by Julia Latham
“But … why would he have never seen a girl? It simply doesn’t make sense. Unless he was never permitted to leave the fortress. And I do understand the threat of death they were under, but …”
She let her voice trail off.
Timothy sighed. “Paul did not discuss it with you?”
“Not the reasons, nay.”
“He knows the League rules.”
And she had not followed them, for she’d told Paul of her past, felt compelled to, as if she needed him to know the truth. Had she been trying to drive him away, make him wary of being associated with her? His reaction had been to take off his clothes, deliberately forcing her away.
It was all such a puzzle, the way they played games to distract each other. But she wouldn’t forget, and would do all she could to discover the truth. She couldn’t explain why she felt this way, wouldn’t look at it too closely. But the need to uncover his secrets was like an itch she had to scratch.
They stopped for the midday meal at a village crossroads. Still mounted, Paul watched cows graze the village green nearby, while he awaited Timothy’s preparations. Many men lingered outside the tavern on benches, eyeing them with unabashed interest.
To Juliana, Paul said, idly, loudly, “Another village tavern. Rather small and plain, is it not, my little duckling?”
She dismounted and went to him, leaning against his leg to look up at him. “It is, my love, but that cannot be helped. This is not Paris.”
“Ah, Paris,” he murmured, staring off into the distance. He could see that he’d aroused some interest as well as disdain. “Do you remember that romantic boat ride we took down the Seine? I do believe you danced for me that night, a pale Aphrodite in the moonlight.”
He saw the way the men now looked with lascivious interest at Juliana, but it couldn’t be helped. It had to be apparent what kind of woman she was from the beginning.
Timothy ducked as he emerged from the tavern doorway, then led them inside, leaving Joseph to care for the horses. Theobald stayed near Juliana, hand on the sword hilt at his waist. Most of the Bladesmen had to duck to enter, and Paul saw that even Juliana almost grazed the door lintel. Vegetables hung on strings along various beams, as well as a ham. A large table had been cleared for them in the rear, and they had to pass down a narrow aisle between several crude tables.
Paul tossed his cloak back from his shoulders, letting the villagers see his doublet embroidered with gold threads. He was bigger and broader than most of the men, and he knew his fair coloring stood out.
Soon they were seated, with the tavern’s specialty of mutton pie with chunks of meat and vegetables steaming before them.
Paul didn’t find it too difficult to make a nuisance of himself. He asked for wine they couldn’t possibly have, patted the backside of every maidservant that went by, and laughed too loudly at Juliana’s display of cool anger. He chatted with farmers and peddlers and met with success when he learned that the local lord’s son was dining as well. The man had long since seen his first tournament, and he watched Paul with speculation.
Paul made a point of asking about the countryside, and how far it was to York, where he had vague memories from his youth. Timothy and old Roger exchanged obvious looks of discomfort at his chattiness, but it was all part of the charade.
Michael was overly obvious as he pushed Juliana against Paul’s side as if to distract him. She smiled up at Paul, leaning her breasts against his arm in a way that was a bit too distracting. Slipping an arm about her, he drew her even tighter against him until she was forced to brace her hand on his thigh or fall across his chest.
He leaned down toward her face, and he saw the awareness in her eyes, the moment when she thought he would kiss her. Instead he nuzzled his face against her neck as she gave a belated giggle.
“Next time,” he whispered.
Her fingernails dug into his thigh.
After pressing a kiss to her cheek, he brought her hand to his lips.
“Seems as if you need to persuade the wench,” the lord’s son said, laughing.
“She comes to my bed quite willingly.” Paul grinned down at her before returning his attention to the self-important man. “I found her in Paris, where her protector had left her when he tired of her.”
“I tired of him,” Juliana corrected, her voice sweet with certainty.
“And after our first night in bed, I even believed you, my little duckling,” Paul said, chuckling.
Several of the other men joined him, openly admiring Juliana. Paul had been right about the gown—it did amazing things to her breasts. Not that her breasts needed help …
“What were you doing in that foreign city, sir?” the lordling asked.
Timothy gave him an open frown, and the other Bladesmen glanced at each other, shifting uneasily. Paul pretended not to notice.
“I was raised here and there on the continent,” he said brightly. “A varied childhood. And now I’ve come home.”
“And where is home?”
“Ye’re an inquisitive lad,” Timothy said in an unfriendly voice.
“I meant no harm.” The lordling raised both hands in appeasement.
Paul didn’t hide the glare he aimed at Timothy, then concentrated on his mutton pie, stopping now and again to feed a particularly tasty piece to Juliana with his fingers. She giggled and leaned in to him. Her eyes knowing, she teased him by nipping his finger, then drawing the tip into her mouth.
Paul felt his breath catch at how suddenly she aroused him. Did she know what she did? How could she not? Her hand still rested on his thigh, her breasts pressed into his chest, and her long, black hair draped across his arm where it embraced her back.
He was almost glad they were not remaining in the village for the night. He wasn’t sure what he might do to learn what else she knew about pleasuring men. Though he’d teased her that morn, he couldn’t imagine the League training her in something so intimate. So that could only mean she’d had much practice with those full lips.
It had worked, Juliana thought, when at last they were away from the tavern and traveling north on roads that grew ever more uneven.
She glanced at Paul, but he was staring straight ahead, his eyes focused in the distance, his expression unreadable.
She’d put her mouth on his fingers, and any attempt to tease her seemed to totally flee his mind, as if he could no longer even think.
She’d been warned that men could lose the very ability to reason because of sexual thoughts, but she hadn’t imagined Paul to be susceptible. Yet he was. She could still remember the way his gaze had focused on her mouth, his thigh tightening beneath her hand.
It had proven most illuminating.
But she’d also noticed that the encounter had not left her unaffected. She’d felt strangely alert, her senses heightened, her lower stomach gripped with a strange trembling that had been far too pleasurable. Desire again, a very powerful force that could also work its will on her. She couldn’t allow that. Knowledge was power, and she had that in abundance. It would keep her safe.
As the sun began its slow descent, Juliana unhooked her bow from the saddle and loosely strung an arrow. Her eyes scanned the fields, and when she spotted a rabbit, she stood in the saddle, knees bent to absorb the motion of the horse, and made her first kill.
Paul, who yet rode at her side, clapped approvingly. “She even provides the meal. What a valuable woman.”
“I earn my keep,” she answered lightly.
Joseph and Michael shared a smile as Theobald fetched the carcass. Old Roger pointed out another rabbit to her, and soon she made another kill. After they established their encampment in a clearing beside a stream, some distance from the road, she offered to prepare the rabbits, but that, Timothy didn’t allow.
“Not something a woman of your … a woman like you would lower herself to do,” he said, correcting himself mid-sentence.
“A woman of my—what?” she called back, laughing, from where she stood directing the raising of Paul
’s pavilion. Now if Paul would have said the same thing, she’d have bristled. But then she knew what he thought of women.
Paul himself caught her from behind, his arm about her waist as he pressed her back against him. “A woman of your arrogant charms.”
With her elbow, she struck him hard in the stomach, and he bent over with a “whoosh,” hitting his chin on her shoulder.
She smoothly stepped away from him. “Oh, dear, I do believe I lost focus of my character momentarily. What a relief that no strangers witnessed it. ‘Twill not happen again.”
Michael laughed aloud, and even Theobald couldn’t hide a begrudging smile.
Only Timothy did not smile, looking from her to Paul with bemusement.
After sunset, Juliana sat daintily upon a blanket-draped log, watching the men bustle about preparing supper. One could become used to such service, she thought wryly. Her two rabbits were spitted over the fire, which hissed with each droplet of grease. Theobald served her, looking mysterious with the open side of his face lit by fire, the mask dark with the night shadows.
As they all sat eating, Joseph assessed Paul. “Sir Paul, tell us of your adventures in Europe.”
Juliana glanced at Timothy, but he did not interrupt, watching Paul along with all the others.
Paul, sitting beside her on the log, tossed a bone into the fire, and looked around at the Bladesmen, his face lit with amusement. “One tournament is like another, boys. How could such stories interest you?”
Michael eyed him. “I guess we want to know what could lure you from a duty you’d sworn yourself to.”
Smiles died, and Juliana watched Paul’s face, which remained pleasant as he softly said, “I swore no vow, Michael, not like you did.”
Michael frowned and looked to Timothy, whose lined face showed weariness and regret. Juliana felt just as confused. Paul was a Bladesman—he’d been her teacher, had gone on dangerous assignments for the League. What did he mean? But evidently Paul wasn’t going to explain.
“Going to Europe alone presented a new challenge for me, one I relished,” he continued, elbows on his thighs, hands linked as he stared into the fire. “I knew the languages, of course, having been well trained, but I felt a great need to prove myself, to earn my way.”
Michael opened his mouth as if to protest something, but Juliana saw Timothy shake his head. Michael knew Paul’s true identity, something not usually permitted with Bladesmen.
“You’ve much skill, lad,” old Roger said with obvious admiration. “Surely you showed those Normans a thing or two.”
More than one man grinned, then seemed to remember themselves and look a bit guilty.
“I couldn’t show them everything I knew,” Paul said, “not without having to answer for my unusual training. But … I could make things look like an accident.”
Joseph chuckled. “A sound technique. So you won?”
“Every tournament I entered. The purses were plentiful, the ladies full of admiration, the men indignant but intrigued. I never lacked for sparring partners, or a bed at night.”
She imagined his bed well warmed by these admiring women, but didn’t say so.
“An arrogant count did not believe I came from England. He claimed no Englishman fought as I did, that I must be lying to him. I found myself imprisoned until I would offer up the truth.”
All the men were interested, Timothy avidly so, as if he could not hear enough about his absent foster son. She felt sorry for him, knowing that Paul did not return his depth of feelings.
Michael kept his back turned, tending the fire and roasted rabbits, but even he seemed alert.
“So what happened?” Joseph demanded.
“Torture?” Michael asked dryly.
Paul grinned. “Nay, it did not come to that. When next they returned for me in my jail built into a cliff, I had escaped. I believe I paid a visit to the count’s daughter that night, too.”
Juliana rolled her eyes as the men laughed. She wasn’t sure whether to believe him, but the story was a good one.
And then Michael seemed to tip backward off his log into the twilit darkness. She stiffened, about to speak, then saw Paul ram his elbow straight backward.
They were being attacked, as if out of the shadows. They’d lingered too long at their meal, enjoying the camaraderie, feeling themselves invincible.
No enemy came for her, the lone woman in the party, as all the Bladesmen turned to meet the attack out of the darkness. She had a dagger in each hand and circled the fire with urgency to reach the spot where Paul had disappeared. Little could be seen away from the fire, but she heard them now, grunts and then the cries of their furious attackers. She knew better than to rashly interfere when she couldn’t see well, but she was not used to feeling helpless. Crouching, she slid over the log, looking away from the firelight, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
“Over here!” an unfamiliar voice cried from across the campsite.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Timothy rise up and take a stranger down.
Out of the darkness beyond the fire, she at last made out Paul’s silhouette. He carried a dagger, even as he tossed a man over his shoulder and out into the darkness. But she knew his dilemma—how could they kill people who perhaps fought in defense of their king? Their mission placed them on the side of traitors, targets to all loyal people. She saw Paul’s hesitation to strike a killing blow, giving his opponent a chance to lift his sword.
Using only his dagger, Paul parried away a sword thrust. And then he saw her. She gestured, hoping he would turn his opponent, where she could take him from behind, but perhaps it was too much to imagine he thought a Bladeswoman could help him. Dropping to a crouch, she prepared to dive forward and take the man’s feet out from under him.
Unfamiliar hands grabbed her from behind, an arm around her waist, a hand over her mouth.
She rolled forward, pulling the man with her over her back. His momentum carried him into his compatriot, who went down in front of Paul as his knees buckled from the weight. She pounced on her attacker’s back, even as Paul knocked his own opponent out with a blow. With her arm about the man’s throat, she held tight as he thrashed and tried to buck her off him. As he lost consciousness, she released him.
Breathing heavily, Paul stood above her, giving her a nod before his gaze took in the rest of the scene. She turned to look with him, finding the Bladesmen one by one gathering near the fire. Some of her tension left her as everyone was accounted for.
It didn’t take long to tie and blindfold the vanquished. There were eight of them, dressed in nondescript tunics and breeches that labeled them as neither farmer nor yeoman nor soldier. Some still lay unconscious; others stirred groggily.
“They’ll remain with us tonight,” Timothy said, shaking his head. “Before dawn, we’ll leave them in a farmer’s barn where they should eventually be discovered.”
“So they can come for us again?” Joseph asked dryly. Using the back of his hand, he wiped blood off his chin.
Timothy shrugged. “We have little choice. I will not kill innocents. And from now on, we have guards on duty even during a meal. We’ll be within the walls of York soon enough.”
“But hardly safe,” Paul said.
He was still looking at Juliana, and she wished she could read his impassive expression.
“To bed, Paul,” Timothy said softly. “We cannot have our guests believing you fraternize with soldiers. Joseph and Michael, take first watch.”
After lighting a candle in the fire, Paul led Juliana to their pavilion. Though it was gloomy within, she’d prepared her raised pallet already, and didn’t need to see much.
“You performed well,” Paul said.
There was a stiffness in his tone that irritated her, but she let it go, telling herself it could not be easy for such a man to be helped by a woman, even one he’d trained himself.
“I feel as if we should be out there with the other men,” she said, sounding just as awkward as he did.
“‘Tis not so easy to be pampered nobility.”
At least he did not imply that her life had been any easier than his.
The attack should give her something else to think about, but in the way she’d been trained, she was already putting it behind her. If only she could forget her uneasiness at sharing lodgings with Paul. But this afternoon she’d teased him in the tavern, and certainly disturbed her own senses. And he’d almost kissed her—she would have had to let him. To her dismay, she’d almost wanted it to happen. No man had ever kissed her, and she’d heard so much about it.
But kisses would lead to more intimacy, as she well knew. She wasn’t going to allow that.
And then he was at her back, beginning to untie her laces.
“Paul—”
“I am here, and this is easier for you. No more protesting. Or one of our very interested guards might hear you and assume I’m pressuring you. Who could blame me, after the way you brought my fingers to your mouth?”
She inhaled swiftly, then lowered her voice, saying over her shoulder, “You fed me by hand.”
“And you kept pressing your breasts up against me.”
She forced her breathing into even tones, remembered her character, remembered whom she was supposed to be. “That is what a concubine, anxious to stay in her master’s favor, would do.”
“And I could have kissed you in front of all of them, and you couldn’t have stopped me.”
“And then you’d have shown everyone that I am not experienced in a concubine’s ways.”
“Really?” he said, his voice far too interested.
They stood too close, his hands brushing her back. The last of her laces eased and she tried to move away from him, but he put his big hands on her shoulders. She could feel his breath against her neck as he leaned down to speak softly near her ear.
“Why don’t I believe you?” he murmured. “When you put your mouth on me, you knew what you were doing.”
He was right, but she couldn’t tell him why. He would be too curious—he would assume too much.
“Let me show you what you did,” he said.
