Devil's Knight

by Geri Borcz

  "My thanks," she said in a tired breath to the waiting squire. "You may go."

  When the door closed behind the lad, Juliana plopped down upon the curtained bed. How easily Rhys had manipulated her. God curse him. She'd actually pleaded and vowed to behave.

  Now she was bound by that pledge.

  If she'd had the strength, she'd kick herself for falling prey to such a sorry ploy.

  Letting her head fall back upon the bed, she stared at the canopy above. It would be overcrowded with three, unless Isobel minded sharing.

  Juliana squeezed her eyes closed. "I'm a woman of my word, but something will come to me. You've not won the battle yet."

  * * *

  After divesting himself of his mail, Rhys sat at a table in the deserted great hall. He lifted his leg beside him onto the scarred bench and stretched the thigh muscle full length. His wound throbbed beneath the poultice and clean bandage that was applied through a hole ripped in his chausses.

  In high spirits, though, he attacked a platter of bread and cheese in front of him with gusto.

  "I must admit," chuckled Richard, who sat across the trestle table from his son, "it surprised me to learn that Baldwin has a daughter. None of us ever thought to ask."

  Nay, the biggest surprise and thrill came when Juliana sought Rhys's comfort. Even now, his blood hummed with tender emotions. Though she was oft times an exasperating woman, she possessed a fragile side that tugged at his heart. That she so strongly desired to stay close to him, instead of seeking refuge in the separate chamber prepared for her, told him that he'd breached her defenses.

  Does she hatch another sorry whim? Nay, she swore not. Without question, Rhys trusted Juliana to keep her word. She'd behave. No schemes. No more tricks.

  Rhys didn't fully understand her change in attitude, but then, women seldom reacted as a man expected. Soft creatures, still they lay beyond his ability to fathom.

  He pictured Juliana lying in his bed, her hair free and wild across the linen sheets, her body naked to his view, a dreamy light in her smoky eyes.

  His body reacted to the teasing images, and he stifled a groan. He sensed that to push Juliana further would lose him what little ground that he'd gained.

  Once she rested, though....

  A thought struck him, and he all but slapped his forehead in sudden understanding. Her woman's time, of course. That would explain the swings from fighting hellcat to seductive temptress and the teary eyes that nearly brought him to his knees in front of his entire castle.

  Frustration soured his appetite. Rhys pushed the platter away. God's death, how many days must he wait until he could bury himself deep within her luscious body?

  "I scarce believed my ears," Richard said, cutting into his musings, "when Sir Costin said that the earl wished to join her with Malcolm. If Baldwin desired an alliance with David's scum, why wait all these years?"

  "Not the earl, Papa," Rhys said. "Roger."

  Richard slammed his palm to the table top. "Then where is Baldwin in all this?"

  "I fear his health fails him."

  "You know something?" Richard leaned his arms on the scarred wood and sat forward.

  "Only a sense I have. The years tell on him, enough that I doubt he's a well man. That, and his eagerness to defer to Roger's judgment. But in the matter of the Scot, I'd wager my lands that Roger overstepped his bounds."

  "'Tisn't like Baldwin to tolerate such insolence."

  "Aye. He's still a formidable man, but weakened from the Baldwin of past. I fear he can no longer hold Roger in check."

  Richard uttered a coarse oath. "This bodes ill for you. I pray he'll not be so foolhardy, but we stand ready should Roger decide to attack."

  Rhys rubbed his tired eyes. "I hold little hope that he'll negotiate a peace. Roger failed to catch up to us, Papa. That means that he won't move until he's certain of his sister's whereabouts."

  "Roger is clever," said Richard. "He'll send men to scour the forest and roads for her tracks, while he sends others to ride to Bekton."

  "'Twill take hours for those men to report to him."

  "By the time he's certain that the lady is in your keeping, 'twill be too near dark to set out with an army."

  "We've time yet," agreed Rhys, blowing a heavy breath. "Come midday on the morrow, I expect to see Roger at my gates."

  "What do you plan then?"

  Richard gazed at his youngest son, the seriousness of the actions etched into his furrowed forehead.

  "I won't give her up, Papa," Rhys snapped. "So don't ask that of me."

  "I never thought you would, son."

  At the quiet voice, Rhys dropped his gaze. "Your pardon, I'm grateful for your aid. Fatigue makes me forget myself."

  Richard sat back, leaving one arm on the table and dropping the other into his lap. "I won't question your reasons, Rhys. You're not a green lad. But there's more here than obtaining the few hides of land that lie between Adington and Stanmore, is there not?"

  Rhys met his father's gaze without wavering.

  "I want the land for Isobel, Papa."

  An expectant silence lingered for a moment. In Rhys's mind, the touch, feel, and scent of Juliana filled his senses.

  "Aye," he finally breathed, "'tis much more here."

  Torch light glittered off the silver in Richard's hair as he nodded his head. An understanding passed between them.

  "I suspected as much, son," he said. "'Tis why I've sent a messenger to my brother, William."

  "Will Earl William plead my case to the king?"

  "I thought it best for him to broach the problem before Baldwin painted the picture black. You know Henry frowns on quarrels between his barons. "Twill displease him for you to take the lady to wife against her family's wishes."

  Rhys shrugged. "He'll rage. But once she's safely wedded to me, 'tis little enough he can do to harm me."

  "A hefty fine," Richard pointed out.

  "Which I'll gladly pay."

  "Even if it beggars you?"

  "Even if I have to sell my soul," Rhys said between clenched teeth. "I won't give her back to Roger."

  "We should hope not," intruded a soft voice.

  Rhys lost his harsh expression and smiled up into his stepmother's gentle eyes. Although past the bloom of youth, she carried her years well and many an appreciative eye still considered her a handsome woman. Grateful for her support, he accepted the cup she offered.

  "Here, son, drink this posset," she said. "'Twill help ease the discomfort of your wound."

  "My thanks, my lady," he murmured.

  "You were right in bringing her here, and none will dispute that. I didn't bind it too tight?" she asked, fingering the edges of the cloth wrapped around his leg. A sparkle leapt to her smiling brown eyes. "You know Isobel is quite taken with the tale that her Papa would rescue a helpless lady from her wicked brother's evil plans."

  "Angharad," Richard warned, but with little heat.

  Rhys choked on the foul drink before downing the contents of the cup.

  "Rescued?" He coughed. "I doubt Juliana sees it that way. And don't fool yourself, she's far from the helpless maiden that the troubadours sing of."

  "To hold against any of the stubborn men of the Monteux family, she'd best have a head upon her shoulders," Angharad said, ignoring two pairs of raised eyebrows. "And 'tis how Isobel sees it."

  Satisfied he'd drunk the medicine, she walked around the table. A soft rustle of emerald cloth followed her step, until she stood next to her husband. In a companionable gesture, she curled her arm around his shoulder.

  "On my word, Rhys," she continued, "your daughter thinks 'tis a most romantic adventure and you the most gallant knight."

  A broad smile graced Rhys's tired face. "That little imp. Ever my faithful subject."

  Richard wrapped a loving arm around his wife's small waist.

  "And you, wench," he said, "have no doubt encouraged my granddaughter's fantasy. 'Tis a serious business, this." He waved a hand in
Rhys's direction. "The lad risks the king's wrath by feuding with Stanmore."

  "A feud not of my making," Rhys amended.

  "Husband," she said, unperturbed by his gruffness. "Surely, 'tis naught that can't be worked out between reasonable men." Her night-dark braid slid over her shoulder as she bent to kiss his frown away.

  Richard glowered up at her, but clamped his mouth shut and accepted her fond attentions.

  "My lady," Rhys sighed, "at the risk of spoiling your tale, the Lady Juliana is less than happy with my rescue."

  "'Tis little wonder, poor thing," Angharad said, clucking her tongue. "More like you've frightened the wits from her, and then the disgraceful greeting when she arrived." She shook her head and looked down at her husband. "You, Richard, should have awakened me, so she may have heard a kindred voice amongst the coarseness."

  "You make too much of it," Rhys said. "Juliana grew to womanhood managing a household of men like a general commanding an army. I doubt she thought overmuch upon arriving, except about where she might leave me when she departed."

  He shook his head, a grin softening his mouth. Juliana never ceased to amaze him. Despite her try at innocent questioning, he suspected somewhere in her mind had rattled a scheme to lock him into his own dungeon.

  Angharad smiled and caressed her husband's nape. "Sounds as if the lady is impervious to our proud son's charm."

  Rhys sobered. "Too obstinate and outspoken, but she'll come to learn her place."

  "Of course," Angharad said, grinning at the muffled choking sound that Richard made. She leaned over to retrieve the empty cup. "Fear not, dears. When she awakes, I'll mend the damage you've wrought."

  Richard cradled his head in his hands. "Do any wonder why I've silver in my hair, while the women in this family all resemble young maids?"

  Belying the complaining tone, he raised his head and turned a cherishing gaze toward his wife's retreating figure. For a moment, Rhys experienced a pang of envy upon witnessing the loving banter between the older man and woman.

  "Juliana has a champion," said Richard, turning back to his son.

  "God help me," said Rhys, and yawned.

  "Son? Beware of Roger's tricks. He won't settle this matter until he's spilled your blood."

  "Nor do I trust him, Papa. I know he seeks my life." Rhys plowed his fingers through the hair at his temple. "And I know he'll use every means at his disposal to gain what he seeks."

  "Then, is it wise to wait for him to act?"

  Silence filled the air as Rhys's expression turned hard.

  "I mean to end this feud, Papa, but I won't strike the first blow. I don't intend to start wedded life by murdering my lady wife's family. We wait for the morrow. Then we see which way Roger will swing the axe upon my neck."

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 13

  Juliana slept until dark. She awoke disoriented, aching head to foot, and cracked open her eyelids to see raven hair and smiling eyes atop a warm grin bending near her.

  Juliana bolted upright. "Isobel?"

  The woman stood between the curtains at the foot of the bed and straightened to less than medium height. To Juliana's disbelieving gaze stared back a gently inquiring face with tiny lines of maturity marring the corners of her deep brown eyes.

  What kind of perversity did Rhys practice? His mistress appeared old enough to mother him.

  "I'm Lady Angharad, sleepyhead," she said. Her braid danced on her shoulder as she stretched up to throw the heavy curtains back, pushing each panel around to the side of the bed. "But my thanks for the compliment."

  Compliment?

  Juliana shook her head, unsure of her hearing.

  The lady studied her for a second, crinkled her brow, then added, "I'm Richard's wife. Don't tell me that son of mine failed to mention me?"

  A picture of Rhys in waist high water, with Juliana's slick hands greedily roaming his muscled body, came to mind.

  "He did mention you," Juliana said in a voice gone husky. A warm emotion stirred in her heart, but she refused to acknowledge the feeling. She cleared her throat. "That is, he failed to mention you were in residence."

  Juliana threw her legs over the side of the high bed, losing the niceties somewhere in her foggy wits. Bracing herself on her palms, she sat on the edge to gather her bearings, while her stomach rudely gurgled a reminder.

  When did she eat? Last year? Aye, she felt that empty.

  Lady Angharad's warm smile returned, and she said, "Had I not been asleep when you arrived - and for that I apologize - you would have known who spoke to you."

  "Is aught amiss?"

  "Why, nay. I've come to assist you in your ablutions."

  No one, other than Agnes, ever tended Juliana. It startled her that Rhys's mother extended her the honor.

  Did he send her, then?

  "'Tis near the time to sup," Lady Angharad added. "Truly, we meant not to starve you."

  Juliana's stomach climbed off her backbone and cheered that news. Still amazed, though, she watched Lady Angharad glide away from the bed. Nay, float away on a whispering green cloud.

  A wooden tub sat near the hearth, where a crackling fire now blazed. The leaping flames outlined the steam that curled into the air. Juliana's eyes widened. She'd slept like the dead, for she hadn't heard a sound.

  Her hand flew to her throat. "Has Roger--?"

  "Not yet," Lady Angharad said, shaking out a large linen sheet. "We're safe within these walls."

  Juliana winced. "I've made a mess of things, I know."

  "You did this by yourself?" Lady Angharad folded the cloth over a low stool pulled close to the fire and gave her a conspiratorial wink. "I'm impressed, but say naught to anyone, for men prefer to feel they've had a hand in it."

  "Men, indeed," Juliana said. "I wouldn't be here, except I crossed a powerful man... a man I was raised to respect... and fear."

  "Do not fret so. You're free of Roger's threat here."

  "'Tisn't only for myself," Juliana said, worrying a tiny patch of coverlet with her fingertip."

  I'd rather Roger hurt me than Rhys.

  But how could she explain what she didn't understand?

  Instead, she said, "My brother hasn't always been such a hard man. His face changed him. Roger's had no one to love him, except me. And now, not only have I disobeyed his wishes, but..."

  "But you fear he thinks you've betrayed that love?"

  The compassion sweeping over the lady's kind face was a comfort to Juliana and she sighed.

  "His pride is fierce," she said, "and he'll not rest until he has me back."

  "Men can be a troublesome lot." Lady Angharad patted Juliana's hand. "They often confuse our best laid plans. But what's done, is done. Come, before the water grows cold."

  Too many confusing emotions still plagued Juliana.

  One problem at a time.

  For now, Rhys's gentle mother seemed determined to treat her like a guest.

  "Roses?" Juliana said, and sniffed again.

  "Rhys mentioned 'twas your favorite."

  How did he know that? Juliana flushed hot and cold. Dread mingled with excitement at the mention of another kindness to lay at his door. She never knew what to expect from him. What game did he play?

  "Where is he?" she said.

  "Earlier I gave him a posset to ease his leg, and he fell asleep in the great hall. Seemed better not to disturb him, so we made him comfortable, rather than carry him above stairs."

  "Does he fare well?" Juliana bit her tongue against the telling interest.

  "Aye, dear. 'Tisn't serious."

  Scooting off the comfortable bed, Juliana realized she still wore her woolen gown and mantle. She fingered the soiled wrinkles, then groaned. Her bag, and extra change of clothes, had raced off attached to Oliver's horse.

  "Please, I'll wash. You needn't--"

  "Nonsense," Lady Angharad said. "I failed to greet you properly, so allow me this. Come, come."

  "But I've naught else to wear."
/>   "The nice young man who accompanied you said that you might need these." She pointed to a three-legged chair on the other side of the bed.

  "Oliver?" A lump of dread settled in Juliana's throat. In her selfish anxiety, she'd forgotten his precarious status in the castle. What ill had befallen him?

  "Has Rhys harm--I mean, does Sir Oliver fare well?"

  "Of course, he's well." Lady Angharad tilted a questioning dark brow. "He waits below."

  Juliana nodded and forgave her cousin's earlier neglect, as her gaze followed the lady's direction. There, across the high back, yellow light flickered on a crimson bliaut and a white underskirt delicately embroidered at the neck and sleeves in glittering crimson and gold thread to match. On the floor sat a complementing pair of soft leather slippers.

  "How beautiful," she breathed, then glanced up. "'This is too fine, my lady. I--I couldn't."

  "Aye, you can. They're my daughter, Morgana's. She's not here to use them, and since you share a size with her...Besides, I thought the color suited you best. She'll not mind."

  Although Juliana fancied other shades more, she shed her tattered garments, anxious to wear the pretty dress. Fashion never seemed important before, and while she'd used good cloth for her clothes, she'd never worn anything so subtly rich or exquisitely sewn.

  With Lady Angharad's help, she scrubbed away her lethargy and returned to the living. The older woman produced an oversized azure bedrobe, which Juliana donned, before sitting on the stool in front of the fire to dry her hair.