by Tamara Leigh
She looked to Gabriel, then reluctantly pulled her hand from his and stepped up to the dais. "Your Majesty."
"Seek you an annulment?"
"I do."
Richard looked beyond her to Gabriel. "You would wed the lady and give her and the child your name?"
"It is my greatest desire, Your Majesty."
Richard reached for a chunk of cheese and flattened it between thumb and forefinger. "You love her?"
Though the king but amused himself, Gabriel said, "I do, Your Majesty."
Richard popped the cheese into his mouth and spoke around it. "It is good we like you, De Vere."
Did he? It was hardly evident.
"Very well, an annulment the lady shall have."
His blood warming, Gabriel bowed. "I thank you, Your Majesty."
"However"—Richard drew him back in, once more put strain to Gabriel's muscles—"we do not think it necessary that annulment be awarded on grounds of impotence." He looked to Bernart. "Consanguinity. Aye, that would be better, do you not agree?"
Bernart's gratitude shone dim. "There is no blood between Juliana and I, Your Majesty."
"Ah, but there will be—third cousins, we think... or perhaps fourth."
"But how—"
"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 he deemed unworthy. But in this Gabriel would not fault him.
Bernart bowed. "I am indebted, Your Majesty."
"This we know."
Bernart straightened.
"By first light you and your men will be gone from Mergot," the king said. "As for Faison, we shall deal with him." Richard tossed a hand up. "Your leave is granted— all of you."
"I thank you, Your Majesty," Bernart said. Withholding his gaze from Juliana and Gabriel, he started across the hall.
Gabriel turned, staring after Bernart. Something tugged at him. In spite of all, he felt no victory at having prevailed over Bernart. Indeed, sorrow settled within him.
Juliana gained Gabriel's side.
He looked down at her. There was a brightness to her eyes—a reflection of love and hope that made him long to take her in his arms, but at the moment those arms were filled with Gabrien. Too, there was something he must do. "Gabrien needs his mother," he said.
Smiling, she lifted him from Gabriel. "And his father," she said softly.
"Both," he agreed. "Take him abovestairs. I shall join you shortly."
Her gaze faltered. "You go to Bernart?"
"Aye, but I shall not be long."
She pressed a hand to his forearm. "Be of good care, Gabriel."
"I shall." Denying himself her mouth, he pivoted and traversed the hall.
"We shall require the lord's solar, Lady Juliana," he heard Richard call.
"Then you will stay the night, Your Majesty?"
"Perhaps."
"I shall see that the solar is made ready."
Gabriel halted at the doors, glancing behind to see Juliana begin her ascent of the stairs. When she was gone from sight, he stepped outside. Faison was there, staring out across the walls as if remembering when the castle and these lands were held by his family.
"Faison," Gabriel acknowledged as he stepped past.
Silence was the man's response.
As Gabriel descended the steps, he shouted for the villagers to ready themselves for their return home. A cheer went up as he made his way among the throng.
In the outer bailey, he overtook Bernart. "I would speak to you," he said as he drew alongside.
Bernart halted, then swung around. "You have what you want," he snarled. "What else is there?"
He has lost all, Gabriel reminded himself. "I but wish to say I would that it could have been different between us."
Bernart's lips twisted. "And I would that I had killed your brother."
Gabriel splayed a hand upon his sword, but stayed the desire to draw it. Nothing good would come of slaying him—though perhaps it was what he wished....
"Pity I did not sink the blade deeper," Bernart mused with a flash of teeth. "Pity I did not gut him."
The sword hissed from Gabriel's scabbard. Breathing harshly, he swept the point to his old friend's throat.
Bernart merely smiled. "Ah, but there is yet that idiot sister of Juliana's, isn't there?"
The threat rushed blood through Gabriel's veins, demanded he drive the blade home. And the desire trebled with Bernart's next words.
"Be you assured, friend, I shall find her and make of her many gifts for that whore who bore your bastard."
The blood fled Gabriel's hand upon the hilt. In all his years, was there anything he had wanted more than to spill Bernart's life? He glanced at his men upon the walls. They watched, waited—as did the king's men. Anything at all?
His heart stirred. Aye, Juliana and his child he wanted more. Did he run Bernart through, he would likely lose them. Which was as Bernart wished it.
Gabriel lowered his sword. "God help you, Bernart Kinthorpe," he said and pivoted. Feeling Bernart's gaze across the rubble, he returned his blade to its scabbard.
"Soon, old friend," Bernart called.
Gabriel clenched his hands, but did not falter as he crossed the inner drawbridge. The villagers closed around him when he stepped into the inner bailey. There were questions, and he welcomed them, for they set his thoughts from Bernart. All he answered ere returning to the donjon where King Richard roared at an expressionless Faison.
Gabriel crossed the hall and started up the stairs. First his ablutions and a change of garments; then he would go to Juliana. However, he had first to send from his chamber the maids set to readying it for the king. He commanded them to await without and closed the door.
Though by basin and hand towel he bathed away much of the battle, his search for a suitable change of garments was thwarted by the unopened missives that lay at the bottom of his chest. He stared at them, at their unbroken seals. He knew what message they contained—the same as the first and only one he'd read six months following his departure from the barony of Wyverly. Though the third son would be baron, Arnault De Vere longed to see Gabriel again, to reconcile, to be at peace with him.
Gabriel closed his eyes, for the first time in what seemed forever opening feelings he'd locked away that day of revelation, when he had thought all lost. Deny though he had his love for the man who'd set him aside, it ached within him. He had Juliana, Gabrien, a God who answered prayers, the people of Mergot, and a place in the world. If he could but forgive his father he would be free of the lonely, barren places of his heart.
He lifted his lids. Once his son was of a suitable age for travel, he would take Juliana and Gabrien across the channel to England. They would pause at Wyverly and come to know better the man from whose seed Gabriel had sprung. Then mayhap he would be healed whole. Of course, there was still Blase, whose injuries were unknown, and Alaiz, who would know death did Sir Erec fail to locate her. Much to do in England, but it would be done.
He chose a red tunic and russet hose. A few minutes later, he stepped into the chamber Juliana shared with Gabrien.
Juliana heard the creak of the door, and reveled in his coming. All was changed, their destinies made one. She turned from Gabrien's cradle.
Gabriel stood with his back to the door, a smile in one corner of his mouth.
Juliana ran forward and thrust herself into his arms.
He closed them around her, putting his face to her neck. "Juliana," he murmured.
She dropped her head back and met his fiery gaze. "Gabriel."
The smile made it to the opposite corner of his mouth a moment before he fit it to her lips.
She pushed fingers through his hair, cupped his scalp, delved. She was flying, like a many-feathered bird
whose wings knew no limits. As long as Gabriel soared with her, she needed no ground beneath her.
His tongue swept hers, lapped the underside, traced her teeth, circled her lips.
So sweet, so perfect. But then he loosed her mouth.
Hoping he would return to her, she held her eyes closed and levered to her toes.
"Juliana."
She groaned and opened her eyes. His smile was absent, in its place a gravity that put her heels back to the floor. "Gabriel?"
He sighed. "I thank you." She shook her head. "For?"
"For you... for Gabrien... for doing what I could not."
"Then I am forgiven for sending Sir Erec to the king?"
There was the smile she missed. "Most assuredly—providing you no more trifle with Richard's affections."
She laughed. "You noticed."
He growled. "Who could not?"
She drew a deep breath. "Ah, Gabriel, I am to be your wife."
"Wife," he repeated as if all the world were in that one word. He inclined his head. "And I your husband."
Though it might take months, perhaps a year for her marriage to be annulled, a thrill went through Juliana. "It could not be sweeter."
His eyebrows arched. "Could it not?" He swept her into his arms, carried her to the bed, and laid her back. "On that I differ, my lady."
She reached to him, but no sooner did he draw near than the babe wailed.
Gabriel stilled, then eyed the cradle. "Our son wishes something?"
Juliana pushed up on an elbow and looked to the little fists that shook above the cradle. "He does."
Frustration at the poorly timed interruption lined Gabriel's brow. "He is hungry?"
"Nay, he has been fed. That is the cry he makes when he desires to be held."
Incredulity leaped from Gabriel's frustration. "You know this?"
"Of course I do. I am his mother. As his father, you must learn these things too."
He grunted, pushed off the bed, and crossed to the cradle.
After a few moments, Gabrien ceased wailing.
"So," Gabriel said, "you hold me to my vow that your mother and I will not come together again till we are wed, eh, Gabrien?"
"Goo," the babe affirmed.
Gabriel chuckled. "I will wait." He lifted his son from the cradle. >•
The sight of them sent shivers through Juliana. Father and son. Son and father. Naught could keep them apart.
Gabriel settled the babe to Juliana's side, and lay down opposite.
She met his gaze over their son's head. "Never have I known such happiness."
He grasped her hand, carried it to his chest, and pressed it to the beat that was only for her. "Beloved Juliana."
She sighed. "Beloved blackheart."
Epilogue
July 1196
She was found. But not by Sir Erec. Though the missive was delivered of him, it told that Thierry Rievaulx held Alaiz. That news, though fearfully unwelcome, was somewhat lightened when it was related that Rievaulx had captured Alaiz two months earlier and that, though she was his prisoner, no ill had befallen her. Speculation put that the brooding baron was captivated by this one who was said to have murdered his brother. Could it be?
Hands trembling, Juliana set the missive on the table, smoothed it top to bottom, then read it again.
"She is well." Gabriel spoke from over her shoulder.
Juliana nodded. "At the time of this writing."
His hand touched her shoulder. "Sir Erec will keep near until we arrive in England."
A fortnight hence—providing summer did not abruptly turn to fall. Juliana dropped her head back, looking up at Gabriel where he stood behind her chair. How was it that fourteen days could suddenly seem a year? This past month she'd been light as air with news that the church had granted the annulment, throwing wide the door to marriage with Gabriel. But now to learn that Alaiz was Rievaulx's captive...
Gabriel leaned down and caressed his mouth across hers. "She will endure," he murmured.
"How know you that?"
He drew slightly back, arching an eyebrow. "Is she not your sister?"
She was, wasn't she?
Gabriel smiled. "All will come right, Juliana. This I vow."
Juliana met his smile, then reached up and laid a hand to his jaw. "Aye, it will, won't it?" It had come right for her and Gabriel. Somehow it would come right for Alaiz....
