by Carmen Caine
He only knew that it was too hard to breathe. Each breath taxed his strength to the point that he only wished for his agony to end, but it did not. His lungs felt as if they were made of lead.
Time passed.
A woman’s voice that he did not know whispered through his mind, a low voice, speaking as if from a great distance. She spoke words of comfort, words that brought peace.
During the worst of it, he distinctly heard Pascal’s arrogant tones ordering, “You belong to the Vindictam. You cannot die. I will not allow it.”
And then everything became dreamlike and peaceful, seeming to stretch into eternity, until gradually, he became aware of the warmth of the sun upon his face.
Too tired to lift his lashes, Julian lay as he was, enjoying the heat on his skin as he listened to the song of the birds before drifting off to sleep.
When he woke next, he finally succeeded in opening his eyes. He saw first the blue sky framed by a narrow arched window. In the distance he could see Linlithgow Palace, so he realized he must be in the Carmelite friary. Puzzled, he turned his tired gaze upon his bed. He lay under a fox-fur coverlet with his head resting upon the soft luster of a satin pillow.
Moving as if to rise, he gasped at the sudden pain ripping through his chest and collapsed back, overwhelmed by a bout of dizziness.
A soft rustle of skirts hurried to his side, and he opened his eyes long enough to see an ageless woman with raven hair threaded with silver. Her bright blue eyes were kind and intelligent as she placed a cool hand over his forehead.
“Rest, caro.” She sent him a comforting smile. “You will grow strong now. Love has brought you back from death’s door. I knew love would not fail!”
He was too weak to ask who she was or what she meant. His eyes were already closing, and then the peace of sleep carried him away again.
After that, there were several brief flashes of a cowled monk clad in coarse woolen robes, but the thought of love gave him comfort, and he slept for a very long time.
* * *
Julian woke to the soft light of morning.
The heavy weight in his chest was gone, and for several long minutes, he savored the simple joy of breathing.
The ageless raven-haired woman stood at a small table a short distance away. For a time, he watched her select flowers from a basket to grind the petals and stems before she sensed his eyes upon her.
“Good morning, Lord Gray,” she greeted him warmly as she wiped her hands upon an apron covering her skirts. Tucking a silver-threaded lock of hair behind her ear, she picked up an earthenware cup from the table and approached his bedside.
“Drink this, caro,” she ordered briskly, supporting his head with her hand, she pressed the cup to his lips.
Recognizing the bitter taste, he grimaced, but drank half the cup in one gulp.
“Much stronger! Yes, you are much stronger,” she announced, quite pleased. And then with a slight frown, she clucked and shook her head. “You stayed at death’s door far too long, caro.”
Julian frowned, attempting to recall the circumstances of his injury.
And then the events of the Saluzzi and Liselle returned with a rush.
Choking on the remainder of the liquid, he half sat up and gasped, “Liselle! Where is she? Is she harmed—”
“Hush, caro!” The woman laughed. Pushing him back gently, she placed a finger upon his lips and nodded to the other side of the bed. “Liselle is safe. You saved her life. And she has never left your side for many, many days. Not once.”
The effort of turning was a draining one, but worth it upon seeing Liselle’s honey-colored locks fanned out about her delicate face. Though still sitting half in her chair by the bed, she lay sound asleep, her head cradled upon one arm on the pillow next to him.
“She is exhausted,” the raven-haired woman said. Her skirts rustled as she moved to stand behind Liselle’s chair, and a soft expression crossed her face. And then bending down, she lightly kissed the top of her head. “Mia bèla. I had never thought to see her.”
Julian raised a quizzical brow.
Straightening, the woman noticed his curiosity and smiled, a soft dimple graced her cheek. “I am Lady Sutherland,” she said, answering the unspoken question.
Julian’s eyes lit in recognition. While he had only seen Lord Sutherland’s lady once before, he knew her husband quite well. The distinguished noble was one of the most honorable, upright men in Scotland. But Julian’s curiosity only deepened. Why would Lady Sutherland hope to see Liselle?
“My husband has always spoken highly of you,” Lady Sutherland said, moving away and patting his blanket as she headed towards the door. “We can speak more later, caro.”
Julian opened his mouth to call her back, but then a familiar alto voice whispered his name.
“Julian.”
With a one-sided smile creasing his cheek, he turned to see Liselle staring at him in surprise.
Reverently, he lifted his thumb to trace the tears falling down her cheek.
She held still, too overcome to speak for a time. But finally, she reached for a cup and asked, “You have been so feverish! How is your thirst?”
His eyes glinted at that. "Unquenchable,” he said, unable to resist a suggestive reply, but he was taken aback by the weakness in his own voice.
Liselle blinked but did not smile. Instead, she moved to lay her cheek lightly on his shoulder. “We thought you would die,” she said, her voice quivering.
With great effort, Julian lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. “The softness of your skin is powerful medicine, lass. I’ll mend quickly now,” he promised.
And then exhausted, he closed his eyes to let sleep carry him away.
After that, his strength returned rapidly, and on a damp gray afternoon several days later, a familiar voice sounded from the door of his chamber.
Glancing up, Julian grinned as Cameron stepped through the doorway. Folding his blue-velvet mantle over his arm, the Earl of Lennox drew his dark brows into a stern line.
“Ach, Julian,” his deep voice disapproved. “But ye fair scared us all, lad! There are less painful ways to lie in bed all day with your lady by your side.” His words were polite, but Julian caught the teasing twinkle in his expressive eyes.
Laughing, Julian cast a quick sidelong glance at Liselle, but she had merely risen to curtsey.
However, Lady Sutherland, sitting in the corner, rolled her eyes, but her words were warm as she said, “My dear earl, it is a pleasure to see you yet again and so soon.”
As Cameron bowed graciously to them both, Julian queried, “So soon?”
Cameron moved to tower over him. “I dinna care to witness a priest reading ye the last rites, lad.” His eyes were serious and filled with deep concern.
“Aye, well, clearly, ‘twas a misjudgment and a bit premature,” Julian replied lightly. Glancing at Liselle, he sent her a reassuring smile.
Following his gaze, Cameron’s carved lips crooked into a smile. “Aye, ‘tis time ye took up other important matters, lad. And I’ll have the king issue ye a decree if that is what it takes.”
Julian raised a questioning brow.
“I do believe Castle Huntly is in need of an heir,” the Earl of Lennox replied with a sly smile.
Julian chuckled, noting a slight shade of pink stealing over Liselle’s face as Lady Sutherland rolled her eyes once more.
“Shall we leave these boys to their discussion, cara?” she asked, looping her arm through Liselle’s to sweep her away.
As they left, Julian watched Liselle with a smile upon his lips. Aye, he could think of nothing more pleasant than to lock himself away with her in a castle. But she had scarcely gone before Cameron turned to tidings of the court.
“Albany has betrayed Scotland yet again,” the earl informed him with a shake of his chin. “And we’ve had reports from England that Edward’s health is failing.”
Julian sat up in bed. Aye, ‘twas invigorating to be enmeshed in the we
b of intrigue once more. Surprisingly, he had missed it. “Then Gloucester will become King of England,” he observed thoughtfully, and then smiled. “And after these recent matters, he’ll not support Albany nor muster an army to bother Scotland any time soon.”
“Aye,” Cameron agreed, permitting his eyes to smile in return.
Julian eyed his friend in admiration. Cameron was ever the wily statesman. “Well played,” he said. “We’ve staved off another English threat then, aye?”
Cameron nodded, but then grew serious. “But dinna forget, now we have Albany loose again. He has withdrawn to Dunbar and has just this day been named a traitor to the Scottish crown.”
“He’ll never stop until he’s dead,” Julian said grimly. “Ach, but ye need me, Cameron! I should be riding, not lying abed!”
Julian slapped the bed with the flat of his palm, but the gesture made him wince in pain.
“Ye’ll ride soon enough, lad,” Cameron assured him and then settled back in his chair.
They spoke of other things then, and when Liselle returned after a time, the afternoon passed pleasantly with Cameron regaling her with tales of Julian’s follies throughout the years.
Julian didn’t mind. Hearing Liselle laugh warmed his soul. And though he desperately fought to stay awake, it was too difficult in such a peaceful atmosphere.
He was not even aware he had fallen asleep until he woke to find himself staring into the dark eyes of Pascal standing at the foot of his bed.
“I trust you are feeling better, Lord Gray?” the graceful youth queried in a guarded tone.
Easing himself onto an elbow, Julian gave a dry laugh. “The fact that I yet live tells me the Vindictam has rescinded my death sentence.” With a gracious nod, he added, “And for that I thank ye, lad.”
Pascal’s lips curved into a smile. “You are protected … for now. But it is an easy enough matter to make someone disappear,” he said, caressing the hilt of the sword belted about his slim waist.
Recognizing the glint of humor in the lad’s eyes, Julian merely arched a brow.
Pascal remained silent for a time, and then began to pace thoughtfully before the window. “You were delirious for quite some time, Lord Gray,” he said at last. “And in the heat of your fever, you spoke of what I had long suspected in France—and knew for sure in Fotheringhay.”
“Aye?” Julian prodded curiously.
Pascal’s dark eyes riveted upon him. “You are Le Marin.”
A smile creased Julian’s cheek as a memory flashed across his mind, and he said, “Aye, and in that fever, I distinctly recall hearing the voice of the Electus ordering me not to die.”
Their gazes locked, and then Pascal dipped his chin in graceful acknowledgment. “An order that you dutifully obeyed,” he pointed out. And then his intense eyes grew serious. “Join us, Julian. Your fingers will flow with gold. Work with us in the fair city of Le Serenìssima.”
Julian chuckled. “Nay, lad, I serve Scotland alone,” was all he said.
“Dare you stir my anger?” Pascal’s grim tone was at odds with the smile on his lips. “Mayhap I should tell you that the Quattuor Gladiis has not yet decided upon the fate of Le Marin—whoever he may be.”
“And mayhap I have faith that the Electus—whoever he may be—will introduce a wee bit of Scottish common sense into his men. Loyalty before vengeance, aye?” Julian replied easily.
Pascal’s dark eyes lit with a smile, but it took some time for his reluctant reply. “Then we have an understanding.”
“Do we?” Julian asked, easing back onto the pillow. “Orazio and ye should know that I’ll be wedding Liselle.”
"Do you have a death wish, Lord Gray?” Orazio’s distinctive voice sounded from the doorway.
Glancing up, Julian watched the man enter the chamber and approach the bed, his hands folded behind his back.
“Tread softly, Orazio,” Julian warned, boldly meeting the man’s piercing gaze. “I’ve already proven that I’ll protect her with my life. I’ll not live without the lass. I love her.”
Orazio exhaled strongly through his nose. “Loyalty is the pillar of our family, Lord Gray,” he began.
“Aye, as with any clan,” Julian agreed.
“And blood ties can never be severed,” Orazio continued grimly, joining Pascal at the foot of the bed.
“The tie of a brother, aye,” Julian granted, but then his voice hardened. “But the ties of the Vindictam have been severed already.”
Orazio’s head snapped back. “Never has the Vindictam released one of its own!”
“Truly, Orazio?” A woman’s soft voice filtered through the chamber.
As one, they turned to see Lady Sutherland hovering in the doorway.
“Do not uncover the past, my lady,” Pascal warned quietly.
Her blue eyes impaled him. Stepping into the chamber, she shut the door firmly behind her and then crisply addressed Orazio and Pascal, “Liselle was never made to shed blood, you two young fools!”
Orazio’s mouth gaped open as Pascal expelled a breath of annoyance and moved to slouch against the wall, clearly preparing for what he knew would come next.
Wagging her finger, Lady Sutherland took them to task. “Orazio, you must open your eyes. And Pascal, if you truly wish to restore the Vindictam to its former glory, you must be strong, caro! A strong leader assigns tasks to only those who can succeed at them. As Electus, the responsibility lies with you!”
Pascal’s lip curved into a smile. “I see why they let you go free,” he said softly.
A look of outright alarm and astonishment crossed Orazio’s face. “Who is this woman? These matters are of the highest secrecy! We must—”
“Mayhap you would know her better by another name,” Pascal interrupted calmly. “Orazio, allow me to introduce you to your Sia Pippa. Pippa da Vilardino.”
Julian’s lips parted in surprise as Orazio choked.
But Lady Sutherland graciously inclined her head. “Pippa,” she repeated softly. “It is a name I’d nearly forgotten, caro.”
Julian raised a brow at her perfect English accent. This woman was the famed Venetian assassin in Liselle’s tale?
Orazio was the first to recover. Motioning towards Julian first and then to himself, he said, “These matters should not be discussed here. Nor even—”
“Nonsense!” Lady Sutherland retorted, waving her hand. “We are bound by blood and Lord Gray through love. If Pascal cannot speak to us of such matters, then he can trust no one. And he will not remain the Dominus Granditer for longer than a fortnight!”
“Should I even ask how she knows of this?” Orazio turned upon Pascal, clearly taken aback.
Pascal merely gave a humorous sigh. “There is little that Pippa does not know, Orazio. And I wasn’t jesting when I said the Vindictam was relieved to be rid of her.”
“Then set Liselle free, Pascal,” Lady Sutherland insisted, tucking a silver-threaded lock behind her ear.
Emphasizing his displeasure with a deep frown, Orazio stepped forward. “May I remind you, cara sia, that Pascal is not someone you can simply demand—”
“Nonsense!” Lady Sutherland cut in with a smile, though her voice was powerful. “Pascal is my nephew. As are you, Orazio. And did your mother not teach you to respect your elders, and above all, the women elders of your family?”
As her sharp eyes turned upon Orazio, Julian was amused to watch the formidable man take an involuntary step back.
“Respect, certainly, mia sia …” he faltered, searching for words.
Perversely entertained by Orazio’s discomfiture, Pascal held out a hand. “Please take Orazio to task elsewhere, sia cara. I shall join you shortly.”
As Lady Sutherland obligingly guided Orazio from the chamber, Pascal turned to Julian once again.
“Then I want something in return, Lord Gray,” he said, his dark eyes turning hard. “Dolfin.”
Julian lifted a wary brow. “Ye needn’t fear he’ll betray ye, lad.”
“I should think the word of Le Marin should be enough,” Julian replied, locking gazes with the youth. “Dolfin is dead to ye. Let him go. Ye owe the man a debt, lad. Without him, ye never would have exposed the Saluzzi corruption.”
Pascal’s lips drew into a hard line, but his voice was calm as he asked, “Is it true that his mind has grown weak?”
Julian heaved a sigh. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but there was no denying it. “Aye, the man is old and frail.”
Pascal moved to stare out of the window for a time. “Liselle is willful, Lord Gray,” he finally said before turning to face Julian. A smile graced his lips. “It is not too late for you to run to the highlands. Allow me to be of assistance. I owe you that much, at least.”
Julian’s mouth shifted into an answering smile. “I’ll not be running from her, lad. Besides, I have no doubt she would find me.”
At that, Pascal gave a cutting laugh. “True enough,” he said. “She followed only you from the beginning it seems. It is unfortunate that Dolfin died before the hand of justice could find him.”
Julian’s smile broadened as he dipped his chin in thanks.
“But know you this, Lord Gray,” the dark-haired youth continued with an arrogant lift of his brow. “It is you who weds into the Vindictam. I will not slay Liselle, even in name. And even though she will not be called upon to practice her craft, she remains one of us. Protected. Loved. Cherished. Never forget the meaning of the Vindictam.” He paused a moment before adding, “We are revenge.”
The threat was clear. But Julian could do naught but smile. “Aye, I knew ye had a Scottish heart, lad,” was all he said. And then suddenly weary, he waved a tired hand. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I’m in sore need of rest. Ye’ve quite taxed my strength.”
And then ignoring the assassin threatening him from his bedside, Julian yawned and fell asleep.
* * *
White clouds scurried across the blue sky as Lord Julian Gray stood on his ancestral lands and surveyed the gray-stoned castle rising before him. Dew glistened on the tender leaves of the trees and shrubbery. Nearby, he could hear the bleating of goats and the lowing of cows.
