Lady Betrayed

by Tamara Leigh

  “How could you?” Her voice trembled as much as her body.

  Though it was past the middling of night, she had been waiting, just as he had feared.

  Bernart glanced at where Alaiz slept on a pallet at the foot of the bed and hated that she was here. Were chambers not needed for their guests—hers for Gabriel—he would not suffer her presence.

  “You act the shrew, Juliana,” he said low and closed the door. “What does it matter whom I choose?”

  “What does it matter?” she hissed and clenched hands that surely wished to strike again. “After what you told he did to you? That he abandoned you and turned others from your cause?”

  He stepped nearer. “You think I do not know that?”

  “Then why give me to your enemy?”

  “Our enemy!”

  Her lids narrowed. “Why give me to Gabriel de Vere?”

  “We are both dark-haired,” he said and silently cursed himself for so feeble an explanation.

  “There are others as dark.”

  “As one of four sons, the male line is strong in him.”

  “’Tis as strong in others.”

  Curse her! Why could she not simply do as told? He stepped past her to the bed. Keeping his back to her, he said, “Gabriel took my sons from me. Thus, it is right I take one from him.” There, it was told.

  But just as he began to breathe easier in the belief it was enough, she said, “It is more than that. Tell me!”

  He swung around. “Ever you have disliked him, and after what he did to me, you have as much cause to hate him as I.”

  Her eyes widened. “But that is all the more reason—”

  “Quiet!” He closed the distance between them. “You think I wish you to like the man with whom you lie down? Nay, I want you to despise the coward. I want you to come back to me without ridiculous notions of love lightening your pretty head.”

  She searched his face, stepped back, said quietly, “I see.”

  He was grateful she did not press further, forcing him to reveal what he could hardly admit to himself—for all of Gabriel’s betrayal, there was much to admire in his enemy, especially his size and strength. If his cowardice bled into his offspring, Bernart would chase it out with whatever means was necessary.

  “You will hate the child he makes upon me,” Juliana said.

  Absurdly fearing she saw his imaginings of the rod he would take to the boy, it took a long moment to respond. “I will not.”

  “Its veins will run with your enemy’s blood. Every time you look—”

  “’Tis decided!” Feeling as if there was not enough air, he started for the door.

  Juliana caught his arm. “Pray, if you must ask this of me, choose another.”

  Though her desperation made his chest ache, he said, “’Twill be De Vere.”

  Tears spilling, she choked, “You would have me go to him now?”

  “Nay, tomorrow eve.”

  “How will you arrange it?”

  “I have given him your sister’s chamber. Until the conclusion of the tournament, each night you will enter it in darkness after all have bedded down.”

  As simple as that, Juliana thought bitterly. Cloaked in night, she would slip into Gabriel’s bed. “What if he realizes I am untouched?”

  His nostrils flared. “You are a grown woman. Though you have no experience with intimacy, you know what goes between men and women. Too, he will be so full of drink and celebration over his victories he will not notice—providing you do not behave the virgin.”

  How her palm longed to feel the burn of striking him! “For you, I shall strive to act the harlot, but you forget the sheets may reveal me.”

  Though they had not discussed that, it must worry him. And she wanted it to. Not that there was any need. She had shed that blood a year past after threatening to expose him if he did not allow Alaiz to live with them. The argument had been ugly, and afterward she had wanted a fast horse beneath her, and that she had gained with Bernart’s destrier.

  Only because she was astride rather than sidesaddle had she stayed aloft when her mount jumped a fence while trying to ride out from under her. But because she was astride, her painfully hard landing had yielded up what a husband expected to find the night after he wed. In this, Alaiz had been wrong, having years earlier questioned the belief that straddling a horse could cause a woman to lose evidence of her chastity and submitting it was a means of discouraging the fairer sex from indulging in behavior men deemed improper. It might be a rare occurrence, but Juliana was proof it did happen—or would have been had any besides Bernart known their marriage was unconsummated. For fear of losing what little control she had over him, she had not revealed she could no longer prove he was her husband in name only.

  “Hopefully, he will think it menstrual blood,” Bernart returned her to the present. “If not…” He shrugged. “…those who ply sexual favors must start somewhere.”

  Once more tempted to slap him, she pressed her nails into her palms. Though not inclined to vindictiveness, she longed to hurt him as he hurt her. “When Gabriel takes what I offer,” she said, “what if I cry out and he recognizes my voice?”

  Color flooded his cheeks. “I trust you will control yourself.”

  “I shall try, but it is not as if I know what to expect.”

  He swept a hand back, stopped it inches from her face.

  She stared at his quaking palm. “I pray what you gain will be worth the grief you cause us both, Husband.”

  He cursed her, crossed the room, and flung open the door.

  As his footsteps heavily trod the corridor, she eased the door closed and pressed her forehead to it.

  A sennight from now, this would be in the past. But what would be in the future? The son Bernart wanted, a child whose presence would allow neither to forget what she had done to gain him?

  She drew a deep breath. Whatever happened, she would endure.

  Straightening from the door, she heard footsteps that did not belong to a man. As it was late for servants to be about, she cracked open the door and peered down the corridor.

  Nesta. Approaching the door to Alaiz’s—now Gabriel’s—chamber.

  Were her belly not empty, Juliana might have lost its contents. It was terrible enough she must go to Gabriel, but so soon after he lay with another? Especially one as lewd as that woman?

  She stepped from the solar. “What do you abovestairs?” she called low to avoid disturbing those at rest.

  Nesta snatched back the hand she reached to the door. “Milady,” she rasped. “I but wish to be certain your guest is comfortable.”

  As only she could make him. Many times Juliana had happened on the woman as she boasted of trysts. Thus, she had learned more of those things that occurred between men and women than she wished to know. “How kind you are, Nesta, but I am sure Lord De Vere rests well—as should you. There is much work to be done on the morrow.”

  Resentment leapt in her eyes. “Of course, milady.” She sauntered past.

  When she disappeared down the stairs, Juliana let her shoulders fall. Nesta was not content with her place at Tremoral. The illegitimate daughter of a neighboring lord, she believed herself better than the other servants. Thus, since being sent to serve at Tremoral two years past, she had become a source of unrest. She complained often, instigated quarrels, and was comfortably wanton. Not for the first time, Juliana considered sending her to serve at one of the barony’s lesser castles.

  As she turned back into her chamber, a thought struck, and she looked to the door behind which Gabriel slept. Had Bernart considered another woman might be in his enemy’s bed? Or would appear while Juliana was with him?

  Of course he had, she assured herself. He was too determined to gain a son to overlook that possibility. The only question was whether she could do what he demanded, yielding her virtue to a man she did not like and her husband wished her to hate. If only she could…

  Even if Gabriel was all to blame for Bernart’
s inability to father children, what was planned against him was terribly, unforgivably wrong.

  She entered the solar and closed the door. The candle on the bedside table nearing the end of its wick cast an eerie glow over the room and made beasts of shadows and movement from the still.

  Chill bumps rising across her limbs, she glanced at the pallet where her sister’s fair head shone against the dark blanket drawn over her.

  Alaiz had been asleep when Juliana retreated abovestairs. Blessedly, it appeared she had slept through the confrontation with Bernart. How had she whiled away the day, filling the slow minutes that must have seemed hours?

  Resenting Bernart for refusing to allow Alaiz to attend the festivities for fear her infirmity would reflect on him, Juliana crossed to the bed and lay down. Though she struggled against venting her emotions, the tears would not be contained, and she turned her face into the pillow.

  As she muffled a sob in the feather-stuffed sack, the mattress gave beside her.

  “Do not cry, Juliana.” Alaiz put an arm around her. “I have prayed and prayed.”

  As had Juliana, and now this—Gabriel de Vere. It was almost enough to shake the foundation out from under her faith, to cease with prayer and prostration, to believe as Bernart did that God did not care. But she must not. Would not.

  “Only the Lord knows when,” Alaiz continued, “but all will come right.”

  Unbelievable. Still, Juliana said, “Of course it will.” And though she longed to cling to this young woman she loved more than any, she did not dare. If Bernart returned this eve, he would be angered to find Alaiz in his bed. “It is late. Let us get you back on your pallet.”

  Juliana started to sit up, but her sister drew her back down. “We ought to leave Tremoral ere tomorrow eve,” she rasped.

  Juliana almost stopped breathing. “You know?”

  “He deviseth mischief upon his bed. He setteth himself in a way that is not good. He abhorreth not evil,” Alaiz quoted Scripture that could not be more fitting. “Aye, Juliana, I know.”

  Then as feared, the night Bernart had unfolded his perverse plan she had remained on the stairs? Or had her sharp mind filled in the gaps? Regardless, she knew enough that she would risk venturing into the world it would be impossible to feel her way through.

  “I am sorry I bring this ill upon you, Juliana.”

  “You do not bring it upon me!”

  “Aye, he threatens me to make you do what you would not.”

  She had listened in. Doubtless, all these weeks it had eaten at her. Had she also heard what passed between husband and wife this night?

  “Could I alone run away so you would not suffer such, I would, but I am afeared of the dark that grows darker each day. Hence, we must leave together—tomorrow, whilst all are occupied with the tournament.”

  Juliana had considered fleeing, but though she might find a way to survive outside Tremoral’s walls, it was too dangerous for her sister.

  “I have thought on it,” Alaiz continued. “Do we don men’s clothing and conceal our hair beneath hoods, none would recognize us when we leave.”

  Juliana wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. “I wish we could, but where would we go? Not home—certes, not whilst our mother and brother are under their guardian’s control. He would return us to Tremoral. And the world outside the privilege to which we were born is surely more difficult than the one within these walls—no matter what is asked of me.”

  “Not asked!” Alaiz cried and caught her breath as if as surprised by her anger as Juliana. A moment later, she said with strained calm, “Were I safe, you would leave. Instead, for me you shall become a Leah.”

  She spoke of the ill-favored Leah of the Bible, but Juliana had not considered herself like the veiled sister who, substituted by her father for the sister Jacob loved, consummated their marriage in the dark of night so he did not discover the deception until the light of morn revealed who lay beside him.

  As flung at Bernart, Juliana thought herself more the cunning Tamar who disguised herself as a prostitute to steal a child from her father-in-law so she might continue her departed husband’s bloodline. When Tamar’s pregnancy showed and she was sentenced to death, her proof of the one who fathered her child saved her. But unlike either woman, Juliana could not allow her own deception to be revealed—would have to slip away from Gabriel well before dawn.

  Resolved to giving Bernart the child he demanded, hopeful the Lord would listen to the beseechings of a harlot and afterward allow life to resume its tedious pace, Juliana took her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “Tremoral is our home—the only one we have.”

  After some minutes, Alaiz said, “I try to pray for Bernart, but it is hard. My heart holds no love for him.”

  Juliana’s was nearly as empty, so much it was difficult to believe it had ever brimmed with feeling for him.

  “Let us settle you on your pallet.” She urged her sister off the mattress.

  Alaiz went onto her knees, whispered, “We must pray.”

  Though once Juliana might have objected, preferring to dedicate her heart and mind to matters of earthly love, marriage to Bernart had made her realize what Gabriel de Vere had known—there was nothing lovely about long-suffering love. Such thought was fanciful, destructive, and of no comfort in the great alone to which she felt banished. Thus, many hours she had spent in the Lord’s presence these past years, though somewhat fewer since Alaiz’s arrival at Tremoral.

  She lowered next to her sister, and side by side they silently addressed the Lord. When they completed their prayers, Juliana said, “Now sleep. The morrow will be long.”

  Though she meant only to settle Alaiz, as she pulled the blankets over her, she hesitated. Then slid beneath and turned an arm around her sister.

  And if Bernart found her here?

  Let him rage, she decided. Let him curse and stomp. If he wishes me to do his foul bidding, he must also pay a price.

  Alaiz pillowed her head on her sister’s outstretched arm. “Juliana?”

  “Aye, my love?”

  “You know you are not truly wed, that consummation seals—validates—marriage vows?”

  Certes, Alaiz knew all of what went between Bernart and his wife. But though desperate Juliana Kinthorpe wanted to believe she would be absolved of the sin to come, she feared not. “Even if that is so, what I do on the morrow is fornication. And do not say that is not its own sin.”

  “Mayhap ’tis not.”

  “Alaiz!”

  “Listen, Juliana. I am thinking that if what you do is commanded by one in authority, you cannot be held accountable. After all, does the Church condemn warriors who follow orders to kill though they do not agree?”

  Juliana nearly laughed. “To think you were to enter the convent. Such reasoning could have seen you tossed out.”

  “Then it is good I am nearly blind—rather, good for the Church. Not you.”

  Hurting more, Juliana said, “Sleep now.”

  It took a while for her sister’s breathing to deepen, and longer for Juliana to find her own rest. But her wish was granted to hold through the night one whom she loved.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The late-morn sun glinted off shirts of polished mail, made halos of helms, flashed across sword blades and lance tips, and lit the battlefield so brightly it was as if God turned His face to it.

  A fantastic sight, even at a distance, but not without its dark side, Juliana mused as she traversed the wood’s edge. She had attended several tournaments before her marriage and recalled the participants who fell, some never to rise again. Accidents were to blame for a number of deaths, but there were also personal vendettas fought under the guise of mock battle.

  If Bernart did not need Gabriel for the son he believed would prove his manhood, this day he might seek his old friend’s death. At least some good might come of—

  Nay! she silenced the thought. No good would come of what he demanded of her.

  “You do not have to w
alk so slow,” Alaiz said. “’Tis light enough I can tell the shape of the ground, and I am holding to you.”

  Juliana looked to her and saw her sister’s hood had dropped to her shoulders. Head lowered so she could place her feet and keep the glare from eyes sensitive to bright sunlight, her fair hair rippled with every step. She was so lovely it was a pity to conceal her beauty, but Juliana stepped in front of her, halting their progress.

  “My hood!” Alaiz said as her sister drew it over her head.

  Though Juliana no longer cared if she angered Bernart—and he would be if he discovered she had brought Alaiz to the field—she would not have her sister suffer his wrath. Better he not see Alaiz or herself.

  When Juliana stepped back, her sister raised the flowers gathered along the way and sniffed. “They smell like heaven must.” She extended them.

  Juliana breathed in their fragrance. “Like all of spring.”

  Smiling, Alaiz turned toward the battlefield.

  The meadowland grass was dappled with cowslips tossing their golden heads in the gentle breeze. By the end of the day, only trampled and muddied petals would remain of their beauty.

  “I wish I could see it better,” Alaiz said. “Is it as magnificent as our father’s tournament?”

  Trying not to think on the purpose of this day that would too soon bring the night, Juliana considered the warriors who aligned themselves into opposing teams comprised of more than fifty men each. Soon they would clash.

  “It is both wondrous and frightening,” Juliana said, knowing the tournament would become more brutal with each passing minute. Thus, they would not remain long.

  She took Alaiz’s arm. “Come.”

  As they resumed their walk, a rider broke from the team on the north side of the field and spurred toward them.

  Juliana did not need to see the face beneath the helm to know it was Bernart. His bulk and surcoat colors told it well enough. Guessing he had recognized Alaiz when her golden hair came out from beneath her hood, she pulled her sister against her side. “Bernart comes. Say naught.”