by Julia Latham
“I am hardly feigning. Tell me.”
They strolled near the stands set up along the lists, where the jousting would begin on the morrow. Children ran, people hurried by, but it seemed as if they were alone with their conversation amidst the din of revelry.
Juliana took a deep breath, glancing at him as if to say, “You asked for this.”
“‘Tis Margaret I worry about. Being the daughter of an earl, she is prepared to soon make a good marriage. Yet should she be seen so much in my company?”
“You are worried for her reputation?”
She nodded. “Even though she seems not to be. And her parents have not forbidden her.”
“She did say that her father paid Edward little mind. Mayhap her parents are the same with her.”
“Mayhap.”
But she still seemed troubled.
“Do you worry that your friendship will disappoint her?” he asked softly.
She stared up at him with wide eyes. “How could I—” Then she paused, her brow furrowed.
“You told me you felt you were a disappointment to your parents. I still believe you were being too harsh on yourself, but regardless, being a daughter and being a friend are two different things.”
She smiled without much mirth. “Aye, I disappointed them. Yet I miss them, too. And Margaret makes me consider that perhaps I missed the closeness of other women more than I realized.”
Paul felt almost guilty that he had family, and had left them, when she so obviously missed hers.
“Being with women is not easy, of course,” she continued, her expression wry. “We do not have so very much in common.” Then she hesitated, and spoke in a softer voice. “And there is a small part of me that does not want to appear too feminine, too weak before our fellow Bladesmen.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, as if to gauge his reaction. “You should understand how the Bladesmen might see me, since you were obviously upset when you discovered a woman would be guarding you.”
He stared at her in surprise. “You think my anger had to do with the fact that you’re a woman?”
“Of course it did,” she said dismissively. “I saw your reaction when Timothy brought me forward.”
“My reaction had to do with the League, not you. I hated having to behave so incompetently, or having to rely on other people to protect me, when I was proud of what I’d accomplished on my own.”
She watched his face as if looking for any hint that he was not telling the truth. And because she was a solitary woman in a very male League, he did not take offense.
Juliana barely kept herself from gaping like a fool. He hadn’t objected because she was a woman? She’d been looking down on him for, lo, these many weeks, for a groundless reason?
“You seem surprised,” he said dryly. “You did not think much of me, did you?”
“Well, did you give me a reason to? I could not fathom why you distrusted the League, who’d saved my very life—and yours,” she added pointedly. “But believe me, I do not discount your pain.”
He arched a brow, but said nothing.
And she had much to think on. She felt relieved in one sense, because now she knew he valued her work, even though she was a woman. Yet this further accentuated the softness she’d been feeling for him, and that could not be good, when one was battling both his desire—and her own. It was one more crack in the wall that held her back from giving in to passion, giving in to what he could teach her.
“I am pleased that you’re enjoying meeting other women,” he said, reaching out to scoop up two tarts from a nearby tray. “Even from the moment I first met you, I was worried that you would be too isolated living with the League.”
“If you felt isolated, why did you find it so easy to leave all you knew and travel to Europe, where you knew no one?”
“I am a man,” he said, as if that answered everything.
“So you think a man bears isolation better than a woman.”
“I did not say—”
“But you’re glad I’m making friends, behaving as other women. And a woman’s purpose, according to society, is to marry. You do not think it can be isolating to leave all you’ve ever known, marry a man and put yourself into his household, where you’re a stranger?”
“And bear his children, and be a part of a family. It does not sound isolating to me—but then I wouldn’t know,” he finished wryly.
She sighed. “Aye, you wouldn’t know.”
And he didn’t want to know, she realized.
That evening, when the trestle tables were folded away and the minstrels began to play, Paul found himself a popular man. He liked to dance and made it his mission that evening to meet the ladies of the castle. He had to achieve the notice of the men somehow.
But of course, he reserved the first dance for his concubine. The dance was lively, couples intertwining, linking arms to pass the ladies around, and then having the chance to lift Juliana high into the air before passing her to the next man. She moved with such grace, and the memories of her dance in a tavern before a dozen gaping men still aroused Paul every time he thought of it. She had a special way of meeting his gaze that was at once intimate and erotic, and yet full of amusement.
When he danced with the next woman, and the next, he warned himself that he was used to different women every night, in every city—that he would grow bored with Juliana’s constant companionship now that he had so many women to pick from. But strangely, he didn’t find himself drawn to any of the others. Surely, it was because he was aroused by the chase, by the hopeful triumph of having Juliana at last in his bed—naked, not clothed up to her chin.
And watching her dance with other men was not as easy as he’d imagined. More than once he thought Theobald should have intruded on too familiar a touch, but always Juliana controlled a man’s free hand, her expression pleasant, but without the glimpses she gave to him of the fiery woman underneath.
And then she danced with Alex.
Paul was drinking a tankard of ale, standing alone near one of the hearths as he watched them. Alex wasn’t all that much taller than Juliana, and that kept their heads too close together. The song was slower, and partners did not change, enabling them to carry on a disjointed conversation.
Paul felt someone approach from behind, turned alertly, only to find Theobald standing next to him, hands clasped behind his back.
“A good evening to you, Theobald,” Paul said, surprised.
“Sir Paul.”
“Are you enjoying the tournament?”
Theobald eyed him impassively. “I am a soldier, sir. I do not need to enjoy such things.”
“But you like to win.”
“Aye,” he admitted at last.
“‘Tis not easy to pretend we are not better than most here.”
“As you will discover on the morrow, Sir Paul.”
“But what if I face you?”
“Then I will win, will I not?”
Paul chuckled. “Only if we meet toward the middle of the competition. I intend to win a few before I go down with my ineptitude.”
Theobald said nothing, turning down an ale when Paul offered.
“Is your home near here?” Paul asked, needing a distraction.
“We do not discuss our backgrounds.”
“I thought that a rather innocuous question. But very well. Tell me how you came to wear the mask.”
Again, Theobald did not speak immediately, and Paul thought he might have gone too far.
“Not many men question me about such a thing,” Theobald finally admitted.
“You intimidate them.”
“The mask intimidates them,” he said impassively.
“Nay, ‘tis the man beneath it. You do not make it easy for another to talk to you.”
Theobald said nothing.
Paul smiled. “And you make my point for me.”
Frowning, Theobald sighed. “An opponent’s sword laid open my face and destroyed the eye. It healed poor
ly.”
Paul withheld a wince. “You were lucky to have lived.”
“I saw it that way. Upon seeing my face, others did not.”
Paul wondered if he had a wife who had been horrified by the disfiguration.
“So you took to wearing the mask.”
“‘Twas simpler. Yet sometimes it makes it easier to do what we do. People don’t want to see me. Yon Joseph”—he pointed to their fellow Bladesman, who was surrounded by several eager women—“always stands out.”
Paul put a hand on Theobald’s shoulder. “You find a good outcome to something that would crush another. And you’re talkative,” he added, suddenly suspicious. “Why is that?”
“Some of us believe you might take poorly Juliana dancing with other men.”
“I have no claim on her,” he said indignantly. “We are partners as much as you and I.”
“My good eye is still working,” Theobald said with faint sarcasm.
Paul crossed his arms over his chest. “I am glad you see she is easy to look upon. Tell our fellow soldiers not to be concerned.”
“Hmph,” was all Theobald said.
Juliana found it was easy to talk to Alex. He danced effortlessly, yet still showed interest in conversation—instead of staring down her gown, as so many other men felt free to do, including Paul.
As she whirled in Alex’s arms, she let herself imagine marrying someone like him. She’d never thought to marry at all, but Paul had made her realize that she could not live in isolation at the League fortress forever.
eople had lives to go to, and she had to build one for herself. Her only relatives—cousins—had refused to take her in, and she would not go to them now. Hence, she had to find her own household. And that meant a husband.
Alex was convenient in so many ways. He knew she lacked a dowry, not to mention a woman’s skills, that she preferred the pastimes of men—and he didn’t judge her for it. Even now, he showed interest by seeking her out. Was that enough to begin a relationship?
Yet … a man like Alex could never know of the time she spent with the League. He would always believe he wasn’t the first man in her bed, and someday that might make him bitter. She knew that other Bladesmen kept their secrets from their spouses—but they were men, able to travel as much as they wished. How would she explain needing to leave every year for two or three weeks, perhaps returning with injuries? She could not always say she was attacked on the road. And a husband would not allow her to travel alone anyway; he’d send guards, if he didn’t insist on going himself. She would have to escape them all, and lose his trust in the process.
Here, among normal husbands and wives and families, she accepted with a finality that she could never be like them. And giving up the League? Nay, it gave her a purpose that being a wife and mother could not do.
And as she looked into Alex’s smiling face when he brought her a goblet of wine, she also had to accept that he did not draw her gaze the way Paul did. She glanced at Paul, to see him conversing with Theobald, of all people. He briefly met her eyes and nodded, his smile knowing.
There was a heat in the attraction between Paul and her, a temptation and a longing to be wicked, regardless of possible complications. Did she want to keep resisting?
Tearing her gaze away from Paul, she saw that Alex had not missed the exchange. He regarded her solemnly for a moment, sympathetically. She blushed, which no concubine should even remember how to do.
And then she saw Margaret, standing alone and watching the festivities with happiness.
“Alex, allow me to introduce you to someone,” Juliana said.
She saw the way his face lit up when Margaret curtsied to him, and Margaret’s momentary shyness and blushing.
Alex would never look that way at Juliana, a concubine in his eyes. And it was just as well.
A brief message awaited them when they returned to their bedchamber that night, and Paul felt a surge of satisfaction as he looked at the parchment, then dropped it on the table.
“What does it say?” Juliana asked.
“They shall be coming for me after midnight tonight, and I’m to be prepared.”
“After the way men stared at you today, I cannot be surprised,” she said.
“Ah, but did you see the way they stared at you?” he reached for her, but she eluded him.
“Not the men who are important to this mission.”
“But what about Alex?”
“What about Alex?” she asked in surprise.
He arched a brow and said nothing. When she laughed, he felt something ease inside him.
“Which of you is jealous?” she asked, her voice still trembling with amusement. “Sir Paul the Bladesman or Sir Paul the Dissolute?”
He caught hold of her and drew her against him. “Both of us,” he said hoarsely, and then he kissed her.
To his surprise, she wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed against him. He lost his reason as he lost himself in her mouth, mating with her tongue, sharing her breath. He felt her hands trace his shoulders, sink into his hair. Her moans aroused him as much as each intimate roll of her hips.
And then she crawled up his body and wrapped her legs around his hips. He held her thighs in his hands, but he needn’t have feared she wouldn’t be able to hold herself up.
“My God,” he said hoarsely, after lifting his mouth briefly from hers.
“I needed to be closer, to feel …” Her voice trailed off as she pressed kisses along his jaw.
He slid his hands along the backs of her thighs, around her hips, cupping them. Pulling her hard against him, he rubbed his erection deep into the warm center of her.
With a gasp, she let her head drop back. Her eyes were closed, her expression one of concentration and passion. It was so beautiful, he could barely keep from losing himself without even being inside of her.
“The bed—” he began harshly.
“Nay, I will not sleep with you.”
He froze, shuddering, as she squirmed against him, her head still back.
“Not tonight,” she amended.
He bent and pressed his mouth to her throat, slowly following the elegant lines down toward the hollow. “Tomorrow?”
“We will be taking our time.”
In two steps, he had her up against the wall, so he was able to free his hands. Still, she rocked against him, her heels against his ass, her thighs cupping his hips. She knew just what she did to him, what felt good. He was kissing her shoulders now, releasing the laces at the back of her neck, sliding the neckline wider so that he could press kisses ever lower, down to the rising of her breasts, and between. The sounds she made were strangled, full of pleasure, hushed so that no one would hear but the two of them.
Think, he told himself. “Why—why do we have to take our time?”
Chapter 16
Juliana clutched Paul’s head to her chest, silently pleading with him not to stop. His hips pressed hard into hers, exciting her in a way that her teacher had tried to express, but had been impossible for Juliana to understand … until now.
She wanted to move, to squirm, to incite her passion until it reached the peak of bliss.
But he was talking to her, and she couldn’t remember what he’d said.
This was what they’d warned her of, this loss of control, loss of reason. She’d been prepared, so she’d know what to do. But the urge was so powerful, so overwhelming. She wanted what only he could give her, had to have it.
Her consciousness swam briefly to the surface in time, trying to remember what he’d been saying. But he tugged once more on her neckline, and her breasts spilled free right before his eyes.
He stared at them, and she saw that her nipples were tight, aching points. Her uneven breathing made her breasts quiver. She should be embarrassed, she should stop, but—
She found her voice. “We have to … take our time because … I don’t know if I’ll … want to lie with you.”
His narrowed eyes met hers, as
he hoarsely said, “Am I to persuade you?”
“Believe me, you’ve already …” And then words faded away as he licked one nipple, his tongue flat and rough and wet. The sound she made was choked and hoarse, and didn’t sound at all like herself. The pleasure was … wondrous, unbelievable.
“Should I persuade you more?” He spoke against her breast, and without waiting for her response, he took her nipple deep into his mouth, suckling while rubbing against her with his erection.
Such a twin assault was her undoing. He sent her beyond herself, beyond rational thought, into a state of pleasure that shuddered through her in waves that crested over and over again.
When she came to herself, he was breathing hard against her neck, and slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze. His deep blue eyes seemed to burn into her.
“Have I persuaded you?”
She realized she was languorous in his arms, unable to even hold herself up; he did it all for her, his hands beneath her buttocks, his fingers dangerously close to the center of her.
She cleared her throat, tried to let her legs drop, but he wouldn’t allow it.
“Much as you acquitted yourself well,” she began, then felt a spasm when he rocked into her again. “We cannot—cannot finish this. I still have much to think about, and our mission tonight has reached a turning point. The Bladesmen must know what is about to happen.”
“Let me show you what’s about to happen.”
When he tried to kiss her other breast, she pulled up her loose garments and held them to her. “Nay, Paul, we must stop. Put me down.”
A long, slow shudder moved through him, and then he straightened and released her. Her legs slid down his body, accentuating the ripples of pleasure that still moved through her.
Gasping, she clutched him for a moment. And then he stepped back. He was still aroused, still so ready, that she knew he ached with it, but she also knew that it would subside, that he could control himself.
“This went farther than I meant it to,” she said, “and for that, I apologize.”
“Never apologize,” he said, cupping her face briefly, his low laugh full of strain. “That felt too good to be wrong.”
