“Do you trust him?”
“Every time I ask Christina why Hedford was away for so long and what he was doing in France, she speaks of something else. I’ve attempted to question her about his background, but she’s shared precious few facts about the man. I’m not sure she knows herself. But I’ll admit, despite the air of mystery surrounding him, the man is quite beginning to win my affections for his treatment of Christina.”
“I’m sure he’s glad of it. And if I find anything about him, I’ll share it with you,” he said.
She stared at him. He said it so casually, it seemed as if Toren had no idea the implications of such a gesture. She tried to imagine her father sharing anything other than a flagon of wine at dinner with her. The idea was unfathomable.
“Jules?”
She continued to stare. “You will?”
His eyes narrowed. “Is something amiss?”
“Nay.” She didn’t want him to know how little she was ever consulted on matters of importance. “’Tis just not something my father would ever say.”
Toren smiled again, but this time it looked different, slow and sensual and almost predatory. “I am not your father.”
That was quite clear.
For a moment, it seemed he was going to reach for her. Mayhap kiss her again. But then he pulled back and asked, “Will he arrive soon?”
She wanted him to kiss her again, but Juliette refused to be disappointed. He was not coming, and she planned to say as much. But she did not want to talk of her father and instead attempted to dismiss the matter. “He is Lord Warden of the Middle Marches. A powerful man, and much too busy to inform his daughter of his plans.” She tried, and failed, to keep the resentment from her voice.
“You dislike your father’s treatment of you?”
Did he sound. . . hopeful?
“Aye, at times. I also love my father very much. But he is not a man to share his plans with a ‘mere’ female. My mother sometimes doesn’t even know which holding he visits or what month he will return. But he is my father.”
Something had changed between them. The easy banter was gone. Toren no longer seemed quite so relaxed.
“Is something amiss?”
For a moment, she feared he would get up to leave. But just as quickly as his mood had shifted before, so it shifted again. His features softened, and he reached for her. Juliette gave him her hand.
He rolled onto his elbow once again and pulled her hand, along with the rest of her, toward him.
“I cannot take your virginity, my fair maiden. But there are some other things I can show you.”
Reluctantly, Toren replaced the fine linen sheets over the woman who slept soundly next to him and stood from the canopied bed. He walked toward the dying fire, placed two logs on top, and began to stir it back to life.
Much the same as Jules had done for him.
He turned to watch her sleeping. From his position, he could see only a form lying on the bed. Nay, not just a form, but a goddess sent to torment him. Though he wasn’t as well read as his English rose, Toren knew some stories. His sister had once commissioned a traveling Irish bard to perform for May Day at Bristol, and Toren remembered vividly the man’s tale of Clíodhna. The goddess of love, more beautiful than all others, remained chaste until she met the mortal Ciabahn. She left Tir Tairngire, the land of the gods, to be with him, and the Gods took her away in a tidal wave.
This dalliance with Jules was destined to end just as poorly.
But he could not keep pretending it was simply a dalliance.
It was something more.
He had tried to stay away but could not. He had come here intending to make love to her, but he hadn’t been able to do that either. She was an extraordinary lass. Beautiful, aye. But also kind, fiercely intelligent, innocent. . . brave and caring. The kind of woman he could marry. He’d told her he could not marry her, and though it was true, it was the first time in his life he mourned such a fact.
But Jules was a different sort of woman. She was nothing like the mother who’d fled his family in their time of need. It was obvious she would do anything to protect the people she cared for—Christina, her mother and brother, and even her father. . .
The father he had been sent here to kill.
But after asking questions all day, he was further from the answers he sought. None seemed to know when, or indeed if, Hallington was coming. And when he inquired into the rumors, it appeared Jules’ father was indeed dedicated to peace along the border.
“So deep in thought.”
He’d turned back to the fire and hadn’t heard her leave the bed. The hand that settled so gently on his shoulder reminded him of why he should leave.
Toren turned and instantly hardened. God, how he wanted to be inside her. Claim her as his own. She looked as if she’d been properly bedded, but she’d not been. He had not even trusted himself enough to remove her shift, knowing it would be his undoing.
But he’d pleased her nonetheless.
“Something is wrong,” she said.
Aye, everything.
“Nay, lass. Not any longer.”
He pulled her into his arms at the same moment he told himself, again, to leave.
She came willingly and wrapped her delicate hands around his back. He held her like that for too long.
Toren inhaled and, oddly, found himself thinking of his brother-in-law. How he had railed against the man for dishonoring his sister. Upon learning the Englishman had taken Catrina’s virginity, he’d been so consumed with rage, it had taken all three of his siblings to convince him not to rampage back to England to slay the man.
Catrina had insisted she loved him. That despite the differences between them—ones that must have seemed as impossible to resolve as his budding relationship with Jules did—she had given herself to him freely.
He was beginning to understand.
“I must leave,” he forced himself to say.
“Aye,” she murmured, making no move to release him.
In response, he pulled her closer.
“It wouldn’t do for the household to stir and your handmaiden to catch us here.”
“It would be quite difficult as she remains at Chauncy Manor.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her.
“That is an unusual arrangement, is it not?”
Toren watched as her eyelashes fluttered open and shut as she blinked. God, everything about her fascinated him. “She took ill on the eve of our departure here. Helen, Christina’s maid, has been assisting me. She likely already knows you are here.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” She was unusual in so many ways.
“Nay, she does not gossip. She’d likely tell Christina, who already knows.”
He couldn’t resist smoothing her hair, touching the long, silky locks that fell in waves all around her.
“Your friend disapproves, of course.”
Jules shrugged. “She doesn’t understand.”
He moved his hand under her chin and lifted it so he could see her face more clearly.
“What does she not understand?”
He knew he should not ask. Just as he knew he should have already left hours ago. Somehow all the ‘shoulds’ in the world had ceased to matter.
“I’ve told you. This is my only chance to make a decision about my life. And I choose you.”
He felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach.
“I can’t offer you much, but I promise you this.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll not take what is your husband’s by right, but I will give you everything else I can. All I have, while I’m here at Condren, is yours.”
She looked confused, and rightly so. He was confused, and yet he wanted to love her in all the ways that he could.
Love.
Could it be?
“If you’ll have me, I will come to you every night. Give you pleasure and leave us both with memories to last a lifetime.”
He sounded like a damn poet rather than a hardened warrior. Soon he’d be swooning like his brother-in-law.
You already are.
“I wish for more but will take what you offer, Toren. I’d be a fool to do otherwise.”
Nay, he was a fool to think a few days of pleasure would erase the pain he’d cause her. But what other choice did he have?
His doubts would wait until tomorrow.
12
“I will change his mind.”
Juliette and Christina walked toward the lists two mornings after Toren had made his pledge to visit her bedchamber nightly. She’d spent the better part of the previous day in turmoil.
Christina knew everything, of course, and while her friend had tried to talk her out of seeing him again, she’d at least agreed Toren was honorable for not taking her virginity. At first, Juliette had resigned herself to their unusual relationship, accepting that theirs would be nothing more than a fleeting dalliance.
And yet. . . that resignation quickly faded, replaced by the desire to keep this wonderful thing she’d found for herself. The day before, she’d overheard a conversation at the midday meal about a wedding that was to take place between the daughter of a Scottish chieftain and an English noblewoman, which had reminded her such things did indeed happen.
“Despite the ban, marriages do take place between English and Scots,” she had told Christina.
“Of course they do,” her friend had answered. “But you already knew that, Juliette.”
This morn, Christina, dressed in the same bright blue color as Juliette, looked vibrant. Marriage seemed to agree with her.
Why should Juliette give up on it so easily?
“Aye, but to have the evidence there in front of me. My father speaks of peace with Scotland. Well, what better way to show he means it than to give his daughter to a border chief in marriage? Toren says we cannot marry. But that’s only because his mother left them. He fears it, Christina. Even with the evidence of his sister’s happiness in front of him, he doesn’t truly believe a peaceable union is possible. He despises asking for anything. Wants to be independent of the border politics, even his own country’s troubles. All he cares about is keeping his clan safe. But even the great Toren Kerr needs allies.”
Christina lifted her hand to shield her face from the sun, which had finally deemed it time to make an appearance.
“You seem to know much about your Scots chief.”
Juliette thought about that. Did she really? He’d shared much during their last two nights together. He’d said it was more than he’d ever told any woman before her. He’d told her of his upbringing and his siblings—and how he’d finished raising them after their mother’s abandonment.
While Juliette’s own mother had never truly understood her, she’d always listened to her. And her mother loved both her and her brother very much. She couldn’t imagine a mother simply leaving her children, grown or nay. It was unthinkable.
She stopped, and Christina did the same. They watched as Lord Hedford, who didn’t seem to notice they were no longer behind him, continued to make his way toward the galleries. Flags of various colors waved in the wind, the wooden spectator bench seats filling with spectators.
“I don’t know if he loves me, or I him for that matter. But I do know he cares for me. I can tell by the way he looks at me. And mayhap that is enough. Besides, it’s not as if he lives in the Highlands. I’m accustomed to life at the border. I just have to convince him I’ll not leave him.”
“And you’re sure that is the only barrier? The only reason for his resistance?”
Nay, she wasn’t sure of that at all. There was something else that held him back. If only she could discover the source of his resistance.
“Come,” Christina took her hand. “You don’t want to miss him.”
Toren would be participating in two jousts that day. By tomorrow, only two Scots and two Englishman would remain. The winner would be announced that evening, and the most important event of the tournament would begin the following day.
“Oh. . . I failed to mention,” Christina said. “Matthew received word from your father this morning. I don’t know the contents of the missive, but I thought you should know.”
Juliette stopped but neglected to let go of her friend’s hand.
“Oh,” Christina exclaimed when she was pulled backward toward her.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “It’s just. . . why did he not send word to me?”
Although her father wasn’t known for being forthright with her, that he would communicate with a man he hardly knew but not his daughter. . . it rankled.
“And then there is the matter of getting his permission to marry Toren.”
Christina laughed and tugged her forward.
“Mayhap you should get your intended’s permission first?”
They resumed walking, moving more quickly as the crowd was already cheering the first participants of the day.
“Mayhap.”
Not for the first time she wondered what her father was doing. For the warden to miss a tournament that embodied peace at a time when border relations were tenuous. . . something important must be keeping him. Did it have anything to do with those rumors? Toren had told her he needed to speak with her father. . . mayhap he knew something?
She would ask him this night.
By the time they arrived, the two opponents had already taken their positions. Juliette and Christina made their way to the opposite side of the lists where Hedford was sitting. He waved to them, and Juliette tried to navigate through the narrow wooden planks without stepping on a gown. This was the first time the crowd had swelled to capacity. These last two days before the melee, all the other contests had finished, and only the jousts remained.
The abhorrent Lord Blackburn had been declared winner of the archery contest, and Toren’s friend, the man who’d been involved in the fight, had bested all others in sword fighting. She’d attempted to ask Toren why he had not participated in those other events, but they’d been alone in her chamber at the time. Instead of answering, he’d slipped his hand under her chemise and made her forget to ask again.
Later, she’d asked him if it was normal to retain one’s clothes during such an encounter. Toren had only laughed and tossed her onto the bed. He’d kissed her so thoroughly she’d begged him to take her in truth.
Again, he had refused.
Whether they were merely lucky or Hedford and the maid looked the other way, she couldn’t be sure. Either way, they’d been able to keep their liaisons a secret. Toren left as soon as the sun rose, heading down to the hall to join the morning meal, where none would question the presence of an outsider. All tourney participants were welcome at any meal, even though they were primarily attended by the inhabitants of the castle.
“There he is.”
Although it was not the first time she’d seen him fully armored, the sight of Toren atop his mighty tournament horse made her squirm in her seat. At first she had thought it was fear for his safety that made her anxious. Men died in tournaments like these regularly. But having watched his matches, she’d begun to think it wasn’t possible for him to lose. He was methodical. Striking.
His sheer size and power were what made her heart race with excitement. . . and something else.
“I can see why you’re drawn to him,” Christina whispered.
She swallowed. He was coming this way, just as he’d done yesterday and the day before.
He tipped the lance toward her, and Juliette tied the ribbon she’d brought around the tip. She could feel all eyes on her and knew, with each passing day, the whispers only grew louder. What did she care? Though her father would likely learn of it, she hoped by then it would not matter.
And if she could not convince Toren his notion of marriage was incongruous?
Well, she’d have larger problems than her parents learning of her supposed indiscretions: the choice between a vow to the church or to a man who would contr
ol rather than love her.
Toren smiled and thrust the heavy lance into the air as if it were a small dagger. The crowd cheered, and Juliette refused to meet anyone’s gaze but his.
“He’s declaring himself for you in front of everyone,” Christina whispered.
“Nay,” she whispered back, watching Toren as he maneuvered his horse into position. “He cares little for convention. To anyone else, it would be a declaration. To him, it’s nothing more than his way of flaunting their expectations.”
“Say what you will. He clearly has a tendre for you.”
She very much hoped so.
As they watched the joust begin, Juliette held her breath. Then, suddenly, the unthinkable happened.
She was so confident Toren would knock his opponent to the ground that, when the exact opposite happened, she bounded up from her seat without realizing it.
Toren lay on the ground. Unmoving.
Dear God, was he dead? She nearly leapt over the couple in front of her in her eagerness to get to him, but her friend pulled her back into her seat.
“Juliette!” Christina’s frantic tone finally penetrated her mind. She was urging her not to rush down the galleries. But Juliette didn’t care who was watching. Toren was hurt!
“Juliette, sit down!” Christina muttered again, speaking for her ears only.
Her hands began to shake. Tears formed in her eyes, and when she tried to blink them away, it was Hedford’s voice that finally penetrated. “Lady Juliette, he’s fine. Look.”
Sure enough, though she’d been staring at him the whole time, it was just then that she saw his arms move. The rules dictated an opponent could not strike a felled man, so even though his opponent had already dismounted, he did not make a move toward him.
Until Toren suddenly sprang to his feet and unsheathed his sword.
And then panic welled in her once again. Their swords rang out so loudly she could probably have heard them back at the castle. While those around her cheered, Juliette had to force herself to sit as the English knight attempted to run his sword through Toren’s body. That their broadswords were blunted offered little comfort. The men aimed to inflict serious damage on each other, and Juliette couldn’t watch any longer.
The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3) Page 12
