by Julia Latham
“Highwaymen, of course. We will steal from them, but we won’t need to kill them. And they’ll never know their attackers.”
“I like it!” old Roger piped up from behind.
Timothy studied the road ahead, and Paul did the same. It curled between farm fields, sectioned by waist-high stone walls. But not a mile in the distance, the road began a slight climb into woodland.
“We will attack from there,” Timothy said.
Juliana nodded her satisfaction.
“Michael, return to your position and signal us as they approach.”
Michael nodded and reined in his horse, disappearing into a wooded copse to the east. With Timothy ahead of them, and Roger and Joseph just behind, Paul and Juliana rode side by side.
“If Theobald does not return in time,” Juliana said, “we will still prevail without him.”
“You know you must keep to your character,” Paul said in a low voice.
“Pardon me?” She frowned at him.
“You are my personal guard, but these men don’t know it. You’re a woman in their eyes.”
“They will not know I’m a woman. Even you did not a fortnight ago.” Then she regarded him closely. “Do you distract me from the tension of coming battle, Paul?”
“Perhaps I distract myself.” He glanced over his shoulder, but could see nothing in the distance.
“I have been trained as you have been—I have been trained by you.”
“Not for long enough.”
“And whose fault was that?” She smiled as if to ease the sting.
“I have only one regret in life, Juliana, and leaving the League is not it.”
“Surely you will not leave me with such a mystery. Do we not all have regrets, Paul? And yet you can name only one? What was it?”
It wasn’t a secret. “Not being here to aid my brothers in avenging the murder of our parents.”
“Ah,” was all she said as she looked forward again. “So you owe a debt to the League, and here you are.”
“If you know that, then you know the League aided my brother Adam. I thought League missions were secret from uninvolved Bladesmen.”
“‘Twas hardly a secret among us that your brother kidnapped the daughter of the marquess of Martindale. We at the fortress were gathered together, ready to stop Adam from ruining his life.”
“Yet he was only doing what the League wouldn’t—challenging the marquess to combat.”
“You know that at first there was not enough proof that the marquess had your parents killed. And Adam was using an innocent woman to force the man into combat.”
“From what I hear, she wanted to help.”
“Not at first, when she didn’t know what kind of man your brother was.”
“She was instrumental in making her father admit the truth.”
“Aye, she was—along with the League. Hence, a debt you feel you owe.”
“Do you not wish you could avenge your parents?” Paul asked softly, watching her face.
She didn’t look at him. Were her regrets not as great as his?
“I do not think about my parents in that way,” she finally answered. “I cannot change the past, and I am happy in my present life. They would want that for me.” She smiled as if to lighten their tense exchange. “Perhaps ‘tis a male thing to want justice long after it can do any good.”
He shook his head and sighed. She was only saying that because she thought her father’s case hopeless.
When they reached the trees, they dismounted and disappeared within, leaving no tracks on the dirt road.
Juliana was in the lead, rummaging through the panniers on their newest packhorse until she found what she wanted. She held up a cloak with a look of satisfaction, removed a dagger from her boot, and began to slice the fabric into long strips.
Paul stood above her, hands on his hips, even as the other Bladesmen led their horses deeper between the trees.
Juliana grinned up at him, her teeth white in the gloom. “Scarves to hide our lower faces.”
“Our?”
She stood up to remove the fur-lined cloak she wore. “I will need a tunic and breeches. Michael is not much bigger than I, but—” She frowned. “His clothing is in his saddlebags and he will not be here in time.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to remain hidden and let me protect you.”
She narrowed her eyes fiercely, and he held up both hands.
“I am teasing you, little duckling. I would not keep you from your life’s work of pretending to be a highwayman.”
She blinked as if his answer had surprised her, then seemed to gather herself as she said crossly, “I am not your little duckling, nor your concubine at this moment. I am a Bladeswoman.”
“You need not remind me,” he said.
Again, she seemed taken aback by his words. When Joseph approached to take a piece of fabric, she asked to borrow some of his garments, and they went off together.
Roger pulled a coif loose from around his neck in preparation for pulling it up as a hood. Paul handed him a piece of fabric, and Roger narrowed his eyes as if studying him.
“Aye, old man?” Paul said lightly.
“So concerned with the girl are you, that you haven’t realized you need to change, too.”
With a nod of thanks and a curse under his breath, Paul moved through the trees to his own horse.
Chapter 10
Juliana dropped from a tree branch straight onto the rider’s back. The startled horse reared, and she clung resolutely, even as her target tried to unsheathe the sword at his side.
She ripped his purse from his waist and cried, “Coins! Me purse thanks you!”
With her elbow, she hit him hard at the base of his skull, and he slumped forward, unconscious. Taking his sword, she jumped from the horse, landing and immediately rolling, coming up in time to see the horse galloping away with him. She whirled, facing the battle behind her, tucking the purse into her wide belt.
Michael had joined them in time, and the six of them had each taken out a man immediately. She saw one horse galloping by, its rider crying out as he was dragged behind, his foot caught in the stirrup. Another man raced past, holding his arm and riding low.
Paul fought another on the ground, sword clashing with sword. After kicking the man’s legs out from under him, he was able to use the hilt to knock the man unconscious.
Juliana ran forward as one of their opponents moved behind Paul’s back. Her dagger was in her hand without thought, and she threw it hard, catching the man in the shin. With a cry he went down.
Paul looked up, saw her, and grinned. “I would have taken care of him meself,” he called.
“Believe what ye’d like!”
It was over by then, the last two men racing away without even engaging.
Theobald appeared between the trees, his coif pulled low to hide his unique mask. “I am too late,” he said with gruff disappointment.
Juliana wanted to laugh, but she restrained herself. Several of the strangers were conscious and might detect her sex. The Bladesmen quickly stripped them of valuables. Juliana’s man flinched as she went for his throat.
“I won’t kill ye,” she said in a deep, husky voice, ripping the pendant from around his neck. “Unless ye give me reason.”
When the last man was tied to a horse, Paul slapped its haunches, and the startled animal broke into a gallop.
“Night is almost here,” Timothy said calmly, removing his scarf and tucking it within his garments. “Let us find a better place to camp.”
When they were mounted and riding, Juliana looked down at the pendant she’d stolen.
“Your target wore that?” Paul asked, riding up beside her.
She nodded. “These were not desperate men, nor were they simple soldiers. Did anything else we take mark them?”
He shook his head. “They could have been sent by anyone. But we’ll see that they prove useful—their stolen possessions sold and the money given to
benefit the needy.”
About the fire that night, Juliana couldn’t stop watching Paul. There was an air of suppressed excitement among the men, a joviality in response to a successful battle. They’d all acquitted themselves well, but what she was still remembering was how he hadn’t protested her being dressed as a man for the attack. She’d thought he’d be more resistant, considering that from the beginning he hadn’t wanted her guarding him.
This was their last night to be as themselves. They told stories of their missions, pretending they happened to “a friend.” Timothy didn’t protest, as if he sensed that the emotions of battle needed some outlet.
Restless, Juliana couldn’t imagine feeling tired enough to sleep. Paul’s gaze touched her now and again, and she shivered with it, not out of fear, but out of an excitement she was working hard to contain.
Thankfully, he seemed to want to distract himself from thoughts of the two of them, for he launched into a tale of crossing the British sea, and having to fight off pirates with his shipmates. He looked more … alive, more fulfilled with just that story, than he did helping to protect the king. He would leave again, for such a man could not be content with a simple life.
And then the men began to settle into their blankets, and she knew she had to join Paul in their pavilion. A strained silence hovered between them as he set the candle on a tree stump. He left again to allow her to prepare for bed, but he returned before she’d had time to don her dressing gown. Her night rail was far too sheer, clinging at her thighs and stomach and breasts. It was there that Paul stared, and instead of leaving, he closed the canvas flap behind him.
She wasn’t going to play the virgin, to let him think he affected her. Arching a brow, she calmly reached for the dressing gown. Except for the clenching of a muscle in his jaw, she had no warning of what he meant to do until he was beside her, gripping her arm before she could don the extra layer of clothing.
She froze, staring up at him, keeping her face impassive. “Is something wrong?”
He searched her eyes as if looking for a truth he didn’t understand. Then something inside him seemed to change. She sensed the way he drew himself back, even though he hadn’t moved.
And a part of her was disappointed.
“I do not suppose,” he began in a light, conversational tone, “you’d take pity on a man who’s just looked upon such beauty, and kiss him?”
The mere suggestion made her swallow the last moisture left in her mouth. Immediately, the excuses began to bubble up in her mind: He could teach me, no one would know, neither of us would insist on marriage … She knew too much already, for she could picture every caress she’d learned to please a man, every sensitive place on her own body.
But dwelling on the forbidden would lead to disaster. She would not give their passion credence, not when she risked her very future with the League. She kept her own tone amused.
“You do not wish to merely kiss, Sir Paul. Let us not disguise the truth.”
His gaze leisurely dropped down her body, and she felt her nipples harden, knew that he saw it, too. “You know what we could do together.”
And she did, although not as literally as he meant. She was a knowledgeable woman in his eyes, and she wanted to stay that way, not become a virginal girl he needed to protect.
He lifted his hand and very gently cupped her breast. She inhaled swiftly, for even that touch set off a storm of pleasure that could easily rock her from her lofty perch of certainty. She hadn’t imagined, hadn’t suspected that the feelings could be even more than she’d been told. But this was why they’d prepared her, so she could stop it.
She put a hand on his arm. “Nay, Paul,” she breathed.
She felt the hardness of his muscle, knew what he was capable of. For just a moment, he ignored her denial, and she had a flash of understanding that she really didn’t know what kind of man he was.
Then he released her and stepped back, and though she felt regret that she would not experience the pleasure his hands could give her, she also felt satisfied—he was not a man who would seduce a resistant woman. It seemed a small thing, but it mattered.
They said nothing else as she donned her dressing gown and slid onto the pallet. Though it was a warm evening, she covered herself with a blanket. He blew out the candle, and the walls of their pavilion seemed to shimmer with the campfire outside.
Then, in his usual manner, Paul crawled right across the top of her. She held her breath, eyes squeezed shut, feeling buffeted by the sensations she’d been trying to deny herself.
With a sigh, he settled at her side. “If you’d allow me to sleep on the outside, we would not go through this every night.”
“I take my duties seriously—as my refusal to bed you so recently showed.”
“‘Tis a good thing you take your duties seriously, or I might be dead this night,” he said.
“You would have heard the man coming.” She kept her tone mild. “My blade merely reached him first.”
“Hmm.”
He said nothing else. She closed her eyes, forcing her muscles to relax, but having to use force didn’t exactly relax her. She could hear Paul breathing. Although she remained at the edge of the pallet, she knew that they would touch each other in the night. In their sleep, they’d have some of what they wanted, and she could only hope her dreams wouldn’t reflect the same.
Paul came awake as if from the most wonderful dream. He and Juliana had been lovers, and her naked body was entwined with his.
Then he realized that although she wasn’t naked, they were definitely entwined. She lay with her head on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, her knee practically riding between his. He was so close he could see each eyelash where they fanned her cheeks. The temptation to pull her on top of him was almost overpowering. The only thing that stopped him was her rejection the previ ous night. Seducing her until she couldn’t think would definitely not endear him to her.
But obviously, she was beginning to thaw toward him, he thought, almost groaning as he noticed her full breasts pressed into his chest, and the warmth between her open thighs against his hip.
She was not always this soft, seductive woman. He thought about how she’d fought the day before, how she’d saved his life. He’d had a small part in her training, in making her what she was. He’d tried to think of her as another student, then recently, as a very desirable woman. And now he realized he had a more personal concern—he could get her killed. He’d never thought of another Bladesman that way; they all understood the risks when they’d joined. But she’d had just seventeen years when she’d come to the League, full of despair and a tenuous hope that at last she had a place to belong. She’d do anything to belong—fighting at his side, saving his life, risking herself.
And he cared—too much.
He felt her stir, move, her body sliding against his sinuously. The hunger she aroused in him was perhaps more than he’d ever felt before—and that was a revelation he hadn’t anticipated.
Her black hair slid across half her face as she lifted her head to blink at him in sleepy confusion.
He let his hand slide up the long, supple slope of her back. “Change your mind so soon?”
He expected her to hop off the pallet in outrage.
Instead she gave a slow smile, spread her hand flat on his chest, and whispered, “I imagine you wish so, if your straining breeches are any indication.”
Then she rose from their pallet, leaving him speechless and frustrated and amused, a mingled condition in which he seldom found himself.
At mid morning, they crested a gentle hill, and Juliana almost gasped with wonder as Castle Kilborn loomed in the distance. The keep rose up many levels, protected by outer and inner curtain walls. High towers were set at intervals along both walls, and the main gatehouse towers were the most elaborate of all. The gates were open, for guests streamed back and forth between the castle and a huge field, which was dotted with colorful pavilions topped by streaming pennant
s representing all the contestants come to participate in the tournament. An area had been cleared for the joust, with stands of raised seating for spectators.
Theobald, who’d been scouting ahead all morning, waited for them, his good eye glowering. “Many people to guard against,” he muttered.
Juliana could not help wondering if any of the Blades men would be known by some within. After all, she did not know of their lives, their positions. They could be knights; they could be noblemen.
But she knew that Timothy had chosen them with special care. None of them displayed any trepidation.
Paul threw back his short cloak, showing off a burgundy doublet. His sleeves had been slashed to reveal his white shirt. He wore striped hose and an elaborate codpiece that had made all the Bladesmen snicker as they broke their fast that morn.
But Paul had been unfazed, a peacock preening in the sun. His hat with its padded roll was tilted rakishly, so that his burnished hair, as light in color as the Plantagenets, would be revealed to all.
Juliana had taken special care with her own gown that morn, choosing a yellow silk embroidered with gold threads, so that she almost glittered in the sun. She left her dark hair flowing down her back, wearing a token headdress, a veil of sheer gauze that only skimmed her hair.
She met Paul’s gaze. His nod to her was small and sure. Then his smile broadened into that of Sir Paul the Dissolute, and he raised his arm, setting their retinue in motion.
As the road wound down among the fields scattered with pavilions, they garnered a slowly building wave of attention. No one recognized Paul, of course, but by his arrogant bearing he proclaimed himself a man of importance.
Juliana felt the stares she inspired, some men openly interested, a few, more God-fearing perhaps, showing their disdain. She wondered how the gentlewomen would take her presence, and could only hope they would not interfere in her ability to remain at Paul’s side.
As they approached the curtain walls, the battlements loomed above them, where guards looked down to monitor all they saw. The party passed through the gatehouse, and Juliana glanced up into the dark recesses, knowing a sharp portcullis would normally block their path. There were also secret openings where soldiers could rain death on them from above in an attack.
