Authors: Blackheart
As if settling in for a debate, he put a shoulder to the door frame. "Though your time at Mergot is short, I will not have you spend it sulking. You are a guest and will behave accordingly."
"A guest? What absurdity you speak. I have no freedom, little privacy—"
"If 'tis privacy you seek, the tower will more than meet your needs."
Imprisonment again. As suppressed as Juliana felt, undoubtedly the tower would be worse. She gritted her teeth, searching for a way around Gabriel.
"Come," he said, confident she would do as bidden. "Cook waits the meal on you."
She clenched her hands in the coarse material of her bliaut.
Gabriel's gaze caught the movement. " 'Tis not that you are ashamed of your appearance, is it?"
She looked down the garments. Ashamed? Nay, but so pricked with discomfort it was all she could do to keep from scratching the dozen or more places that vexed. Of course, perhaps it was her show of pregnancy Gabriel referred to.... Either way, she would not give him the satisfaction he sought. She lifted her chin, pressed her shoulders back, and walked forward.
He turned and strode the corridor ahead of her. With their arrival in the hall, the din of soldiers and servants subsided and all eyes turned to them.
Juliana stood taller, gathering her dignity to her as she followed Gabriel to the high table.
As told, Cook had waited the meal for her and, from the displeasure shining from the faces of those in the hall, none were pleased. And why should they be? After all, it was not as if she were of import. Not as if she were their lady and thus owed their respect and forbearance.
Only as Juliana ascended the dais did it occur to her it might be the lower tables at which Gabriel expected her to take her meal. Though it was known he was the father of her illegitimate child, her place was certainly not with the baron of Mergot. Not in the chair that his wife would one day occupy. Still, she followed Gabriel around the table at which Sir Erec and the false priest sat.
Gabriel lowered himself into the high seat, gesturing for her to take the chair beside him.
Then he
did
intend her to sit at his side. She supposed she ought to be grateful, for it implied she was to be treated with more respect than the cook had afforded her. Unfortunately, it also meant she was flanked on one side by Gabriel, and on the other by his brother.
No sooner did she take the chair than serving wenches began filing into the hall bearing platters of the day's main meal.
Determinedly, Juliana ignored the men on either side of her and looked to the lower tables. It seemed all eyes were on her, but whereas resentment had shone from them moments ago, now there was confusion. The castle folk were at a loss as to her place at Mergot. She was a lady who held a chamber in the donjon, took meal at their lord's side, and was allowed to move freely about the donjon—even if under constant watch. In Gabriel's own words, a guest. Yet she carried his illegitimate child and he'd made it known she was not to be trusted. It was no wonder his people were confused. But perhaps she might use it to her advantage....
Shortly, the noise in the hall resumed and the occupants turned their attention to the meal.
Juliana looked down and found a trencher before her, rather than between her and Gabriel, or her and his brother. Relieved that she did not have to share with either of them, she lifted her spoon and chased a piece of venison in the bowl.
"You will leave on the morrow?" Gabriel asked.
Juliana looked around and saw it was Sir Erec whom he addressed.
"If you have no further need of me, 'tis time I return to Fey."
Fey? A lesser castle of Mergot? It must be, and likely Gabriel had awarded it to his loyal tournament partner. She dipped her spoon again and turned her thoughts elsewhere. If she succeeded in escaping Gabriel and convincing his enemy to aid in her return to Tremoral, what then? She was not so much a fool as to believe Gabriel would not follow. And this time he would confront Bernart. Then the struggle to possess her would lead to bloodshed. But what if she were not there, nor Alaiz? What if she stole into Tremoral and brought her sister out? If neither man held her, there would be no reason for battle—other than that they were men and, thus, inclined to violence. Either way, if she were nowhere to be found there was less chance any would die. But where would she and Alaiz go? They could not return to their childhood home, for the nobleman who owned wardship of their mother and brother would either turn them away or hold them for Bernart.
What of the church? If they sought sanctuary at a convent distant from Tremoral, neither Gabriel nor Bernart might ever find them. And if they did, they would not be permitted within the walls. Though it was true Alaiz's infirmity had caused the church to reject her, if she and Juliana claimed sanctuary it would be granted. That was what they would do, Juliana decided. Even if she must live out the remainder of her days in a convent, it was preferable to what Alaiz might suffer at Bernart's hands, and what awaited Juliana when the babe was born.
Though it was not unusual for the noonday meal to linger well into the afternoon, Gabriel called an end to it an hour later. Obviously the work on the inner wall took precedence. Without a word to Juliana, he descended the dais. Sir Erec followed. Though the others in the hall were reluctant to abandon their meal, they also rose. Within minutes only Juliana, Gabriel's brother, and the serving wenches remained. The latter set about clearing the tables.
Feeling Blase's regard, Juliana considered ignoring it. After all, their last encounter had been less than friendly. In the end, she looked around.
He lifted his goblet, leaning back in his chair. "What think you of your first day at Mergot, Lady Isolde?"
She was going to have to become accustomed to being called that. "Methinks it far too long a day for one barely half done."
Blase smiled. "You have been made comfortable?"
She lifted her hands. "I am not in chains."
"Fortunate, indeed. Four months ago it would have been different."
Meaning Gabriel's anger had lessened in the intervening months.
Blase sighed. "But time has a way with such things."
Juliana knew she shouldn't argue with him, that she was more likely to be stung by his words than he hers, but her frustrations needed venting. "Does time also have a way with your conscience, false priest?"
Something flashed in his eyes, and for that brief moment it was as if it were Gabriel before her. How foolish she had been not to have heeded the resemblance this man bore his brother when he'd come to Tremoral. She had thought they shared only dark looks, but it went beyond that: the nose, the chin, the height and build. That which distinguished them was eye color, Blase's being a green so penetrating it was almost unholy. The length of their dark hair was different, Blase's barely skimming the neck of his tunic, and, though Blase was also plain of face, he was somehow more attractive. Too, there was his ability to smile and laugh, as he had done in the guise of Father Hermanus.
A moment later, his eyes cooled and a smile returned to his face. "The state of my conscience is between me and the Lord, Lady Isolde. I answer only to Him."
She inclined her head. "And so you shall."
He quaffed the remainder of his wine. "Now I must apply myself to the books." He stood.
Juliana frowned. "You keep Gabriel's accounts?"
"There is none other he trusts." From the slight twist of his lips, it was not a task he enjoyed. What would he rather be doing? Swinging that sword at his hip, which his hand was wont to rest upon?
"I know accounting," Juliana said. "If you would like, I will do some posting for you." It was not that she wished to do him favors; rather, time would pass more quickly if she had something to do.
"I will consider it," he said, and turned away.
Of course, her time would be better spent seeking her escape, Juliana thought as she followed Blase's withdrawal from the hall. She fingered her spoon. Would its slender handle fit the door lock? Grant her access to the hidden passageway? Not likely, but she had to try.
Chapter Fourteen
The steady beat of rain that had begun to fall moments earlier drew Juliana's gaze across the hall to the damaged wall. The canvas covering the hole was soaked, meaning it was only a matter of time until rain seeped in. A pity Gabriel had not seen fit to repair the wall. Not only would the rain mildew the rushes further, but the chill of autumn would give way to the frigid cold of winter. Then it would be intolerable here, unless one kept near the fire.
Restlessness weighting Juliana, she lowered her sewing to her lap and sighed. Always she'd had something with which to occupy herself, be it training in the art of love as a fanciful girl, or the keeping of Bemart's household as a disenchanted wife. Now she had only a needle and thread. Barely a sennight at Mergot and it felt a month. Unfortunately, as the spoon handle and a half dozen other items had proven worthless in her quest to open the door to the passageway, she was no nearer escape.
She looked about the hall. The only occupants other than herself and Lissant were Blase, who was seated at the lord's table with journals spread before him, the porter, who dozed alongside the door, and two women servants who were more concerned with idle chat than tending their duties.
She frowned. Though Mergot was in dire need of a lady to put order to the household, Gabriel seemed blind to all but fortification. Were she the lady of Mergot, she would put the women to work replacing the rancid rushes with fresh rushes scented with herbs, and gather a half dozen more servants to scrub the walls, the hearth, the tables and benches.
But she was not their lady, and never would she be. One day another would sit at Gabriel's side, share his bed, birth his children. The thought of it wrenched her heart, as did, even more deeply, the thought of another woman raising her child. Would Gabriel choose his bride wisely? In the next instant, she berated herself for such thinking.
She
would raise her child. No other. Her back aching from having sat too long, she laid aside the unfinished gown and stood.
Lissant looked up from the sleeve that could soon be set in the bodice. "My lady?" "I am stiff and need to walk."
As Lissant started to stand to accompany her mistress, as she did from the moment Juliana rose in the morn to the moment she lay down at night, Juliana motioned her to remain seated. "I will not stray from the hall."
Though the maid appeared uncertain, she nodded.
Juliana stepped from the hearth, leaving its warmth behind. The coarse material of her borrowed garments chafed, but she was grateful for the thick weave and voluminous folds that retained her heat far better than her own gowns would have done. As she walked the hall, she paused every so often to toe an unmentionable. Gabriel needed more dogs to keep the rushes clear of food tossed to the floor during meals.
Blase looked up from his journals as Juliana neared the dais. Judging by his grim mouth, he was displeased.
She halted. "What vexes you, Father Blase?"
He returned his attention to his work. "A mystery," he muttered.
"The entries do not sum?"
"They will." He dipped his quill.
Though Juliana knew he would likely refuse her help, the thought of applying herself to something other than sewing made her step up to the dais. "If you would like, I will see if I can find the error."
He shook his bowed head. "I do not need your assistance, Lady Isolde."
"As you would have it." She turned, and her gaze fell upon the women servants at the far end of the table. Though they made a show of wiping crumbs and drippings from the tabletop, their attempts were feeble.
Juliana itched to show them how it was done. And why shouldn't she? She was not their lady, but there was none more suited to the role. She traversed the dais, halting before them. "Do you not apply yourself, the filth will not come clean."
From their expressions, they did not know how to respond to her authority. They blinked, exchanging glances.
"We shall need buckets of hot water and more cloths," Juliana said.
Their eyes widened.
Juliana lifted her chin. "Be quick. There is much to be done."
The women looked to Blase.
Would he support her? Or give them more reason to speak behind their hands?
"Do as Lady Isolde says," he finally said. Juliana released her breath.
Though the women were displeased, they stepped from the dais.
Juliana turned. "Bring brooms as well, and summon the others from the kitchens." As she had learned, it was there the servants gathered to engage in idle talk.
When the women were gone, Juliana looked to Blase.
"Gabriel will not like it," he said.
She didn't imagine he would. So why had Blase allowed it?
With a crooked smile, he bent his head and began scratching figures on a scrap of parchment.
Two hours later, working side by side with a half dozen servants, Juliana began to see a difference. It was slight, but a sennight of hard work would see it made right.
As she swept the rushes from the floor before the dais, . she caught a glint of metal. Peering closer, she saw it was a meat dagger. Was its blade narrow enough to fit the lock? She glanced around. The servants were occupied with their tasks, and Blase with his journals. As casually as possible, she bent and swept the rushes from the dagger. Its blade was dull, but it need not be sharp. She lifted the hem of her skirt and slid the dagger into the top of her hose.
"Curse it!" Blase spat.
Fearing she was caught, Juliana looked up.
Color in his cheeks, nostrils flaring, he dropped the quill and thrust back in his chair. "Accursed accounting!"
Relief sagged Juliana's shoulders. Using the broom handle to assist her, she straightened and stepped forward. "Do you once again forget you are a priest, Father Blase?"
"A priest I would rather be than a steward," he grumbled.
Though tempted to let him suffer for his pride, she ascended the dais. "May I?"