to
see what was happening and standing ready to help. “Avice, go fetch some of the
pain infusion I make for my mother. And the salve for wounds. Sarah, clean
linens.” Both girls acknowledged the orders and departed.

Lady Ardsley came into the room as the girls left, leaning
heavily on her cane. She looked even smaller and more frail than she had just a
couple of days ago. Her expression was grim as she surveyed the area, and saw
Ralf’s injury.

Juliana turned to look at her mother. The younger woman’s
expression changed briefly, turning from grief to something darker and grimmer,
with a hint of determination and possibly challenge.

Lady Ardsley saw it and grew even paler, were that possible.
She shook her head, but said nothing.

William Barber, a large man of middle years and gruff
manner, arrived just then, distracting everyone’s attention to him. He took a
quick look at the young man. “‘Twill be best to cut off the tip at the front,
then pull the bolt out the back,” he said. “We’ll have to slide it forward some
first, though.” The tip just barely protruded from skin, not far enough to be
easily cut off as it stood, but far enough that it would likely cause more
damage should he try to pull it out from the back. William turned to a boy
who’d run along behind him and asked him to get some tools.

With Sir Thomas, Bertram, William, and Juliana all steadying
him, they shifted Ralf to make it easier for William to reach the arrow from
either side. The squire gasped a couple of times as he was moved.

“Now, hold him very steady for me,” William instructed. “Sir
Thomas, and you there,” he pointed to Bertram and another man watching, “get on
the other side of him and don’t let him move when I push. My lady, keep his
head lifted and well away.”

The men got in position, holding Ralf steady. William pushed
the shaft forward into the wound, forcing the tip further out from his chest.
The young man gave a short, sharp cry when the bolt moved, then clenched his
teeth together hard and was silent.