by Tamara Leigh
She considered the carved chest set between shuttered windows and hoped she would find garments within to fit her swelling figure.
“You approve?”
She looked behind, saw Gabriel leaned against the door frame. “’Tis not what one expects of a prison.”
“Because it is not a prison. It is a place for lovers.”
She clenched her hands in her skirts.
He frowned. “You think I intend to seduce you as you did me?”
Did he? He said he did not want her. Had he lied?
He sighed. “The chamber is mostly as it was when I took possession of Mergot. Were it not the only comfortable room other than the lord’s solar, I would accommodate you elsewhere.” He straightened from the doorway. “Be assured, I want only that which you carry.”
Only, Juliana ached over the word as he set the torch in a wall sconce. Only that which could shatter my soul.
Longing for the comfort of kneeling at the Lord’s feet, she said, “Where is the chapel?”
He adjusted the torch, kicked aside errant rushes a stray spark might tempt to flame. “Do you forget, I am excommunicated, Juliana. Hence, the only priest Mergot has is my brother, and since he is forbidden to conduct services for me, the castle folk attend mass in a nearby village. As that is not an option for you, abandon hope of making an ally of a man of God.”
Anger spurted through her. “I did not ask for a priest, Gabriel de Vere. It is a chapel I require.”
He delved her face so long she felt guilt for a lie not told. “Neither is that available to you.”
She gasped. “You deny me prayer?”
“I am not that black of heart,” he said. “You are welcome to pray wherever you wish inside the donjon—except the chapel.” He motioned her forward. “I will show you.”
She nearly declined, but curiosity bade her follow.
The chapel was farther down the corridor on the opposite side. Gabriel took another torch from its sconce and opened the door. As cool air rushed out, he entered and Juliana made to follow. But what lay within caused her to falter.
Just as in the hall, a canvas covered the far wall, hiding a hole that gave unto the night. Before it, the altar must have stood—until a missile tore through the stone leaving fragments of the table and relics that would have been displayed on it unrecognizable amid broken pews and all manner of debris.
“I see,” she breathed.
Gabriel looked around. “Rather fitting for a lord whose soul is said to be forfeited, hmm?”
“Fitting? Nay, tragic.”
He inclined his head. “That too.”
She crossed the threshold and halted alongside him, by the light of the torch he held high looked close upon the ruin made of this holy place. “Why have you not repaired it?”
“As I have told my brother, since it cannot be used whilst I am under excommunication, Mergot’s defenses are of greater import.”
Then the false priest was not entirely false. “But leaving it like this…” She shook her head. “Even if services are not permitted, it would be of comfort to those seeking time with the Lord.”
“Then you also believe I should risk the lives of Mergot’s people so they can kneel here rather than alongside their beds?”
He thought her foolish again, but it was no longer notions of love she championed. “Scorn me if you wish, but though I pray alongside my bed, there are times I need to feel nearer the Lord, and that I do when—”
“When you confess unspeakable sins?” he spoke over her.
She clenched her jaw, unclenched it. “When I kneel in a house raised in praise of Him. And aye, that I have done in confessing sins that are unspeakable—though not unforgivable.” Or so she prayed over and again.
His lids narrowed.
She averted her gaze, moved it around the chapel. Doubtless, somewhere beneath the rubble was the cross and other holy relics that had stood upon the altar. No regard for them.
“This dishonors God,” she said and wished she had not. Determining it hurt less to scorn herself than have him do so, she added, “Mayhap even more than I dishonored Him in breaking my marriage vows.” She turned, stepped into the corridor, and crossed to her chamber.
He did not immediately follow, and for a moment she wondered if he might be moved by what she said. Then came the sounds of the chapel door closing and boots over the floor.
Gabriel halted outside her room. “I shall have a tray of food sent to you.”
“I would prefer a bath.”
“You must give some to get some, Juliana. Eat, then I will order you a bath.”
Doubtless, if she did not, he would hear of it. “I will eat.”
He closed the door, and she crossed to the bed. The feather mattress welcomed her to its depths, tempted her lids to lower, delivered her into a dream from which the servant who later appeared had difficulty rousing her.
Somehow Juliana summoned the appetite to consume enough viands to satisfy Gabriel, and soon a tub was delivered, followed by a dozen pails of steaming water to fill it.
“I shall help you disrobe, my lady,” said the maid Gabriel had sent.
Juliana studied the lovely woman whose accent was truer than her own. Though English nobles’ first language was French, the years since Duke William had conquered the island kingdom and the distance of the channel had diluted the accent of the French-speaking English such that it lacked much of the musical quality of this soft-spoken woman.
“Lady Mary?”
Juliana blinked. “I am sorry. What is your name again?”
“Lissant.”
“I thank you, Lissant, but I can manage on my own.”
The maid’s brow puckered.
Had Gabriel ordered that she not 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 the lady’s reluctance to disrobe, she nodded. “I will leave you, but should you require me I shall be outside your door.”
“You need not wait on me.”
“It is the task Lord De Vere has set me, my lady.”
“Then I will call you if I require assistance.”
Shortly, Juliana’s soiled garments fell to the floor. She entered the water, sighed as its warmth flowed over her. Were the tub not too short for her to stretch out her legs, she would have dozed.
Once she had bathed herself from hair to toes, she rested her head against the rim and soaked until the water grew tepid. Then she dried herself and crawled naked between the sheets.
This night she would not think on her troubles, nor dwell on what the morrow would bring. In the days to come there would be time aplenty to worry and wonder and search for a way out of her predicament.
Even so, ere sleep claimed her, her last thoughts were of Alaiz. Was she well? How great was her fear? Could she endure whatever Bernart subjected her to? Somehow, she must be stronger than Juliana.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
No daylight penetrated the shutters, but Juliana knew it was morn from the sound of activity in the bailey. She pushed aside the covers, shivered as chill air swept her skin, and clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.
Dragging the fur coverlet around her, she lowered her feet to the floor. As she rose, she glimpsed movement and looked around.
Though it was not light enough to make out the face of the one who lay on a pallet at the foot of the bed, it was surely Lissant. A true lady’s maid.
It was a long time since Juliana had enlisted the services of one. Lest the distance Bernart put between himself and his wife in bed give credence to rumors or prying eyes discover the truth of him, he had allowed neither male nor female servant to bed down in the solar. It would be strange to be waited on again.
As it was customary for a maid to rise before her mistress, Juliana guessed it was very early.
She crossed to the nearest window and opened the shutters.
The breath of night that would soon yield to dawn nipping at her nose and cheeks, she huddled into the coverlet and looked out across the torchlit inner bailey. To the right of the drawbridge, workers had begun their day’s labor to restore the inner wall’s integrity.
Would it be needed? If so, when? Once more gripped with dread of what would happen if Bernart came, a figure drew her gaze. Even from on high Gabriel was imposing, shoulders beneath his mantle broader than most men’s, long legs quick to close the distance between himself and the workers.
He halted before the scaffold. Though his voice carried to Juliana, she could not understand his orders. But minutes later, he labored alongside the men, lifting more and moving faster than any. Even were Tremoral under attack and more hands were needed to do the work of commoners, she did not believe Bernart would lower himself. Certes, not the man he had become.
She pressed a hand to her heart, tried to remember loving him. She recalled enough to be stabbed with pain over what was lost.
Her stomach rumbled. Grateful for the distraction, she determined she would go belowstairs for something to eat. However, her garments were missing, and she guessed Lissant had taken them for laundering. Clothed in the coverlet, she knelt before the chest and eased back the lid.
The garments within were barely distinguishable in the bit of light cast by the torches outside, but they were women’s clothing. And from the feel of them, they were of the finest material. She drew forth a bliaut and chemise, dug deep and located hose and slippers. The latter were too small, but they were the least of her concerns.
Straightening, she held the bliaut against her. Unlaced, it might accommodate her increasing girth, but it would show well above her ankles. Whoever these clothes belonged to had been of smaller stature.
She started to replace the garments. Paused. Gabriel had said Mary Waltham had the freedom of the donjon, yet he had not provided a means for her to leave her chamber. Would he mind her roaming about in clothes that bared her ankles?
He would.
Did she dare?
She dropped the coverlet and donned the garments of a lady who would have been fortunate if the top of her head came to Juliana’s eyes.
In tightly stockinged feet and a gown that strained its unlaced seams, she descended to the hall where household servants remained upon their pallets and benches.
At the sideboard she found only ale and unappetizing scraps of what remained of last eve’s supper. Guessing the kitchen was located down the corridor off the far end of the hall, she retrieved a torch and entered the cavernous room. It was well-appointed and untouched by siege.
As expected, the food was locked away. She retrieved a stool, positioned it to the side of the pantry, and climbed atop. The key was beneath a pot. Shortly, she sat down to a meal of stale bread and hard cheese, just minutes ahead of the stout man who entered the kitchen.
Hair tousled, dark circles beneath his eyes, clothes rumpled, he halted. “Who are you?” His accent was as thick as cold stew.
Juliana reminded herself of the name Gabriel had given her. “Lady Mary Waltham.”
He squinted, peered closer. Fortunately, the table concealed her undersized garment.
“What do you in my kitchen?”
She held up a crust of bread. “Eating.”
He glowered. “You could not wait an hour?”
She was not accustomed to servants speaking rudely to her. Even Nesta, with all her impertinence, had not challenged her so. Was it because the child she carried was ill-gotten? Would Gabriel allow such treatment of her? If so, her time at Mergot would be more wretched than feared.
Refusing the cook an answer, she popped a piece of cheese in her mouth.
He turned to the hearth, and before long the glowing embers sprang to life and flames licked at the kettle suspended over it. Then kitchen maids entered and set about their duties. Though curiosity oft carried their gaze to Juliana, and they tittered amongst themselves, none addressed her.
Juliana had barely satisfied her hunger when the kitchen door burst open. Relief easing the grim countenance of a man-at-arms, he shouted over his shoulder, “She is here, my lord!”
Then having discovered her missing, Gabriel had set the garrison searching for her.
Juliana pushed the remains of her meal aside and clasped her hands atop the table.
Footsteps in the corridor announced Gabriel’s advance, then his head and shoulders filled the height and breadth of the doorway. He was vexed, as told by his lowered brow and hard-set jaw.
“Leave us,” he ordered the servants, and moments later closed the door on the last of them. “What do you here, Juliana?”
She nodded at her meal. “You thought I escaped again?”
He strode forward. “I will not have you wandering about.”
She slipped off the stool. “You said Mary Waltham is free to move about the donjon. That was the bargain we struck.”
He halted before the table, and she was glad it stood between them. “It holds, but at all times I will know where you are.”
“That is your freedom? That I am ever under watch? Why do you not simply lock me away?”
“If that is what you prefer, it is easily done.”
Though she did not doubt his threat, she said, “You fear I will slip past your men? You have no confidence in their ability to guard your walls?” Another thought struck. “Or do you question their loyalty?”
His eyes glittered. “You will find no allies at Mergot, Juliana. The castle folk are true to me.”
How true? she wondered. Likely, most were of French descent and had served the baron who had fallen to King Richard’s siege. Had they no loyalty to their fellow countrymen? No resentment toward the Englishman who supplanted King Philip’s baron?
“If you are so confident of their fealty, Gabriel, why deny me a measure of privacy?”
His smile was bitter. “One cannot be too careful where women are concerned.”
She remembered the third night when he revealed the reason for his loss of his family’s title and lands. “I suppose I have your thieving mother to thank for these fetters.”
His eyes darkened. “You have yourself to thank. For your deception.”
She stepped around the table. “Should my jailer seek me, I shall be in my chamber.”
He caught her arm. “What manner of clothes do you wear?”
“As my garments are being laundered, I borrowed these from the chest. You object?”
“Object that the mother of my child looks more a trollop than a lady?”
She put her head to the side. “Do you not find it fitting?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I know what you are, Juliana, but I will not raise my child amid gossip such wanton displays are sure to rouse.”
Laughter escaped her. “You do not think servants already talk? Come Gabriel, I am Mary Waltham, not Mary de Vere. Do you succeed in claiming my babe as your own, ever it will carry the taint of illegitimacy.”
His black heart shone from his eyes. “A burden the child will have to bear, and all the more reason you do not more heavily weight its shoulders.”
As if in clothing herself in the only garments available she sought to shame her child. “Would you prefer I venture belowstairs wrapped only in a fur?”
“You could have sent Lissant for food.”
“She was sleeping, and I saw no need to awaken her when I could come myself.”
“I have given you a lady’s maid, Juliana. In future, you will make use of her. Do you understand?”
Determined not to argue further over so trifling a matter, she said, “As much as I can. Now unhand me, and I shall vex you no more.”
“That I doubt.” He released her, removed his mantle, and dropped it over her shoulders.
His warmth trapped in its folds rippled over her, reminding her of when he had warmed her as no other had done. His fingers brushing her collarbone as he fastened the mantle returned her to the dark…his caresses…h
er undoing…
Staring at his bent head, she struggled for a full breath.
Before she could shutter her emotions, Gabriel met her gaze. A smile touched his lips. “Do not tempt me, Juliana. Though I do not want you, I might take what you offer. And it will change naught.”
Burned by the humiliation her body visited on her, she took a step back. Now she could breathe again. Though she had not touched him, her fingertips prickled with the feel of him and her nostrils with his scent.
“I offer naught, Gabriel de Vere.”
Though his eyes gainsaid her prideful declaration, he spared her comment. “Return to your chamber. I shall send more appropriate attire.”
She skirted him. This time when she passed through the hall, the great room was awake with servants positioning benches and tables for the morning meal.
Lissant hastened to her side. “My lady, I was worried.”
Doubtless, she had raised the hue. Juliana tamped down resentment with the reminder the woman was doing her duty to her lord. “I am sorry to have frightened you,” she said and continued to the stairs.
Gabriel stared at the inner wall that, stone by painstaking stone, was being refortified.
He turned and looked to the smithy from which the forging of arms sounded. He had paid much for steel to build up Mergot’s stock of weaponry, but it was necessary. No matter how solid the walls, they alone would not keep out attackers. For that, the repair of the chapel must wait.
Once again, his thoughts returned to the woman responsible for the increased activity at Mergot. He was a liar. In spite of everything, he did want Juliana.
Did she relive their nights together? Was that what he had seen in her eyes when he looked up from fastening the mantle? Or did she but seek to gain his bed in hopes of seducing him off his path?
The latter. She did not want him, had come to him only to take what Bernart could not give so she might secure her place at Tremoral.
He silently cursed her, not only for the second night he well remembered but the third when he revealed the reason for his loss of Wyverly. Next, he cursed himself for what he wrought in bringing her to Mergot.
