“I’ve never been in such a place,” she offered by way of explanation. “As I was saying,” Christina rushed to continue, “I’m worried about her. Worried her father won’t approve, and she will be devastated.”
She was making no sense.
“Can you start from the beginning?” he asked.
She sighed. “I should not be telling you this, but Juliette is quite determined, and I can see no other way. You see, she’s terrified she will be trapped in a loveless marriage like her parents. Her father, her mother, and even sometimes her younger brother. . . they don’t agree with her penchant for tales of chivalric love. Juliette spends much time studying with. . .”
“Sister Heloise,” he finished.
Christina looked at him with surprise.
“Aye, and the nuns,” she continued. “She’s done so for years, and even her parents are unaware of the range of her interests. Books about history, religion, travel—Juliette reads them all. Because of it, she believes some. . . unusual things.”
He imagined her friend was being kind.
“One of which is that she can avoid her parents’ fate and marry for love. Which is absurd, of course, since her father will choose her husband. As mine did. As it is for every noblewoman. But Juliette. . .”
He already understood.
“Is here to find love,” he finished.
Christina nodded. “Her father has all but betrothed her to Lord Wytham. Last eve, Juliette told me of your meeting. You saved her on that first day even though she was a stranger. You didn’t take advantage of her, and for a man so large and intimidating, you seem very kind.”
Kind was not the word most people would use to describe him, and in this instance, it was not completely unwelcome. He was ashamed of his behavior with the girl.
“Why did you risk yourself to tell me this?” he asked.
It changed nothing. It could change nothing.
“I don’t want her to get hurt. Juliette is the kindest, most giving person you’ll ever meet. She may have some odd notions about women—and marriage—but please treat her gently. I don’t presume to know what her father may think. He’s so concerned with keeping peace on the border, perhaps marriage to a Scottish border lord would not be unwelcome. But I do know Juliette is most vulnerable. I don’t know your intentions, but I’d ask for them now.”
He nearly smiled. “You’re a mite protective.”
She sat up straight on the small stool and stuck her chin out as regally as a queen. He’d seen that expression before. The women were good friends indeed.
“Obviously I know about your meeting last eve—”
“My lady,” he said, cutting her off. “She asked to meet me, and you’ll admit it was an odd request coming from an unmarried lady—”
Lady Christina had the decency to blush on her friend’s behalf.
“So I did. As you said yourself, I did not take advantage of her. Nor do I intend to.”
He stopped before mentioning he had no intention of marrying anyone, especially not the daughter of the warden he had been sent to kill.
Toren imagined his sister sitting across from a man, appealing to him on behalf of a friend, such as Lady Sara. He owed her the same kindness he would want someone else to show his sister. “I can assure you, your friend is safe. I have no intentions of hurting her. You have my word.”
She eyed him with suspicion, but it appeared that she believed him, maybe because he’d spoken the truth. . . or as close to the truth as he could manage. Juliette would be hurt, there was no helping that, but not directly by him. And she would be extremely safe with him, as he had no intention on being alone with her or ever seeing her again if he could help it.
Her father, however, would not meet the same fate.
Christina was up to something.
She had excused herself from the midday meal, saying she felt ill. But her friend had looked perfectly fine, albeit a bit worried. They’d been going back and forth all morning, but Juliette refused to be dissuaded from her plan.
As soon as Condren’s hosts took their leave and the meal ended, Juliette started to make her way from the hall to check on Christina. Lord Hedford had given her leave to do so.
Servants were already scurrying about, clearing tables and preparing for another meal.
She couldn’t imagine the expense involved in hosting such an event. Sister Heloise had told her about a southern earl who’d once hosted a different tournament, the Tournament of the King, and lost everything but his title after lavish banquets and celebrations that lasted for nearly a month.
She wasn’t sure the tale was true, but Juliette knew a tournament such as this one would put a serious strain on Chauncy Manor. Though it was very much a castle in all but name, and her father’s land spread far enough to keep their family comfortable, their estate could never support such a lavish expense.
“My lady, a word if you please?” a gentleman asked her. She’d been so caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed his approach.
This Englishman reminded her of the lord they’d dined with the previous evening. Though not quite as dandified, he was nevertheless dressed in a bright red surcoat with gold trim, and his face, though attractive enough, was just too. . . pretty.
“Allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed prettily. “Lord Blackburn of Anglewood.”
Was she expected to know him?
“I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Blackburn.”
He tucked his dark blond hair neatly behind his ears.
“You don’t remember me.”
At times like these she wished her maid had been able to accompany her on this journey. Or that Christina could remain by her side at all times.
“I fear I do not, my lord.”
Juliette moved aside for a servant who was attempting to serve ale to a table of knights behind her. Apparently they did not care that the meal had ended.
“I visited your father and Henry Rode, who was once the bailiff at Blackburn, nigh more than two summers ago.”
Though Juliette still could not place him, she did not want the man to feel insulted.
“Yes, Henry. I didn’t realize he held that position anywhere else before coming to us.”
Henry was Chauncy’s bailiff, and her father relied on him to collect rents and supervise the peasants who lived and worked on their land. He rarely spent time at the manor, but she wasn’t surprised to learn this man was connected to their bailiff in some way. Henry was. . . shifty. She never cared much for the man.
“Where is your escort?”
The question took her by surprise.
“I—”
“Here.”
Lord Hedford’s voice startled her. She’d left him behind, promising to return with news of Christina’s welfare, and hadn’t expected to see him so soon.
“Lady Juliette was just inquiring after my wife. Good day, Blackburn.”
He took her elbow and guided her away before Juliette could bid the man farewell.
“I planned to—”
“I know. I saw Blackburn waylay you. Come, we’ll check on Christina together.”
They wove through the exodus as people left the hall to return to the lists—the afternoon jousts would begin shortly. As they climbed the winding stone stairs that led to the upper floor, Hedford warned her against her unwanted companion.
“You would do well to avoid him. The man is a lecher at best.”
She shuddered, remembering the question he had posed to her.
“He says he visited Chauncy Manor, though I don’t remember him. So you know the man?”
“I know of him. ’Tis said he colludes with those who attempt to destabilize the border for profit. His reputation makes him popular with those who feel the Scots belong in their own country and resent any attempt at peace.”
“Why do you tell me all this?” Her father would never have been so forthcoming.
He pushed open the heavy oak door that led to their privat
e chambers. “Because you asked.”
Juliette was about to reply that she’d asked her father on plenty of occasions for more information, only to be told it was the business of men. Worse, her mother usually sided with her father on such matters. For a couple who did nothing more than cohabitate, they often shared the same opinion.
She was about to commend the man—not that she wasn’t still suspicious of him—when the door fully opened. And the sight that greeted them made her heart leap in fear.
The empty chamber was devoid of Christina and her maid.
Hedford glanced at her, and Juliette shrugged, trying to appear casual. But she knew Christina, and this did not bode well. She was normally exactly where she was supposed to be.
Without another word, they both turned and walked back toward the hall. As they made their way down the stairs to find her friend, the very person they sought ran up the stairs toward them.
Christina halted as she turned the corner. “Oh!”
I knew it!
Her friend looked as hearty as she had at the meal. Her ailment was obviously temporary. Other than the flush that was creeping up her delicate cheeks, she looked perfectly fine.
She looked from Juliette to Hedford.
“I believe we need to talk.” Hedford took his wife’s hand and guided her back toward the private chambers.
It seemed she would have to learn about Christina’s true whereabouts later.
In the meantime, Juliette would take advantage of her freedom to seek the man she’d dreamt of all last eve. She’d awoken from a fitful sleep to the imagined sensation of his lips on hers. He had invaded her thoughts both asleep and awake.
His joust had been too early to attend this morn, though Juliette had spied his shield on the wall of shields, so she knew he’d won his match.
As she walked back through the hall and down the flight of stairs that led to the castle’s entranceway, she prayed Lord Blackburn had moved on. She had no desire to meet him again without a champion. Her distrust of that man was as strong as her trust of Toren—both were instinctive feelings she couldn’t quite explain.
It was a warm day, and the sun hung high and bright in the sky, seeming to smile down on the event. Not a cloud in the sky to mar its perfect blue hue. She walked with purpose to the lists, enjoying the freedom, even if it was temporary. Toren had not appeared at the midday meal. Nor had she seen him watching the jousts. Juliette scanned the galleries, though she didn’t expect to find him there. Most of the knights who were not participating stood off to the side as they shouted for their favorites.
Makeshift marketplaces had been built into both the inner and outer baileys for the tourney. On her way to the lists, Juliette had passed stands of fruits and vegetables, tables with merchant’s wares, and even acrobats and stilt-walkers who were vying for the attention of potential customers.
Perhaps she would return to peruse the stalls, though somehow she didn’t think Toren Kerr would be shopping for wood carvings or spices. On the other hand, she wasn’t foolish enough to venture too far from the center of activity alone.
“We meet again. ’Tis indeed my lucky day.”
It was certainly not hers. Had Lord Blackburn followed her?
“Well met, my lord.” She tried to nod politely and walk past him, but he moved to block her path.
“Indeed. Has Hedford lost his charge?”
Though the question was innocent enough, his tone was edged with sarcasm. She tried again to pass.
“I was just returning to him—”
“Nay,” he took her by the elbow, “come with me to watch the next match.”
She would do no such thing.
“My lord, I must be—”
“I won’t hear of anything but your assent, my lady. Come.”
He tugged her more forcefully, and this time she was more firmly dismissive.
“Please let go of my arm.”
She was proud that her voice sounded so strong and unwavering.
“Where do you—”
“She asked you to let go of her arm.”
Toren.
She couldn’t see him—the voice had come from behind her—but the expression on Blackburn’s face left no doubt. He dropped her arm as if it were on fire. And though his eyes narrowed, Blackburn took a step away from her.
Juliette stood frozen to the spot.
“If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss the next match you dearly wished to watch,” Toren said.
He must have overheard their conversation.
“Filthy Scot.” Blackburn walked away, but not before giving Toren a look that said their conversation was not finished.
Juliette turned then and felt like she’d just fallen from a castle turret. He was dressed in a cream tunic, the sleeves of which were rolled to his elbows and a pair of tight—what did they call them in his country—breeks?
This look suited him.
Oddly, he didn’t seem bothered by Blackburn’s parting remark.
“Did you hear—”
“Are you unharmed?”
He wasn’t smiling. In fact, it was the most serious she’d ever seen him. With the exception of during his joust, of course. But his helmet had hidden his face. Mayhap he had been grinning from ear to ear under it.
“Aye,” she said, and tried again. “You don’t look—”
“I’ll bid you a good day,” Toren said, departing.
“Wait!”
She grabbed his bare forearm on instinct, eager to keep him with her. She pulled away immediately, but not before she noticed how his arm felt below her hand. Hard, not unlike his personality in some ways. While the Scottish chief was normally quick to smile, something was clearly bothering him.
“I must to speak with you.”
“My lady—”
“Juliette.”
He was so different today. “Have I done something to offend you?”
“Nay, lass. You have not.” But his actions proclaimed otherwise.
“Why did you agree to stay?”
She didn’t mean to sound as demanding as a steward reprimanding his staff, but something was not right. The man who kissed her, who’d invaded her thoughts and rescued her—twice—was not the one who stood before her now.
This was the man she’d seen a glimpse of last night. The chief. The hardened border lord. The kind of man, perhaps, who did not fall in love with his wife.
Could she have misjudged him so?
“I told you, I need to speak with someone.”
Why was he being so frustrating? “Aye, and you said he was not here. Why did you decide to stay?”
A horn sounded, signaling the beginning of a match.
“I would suggest you not attend the joust unescorted with Blackburn on the loose. Good day, my lady.”
Without giving her time to react, he walked away. The brute—perhaps her first assessment had been accurate after all—was gone. He was certainly no Erec, and she was feeling less and less like Enide each moment. She’d always fantasized about that knight, who’d won a tournament just to defend the assertion that his lady was the most beautiful.
Mayhap the story was just that. A fantasy.
But she intended to find out.
“Kerr! How does it go, you wee beast?”
The slap on the back that accompanied the greeting would have knocked down a smaller man. Toren wasn’t looking for company, but in his rush to put distance between himself and Juliette, he had nearly run straight into the reiver.
Clan MacAdder had come upon hard times. Once a powerful border family, their already small numbers had been decimated, and the fierce chieftain had become a notorious border reiver.
He returned the favor, only he did manage to disengage MacAdder’s feet from the ground.
“Better than you,” Toren said.
The crowd had thinned as two popular contestants were facing each other in the nearby lists. Applause and shouts of encouragement could be heard even at this distance.
“I’ll be thanking you not to remind me.”
Toren pointed to the man’s head, which was devoid of hair. “Reiving has not been easy on you, I see. Your hair’s gone missing.”
The chieftain laughed, a hearty sound Toren remembered from his youth. Clan Kerr had few allies thanks to his father’s mistrust of anyone beyond his own kin, but he liked to think of MacAdder as an old family friend. His father had thought highly of the man and would be disappointed to see how his clan fared recently.
“Survivin’ just fine, laddie, my hair be damned.”
MacAdder’s grandfather was a Highlander who’d settled along the border, bringing his kinsman with him. Toren remembered his father telling stories of the “savage brute” who’d terrorized the borderlands. Toren suspected the truth was not quite as entertaining.
“Though not as well as you, from what this old man can see.”
“Old man,” he frowned, dismissing the idea. “A few grey hairs in your beard doesn't make you old, MacAdder. Though your eyesight is failing if you think Clan Kerr is without its own troubles.”
There was an expression along the border: ‘living so close to the English has a way of making even the brightest day seem dark and grey.’
“Och, my failing eyes did not blind me to the fair lassie I saw you with earlier.”
Juliette. Toren’s stomach roiled at the thought of what he was going to do to her.
He hadn’t planned on seeing her, certainly hadn’t planned on talking to her. When he saw Blackburn near her, though, every muscle in his body had prepared for a fight. Everything he knew of the man put him on his guard. The coward had even cried foul after Toren had laid him out in the first pass of their match.
He was a coward, the kind of man who likely mishandled women because he could.
Blackburn was lucky Toren hadn’t killed him.
“She’s the English warden’s daughter.”
“Ahh, of course. Her reputation is warranted.”
More so than MacAdder realized.
“Where is that traitor anyway?”
So Hallington’s reputation had been spreading.
The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3) Page 6
