Blackheart

by Tamara Leigh

  "I tell you, though," Bernart continued, "she is particular about where she makes love and will not allow you to take her against a wall."

  Gabriel doubted that. From what he'd seen in Nesta's eyes, where she opened her thighs was of no matter. Wondering how she fit with Bernart's scheme, Gabriel studied his old friend's face.

  Bernart looked across the hall. "Your chamber is on the second floor at the top of the stairs."

  It would be nice to sleep in a bed, as he had not done so for some time. And to satisfy this need. Knowing Bernart had previously enjoyed Nesta caused her to lose much of her appeal, though it usually did not bother him to bed a woman known to other men, but she would do. "I accept your offer."

  "I am pleased."

  Bernart staggered beneath the sting of Juliana's palm. He clapped a hand to his fiery cheek and met her accusing stare.

  "How could you?" She trembled with anger.

  She had been waiting for him, just as he had known she would, but had prayed she would not. He glanced at where Alaiz slept on a pallet at the foot of the bed, dismissed her presence, then stepped into the lord's solar. "You are acting the shrew, Juliana." He closed the door behind him. "What does it matter whom I choose?"

  "What does it matter?" As if it was all she could do to keep from striking him a second time, she clenched her hands. "After what he did to you? He abandoned you, turned others from your cause—"

  "You think I do not know that?" he roared.

  She flinched. "Then why would you give me to such a man? Why Gabriel De Vere?"

  Bernart stepped to the bed, keeping his back to her. "We are both dark."

  "There are others as dark."

  He cursed himself for offering so feeble an explanation. "As one of four sons, the male line is strong in him."

  " 'Tis as strong in others."

  Curse her! Why couldn't she simply do as told? Very well. "As it was Gabriel who took my sons from me, so shall I take one from him. 'Tis the least he owes me." There, it was said.

  "It is more than that. Tell me."

  Damn her for pushing so hard! Bernart swung around. "You hate him."

  Her eyes widened. "Of course I do. 'Tis all the more reason—"

  "Quiet!" He closed the distance between them. "You think I wish you to like the man for whom you lie down? Nay, I want you to despise him and everything he does to you—to come back to me without ridiculous notions of love lightening your head."

  Juliana stared at him, searching his face. "I see," she said quietly.

  At least she did not press him further—wring from him that which he could hardly admit to himself: for all of Gabriel's betrayal, Bernart admired his enemy. There was no man worthier of fathering his son.

  "You will hate any child he makes upon me," Juliana said.

  Would he? "I will not."

  "The child's veins will run with the blood of your enemy. Every time you look—"

  "I have decided!" Bernart started toward the door.

  Juliana put a staying hand to his arm. "Pray, Bernart, if you must ask this of me, choose another."

  Her expression tore him open. He swallowed. "Nay." Given a push, he thought he could drown in the tears flooding her eyes.

  She looked away. "You would have me go to him now?"

  Although it was as he'd planned, he shook his head. "Tomorrow eve."

  Her shoulders slumped. "How will you arrange it?"

  "I have given him Alaiz's chamber. Each night, until the conclusion of the tournament, you will go to him in darkness when all have taken to their beds."

  As simple as that, Juliana thought bitterly. Bernart would have her steal into Gabriel's bed in the dark of night. "And if he discovers 'tis me?"

  "He will not."

  "But if he does?"

  "Never will he guess it is you. He will think you merely an eager wench."

  A whore. Although Juliana was not inclined to vindic-tiveness, she found herself wanting to hurt Bernart as he hurt her. "And when Gabriel comes to me, what if I cry out and he recognizes my voice? What then, Bernart?"

  Angry color rushed his neck. "I trust you will control yourself."

  "I will try, but 'tis not as if I know what to expect, is it?"

  With an angry snarl, Bernart swept an arm back to strike her. He stopped his hand inches from her face.

  Juliana looked from his quaking palm to pained eyes. "I pray that what you gain will be worth the grief you cause us both," she said.

  He pushed past her and flung open the door.

  She stared at his retreating back. A sennight from now, all this would be in the past. But what of the future? Would it hold the son Bernart so badly wanted? A child whose very being would never allow her to forget what she had done to get him?

  She stood a long time pondering the years before her, then drew a deep breath. Whatever happened, she would endure it. As she reached to close the door, she heard footsteps. Knowing they were not the booted feet of a man and that it was too late for servants to be about, she peered into the corridor.

  Nesta. Reaching for the door to Gabriel's chamber.

  The implications curdled Juliana's stomach. It was terrible enough that tomorrow eve she must go to him, but so soon after he lay with another? Especially one as lewd as that wench? She stepped into the corridor. "What do you abovestairs?" she demanded.

  Nesta snatched her arm to her side. "M'lady! I..." She slid her gaze to Gabriel's chamber. "Just wanted to make certain yer guest was comfortable."

  As only Nesta could make him. Juliana had many times come upon the wench as she boasted to others of her lascivious trysts with men. Thus Juliana had learned of those things that happened between men and women, things she would have preferred not to know. "How kind of you. However, I am sure Lord De Vere is resting well—as you should be. There is much work to be done on the morrow."

  Resentment leaped in Nesta's eyes. "But of course, m'lady." She sauntered toward the stairs.

  When she was gone, Juliana let her tense shoulders fall. Nesta was not content with her place at Tremoral and never would be. The illegitimate daughter of a neighboring baron, she believed herself better than the other servants and let them know it at every turn. Thus, since being sent to serve at Tremoral two years ago, she'd proved herself a constant source of unrest. She complained incessantly, instigated quarrels, and was comfortably wanton. Not for the first time, Juliana considered sending Nesta to serve at one of the barony's lesser castles.

  As she turned in to her chamber, a thought struck her. She looked to the door behind which Gabriel De Vere slept. Had her husband provided for the possibility that there might be another woman in Gabriel's bed? That Nesta or some other wench might come to Gabriel when Juliana was with him? In the next instant she reminded herself that Bernart knew his old friend well. He was too determined to have a son to overlook such an obstacle. The only question was whether or not she could do what he demanded. Could she surrender her virtue to a man she detested? Could she lie beneath him and knowingly steal a child from his loins? Though she blamed Gabriel for Bernart's inability to father children, what they planned was wrong. Very wrong.

  She stepped into the lord's solar and closed the door. The torch, nickering its last breath, cast an eerie glow over the chamber and made beasts of shadows and movement from the stillness. Chill bumps rose across her skin. She rubbed her hands over her arms and glanced at the pallet where her sister's fair head shone against the dark blanket pulled over her.

  Alaiz had been asleep when Juliana had come above-stairs and, fortunately, had not awakened during the confrontation with Bernart. How had she whiled away the day? How had she filled the slow minutes that must have seemed hours? Resenting Bernart for refusing to allow Alaiz to attend the festivities for fear her infirmity would reflect ill on him, Juliana crossed to the bed and lay down.

  She fought the overwhelming need to vent her emotions, but in the end tears would not be denied. Just this once, she promised herself, then neverm
ore. As she turned her face into the pillow, the mattress gave on the opposite side of the bed. Realizing her restlessness had awakened Alaiz, she clenched her jaw, but it was no use. A convulsive sob escaped.

  Alaiz's arm came around her. "Do not cry, Juliana. All will be... well."

  Nay, it would not. "I know. You should return to your pallet." Although she would have liked for Alaiz to remain, if Bernart returned this eve he would be angered to discover her sister abed.

  Alaiz stroked Juliana's hair. "We could... leave."

  "Leave?" In that muddled world of Alaiz's, did she grasp Juliana's terrible predicament?

  "Aye, r-run away."

  For a moment, Juliana considered it, but they had nowhere to go. Though she might find a way to survive outside Tremoral's walls, it would be far too dangerous for Alaiz. Nay, she would give Bernart the child he demanded and, hopefully, life would resume its tedious pace. She wiped her eyes. "Surely you know we would not get far."

  Life flickered deep in Alaiz's eyes, revealed something of her lost self. "I... I have thought on it some." That, Juliana did not doubt.

  "If we c-cut our hair and don men's clothes, none would r-recognize us and we could... go from Tremoral forever."

  Whence had she conjured such an idea? Juliana forced a smile. "Such fantastic imagining, little sister." She patted Alaiz's hand. "Tremoral is our home—the only one we have. Here we shall stay."

  It was a long time ere Alaiz spoke again, and when she did it was as if Juliana had not rejected her solution to Bernart. "When you... leave, will you take me with you?"

  Though Juliana did not think it likely she would ever leave, she said, "Of course." She sat up and held her hand out to Alaiz. "Now come."

  Alaiz grasped Juliana's fingers, slid off the mattress, and lowered herself to the pallet.

  Although Juliana had every intention of returning to the great bed, she yielded to the need to be near another and lay down beside her sister.

  "You should not," Alaiz said. "B-Bernart will be angry if he finds you with me."

  Let him rage, Juliana decided. Let him curse and stomp his feet. If he wished her to do as he demanded, he must also pay a price. She pulled the covers over them. "Do not worry."

  "But—"

  "Go to sleep."

  Alaiz pillowed her head on Juliana's outstretched arm. Shortly, her breathing deepened.

  An hour later, Juliana was no nearer sleep.

  Chapter Three

  The early afternoon sun glinted off shirts of polished mail, made halos of helms settled upon warriors' heads, flashed across sword blades and the tips of lances, and lit the battlefield so brightly it was as if God had turned His face to it.

  A fantastic sight, even at a distance, but not without its dark side, Juliana thought as she traversed the edge of the wood. She'd attended several tournaments before her marriage and vividly remembered those who had fallen, never to rise again. Accidents were to blame for a number of their deaths, but there were also the personal vendettas fought under the guise of mock battle. If it were not that Bernart needed Gabriel for the son he believed would restore his manhood, this day he would likely seek his old friend's death. At least there was some good that might come—

  Nay! No good would come of what he demanded of her. None.

  "Slow down, Juliana," Alaiz said, gasping.

  Juliana looked around.

  Eyes bright, skin flushed, fair hair loosed from the braids Juliana had woven, Alaiz darted past a group of merchants bringing their wares to tournament. She was having difficulty keeping up, but not because the pace was too brisk. Rather, she kept pausing to stare at the spectacle, then had to run to catch up.

  She drew alongside Juliana. "You walk too... fast."

  "Else you pause too often," Juliana teased. She lifted the hood that had fallen to her sister's shoulders and draped it over her head. Although she no longer cared whether or not she angered Bernart—and for certain he would be furious to discover she'd brought Alaiz to the field—neither did she wish her sister to suffer the brunt of that anger. Better he did not see Alaiz or herself.

  Alaiz buried her nose in the flowers she had gathered along the way. Though they were wilted and their petals bruised from careless handling, she seemed not to notice. "They s-smell good," she said, and thrust them forward.

  Juliana breathed their fragrance. Aye, like the last of spring. When she looked up, she saw that the battlefield had once more captured Alaiz's regard. The ribbon of meadowland grass was dappled with cowslips that tossed their golden heads in the gentle breeze, but by the end of the day all that would remain would be muddied and trampled petals and stems.

  "Is it not..." Alaiz's brow creased with thought. "Woeful?" She shook her head. "Wonderful. Aye, 'tis wonderful!"

  The truth of this day that would too soon bring the night denied Juliana any happiness. Trying to put it from her, she looked to the knights, who were busy aligning themselves into opposing teams comprised of more than fifty men each. It would not be long before they clashed. As the tournament would become more brutal with each passing moment, Juliana decided they would not stay long. "Come," she said.

  As they started forward, one of the participants broke from the team on the north side of the field and spurred his mount toward the bordering wood.

  Juliana did not need to see the face beneath the helm to know it was Bernart. He must have recognized Alaiz when her hood had fallen. She pulled her sister against her side. "Say naught," she instructed.

  Twenty feet from where they stood, Bernart dragged on the reins. A clod of grass kicked up by his destrier struck Juliana's skirts. Alaiz took a step back, her fear of horses understandable.

  Reassuringly, Juliana squeezed her sister's arm.

  Around the nasal guard of his helm, Bernart glared at Juliana.

  She glared back. It was the first time she'd seen him since their angry exchange last eve. He had not returned during the night and had left the castle ere she had risen this morn.

  His breathing heavy, though more from emotion than exertion, she guessed, he leaned down from the saddle. "You defy me, Juliana."

  She pushed the hood off her head. "You are surprised?"

  "You know my feelings about this."

  "This" meaning Alaiz, whom he would not spare a sideways glance. "I do. Just as you know my feelings about what you ask of me."

  He flinched. "Damn you!"

  Feeling a tremor go through Alaiz, Juliana gripped her sister more tightly. "We will watch with the others." She nodded to the three ladies who were gathered upon their horses to observe the melee. Normally Juliana would also have ridden to the field, but it would have proven futile to try to coax Alaiz into mounting a horse. Thus they had walked more than a mile to witness the tournament.

  "You will return to Tremoral," Bernart said. "Now."

  Juliana shook her head. "Nay, but do you fear we shall cause you grief, I give you my word we will not."

  Albeit his face was shadowed by his helm, his florid color shone past it. "I could have you removed."

  "Aye, but 'twould appear quite unseemly, would it not?" Perhaps his anger would serve him well in battle, Juliana thought as it transformed his face further. "Your war games await you, husband."

  "You have not won, Juliana."

  She inclined her head. "For certain."

  His lids narrowed. "We will speak more on this tonight."

  Again, she dared. "Lest you forget, I shall be otherwise occupied."

  Whatever harsh words he intended to loose were arrested by the sound of approaching riders.

  Juliana turned. Two knights rode toward them, at the fore one whose proportions easily identified him, not to mention the hair spilling from beneath his helm. Gabriel De Vere had grown impatient.

  "God's blood!" Bernart cursed.

  Juliana's heart tripped with fear. She should never have left the castle. She should have spent these last hours on her knees praying Bernart would turn from his ungodly course.


  Gabriel and Sir Erec reined in.

  Outfitted in magnificent mail, and over that a bright yellow surcoat, Gabriel contrasted sharply with the unkempt man who had come into the hall last eve. He pinned Bernart with his pale gaze. "Are we here to do battle or chat, Lord Kinthorpe?"

  Bernart sat straighter in the saddle. "Careful lest your impatience spoils your aim, old friend."

  "I assure you, my aim is as true as ever."

  Bernart's mount snickered and pranced sideways. A cruel pull of the reins brought the animal under control.

  Did Gabriel sense Bernart's ire as strongly as did the destrier? Juliana wondered. Did Sir Erec? She glanced at the knight and found his gaze upon Alaiz. To her astonishment, he winked.

  Alaiz stiffened, as if surprised.

  "Let us tourney!" Bernart shouted. He spurred his mount across the battlefield.

  A look passed between Gabriel and Sir Erec as they guided their destriers around.

  "W-wait," Alaiz cried. In her haste to extricate herself from Juliana's side, the hood slipped from her head. She pulled a flower from the bunch and took a step toward Sir Erec, but that was all. She would go no nearer his horse. "F-for you."

  The knight reached forward and accepted the forlorn flower from her outstretched hand. "I thank you."

  She beamed, dragged another flower free, then turned to Gabriel. "And you."

  He stared at the young woman who offered it; then something flashed in his eyes. Recognition. He remembered the ten-year-old girl who had once been far older than her years. Alaiz had shunned her mother's attempts to impress the notion of courtly love upon her, had focused on reading, writing, reckoning, and discourse on the affairs of government upon which their father had thrived.

  That young girl would have extended a word of sage advice ere she would have proffered a flower. Now, however, it was Juliana who spent her days among books and the like, Alaiz who whiled away the hours singing songs of love to herself. It was as if they had traded lives.

  "You do not w-want it?" Alaiz asked in a small, sad voice.