Bride of the Tower

by Schulze, Sharon

  She unlatched the door. It swung open easily, and she stumbled through the portal, nearly tripping over Will as he levered himself up off the floor.

  He caught hold of her and steadied her on her feet.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded in a weak voice. She tried to pull away from him, but her head spun and she swayed into him.

  “What’s wrong?” Will caught her about the waist and held her upright. “Are you ill?”

  She shook her head, an action she regretted at once. “No. Just tired.”

  His blue eyes full of concern, he scanned her face. “You are ill! Let me help you onto the bed, then I’ll get one of the women to take care of you.”

  Julianna caught his arm and stopped him before he could try to pick her up. “Don’t!” Jesu, was he as foolish as she? If he managed to get her off her feet, they’d both end up flat on the floor. “I can walk. Just help me to the bed.”

  She had to close her eyes to block the sharp light streaming into the room, but she made it across the room with Will’s assistance. The soft mattress was an island of calm in a turbulent sea; she sprawled facedown upon it with a sigh of relief.

  “Should I call for Dora, or one of the other women?” Will asked. He sat beside her and smoothed her hair out of the way, the stroke of his hand a balm to ease away her pain.

  “No, no one,” she whispered. “I don’t want them to know.”

  “Not know that you’re ill? I would assume that even the mighty Lady Julianna d’Arcy is permitted to rest, or to take the time to recover when she’s ill.”

  She reached for his hand where it rested beside hers on the bed. “You don’t understand.” She paused to collect her thoughts. Did she dare reveal to a stranger—for Will was a stranger to her—the facts she’d not admitted to anyone else at Tuck’s Tower? “’Tis a secret, one I’d rather not tell anyone here.”

  “If you’re willing to let me leave, I’ll not be here much longer myself, Julianna. I have things I must do, duties I’ve already delayed too long.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm, then closed her fingers over it. “But if you’ll trust me with your secrets, I vow I’ll not reveal them to another soul. And if you need my help, I promise that once I’ve fulfilled my obligation to my overlord, I will return to Tuck’s Tower and assist you in any way I can.”

  She could feel her remaining strength fading. What should she do? ’Twas so difficult to decide, to know who to trust…. Though she and Will hadn’t spoken of it, she knew in her heart that he was no ally of Richard Belleville’s. Nor did he seem to find anything strange about a noble-woman ruling a keep.

  If she must confide in a man, ask his help, she didn’t know of anyone else to confide in.

  Starting with her current malady.

  Will could see the play of conflicting emotions in Julianna’s wan face. In truth, he didn’t know how she was able to converse at all. Though her voice sounded slurred and her speech was slow, still she struggled to make him understand.

  He didn’t know why she was so determined to hide her illness from her own servants, but she was not one to do anything without a reason. He’d help her in any way he could.

  He bent to place a kiss on her brow. “Will you trust me, milady? I vow I’ll never betray you.”

  Her hand firm in his, Julianna nodded. “Thank you, Sir William,” she said formally, her tone and their words bringing to mind an oath of fealty.

  “Thank you for your confidence,” he whispered.

  Before he could say more, Julianna’s eyes rolled back and her hand went limp in his grasp.

  Dear God, he’d just promised he’d not tell anyone about this.

  Now what should he do?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Birkland

  Sir Richard took a last look at the square of parchment in his hand before crumpling the letter and tossing it in the fire. Damned fools! Always putting their plots and plans in writing, where they might come back to haunt them later.

  He’d have kept the missives himself, as possible protection in the future, if not for the fact that the messages contained too much that could incriminate him, as well.

  He leaned on the mantle and watched the parchment turn to ash. Damnation! He slammed his fist against the wooden slab, barely feeling the pain of the blow.

  Everything seemed to be crumbling away. Their plans to overthrow young King Henry and put their own man in place as their new monarch were not going well. Old Lord William, the Earl of Pembroke, had lost none of his wiliness with age, unfortunately. The old bastard had foiled their scheme to move several men into the king’s household, ruining their best plot.

  They weren’t fools; they’d hoped to dispose of King John’s whelp without anyone the wiser that the lad had been helped from this life to the next. Nice and tidy, without the time and expense of mounting a siege, as was currently under way at Lincoln. Nor did it involve entrusting too many with the details of their strategy.

  Richard pressed his now-aching fist to his lips as he considered what his own next step should be. He hadn’t heard anything more for several days from the fools he’d sent out after Bowman, and the last message simply said that they’d discovered no trace of him. Nigh a week had passed since they’d escorted Lord Rannulf’s messenger on his way; if not for the fact that Richard had Bowman’s horse in his stable, ’twas as though the man had completely disappeared once he left Birkland.

  That might serve his purpose just as well as if they’d found him, save that ’twould have been a great benefit to gain possession of the sack of messages Bowman had carried. Richard knew the man had been headed to Lincoln next, no doubt carrying information for Pembroke, the king’s regent.

  Information no doubt of great use to Richard and his own plans.

  Still, with Bowman gone—dead, most likely—he shouldn’t have to worry about Lord Rannulf removing Birkland from his control or ruining his plans.

  There was naught else he could do about any of that now, however, but to wait. Instead he would be better served to think of other options, new ways to advance his own position in life.

  ’Twould have to be a woman, unfortunately.

  Which one? he wondered. Should he reestablish his campaign to gain Tuck’s Tower for himself? He had two choices there: wed Lady Julianna, or take the castle from her by force. Neither plan appealed to him much. He’d rather not attempt to marry that she-devil—assuming he could get close enough to her to do so. Given her reputed skill at arms, he’d likely become her dead husband before the ink had dried on their marriage contract.

  As for taking Tuck’s Tower by force…Lady Julianna’s troops might not be great in number, but they were well-trained, far better skilled than his own, he feared. Rumor had it that there were still remnants of Robin of the Hood’s legendary Merry Men lurking somewhere in the vicinity as well, ready to take up her cause for her parents’ sakes.

  Assuming, of course, that any of them were still alive, they must be ancient by now—but ’twas a possibility he should consider. He preferred to plan well for all his schemes; he’d found they tended to work out better that way.

  If he chose not to try for Tuck’s Tower—though the place was a temptation, he must admit—he could always send for his sister Rachel to return, and find her a good husband to marry.

  A man Richard could control, and preferably one with plenty of lands and money he was willing to share. No yeoman farmer for Rachel! She was a beauty, far better marriage barter than their older sister had been.

  Rachel should have learned her lesson by now, no doubt, after several months spent swilling pigs and caring for their numerous nieces and nephews. She knew better than to disobey him now. All he needed to do was to find a good prospect to wed her, and he’d be set.

  ’Twas a better plan by far than dealing with Lady Julianna, though he wouldn’t toss that scheme aside just yet, either. Perhaps if he were to find a way to be rid of her, her people would surely be upset, in disa
rray…he would be able to take command while chaos reigned, with no one the wiser that he’d been behind Lady Julianna’s death or disappearance.

  It might work….

  He poured wine into a goblet and swirled the liquid, staring into its crimson depths as he considered what to do. The drink reminded him of blood and battle—two of his least favorite things.

  He’d send for Rachel, he decided. She’d never dare refuse him, and she’d serve his purpose well. ’Twould be the safest course to assure himself of gaining everthing he desired.

  As for his plot against the king…

  Was it truly worth the risk?

  Though he was beginning to doubt it was the best way to make his fortune, only time could provide the answer to that.

  Tuck’s Tower

  Completely unsure what to do, Will stared down at Julianna. She was still breathing, but she didn’t respond when he called her name.

  Should he move her? Try to prop her up?

  He wasn’t certain what had happened, what was wrong with her. It appeared she’d swooned, although she’d seemed ill, groggy beforehand.

  He pressed his palm to her cheek. No fever, but her face looked pale. Even her lips had lost their reddish tinge, and a small spattering of pale freckles he’d not noticed before was visible along her cheekbones.

  By Christ’s bones, why had he made that promise to her? Surely Dora would know what to do.

  But he’d sworn to Julianna; he’d not break that vow unless it appeared her life was in danger.

  Someone rapped on the door leading from the chamber next door. Will stood and crossed to answer it, glad of the chance to at least ask someone for help.

  He opened the door and discovered a rather disheveled maidservant standing there, a large basket filled with small bundles and bunches of dried plants propped on one hip.

  “Is Lady Julianna all right?” she asked.

  Will blocked her view of the room with his body, but the impertinent wench stood on tiptoe and tried to look past him. “I’m sure she is.”

  He tried to close the door, but she thrust herself into the gap before he could swing the heavy portal closed. “What are you about?” he asked, still keeping her out of Julianna’s chamber.

  “She was unwell when I helped her up the stairs earlier. I’m a healer,” she told him. She held up the basket. “I thought mayhap I could help her.”

  If she already knew Julianna was ill, there was no reason why he should keep her from her mistress. Clearly Julianna hadn’t realized that her malady—whatever it might be—was not as secret as she believed.

  “Come in.” He let her into the room, then closed the door quickly, lest anyone else who was in the other chamber look in.

  The maid gave him a strange look, but ignored him as soon as she saw Julianna on the bed. “What happened?” she asked as she hurried to her mistress’s side.

  “She collapsed nigh as soon as she got here,” he told her.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have left her!” Setting the basket on the bed, she began to examine Julianna. “Was she able to speak?”

  “Aye, though not clearly. I could tell something was wrong, but she wouldn’t allow me to get help,” he explained. “It looked as if she swooned just before you knocked.”

  She nodded absently. “Bring me the water pitcher,” she ordered, her attention focused on her patient. “And the basin as well.”

  Though surprised to be ordered about by the young woman, Will did as she asked.

  In no time the maid had settled Julianna in the bed, closing the bed curtains and undressing her without Will’s help after she’d shooed him out of her way and sent him to wait near the hearth.

  He took up a thick stick from the pile of kindling on the hearthstones and carved away at it while he waited. ’Twas little more than a toothpick by the time the servant finally turned away from the bed and began to pack her herbs in the basket.

  “Is she all right?” He left his post and crossed to stand at the foot of the bed.

  He could see Julianna through a slit in the curtains. She lay propped on the pillows, the bedding tucked beneath her arms, her shoulders bare save for a golden medallion she wore around her neck. She looked so serene and still, ’twas difficult for him to believe it was Julianna lying there.

  “She will be fine once she’s slept, I believe.” She wiped her hands on a length of linen and joined him by the bed. “’Tis a headache.”

  “A headache! She looked nigh dead! How can that be?” he asked.

  “’Tis an ailment not many suffer, thank the Virgin. Very painful, with little to be done for it. If I had some poppy juice, ’twould help her sleep, but the tisane I gave her should work well enough.” She sighed. “I should have realized once I heard her speak—she could scarce form the words.”

  “I thank you for your care of her,” Will said, his gratitude heartfelt. “I had no notion how to help her. What should I do now?”

  “Let her rest, milord. ’Tis all the medicine she needs.”

  “I’m no lord,” he protested.

  “But you are a knight, aren’t you? Should I call you ‘sir’ then?”

  “Call me whatever you like, it matters not to me,” he said, impatient to return to Julianna’s side. Though he could do little, at least he could remain with her in case she needed him. She’d done the same for him, after all.

  Besides, he needed to stay with her. The sight of her sprawled across the bed, apparently lifeless, had jolted him, made him realize that despite his earlier plan to simply leave Tuck’s Tower—to leave Julianna—he could not. Though her ailment provided him the perfect opportunity to slip away unhindered, he refused to take that cowardly course.

  He rounded the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle Julianna. To his worried gaze her color seemed more normal, though she barely moved except to moan quietly every so often.

  After a while he realized that the maid had remained as well. She’d taken a seat on the edge of the hearth, sorting through her herbs.

  “You need not stay,” he told her. “I’ll send for you once she awakens.” He didn’t know her name, however. “Who shall I ask for?”

  She stood and curtsied, the courtesy more formal than he’d expected. Now that he thought of it, her speech was finer than usual for a servant.

  “My name is Rachel Belleville, Sir William. Richard Belleville is my brother.”

  Belleville! Will glanced from Julianna to Rachel, from Rachel to the piles of herbs scattered across the hearth.

  She’d been with Julianna earlier, before she’d collapsed. Eyes narrowing, Will stood and crossed the chamber in three long strides.

  Rachel stood there unmoving, even when he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “What have you done to Julianna?” he demanded, his voice harsh. He shook her again. “Did your brother send you here to harm her?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Julianna awoke to the sound of voices, low-pitched but angry nonetheless. She carefully opened her eyes—the dim light of dusk filtered into the chamber, soft enough that she could bear to keep her eyes open.

  By shifting her head on the pillow, she could see Will and Rachel standing near the hearth, arguing.

  She raised herself up and crawled over the mattress toward the foot of the bed. “What is going on?” she demanded.

  Though her voice sounded weak as a mewling kitten, the combatants heard her and ceased their squabbling.

  Suddenly realizing she was naked, she eased herself down on the coverlet and tugged at the sheet until she could wrap it about herself. Though all she wanted to do at the moment was to slump down and close her eyes, she forced herself to prop herself up on her elbow and peer at them over the footboard.

  “Julianna!” Will spun about and headed for her, pushing aside the bed curtains and reaching for her. He gathered her up into his arms and held her to him as though she were precious.

  She grabbed at her makeshift garb, gathering the l
inen in one hand and resting against Will’s chest, for she couldn’t let pass the chance to be in his arms.

  ’Twas a wonderful sensation, precisely what she needed at the moment, for the headache had left her feeling frail and fragile.

  And quite disgusted by her body’s betrayal. She had no time to give in to illness—nor did she enjoy the pain of it.

  “Milady, you shouldn’t be moving about,” Rachel chided, standing back respectfully until Will eased his grip and lowered Julianna down onto the bed.

  Julianna peered up at Rachel, her thoughts growing more clear by the instant. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Do you know who she is?” Will demanded, interrupting Rachel’s attempt to speak.

  “Aye, I do,” Julianna told him. By the Virgin, she hadn’t the energy to deal with this now! “And I trust her. After all, I know at least as much about her as I do of you.” She shifted so she could see them better. “I told Rachel earlier to leave me. I was surprised to see her here, ’tis all.”

  Neither Rachel nor Will appeared comfortable, with each other or her. Were they both feeling guilty? As well they ought, she thought darkly, since neither should be here. Hadn’t she told them both to leave her be?

  A dull ache still pounded behind her eyes, making her bad-tempered and impatient. If she were wise, she’d send them both on their way and go back to sleep, lest she cause more trouble for herself with ill-considered words.

  But just then her memory of Will’s promise returned full force, infuriating her more. He hadn’t merely said he’d protect her secrets, he’d sworn to do so. “Does your word mean so little, Sir William?”

  He met her angry gaze with a glare of his own. “How could you believe I would break my oath to you?” he inquired stiffly, his blue eyes pale and cold. “Rachel came here to help you, and she appeared to know how to do so. I didn’t. Should I have turned her away, when you so obviously needed her?”

  His words made her feel lower than a worm. She, who had been schooled in knightly ways, certainly knew better than to question a man’s sense of honor.