Was it desire that made him hear passion in her words, when she spoke?
The mere sound of her voice made his manhood swell with want of her, while the image her words brought forth to fill his mind’s eye sent his pulse racing. Her body settled against him more fully, bringing her flush with him from waist to knees. “Let me…” He drank of her smooth, full lips, the tentative brush of her tongue at the corner of his mouth sending his heart soaring.
Julianna swept her hands from between them and up over his chest, halting when she reached the band of linen wrapped about his wound. “I wish you’d never come to harm, Will.” She bent and traced her lips along his collarbone, a caress meant to soothe—though it nigh sent Will to his knees. Sighing, she added, “Though then we’d never have met.”
Shouts rose from beneath the window, blended with the shrill sound of women’s voices raised in disagreement. Bleating sheep and squealing pigs added to the chaos, the noise pushing apart Will and Julianna as effectively as a cold downpour.
Eyes downcast, Julianna took a step back and leaned out the open window. “What—” Her voice, scratchy and weak, broke on the word. Will placed a hand on her shoulder, wanting to ease her from the fire of passion to the intrusion of the day-to-day world. He rubbed her back soothingly, but she ignored the supportive caress, cleared her throat and drew a deep breath. “What is going on down there?” she shouted. “Be silent and stay put, the lot of you! I’ll be down in a trice.”
Standing out of sight behind her, Will eased Julianna back into the room far enough that her passion-flushed face wouldn’t be apparent to the crowd assembled below. He’d seen calmer mêlées at a tournament, but no doubt the vision of their mistress in such obvious disarray would capture their attention faster than if he’d fired a flaming arrow into their midst.
He gathered Julianna’s tumbled hair together and swept it over her shoulders. “Wait a bit before you leave, milady, else ’twill be all too clear to them what we’ve been about.”
She laughed, a weak sound with little of amusement about it. “Of course. We wouldn’t want them to know their lady has been acting the lightskirt.”
Will reached out and caught her by the chin. “Nay, Julianna.” He captured her gaze with his, waning her to see the truth of his words. “Not a lightskirt—a noble lady. A desirable woman.”
“Noble ladies—” She made a derisive sound. “ Women don’t—”
Will’s chuckle cut her off. “Aye, love, they do. Once you’ve settled this conflict, I’d be happy to tell you—or show you—precisely what women and men do,” he offered. “Noble or otherwise.” He was glad to note that as he’d intended, his words brought a glint of true humor to her eyes.
An uneasy silence reigned in the bailey, but he doubted ’twould last much longer. Staying a few paces back from the window, he drew her near to press a kiss to her brow before stepping aside and giving her shirt a tug to straighten it. “Here, Julianna, now you’re fit for public view, with none the wiser that their warrior lady is also a woman of passion.”
She crossed the room, then paused by the door and glanced over her shoulder at him. Her cheeks were still flushed, Will noted, but from his words, not the residual of desire. He couldn’t mistake the teasing look she sent him. “Perhaps I am,” she agreed. “But I fear we must discuss the topic at another time.” Sending him a smile he could only describe as flirtatious, she turned and left the chamber, closing the door behind her with a snap.
Chapter Eleven
When Julianna approached the crowd of women and several men gathered in the bailey, she felt as though everyone could see exactly what she and Will had been doing upstairs. Indeed, she’d swear she could still feel the imprint of Will’s body against hers, while the heat of passion generated by their kisses made her all too aware of her body in a way she’d never been before—a way that she recognized as feminine, a woman’s recognition of man, of the need to mate.
Nay, Julianna, you weren’t standing that close to the window. No one saw you. ’Tis guilt alone making you feel as though your every thought and action are written plain upon your face—and your body—for all to observe.
Nonetheless she reached for the strings lacing the neck of her shirt, tying them into a firm knot in the hope of hiding the tide of heat she felt moving up her throat to her face at the mere thought of Will. Thankfully she’d bound her breasts snugly with the linen band, else her thin shirt would likely have made their recent—and unceasing—alertness quite apparent. Unfortunately recalling the evidence of Will’s own “alertness” made her body heat more.
She’d not calm herself by thinking of him, ’twas certain!
Pausing a moment on the fringe of grass encircling the dusty bailey, she sought to collect herself; if she kept on in this manner, she’d soon be as mindless and coy as a giddy maid! She’d seen it happen often enough. A bare hint of attention from a man and the woman suddenly became a simpering ninny, unable to think, to perform the simplest tasks….
Until recently, she’d never have believed ’twould be a difficulty she would be forced to endure.
For her, ’twas a state to be avoided at all costs. She dared not succumb to any man’s temptation, if that would be the result!
“Lady Julianna!” a woman cried from within the group gathered before her. Jolted from her reverie, Julianna noted that the mob had begun to grow restive while she hesitated, though she knew she’d not stood there for too long with her mind wandering.
Still, they’d begun to shift restlessly, muttering amongst themselves, though they’d not yet returned to their previous din. However, the expressions on some of the women’s faces looked mean and angry. She’d best intervene now, before they had the chance to work themselves back into a frenzy.
With a skill born of practice, she settled her features into the face of command and approached the throng with confident strides. They parted readily enough to allow her into their midst, though their chatter took longer to fade away.
She waited till they quieted. “What’s amiss?” she asked. “I cannot imagine what could account for such a commotion! By our Lady, a gaggle of geese on their way to the slaughter would have made less of a commotion than the lot of you.”
One last person blocked her view of the center of attention—Diccon, one of the younger men-at-arms, stood fast, stubborn resolve written on his slender countenance. However, he obeyed when she motioned for him to move aside, leaving her face-to-face with Mary, the maid who had ignored Julianna’s summons to help the night she’d brought Will to Tuck’s Tower.
Mary’s gown hung loose off one shoulder and was twisted about her generous body. Dust and muck streaked the faded wool, and her dirt-stained cheek bore the unmistakable mark of fresh horse dung, clods of which lay spattered on the ground around her. She clutched a small, crumpled bundle of fabric tight to her bosom, her pretty features drawn just as rigidly into an expression of fear. “Milady, please don’t let ’em do any more! They were goin’ to stone me ’less I leave Tuck’s Tower this very day an’ don’t come back. I’ve done nothin’ to ’em, and I got nowhere to go,” she added before lowering her face into the mass of fabric and sobbing quietly.
“What is the meaning of this?” Julianna demanded, stepping nearer to the woman and lending her the protection of her authority. The crowd shifted until they faced Mary and Julianna, the men gathered off to one side, the women to the other. They’d arrayed themselves before her like two troops of combatants ready to do battle—no doubt an accurate assessment, to judge by their expressions.
Joan, one of the older kitchen maids, stepped forward. “We do want her gone from here, milady,” she said, her jaw held at a challenging angle and her hands fisted upon her scrawny hips. “Today. She’s up to no good, She’s been nothin’ but trouble since she got here, and it’s past time we did somethin’ about it.”
Several of the other women in the crowd nodded their agreement, while two of the men standing near the front shifted their fe
et in the dust and wouldn’t meet Julianna’s gaze.
Though she assumed she knew where this conversation was headed, Julianna simply looked at them expectantly. “Is that so?”
“Aye, milady,” Joan said with a decisive nod. “Up to no good she is—we’ve known that from the time she came here. ’Tis common knowledge.”
“What does ‘up to no good’ mean?” Julianna asked, biting back a groan of aggravation. Why must they decide to fight each other now, when lack of sleep had deprived her of any patience to deal with them?
Hadn’t they anything else to do to occupy themselves? Fields to tend, weapons to repair, animals to care for? Lord knew she’d tasks enough! “Have you caught Mary stealing? Fouling our well? Poisoning our sheep?” She placed her hand on her knife hilt and took a step forward; Joan’s tone and attitude were so self-righteous that the old besom deserved to feel the threat of her mistress’s annoyance. “Have you found her consorting with our enemies?”
Mary moaned and huddled more deeply into the bundle of cloth.
“Nay, not our enemies, Lady Julianna,” another of the women cried. “’Tis our men! She’s been consortin’ wi’ our sweethearts, the sneakin’ harlot. From the time that strumpet came wigglin’ her arse through the gates, she’s done nothin’ but tease ’em an’ toy with ’em till she has her way. Now that they’ve got her to see to ’em whenever they want, they’ll have nothin’ to do wi’ decent women,” she added, her voice rising to an annoying whine.
The other women seemed to take this as their cue to all air their grievances at once, making it impossible for Julianna to understand their words, though their meaning was clear enough. “Is that so?” She didn’t attempt to hide her disdain at so ridiculous a claim. While she herself had always considered Mary to be a shameless wench, she doubted any woman had the desire—or the vigor—to bed so many men!
Nor could she bed them all at once.
Could she?
Julianna thrust that disquieting thought aside and turned to Mary. Whatever the woman had been doing with the men, ’twas doubtful she deserved to be stoned and cast from their gates—Julianna’s prior angry thoughts about the maid’s behavior notwithstanding.
She laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder, still aquiver from her crying. “Here now, we’ll not resolve anything with you hiding away, Mary. Straighten up and show your face. They’ll not harm you while I’m here to protect you.”
“But what about when you’re gone, milady?” Mary spoke quietly, not bothering to do more than slightly lift her head. “They’ll only wait until later, then find some other way to get me. They always do.”
The maid’s calm tone made it clear she expected nothing different. What must it be like to simply presume you’d be abused, to accept that abuse as though it was your due? As the beloved daughter of Tuck’s Tower, no one had ever dared threaten Julianna personally, and while she’d not always had her way, she’d found it an annoyance, nothing more serious than that.
“Nay—we’ll put an end to this right now,” Julianna told her, her tone firm.
Mary raised her head. Tears had smeared the filth on her face, making her appear even more messy and miserable than before. She seemed to have folded in upon herself as well, becoming a vulnerable and confused child-woman brought to face an angry mob, rather than the aggressive rebel Julianna had assumed her to be from her previous actions.
“Come, calm yourself.” Julianna snatched at the trailing corner of Mary’s bundle and carefully wiped at the dust and filth smearing the maid’s face. The simple action seemed to startle Mary so much that she remained motionless until Julianna finished.
Not so a mottled blotch marred Mary’s smooth skin, Julianna marveled, and Mary’s eyes, tear-dewed though they were, bore no trace of red from her crying. Especially compared to the angry women facing them, Mary did appear a sight to tempt a man. ’Twas easy to see why the others resented her—for her looks alone!—whether or not she’d done what they accused her of.
“Thank ye, milady,” Mary whispered. She squared her shoulders and straightened as Julianna had bid her. Evidently heartened by her mistress’s support, the maid smiled. ’Twas a wobbly attempt, but at least the wench had ceased her crying, Julianna noted wryly. Mary drew in a deep breath, an act which made her bosom threaten to spill from her loose bodice, and elevated her gaze, and her chin, in a challenging pose. She tugged her gown into place and fixed her stare on the group of women.
“No more sniveling or whining,” Julianna warned. “Or accusations, either. We cannot all stand about wasting time.” She glanced at the two factions, not bothering to hide her displeasure. “Let’s put an end to this here and now, so we can all go about our business.”
Diccon stepped a little away from his fellows and cleared his throat. “Don’t ye worry none, Mary. We’ll see to it they leave ye alone, just like we always do.” He glanced around the group, his gaze lingering on Joan and another, slightly younger woman who stood nearby. They glared back at him. “The miserable old witches are just jealous o’ you, ’tis all.”
Interesting. Julianna hadn’t considered that there could be any other reason for Mary to spend most of her time in the men’s barracks besides the obvious one that she was spreading her…favors…among the men.
She doubted ’twas as innocent as the young soldier made it sound, though after Diccon had spent the past few years training and living with the rough lot of men-at-arms who made up her guard, she didn’t imagine him to be an innocent, either.
Especially as he’d grown up in the village among the earthy and opinionated survivors of her father’s old band of outlaws.
He turned to Julianna, his expression so earnest she immediately revised her previous assumption. “We been keepin’ an eye on her, milady, so’s they’ll leave her be. At least wi’ us she’s safe from their pinchin’ and proddin’ and spiteful ways.” He pointed to the bandage tied about his upper arm, the white linen vivid against the sleeve of his grimy brown jerkin. “In return, she fixes us up when we need it.”
“I’ll wager she ‘fixes’ ye all right, Diccon,” a woman in the back of the group quipped. “Though I don’t imagine the hurt she fixes is anything ye’d want a bandage tied ‘round.’ O’ course, I could be wrong.”
That conjured up an interesting image in Julianna’s mind, though the man her imagination brought forth was tall, blond and handsome—and had nothing whatsoever to do with Diccon. Still, the remark had been funny; she bit back a snort of amusement, for she doubted ’twould serve for her to join in the chorus of laughter that met that observation.
Still, she couldn’t help but be glad of the comment, for even some of the women appeared distracted from their previous fury.
Julianna realized who’d spoken, for she recognized the voice. ’Twas Trudy, a laundry maid well-known for her wit. Not surprisingly, humor had brightened Trudy’s voice; Julianna had never seen her without a smile on her face. Why the usually merry woman had joined the outraged gathering was a mystery, however.
Diccon’s face reddened, but he laughed. “Ye never do know, Trudy,” he replied. “Though we most likely shouldn’t be talking like this in front of Lady Julianna. Beg pardon, milady.”
His words made her feel almost an interloper. A sudden need to be gone beset her; it began to seem as though they’d stood here in the bailey forever. She’d no patience left to act as mediator, or for much else, if truth be told.
Julianna glanced around, taking note of the stable boys raking the bare ground as they sought to appear busy while watching the commotion. Peering up, she saw a cluster of weavers at the wide window of the solar. The women stood packed together as tight as the threads they should have been weaving, staring avidly down into the bailey rather than working productively at their looms.
Her annoyance mounting, she shifted her gaze to the window below the solar, where she could see that Will had remained a part of their audience as well.
For some reason that fact forced he
r temper from impatient to foul.
“Mary, Joan, Diccon, Trudy—come with me.” She snapped out the words, her sharp tone eliciting a few startled looks. “As for the rest of you, I’m sure you’ve better things to do. I suggest you go and do them.” Julianna barely paused to be certain they’d obeyed her before turning on her heel and heading for the stairs leading into the hall.
She led the four of them into a small chamber off to the side of the hall, closing the door with an uncharacteristic snap. The sound jarred her from the fog of edginess and annoyance dogging her, bringing with it an embarrassed sense that she’d suddenly begun to behave like an impatient brat.
What was wrong with her? she wondered as she crossed the room and eased herself onto the wide seat beneath the window. She’d always had a temper—who did not, after all? But she’d not been one to inflict her ill humor on others, nor to treat her people so poorly as she feared she just had done. Guilt rising, she motioned for the others to sit on the bench alongside the wall facing her.
They positioned themselves just as Julianna expected; Diccon and Trudy in the middle, with Joan on one side of them, Mary on the other.
Hopeful that this arrangement indicated that no additional fighting would take place for the moment, Julianna closed her eyes, dragged a hand through her hair and worked to regain her good sense.
“Milady, are you all right?” Diccon asked.
Before Julianna’s weary and confused brain could conjure up an answer for him, a burst of laughter made her eyes pop open.
“Of course she’s not, you dolt!” Trudy jabbed her elbow into Diccon’s side. “’Tis clear enough to me. Can’t you see what’s ailin’ her?”
“Enough o’ that, wench.” Diccon moved Trudy a handbreadth away with a gentle nudge. “See what? You don’t look sick, milady,” he assured Julianna with what was no doubt meant to be encouragement.
“I didn’t say she was sick,” Trudy told him, winking. “Ailing, I said. ’Tis not the same at all, if you know what I mean.”
Bride of the Tower Page 8
