Lady Betrayed

by Tamara Leigh

  “Because she has a lovely face?” Gabriel scoffed. “You have much to learn about women, little brother.”

  Blase arched an eyebrow. “Not as much as you have to learn about the heart and soul. From what I have observed these past months, Juliana is not one who easily deceives. There is something true about her.”

  If not that Blase’s words roused jealousy, Gabriel would have laughed. Well he remembered the day three months past when he happened upon Juliana and his brother in the hall—Blase’s laughter, her smile. And not for the first time, he questioned whether his brother had fallen victim to her beauty.

  “Do you think yourself in love, Blase?”

  He chuckled. “Do you?”

  He should have expected that. The dispossessed Gabriel de Vere in love with a woman like the one who had caused him to lose all? He glowered.

  Blase shrugged. “I am forbidden such love. But it is not forbidden you.”

  Gabriel lowered the tankard he had raised to his mouth. “I could never love one so deceitful. But tell, why does the priest who tried to dissuade me from revenge—who beseeched me to leave the lady be—now suggest I seek more from a married woman than what can ever belong to me?”

  Of a sudden, Blase looked older, countenance so serious it was more than a match for his wisdom. “You misunderstand. Though under different circumstances, I believe a match between Lady Juliana and you could be blessed, I am not so fool to think an honest, God-honoring life with her is possible. I am but gladdened you are yet capable of love. Thus, when you are done with this foul business, I would have you seek a wife first with your heart so the wounds dealt by our mother do not stain the generations you sire.”

  Blase was opposed to the betrothal with Baron Faison’s cousin, but still Gabriel pursued it. Or meant to. A sennight past, Faison had countered the proposal, demanding the castle kept by Sir Erec be set aside as Lady Louisa’s dower property. That Gabriel had no intention of granting, but it was not only his determination to keep his word to his friend that left Faison’s missive unanswered. It was Juliana. And he resented her for it.

  “The baron’s cousin seems a good woman,” Blase continued, “but I do not believe you will feel for her anything near what you feel for Lady Juliana.”

  Why did he tolerate such talk? Were it another, he would teach him his place. Gabriel quaffed the rest of his ale and set his tankard on the sideboard. “You are wrong. If ever I was capable of love, I am no more. All I want from Juliana is the child she carries, then her absence.”

  Blase frowned. “Either you lie, Gabriel, or I know you better than you know yourself. Though you try not to look too long upon her, ever she haunts your thoughts. She sits at table and you speak no word to her, but she might as well be on your lap for all you suffer.”

  Gabriel clenched his hands. “Even with you, little brother, there is a limit to my patience. Thus, I suggest you speak no more of this.”

  Blase sighed. “I have nothing further to say, other than that I received a missive this day.”

  “From?”

  “The Bishop of Briarleigh. He has called me back to England. I leave on the morrow.”

  Alarm shot through Gabriel. He had come to depend on his brother, and not merely because he himself was only as learned in letters and numbers as was required of him during his training at Wulfen.

  “For what does he call you back?”

  Blase laughed. “He is my master, Gabriel. Though he grants me much freedom and grace, it is time I left Mergot.”

  “I have need of you here.”

  “Another can keep your books better than I—perhaps Juliana until she departs. As you have noted, she grows more restless. Thus, she requires something with which to while away the hours.”

  Was she aware of what Blase proposed? This the reason for the change in her?

  Gabriel looked across the hall. Her hand was on her belly, stroking it as he had seen her do more of late, as if she were to be a mother to their babe. His chest tightened.

  “I do not believe you will take the child from her, Gabriel.”

  “Will I not?” he growled.

  “I know not how you will work it, but methinks that babe shall feed at its mother's breasts.”

  Gabriel turned on his heel and said over his shoulder, “Godspeed your journey.” As it was weeks since he had slept well, he would seek his bed early.

  In the solar, he dragged off all but his undertunic, scooped his clothes from the rushes, and threw open the chest at the foot of his bed. As he tossed in the garments, something caught his eye.

  He removed the chemise Juliana had left behind on their second night together, rubbed the material between his fingers. Recalling the feel of it gliding over silken limbs, he wadded it and pushed it to the bottom of the chest where her wedding ring and girdle lay atop a dozen unopened missives his father had sent over the years.

  He dropped the lid, extinguished the torch, and slid between the sheets. A night of undisturbed sleep would set him aright.

  Juliana looked from the maid on her pallet to the flickering torch beside the door. Dare she risk it? Though she was not prepared to leave this night, she must know what lay beyond the tapestry—confirm the passageway did present a means of escape.

  She had meant to venture into it this afternoon and would have if the stone had not been so difficult to remove. By the time she freed it, her two hours of nap were spent.

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. If she explored the passageway this night, tomorrow afternoon could be given to surmounting any difficulties. Of course, were she presented with another locked door, it could take months to get through. Months she did not have. But she would not think on that.

  Quietly, she donned her mantle over her chemise and pushed her feet into slippers. Then she retrieved the dimming torch and slipped behind the tapestry.

  Careful to keep the flame from the wall hanging, she put her hand to the door. Without a squeak, owing to the hog fat applied to its hinges, it opened inward.

  A cool draft lifted the hems of mantle and chemise, sent its chill up her scantily clad limbs, and caused the torch flame to jump and glow more brightly. Shivering, she stepped through the doorway.

  Torchlight illuminated narrow, rough-hewn walls, stairs that wended downward into darkness, silken threads of cobwebs upon cobwebs, and the eyes of a rodent.

  She gulped. It was long since the passageway had been used. But as much as she dreaded her foray into its depths, especially considering her advanced pregnancy, she must brave it or resign herself to losing her child to Gabriel and the woman he intended to wed.

  She pulled her hood over her head and eased the door closed. Supporting herself with a hand on the wall, she tested each step before giving it her weight. The going was slow, but there was no way to hasten her journey without endangering the babe. As she descended the stairs, she used the torch to sweep aside cobwebs, did her best to ignore scurrying rodents, and checked her progress each time her foot sent rubble skittering.

  Hopefully, the walls were thick enough that none heard.

  There were twists and turns off the stairs, no doubt leading to other rooms, but she was interested only in what lay at the bottom.

  At last, she was on level ground. By the torch’s weakening light, she peered at the shaft before her. Where did it lead? To the gardens? The rear of the donjon? Perhaps underground to an outlet beyond the castle? If the latter, her escape would be tenfold easier.

  More quickly, she traversed the shaft. It ran straight for a time, turned right, spanned another straight course, and turned again. At half the distance of the previous stretch, it ended. A low door set in the wall drew her forward. She knelt and discovered it possessed no lock. She had but to lift the bar and she would be free of the donjon.

  She sighed. Though her hope to be delivered beyond Mergot’s walls would not be realized, her prayers were answered. By this time on the morrow, she would be long gone. She would have to make it past the
walls, but it should be fairly easy. Villagers and workers were constantly coming and going at castles. Though scrutinized before entering, little attention was paid to their departure. Cloaked, she would slip amongst them.

  Juliana touched her belly. “Soon you and I will be away, little one. Abide awhile longer.”

  As she straightened, something scampered over the back of the hand with which she held the torch. She cried out and stumbled, causing the creature to take flight along with the torch. The latter fell to the earthen floor and rolled away. She scrambled after it, but as she snatched up the torch, its struggling flame lost its battle. The glowing tip lighting little beyond her hands, she attempted to fan the flame back to life. And failed.

  Moments later, there was not even a sliver of light to guide her to her chamber. But she knew the distance covered and the number of turns. As difficult as her return journey would be through darkness, cobwebs, and creatures, she would manage it.

  The torch being of no further use, she left it. A hand to the wall, the other blindly stretched before her reminding her of how great the need to return to Alaiz, she started back. Unfortunately, the sounds she had earlier done her best to ignore would not be quieted—scuttling, squeaks, trickling water, intermittent creaks and groans. And they grew louder as she neared the stairs.

  Heart pounding, she reached a foot forward, found the first step, and put a palm on either side of the wall. She swatted away a cobweb that brushed her cheek and began her climb.

  It seemed forever, but finally she reached the landing before her chamber. She searched a hand down the door, pulled the handle. It remained seated. She tried again. It could not possibly be locked, unless…

  She felt for the hole from which she had removed the stone. The wall was solid. Where had she gone wrong? She had kept to the stairs and not taken any turns off them just as when she first traversed them. Or perhaps she had.

  Calm thyself, she counseled. You have but to think your way back and you have time aplenty in which to do so.

  It was but a matter of returning to the bottom and starting anew. Or so she thought. Over and over she descended and ascended, but ever the door she came before was locked. And she was not certain it was the same one each time.

  Once more at the bottom, she sat down on the last step and huddled into her mantle. She was weary and cold and so frustrated it would not take much for her to cry. But she would not give up, needed only to rest and think to find a way out of here before morn lit her empty bed.

  What if she went through the barred door into the bailey? Nay, even if she slipped past the guards, never would she make it to the hall unnoticed.

  She clasped her stiff hands before her face and breathed warmth upon them. Could there be other outlets in the passageway? Though she did not recall passing any, that must be it. She had chosen the wrong one.

  She stood, turned right off the stairs and felt her hand over the wall. Naught. She must go back the way she had come. Shortly, her hand rounded a corner. It was the stairway she had numerous times searched. She continued and found the entrance to another.

  “Pray, let this be it,” she whispered. Longing for bed, she ascended. A short while later, she reached a landing, gripped the door handle, and pulled.

  With a soft click and dissenting creak, the door yielded to the dark of her chamber.

  Holding her breath, she listened for Lissant’s awakening. All was still.

  She entered. As she closed the door, it groaned softly on its hinges, but again she detected no disturbance within. She seated the door, and this time the click gave her pause.

  The click. The creak. The groan.

  Due to the stone’s absence and fat on the hinges, those sounds did not belong.

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she leaned back against the wall and silently berated herself for being so relieved to find an unlocked door she had not confirmed it was hers. So where was she? The chapel? Or might this be Gabriel’s chamber?

  Nay, the Lord would not be so cruel.

  A gust of air swept the breath from her mouth as the tapestry was flung aside, then hands descended to her shoulders.

  All was lost.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “You gave your word!” Gabriel dragged her into the solar and pushed her down on his bed. “Does your deceit know no bounds, Juliana?”

  She looked up at his dark figure. Though she could not discern the anger on his face, the cooling brazier cast a glow around him, showing he wore only an undertunic.

  “Stay!” he commanded and retrieved his robe from a hook on the bedpost and stalked into the corridor. Moments later, she heard the door of her chamber slam against the inner wall and Lissant’s cry of surprise.

  Juliana slumped. She knew he would find what he sought, but she no longer cared. The damage was done, and now he would banish her to the tower where she would be locked away until the babe was born.

  He returned a short while later, a torch in one hand, the tools of her escape in the other. He thrust the former in a wall sconce, strode to the bed, and dropped the chisel and pouch of debris beside her.

  She stared at them until she caught the clink of metal. Looking up, she saw in his palm the cloth in which she had hidden dozens of silver coins. “You have been busy,” he bit.

  She drew a deep breath. “I did warn I had naught with which to occupy myself.”

  Nostrils flaring, he untied the string to reveal the pitiful bounty. “For these, you watched for me in the early morning hours, and once assured I was outside, came to my chamber.”

  She had not known he had seen her at her window. Or had he felt her there? It mattered not.

  “One at a time, hmm? Clever.”

  He opened the box on the table and tipped the coins in, then snatched up her hands and studied the abuse she had hidden from him. “You are a fool.”

  She lifted her chin. “A fool who nearly bested the victorious Gabriel de Vere.”

  His lids narrowed. “Nearly does not win the battle. Either you are the victor or the vanquished. Since you are the latter, there is naught to be proud of.”

  True. Her mistake would cost not only her child but Alaiz’s safety. She pulled her hands free, stood. “I believe the tower awaits me.”

  “So it does.” He motioned her to precede him from the solar.

  As she traversed the corridor, she saw Lissant in her chamber’s doorway, pretty face drawn with worry and hurt. Gabriel was not the only one deceived.

  Juliana turned her gaze forward, descended the stairs, and entered the hall. Though it was yet night, many of the occupants had awakened, no doubt roused by the commotion abovestairs. They stared as Juliana passed through the hall, as did the men-at-arms when she stepped outside.

  Gabriel took her arm and guided her down the dimly lit steps, across the inner bailey, and over the drawbridge. Their destination was the eastern tower of the outer bailey.

  At their approach, a man-at-arms hastened forward. “My lord?”

  “Henceforth, Lady Mary resides in the tower.”

  “Yes, my lord.” He led them inside.

  Before she stepped over the threshold, Juliana glanced at the night sky. A thousand stars winked at her, the quarter moon slanted a grin. Two months ere she would be allowed out-of-doors.

  Gabriel ushered her inside. The first floor was a guard’s station, but she was afforded little more than a glimpse before she found herself on the stairs. They spiraled upward, landings at each floor, but only when there were no more stairs to be climbed did her journey end.

  The man-at-arms fit a key and pushed the planked door inward.

  “Lady Mary will require a brazier, fresh blankets, towels, and a basin of water,” Gabriel said.

  “I shall gather them, my lord.”

  Gabriel took the torch from him and drew Juliana into the room.

  As desolate as she felt, she was not blind to her surroundings. Though the room appeared long unused, it was the sort of prison reserved for captive
s of high rank—large, furnished, and boasting three shuttered windows that would be barred.

  Gabriel released her. “Your prison, my lady. Until the child is born, it is all you shall know. And no companionship will you be afforded.”

  She crossed to the narrow bed and trailed fingers over the mattress. It was not without its lumps. Still, it would be more comfortable than the pallet she had expected.

  She continued to the windows and opened the shutters of one, revealing its bars.

  The chill night air caressed her face, whispering of the snow to come that would see oilcloths fit over the windows to aid in retaining the room’s warmth. Would she have made it across the channel before the weather worsened? Or been stranded in France?

  “Why, Juliana?”

  She closed the shutters, turned.

  He stood just inside the doorway. Though his countenance was grim, something else was there, not unlike that seen on Lissant’s face. As though she wounded him.

  Legs incredibly heavy, she returned to the bed and lowered to its edge.

  “Why?” he asked again, and when she did not answer, strode forward and halted before her. “None need tell me your reason for wishing to return to Bernart. What I question is why you would risk our child to do so. Not only is winter upon us, but you are less than two months from birthing. Are you truly so selfish?”

  She stared at the backs of her work-roughened hands. “It does appear that way, but the thought of you taking my babe…” She turned her palms up, the gesture of helplessness making her want to cry all the more. “I wish to be his mother, but not that I might remain Lady of Tremoral. Had I escaped…” She slid a thumb across the base of each finger, silently bemoaned how calloused her lady’s skin was. All for naught.

  “What would you have done?” Gabriel said.

  Feeling as if in the thick of a morning mist, she looked up. “It is for Alaiz I have labored these past months—bruising my knees, cutting and scraping and hardening my hands.”

  His brow furrowed, and this time he did not ask. He demanded, “Had you escaped, what then, Juliana?”