Lady Betrayed

by Tamara Leigh

  She shook her head.

  He pulled her against him. “Do you remember our second night?”

  Frightened by how quickly her body awakened to his, she pressed her hands to his chest. “I should not be here.”

  He lowered his head. Lips nearly touching hers, he said, “Do you remember this? I do. Every time I look at you, I remember how sweet your lips.” The breath he drew caused his chest to expand against hers. “Then I remember your treachery.” He released her.

  Though she expected his face to reflect loathing, something else lined it. Pain? Regret? Might Blase be right? That it would be no easy thing for Gabriel to take her child from her?

  “You do not hate me, do you?” she said.

  “I want to.” He looked so tortured, so different from her avenging captor.

  “But you do not hate me.”

  He turned away. “Go before I do something we shall both regret, Juliana.”

  She set a hand on his arm. “Allow me to return to Tremoral.”

  He pulled free, and as he stalked back to the chest, flung over his shoulder, “When you have birthed our child, you may leave.”

  Our child that would become his child. Tightening her throat against the sob traveling up it, she glanced once more at the bedside table and the box there, then stepped into the corridor.

  “Juliana!”

  Hope flaring, she peered over her shoulder.

  “Forget not what I said about acting the Lady of Mergot. It is not your place.”

  She lifted her chin. “I would not wish it to be.” Determined to busy herself in ways that furthered her own cause, she hastened down the corridor, closed herself in her chamber, and removed the dagger from her hose.

  He should have allowed her to take meals in her chamber—better, locked her in the tower and forgotten her until she gave birth.

  Gabriel crossed to the window and threw open the shutters. Rain lashed at his face, warning of the winter to come that would be tenfold longer for Juliana’s presence.

  Though occupied with affairs of the demesne and repair of the wall, with which he would continue to immerse himself as the weather permitted, he would soon spend more time in the hall with her. Then desire—and that was all this was—would torment him all the more.

  It was not supposed to be this way. Her deceit should sustain him unto death. Instead, his anger slipped through his fingers, laying him open to what could have happened minutes ago.

  He had not wanted to hear more of her lies, yet pressed for an explanation when she alluded to having no choice in coming to him in the night. He had not wanted to touch her, yet been unable to resist drawing her to him. He had not wanted to kiss her, yet come very close. Though he had every reason to hate her and wanted to, he could not.

  He slammed the shutters closed. And wished she would give him cause to lock her in the tower.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Castle Mergot

  France, October 1195

  Were she caught, he would imprison her in the tower.

  Juliana eyed the mallet at the opposite end of the tool-strewn bench. The risk was too great. She would have to be content with the chisel.

  Lissant drew alongside. “We ought to return to the donjon,” she fretted as she had time and again this past half hour.

  The maid had not wished to walk the inner bailey, had pressed for the gardens for fear of her lord’s wrath when he returned from the hunt, but Gabriel’s absence was an opportunity Juliana could not forgo.

  Though the porter had also protested, Juliana’s reasoning that no ill could befall her whilst the workers broke to satisfy their hunger—and the smile she bestowed the man—moved him to her will. Throughout the walk he and the garrison watched her, but the commotion of workers returning to their tasks finally granted her the opportunity to take what she had come for.

  She clenched the chisel beneath her mantle. “Aye, I am suddenly tired.”

  Minutes later, she passed the solar into which she stole on those mornings when her watch at the window was rewarded with a sighting of Gabriel in the bailey. Whilst Lissant slept, Juliana slipped into the Lord of Mergot’s chamber, each time taking one silver coin from the many in the box beside his bed. Alone, they were not worth much, but collectively they would aid in her return to England.

  Juliana entered her chamber and closed the door. With two hours of uninterrupted nap ahead, she swept the mantle from her shoulders and stepped behind the tapestry. Amid the dim, she fingered the chisel’s hard, sharp edge.

  It was a month since her arrival at Mergot, and every day she labored to gain entrance to the passageway. Beneath cover of the din from work in the bailey—more, that of the chapel—the mortar gave, but not without effort and detriment to the various implements applied to it. And her hands.

  She wrapped her palms and fingers in linen when she ventured to the tapestry's backside, but they were calloused, reddened, and nicked. Were she not more mindful, Gabriel would catch sight of them. Fortunately, he mostly ignored her. Though she sat beside him at meal, he rarely glanced at her, and few were the words he spoke to her.

  Juliana sank to her knees alongside the rock she would use in place of a mallet and the pouch to be filled with mortar dust and disposed of in the garden. She peered at the furrowed mortar. She had removed an inch deep on three sides of the stone, but there were many more inches to be ground out before the block came free. Blessedly, now she possessed a chisel.

  She pressed it to the furrow. God willing, the tool would see her gone from Mergot long ere the babe was born.

  “You enjoyed your walk?”

  She turned.

  Gabriel stood at the base of the stairs. During the evening meal he had said naught of her venture outside, but there had been no question he knew of it.

  Grateful for the shadows on the stairway, she clasped her hands beneath her swollen belly. “I did. It was a pleasant change from your garden of weeds.”

  He ascended and halted a step below her. Even so, she had to raise her gaze to meet his.

  “What are you planning?”

  She frowned. “It was only a walk. Why do you make more of it?”

  “I know you, Juliana. You have been quiet too long. You scheme.”

  “You think I mean to escape you again?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Not only have I given my word I will make no more attempts, but I am now five months with child. I would not—”

  “Five?” he snapped up her blunder.

  Struggling to keep her composure, she said, “Four is what I meant.”

  He smiled. “Of course you did.”

  “It is late. Good eve.” She turned, but he pulled her back around. Though his grip was not cruel, it pained her. Those memories again.

  “My men were foolish to allow you to leave the donjon, but I assure you they will not be so again.”

  “They have been punished?”

  “Not yet, but it will be seen to.”

  Should she plead for them? Would it be of any benefit? “Do not forget, Gabriel, they are not to blame for their confusion over my place at Mergot. In the same breath you have made me both guest and prisoner. What are they to think?”

  His nostrils dilated. “I care not what they think. I but require them to follow my orders. And you will do the same, else forfeit the freedom gifted you. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  He released her.

  Juliana gave her back to him and grasped the railing. On the third step up, a kick landed to her ribs. Not hard, but it so surprised she gasped and pressed a hand to them.

  At once, Gabriel was at her side. “What is it?”

  Splaying her hand off her belly, she ached over the concern supplanting his anger. “Naught.”

  As if to prove her a liar, the babe kicked again and once more she caught her breath. However, this time she suppressed the instinct to feel that movement beneath her palm.

  �
�Tell, me, Juliana!”

  Though she wished him far removed from her pregnancy, he would not be satisfied with anything but the truth. “’Tis only the babe.”

  His brow furrowed deeper. “Something is wrong?”

  “Nay, he but makes himself comfortable.”

  He searched her face, lowered his eyes down her.

  Juliana sensed he wished to feel their child, but that she could not bear. “I am tired,” she said. Then as quickly as her increasingly awkward figure allowed, she ascended the stairs.

  Gabriel stared at his broad fingers, curled them into a fist. He so longed to touch Juliana’s belly that only her chill words had prevented him from doing so. But neither had she explored their child’s movements as pregnant women were wont to do, and it was rare for him to see her curve an arm around it when she sat. Regardless of her reason for conceiving the child, did she feel anything for it as she would have him believe? Or did she but seek to suppress her emotions so her impending loss would not be as deeply felt?

  He closed his eyes. He should not care, but what he meant to do four months hence troubled a conscience he should not have where Juliana Kinthorpe was concerned. Though he continued to avoid her as much as possible and did his best to pay her little heed whilst in her company, his traitorous emotions would not be put down. He felt for her, wanted to hold her again, wished things were different. But to ensure their child’s safety and a good future, he would have to take the babe from her.

  Meaning a mother would be needed. Meaning all the sooner he must wed. And he knew the one whose betrothal he would seek, she who had seemed of a kind disposition and quick mind the one time they met. The lady was of more years than he liked, though not so many she was beyond bearing children, and of a family whose alliance would bring peace to these lands.

  Or so he hoped. Much depended on Baron Faison.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Castle Mergot

  France, November 1195

  How long would he be gone? More, what was his destination?

  The babe’s restlessness having awakened Juliana ahead of her usual start to the day, she had watched from her window as Gabriel crossed the inner bailey outfitted not in the usual garments of a worker but chain mail and tunic, and over his shoulder a pack.

  A quarter hour later, with day showing its first blush, she had heard the hooves of horses and caught sight of a dozen riders beyond Mergot’s walls. Doubtless, Gabriel was at the fore.

  Did his departure have something to do with Bernart? Might her husband have finally realized his enemy was responsible for the loss of his wife? She feared it, but not terribly so. Surely if Bernart was coming, here was where Gabriel would remain to defend his home and people.

  Having seen naught of Blase this day, Juliana assumed he accompanied his brother. Thus, she was surprised when he appeared in the early afternoon as she sat before the fire in the great hall, having joined Lissant to work a great swath of material into a fringed cloth for the high table.

  “Father Blase!” She stood, causing her end of the cloth to slide to the floor and Lissant to mewl with frustration. “I thought you gone from Mergot.”

  His smile wavered. “Why did you think that?”

  “I saw your brother depart this morn, and when you did not appear for the breaking of fast nor the nooning meal, it occurred you had left with him.”

  The lightness about his eyes and mouth dimming, he murmured, “Ah.”

  “Where…?” She paused, fairly certain he would not reveal Gabriel’s whereabouts, but there was no harm in asking. “Where has the Lord of Mergot gone?”

  “I cannot say, but I have something to show you.”

  Clinging to her own smile, she said, “What is it?”

  “Come with me abovestairs.” He looked to her maid. “I will see to your lady.”

  Lissant returned to her needlework, and Blase offered Juliana his arm.

  Taking it, she noted how muscular it was beneath the sleeve of his priest’s robe and was grateful for the support, her increasing girth often testing her balance, especially upon stairs.

  She was not surprised when he halted before the chapel. Twice these past days his voice had sounded from behind the door, and with the repairs nearing completion as he—rather than Gabriel—had informed her, she guessed he directed the workers in making that holy place presentable.

  “It is as near to being set aright as it can be at this time,” he said and opened the door that was no longer locked—nor needed to be now the hole was repaired and the scaffolding that would have allowed her to descend the wall had been removed.

  He motioned her in ahead of him, and she stepped into the sanctuary that was almost entirely absent the shadows in which it had been shrouded before. Daylight streamed in through narrow windows, and where it could not reach, candlelight ventured.

  No debris. No great, ugly canvas stretched over evidence of the missile that had destroyed God’s house. Instead, the wall behind the altar was fit with beautifully cut stone of a lighter color than the rest owing to it having yet to darken from candle smoke.

  “Only three pews and one kneeler could be salvaged,” Blase said. “Until a new altar can be commissioned, the trestle table will serve.”

  Juliana moved toward the latter, ascended the dais, and touched the base of the cross Gabriel had kept in the solar. And that was not all. Past the candles, nestled in chipped and cracked wooden boxes, were relics. The heart of the man that was supposed to be black knew far more light than Bernart’s. Mayhap more than her husband’s ere his departure for the Holy Land.

  “Long-suffering love,” she whispered. That she had gained with Bernart, though she had expected it would last only until she, being blessed more than others, wed the man of her heart. As love’s petals wilted, suffering had grown like a weed, its roots so grasping she would ever be scarred by it regardless of whether she escaped Gabriel.

  “Lady Juliana?”

  Wondering how long Blase’s hand had been upon her shoulder, she opened her eyes. The altar’s surface was below her face, drops of moisture dotting its surface.

  She raised her head, felt the tears move to her cheeks. “I am weary, Father Blase.” She settled her gaze on the cross. “And so sorry for what I did to your brother. No matter my reason, it was wrong.”

  “Is your reason different from what he believes?”

  “Ever so.”

  After a long moment, he said, “Would you like to confess?”

  She would, but would he hold close Bernart’s secret? Though she longed to unburden herself, he loved his brother well and might again break priestly vows as he had done in aiding Gabriel in the abduction of another man’s wife.

  “I thank you, but nay.”

  Gently, he squeezed her shoulder. “Methinks whatever you hide needs telling, Lady Juliana. Only then might something be done to remedy what stands between Gabriel and you.”

  Were she willing to betray the last of the love felt for Bernart and further endanger Alaiz, perhaps something could have been done, she silently acceded, but that opportunity was lost. “If only your brother thought to bring my sister out of Tremoral with me.” She sighed. “I do not know I could tell it then. But certes, I cannot now.”

  “But he did try to bring her out, my lady. And would have had I been able to find her.”

  Juliana swung around, stared wide-eyed.

  “As God is my witness, he tried, my lady.”

  Body emptying of breath, she swayed.

  Blase gripped her upper arms. “Do you need to lie down?”

  She placed her feet farther apart. “Nay, I am just…surprised. Gabriel did not tell he meant to also deliver Alaiz from Tremoral, and I thought ill of him for believing Bernart abused me and yet having no consideration for what might befall her in my absence.”

  “I went for her as he ordered, my lady, but she was not in her chamber, and I would have searched further had the hue and cry not been raised.”

  Feelin
g the prick of more tears, she said, “We went to the chapel to pray ere gaining our rest, and she fell asleep on the floor. When I could not rouse her, I covered her with a blanket and left her there.”

  “The draught I put in the ale,” he murmured. “I am sorry.”

  All might have been different, Juliana thought but did not say it. Blase had given her cause to become fond of him these past months. She would not have him suffer further guilt.

  “I do think I shall lie down a while.”

  He guided her from the chapel. “I will see you at supper?”

  She nodded, slipped into her chamber, and closed the door.

  “What am I to do, Lord?” she asked as she lay back on the bed. “At every turn, Gabriel proves himself honorable. But it does not change that Bernart’s threat against Alaiz closes my mouth against the truth. Nor that if my sister is not yet lost to Bernart’s vengeance it becomes more certain each day I am gone.”

  Momentarily, she considered enlisting Gabriel’s aid to recover Alaiz, but even if she could bring herself to reveal Bernart’s secret torment, her husband’s garrison would not easily be taken in again. Those responsible for failing their lord would have been severely punished and measures put in place to ensure never again was Tremoral so vulnerable. If Gabriel once more breached the walls, he could be captured as he must have narrowly avoided when the hue and cry was raised in stealing away the mother of his child.

  Recalling her wedding night when she had voiced disbelief over Gabriel being a coward, she shuddered. Her groom’s anger had scorched her eyes and ears, made her cry out when Bernart described with seething pleasure what he would do to his old friend what had been done him given the chance. She might die if that fate befell Gabriel.

  Feeling movement beneath a hand, she looked to her belly and found her fingers splayed upon it—as she did of late though she continued to suppress the instincts of an expectant mother lest the hidden passageway fail her. But the greater her confidence in thwarting Gabriel, the more she succumbed.