by Tamara Leigh
Acceptance shuddered through him. It was no lie. Here the reason for Bernart’s bottomless hatred. Here the reason she had come to him in the night. Here the reason for her fear of what would befall him if he fell into her husband’s hands whilst retrieving Alaiz.
Hearing the babe fret and Juliana’s hushed words, he closed his eyes and saw again that day at Acre, then the night. As asked of himself hundreds of times, would it have ended differently had he not—?
“’Tis true, Gabriel.”
He swung around.
Juliana stood before him, the babe in the cradle behind. Swaying, face nearly drained of color, she said, “You are not to blame.”
He swept her into his arms, and she dropped her head on his shoulder and slid a hand around his neck.
“It would have been the same had you not persuaded some to abandon his cause,” she said. “The same even had you gone after him.”
He had gone after Bernart.
He laid her on the mattress, but she did not release him. Though it would take little to break her hold, he said, “Loose me.”
“Pray, sit beside me so we may finish what is finally begun.”
He knew there was more to it but longed to retreat so he might better battle the demons clambering for a foothold on his soul.
“Do not leave me again, Gabriel.”
He met her gaze so near his, yearned to go into her eyes and dwell there. “I will stay.”
She released him and settled back on the pillows, but when he did not lower to the mattress, her mouth lost its hopeful curve. Folding her hands atop the mound evidencing she had recently given birth, she said, “Ask your questions. I will answer all.”
The babe gurgled, and as Gabriel looked to the son named for him, he could hardly breathe over proof he was a father. This was his son as much as Juliana’s. If not for the rest of what she told—and had yet to tell—he would revel.
“Knowing Bernart could never truly be a husband to you,” he said, “why did you wed him?”
Her throat bobbed. “He did not reveal his injury until after our vows were spoken—on our wedding night that proved no wedding night.”
Anger swamping Gabriel’s guilt, he silently cursed Bernart’s selfishness. He had known Juliana would not shame him by annulling the marriage on grounds it could not be consummated. How it must have pained her. How it must have shattered her illusions of love. How it must have hurt to know never would she bear Bernart children.
“But even had he been honest with me ere we wed,” she said, “methinks I would have consented to be his wife in name only, for I could not know what he would become. Could not know as he lay beside me night after night, refusing to cross the space between us, he would grow to resent my presence for what he could not be to me. Would burn over idle talk of the distance between us and lack of an heir. Would one day force me to steal a child to prove he was not the same as his brother.”
Recalling Bernart’s loathing for his sibling, Gabriel could guess the desperation his old friend must have felt. But to steal another man’s child? “Regardless of whom he chose to take from, it is abhorrent, Juliana. But why me?”
“Revenge. It twists men and women, makes of them what they were not intended to be. So it is with Bernart. He determined to take from you what he believed you had taken from him.”
Gabriel could not conceive of such… Was Bernart touched with madness?
“Too, he chose you for the hatred he convinced me I bore you alongside his own, hatred he believed would prevent me from feeling anything other than revulsion for you. He could not bear that more than a child might come of our nights together.”
Had more come of it other than his retaliation of taking her and his child from Tremoral? Did Juliana feel for him what he felt for her? “Was it love for him that made you do as bade?”
“Love!” Never had he heard her speak the word with scorn, would not have thought it possible. “Had not nearly all my feelings for him already withered, they would have when he demanded I become a harlot and the lowest of thieves. Nay, not love. Nor the desire to secure my place at Tremoral. ’Twas for Alaiz I agreed.”
Remembering what she had nearly told of her sister the night he brought Juliana to the tower, he said, “What of your threat against Bernart did he not allow her to live at Tremoral?”
“When I learned our brother’s guardian was abusing her with cruel words and the threat of bodily abuse, I beseeched Bernart to let her come to me, but he refused. I know it was wrong, but I so feared for her I threatened to reveal our marriage was unconsummated and that I was not to blame. He became enraged, and the words that passed between us were so venomous that when he finally relented, I could not stand to be near him.” She replenished her breath. “I took his horse, a beast beyond my control. Such irony the riding accident stole from me proof of lack of consummation. Blessedly, I was able to hide it from Bernart, for though I could yet prove I was untouched by demanding an examination of his body, that I could not do to him. Still, I told him I would when he threatened to return Alaiz to our brother’s guardian if I did not lie with a man of his choosing.”
As if taken with chill in the warm chamber, she dragged the coverlet up her chest. “But he snatched that power from me, said it was better people know of the injury he suffered in defending the cross than believe he was no different from his brother. Thus, I was forced to play the harlot.”
Feeling as if bound up in knots, he swept back to Tremoral…the garden…the words Juliana had spoken—that she would do anything for her sister.
So much he now understood. So much without sense given sense. He detested what she had been made to do and the shame he had cast on her by accusing her of lying with him to assure her place. As for Bernart, regardless of whether Gabriel was to blame for his loss, the man who had been his friend was reprehensible. Depraved. Vile.
“Until now”—Juliana looked to the cradle—“Alaiz is all I have had to love and all who has needed me. Had I not feared what Bernart would do to her, sooner I would have revealed the truth.”
Gabriel’s self-loathing stretched. Were Alaiz not yet captured, soon she would be. Unless Erec found her and delivered her free of England, in that direction lay great ill, perhaps death. Then there was Blase. Despite assurances he would recover, he had come near death himself.
Juliana reached from beneath the coverlet and caught his hand at his side. “Bernart is no longer the one with whom you trained for knighthood, Gabriel. He is no longer the man I loved when I was a girl making believe I was a woman. But you are not responsible. Rarely could he take his wrongs upon himself. For nearly every failing another was to blame.”
As Gabriel knew, but did it absolve him of that day at Acre? He closed his eyes. He should have no conscience where Bernart was concerned, needed no absolution from him. Though the injury dealt the man whom he had once called friend had surely made Bernart what he had become, it did not excuse the suffering to which he had subjected Juliana and Blase.
But for all of Gabriel’s reasoning, he could not throw off the burden that had weighted him all these years. And more heavily now.
“Look at me,” Juliana entreated.
He opened his eyes on her sad, beautiful face.
“At Tremoral you spoke of happening upon me in my father’s garden when I wept over Bernart’s faithlessness.”
He frowned.
“It was the first time I truly looked at you. The first time I saw beyond the young man who scorned my notions of love and whose disdain of women so offended. That day, I nearly came into your arms.”
Well he remembered.
She swallowed. “Though Bernart insisted it was you who sent the servant to him—tempted him—I never truly believed you capable of such.”
So that was what he had told her, he who had never needed any to tempt him to trysts. Had he not given Juliana his vow of continence for fear her doting father would not honor the betrothal, that night he might have strayed again.
He longed to be in agreement, but his emotions were at war. He pulled his hand from hers. “I have much work to do.”
She drew a sharp breath. “To prepare for the siege?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What know you of it?”
“Only what I have seen of the activity in the bailey. It is Bernart who comes, aye?”
“He does.” Would the new fall of snow delay his crossing of the channel had he not already made the passage? Likely, and of certain benefit. It would give Gabriel time to examine himself and Juliana’s revelation to better determine a new course.
“No matter the guilt you ought not feel,” she said, “do you think to give me to Bernart, I shall not go. And neither will our son.”
Never would he do such, though what he would do he no longer knew. The truth changed all. Juliana could yet enter a convent but eventually she would be separated from their child and there she would remain. He could take her and their babe from Mergot and, God willing, recover Alaiz. But still Juliana would be another man’s wife and what could prove a lifetime of running would be dangerous for all. And how it reeked of cowardice!
“Gabriel.”
He returned her to focus.
“My place is with you.”
Was it love that pulled such words from her, or the son between them? “Is it?” His tone was harsher than intended.
“It is what I wish.”
“And what you cannot have. You are wed.”
“To a man incapable of consummating our marriage. Thus, in the eyes of the Church, it is not a marriage and possibly dissolved.”
Hope, dampened by guilt, moved through Gabriel. “You would reveal Bernart’s infirmity? What he made you do?”
“I did not believe I could, but…” She glanced at the cradle. “I hate he should suffer humiliation, but for the sake of our child—to ensure Gabrien does not fall into vengeful hands—I shall make good my threat if he forces me to it.”
It was not something Gabriel had allowed himself to consider though it seemed the only way they could be together. But such shame would fall upon her were it revealed what she had done. And Bernart whose secret would be bared…
“First though,” she said, “I must be certain Alaiz is clear of his wrath. We must get her away from him.”
What she did not know… “You ought to hate me, Juliana.”
“I do not. Can not. Will not.” She moistened her lips. “I love you, Gabriel. But not as I loved Bernart. This love is not of the head with all its silly imaginings but of the heart with all its joy and hurts—and ability to heal.”
Part of him seized hold of her avowal, the other flung it from him. “After what I did to you? You are a fool.”
“Then we shall be fools together in loving each other. And our son.”
He looked to the sleeping babe, longed for the round cheek, sweet breath, tiny hand.
“If you can forget how he was gotten,” Juliana said, “you will make him as fine a father as he will make you a fine son. Pray, do not reject him as your sire did you.”
Years of ache over his father’s disavowal filling the spaces between his guilt over Bernart, he said, “Never will I reject him. Now I must go.”
“We will find a way to bring Alaiz out of Tremoral,” Juliana said as he turned away.
He stilled. Should he reveal the truth so she knew what the man she professed to love had wrought? Was she recovered sufficiently to bear it?
“Will we not, Gabriel?”
No more lies, he decided. “Your sister is not at Tremoral.”
She came off the pillows. “Bernart has returned her to our brother’s guardian?”
“Nay. Three days past I received a missive from Blase that told she fled Tremoral. None know where she has gone.”
“Dear Lord, why did she leave?” Juliana swallowed loudly. “What could have happened?”
He longed to offer comfort for what she had yet to know, but soon enough the hate she ought to feel for him would provide comfort of the cold sort. “She stands accused of attempting to murder a household knight. It is said she put a blade in his back.”
Juliana thought her heart might fall out of her. “Was it Sir Randal?”
“That is his name. What can you tell me about him?”
She clasped her hands against her lips. “I feared him for the way he watched my sister, that he oft drew near, and what he spoke to her.” She looked up. “If she did this thing, it was surely to defend her person.”
“As I have concluded.”
“You have asked Blase to find her?”
Gabriel’s hesitation boded ill. “He sought her out but was attacked.”
She gasped. “Bernart?”
Gabriel flexed his fists. “Blase must have been recognized as the priest who came to the castle the night we took you. Bernart put him through and left him for dead.”
Is there not even a hair left of the man I once loved? Juliana wondered. “Your brother will recover?”
“That is as his missive tells.”
“I am sorry, Gabriel.”
“For what have you to be sorry? Of all who suffered for Bernart’s revenge you, an innocent, have borne the greatest burden. I am the one who is sorry.”
She reached to him. “You could not have known, and I did not tell you.”
He did not take her hand. “Truly, you ought to hate me, Juliana.”
“Why? So you may more easily let me go—that ever you will be missing from me and I from you? Nay, now I know what love is and is not, I shall let no one take it from me. Now tell, what are we to do about Alaiz?”
The bewilderment that swept his face reflected her own. Though she ought to be paralyzed by fear for her sister, she was not. If Alaiz could devise her escape, surely she could survive outside Tremoral. By that feat, she proved far less helpless than believed. But how long could she evade her pursuers?
“As you must remain at Mergot with Bernart soon to arrive,” she said, “you shall send another to find her?”
Gabriel inclined his head. “Does the weather not turn worse, Sir Erec should arrive at Mergot on the morrow. We will lay our plans then.”
A cry issued from the cradle.
“Bring him to me,” she entreated.
The sight of one so large holding one so small warmed her, and more when Gabriel did not hurriedly relinquish their child. “Gabrien,” he said, stroking the babe’s head.
His son quieted.
“Such innocence,” Gabriel murmured. “He has yet to know hate…deceit…revenge.” He bent and eased the babe into her arms. “Bernart may bring all he has against me, but I shall die ere relinquishing either of you.”
Then she would remain with him at Mergot? Possible only if the truth of her husband was revealed. If necessary, it would be, for she would be his puppet no more. As for Alaiz, she must trust the Lord and Sir Erec to deliver her to safety.
“I have a missive to compose to Baron Faison,” Gabriel said, “one that may make him more an enemy than ever he was.”
She tensed. Had it to do with the alliance sought with that family? “Why?”
“Is it not obvious?” He looked to the babe, then her. “Our child has a mother. The only one he needs. I will not be wedding Faison’s cousin.”
As hope rushed into her every corner, he leaned down and tipped up her chin. He hesitated over her mouth, instead pressed his lips to her brow. “Though I know not how best to make a way for us, I pray one day I may kiss and hold you without sin, Juliana.”
She longed to ask if he truly thought it possible, but he now possessed the weapon needed to fight Bernart. If the Lord was with them, Gabriel would wield it well. And their one day would come.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
He stayed away again.
Amid Lissant’s protests, Juliana turned for the maid to
tighten the laces of her bliaut.
“Pray, think on this, my lady.” Lissant set to tugging. “You are not yet healed and the babe—”
“His belly is full, and he ought to sleep through dinner.”
“If he does not?”
“I but go to the hall. If Gabrien awakens and will not be consoled, you need only send for me.”
“But my lady, what of you?”
“I am well.”
Lissant came around, swept her hands high. “Lord De Vere will not like it.”
“Still, I go.” Not only did she long to see Gabriel, but Sir Erec had arrived this morn. If they would not come to her, she would go to them.
“Forgive me, my lady. I am but concerned for you.”
Juliana pushed her feet into slippers, returned her gaze to the woman who was as near a friend as she had. “You shall take fine care of Gabrien, and I shall see to myself. As for Lord De Vere, if his wrath falls upon any, it will be me. And I shall soon enough cool it.”
The maid heaved a sigh. “Very well, but let me put order to your hair. It would be unseemly to sit at meal with it in such disarray, especially now you are mother to our lord’s child.”
But not wife, and never if Bernart had his way. He would not, she resolved and gingerly lowered to the stool beside the cradle.
Clothed in one of many green gowns fashioned in the tower room, the babe slept.
Shortly, Lissant surveyed the plaits and coils she had fashioned. “Better.”
“I am grateful,” Juliana said and caressed the babe’s smooth cheek. “All will come right, little one.”
He made a faint sound and sucked in his bottom lip.
Juliana rose and departed the chamber. Before reaching the stairs, she heard the din of those gathered in the hall and paused on the landing. As Lissant told, this time when she entered it would be as the mother of Gabriel’s son, not a woman heavy with misbegotten child.
