Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  “What do you want with me?” Julian’s eyes caught the surge of movement in his breeches and knew sickly that he was enjoying this, that he was working himself up to a purpose. “Why did you bring me here at first? I know that you lied to me about everything.”

  “I watched when you talked to that messenger. It was my game, the excitement by which I live, I who am called the somber northern prop of the throne! You want the truth! You shall have it. Ortega and I have conspired at times; he thinks me a good friend to Spain, and I have used him in dealings with France. He does not know that I support the young queen of Scots or that I mean to have power through that support. If civil war comes, I stand to gain either way.” His eyes glittered at her. “You were half dead and raving when I met Ortega in Dover after the battle. He wanted to let you die slowly; it seems that you insulted his pride at court, resisted his charms, and disfigured him. He thinks women should be meek and obedient. Anyway, he knows of my interests and was quite glad to give you to me with all that that implied. It was fitting, he said. I promised to tell him all that would happen—he enjoys such tales just as I do—and so our bargain was made.”

  Keep him talking, Julian thought, anything to postpone the moment when he laid hands on her! Julian spoke desperately. “But you are to wed! What of the heiress? Why me?” She edged back away from him and toward the pit from where the inhuman noises still emerged.

  He hooked both hands in the dagger belt he wore and swayed back and forth. “She will encounter the utmost respect until she bears my heir. Then she will fade into a decline brought on by childbirth. I, meanwhile, will seek several new boys to replace young Michael here. Beautiful as he was, he was too bold. I will not make that mistake again.” He looked at her from under slanted lids. “You are wondering where you enter into all this? Naturally, a woman can see no point beyond her very self. You rejected me, Julian Redenter, and therefore I have a score to settle with you. You were my betrothed, and you turned to a traitor. Can you not understand the depth of my feelings?”

  “You wanted me no more than I wanted you!” She drew back a little more and wanted to kick at the hampering skirts of her gown that had seemed so lovely only a short time ago.

  “True, but that is not the issue. I enjoy power, you see; that is one reason I support the machinations of France and the young queen of Scotland. The French are civilized about such matters as my preferences; I could be quite happy there with a hand in the government at times. You have amused me, my dear, I must say that. That Varland must be a veritable lion! You were quite explicit in your fevered utterances!” He walked toward her and put both hands firmly on her shoulders.

  Julian willed herself not to cringe away, but the shivers started up in her body. He pulled her into his arms and his mouth ground down on hers in a mockery of everything that she and Charles had shared. She lay passive in his grip, and slowly he set her away from him. As soon as she was free, she scrubbed one hand across her mouth and eyed him icily.

  “I have never understood what pleasure people find in that sort of thing.” His tone was almost conversational.

  “Let me go free, George! I promise that I will say nothing of all that has happened. I can make my own way, live in the villages, on the roadside, anything!” The plea was a mistake; she knew that as soon as she saw his nostrils flare and the bulge grow large again. He wanted her cringing and fearful!

  “I will paint you, of course. Now, who shall you be? Jael or Judith? Deborah?” He tilted his head to one side.

  No, you are more of the Greek beauty. Perhaps even the Byzantine, though your coloring is a bit off for that. Well, I can decide later. Your face won’t be affected.”

  Julian stood there in that fantastic place, the agonized cries of the young lover rising in her ears, and looked into the face of the man who was altogether sane in his own form of madness. How could this be happening to her? No nightmare could be so savage!

  “What are you going to do?” She braced herself to fight as Julian Redenter would always do no matter what the odds.

  “I certainly am not going to attack you, Julian.” He spoke as if in reassurance. “You have shown yourself lusty by your own admissions. The men of my guard have been iong without women and will be receptive to your charms, I doubt not. I will watch, of course. I wonder what that slender body will be like after a few of my hearty northerners have subdued it. Life will be interesting for us both.”

  With a shudder of horror, Julian realized that he meant to kill her by degrees and paint her death throes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  George Attenwood continued to watch Julian avidly as one hand strayed down toward his genitals and rose again.

  “I mentioned to several of my men only this noon that entertainment would be forthcoming. I think now is the time to summon them.”

  Julian tensed her muscles, and the slight movement caused his lips to curve in what seemed to be real amusement. He anticipated her resistance and was eager for it. She fought against the deadly fear that would destroy her and, with a supreme effort of will, pulled her gaze from his and lifted it to the picture above them. As she did so, a piece of casually stated information from one of the many conversations with Charles slipped into place in her mind. The wonder in her voice was not wholly simulated as she looked at the glorious canvas and then at its creator.

  “The style of that! The painter that King Philip admires so—Bosch! The grotesque and the beautiful done with such perfection of detail. He was a master, and I think you are also. Why? George, you waste yourself in these savageries. You are a true artist.”

  “Hieronymous Bosch, the Dutchman. Strange that you know him; his work is unlikely to interest a fair woman. He had the truly seeing eye, I believe. You are wrong to compare us. I could be far greater. I see the twisted behind the lovely and know which will triumph. Is not Michael brought down?” George moved forward to study the picture again, but he watched Julian out of the corner of his eye.

  She was struck once again by the resemblance to the style that Charles had described so vividly that day when he talked of Philip’s admiration for the artist and his own delight in his friend’s pleasure. Now she said, “Of course, you are right. But the quality of the imagination, the very strokes of the brush, the expressions rendered, all are matchless. All the power you could ever need or want is in those hands.” The sincerity in her words struck the man, and she saw that for the moment he was diverted from the velvet rope at the side which would certainly summon his men. Diversion was her intent, for each second of life was precious. Lure him back from the rope and into the carefully placed treasures, grasp the nearest thing and throw it, reach for another and pray that he counted the beauty of them more to be preserved than instant revenge. If she could be fortunate enough to put her hands on a dagger or sword . . . .

  “But I must have the inspiration to be great. You must understand that if you can appreciate the work of that Dutchman dead these how many years?” George’s eyes roamed downward, and he stepped a little closer to the pit where Michael groaned and uttered those pitiable noises that reminded Julian of an animal dying by inches. ‘The act of destruction inspires me, you see. It is done for my great talent. My wife, the poison, that canvas is truly a masterpiece. If we had time I could show it to you. And die boy, Gareth, a perfect Saint Sebastian.”

  Julian was now truly terrified at what she had unleashed in him. Her suspicions had not gone this far. She spoke through stiff lips. “But you are the arbiter of time. Take it and show me. I assure you that I understand the difficulties and severities imposed by the burden of a talent such as yours, such an incomparable talent.”

  “That is true, but I cannot wait.” He fixed his eyes on her face and she saw the bestiality there, the very face of her lingering death.

  “Wait! Tell me what form the picture involving me will take. At least you can do that.” Foolish, foolish, her mind raged. Better to run openly and be done. All her senses were alert, and she felt the ga
thering passion of action in him that would explode momentarily.

  “George, the guest is awake and seeking you. He has to leave, he says, and would pay his respects.” The low voice spoke behind Julian and to the side.

  She could not see him, but she recognized the sound of Father Robert’s distinctive intonation, half-accented, slightly drunken. Did he then condone this madness, or was he in league with the travesty of manhood that was George Attenwood? She whirled to make ready to run, to fight them both if she had to, and the sudden motion loosed the final bond that had restrained George. His lips rose above his long teeth into a wolf snarl, and the cry that came from him was curiously like that of the young man he was destroying. He flung himself at Julian, both hands reaching out for her.

  “Now is the time! I will call them now! You have beguiled me with words after the manner of your kind, but I am wiser, better!”

  The strong arm of Rob thrust Julian away and tried to catch George, but it was too late. He tumbled into the open pit, and the cry that immediately began was not human, but a demonic scream of triumph followed by the wail of a trapped thing. They heard the thrashing and flailing even over the steady screaming. Rob went forward and bent to look. Julian came up beside him, but he tried to push her away.

  “Get back. It is no sight for anyone to see. There is nothing to be done.”

  Julian moved back, but the sight of George Attenwood choking to death on the chain wrapped around his throat, his eyes bulging, one already burst from the long finger that had been poked into it, and the bloody mass that was his head, all this writhing with the sore-ridden near skeleton that was exacting its own revenge would remain with her in nightmares. The murderer was dying a murderer’s death.

  One final drawn-out scream rose, and then there was a long sigh as the noise in the pit ceased. Father Rob turned a white face to Julian and said, “They are dead. The boy used the dagger in Attenwood’s belt on himself. It is better so.”

  He had saved her life, and she would not flinch now or yearn after the Evil One. Julian said, “There was a man sent from God and his name is Robert.” The paraphrase would let him know the depth of her gratitude.

  He said, “I have done many things in my long life, but murder is now counted among them and yet is it not written, ‘. . . a life for a life ... a burning for a burning . . .’ I am no father of my church, but brother to men. Call me so.”

  She went to him then and put her arms around him. After a moment his went around her, and they stood together in that place of beauty and destruction, the bodies at their feet and the triumphant angel above them.

  Julian pulled back suddenly, half expecting the guards to come upon them. “Rob, we have to get out of here! Those screams will have roused the castle!”

  He recovered the old aplomb that had first made them friends. “This level is so deep that nothing would have been heard. No one comes here except by the express order of my lord; I doubt that more than one or two persons in the castle even know what goes on in these rooms. He was devious, that one.” He turned to her, noting the pallor of her face and the red flags in her cheeks. “Sit down, my dear, and calm yourself. You have endured much and now we must plan.”

  “I must leave this place! Go anywhere, just away. I do not care if it is in a snowstorm!” Julian paced up and down, then abruptly pushed around the screen and went out into the treasure room, this time almost insensitive to the hoarded beauty there. “What of Sir Guy? What will we tell him?”

  “Nothing. He still sleeps. I heard your laughter, and I was not nearly as drunk as I appeared. It is a habit of mine which has been useful in the past. Truly, Julian, I did not think he meant to harm you, only keep you as a mistress.”

  She felt a flash of scorn that vanished quickly as she looked at the earnest lined face, the serious dark eyes. “I am grateful for your help, Rob. But for you he would have worked his will on me.” She would never know what the priest had intended, whether to remonstrate or divert or really attack, and she did not want to know. Life was too dear, friendship too precious, love too seldom found. Attenwood’s scheme struck her in all its power then, and she leaned against the wall, chills running up and down her arms.

  Rob looked discreetly away as he said, “I can only think that we must take Sir Guy into our limited confidence, saying that you have no wish to be the mistress of my lord, and I will go with you to distant relatives who will protect you for my sake. That way the men will think nothing of the three of us leaving, just two others to provide escort for the messenger of the queen who has honored us with his presence. I can seal the door and none will dare come here for a lengthy time. These are times of turmoil, and I doubt that his betrothed will have the matter pursued.”

  “You knew all the time!” She felt the stab of pain and knew it for foolishness. One was as one was, she no less than he.

  “Not entirely, Lady Julian. I am still a priest of your Lord God, and I do not wholly condone evil.”

  She put her hand on the burly arm. “Forgive me, my friend.”

  “He seemed to be less preoccupied with that side of his nature, the cruelty and the recording of it. I dared to hope.” He sighed and patted her fingers. “I will speak to this courtier if you think that would be best. I gather that he was not wholly receptive to your pleas.” He shrugged at her questioning look. “George hinted at what he saw and heard. That was another reason I was on guard.”

  Julian’s resolve had been growing with the minutes, and now it was firm. She would not be deflected. Her gaze roved over the treasures, seeing enough to ransom a Saracen king. Many would buy and ask no questions; many would take and do as they were bidden. But the trust and help of the priest was essential. She knew that she was correct in her assessment of him as essentially weak, but in times of stress he was equal to the need.

  “Sir, I would speak to you now as a priest.” The formal words touched him to the very core, and he stood the straighten

  “Say on, daughter, bearing in mind all that has been done here.”

  She sank down on an ornate stool, and he did likewise. This would be one of the most important performances of her life, and it must be accomplished in a very few minutes. “A priest forever” went the Biblical injunction, and it was to this that she, the lapsed one, must appeal. “You will have been at my bedside and heard me speak much of Lord Varland, whom I truly love and who loves me. He and I both turned from the ways of the faith due to all that has happened in this land and what it did to us and those who cared for us. He lies now a prisoner. . . Swiftly Julian outlined all that had gone before, placing emphasis on the right and justice and true faith. Abstractions all when murder had been done around them. “And we have the chance to make some restitution. We can take part of this treasure, what we can carry with us, go to London, and there make bargain for the release of Varland and any others implicated with him. Then we can leave England, returning when the queen sees reason or when the young heir-to-be is settled in the succession. This gathered horde will at least do something for us and for the realm.” She paused, her mouth dry, her skin flushed. The priest started to speak, but she forestalled him. “You have loved, you know what it is like. You know what Attenwood was like, and there is no accounting for the evil he must have done. Let one wipe out the other. You may say that I wish only to free my beloved and that is very true, but there is the faith to be considered, and you can be that instrument.”

  Brother Rob smiled at her, and the flash of idealism was obscured. “You are eloquent, Julian, and I admire the purity of your motives, but you need not have worked so hard to convince me. I am first and foremost greatly concerned with the safety of this my flesh for all that I serve God. We will free Lord Varland, and I may say that I greatly envy him. Then I will take some share of this wealth and depart to a suitable monastery with agreeable views. My sins will, I think, be purged in part.”

  Their eyes met in conspiracy, and Julian felt some of her dragging burden lift in hope. She said briskly,
‘‘Then go and tell Sir Guy what you must. Bring me some sort of shabby clothes to travel in, the more disreputable and the baggier the better. I will gather jewels and the things we can very easily carry. If we leave by the light of dawn there should be very little suspicion.” As she spoke she advanced on the jewel-laden trees to pry loose some of the stones.

  “There is nothing so practical as a woman.” Rob paused at the door. “I will hasten. There is a special panel that can be worked to obscure this. I will work it when I return from speaking to the messenger.”

  “And what will you say to the messenger? No, don’t move, either of you. I mean to find out what is going on here.” Sir Guy Edmont, lean face shadowed and cold, moved into the gleam of the firelight which gleamed on the great sword in his hand. “I have had some practice with locks. I heard screams, wild laughter, there were the intimations that Julian gave me, then my wine was drugged for all that I drank very little and yet was borne down by sleep. Then this . . .” He advanced further into the room and stared about in wonder, but the weapon was held at the ready.

  Brother Rob opened his mouth and shut it abruptly. His shoulders slumped under the robe and he heaved a sigh. Whatever he had intended to say to Guy was not forthcoming. Julian waited a fraction of time for him to speak, then she took the power. She was so utterly weary of trying to persuade people to do things and of being at the mercy of others. A heavy golden ball banded with diamonds was on the green velvet at the foot of the jeweled trees. One blow with that would make a man’s senses blur, and she would have the time she needed.

  “Go and look in that room yonder, Sir Guy. Take us with you if you will. Look long upon what you see there, and then tell me what you wish us to do.” She stooped slowly and picked up the ball, a casual action she could only hope he would not think too strange. “There are such lovely things here, are there not?”