by Tamara Leigh
Knowing it best to distance himself from Bernart, Gabriel crossed to the right side of the dais.
“Where is Lady Juliana, Lord De Vere?” Richard asked.
Then he had not sent her from the hall.
“Methinks abovestairs, Your Majesty.”
“Summon her.”
Gabriel glanced at Bernart. Catching his smirk, he silently cursed him for the humiliation Juliana would suffer were the truth revealed.
“Summon Lady Juliana,” the king repeated.
Gabriel turned toward the stairs and halted at the sight of her coming off them.
“I am here, Your Majesty!”
Auburn hair dressed in plaits, brown eyes large and traced with thick lashes that caused shadows to flutter against her cheekbones, lips parted to show straight white teeth, she hastened forward. The gown she wore was fashioned of blue cloth that, in what seemed another lifetime, was to have been made into a surcoat for him and trappings for his destrier. Lovingly, it embraced her figure.
Without acknowledging Bernart, she halted alongside Gabriel.
Though he longed to put an arm around her so all would know to whom she belonged, it was enough that she stood with him.
She bowed. “Your Majesty.”
Richard lifted an apple from a platter. “Arise, Lady Juliana.”
She straightened, and when she glanced at Gabriel, the steel in her eyes told that no longer would she allow Bernart to bend her to his will.
The king swung his feet onto the table. One boot crossed over the other, he gave the appearance of having gathered his subjects to speak of hunting. “A siege in the winter of spring,” he mused. “One that has snatched us from an undertaking we hold most high.” His eyes narrowed on Juliana. “Who will tell us what is of such import?”
“I will tell it, Your Majesty,” Gabriel said.
Holding his gaze to Juliana, Richard waved dismissively.
Bernart snorted, causing Gabriel to jam his fingers into his palms.
“Surely there is another who can better tell it,” Richard prompted.
Bernart stepped forward. “Allow me, Your Majesty.”
“Neither you, Kinthorpe.”
Jowls working, Bernart returned to Faison’s side.
Then it falls to me, Juliana thought, mouth going drier.
“We wait,” the king said.
She moistened her lips. “I would speak, Your Majesty.”
His eyebrows jumped. “You made that more difficult than needed.” He set the apple aside and joined his hands on his chest. “Tell, Lady Juliana.”
“Your Majesty, could you not send your men from the hall?”
“Fear not. Whatever is spoken here shall not leave here. My men are trusted.”
She looked to the one beside Bernart. “The same is true of Baron Faison?”
Richard’s eyebrows dipped. “He is cause for concern, but surely he ought to know for what he gave men and machines to your husband’s quest.”
Longing to slip her hand into Gabriel’s, Juliana said, “That I cannot argue, but still I ask that he not be present.”
The king made her wait, then jutted his chin at the baron. “We shall summon you shortly.”
Glowering, Faison strode from the hall, leaving Juliana, Gabriel, and Bernart as alone as it was possible to be with England’s truant king.
“Now tell your reason for sending Sir Erec to summon us to Mergot, Lady Juliana.”
Beside her, Gabriel stiffened. Hopefully, he would forgive Sir Erec and her.
“As you know, Your Majesty, Bernart Kinthorpe makes war on Mergot to steal the son of Gabriel de Vere.”
As hard as Bernart’s gaze struck, she ought to have been felled. Refusing to look at him, knowing she would see in his eyes his threat against Alaiz, she awaited the king’s response.
“And to steal the mother of this child, it was also told,” Richard prompted.
She clenched her hands. “That is true, Your Majesty.”
“But the child’s mother is you, my lady. And you are Kinthorpe’s wife.”
She inclined her head.
The king shifted his jaw. “It is most serious what you tell, and yet if it is true, your husband claims a child not his—the illegitimate issue of the Lord of Mergot.”
“It is true, Your Majesty. Gabriel de Vere fathered my child.”
Bernart’s fury coursed the hall, but if Richard felt it he was unmoved. He lifted his goblet. “We do not think you speak of ravishment, Lady Juliana.”
“I do not.”
He pulled a long drink, lowered the goblet. “De Vere seduced you?”
She longed to laugh. “He did not, Your Majesty.”
Annoyance flickered across Richard’s face. “Then willingly you went to him—cuckolded your husband.”
Far from it, but could she reveal Bernart’s infirmity? Speak the words that would dismiss his claim? She gulped. “I did not willingly go to Lord De Vere, Your Majesty, but neither did he ravish me.”
The king’s boots hit the dais. Grasping the chair arms, he leaned forward. “You speak nonsense, Lady Juliana.”
Breath shallow, she struggled for calm. “Not nonsense, Your Majesty. The truth.” She looked to Bernart.
As expected, the threat was in his eyes, but there was also fear. “No matter what lies she tells, Your Majesty,” he said, “the child is mine.”
The king shot his gaze to him. “How know you? By her own tongue she confesses to making a cuckold of you, tells she gave herself to a man she now chooses over you.”
Bernart’s face flushed brighter, while beside her Gabriel was as a great link in a chain ready to snap.
“Cuckolded I may be,” Bernart said, “but it was my child that took.”
Now Richard looked to Gabriel. “What say you, De Vere?”
“He is my son, Your Majesty.”
“When was the child born, Lady Juliana?”
She sucked a breath.
“Do not think to lie,” the king barked. “We have but to ask those of the household to know.”
“He was born a month past, but—”
“As due?”
Chill bumps coursed her flesh. “Three weeks early, Your Majesty.”
“Ah.”
Juliana followed his gaze to Bernart, felt her stomach clench as her husband’s lips spread. He thought he had won.
“There, Your Majesty,” he said, “it is proven the child is mine, for De Vere was not at Tremoral those weeks ere the tournament. Already a child grew in my wife’s belly. My heir.”
“The babe was born early!” Juliana cried.
Richard sighed. “Bring the child to the hall so we may see him, Lady Juliana.”
Her heart went straight to the bottom of her. The only way to ensure Bernart never held Gabriel’s son was to reveal her husband’s infirmity. But even then the king might not believe her, might not demand evidence of Bernart’s inability to father children, might give Gabrien to him. Then there would be bloodshed.
She drew a deep breath. “Your Majesty, there is something I must—”
“Now!”
She startled, bowed, and turned. As she stepped past Gabriel, she looked to him. His eyes were hard. Might he not forgive her for sending Erec to the king? If her gamble lost him his son…
Praying frantically, she withdrew from the hall. Once out of sight, she let her feet drag on the stairs, then the corridor. When she entered the chamber, Gabrien was in the cradle of Lissant’s arms.
The maid rose, and Juliana gazed long at the son made with Gabriel. “Sweet Gabrien,” she murmured, then said, “I am to take him to the king.”
Alarm widened the maid’s eyes. “For what, my lady?”
“Worry not.” Juliana eased the babe into her arms. “Gabrien will return shortly.”
How she prayed he would!
CHAPTER FORTY
It was as if no word had been spoken in her absence, the king picking at his viands while the two men stood unmovin
g before him.
Richard looked up at her where she paused on the lowermost step. “Come, Lady Juliana,” he beckoned, causing Gabriel and Bernart to look around.
Reviled by the lusty gaze the latter landed on the babe, Juliana pressed Gabrien nearer, shifted her regard to his father, and forced herself forward.
Gabriel’s expression both reassured and frightened. Though it told that regardless of the king’s determination, he would not surrender their child, that could also mean his death.
When she ascended the dais, the king stretched up from his chair. “Hmm,” he murmured and resettled himself. “They all look much the same.” He turned to Bernart. “How long have you been wed, Kinthorpe?”
Bernart shifted his weight. “Near on four years, Your Majesty.”
“And only now an heir. That is a long time.”
“My wife is not as fertile as I wish her to be.”
Juliana gasped.
“Lady Juliana,” Richard said, “keep your tongue.”
She bit it.
The king dropped a hand onto the chair arm, turned it into a fist, beat out a rhythm. On and on it went, thumping through her like a lead ball. What was he thinking? When would he allow her to speak?
At last, he said, “Give the child to your husband, Lady Juliana.”
She stumbled back. As she searched for words, Richard’s men came to attention and their liege lurched forward in his seat. “De Vere,” he thundered, particles of food vaulting from his mouth, “for what do you set your hand upon your sword?”
Juliana peered across her shoulder. Gripping his hilt, legs braced, face like stone, the man she loved looked as if he could bring mountains to their knees. But the king’s guard were prepared to raze the mountain that was Gabriel de Vere.
“Gabriel,” she entreated.
He dragged his gaze from the king to her.
“Pray, do not.”
After a fearfully long moment, he released the hilt.
“Wise,” the king rumbled. “Now we say again, Lady Juliana, deliver the child to his father.”
That she could do. “As you command, Your Majesty.” She stepped from the dais to Gabriel’s side.
“Your Majesty!” Bernart cried.
“You wish our wrath upon you, Lady?” Richard demanded, the loud scrape of his chair evidencing he had risen.
She met Gabriel’s gaze. “Hold your son, my love. Protect him as a father should.” He hesitated, and she knew he was loath to yield up his ability to defend those he loved by way of the sword. But when she reached Gabrien to him, he took the babe.
She turned to the king. Was it the devil in him that so contorted his face? Pushing past fear, she clasped her hands at her waist. “I have done as bid, Your Majesty—delivered the child to his father.”
Richard slammed his palms on the table, causing the platter to jump. “Lady Juliana!”
Once more, she ascended the dais. “Pray, allow me to speak to my husband that all may be explained.”
“You test us mightily!”
Though unaccustomed to using her woman’s wiles, Juliana hoped in this they would serve her. Pressing her shoulders back to better define a figure more shapely now she was a mother, raising her chin a degree and slowly sweeping her lashes up, she said, “It is not my intention to test you, Your Majesty. I but wish to prevent a grave wrong.”
As he looked closer upon her, his grim mouth eased and flush receded.
Bowing her lips to show the white of her teeth, she said softly, “Though I know I am unworthy, grant me this kindness, my most benevolent liege.”
He arched an eyebrow. “If we allow it?”
“Ever I shall be grateful.”
He moved his gaze down her and up again. “Though it does not please us to grant your request, we shall.”
Juliana nearly wilted.
“But we warn you”—he lowered into the chair—“do not keep us long.”
“I thank you, Your Majesty.” She descended the dais and crossed to Bernart.
The red that had eased from the king’s face had found its way into her husband’s. “Wife,” he bit.
“Bernart.” She stepped past him, and he followed her to the far end of the hall. “You must cease now,” she said as she turned to him. “Put an end to this ere it puts an end to you.”
His back to the king and Gabriel, he moved nearer. “Your threat is without heart.”
She stared into his fleshy face, caught the shine of saliva he had not wiped from his chin. “Is it without heart?”
He snorted. “If you could have revealed me, you would have done so already. You cannot.”
“But I can. And have.”
His lids narrowed.
“Gabriel knows.”
The air rushed from him, set his jaw to quivering. Then he groaned and clawed a hand down his face.
The door Juliana had thought closed to him creaking open, she lifted a hand to him. And pulled it back. The past was done. She could not reach him then, could not reach him now.
An instant later, he proved her right. “Whore!” he rasped.
She flinched. “I am what you made me.”
“Whom else have you told?”
As there was no reason to reveal Sir Erec, she said, “It need go no further. You have but to withdraw your claim to Gabrien.”
“Gabrien? That is the name you gave the little bas—”
“Do not!” she cried, and beyond him saw Gabriel take a step toward them.
Bernart’s shoulders heaved with panting breath. “When I take him from Mergot, he shall be called by a name of my choosing.”
Why did he persist? “Gabrien shall not leave Mergot. This is his home, and one day he will be baron.”
Bernart stared.
“Do you force me,” she said, “I shall reveal all to the king.”
“Then you no longer have a care for your sister?”
There it was. “I love her as much as when I did the unthinkable so you would not turn her out. But by way of Alaiz, you shall not steal Gabriel’s son.”
His lips drew back. “Deny me, and she will suffer.”
She frowned. “How fares my sister?”
“Well—for the moment.”
“Such lies!” She shook her head. “It makes me ache you are so desperate, but ’tis of your own doing.”
His confidence wavered. “What say you?”
“I know she is no longer at Tremoral.”
A sharp breath whistled through his teeth. “Who told you this?”
“Blase de Vere.”
“He is dead!”
“Though it is as you left him, he recovered well enough to send word of what befell my sister.”
He stilled, then his shoulders slumped as if she had punched him in the gut. “You love Gabriel,” he croaked.
Clasping her hands to keep from reaching to him, silently commanding her tears to draw back, Juliana said, “I do.”
“After what he did to me? He whose betrayal cost me all?”
“He did not betray you, Bernart. Though you refuse to admit it, twice as many men could have done no more than those who followed you. More spilled blood is all you would have gained—more deaths on a conscience you deny.”
“He left me to die!”
This time she could not stop herself from setting a hand on his arm. “You err. He followed you into Acre.”
His head bobbed. “What?”
“He followed you, and for it was captured, beaten, and imprisoned until King Richard took the city.”
“He told you this?”
“Nay, Sir Erec.”
Bernart scowled. “What knows he of it?”
“Much to his regret, he was among those Gabriel could not turn from your quest. Afterward, they shared a cell.”
Clearly Bernart longed to cling to anger that had become more familiar to him than happiness, but something about his face softened.
She squeezed his arm. “Turn from the wrong you seek to do
Gabriel.”
He shuddered. “I shall lose all.”
A tear slipped to her cheek. “Only that which you do not need, that which does not belong to you.”
He closed his eyes. When he looked at her again, tears sparkled in them. “Once you belonged to me.”
“Once,” she said past the lump in her throat. “Until you gave me to another.”
A muscle at his mouth convulsed, one at his eye, then he knocked her hand aside. “Curse you! Curse Gabriel!” He stalked toward the dais.
Then he would not withdraw his claim to Gabrien. Struggling to hold back tears, Juliana crossed the hall.
Gabriel looked from Bernart, who trembled so violently the movement was visible across the distance, to Juliana. Sorrow grooved her face. Had she persuaded Bernart to leave Mergot with his secret intact? Or would vengeance be the end of him?
“He forces me to it,” Juliana said when she regained Gabriel’s side.
His anger at her for summoning the king having eased, he caught up her hand. “I will tell it.”
“Nay, it is for me to do.” She eased the babe from his arms into hers, and he breathed easier knowing he could defend Gabrien and her if necessary.
“Now at long last, all shall be explained, Lady Juliana?” Richard said.
“It shall be. I—”
“Allow me, Your Majesty,” Bernart interrupted.
Gabriel looked across Juliana’s head to his enemy. More lies?
“Speak, Lord Kinthorpe. We tire of this.”
Bernart opened his mouth, hesitated, said, “What my wife tells is true.”
Juliana caught her breath.
“The child is not yours?”
“He is not, Your Majesty.”
Gabriel pulled Juliana against his side.
“You are certain?”
“I am certain.”
“How?”
“I am…” Bernart’s voice broke. “…impotent.”
It was as near the truth as he would give, but Gabriel would not argue it.
The king went silent, the only movement about him the tapping of a finger. “Was your marriage not consummated?”
Bernart swallowed loudly. “It was not.”
“Most curious. It begs the question of the circumstances of the child’s conception.”
