Blackheart

by Tamara Leigh

  His harsh words injured her nearly as much as Gabriel's. A priest Blase De Vere might be, false or otherwise, but he was not to be underestimated.

  With a snap of the reins, he urged his mount forward, leaving her alone once more.

  She drew a deep breath to counter the tears stinging her eyes, and swallowed the emotion tightening her throat. She would not cry. No matter what cruel words were spoken against her, she would keep her head up—and her eyes open, should Gabriel close his.

  From the darkness of her tent, Juliana peered past the campfire to the larger tent Gabriel had erected for himself. No light shone from within. Was he inside? Though minutes earlier she'd heard him bid his men good eve, she had not made it to the tent opening soon enough to verify the large tent as his destination.

  She swept her gaze back to the fire. Blase and a soldier sat before it talking quietly between themselves, while five others slept upon the ground—including Gabriel's squire, who snored before the entrance to his lord's tent. That meant Gabriel had set the other three to guard the camp.

  She bit her lip. Was this the opportunity she hoped for? More important, if she did not take it, would there be another? Perhaps, but if not, she would have to get past far more than three men-at-arms once they arrived at Mergot.

  Decided, she sat back and waited. A half hour later, there was still no sign of Gabriel. He was in the tent, then. Asleep. As for Blase and the other man, they had also put down for the night. It was time.

  She moved to the back of the tent and began prying at a corner. It was firmly staked, but persistence finally loosened it. She lifted the canvas and looked ahead, left, right. All was still, but it was at least ten yards without cover to the wood. She could make it, providing she was careful not to rouse the men who slept around the fire. And of those who guarded the camp? Hopefully they were more heedful of those who might try to attack than of one trying to escape.

  Juliana touched the pouch at her waist. As Gabriel had not objected when she'd told him she preferred to take her meal in the tent, she'd been able to hide away enough bread and cheese to satisfy her hunger a day or more. As for coin, if needed she would sell her jeweled girdle and wedding ring.

  She crawled from beneath the canvas and, once outside, sat back on her heels and looked around. The night was still. She pulled the hood of her mantle over her head and cautiously rose to her feet. A few moments later, she gained the cover of the wood.

  Her back to a tree, she searched the dark. Though there was enough moon to light her way, there was not enough to distinguish the figure of a man from that of the surrounding wood. Any one of the shadows could be Gabriel's men. She would have to proceed slowly.

  She chose her footing carefully as she slipped from tree to tree. The snap of a twig caused her heart to speed, the crackle of fallen leaves snagged her breath, but she pressed on, assuring herself she would soon be out of range of Gabriel's men. Still, that would not be the end of it. Once she was discovered missing, Gabriel would give chase. She only prayed her absence would go unnoticed until the dawn, when she would be well away.

  Gabriel peered closer. It was no woodland sprite come out to make mischief upon the night. It was Juliana.

  Hair escaping her hood, the skirts of her bliaut visible beneath her mantle, she darted amongst the trees. His anger rose. He had believed her wiser than to attempt such foolishness. After all, not only was she without resources in an unfamiliar land, but she was with child. His child. Cursing beneath his breath, he set after her. With his long-reaching stride, he quickly gained on her, but rather than overtake her from behind, he circled wide and placed himself in her path. "Seems you are not resolved to your fate, after all," he said.

  With a choked gasp, she stumbled to a halt. Eyes wide, face pale, the foolish woman stared. Then she did something more foolish. She turned and ran.

  Gabriel lunged after her and, moments later, caught her around the waist.

  She cried out, flailed, somehow unbalanced him. Fortunately he had enough foresight to turn his shoulder and take the brunt of the fall. As he lay on his back struggling to control his anger, there was silence; then Juliana began to writhe. She pried at his arm around her, strained, but to no avail. When she finally stilled, Gabriel sat up. " 'Tis over," he said, and released her.

  She scrambled off his lap and landed on all fours. As if intending to flee again, she started to rise.

  "Do not!" he warned. "You have been foolish enough for one night."

  She met his gaze through the hair flung across her face. It was a long moment before she accepted her fate, but when she did, it was not lightly. "A pox upon you!" she said in a hiss.

  A pox. There were worse things with which to be cursed. He stood and brushed the debris from his tunic and hose. "You surprise me, Juliana."

  She sat back and swept the hair from her eyes. "You truly believed I would not try to escape a man who has stolen me from my home and husband?"

  He braced his hands on his hips. "Truly, I did not expect you would put the babe at such risk. In the future I must not forget that the child you took from me is but a means of securing your place at Tremoral." It was too dark to be certain, but he thought pain flickered across her face.

  She straightened. "I say it again: 'tis not your child. Hence he is at greater risk do I remain with you."

  Gabriel narrowed his gaze on her. "You think it a boy?"

  Her laughter was forced. "A boy... a girl... it does not matter. Either way, the child is Bernart's. His heir."

  "No more." He reached to take her arm.

  She drew back. "I will escape you."

  "And I will bind you hand and foot for the duration of your pregnancy, if needs be. The choice is yours."

  Though loathing shone from her eyes, her jaw quivered.

  "Which is it to be?" he pressed. He felt her struggle as if it were his own.

  "Very well," she acceded with a thrust of her chin, "no more attempts shall I make to escape."

  "Your word, Juliana."

  Her jaw clenched, and her mouth tightened. "I vow I shall do naught until my husband comes to free me."

  Ignoring that last utterance, Gabriel stepped forward, gripped her arm, and parted her mantle. A pouch was suspended from her girdle. Doubtless there was food within, but no coin. "How did you intend to pay for passage to England?"

  She stared past his shoulder.

  As she would have it. Consideringly, he lifted the ends of her girdle. They were threaded with gold beads, several of which were set with small jewels. "Remove your girdle."

  She moved her gaze to his. "For what reason?"

  "Lest you forget our bargain and think to use it for trade."

  She shook her head. "You have my word."

  "Even so, I will also have the girdle—whether you surrender it or I take it from you."

  Her pale cheeks darkened, but she didn't argue further. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, unfastened the girdle, and thrust it and the pouch of food at him.

  He took them. "And your ring as well."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but in the next instant began working the ring from her finger. It was tight, but finally slid free. She dropped it in his outstretched palm.

  Gabriel closed his fingers around the symbol of her marriage to Bernart. Now she truly belonged to him. He spread the drawstring of his purse and dropped the gold band atop the coins.

  "You are satisfied?" Juliana asked.

  He looked back. Indignation was evident in the set of her face—more, in her sharply drawn breath that caused her breasts to rise and fall against the material of her bodice. As he stared at her, his loins stirred. For all her treachery, still she quickened his blood. The dark was a dangerous place to be with Juliana Kinthorpe. "I am satisfied," he said, and motioned her to precede him. "Come, 'tis late."

  Head high, she stepped past him.

  Less than a quarter hour later, Gabriel tossed back the flap of her tent. "Sleep well, Juliana. Tomorrow, Mergot.
"

  Without a word, she bent and stepped inside.

  Beneath the regard of Blase and the men who'd roused from their sleep, Gabriel strode to the back of the tent, pulled the loose comer taut, and restaked it. "Killen!" he called.

  The burly soldier stepped from the fire. "My lord?"

  "It seems Lady Isolde is in need of a keeper. You will stand watch over her for the remainder of the night." "Aye, my lord."

  Gabriel looked to his brother. "Blase, you will guard the northern perimeter of the camp." That area which Gabriel had covered until Juliana had blundered into it.

  Blase nodded, adjusted his sword belt, and turned away.

  Gabriel strode to his tent, stepped past his bleary-eyed squire, and dropped the flap. Other than removing his sword belt, which he placed beside his bedding should it be needed, he did not undress. He lay down and stared at the darkened ceiling of the tent. It was a long while before he closed his eyes, but when he did, he was visited by visions of Juliana—her arms reaching for him, peaked breasts beckoning his mouth, fair skin flushed from love-making. Aching, he opened his eyes. Damn the witch! Damn her for affecting him so when all he wanted was his child! Naught else. The morn could not come soon enough.

  Castle Mergot. Like a specter, it rose against the darkening sky, stinging Juliana with fear. She gripped the reins tighter as she stared at the prison that awaited her. As evidenced by the great number of torches set about the walls—within and without—they were expected. Still, in spite of the glow, it was difficult to determine much about the castle other than its immense size, but soon she would see for herself that which she had no desire to look upon.

  As she urged her mount to keep pace with Gabriel's, her thoughts turned to Bernart. It was three days since she'd been stolen from Tremoral. Had word of her absence reached him in London? Providing he was still at court when the news was sent, that he had not ranged farther afield, it was likely he was now on the road to Tremoral. By tomorrow, or the day after, he would be home.

  Juliana imagined his raging and prayed Alaiz would not fall prey to it. What would Bernart do? Where would he begin searching for her? Would he guess it was Gabriel who'd taken her? If so, in a fortnight or less he would speed his army over this same ground. Then there would be bloodshed. For the child that would prove his manhood, he would strike down all, and neither the Church nor King Richard would reprove him for making war upon one who'd stolen his wife.

  Would Gabriel fight to the death for the seed planted in her womb? Would he denounce her for what she'd done to gain it? She was struck by that last thought. What she feared, Bernart might also fear, and more. Though he surely knew she would hold his secret for fear of retaliation against Alaiz, if Gabriel were to appeal to the king, Bernart might have to prove himself capable of fathering children. Would he risk the truth of his emasculation to reclaim her?

  She returned her gaze to the looming castle. If Bernart did not ride on Mergot, it was likely she would not be coming out for a long time. Which would be best, really, for then there would be no bloodshed, and only she would be made to suffer. Beneath her mantle, she pressed a hand to her belly. Although she had not wanted to bear this child, the thought of losing it, of never holding it, tore her. Of course, once it was born she might return to her sister. Would Bernart accept her back? It did not matter. All that mattered was that no ill befall Alaiz during her absence. "Please, God," she whispered, "keep her safe."

  A movement beneath her hand, little more than a flutter, made her catch her breath. It was the first she had felt. Emotion piercing her heart, pricking her eyes with tears, she pulled her hand away. Though it would be increasingly difficult over the next five months, she must distance herself from the life within. Otherwise the pain that awaited her would be tenfold greater when Gabriel took the babe from her.

  She looked ahead to where he was silhouetted against the lit castle. Only a man of no heart could do what he intended. She squeezed her eyes closed. She was tired. Unable to sleep on the night past after Gabriel had thwarted her plans for escape, and since dawn forced to keep pace with him and his men, she felt near to collapsing. In fact, it would be so easy to fall asleep in the saddle. Fearing the fall that would result, she forced her eyes open. A short while later, she guided her horse onto the drawbridge behind Gabriel.

  The outer wall of the castle looked solid. In fact, several sections had been recently repaired, as evidenced by the different shades of stone. It seemed Gabriel was prepared in the event Bernart came calling.

  Upon entering the outer bailey, Juliana corrected herself. The outer wall would have to be strong, for the inner wall enclosing the donjon was badly damaged. Scaffolding was erected around it and restoration had begun, but it would be many months before the work was completed. In the interim, if attackers made it past the first bastion of defense, the donjon would be theirs. Of course, judging by the number of soldiers who manned the outer wall, such conquest would be hard-won.

  A few moments later, Juliana passed over the inner drawbridge and got her first look at the donjon. It was imposing, but also in need of repair. Whoever had resisted

  King Richard's return to rule had held out until the end. Had the man given his life for a lost cause? The lives of those who served him? Likely. A man's possessions, de-* served or otherwise, were of far more import than human life.

  Juliana reined in before the steps of the donjon. At the landing above, a dozen or more servants waited to receive their lord. Before them stood one whom Juliana recognized immediately—the handsome Sir Erec. Until that moment, she had not questioned the reason he hadn't accompanied Gabriel to Tremoral, but likely he had remained at Mergot to administer the barony in his friend's absence.

  "Come."

  Juliana looked beside her. Gabriel stood with arms raised to receive her from her mount. She drew a deep breath, then glanced at the donjon. Once inside, would she be allowed without? Or was she to be denied the out-of-doors for the duration of her pregnancy? She recalled Gabriel's words of yesterday. He had said Isolde Waltham had the freedom to move within the donjon, but naught about whether she was to be confined to it

  " 'Tis only five months," Gabriel said, as if inside her thoughts.

  She turned her gaze to him. "Does the babe comes early. Otherwise six."

  His lids narrowed. "Put away your lies, Juliana." His words were too dangerously soft for any but her to hear. 'They have no place at Mergot."

  "Nor do I."

  So swiftly she did not have time to evade him, he gripped her arms and lifted her down beside him. Juliana jerked her head back to meet his anger. " 'Tis true you have no place here," he said between his teeth, "but until you have returned that which belongs to me, we will have to suffer one another."

  How she wished to lash out at him, to injure his pride, to pain him as he pained her.

  He must have seen it in her eyes. "I warn you, Juliana, bedevil me and your days here will be long and not a little uncomfortable."

  She quelled her anger, though not so much that he might think her defeated. "Lest you forget, the name is Isolde, and my prison awaits."

  A mocking smile curved his mouth. "My lady." He slid a hand to her elbow and turned her toward the steps.

  As much as Juliana resented his touch, it proved necessary. Not only were the stone steps pitted and, in places, missing rather large pieces, the deceptive shadows cast by the torches made the climb treacherous. On her own, it was not likely she would have made it to the landing without mishap.

  Sir Erec was the first to step forward. "I welcome your return. Lord De Vere."

  "All is well?"

  "Aye, and quiet."

  "Good." Gabriel drew Juliana forward. "Sir Erec Sin-ward, I present Lady Isolde Waltham. Lady Isolde, Sir Erec."

  Not a flicker of surprise, as if he knew well the reason for Juliana's presence at Mergot. He inclined his head. "Lady Isolde."

  Juliana looked past the knight to the household servants who regarded her with in
terest.

  "Lady Isolde will be residing at Mergot for the next five months," Gabriel said.

  Sir Erec smiled. "A pleasure, my lady."

  He lied well, since he could not possibly find enjoyment in receiving the one who'd deceived his friend.

  "It has been a long day," Gabriel said. "Let us go within."

  Sir Erec stepped aside.

  The servants murmured greetings to their lord as he ushered Juliana past them.

  As she stepped over the threshold, she wrested her awareness from the man at her side and looked to the hall. Though it was nearly as large as Tremoral's and bore the signs of past grandeur, it was in a shabby state. Where tapestries must have once hung, the walls were scarred and, in several places, blackened as if by fire. The rushes were scarce underfoot, as were the tables, benches, and sideboards scattered around the great room. A canvas was stretched taut over what must be a hole in the far wall, but though it was surely meant to keep out the night air, it was less than effective. The resultant draft tugged at Juliana's hair, nipped at her ankles, caused the fire in the hearth to spark and sputter.

  Would the castle rise again with Gabriel? Not if Bernart—

  "Hardly Tremoral," Gabriel said, halting in the middle of the hall, "but it will suffice for the short time you are here." -

  She pulled her arm from his grasp. "My chamber is abovestairs?"

  "It is."

  'Then that is where I would like to withdraw for the night."

  "After you have eaten."

  The thought of spending another moment in his presence, of enduring the castle folk's scrutiny, of stomaching even a morsel was too much for her. So much she lowered her pride. "Pray, Gabriel, allow me my rest. 'Twas a day long and hard."

  From the set of his eyes, she feared he meant to refuse her, but he surprised her. "Very well. I will show you to your chamber." He strode to the stairs.

  Juliana followed. Unlike the stone steps outside, the stairs were smooth and even, seemingly untouched by the siege. It was the same abovestairs, so different that she wondered if she'd imagined the shabbiness of the hall.