She ran across the dark, empty bailey to the gatehouse and raced up the stairs. Rolf stood by the arrow slit in the front of the small room. She joined him and looked down.
A small, armed troop—five men on horseback—milled about in front of the closed portcullis, while a group of three, mounted and armed as well, waited off to the left.
“What is going on?” she asked Rolf. “Who are they? Are they all together?”
He shrugged. “I just got here myself, milady. But since they’re not fighting each other, ’tis likely safe to assume they’re at least on decent terms.” He leaned out the window and shouted to the troops to identify themselves.
Before anyone could respond, Julianna peered past Rolf and caught sight of the banner, hanging limp in the still air, that one of the riders held. Her heart sank as the faint breeze lifted the pennon, exposing the dark outline of her uncle’s heraldic device emblazoned on the triangle of fabric.
Damnation! “I believe ’tis my uncle,” she muttered to Rolf before she leaned out the opening. “Raise the portcullis and open the gate for Lord Phillip d’Arcy,” she shouted.
Her pulse raced; Uncle Phillip must have come to take command of Tuck’s Tower. It was her worst nightmare brought to life, and her sleep-muddled brain could see no way out of the situation.
Certainly nothing she could implement in the brief time before her uncle and his party rode in.
She’d never been craven in her life, but at the moment she wished she could hide, run away—do something, anything to avoid the upcoming confrontation. For what other reason would her uncle have bestirred himself to come here, even riding through the night?
Frustration made her want to stomp her feet, to thrust her sword repeatedly into the most heinous villain imaginable, to scream in sheer dissatisfaction. She had no doubt her life was about to change, and she was powerless to stop it.
Yet buried deep beneath that reaction was the silent acknowledgement that ’twould be a relief to have help, at least, to shoulder her duties.
She refused to contemplate exactly what that might mean, however.
Instead Julianna squared her shoulders, tossed her hair back out of her way, and descended to the bailey to welcome her uncle to Tuck’s Tower.
By the time she reached the bailey, people had begun to wander out of the barracks and the keep, scurrying about to prepare for the unexpected visitors. By the time her uncle and his men rode into the courtyard and dismounted, Julianna and a small group of servants and stable hands awaited them.
Schooling her face to show nothing but pleasure at her uncle’s arrival—and despite her concerns, she was happy to see him—Julianna approached him, hands outstretched, and returned his embrace. “Welcome, Uncle. ’Tis good to see you.” His resemblance to her father brought a momentary pang of sadness to her heart, swiftly defeated by the affection she felt for him. “I trust you are well. I wasn’t aware you were coming, else we’d be better prepared for your visit. I trust nothing is wrong?”
Her hands held firm in his, her uncle stepped back a pace and scanned her face in the ever-brightening light, his own expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Perhaps I should be asking you if something is wrong, Julianna. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you babble before today. Truly, you don’t sound yourself.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and gave quiet orders to his men, then began to lead Julianna toward the keep.
She halted and turned to scan the bailey. “Where are your other men, Uncle?”
“I had no others, Julianna. There are five of us—”
“There were three men waiting outside, beyond the gatehouse,” she told him. She hurried back toward the gatehouse, her uncle hard on her heels.
“Rolf!” she called up the stairwell. Despite trying to keep her tone even, calm, she could hear a trace of panic there. “Is that other group still out there?”
“Julianna, wait.” Her uncle laid a hand on her arm. “Be easy, child—I believe they’re yours.” He nodded toward the men already riding through the gateway.
Julianna’s breath shuddered from her chest, leaving her knees weak and her emotions unsteady. She hadn’t even considered…to have been so careless….
Perhaps ’twould be best if Uncle Phillip did take her away with him and put someone else in command of Tuck’s Tower, for her wits had surely gone lacking of late.
Right around the same time Will Bowman entered her life, a sly voice murmured in her mind.
Mayhap she was more woman than warrior after all, too easily distracted by a handsome man.
“’Tis Sir William,” Rolf called down to her.
The news lifted her heart with relief—that he’d returned safely, and that he had come back as he’d said he would.
It also left her shaken, for what if her uncle took one look at her and Will and knew what they’d done?
She was a woman grown, Julianna reminded herself. She commanded troops, managed a keep…If she chose to share her body with a man, ’twas her own concern, no one else’s.
Except if she got herself with child, or brought shame to the family name….
Uncle Phillip caught her by the arm and turned her to face him. “Julianna, are you unwell?” he asked kindly. “I realize I likely dragged you from your bed, but I’ve never seen you look so pale and distracted.”
“I’m fine, sir, truly.” Only a bit panic-stricken, for too many reasons I don’t wish to share.
“Lady Julianna.” Will spoke from behind her, his tone formal.
She turned to face him, careful not to reveal her pleasure. “Welcome back, Sir William.”
He bowed respectfully, his expression polite.
“Uncle, may I introduce Sir William Bowman—”
“Close the gates at once!” someone shouted, interrupting her. The ear-splitting squeal and thud of the portcullis dropping to place was followed by a commotion outside the curtain wall.
Rolf raced out of the stairwell, barely remaining on his feet in his haste. “’Tis Belleville, milady, with an army.”
Bedlam erupted around them as servants and men-at-arms, animals and children all seemed to appear in the bailey at one time.
Julianna gathered up her hair and, tugging a leather thong off her sword hilt, bound it out of her way. Swords drawn, they headed for the stairs to the curtain wall. “Where did they come from?” she asked. “Uncle, Will—you were both just out there. How did they manage to conceal themselves from you?”
She didn’t expect an answer, though the question echoed in her mind.
Julianna, her uncle, Will and Rolf gained the best vantage point on the wall and stood there gazing out at the mass of men arrayed before the front gates.
“’Tis Belleville,” Rolf confirmed. “Though whether I’d call that an army, or a large troop, is questionable.”
Julianna rolled her eyes at Rolf’s weak attempt at humor. “There are enough of them to cause us grief,” she pointed out. “Though they don’t appear very eager to fight.”
Indeed, few of the soldiers even had their weapons drawn and ready to use.
“What is this, then?” Julianna asked. Her temper stirred, she paced along the wall, seeking some sight of Belleville among his men.
She finally found him, seated on a large black destrier, hovering behind the dubious protection of a battering ram.
“Belleville!” she shouted. She waited until he nudged his mount into motion and moved nearer the front of his troops.
Will had followed her; he took her by the arm. “Let me, love,” he murmured.
Julianna shook her head and shrugged free of his loose hold. “Sir Richard, what is the meaning of this ridiculous display? Do you believe you can frighten me into submission by simply bringing fighters to my gates?” She rested her elbows on the top of the wall, making certain he could see her sword. “You insult me! Begone at once, or prepare for war.”
Will touched her arm again. “I don’t believe his men want to fi
ght. Lord Rannulf would never stand for this kind of poaching of a neighbor’s lands, and Belleville’s men know it. Perhaps if we—”
“Julianna,” Belleville called. He sat strangely in the saddle, leaning a bit to one side as though he favored his ribs.
“I never gave that bastard leave to use my name,” she snarled, her temper rising higher.
“We can come to terms without bloodshed, don’t you think?” Belleville asked. “Give me control of Tuck’s Tower, and hand over my sister Rachel, and I will even consider wedding you so you may remain here. We could command Tuck’s Tower and Birkland together,” he added with an unctuous smile.
Chaos erupted around her as Will, her uncle and Rachel—who had suddenly appeared nearby—all began shouting various forms of abuse at Belleville in response to his outrageous suggestions.
Belleville’s men, by contrast, stood silently waiting, offering their leader no support in word or deed.
He, however, appeared quite oblivious to either reaction.
Or to the fact that the villagers who lived outside the confines of Tuck’s Tower—nearly all retired members of Robin’s band or their descendents—had armed themselves and crept up behind Belleville’s troops, holding them confined between the castle wall and their own numbers.
She faced Will. “Has he run mad? I don’t understand how he believes he can prevail.”
Turning back toward Belleville, she peered more closely at him. Even at this distance she could see the sweat pouring down his face and his ashen color. “Is he ill?”
“He looks it,” Will agreed. “Perhaps that would explain why he’s here.”
“Whatever the reason, he couldn’t have chosen a worse time,” she muttered.
“Is there ever a good time for this?” Will asked.
“Some are better than others,” she pointed out with a glance over her shoulder at her uncle.
She returned her attention to the men outside. “Sir Richard,” she shouted. “I believe you are unwell. If you’ll surrender your weapons, you may leave unharmed.”
That statement caused another burst of shouting all around.
Belleville ignored it all and, raising his sword high, roared his battle cry at the top of his lungs. Before he could spur his mount into motion, however, he slumped over his horse.
His sword fell to the ground; his body followed. One of his men ran to him, felt his neck, and stepped back, making the sign of the cross and shaking his head.
Sir Richard Belleville, a gush of his blood staining the earth he’d coveted, was dead.
Belleville’s troops laid down their weapons and surrendered straightaway. Once Julianna recovered from her shock, she sprang into action. As soon as she’d sent some of her men-at-arms out to recover Sir Richard’s body and deal with his army, she asked her uncle, Will, Rachel and Rolf to join her inside the keep.
After sending for wine and food, Julianna shut the door to the anteroom off the great hall and leaned back against the wall for a moment, yearning for more time to gather her thoughts.
“Julianna.” Her uncle’s voice brought a swift end to that futile wish. Glancing up, she saw that he stood behind the chair at the head of the table. He gestured for her to take it. “Come, sit.”
Surprised, Julianna glanced at the others, who stood by the benches along either side of the table—waiting for her to sit down, evidently. Masking her uncertainty, she removed her sword belt and took the seat.
Reining in her spinning brain, she decided to resume where she’d been interrupted earlier. “Uncle, may I introduce Rachel Belleville, Sir Richard’s sister? Rolf you know,” she added. “And Sir William Bowman, a knight in the service of Lord Rannulf FitzClifford, overlord of Birkland.” Her uncle met each person’s gaze with a searching look and a nod of greeting. “This is Lord Phillip d’Arcy, my overlord.”
Will returned Lord Phillip’s stare, his own gaze even. He knew this man was important to Julianna. From what little he’d observed thus far, her uncle respected her, as well as held a deep affection for her, both of which boded well for Julianna’s future at Tuck’s Tower.
And boded ill, perhaps, for Will’s own chance of a future with Julianna.
A knock at the door heralded a maidservant carrying a tray of food and drink. Julianna waited until the woman served them and left before she spoke again.
“Uncle, what brought you here now?” she asked outright.
Lord Phillip raised an eyebrow. “Can I not visit my niece?”
“As much as I know you love me, ’twould not have brought you here traveling through the night,” she pointed out.
“True,” he agreed, amusement in his eyes. “But ’tis my affection and concern for you that brought me here—at the earl of Pembroke’s behest.”
“Pembroke? He knows nothing of me,” she said.
“No—but he does know Sir William.” Lord Phillip smiled and turned to Will. “He thinks quite highly of you, and trusts you to know what you’re doing. He knew I was in Lincoln. As soon as he heard what you had to say about Belleville, about Julianna and Tuck’s Tower, as well as recent events—” he added with a glance from Will to Julianna “—he sent word that you needed me here.”
Recalling some of the issues he’d discussed with Pembroke, Will had to wonder precisely what Pembroke told d’Arcy. ’Twas enough to make him want to squirm beneath d’Arcy’s measuring gaze, for he knew he’d said enough about Julianna to reveal his growing feelings toward her.
“Sir Richard did us a favor by dropping dead so conveniently,” d’Arcy said wryly. “My apologies, Mistress,” he said to Rachel. “And my condolences.”
“Uncle!” Julianna cried, though to Will, she didn’t sound truly upset.
Rachel didn’t appear to mourn her brother’s death, either. “He will pay for his sins now, I’m sure,” was all she said.
Lord Phillip shrugged. “Pembroke wanted me to remove him from his position at Birkland. Since he was unlikely to have left quietly, his unexpected death serves us well, don’t you think?”
’Twas certainly convenient, though there hadn’t been time for Pembroke or d’Arcy to have aided Belleville on his way. “I wonder how he died?” Will asked.
“I’m sure we’ll learn that in time,” d’Arcy said. “In the meantime, however, I’d rather get Julianna settled.”
Julianna’s cheeks went pale; did she fear what her uncle might do to her? Will had already seen enough to realize the man held Julianna in high regard.
She stood and braced her hands on the table. “If you plan to send me away from Tuck’s Tower, Uncle, just tell me now.”
“Why ever would I want to do that?” he asked, sounding amazed by her words. “Sit, child, and cease your worrying.”
She did as her uncle bid her, though she still appeared concerned.
“I wish to reinforce my faith in you, Julianna. You’ve been a fine commander for Tuck’s Tower, and I’m certain you will continue to be so, no matter what the future holds for you,” he added with a glance at Will.
Julianna smiled. “Thank you, milord. I’ll try to justify your faith in me.”
Lord Phillip turned to Will. “As for you, Sir William—Pembroke wishes you to assume command of Birkland. He’s already sent word to FitzClifford. I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon to confirm the matter.” He stood and held out his hand to Will. “Congratulations.”
Will stood and shook d’Arcy’s hand in a daze. His own command—and better yet, a property abutting Julianna’s own.
He sent d’Arcy a questioning look. The older man merely smiled.
As Will accepted good wishes and talk turned to the defense of both holdings, Will’s gaze kept drifting to Julianna.
Soon, he told himself—soon they’d settle their future, as well.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sherwood Forest, near Tuck’s Tower
“Come along, Will.” Julianna tugged on Will’s hand and drew him along the worn, narrow path. The deeper they travele
d into the forest, the more muted the daylight became, until it bore a greenish tinge from the canopy of leaves overhead. She didn’t need much light to find her way, however, for she’d walked this path a thousand times before. “You’ll like this, I promise you.”
She stopped beside a small dam, letting the sound of the water soothe her. ’Twas just what she needed after the chaos and death of recent days. Since her uncle’s arrival and Sir Richard’s death, there had scarce been a moment when she and Will weren’t surrounded by other people, faced with the countless demands of bringing life back to normal at Tuck’s Tower.
Finally, in desperation she and Will had stolen away and sought peace and privacy within the depths of Sherwood Forest.
She slipped her arms around Will’s waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “This is my favorite place,” she said. “If the stream wasn’t so muddy I’d tear off your clothes and push you into the water.”
“That sounds promising,” he whispered into her hair. “What does a bit of mud matter?”
“You’d care if the creatures in the muck started biting your tender parts.” She laughed, tightening her arms for a moment, then stepped away. “Come. This is nearly as good.” She drew him deeper into the forest.
An ancient oak grew near the stream, its branches full and sturdy. “My father built this for me when I was small. ’Twas so I could imagine I lived in Sherwood. He wanted me to know something of my other father.”
She scanned the overgrown underbrush. “We pretended to be Robin of the Hood and the Black Knight, right here in the forest.” She wove her fingers with his. “You played those same games as a child, didn’t you? You talked about it when you had a fever.”
“Aye, Gillian and I, and the other children at l’Eau Clair.” He released her hand and gave her unbound hair a tug. “I’ll wager you were not Maid Marian, were you?” he asked, chuckling.
She shook her head. “Nay—I always wanted to be the Black Knight.”
“It amazes me still, milady, knowing that you carry the blood of my childhood heroes within you.” Will stared up into the oak. “Shall we play together now?” he asked, his tone a teasing invitation.
Bride of the Tower Page 16
