Besieged and Betrothed

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘No. I wouldn’t.’ His gaze slid to the bed. ‘I’ve no wish to upset him either.’

  ‘So you’ll still let me look after him?’

  ‘No. We’ll look after him. We may be on different sides of this war, but for the time being I suggest a truce.’

  She felt a lump rise in her throat. For the time being... Until it was over, he meant. Which also meant that he didn’t think it would be long. He was right. As much as she’d hoped for an improvement, her father’s condition had only deteriorated in the months since she’d brought him back from Stephen’s camp. Now there was no denying the fact that he was dying, fading away before her very eyes. And when he was gone—she felt as though an icy hand were clutching her heart—when he was gone she’d be all alone in the world, without a home or a position or purpose—because this man had taken them all away from her. She swallowed, forcing the lump in her throat back down again. She couldn’t think about any of that just yet. Better to have a truce for now and think about everything she’d lost afterwards. She could blame Lothar and the Empress then.

  ‘Truce.’

  ‘Good. Then tell me one more thing, my lady. Have you had word from Stephen? Is he coming?’

  She lifted her hand up as if to brush his question aside at the same moment as he moved slightly towards her, so that her fingers pushed inadvertently against his chest. She froze at the contact, her pulse quickening at once. She could feel his heartbeat through his tunic, accelerating almost as quickly as hers was, though surely for a different reason... She stared at her splayed fingers, somehow unable to pull them away. He felt warm and solid, the muscles of his chest flexing slightly beneath her fingertips. Every nerve in her body seemed to vibrate in response. He’d asked her a question, she remembered vaguely. Something that had shocked her at the time, though now she could barely remember it. Something about Stephen? What should she say? She couldn’t lie, not when she’d just promised that she wouldn’t, but her throat was so dry she didn’t trust herself to say anything...

  ‘Lady Juliana.’ The way he said her name almost made her knees buckle. ‘If you don’t answer, then I’ll be forced to assume the worst. We need to be ready, for your men’s sake as well as your father’s.’

  She peeked up and let out a panting breath. His eyes were boring into hers, smoke-coloured and smouldering with white-hot intensity, as if he were feeling the same way she was. Was he? The thought made her stomach leap with excitement, but she still hadn’t answered. She had to answer, but she couldn’t, shouldn’t, do this—whatever this was.

  She tore her hands away, her fingers turning numb as she did so.

  ‘He sent a message nine days ago saying that he’d be here in two weeks. That’s why I tried to take you prisoner. I was trying to stall your attack until then.’

  ‘Not a bad plan.’ His voice seemed to have gravel in it.

  ‘It might have worked if you hadn’t already given the order.’

  ‘You were still a worthy opponent, my lady.’

  ‘Just not good enough to win.’ Her heart misgave her. ‘Not good enough for Stephen or my father either. I’ve failed both of them.’

  ‘On the contrary, you did your best for them both. Sometimes our choices aren’t as clear cut as one side or another.’

  ‘Not just Stephen or Matilda, then?’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat with a husky sound. ‘I ought to go and make preparations.’

  ‘Yes.’ She took a step backwards, willing her pulse to slow down. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I won’t be long. From what Ulf tells me, you have four months’ worth of sleep to catch up on.’

  ‘There’s no need—’

  ‘There is,’ he cut her off. ‘From now on, we’ll take turns to look after him. No arguments, my lady.’

  He made for the door and then stopped, half-turning his head as if another thought had just occurred to him.

  ‘For what it’s worth, I never meant to imply you weren’t a fit chatelaine. Under the circumstances, I’d say you were one of the best I’ve ever met.’

  She stood rooted to the spot in silence, waiting until he left the room before letting the tears roll down her cheeks. Despite everything else he’d taken from her, somehow she felt as if he’d just given her the best present of all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘We need more arrows.’

  Lothar ran an experienced eye over the armoury, over the long rows of bows and crossbows, swords and slingshots, assorted knives and shields. It was a decent selection, not bad for such a small castle, in reasonable condition, too, without any traces of rust, but there was still no harm in being over-prepared.

  ‘I’ll see to it.’ Ulf nodded curtly.

  ‘More missiles, too.’ He peered into a barrel filled to the brim with assorted shapes and sizes of stones. ‘We have the space. We might as well fill it.’

  ‘I’ll send some men out.’

  ‘Be sure to send lookouts with them. I don’t want Stephen catching anyone by surprise.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Otherwise, I’m impressed.’ He gave the Constable a nod of approval. ‘I didn’t expect your armoury to be so well maintained.’

  ‘Lady Juliana insists on everything being kept in good order.’

  ‘Then I’ll be sure to compliment her on it later.’

  He watched the Constable go with the ghost of a smile. He’d told him that Lady Juliana wasn’t a prisoner, but Ulf and his men still seemed determined to heap as much praise upon her abilities as chatelaine as often and as loudly possible. At this point he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear she’d built the castle herself. Not that he disagreed with them. She was clearly well suited to the role and certainly nothing if not organised. Now that he’d commandeered the bulk of Sir Guian’s provisions—a fact that the Baron would no doubt be reporting to Matilda within days—there was very little for him to do. Which was probably the way Lady Juliana would want it.

  He picked up a sword and ran his finger down the flat side of the blade. After a long night spent thinking about their predicament he’d decided to focus on practical matters that morning instead, though the fact that he’d countermanded the Empress’s orders still lay heavy on his mind. He’d had no choice, but he could only hope Matilda would understand that. If she didn’t—if she sent Sir Guian back and summoned him to Devizes instead—what then? He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. The earlier message he’d sent her warning about Stephen’s possible return into Herefordshire ought to explain his remaining there, and she’d always trusted his judgement before. William wouldn’t last much longer, that was obvious, and after that...

  He swore vehemently. If Lady Juliana would only renounce her allegiance to Stephen then it would help her cause with the Empress a little, but she refused to consider it, and he could tell it was useless to argue. The stubborn glint in those green eyes was exactly the same as her father’s when he’d made up his mind about something and there had never been any chance of budging him either. The last thing he needed was another stubborn woman in his life, yet he couldn’t help but admire her as well. Amidst all the self-seeking opportunists in this war, she’d sided with Stephen simply to protect her father. She’d even been willing to tolerate Sir Guian if it had meant keeping her word. Under the circumstances, it was hard to see what else she could have done. The only question was whether Matilda would forgive her refusal to switch sides again...

  He sighed. It wasn’t his job to defend or protect her. She’d made her own bed. He ought to let her lie in it, though he already knew that he couldn’t. He hadn’t even been able to leave. He’d told her that he’d stayed for her father, though in truth it had been just as much for her. He couldn’t abandon her, even if he had no idea what to do with her either. If she wouldn’t renounce her allegi
ance, then there was no way he could let her remain at Haword once the crisis was over. He could still send her to Stephen, though now that she’d revealed the truth about her father as well as surrendered the castle, there was no knowing what he’d do with her. Besides the fact that he’d have to tell Matilda about William eventually—and once he did that, he knew that she’d want to confront Lady Juliana herself. Neither option was very appealing. He doubted either side would be sympathetic, which left Lady Juliana trapped in a precarious position somewhere between the two. Not to mention him stuck in the middle defending her. Hell’s teeth!

  Distracted, he sliced his finger along the edge of the blade, grimacing as blood dripped into the rushes below. Damn it, this was what came of thinking and not acting. He ought to stick to what he was good at, not waste his time in useless speculation. There was nothing he could do for now except defend the castle against Stephen and help take care of William as best he could. Lady Juliana’s fate, uncertain as it was, would have to wait. He tossed the sword back on to its pile and strode out of the armoury, slamming the door behind him as he made his way back to the keep and up to her father’s chamber. There was no need for him to return there so soon, but he seemed unable to stay away, as if his feet were moving of their own accord. As he’d expected, she was sitting just where he’d left her, folding squares of material on her lap as she murmured the words of a poem. He stopped in the doorframe to listen, surprised by the melodious timbre of her voice, so different to the defensive tone she usually adopted around him. It sounded natural, relaxed, and so soothing that he wanted to sit down and listen...

  ‘I thought you didn’t know any poetry?’ He clapped his hands as she finished.

  ‘Poetry?’ She looked faintly embarrassed, though her voice had a smile behind it. ‘No, that’s an old Saxon ballad. Father taught it to me as a child. I thought the words might comfort him.’

  He glanced down at the bed and wondered if she was right. The lines around William’s mouth seemed to have eased slightly. He even had more colour than before.

  ‘What’s all that?’ He gestured at the pile of material in her lap.

  ‘Bandages.’

  ‘Are you preparing for battle?’

  She shrugged. ‘Just in case we need them.’

  ‘We?’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were on Stephen’s side.’

  ‘It’s not a question of sides. Just because I’ve sworn allegiance to Stephen doesn’t mean I want him to attack us.’

  ‘It might mean you get your castle back.’

  ‘Until the next siege, you mean.’

  He sat down in a chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. There was no answer to that. The way the fortunes of this seemingly endless war veered back and forth he couldn’t exactly argue.

  ‘Finished in the armoury already?’

  She tipped her head to one side and he smiled. He was starting to recognise her mannerisms.

  ‘There wasn’t much for me to do. You put the Empress’s armourers to shame, my lady.’

  ‘Is that permitted?’ Her tone sharpened like a dagger itself. ‘Since I’m not allowed to fight, am I allowed to keep and clean weapons instead?’

  He made a face. ‘I told you, my refusal to fight wasn’t meant as an insult.’

  ‘It still felt like one.’

  ‘I don’t fight women.’

  ‘Not even if they ask you to?’

  ‘Not even then.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘What if the Empress asked you to?’

  ‘For a start, she’d have to order me. Then I suppose I’d have to let her attack me.’

  ‘You wouldn’t defend yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  She put down the piece of material she was folding. ‘You didn’t object to your soldier sparring with me.’

  ‘I didn’t like it, but I’d no right to stop you.’

  She frowned slightly, as if trying to gauge whether or not he was telling the truth. ‘In that case...what did you think?’

  ‘About?’

  ‘About my sword skills? Was I any good?’

  ‘Better than that.’

  Her frown lifted and her lips twitched before she broke into a broad smile. ‘So if we fought—not that we would—do you think I might win?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  She laughed before her expression clouded suddenly.

  ‘What happened to your hand?’

  ‘What?’ It took him a moment to understand the question. The sound of her laughter seemed to have actually stunned him. ‘Oh, nothing. Just a scratch.’

  ‘Let me see.’ She put the pile of folding aside and hurried towards him. ‘You should let me bind it at least.’

  ‘It looks worse than it is.’ He glanced down at his hand. That was true. There was a lot more blood than he would have expected from such a small cut.

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ She crouched down and took hold of his hand, turning it over and studying the wound with a look of such intense concentration that he couldn’t drag his eyes away from her either. Her fingers were so velvety smooth that he felt a strange compulsion to wrap his own around them. Her very touch seemed to make him feel better.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I cut myself on a sword when I was inspecting the armoury.’

  Her eyes leapt to his face with a look of amusement. ‘How long did you say you’ve been a soldier?’

  ‘Too long and, yes, I should have been paying attention.’

  ‘Well, just so you know what you did wrong.’

  She laughed again and he felt a powerful impulse to wrap his arms around her and scoop her up into his lap. When she laughed she looked radiant, as if there were actually a light shining behind her eyes. The effect was so mesmerising that she was already back on her feet before he could do anything about it, fetching a bowl of water and two of her newly folded bandages from the other side of the room.

  ‘I didn’t think these would come in handy quite so soon.’ She crouched down again, dabbing one of the cloths into the water and gently wiping the blood from his hand before tying the other around it.

  ‘There. Now don’t take it off for a few hours and no playing with swords in the meantime.’

  ‘Playing?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyes glinted with humour. ‘But if you must, remember the sharp end is the one to avoid.’

  ‘I’ll try to remember that. Now have you finished laughing at my misfortune?’

  ‘Almost.’ She sat back on her haunches though she still didn’t release his hand. ‘You can’t blame me for enjoying one small victory. I haven’t won many of late.’

  He gave a low chuckle. ‘Then I’m glad I’ve made you feel better.’

  ‘You have.’ She tilted her head to the side again. ‘You know, I’ve never heard you laugh before.’

  ‘It happens. Not very often. Though I could say the same about you.’

  ‘There isn’t much to laugh about.’ She ran her fingers absently along the inside of his wrist. ‘But maybe one day, when the war’s over... Did you get your scar with a blade, too?’

  ‘This?’ He touched his forehead incredulously. ‘How careless do you think I am?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to work out. What happened?’

  He took a deep breath. His scar wasn’t something he talked about. It had been part of him for so long that he barely noticed it himself any more and nobody else usually dared to ask questions. He’d never really considered the effect on his appearance either, but now for the first time in his life he felt self-conscious. What did she think of it? he wondered.

  ‘Lothar?’

  She said his name softly and he sighed, feeling as though those green eyes were somehow drawing the truth out of him.

&nb
sp; ‘My father kicked me into a table.’

  She clamped a hand over her mouth in shock. ‘But that’s terrible!’

  He smiled mirthlessly. ‘He was terrible. Everyone who knew him thought so. Though most of the time he was just drunk.’

  ‘You mean he did it more than once?’

  ‘Let’s just say it wasn’t unusual. My mother took the brunt of it.’

  ‘So when you said her death wasn’t an accident, you meant...’ Her voice trailed away to a whisper.

  ‘My father, yes.’ He felt an uncomfortable tightness in his throat. ‘He might not have known what he was doing at the time, but he still did it. It was no accident.’

  ‘Was he punished?’

  ‘No.’ The tightness seemed to be strangling him. ‘Nobody with any authority cared enough to punish him and those who did care were too scared. It was just hushed up and forgotten. She was forgotten.’

  ‘Not by you.’

  ‘No.’ His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. ‘Never by me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘But something like that never goes away. Is that why you don’t fight women?’

  He rubbed a hand across his throat. The tightness was getting worse the longer he talked, but he didn’t want to stop either. Now that he’d started, he actually wanted to keep going. He wanted to tell her everything. How could he feel so close to a woman he’d known for such a short space of time? he wondered. He liked her. He admired her. He even trusted her. Ironically, given how much of the time she’d spent deceiving him, she seemed more real, more herself than any other woman he’d ever met.

  ‘I won’t raise a hand to any woman in violence. Real or pretend.’

  ‘Is that the reason you don’t drink wine either?’