Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  They picked their way through narrow streets filled with refuse, horsemen, shopkeepers crying their wares, peddlers, countrymen come to the city for the day, sightseers, and wanderers. They headed away from Thames Street into the heart of the city in an excitement that made the blood run faster. Julian listened to the raucous cries, laughter, and curses on every side, and wondered that the company was not known for what it was. To her, they seemed to stand out by manner and bearing, rough clothes not withstanding. The air was cold and there was little talk, but her sharp eyes had caught the glances some of the watchers on the street gave them. The bitter anger was very apparent. She wondered that the others did not see; her own senses were sharpened by years of caution.

  Her own old shoes were scuffed and clompy and she wore a gown of dark wool that was rubbed and shabby, with a cloak of black cloth which was too short. Her hair was concealed under a coif and veil such as a housewife might wear. She moved easily in such clothes, for she had worn them most of her life. Some of the other ladies stumbled in their shoes or moved awkwardly in the shorter gowns.

  A hoarse voice muttered just behind Julian, “Gentry by the look of ’em, out for a lark so early in the day so they can tell about it over loaded tables tonight.”

  “Aye, spies for the Spaniard.” Another mutter, this time louder, more dangerous.

  She could not help turning to look. Three men and a woman suddenly became very busy over a load of fish. Several young boys who had been walking close to them now moved to the other side of the street. Julian wondered if this whim of the queen’s was as selfless as she must have thought; it seemed the height of foolishness, for anyone knew that Mary was no longer loved or admired by the subjects who had once welcomed her so eagerly.

  Several of the guards dropped back, hands placed well in view on their knives. The whole party began to walk faster as the streets widened once more, and prosperous shops, wood-framed and tall, rose on both sides. The passers-by moved more slowly and their clothes were richer. Shoppers mingled with merchants who cried their wares while others sauntered by to watch. The whole scene pulsed with a vivid life; everyone seemed vitally intent on his own business, yet there was time to savor. To Julian, fresh from the quiet of country life, it was as if a thousand things beckoned her attention.

  One of the ladies, a few years older than Julian, said petulantly, “We have walked so far, I vow, that I have a blister. Would that we could have sent the wretched poor jewels; I would have done so gladly.”

  Another near her shushed softly, her finger to her lips as both pairs of eyes raked Julian. This time she knew that they thought her a danger, perhaps a tattler to the queen, who had so favored her that she brought her from obscurity. Her pride made her hold their gaze as she tilted her chin. The daughter of the Redenters might have little else, but she had that. It was a faint triumph when they turned away and began to walk faster.

  They turned another corner, paused before a hill which lifted onto an even busier area, and looked toward the cathedral of St. Paul’s, which dominated this section of the city with its great buttresses and the thin spire that seemed to reach through the clouds themselves. Here, thought Julian, was the faith triumphant and yet benignant; there was no thought of the fear that the human servants of that faith inspired.

  Her stomach lurched; the cup of broth the maid brought had been long ago while it was still dark. The cookshop just yonder was producing pasties, and the smell made her mouth water. She would just dash across and spend one of her precious few coins while the party was moving slowly toward the cathedral. They would never miss her.

  A cry rang across the street and caused all eyes to stare in horror at the boy who shouted and ran. “No Spaniards! Send Mary with Philip! No more fires!” He was ragged and dirty, but his young face blazed with passion as he dared the watchers to check him. Several of the guards from the palace started toward him, but one of the ladies seemed about to faint and they hesitated.

  Julian knew he referred to the burning of heretics, which had increased greatly in the past year. “Elizabeth for England! The true queen!” he cried. This was dangerous talk indeed, and the people looked fearfully at each other. Mary’s sister, aged twenty-four, daughter of Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII, was the nominal heiress to the throne if the present queen had no children, but she walked in danger of her life should Mary’s uncertain temper turn.

  A ragged cheer began, for which-royal personage could only be guessed. One of the guards could take no more, and he ran for the boy, sword out as he cried, “Treason!” Others from the street joined him in pursuit of the lad, who now ran fleetly between two fat merchants who did nothing to block him, and he vanished from view.

  The party from court began to reassemble. Some of the ladies had very pale faces under the blithe manner they tried to assume. It would be a foolish Londoner indeed who did not recognize them for what they were. Evidently the guards thought so, too, for they began to urge them along. Julian’s hunger was even sharper for the brief excitement, and she darted across to the cookshop, where several other people were waiting as they made low-voiced comments to each other.

  The shop was poised at the end of one lane and on the corner of another so that it caught customers from both as well as the main avenue. One lane was very small and dark, the tall leaning houses seeming to reach for each other. Julian ventured around the edge and looked into the length of it as she wondered how the inhabitants could stand the noisome air of the place. She started to retreat, thinking that surely all of the city could not congregate at the shop, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

  The man’s face was partially muffled by a dark hood, but she saw that part of his nose and one eye were gone. His lips were full and red above a straggly beard that appeared to grow out of one side of his face, for he held his head at an angle. Another man stood grinning at his elbow; with a shudder Julian recognized the slack stare of the idiot.

  The first man flicked her coif aside and touched the bright strands of her tumbled hair. She jerked back, one hand raised to claw at him. His laughter was low and heavy. The other man began to rub his hands together in a washing gesture.

  “Pretty lady come to admire St. Paul’s. Pretty lady has money for starving beggars. Pretty lady will kiss us both. How do you like that, Bart?” He rolled up the remaining malevolent eye at his companion, who giggled.

  “Let me go this instant.” Julian spat the words out as she tried to jerk free.

  He twisted one arm up behind her back and pulled her back into the shadows. “Don’t try to get away. We can both take you right here and no one would pay the slightest attention, but you wouldn’t want it in public, now would you, little flower?”

  They both laughed, and Julian aimed a kick at her captor with one of the rough shoes she wore. He dodged and she saw, even in the dimness, that his eye went flat and dead. The one called Bart balled up his fist and came for her as he cried, “Hurt! All time want to hurt m’fren. Hurt!” His hand connected with her ear, and the world spun.

  Then strong arms pulled her free and sent her sprawling into the muck as a sword flashed bright over the attackers and made rivulets of blood on the one-eyed man’s face. He howled and backed away, then threw himself on Julian’s rescuer. The sword lifted, and this time both men ran as it wove a net of steel on the cold air.

  “Are you all right?” Charles Varland sheathed his sword and lifted her to her feet. His eyes were so warm with concern, angry words might never have passed between them.

  Julian felt the curious pull between them as the realization of the danger she had just passed burst over her. She swayed, her voice coming out thinly as she said, “I just wanted one of the pies. I meant to run and catch up with the others. My lord, I thank you. You truly saved me.”

  There was the clatter of running feet just then, and Charles dropped his hand to his sword. A small rotund man with glistening red cheeks ran up and doffed his cap to Julian. “They lost themselves in the crowd—no way of
catching them now.”

  “Thank you.” Charles was bareheaded, little dark tendrils of hair curling at his ears. The glance he gave Julian was one of concern mingled with some emotion she could not identify. “This is Matthew Horton of my service.”

  Julian acknowledged the little man with a smile. “How did you come so handily here?” The closeness of Charles Varland made her nervous yet expectant. Horton flushed and moved away several paces.

  “May I offer you food and refreshment, Lady Redenter? There is a most respectable inn close by here. Matthew shall inform your party of the circumstances and that you will soon join them. A maidservant shall attend you; you will not lack for chaperonage. As to your question, I had business here in this section of the city, and will join the court party later. After you, of course.” He remembered her fear for her reputation. The gray eyes seemed to ignite, and one corner of his mouth curved up in a half smile to expose shining white teeth and the slight cleft of his cheek. “Will you come, Julian? There is nothing to fear and none shall know. Please?”

  She hesitated, knowing well the risk she took. The queen’s ladies must be above reproach, since many a good marriage was made through her favor; Julian dared not think what would happen to her if the queen withdrew from her. But the temptation was too great. Varland was totally different now, and this was an adventure. Besides, he had saved her from attack. Was his invitation a way of apology?

  “I will come, but I dare not linger.” She smiled at him, a quick vagrant smile that brought an answering one to his own lips.

  “I am honored, Lady Redenter.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and held it there. All her senses opened up as she looked at him. They might have been new met with none of the acrimony of their previous clashes. He let her go reluctantly and spoke to Matthew. “Go find the party and speak as you have heard me here. Be discreet.”

  He caught Julian’s hand and drew her close to him as they made their way through the crowded streets, taking several sharp turns and coming finally to a doorway set in a wall that would be shrouded in greenery if this were summer. He knocked twice, and the door swung open to reveal a tall manservant.

  “Food and wine in the small chamber. And send Dame Ross to me immediately. Arrangements must be made for a chaperon for the lady.”

  He departed with a bow. Charles and Julian went along a narrow hall and into a richly appointed room hung with cloth of silver and blue. Quantities of plate were displayed to advantage, and several pictures hung in a pattern of color on another wall. Julian crossed to the blazing fire and put out her hands.

  “An opulent inn, sir. And you are well known here that they obey you so readily?” She could not wholly trust him even yet for all that he stood smiling and debonair, that strange smile transforming his stern face.

  “I bring much custom here.” He waved her to a seat and removed the crimson cloak from his shoulders. “Your given name is odd, is it not?”

  She knew that he made idle conversation to put her at her ease. “As a child I thought so. The firstborn son of our family was always so named. My father never saw me, and as he was the last of the direct line, my mother named me Julian.”

  “I know of your family. A brave house and one which suffered for it. Ah, here are refreshments.”

  The servant spread the array before her and departed, deftly catching the coin that Charles tossed. There was loin of beef, oysters, fish, bread new made, cheese, dried apples, mince pie, marchpane, malmsey, and claret wine. She reached out hungrily and drew back.

  “Surely all this is not for one person. Are you not joining me, sir?”

  He smiled briefly. “I broke my fast most heartily earlier. I did not know what you liked. Eat heartily lest mine host be offended.”

  There was enough food to feed those at Redeswan for a week. Julian felt her appetite dwindle as he watched her. She drank some of the rich wine he poured into a silver cup and felt it ring in her head. The cheese was dry in her mouth, and she found it hard to swallow. The feeling of unease that she had felt ever since entering this place was even more pronounced now. She rose abruptly.

  “I thank you for the rescue and the hospitality. Lord Varland. I must go. They may be looking for me. I must not anger the queen; she has been good to me and has burdens enough these days.” She saw where that line of thought might lead and stopped abruptly. She was babbling, she thought despairingly, possibly because he was a man of silences, mysterious as the mists. “I mean, I really must go. Would you fetch the servant?”

  Charles Varland stretched lithely and waved one hand. “You will never last the day if you do not eat. The queen will make sure that all the poor have been tended. She can survive a riot, feed with one hand and burn with the other, all in the name of God. She deceives herself and destroys this land, all in the name of God.” His words were slow cadenced and bitter, but he checked himself as if by force. “Have I not told you all will be well?”

  “She is the queen. You speak near treason!” Disquiet rose even more strongly in Julian, and she looked around for the old cloak she had worn earlier. “Moreover, she has been both kind and gracious to me.”

  “You would not betray an idle word given among friends.” His tone was soft; his smile did not falter.

  “Of course not. I but warn you as you did me.” She could not help the thrust. “Now, call the servant. Please, Lord Varland.”

  “Are you afraid of me?” He rose and crossed to where she stood.

  “Of course not!”

  “You should be.”

  The words were spoken so softly that she could not grasp their meaning at first and merely stared at him.

  “Enough of this byplay!” He fairly spat the words as he towered over her. “This thing between us shall be settled so that I can put my thoughts where they must be. You thought to dally with the king and with me while being the pure virgin well worthy of a rich lord, did you not? Ah, no, little maid, you shall pay the price of your wandering eyes.” His eyes were cruel now, but she saw the passion in them. “Come here.”

  “You promised to take me back immediately! Will you break your word?” She stood proudly, her breasts heaving under the thin wool of the dark gown, her back very straight.

  “What is one’s word to a wench?” He pulled her to him as he laughed hauntingly. The chiseled face was devil-handsome in the glowing light.

  “Let me go or I will scream and rouse the inn!” She jerked back and slammed at him with her closed fist.

  “Pray do. This is my house, and my servants obey me implicitly as you saw. My plan worked perfectly, did it not?” He laughed again and set his mouth to hers, despite her struggles.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Julian felt him loosening her clothes as he held her easily with one hand while his mouth ravished hers. She tried to pull away and twist free, but he held her strongly. Her dress ripped and the sound added fury to her struggles, but she was powerless against his desire. He put both arms around her body and locked her to him even as his mouth possessed hers. She could not breathe; she knew that she would faint if he continued to hold her so.

  His tongue reached for hers and wound about it, then teased and thrust as she turned her head the little that she could. His lips crushed and softened her own. One hand moved smoothly across her now bare breasts and twined fingers over her thrusting nipples as Julian, responding fiercely against her will, heard the pulses of her blood hammer in her ears.

  Charles pushed her slowly to the floor before the fire and lay down on the length of her so that she was doubly crushed. Now she felt the hardness of his manhood and knew the hunger of his body. She was helpless before his determined demand on her flesh, and she knew that she wanted him, though not in such an assault. He lifted his mouth from hers and looked down at her face while his hands scooped her breasts together.

  “Ah, you are fair!” He breathed the words softly, but his eyes were gray pellets in the dark face.

  She struggled all the more but could not move. Th
e red flush came into her face, and her mouth began to tremble as control left her. Now the tears welled into her eyes as she blinked them away. “Surely you can find a woman who will have you without rape! Or is it that they call you murderer truly?” She was beyond caution, or she would not have dared the anger that she knew lay just behind his imperturbable surface.

  His answer was to strip the skirts and shift from her in one movement. Then as she lay naked before him, caught in the shock of the moment, he tossed his own clothes aside and reached for her. He reckoned without the agility of one who was country bred. Before the hard arms could grasp her, Julian rolled free and, in one lithe pull, caught up a brand from the fire and held it before her as the flame flickered precariously close to his eyes.

  Charles sat very still, his mouth quirked in that smile that was no smile, the light of the fire and the candles glowing on his long, hard-muscled body, which was brown even low on his flat stomach. He was lean and firmly built, his back, stomach, and thighs flowing together in a dark statue the Greeks might have envied, they who so loved male beauty. His shaft was still hard and long, faintly shining on the tip, well erect. His face might have been carved also, so clear and pure did it seem.

  Julian said, half to herself, “You do well to hold yourself so high, my lord, for you are ravishingly handsome, as you know.”

  He stared at her, at the slender body that seemed a mixture of light and shadow, the body that Julian had often examined in the quiet of her chamber at Redeswan, sighing that her breasts were not fuller, her hips more rounded. Now she saw the vindication of that in a man’s eyes and knew her beauty.

  He said, “Put that brand down before you set the house afire. You cannot escape, and I will have you. Resign yourself to it.” He started to rise but drew back abruptly when she thrust the brand directly at his face.

  “I doubt that you will be interested in anything but your own disfigured face, and do not think that I will hesitate to burn it either.” She reached for the torn gown and pulled it about her, thankful that he had at least torn it straight down so that she could get into it quickly. “Did those men really attack me so that you might fake a rescue and so turn my heart to you?”