Authors: Blackheart
The outer wall of the castle looked solid. In fact, several sections had been recently repaired, as evidenced by the different shades of stone. It seemed Gabriel was prepared in the event Bernart came calling.
Upon entering the outer bailey, Juliana corrected herself. The outer wall would have to be strong, for the inner wall enclosing the donjon was badly damaged. Scaffolding was erected around it and restoration had begun, but it would be many months before the work was completed. In the interim, if attackers made it past the first bastion of defense, the donjon would be theirs. Of course, judging by the number of soldiers who manned the outer wall, such conquest would be hard-won.
A few moments later, Juliana passed over the inner drawbridge and got her first look at the donjon. It was imposing, but also in need of repair. Whoever had resisted
King Richard's return to rule had held out until the end. Had the man given his life for a lost cause? The lives of those who served him? Likely. A man's possessions, de-* served or otherwise, were of far more import than human life.
Juliana reined in before the steps of the donjon. At the landing above, a dozen or more servants waited to receive their lord. Before them stood one whom Juliana recognized immediately—the handsome Sir Erec. Until that moment, she had not questioned the reason he hadn't accompanied Gabriel to Tremoral, but likely he had remained at Mergot to administer the barony in his friend's absence.
"Come."
Juliana looked beside her. Gabriel stood with arms raised to receive her from her mount. She drew a deep breath, then glanced at the donjon. Once inside, would she be allowed without? Or was she to be denied the out-of-doors for the duration of her pregnancy? She recalled Gabriel's words of yesterday. He had said Isolde Waltham had the freedom to move within the donjon, but naught about whether she was to be confined to
it
" 'Tis only five months," Gabriel said, as if inside her thoughts.
She turned her gaze to him. "Does the babe comes early. Otherwise six."
His lids narrowed. "Put away your lies, Juliana." His words were too dangerously soft for any but her to hear. 'They have no place at Mergot."
"Nor do I."
So swiftly she did not have time to evade him, he gripped her arms and lifted her down beside him. Juliana jerked her head back to meet his anger. " 'Tis true you have no place here," he said between his teeth, "but until you have returned that which belongs to me, we will have to suffer one another."
How she wished to lash out at him, to injure his pride, to pain him as he pained her.
He must have seen it in her eyes. "I warn you, Juliana, bedevil me and your days here will be long and not a little uncomfortable."
She quelled her anger, though not so much that he might think her defeated. "Lest you forget, the name is Isolde, and my prison awaits."
A mocking smile curved his mouth. "My lady." He slid a hand to her elbow and turned her toward the steps.
As much as Juliana resented his touch, it proved necessary. Not only were the stone steps pitted and, in places, missing rather large pieces, the deceptive shadows cast by the torches made the climb treacherous. On her own, it was not likely she would have made it to the landing without mishap.
Sir Erec was the first to step forward. "I welcome your return. Lord De Vere."
"All is well?"
"Aye, and quiet."
"Good." Gabriel drew Juliana forward. "Sir Erec Sin-ward, I present Lady Isolde Waltham. Lady Isolde, Sir Erec."
Not a flicker of surprise, as if he knew well the reason for Juliana's presence at Mergot. He inclined his head. "Lady Isolde."
Juliana looked past the knight to the household servants who regarded her with interest.
"Lady Isolde will be residing at Mergot for the next five months," Gabriel said.
Sir Erec smiled. "A pleasure, my lady."
He lied well, since he could not possibly find enjoyment in receiving the one who'd deceived his friend.
"It has been a long day," Gabriel said. "Let us go within."
Sir Erec stepped aside.
The servants murmured greetings to their lord as he ushered Juliana past them.
As she stepped over the threshold, she wrested her awareness from the man at her side and looked to the hall. Though it was nearly as large as Tremoral's and bore the signs of past grandeur, it was in a shabby state. Where tapestries must have once hung, the walls were scarred and, in several places, blackened as if by fire. The rushes were scarce underfoot, as were the tables, benches, and sideboards scattered around the great room. A canvas was stretched taut over what must be a hole in the far wall, but though it was surely meant to keep out the night air, it was less than effective. The resultant draft tugged at Juliana's hair, nipped at her ankles, caused the fire in the hearth to spark and sputter.
Would the castle rise again with Gabriel? Not if Bernart—
"Hardly Tremoral," Gabriel said, halting in the middle of the hall, "but it will suffice for the short time you are here." -
She pulled her arm from his grasp. "My chamber is abovestairs?"
"It is."
'Then that is where I would like to withdraw for the night."
"After you have eaten."
The thought of spending another moment in his presence, of enduring the castle folk's scrutiny, of stomaching even a morsel was too much for her. So much she lowered her pride. "Pray, Gabriel, allow me my rest. 'Twas a day long and hard."
From the set of his eyes, she feared he meant to refuse her, but he surprised her. "Very well. I will show you to your chamber." He strode to the stairs.
Juliana followed. Unlike the stone steps outside, the stairs were smooth and even, seemingly untouched by the siege. It was the same abovestairs, so different that she wondered if she'd imagined the shabbiness of the hall.
Gabriel strode down the corridor, retrieved a torch from a wall sconce, and threw open the first of three doors. He motioned Juliana to precede him.
She stepped within and was met by an unexpected sight. The chamber was of a good size, nearly as large as the lord's solar at Tremoral, but that was not as surprising as the rest of it. The ceiling was painted blue, like the sky, and the four corners of it embellished with intricately detailed flowers—so fanciful it reminded her of her youth, when she'd believed in such things as love.
Two of the walls were hung with finely worked tapestry. The right depicted a garden, in the midst of which a lady and her lover sat, the left a unicorn surrounded by white rosebushes. Positioned before the latter tapestry was a large, postered bed, its linen curtains drawn back to reveal plump pillows and a fur coverlet that beckoned to Juliana so strongly her lids grew heavy.
She stepped farther into the chamber. Not only were the rushes more plentiful here than belowstairs, they teased her nostrils with the scent of cowslip, hyssop, sweet fennel. More, they drew a sharp contrast between herself and the room. Having worn the same garments for the past four days, she smelled of dust and horses. What she wouldn't do for a long soak in a bath and a change of clothes.
She eyed the carved chest set between the shuttered windows against the far wall, fleetingly hoped that within she might find garments to fit her swelling figure.
"You approve?" Gabriel asked.
For those few moments, Juliana had forgotten she was not alone. She looked behind and saw that Gabriel leaned against the door frame. " 'Tis not what one would expect of a prison."
He swept his gaze over the chamber. " 'Tis not a prison at all, but a place for lovers."
Lovers. Suddenly wary, she clenched her hands in her skirts.
He returned his gaze to her, and saw the fear she should have kept hidden. "You think I intend to seduce you as you did me, Juliana?"
Did he? He had said he did not want her. Had he lied?
He smiled slowly. "As you see, the chamber is how it was when I took possession of Mergot. Were it not the only private room other than the lord's solar, I would put you elsewhere." He straightened from the doorway. "Be assured, I want only that which you carry."
And in five months he would take it from her.
He set the torch in a nearby wall sconce. "I shall send a tray of food to you." He started for the door.
"I would prefer a bath," Juliana called after him.
He turned, considering her. "You must give some in order to get, Juliana. Eat; then I will order you a bath."
Doubtless if she did not eat he would know of it. "Very well."
Gabriel pulled the door closed behind him.
Juliana listened to his receding footsteps. Only when they'd faded into nothingness did she surrender to the bed. She lay back upon the thick feather mattress. It welcomed her to its soothing depths, tempted her lids closed, delivered her into a dreamworld from which the serving girl who appeared a short while later had difficulty rousing her.
Somehow Juliana summoned the appetite to consume a small portion of the viands. Fortunately it was enough to satisfy Gabriel, for soon thereafter a tub was brought to her chamber, along with twenty or more pails of steaming water required to fill it.
"I shall help you disrobe, my lady," said the maid Gabriel had sent to tend her.
Juliana considered the lovely woman whose accent was truer than her own. Though English nobles' first language was that of the French, the years since Duke William had conquered the island kingdom and the distance of the channel had diluted the accent of the English such that it lacked much of the musical quality of this soft-spoken woman.
"Lady Isolde?"
Juliana blinked. "I am sorry, what is your name again?"
"Lissant, my lady."
Juliana nodded. "I thank you, Lissant, but I can manage myself." The maid's brow puckered.
Had Gabriel ordered that she was not to leave Juliana's side?
"You are certain?" Lissant asked. "I am."
Her gaze strayed to Juliana's belly. Then, as if she understood the reason for Juliana's reluctance to disrobe, she nodded. "I will leave you, but should you need me I shall be outside your door."
"You need not wait on me."
Lissant smiled. " 'Tis the task Lord De Vere has set me, my lady."
And none dared disobey him. "Very well. I will call you should I need you."
Lissant inclined her head. Her bearing proud, almost noble, she turned and left the room.
Juliana removed her soiled garments and stepped into the tub. She sighed as warmth flowed over her. If not that the tub was too short for her to stretch her legs out, she would have dozed. Though weary, she set about bathing herself from her hair to the tips of her toes, and only when she had accomplished that did she rest her head against the rim. She soaked until the water grew tepid, then stepped out of the tub, dried herself, and crawled naked between the sheets.
This night she would not think about her troubles, nor dwell on what the morrow might bring. In the days to come there would be plenty of time to worry and wonder, to search for a way out of her predicament. Now she needed rest. Even so, her last thoughts before sleep were of Alaiz. Was she well? How great was her fear? Was she strong enough to endure whatever Bernart subjected her to? Somehow she must be strong.
Chapter Twelve
England
Alaiz rose from the hearth as the doors of the hall swung inward. There he stood, the man who wanted only one thing more than her absence—Juliana's child.
In an instant, Bernart's eyes fell upon her. "Where is she?" he demanded as he strode forward.
The captain of the guard and three of the knights who'd accompanied him to London entered the hall and paused inside the doorway.
"Where has your sister gone?" Bernart repeated.
Frantically, Alaiz tried to order her thoughts, tried not to feel the fear that breathed at her neck. "I-I do not know, my lord. When I awoke, she was gone from her..." What was the word? It was so simple; why could she not summon it? Finally she snatched it from the muddle. "She was gone from her bed."
Bernart halted before her. "Gone? With nary a trace?"
She could not remember him ever looking so directly at her, was accustomed to the embarrassment that always swept his gaze from her. "Aye, gone."
His nostrils flared, his face coloring brighter. "You are telling me you saw naught? Heard naught?"
His spit sprayed her face, made her blink. As much as she long to wipe it away, she quelled the urge. "I-I was tired."
"It is as I told you, my lord," the captain of the guard spoke from behind Bernart. " 'Twas as if we were drugged. Every one of us."
Bernart looked around. "What of the priest who stopped for the night—this Father Hermanus?"
"We have searched, but he is gone."
Bernart's jowls quivered. "Keep searching! Sir Hector, Sir Nigel, accompany him."
The two knights followed the captain of the guard from the hall. The remaining knight, Sir Randal, stared at Alaiz. His smile boded no good.
Bernart turned back to her. "I know this is difficult for one of your... intellect, but I need you to think hard. For your sister's sake—and yours."
Anger supplanted the unease Alaiz had felt a moment earlier. Though words did not come easily to her and she struggled to order her thoughts that she might be understood, she was not dull-witted. There were so many things she knew that Bernart would never know. Unfortunately, those things dwelt behind locked doors. Would she ever find the keys?
Bernart stepped closer, the sweat of his ride rank. "Tell me, who would steal Juliana away?"
She gathered up handfuls of her skirts, squeezed the material so tightly her short nails bent to the pressure. "I do not know, my lord." It was the first lie she'd told in years, though it really was not a lie. After all, she was not certain it was Gabriel De Vere who had taken her sister. What she did know was that Juliana would not have willingly left her behind, and that the child in her belly was Gabriel's—not that Juliana had confided in her. Nay, it went back to the night Bernart had approached Juliana and demanded she give him a child he was incapable of fathering. Then there was the night Gabriel De Vere had arrived at Tremoral and Bernart had later sought Juliana in the solar. He had thought Alaiz asleep, and she
had
been until he'd raised his voice. How she had ached to learn that her sister would have to surrender to a man she hated. Although Alaiz feared the answer, she questioned the reason for Juliana's sacrifice—why she had not refused her husband.