Authors: Blackheart
A holy man who assumed a false name that he might enter Tremoral and sneak a sleeping draft into the ale? Who disregarded the sanctity of marriage to assist his brother in carrying away another man's wife?
" 'Tis true," Gabriel said. "He is fully vested."
Juliana could hear her own breathing, shallow and quick, and feel the blood coursing her veins. "Then he is even more despicable than you."
"And you are not, Juliana?" He looked again to her belly, his eyes feeling like hands upon her. "Do you soon forget, 'twas your guile that brought us to this day. Your deceit."
Nay, she could not forget, had lived these past months not only with fear of his return, but the terrible knowledge she'd wronged him. To save Alaiz, she had used him.
As she stared at him, the side-to-side movement of the clouds behind caused her stomach to pitch. Then, without warning, the ship ran up on a wave and heaved sideways. With a cry, she threw her arms out, but there was naught to hold on to. Grasping air, she fell backward.
Suddenly an arm came around her and dragged her against a solid chest. Her stomach threatening to spill, she looked up at Gabriel.
There was something unexpected in his expression— concern?—but before she could verify it, he hastened her to the railing. She grasped it and leaned forward. When the worst was over, she accepted the square of linen he thrust before her.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded. Now if her heart would only quiet. It was beating so rapidly she feared it might burst. She took a deep breath, then another, and opened her eyes.
Below, the ocean rolled and tossed and broke upon the hull of the ship. The cool droplets of water that sprayed her were welcome, but not the view. "Dear God," she muttered, and pressed her brow to the railing.
Gabriel's hand, warm and strangely comforting, settled on her back. "Look to the horizon. It does not move." Even so, the ship moved. "Trust me," he said.
Trust a man who hated her as he did? A man bent on hurting her? Still, if it calmed her insides...
Juliana lifted her head and looked to where the sky rested upon the ocean. As Gabriel said, it did not move. Shortly, her heart curbed its erratic beat and the nausea subsided. "I am fine now," she said, hoping he would remove his hand. Even so simple a touch was not without memories.
"You are certain?"
Why the sudden change? Why did he not simply leave her to her misery? Surely he thought it deserved. "I am certain," she said, "though I shall be most grateful when we reach France."
After a long silence, Gabriel said, "Will you?"
The tone of his voice brought her head around. "Only to be on land again," she clarified.
"Of course." He dropped his hand from her. "Get some rest, Juliana." He turned away.
Her stomach beginning to churn again, she returned her gaze to the thin, dark line between ocean and sky. Who had cried all the tears that made up this vast body of water? Was it possible their pain had been greater than hers? She sighed. It didn't matter. They were useless tears.
Gabriel tossed back the awning flap, spilling moonlight upon the still figure within.
Knees drawn to her chest, a fist curled beneath her chin, hair cast over her brow, Juliana slept. Finally. Though she had retreated to the awning shortly after Gabriel had left her this morn, throughout the day she had time and again returned to the railing to ease her nausea.
It was the babe he was concerned about, Gabriel had told himself, but watching Juliana grow paler as the day grew old had unexpectedly troubled him. Thinking food might ease her discomfort, he had thrice sent one of the crew with dry biscuits and salted meat, but each time she'd refused the fare.
Fortunately, the new day would see them on the shores of France, and by the evening of the following day they would be at Mergot—providing Juliana's illness did not persist and force them to delay their travel. Gabriel hoped not. He wanted to see color restored to her face, light to her eyes, for her to eat and nourish his child. Too, more than ever he wanted to return to the lands Sir Erec administered in his absence. Mergot was no Wyverly, and it was unlikely he would ever think of it as home, but it was all he had.
For the time being, he reminded himself. He did not need Juliana to tell him that stealing her from Bernart could result in the loss of his lands and title. He knew it well. But, as he'd told her, it was a risk he would take.
Juliana rolled onto her back, causing the blanket to slip.
Gabriel's gaze was drawn to the swell that pressed against the material of her gown. During the ride from Tremoral to Southampton he had not allowed himself to touch her there, as if in doing so he might violate her— absurd, considering how the babe had been gotten.
The shifting wind lifted the hem of his mantle, reminded him of the cool night air. He ducked beneath the awning and drew the blanket over Juliana's shoulders. Though he had no intention of lingering, something held him there. He looked from the auburn tresses framing her face to her gently bowed mouth. How innocent she looked, as if she were the victim rather than the offender.
Not for the first time, he remembered their encounter this morn, specifically her accusation. Once more she thought him a coward. Or perhaps she'd never stopped thinking him one, had said she believed he was not responsible for Bernart's failure at Acre only that she might keep Gabriel from revealing her adultery. And to gain his bed one last time.
A coward. There were many things Gabriel could be called, few of them flattering, but a coward was not among them. Upon learning that Juliana was pregnant, he had burned to bring an army of mercenaries against Tremoral, to expose her before Bernart. But Blase, with his abundance of wisdom, had made Gabriel see reason. He had pointed out that as great as Bernart's enmity was for Gabriel, his reaction to learning his enemy was the father of the child he believed to be his own could prove dire. Could endanger Juliana.
The thought that Bernart might harm her had turned Gabriel from his reckless quest, but only because of the babe. Thus he and Blase had devised the plan to steal Juliana in the night. If Bernart learned who had taken Juliana, it would be far safer for her beneath Gabriel's roof when Bernart was told of her faithlessness.
A faint sound brought Gabriel's head around. There, stark against the billowing mainsail, stood Blase. Watching. No doubt wondering.
As close as Gabriel had grown to his younger brother this past year, he resented being judged by him. True, Blase had played no small part in bringing Juliana out of Tremoral—could even be said to have relished it—but from his silence throughout the day, his priest's conscience tasked him.
Gabriel stepped from beneath the awning and lowered the flap. As he strode toward Blase, he saw his brother stroke the hilt of his sword, as he often did when some- thing bothered him. Of course, when he was attired in priest's vestments it was his cross to which he applied himself.
Gabriel halted before him. As they were nearly the same height, they came eye to eye. For several minutes neither spoke, the only sounds that of the ship's movement through the water, the flutter of sailcloth, the occasional slither of rope and rattle of blocks.
"You are certain the babe is yours?" Blase finally asked.
"Ease your conscience, brother; the child is mine."
"She denies it?"
"As I knew she would."
Blase took a deep breath of the salted air. "But perhaps the babe is—"
"Mine, Blase. Be it son or daughter, the child Lady Juliana bears is of my loins."
Blase stared at him a long moment, then nodded. "Then 'tis right what we did."
Gabriel sighed. "Ah, froward priest, did your conscience prick you so when last you drunk yourself into a stupor? When you pocketed winnings from a wicked game of dice? When you went wenching a sennight past?"
Though Blase struggled to keep his expression sober, a smile tugged.
"Think no more on it," Gabriel said. "I have taken naught from Bernart Kinthorpe that does not belong to me."
Including Juliana.
As long as his child grew in her, she was his.
Blase nodded. "Then I am sure God will understand." Would He? Gabriel shrugged off the question. "Good eve, Blase."
"Good eve." Blase stepped past and crossed to the awning the ship's crew had erected for him and Gabriel.
When he was gone from sight, Gabriel looked to the heavens. Though dense clouds had threatened a storm this afternoon, they'd moved inland, leaving the inky canopy pricked with starlight and the night waters relatively calm.
But how long would the calm last? How long before his prideful revenge brought war upon Mergot? Perhaps never, he told himself.
Perhaps a fortnight hence.
Juliana's words returned to him. He laid a hand to his sword. Either way, he was prepared.
Chapter Eleven
France
She would have to return to Alaiz, which meant escape. Juliana looked to where Gabriel and his false priest of a brother rode ahead. Not only must she escape them, but also the men-at-arms who'd awaited Gabriel when the ship put in at Bayeux. She glanced behind. Eight soldiers and Gabriel's squire, each an obstacle in her quest for freedom. And there were yet more. If she made good her escape, she had neither coin nor escort to return her to England. To be a pregnant and penniless woman alone in a strange land would be dangerous. But not as dangerous as it would be for Alaiz were Bernart to turn her out to wander the countryside. Somehow she must return to Tremoral. Then what? Would Gabriel follow?
"Resolve yourself to it, Juliana."
She jerked her head around and saw that Gabriel had drawn his mount alongside hers. "Resolve?" she repeated, as if innocent of plotting.
A sardonic smile broke the hard line of his mouth. "Lest you forget, you are going to Mergot. Only after you have birthed my child may you leave. No sooner."
She put her chin up. "I do not need to be told again."
"Indeed. Consider it a reminder only."
She expected him to return to his brother's side, fervently wished for it that she might think more clearly on how she was to elude him, but he did not oblige her. Though he spoke not another word, his nearness over the next two hours distracted her again and again. Still, she used the time to familiarize herself with her surroundings in the event she passed this way again. And if she managed to escape, it was likely she would.
It was drawing late when Juliana glimpsed a distant castle rising against the sky. As it was yet another day's ride to Mergot, it was certain they would seek lodging there. She breathed a sigh of relief. Having been on a horse since late morn, she was sore. There was nothing she wanted more man to dismount and rest her weary body—except, of course, to return to her sister. She eyed the castle. Within those walls, might she find a means of escaping Gabriel? An ally?
It was not to be. Gabriel urged his mount ahead and veered east.
With his men at her back, Juliana had no choice but to follow. Could there be another castle within reach of what remained of daylight? It did not seem likely. She put heels to the tired mare, passed the false priest, overtook Gabriel.
He slowed as she came alongside. "What is it, Juliana?"
"Do you not intend to seek lodging at the castle?"
He swept his pale gaze over her. "I do not."
Thus her hope of an ally was for naught. "Why?"
He looked forward again. "As Baron Faison is not yet content with the restored rule of King Richard, 'tis not likely he would welcome an English baron within his walls."
Juliana had heard of the uneasy alliance between King Richard and the barons. The king of France had installed them upon his seizure of Richard's French dominions following the Crusade.
"And certainly he would not welcome me," Gabriel continued. "You see, 'twas his brother who held Mergot before me. Had he not refused King Richard his allegiance, still he would hold it."
Then Faison was Gabriel's enemy, or near enough. Though the French baron obviously had little liking for the English, might he aid her if she escaped and presented herself before him? She became so caught up in the possibility that it was a long moment before she realized Gabriel was watching her. Fearful of what her face might have revealed, she asked, "Is there another castle nearby?"
"There is not."
"Then where shall we pass the night?"
"In the wood."
The thought of another long, miserable night made her groan. Although the floor of the wood would be still beneath her, and not the ship's deck, her aching body longed for some comfort. "Surely there is an inn at which we could pause for the night."
"Aye, but we will not."
"For what reason?"
"The fewer who know you are at Mergot, the less likely Bernart will learn of your whereabouts." Gabriel's brow creased. "Which reminds me—henceforth you are to be known as Lady Isolde Waltham."
Juliana felt suddenly cold. Isolde—to remind her of her sins. She averted her gaze and drew her mantle more closely around her. "And if I refuse to be called such?"
He was watching her, seeking to read her emotions. "Isolde Waltham has the freedom to move about my donjon. Juliana Kinthorpe does not."
Meaning he would lock her away if she refused. "I see."
"I expected you would."
She drew a steadying breath. "What of the castle folk? Do they know of my coming?" "They do."
"What will they think of my presence?"
"What I have told them."
She met his gaze, dreading the answer to the question she must ask. "And what is that?"
"That Isolde Waltham carries my bastard seed." In response to Juliana's sharply indrawn breath, he said, " 'Twas unavoidable. One has but to look upon you to know you are pregnant and, as I intend to raise the child you bear, there was no other course."
Even so, she hated him all the more. "They know I do not come willingly? That you have stolen me from my home?"
"There was no need to tell them. Still, they have been warned that you are not to be trusted."