by Julia Latham
She turned back to the view from the window. “You are behaving adequately, for a mere man.”
“I do believe I should take that as a form of praise.”
“Only if you are desperate,” she said wryly.
He smiled, enjoying her sense of humor. She made it easy to be with her, and the rest of the morning only emphasized that, regardless of the desire he could never quite forget. They spent several hours shoulder to shoulder at the window, watching the Bladesmen practice. They dissected each man’s skill, then debated who had needed the most training after they’d been selected to join. As the morning wore on, they even began to create wild stories about how each man had come to the attention of the League.
“That is one story you’ll never have to create about me,” Paul said.
Juliana withheld the urge to press him about his past. She was watching him closely, and felt their easy camaraderie fading. And she regretted it. It had been a pleasant morn, and she’d learned much about the techniques he’d discovered in Europe, as he discussed them in relation to the moves of the Bladesmen. He was a good teacher, able to explain himself succinctly. He hadn’t lost the skill of patience. More than once he’d glanced at the door, as if estimating when they could be free of the chamber, but otherwise, he hadn’t betrayed any restlessness.
Unlike the previous evening, but she didn’t think that related to restlessness so much as forced confinement with a woman he couldn’t bed.
At the midday meal in the tavern below, she watched Paul pretend to drink too much in competition with old Roger. They easily displayed a long friendship that hinted at shared secrets, perfect for Roger’s cover as the man who might have led the young Prince Richard out of the Tower of London to freedom.
Juliana felt more than one stranger watching her, and she knew that her dance of the previous evening had brought her a bit too much attention. She was uncomfortable with it, far too used to blending in with her fellow Bladesmen, or being unseen when in disguise for a mission. But as the concubine Juliana, she had to be bold, flamboyant, sexual, and far too focused on her man.
After Paul pretended to over-imbibe at dinner, Juliana stood patiently at his side while he talked to the innkeeper about the best shops to frequent. Acting secretive, in the way of a drunkard, he spoke too loudly. He even slipped the innkeeper several coins to be informed if people were asking about him.
Then they went on an afternoon tour of York, with only Michael as their guard, after a particularly loud argument about why Paul refused to let Theobald come and scare the merchants. Paul freely ordered clothing at the tailor’s, hats at the haberdasher’s, while managing to only pay part of each bill.
Everywhere they went over the next few days, they slowly built up more and more debt, but merchants continued to believe in him by his very attitude and sense of wealth. Juliana watched with amazement as the hardened warrior played the merry ne’er-do-well with true skill.
They frequented York’s entertainments, from cock-fighting and bearbaiting to gambling over dice, where Paul had an amazing ability to lose much.
And his debts increased.
While they played the waiting game, Juliana felt her patience slowly unraveling like a worn tapestry. She followed Paul’s example and tried to exercise within their bedchamber, preferably when he was asleep. If he was awake, he watched her closely, and it began to feel too sensual.
They spent their evenings exploring the town’s taverns, where loose women constantly approached him to flirt.
In a quiet moment, as they were awaiting drinks from a suggestive serving girl, Juliana asked with exasperation, “Do women throw themselves at you all the time?”
“All the time.” He grinned and cupped her face as he kissed the tip of her nose.
She was growing too used to his touches, for he employed them frequently.
“And I don’t often resist,” he continued with true wickedness. “I would make a poor woman a terrible husband.”
“Then ‘tis a good thing I am not looking for one,” she countered with sweetness.
And then his creditors began to approach him. Paul paid some, put off others, all while acting affronted and arrogant. As the League had planned, he’d given himself the perfect vulnerability.
He received an invitation to hunt with Baron Sum-merscales; the local nobility were finally noticing him. Yet the earl of Suffolk, a known Yorkist, did not attend. It would have been a particular triumph to reach him, since his brother, the earl of Lincoln, one-time successor to the late King Richard, had been killed in battle by Henry’s army just months before. No one tried to speak to Paul in secret, but he well played his exuberant character. And Juliana felt happy to be riding again, and even brought down a deer with her bow and arrow.
Late at night, she watched Paul pace, his movements restless.
“This endless waiting is a terrible thing,” he groaned, collapsing onto a bench. “And I swear my mouth hurts from smiling so much. I begin to question the League’s plan.”
“‘Twill work,” she said with confidence. She sat at the table in the faint lamplight, sharpening her daggers.
“Since I left the League, never have I remained in one place for more than a sennight. Even as a child I grew restless easily. Can you imagine me staying in one place forever?”
She glanced at him impassively, wondering if again, he was hinting that she should not grow too attached to him. He didn’t have to worry.
Someone knocked softly, and after exchanging a glance with Paul, she quickly hid her daggers on her person. They both went to the door, he on one side, she on the other.
“‘Tis late!” Paul half shouted, half slurred his words. “Who is it?”
“Timothy. May I enter?”
They looked at each other in surprise, for he hadn’t used a League knock. Paul opened the door and closed it behind his foster father. Juliana was growing used to the faint tension between the men, but that did not mean she didn’t grieve its necessity for both their sakes.
Timothy held up a rolled parchment and grinned. “You’ve been sent a message, Paul. I think ‘tis the contact we’ve been waiting for.”
The two men read it standing shoulder to shoulder, while Juliana waited patiently.
Paul looked up at her, his handsome smile full of satisfaction. “Someone has bought up all my debts.”
“How thoughtful of him,” she said, returning his smile with growing excitement.
“He wants to meet with me to discuss the best way to settle my obligations. We are to travel to his manor just outside of York, cloaked to hide our identities. He says he’ll be watching to ensure we comply.”
“Threats,” Timothy said. “A good sign. And he’s permitting you only one guard.”
“And I will be foolish enough to go along with that.”
Juliana said, “But you will also bring your concubine, because you cannot bear to be without her.”
Both men studied her, and she knew Paul wanted to refuse. She was not flattered that he thought to protect her. It only proved that he considered her a woman, not a Bladeswoman.
Before Paul could speak, Timothy said, “Of course you will attend, Juliana. ‘Tis the reason you are part of this assignment.”
She had no need to show Paul her triumph, but she felt it just the same.
Chapter 9
The next morning, Paul rode with Timothy and Juliana outside the gates of York, well cloaked as requested. The day was overcast with a scattering of rain, so at least they did not look out of place. His restlessness had fallen away and he’d slept deeply, satisfied that at last the mission seemed to be beginning in earnest.
He glanced at Juliana, her expression serene, even as her gaze watched constantly for attack. He knew she was glad to be a part of this mission, but the longer it went on, the more uneasy he became about her. His concern only upset her, but he could not help it. A part of him felt she’d been placed into his protection from the moment she’d been taken in by the
League, and he’d failed once. He wouldn’t do so again.
Yet she thought she was protecting him.
The manor house was small but elegant, made of local stone. The fields surrounding it were bursting with grain almost ready to be harvested, all against a back drop of high, barren moors to the west. It was a peaceful country scene, but one that hid discontent.
A groom led their horses away, and the double front doors opened silently from within as if someone were waiting for them. They stepped into a great hall of several bays, each separated by its particular furniture—tables and benches for the dining area, cushioned chairs before the fire, cupboards and coffers and a massive table spread with parchment and account books. At the far end, two doors led into other chambers.
A man walked toward them from the hearth, dismissing with a nod the usher who’d opened the doors. He frowned at Timothy and Juliana. He was of middling height and stocky build, with unruly brown hair cut just below his chin.
“I said one guard,” the man said brusquely.
“And I brought one guard,” Paul answered cheerfully, throwing back his hood.
He knew his blond hair gleamed in the faint light from the window, and he saw the man studying it. Then those cold eyes looked to Juliana. She smiled with her usual sensuality, then sighed and looked about as if the hall held her attention more than the foolishness of men.
“If these two cannot be trusted, they could bring about your death,” the man said coldly.
Paul frowned in confusion. “We are talking about paying a debt, are we not?” he asked with exasperation.
“Let us not overly dramatize this. And the woman … she does as I tell her. I am Sir Paul. And who are you?”
“My name is not important. But you may treat me with the respect I’m due and call me ‘my lord.’”
Paul shook his head. “As you wish.” He rolled his eyes at Juliana.
The man briefly studied Timothy before addressing Paul. “Before you decide to seek me out again, I will have you know that this is not my home. You will never look for me—I or my masters will contact you.”
Paul spread his hands wide. “Whatever you say, my lord. Or shall I say ‘my creditor’?”
The man said nothing.
Paul stepped forward as if distancing himself from Timothy and Juliana, but spoke loudly enough for them to hear. “What reason do you have for buying my debts? Surely ‘tis none of your concern.”
The man still studied Paul. “‘Tis uncanny how much you resemble the Plantagenets.”
“You are not the first to say so. Have not they all been killed?” Paul frowned as if he thought the man was making no sense. “What does my handsome face have to do with the money I owe? I had been paying it back, but if you need it all now, you’ll have to be patient.”
“There is a way for you to repay the debt,” the man interrupted in a soft voice, “and earn more money than you can imagine spending.”
Paul glanced back at Juliana, shaking his head as if to say, What kind of fool is this man?
“You have the demeanor and bearing we are looking for, and the mysterious background of a man who spent much time in Europe. In order to be free of your debt to me, we need you to imply you are other than you appear.”
Paul blinked at him, still wearing a half smile of confusion. “Other than I appear?” he echoed. “You want people to believe I’m someone else?”
“Aye, that is it.”
“And you want to cancel my debt—and pay me more beyond,” he continued in disbelief.
“If you do as you’re told.”
“Sounds entertaining,” he said, looking at Juliana to share his amusement.
She gave a pointed yawn and went to look out the window.
“‘Twill not be simply entertaining, but an assignment you agree to complete,” the man said coldly. “You will portray this man until we are finished with you.”
Paul widened his eyes. “And how long would that be?”
“I know not. But during this time, you will want for nothing, not money, not entertainment, not women.”
“I already happen to own the latter,” he said, then dropped his voice to a whisper that boomed. “Not that I’m averse to having more.”
“Paul!” Juliana cried.
He looked over his shoulder to see her stamping her foot.
“I am returning to York.” She headed for the door.
He followed, catching her arm. “Duckling, this is business. I am almost finished.”
“Nay, I’m leaving now!” She wrenched her arm free and glared at the stranger. “Send for my horse.”
“Oh, very well,” Paul said, scowling. Over his shoulder, he said, “I will think on your offer.”
“You are making a grave error,” the stranger said coldly. “I need your answer now, and you have no choice.”
Paul turned to him, walking backward toward the door as he said, “I always have a choice, my lord. I will send a man here with my response.”
“On the morrow.”
“If I make a decision by then.”
In the front courtyard, the horses were delivered promptly, but the threesome were almost near the walls of York before Timothy spoke.
“Well played, Paul. You showed him an ignorance of the situation, and an arrogance that they can use to their benefit. I imagine they will debate how ignorant you really are.”
Paul nodded. “I do as you’ve assigned. Did you doubt me?”
“Whatever you think of me, I’ve never doubted your skill, or your ability to follow the path to which you’ve committed yourself.”
“Gentlemen,” Juliana interrupted.
They both looked at her.
“We know his next move will be to threaten you, Paul, as a warning.”
“Or to threaten someone in my party,” Paul countered. He glanced at Timothy. “He could even attempt to kill one of us.”
“We’ll be prepared,” Juliana said with conviction.
The first strike was the killing of one of their pack-horses the next morning. The livery owner delivered the news of a slit throat, and his utter inability to explain how it had happened.
Angry at the senseless killing, Paul wished he could go out to the manor himself and tell the coward to try his tactics on a Bladesman and see what happened. But he played his part, pretending it didn’t matter. He and Juliana went out to amuse themselves on the town, but the merchants had been ordered to advance him no more credit. On his return to the inn, he discovered he would have to pay for the coming night, or take his entire party and be gone.
“Enough to frustrate Sir Paul the Dissolute,” Timothy said, using Paul’s name for his character.
The Bladesmen were all gathered together in Paul’s chamber at mid-afternoon.
“So do I send a message of acceptance,” Paul asked, “or go there myself in a flurry of indignation?”
“Send a message,” Timothy answered. “Agree to his terms, but say that at one sign of danger to your person, you will leave. After all, they’re deliberately keeping you in the dark until you’re trapped with no hope of escape.”
Paul scrawled the message of acceptance, then sent Joseph, with his pretty, unthreatening face, to deliver it. Although Joseph did not see the mysterious stranger at the manor, he received an immediate response, as if Paul’s capitulation had been a foregone conclusion. He returned with the message by supper—and Paul’s deadline to vacate the inn.
Paul read the message then looked around the chamber at the Bladesmen, all in various positions of standing or sitting. Like a queen, Juliana sat alone on the bed they would again share that night.
“We are to go to a tournament and festival at Castle Kilborn,” Paul said.
“An apt name,” Michael muttered to Theobald, whose half face remained impassive.
“Seat of the earl of Kilborn,” Timothy mused, rubbing his chin. “I’ve never heard word of antipathy toward the king attributed to him, but one never knows. Our man with
the Yorkists is in the household of Suffolk.”
“But ‘tis a tournament held at Kilborn’s castle,” Juliana said. “Perhaps ‘tis merely a place that all the Yorkshire noblemen will be gathering for an innocent celebration. The traitors might simply be taking advantage to gather together and plot. They want to control England—and they want revenge for the death of the earl of Lincoln.”
“Aye,” Paul said, glancing back at the missive. “And it seems we will discover the truth soon, for we’re to leave immediately.”
“But ‘tis after midday,” old Roger sputtered. “We’ll have to make camp. If we leave in the morn, we’d arrive by supper at the latest.”
Paul shrugged. “They seem to want us by midday. And I imagine the innkeeper will not allow us to remain another night.”
“Did they give you an identity to assume?” Juliana asked.
“I am to use Sir Paul as my name, giving no surname. They will contact me after I arrive.”
Juliana stood up. “Then I will pack.”
They were on the road north of York within the hour, a scurrier, Theobald, far in front, and another, Michael, lingering behind.
The peacefulness didn’t last. Michael quietly approached the remaining five near suppertime and said they were being followed by a troop of ten men, who were taking pains to remain well back from the party of Bladesmen.
“An escort to be certain we do as we’ve been told?” Juliana asked.
“Or someone else, who’s suspicious of Paul’s identity,” Timothy countered. “They might be loyal Englishmen, defending a threat to King Henry. Either way, we will not kill unless we have to.”
“You constrain us much,” Paul murmured. “But I understand the reason. Surely we cannot wait to be attacked. If Juliana and I remain in character, it will be ten against five, and there will more likely be deaths on their side.”
“Then we should attack,” Juliana said suddenly. “And all seven of us can fight, if we disguise ourselves.”
“As what?” Paul asked, hiding his amusement at her eagerness.
