Juliana Garnett (18 page)

S
HE HAD TO
save herself. Fighting her apprehension, Ceara wound her hands tightly into the folds of the borrowed gown. It was too short, the hem not even reaching the tops of her ankle boots, so she had been given a long mantle of ivory wool to wear over it.

Only her insistence that Lord Luc had bade her wear it kept her mother’s necklace from being taken away, as none dared to take what he had allowed her to keep. It hung from her neck, a solid weight between her breasts that reminded her fiercely of what she had already lost, and what she may yet lose.

Drawing in a deep breath as her guard told her in rough English to kneel in the presence of the king, Ceara did so blindly. Where was Luc? She saw only a blur of faces, none familiar to her. Had he decided not to attend after all? Her heart beat faster; her throat was tight and her mouth dry. If he did not attend, she might not be able to do what she must.…

Then she heard him, his familiar voice rising above the clamor of whispers from curious onlookers, and her head lifted. Garbed all in black, Luc stood at the foot of the dais below what could only be the king, who was seated on a straight-backed
chair. She had a brief impression of a broad-shouldered man with a stern visage before she was told to rise, and she did so with thankfully steady grace.

Luc interpreted the king’s French, so that she did not have to betray her knowledge of their tongue, though she understood William perfectly: “Louvat tells me a most interesting tale, Lady Ceara. I would hear your version of it before I make my decision.”

Louvat? She blinked in confusion, then saw Luc’s faint smile and realized ’twas he the king meant. Louvat—young wolf. How fitting. Her chin lifted, and she hid her trembling hands in the wool folds of the mantle as she met the king’s dark, steady gaze. She answered in English while Luc performed the translation.

“With your permission, sire, I ask your patience. It has been a most trying experience that has left me uncertain as to the exact nature of your demands. Pray, clarify for me what you wish to know, and I will answer with the truth, for I know that is what you require.”

“In all things, my lady. Untruths are dangerous in my court.” Steepling his fingers, he studied her over their tips with nerve-racking shrewdness. “Tell me and the court what happened when Sir Simon came to survey Wulfridge.”

Ceara chose her reply carefully. “Sir Simon arrived hard on the heels of other invaders, and announced he had been sent by the king to secure my lands. He demanded I open the gates and yield all to his inspection without delay. I asked for time to consider his request. It was denied.” Her voice faltered slightly, but she steadied herself, somewhat strengthened by Luc’s faultless translation. “Sir Simon’s reply was to return to me my young messenger’s ears in a cloth bag. From that, I deduced he did not want a gentle surrender. I gave that unworthy knight what he wanted.”

At the periphery of her vision she could see Luc flinch, but the words were out. Luc repeated them verbatim though he did
so in a mild tone. The silence drew out, so that her heartbeat sounded loudly in her ears. Her knees weakened, and she began to think the king would order her slain right there in the hall.

“You speak boldly, my lady,” the king finally remarked. “I see that you are quite capable of leading men to battle if you think it necessary.”

“I did what I thought would best serve my interests and those of my people. If I have erred, sire, it is because I value life and liberty.”

William’s brow lifted, but his expression remained the same, betraying nothing. “We all value life and liberty. What I command is for the good of all. I am not a harsh man when my demands are met. As he disobeyed my orders, I shall not require blood penance for the life of Sir Simon. He earned his fate by his feckless defiance. As you rebelled against a man sworn to me, your lands are forfeit. From this day forward, Wulfridge and the title of earl belongs to Sir Luc Louvat, who has served me faithfully and well. I reward those of my subjects who are loyal.”

Leaning forward as Luc’s translation ended, the king held her gaze, his hoarse voice stern as he demanded, “Do you swear fealty to me as your overlord and king?”

For a heartbeat, Ceara wavered. But she knew the consequences too well, and would not lose all for the sake of pride. Her father had been right. She briefly bowed her head in assent.

“Yea, sire, I swear to you as my overlord and king.”

Luc shifted slightly, and his sword clinked against stone, but she did not look at him as he repeated her vow in grave tones. Her gaze fastened on the king, who sat back in his chair with a satisfied expression.

“You are as wise as you are lovely, my lady. It is my understanding that you are unwed. I propose to find you a suitable husband, and settle on you a small dowry as a restitution for the wrong done you by Sir Simon.”

“Sire—I am aware of the favor you show me, and am not
ungrateful. You are well known for your swift justice and sense of honor.” She took a deep breath for courage, not allowing her gaze to move for even an instant to Luc though she was well aware of his sudden wariness. “It is your renowned justice that allows me to protest a wrong done me, a personal wrong greater than even that of Sir Simon.”

“Another wrong, my lady?” William’s brow lowered over his piercing eyes. “Tell me of this wrong that is so great.”

“Sire, I was a maid when I left Wulfridge, but am no longer. I protest the loss of my virginity and seek a retribution of my own choosing.”

Luc took a step forward. “Do you know what you do?” he demanded harshly of her in English. “Am I to repeat that to the king?”

She did not look at him, did not waver in her resolve, though her nails dug fiercely into her palms. “Yea, my lord. If I am to be sold as a milch cow, the king should know my worth. Tell him what I have said, and do not change a word.”

“You little fool, this will not help—”

“My lord Luc,” William interrupted in a steely tone, “do you finish the translation.
Exactly
as it is said.”

A muscle leaped in Luc’s jaw as he turned to the king and bowed. “Yes, sire. The lady wishes me to inform you that she was virgin when she left Wulfridge, but is no longer. She protests the loss and asks retribution of her own choosing.”

The great hall was so quiet Ceara could hear the shuffling of feet on the stone floor, the gasps of those near enough to hear, and the murmurs of others as the words were repeated. William’s face did not change.

“Was she forced?”

Ceara answered hard on the heels of Luc’s terse translation. “I was offered the choice of my surrender or the life of my loyal companion. I am nobly born, and have lost much. I did not wish to lose all.”

Stonily, not looking at her, Luc repeated her words and William scowled.

“Did she name the man who took her virginity?”

“No, sire. She did not need to do so. I am that man.”

Ceara glanced at Luc sharply. She’d not expected him to offer the information. A muscle leaped in his cheek, and the faint scar along his jawline was white with tension as he turned to face the king.

Before he could speak, William put up a hand to stop him. “We will discuss this further in private, Louvat. Bring the lady to my antechamber.”

Luc bowed. As William rose to dismiss those in attendance, Ceara dared a glance at the king. He was very tall, but it was his harsh visage and forceful nature that intimidated those around him. Luc was right. The king was not a man easily swayed.

When the doors to the antechamber closed behind them, Ceara glanced at Luc. He stood stiffly, his off-hand on the hilt of his sword as he regarded William. A small flutter of disquiet stirred in her breast. She did not want to harm Luc, only keep what was hers. But how did she tell him that? He would not listen. In fact, he would not so much as glance in her direction now, but kept his dark gaze bent on the king.

A wall tapestry shifted in a cool draft. The king moved to a small table bearing a silver bowl of fruit and a flagon of new wine. A frown crowded his eyes, and his mouth was a taut line that gave him as even more forbidding presence.

Abruptly William demanded an explanation. “Tell me the way of it, Louvat. Does she speak the truth?”

“Yes, sire. She was virgin when I took her.”

“And your reason for doing so?”

Luc flushed, a dull red color that swept up his neck to his face. “She was widowed. I did not think her to be virgin still.”

A wry smile touched William’s mouth. “That is not quite what I meant, Louvat, though I find myself intrigued by that marvel. Granted, she is lovely, but she is a rebel and my hostage.
Her father was a baron. She is no low-born wench used to sharing her favors with all who ask. Maid, widow, or matron, if she did not wish to be bedded, you should not have forced her.”

“No, sire.” Luc offered no more explanation, though there was an undercurrent of bitter resignation to his words.

Ceara shifted uneasily. She had not expected Luc to offer no defense. Indeed, she had thought he would protest her words and his innocence, would malign his accuser with harsh truths. For that, she had been prepared, but this? It was unexpected, and for a moment she regretted her decision to force the issue in this way. True, Luc had threatened to harm her pet if she refused to disrobe, but had she not tempted him at Wulfridge? She had wanted the very reaction he gave her, had rejoiced in his taking of her for it gave her a weapon to use against him. Yet now he had blunted that weapon with his lack of defense.

William sat down in a chair, his long legs sprawled in front of him, his gaze dark as he regarded Luc. “You have put me in an awkward situation, Louvat. I thought better of you. I need you in the north to help control the rebels, and to secure the coast. Lord Robert de Comines is dead, and Northumbria needs strong hands to hold it. Only a few of the Saxon barons of the north have sworn fealty to me. Though I am overrun with Normans eager to accept lands and titles, I must choose carefully.” He tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair. “You were born in England. You speak their language, yet you are Norman. You are a man who can deal with both sides. You are just the man to hold Wulfridge and the coast. King Sweyn is likely to ravage again when good weather permits, and Norway and the Scots are waiting to plunder England’s borders. But once I am secure, all will bow to me or feel the heel of my boot.”

Ceara kept her eyes down to conceal her shock at the revelation of Luc’s birthplace. It explained his familiarity with the Saxon tongue, but not his allegiance to William. With growing anger and alarm, she listened to the king’s rebuke and Luc’s passive response.

“I would not risk a hide of your land for my actions, sire. Perhaps Wulfridge would be best given to another man to hold.”

William slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair and Ceara jumped, though Luc gave no sign of alarm. “No, by the Holy Rood, it would not be best! You have the best chance of bringing together Norman and Saxon—mayhap you need a wife, Louvat. A Saxon wife.”

Luc’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. He drew in a deep breath, his tone ironic. “I suppose you have decided upon the choice, sire.”

“You are astute, Louvat. Too bad you did not choose such wisdom with the maid a few nights past.” William stroked his bare chin with one hand, eyeing Ceara and his new baron with a faint smile. “The idea has merit. Obviously you find the maid to your liking. Your marriage would bind you to Northumbria by blood. Think you it will be restitution enough to the Saxon barons for her to be lady of Wulfridge?”

Through his teeth, Luc agreed, though Ceara could almost feel his fury. “It should be more than enough restitution, sire.”

“Marriage is not so grim a business, Louvat.” William rose, his temper restored now that he had decided upon a course of action, his mood almost friendly as he went to Luc to put an arm around his shoulders in comradely fashion. “Now that you have lands and a title, you need sons. Lawful sons who will hold the lands after you.”

“While that is true, sire, we have not asked the lady how she feels about bearing those sons.”

Ceara’s hands were dug deep into the folds of her skirt, and she held tightly to the tattered remnants of her resolve so it would not become rebellion. She was still being discussed as if she were a cow or block of wood instead of a woman, and even though her goal was within her grasp, she could not help a surge of resentment. William’s reply did not soften that hostility.

“She is a woman and my hostage. I offer her not dishonor but one of my best knights, and an earl to boot. I do not think
her foolish enough to refuse, when the alternative could be much more unpleasant than a babe in her belly.” The king paused, and Ceara met his gaze with trembling anger. William blinked, and his eyes narrowed. “Speak to her of it, Louvat. If she is bold enough to hold off an entire troop of Norman knights for near a fortnight, I do not think she will quail at taking a Norman to husband.”

“It is not her refusal that concerns me,” Luc muttered, “but her acceptance. I have been at the point of her sword or dagger more than once.”

William grinned, looking less like a fearsome monarch. “It was told to me that there was some resistance, and that you found yourself in an awkward position.”

“As I feared, bad news travels far more swiftly than good.” Luc’s smile was stiff.

“The measure of any household is the swiftness of its servants in repeating gossip. So what say you, Luc Louvat? Will you wed the wench to make her an honest wife and avoid more Saxon rebellion?”

Luc hesitated, then bowed slightly. “Never have I been able to refuse you anything, sire, and I cannot refuse you this, as I have caused my own troubles. I will wed her at your pleasure.”

“Excellent. Now come, speak to the lady and tell her of her good fortune. Shall I leave you alone?”

“It would be best coming from you, sire.”

“Very well. Tell her of my decision. And, Louvat—make it plain I will suffer no dispute.”

“Yes, sire.”

It was easy to pretend ignorance, for Ceara’s anger was choking her to silence, a lump of resentment blocking the words she wanted to fling at them. Luc eyed her warily, as if sensing her rage, and the hand he put upon her arm was heavy as he spoke in English.