Lady Betrayed

by Tamara Leigh

  Tension leaped through Gabriel, jerked Juliana, staggered Bernart back a step.

  “I have met your brother,” the king said. “Osbern, is it not?”

  Bernart’s lips twisted. “That is as my father named the second child my mother birthed.”

  Richard pushed back in his chair. “Rumors are terrible things. Little can more quickly reduce the mightiest to worms. But though we are certain what is not told would make for a lively tale, no more shall we speak of this.” He beckoned. “Come forth, Lady Juliana.”

  She stepped onto the dais. “Your Majesty?”

  “Seek you an annulment?”

  “I do.”

  Richard looked to Gabriel. “You would wed the lady? Give your name to the child and her?”

  “It is my greatest desire, Your Majesty.”

  Richard picked a square of cheese from the platter, flattened it between thumb and forefinger. “You love her?”

  Though the king amused himself, Gabriel said, “I do.”

  Richard popped the cheese in his mouth and spoke around it. “It is good we like you, De Vere. Thus, an annulment the lady shall have.”

  Gabriel bowed. “I am grateful, Your Majesty.”

  “However”—Richard once more caused Gabriel to tense—“we do not think it necessary the annulment be awarded on grounds of impotence.” He looked to Bernart. “Consanguinity better serves, do you not agree, Lord Kinthorpe?”

  “There is no blood between Lady Juliana and I, Your Majesty.”

  “Ah, but there will be—third cousins, we think. Perhaps fourth.”

  “How, Your Majesty?”

  “Illegitimacy makes kin of us all, Kinthorpe. It is but a matter of degree.” He smiled. “As it can rarely be proven, neither can it be disproven.”

  “But the Church—”

  “Will accept the word of the King of England.”

  How Richard loved his power though it was granted him by an island kingdom deemed unworthy of his attention.

  Bernart bowed. “I am grateful, Your Majesty.”

  “And most indebted, Lord Kinthorpe. By first light you and your men will be gone from Mergot. As for Faison, we shall deal with him.” Richard swept a hand toward the door. “Your leave is granted.”

  “I thank you, Your Majesty.” Withholding his gaze from Juliana and Gabriel, Bernart crossed the hall.

  Gabriel stared after him, thought how bittersweet the victory over one of such ill intent, wondered at the sorrow he might owe his childhood friend but not the man who had made himself so great an enemy he had sought to kill Blase.

  When Juliana returned to Gabriel’s side, her love shone through her tears. “It is over,” she breathed.

  It was not, but nearly so. “Take Gabrien abovestairs,” he said. “I shall join you shortly.”

  Her gaze faltered. “You will go to him?”

  “I know not why I am compelled to do so after what he did to you, Blase, and my people but—” Gabriel closed his mouth, breathed deep. “The Lord will have to work a miracle in me if ever I am to forgive him, but I cannot leave it like this. Cannot have him believe I gloat over his loss whilst celebrating my gain which is…” He cupped her jaw. “It is everything, Juliana. You and Gabrien are everything.”

  She smiled. “Be of good care. Promise me, Gabriel.”

  “My word I give.” He pivoted and traversed the hall.

  “We require the lord’s solar, Lady Juliana,” he heard Richard say.

  “Then you will pass the night at Mergot, Your Majesty?” she asked.

  “Perhaps.”

  “I shall have the solar made ready.”

  Gabriel halted at the door and glanced behind to see Juliana start up the stairs, then stepped outside. Faison was there, staring out across the walls as if remembering when the castle and these lands were held by his brother.

  “Faison,” Gabriel said.

  The man did not respond.

  As Gabriel descended the steps, he shouted for the villagers to prepare to return to their homes. Amidst their cheers and chatter, he overtook Bernart. “I would speak with you.”

  Bernart halted, snapped around. “You have what you want. What else do you wish to steal from me?”

  “What else do I wish to steal?” Gabriel shook his head. “’Tis good you cannot ask for forgiveness, for I cannot yet—if ever—give it. But I would have you know I regret how it ended between us, and I wish it had been different.”

  Bernart’s jaw convulsed. “And I wish I had made certain your brother was dead.”

  Gabriel gripped his sword hilt but stayed his hand with the reminder nothing good would come of putting it through Bernart. Though perhaps, that was what he wanted.

  Bernart laughed. “Such a pity I did not sink the blade deeper—give it a good, hard twist.”

  Gabriel’s sword hissed from its scabbard. Its point kissed his old friend’s throat.

  Bernart threw his arms wide. “Have done with it.”

  He meant it, saw this as the only revenge left to him. Unarmed, his death would be deemed murder, denying Gabriel what Richard had denied Bernart—Juliana and a son.

  “If not for yourself,” Bernart persisted, “do it for Alaiz.”

  His threat made Gabriel’s blood course faster.

  “Be assured, I shall find the imbecile and make of her many gifts for that whore who bore your brat.”

  Gabriel’s hand shook as he struggled to keep it from making the stroke that would end Bernart’s life. Was there anything he wanted more than to spill this miscreant’s blood? He looked to his men on the walls who watched alongside the king’s men.

  Aye, more he wanted Juliana and Gabrien.

  He lowered his sword. “God help you, Kinthorpe,” he said and pivoted. Feeling Bernart’s gaze as he strode amid the rubble, he returned his blade to its scabbard.

  “Soon, old friend!” Bernart called.

  Gabriel did not falter until he stepped off the inner drawbridge, and only when the villagers closed around him. There were questions, and he welcomed them for the reprieve from his encounter with Bernart. All he answered before returning to the donjon where King Richard roared at an expressionless Faison.

  Gabriel crossed the hall, determined that after his ablutions and a change of garments he would go to Juliana.

  “Baron De Vere!”

  He halted before the stairs. “Your Majesty?”

  “Now you are a father and soon to be a husband,” the king said with surprising calm, “we must rectify your excommunication.”

  Gabriel inclined his head. “Whatever aid you can give, Your Majesty, I am grateful.”

  Richard waved a hand and returned to berating Faison.

  Finding maids scurrying about the solar as they prepared it for the king, Gabriel commanded them to wait in the corridor and closed the door.

  Though by basin and hand towel he bathed away the battle as best he could, his search for a suitable change of clothing was thwarted by the unopened missives at the bottom of his chest. He stared at their unbroken seals.

  He knew the messages they contained—the same as the first and only one read six months following his departure from the barony of Wyverly. Though the third son would succeed their father, Arnault de Vere longed to see Gabriel again and be at peace with him.

  Gabriel closed his eyes. Ever he sought to deny his feelings for the man who had set him aside, but he loved him. He had Juliana, Gabrien, and the Lord who did answer prayers. But if he could reconcile with his sire, light would burn away what remained of the shadows through which he had long moved.

  Determined that once his son was of a suitable age for travel, he would take Juliana and Gabrien across the channel, he lifted his lids. There was much to be done in England—discovering Alaiz’s whereabouts, ensuring Blase was recovered from his injuries, and reconciliation with his father.

  He chose a red tunic and russet hose, a short while later entered the chamber of the woman who would be his wife. And opened hi
s arms to her a moment before she landed against his chest.

  Heart beating fast, and faster yet when Gabriel spoke her name with beautiful desperation, Juliana pushed fingers through his hair and imagined she was flying like a many-feathered bird whose wings knew no limits. As long as this man soared with her, she needed no ground beneath her.

  Gabriel held her tighter, lowered his face to the curve of her neck, breathed her in. But when he raised his head, his smile was absent.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Did Bernart—?”

  “All is right, Juliana. I want only to thank you.”

  She frowned. “For?”

  “You…Gabrien…doing what I could not.”

  “Then I am forgiven for sending Sir Erec to the king?”

  There was the smile she longed for. “Providing you do not further trifle with Richard’s affections.”

  “You noticed.”

  He growled. “Who could not?”

  She laughed. “Ah Gabriel, I am to be your wife.”

  “Wife,” he said as if all the world were in that word.

  Though it could take months for her marriage to be annulled, their future together was assured. “It could not be sweeter,” she said.

  “Could it not?” He angled his head, fit his lips to her, and kissed her until the babe whimpered. “Our son wishes something?” he murmured.

  Juliana eyed Gabrien in his cradle. “To be held.”

  “How know you that?”

  “I am his mother. As his father, you must learn these things too.”

  He drew her to the cradle and lifted the babe.

  The sight of father and son sent shivers through Juliana. “Never have I known such happiness, Gabriel.”

  “Nor I.” He settled Gabrien in the crook of his arm. “And we shall make more, Juliana.”

  “More babes or more happiness?” she teased.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Does not one follow the other?”

  “With you, Gabriel de Vere.” She stepped closer. “Only with you.”

  EPILOGUE

  Castle Mergot

  France, June 1196

  Alaiz was found. A better wedding present Gabriel could not have gifted his wife.

  Breathing again, only now realizing how long it was since she had felt such depth and breadth of air, Juliana clasped to her breast the missive delivered during the wedding feast.

  Gabriel moved behind her. “She is well.” He settled his hands on her shoulders. “As told, Erec shall remain at her side to await our arrival.”

  A sennight hence, she numbered the days and marveled that seven could seem a score. Time had dragged these months of waiting, gaining speed only when Gabriel, Gabrien, and she were together, and only then once that which sought to overwhelm the babe born early had passed. So serious had his illness been that the lifting of Gabriel’s excommunication and the granting of Juliana’s annulment had not been met with the great joy those tidings deserved.

  Blessedly, after weeks of prayer that often prostrated Gabrien’s parents side by side on the chapel floor, the babe recovered. A fortnight later, he was lustier than ever.

  The journey to England too long delayed, the search for Alaiz entrusted to Sir Erec whose missives recounting his progress had been of comfort, this day Gabriel and Juliana had vowed to forsake all others and become one. Now when they arrived in England, it would be as husband and wife, accompanied by their son who had been legitimized beneath the pall stretched over all three during the wedding ceremony. Soon her sister would be with them as well.

  “Clever Alaiz,” Juliana murmured. “Disguised as a blind boy begging for his supper.” Though pained by what her sister must have endured to evade capture and still burdened by concern over the charge of attempted murder she could face, Juliana felt so light she imagined she would float to the ceiling if not for Gabriel’s hands holding her here with him. Here where she belonged.

  She tipped her head back against his shoulder and met his blue gaze. “I thank you. A thousand times I thank you, Husband.”

  “It is Erec to whom gratitude is owed.”

  She set the missive on the table, turned and slid her hands around his neck. “And you, beloved blackheart.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Still you think my heart black?”

  She stretched up his length. “I do not, though it has many a shade of gray.” She wrinkled her nose. “But alas, grayheart is no fit for my virile warrior husband.”

  Gabriel stared into the face of the woman he could never have. And yet, he had her. No mere wish this. The Lord had provided a way out of their darkness, one clear of shadows now Alaiz was safe. Or nearly so.

  Though he had not told Juliana of Bernart’s threat to harm her sister were he to capture her, he had sent word to Erec of what had transpired so he would know that regardless of their sovereign’s intervention, the Baron of Tremoral remained bent on revenge.

  But Erec would ensure Alaiz was safely tucked away, and soon the sisters would be reunited. Then there would be other reunions, that with Blase who told he was fully recovered, and Arnault de Vere who wrote that his younger sons and he eagerly awaited Gabriel’s visit to Wyverly with wife and child.

  Gabriel touched his lips to Juliana’s. “Though in name only I shall be blackheart to you, in name only you shall not be my wife.”

  “Gabriel,” she sighed.

  By the light of scores of candles he had asked Lissant to set around the solar, he kissed Juliana and watched her as she watched him, seeing her as he had wished to see his night visitor when she came to him that second time.

  Then, when her silk chemise lay atop his tunic amid the rushes…

  When his eyes were acquainted with his wife from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet…

  When he swung her up in his arms and caught her cry of delight in his mouth…

  When he strode across the solar and laid her upon the bed…

  When he followed her down and spoke feverish words of love…

  When he breathed the loveliest in her ear, “Nevermore will you be missing from me…”

  They became one.

  Dear Reader,

  Since there are only so many hours in a day and far more books in one's to-be-read pile, I'm honored you chose to spend time with Lady Juliana and Sir Gabriel. If you enjoyed their love story, I would truly, sincerely, most fervently appreciate a review of Lady Betrayed at your online retailer—just a sentence or two, more if you feel chatty: Amazon

  Regarding Sir Erec, readers familiar with my Age of Faith series will notice over thirty years have passed since his father, Abel Wulfrith, wooed the lovely Helene of The Kindling. Will Sir Erec have his own story? It's not planned, but where the Wulfriths are concerned, I can't help myself. If you'd like to know more about the family that is the beat of my medieval heart, visit my website at www.tamaraleigh.com to preview the series. And for a peek at the seventh book—that of Lady Laura of The Yielding and Sir Lothaire of The Vexing—an excerpt of The Awakening is included here. Now to finish that tale for its winter 2017/18 release.

  Pen. Paper. Inspiration. Imagination. Here I come! ~ Tamara

  For new releases and special promotions, subscribe to Tamara Leigh’s mailing list: www.tamaraleigh.com

  EXCERPT

  THE AWAKENING: Book Seven (Age Of Faith)

  From USA Today Bestseller, Tamara Leigh, the seventh book in the AGE OF FAITH series features Lady Laura of THE YIELDING and Sir Lothaire Soames of THE VEXING. Releasing Winter 2017/18

  PROLOGUE

  Barony of Owen, England

  Spring, 1152

  Beware the Delilah, my son. Beware the Jezebel.

  That warning again, ever near though it did not belong in the space between this young woman and him. She was no Delilah. No Jezebel. Were she, his mother would not have chosen her for the heir of Lexeter.

  She was pure, younger than he, and only pretty enough to please him so he did not stray from vows exchanged a year
hence when she attained her fifteenth year and he his nineteenth. Only pretty enough to ensure those who sought to make a cuckold of him were not overly tempted to make a harlot of her.

  He nodded.

  She laughed. “If you are done conversing with yourself, Lord Soames…” She leapt in front of him and danced backward so he could maintain his stride. “…mayhap you would like to converse with me.”

  Lothaire scowled amid the embarrassment warming his face. “You are too expressive, Lady Laura.”

  She arched eyebrows above eyes so dark they might haunt did they not sparkle like stars on a moonless night. “You make that sound a bad thing. Fie on you! I shall not be ashamed I am pleased to see you again.” She bobbed her head forward. “And more so without your mother.”

  He halted. “What is wrong with my mother? You do not like her?”

  She stilled her own feet, clapped a hand over her mouth, and smiled on either side of it.

  The sight of her—so lovely and happy—made his heart convulse. And stirred his body as it should not. “Lady Laura!”

  She dropped her hand but not her smile. “Do not take offense, Lord Soames. I did not say I do not like her, severe though she is. I am simply pleased to be alone with you.”

  Only possible because the Lady of Lexeter had taken ill. Despite his mother’s attempt to sit the saddle, they had barely gained the drawbridge before she became so light of head she had to accept he alone would journey to visit his betrothed. Lothaire had been secretly heartened, her constant attendance making him feel like a boy—and certainly appear one.

  “As we are to wed,” Lady Laura continued, “we ought to know each other better, and now we can.” She threw her arms wide, dropped her head back, and whirled. “’Tis a beautiful day to fall in love!”

  Appalled yet entranced, he stared. Such frivolity had not been apparent six months past when his mother accompanied him to the barony of Owen to determine if the girl fostered by Lady Maude D’Arci would make a suitable wife.