Castles in the Air

by Christina Dodd

  “Is Maud home with her?”

  “She’ll not leave her lamb now,” Lord Peter said, then turned to Juliana. “Raymond didn’t tell you, but I’m Lord Peter of Burke.”

  Juliana couldn’t help but smile. “I know.”

  “Has Raymond told you about me?” he asked, then said earnestly, “Don’t believe a word of it. I’m actually a very pleasant fellow.”

  “Nay, nay.” Juliana faced him. “Raymond has spoken of you in only glowing terms.” Seeing the amusement that tugged at his mouth, hearing Raymond’s chuckle, she realized she’d been hoaxed by a master. Relaxing, she said, “Raymond claims you are his dearest mentor. I bid you belated welcome to Lofts Castle. Would that we had been here when you arrived.”

  Lord Peter sobered and drew himself up. “Aye, would that you had been here.”

  The pleasure of the company faded as Juliana and Raymond caught the mood. Not realizing the rapport they betrayed, they exchanged concerned glances before Raymond asked, “What is it, Lord Peter? What news?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you.…” Lord Peter trailed off, clearly at a loss for words. “What I’m trying to say is that all things must pass, and we must take comfort in the knowledge that God forgives.…” He took a deep breath, and it sounded like fortification against adversity.

  Raymond looked wildly at Lord Peter. “Are the Scots over the border? Have the Crusaders lost the Holy Land? Is Henry ill? Damn it, tell us!”

  Putting his hands behind his back, Lord Peter rocked on his heels. “It is nothing so clear-cut as that. That is, death is clear-cut, but…”

  “Tell us,” Raymond said from between clenched teeth.

  Raising his head, Lord Peter looked straight at Raymond. “Your parents are dead.”

  Juliana gasped at the sad tidings so plainly put. But as Raymond said nothing, did nothing, she realized the source of Lord Peter’s uneasiness.

  Raymond did not love his parents. The grief she’d experienced upon learning of her own parents’ passing did not seize Raymond. As he stood there immobile, it wasn’t evident what he thought, or what emotions boiled in him.

  “My parents are dead,” he repeated at last. “How did this happen?”

  “Winter is no time to take a ship across the channel, and the wreckage of a ship has been washing up against the cliffs. The fisherfolk identified it…”

  “As my parents’ vessel?” Raymond wrung out a lock of hair that dripped in his face. To Juliana, he said, “These last two days, I’ve taken comfort in the thought the rain has washed away the reminders of the cesspit.”

  It seemed an aside, but Juliana understood. This was a break from the heavy atmosphere of unhappiness surrounding every evidence of mortality, and from the guilt surrounding these deaths. “I, too, have been glad for the rain,” she agreed. “It’s cleansing, like a baptism.”

  Whistling tunelessly, Raymond stared up at the weeping sky. “It’s very odd. My parents have been there all my life. They have tormented me, controlled me, made me so angry I have screamed like an ale-wife. I hated them, but Juliana taught me there were worse things than unloving parents.”

  Dumbfounded, Juliana queried, “I did?”

  “Aye, you did. ’Tis worse to have a father who loves you, yet lacks the strength of character to support you through your travails. ’Tis worse to have a father you love, yet who’s so weak you suspect him of betraying you. To put that aside took real fortitude.” He sighed and rubbed his fingers together to warm them. “So my parents have left this world, and I find I no longer hate them. Nor is there a shred of grief in my soul. There’s nothing but pity for them.” He surveyed the bailey. His gaze rested on Margery and Ella outside the smithy with Keir and Hugh, then roamed the lands through the open gate. He smiled. “They had not a tenth of the riches I have found.”

  He looked at Juliana, and she plucked the thought from his mind. The riches I will renounce. Aloud, he asked, “Shall we go in?”

  They stepped into a great hall overflowing with women. Some Juliana recognized, some she didn’t. Some were serving maids. Others appeared to be noblewomen. Julian gaped at the swirl of activity, noting it circled around one aristocratic lady seated at her sewing frame. For one mad moment, Juliana thought it was Raymond’s mother, returned from the dead, but Raymond disabused her with a pleased exclamation. “Eleanor!”

  The lady rose and came toward him with arms extended. “Cousin.”

  Juliana glanced at Lord Peter for guidance. He paid her no heed but stepped back a respectful distance. Raymond went hastily down on one knee.

  “Oh, Raymond.” The lady called Eleanor pounded Raymond on the shoulder. “No ceremony with me. Stand up.”

  Raymond did as ordered, embracing the lady with equal parts enthusiasm and respect. “When facing a monarch, I find it’s best to assume an attitude of meekness until I discover if I’m still in favor.”

  “You are ever in favor with your queen.”

  As their banter penetrated her weary mind and Juliana grasped that Eleanor of Aquitaine, former queen of France, present queen of England, and duchess in her own right, honored her home, she sank to her knees—although whether from respect or amazement, she couldn’t say.

  With an arm around her shoulder, Raymond turned to face Juliana. “May I have the honor of presenting my wife, Lady Juliana of Lofts?”

  This was indeed the queen the troubadours sang of. Her countenance disclosed the relationship about which Geoffroi bragged, but her beauty surpassed Isabel’s. The overweening pride that marred Raymond’s parents was absent in Eleanor. She had no need to remind those around her of her status. She was the living embodiment of romance, intelligence, and life—and she knew it.

  Assessing Juliana with one shrewd glance, she held out her hand. “Stand, cousin. You’ll not be on ceremony with me.”

  Juliana took the hand almost reverently and came to her feet. “I never dreamed of this honor,” she stammered.

  Eleanor pulled a wry face. “Didn’t Raymond warn you I’d visit?”

  Wordless, Juliana shook her head.

  “Shame on him.” Waggling an authoritarian finger, Eleanor said, “Raymond is my favorite cousin, and he’s Henry’s, too, when Henry is in his right mind.”

  “How is the king?” Raymond asked, leading Eleanor back to her stool.

  With a moue, Eleanor admitted, “I don’t know. I gave birth to another of his sons at Christmastide, and he has expressed his gratitude by staying as far away from me as possible.”

  “My congratulations, Madam, on another healthy son.”

  Raymond’s deep voice made the plaudit sound like a benediction, but Eleanor rolled her eyes. “He’s a mewling babe, and I cannot like him.”

  “Because of the circumstances of his birth?” Raymond asked.

  “No doubt, although I don’t emulate the Madonna at the best of times. I’m a good queen, a good duchess, a lusty wife, a fair poet, and a beauty.” Her smile mocked herself and the lines which life had etched on her face. “I don’t have time to be a good mother, too.” Her fingers fluttered. “Although I’m a better mother than Henry is father. Henry’s well, I’m sure. When is Henry ever ill?”

  Raymond captured her restless hand. “He is never ill.”

  Gazing at Raymond, Eleanor said, “You have the look of him sometimes, especially in your rages.”

  Raymond dropped her hand. “Henry froths at the mouth when he rages, Madam.”

  “Aye, so he does.”

  Juliana suddenly saw Raymond’s earlier transformation from gentle knight to raging beast in a less sinister light, and almost laughed aloud. King Henry’s paroxysms were legendary. While in the grip of one of his rages, gossip claimed, he rolled on the ground, chewed the furniture, and banged his head, and all fled from him.

  A family characteristic? The justification for the bellicose bear on the family arms? Perhaps. Juliana had reason to be grateful for that bear.

  Lifting her needle, Eleanor then gave permissi
on to those around her to be seated. Her ladies-in-waiting sank back onto their designated benches. Raymond indicated the bench directly in front of Eleanor, and Juliana sat. He propped his foot up beside her and leaned his elbow against his knee. Juliana decided he did it to avoid making contact with her.

  “Sit, Raymond,” Eleanor commanded.

  “Nay, Madam. I have been sitting on a horse for two days, and have no need to place my arse on any hard surface for a long time.”

  “You’re crude.”

  “I’m sore.”

  A smile played around Eleanor’s mouth, and she seemed not at all offended by Raymond’s bluntness. Dipping her needle into her work, she said smoothly, “Regardless of our differences, in one thing Henry and I are agreed. We are glad, Lady Juliana, of your marriage to Raymond. It had been much on our minds at court, especially when you did not come when summoned.”

  Eleanor’s lightning glance destroyed Juliana’s composure, and she shifted on the bench. Before Juliana could draft an excuse, Eleanor continued, “Our cousin Raymond is a treasure who has set many a maiden’s heart beating faster. But more important than that, he is a mighty warrior.”

  “I do know that,” Juliana said.

  “Aye.” Eleanor examined Raymond’s battered face as if she’d just noticed its injuries. “You’ve just had a demonstration.”

  Juliana looked on him, too, and she wanted to cry at the damage to his handsome face. But she couldn’t keep the pride from her tone when she said, “He saved my daughter.”

  “All the more reason for you to cease any resistance you have to this union.” The whip snapped in Eleanor’s voice, and Juliana tried to protest. Eleanor raised one long, pale hand. “It is the king’s will, and mine, that the borderlands of Wales be in secure hands, and the hands we chose were Raymond’s. Is that clear?”

  Observing the grim brackets around Raymond’s mouth, Juliana remembered his fervent determination to end their marriage. She wanted, so badly, to use the queen’s command as a way to chain Raymond to her side. But she knew how he hated chains, and she couldn’t be so selfish as to keep him when he wanted to go. “My queen—” she began, but Raymond’s heavy hand on her shoulder cut her off.

  “It is clear to both of us,” he answered, stiff with pride.

  Eleanor flicked a glance at them, seeing below the surface. But she approved his acquiescence with a biting, “How wise you are, as befitting the count and countess of Locheais.”

  Juliana wet her lips. “Madam?”

  “The count and countess—” Eleanor broke off. “I’m sorry, Raymond. I assumed Lord Peter had told you of the drownings of your parents.”

  “He did,” Raymond replied.

  Faintly puzzled, Eleanor said, “I won’t insult you by offering my condolences. I know what you thought of them, and rightly so. But you do assume your father’s title. You’re heir to all his lands and your mother’s, too.” She invited his smile with her own grin. “A preposterous amount of money and land. When I wage war on Henry, I’ll know whom to approach for a loan.”

  “When you wage war with Henry—” Raymond began, but stopped when Juliana half rose in her chair.

  “You’re wealthy,” she said to him accusingly.

  “Well…aye.”

  She sounded witless, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. “And you don’t need my lands.”

  “Henry needs them,” Raymond joked. Seeing the panic on her face, he sobered. “You always knew I would eventually inherit.”

  Still stupid with shock, she said, “Avraché will be yours still, for your mother—”

  “Had no time to give it to the Church,” he agreed.

  Regaining control, she tried to smile, tried to be glad for him. “How marvelous for you. You’ll have your home back.”

  “My home?” He shook his head. “Nay, Avraché was never my home. I was raised there, but—”

  “But you were so upset when your mother threatened to take it from you,” Juliana burst out.

  “Well, aye, I would be. They had promised for years to give it to me to use as income, and in one vindictive move my mother tried to strip me of even so minute an amount.” To Eleanor, he said, “Isabel wanted to give Avraché to the Church.”

  “Henry would never allow that,” Eleanor snapped.

  “Perhaps I could endow an abbey there in her memory?”

  Eleanor considered, then concurred. “As I have endowed the abbey of Fontevrault. A kind idea, for if the nuns must pray for Isabel’s soul every day, she will surely pass from purgatory before this millennium is through.”

  “So soon?” Raymond asked ironically.

  “God’s time is not of this world.” Eleanor’s rebuke possessed every evidence of piety, but she scarcely drew breath before she changed subjects. “Where is my master castle-builder? I sent him to Lady Juliana to build her a new curtain wall. Where is he?”

  “Your master castle-builder?” Straightening to his full height, Raymond hooted. “That midget apprentice is your master castle-builder?”

  With a gracious inclination of the head, she affirmed, “He is.”

  Throwing back his head, straightening his shoulders, Raymond declared, “He didn’t believe we could dig a foundation in the cold, he didn’t believe we could raise a wall in the wet, and he was dismissed and sent to—”

  It struck Juliana at the same time it struck Raymond. “May God rest his soul,” she said. “You sent him to set sail with your parents.”

  From the shadows beyond the fire, there was a sudden movement, a bold flash of color, and Papiol stood before them, arms outstretched. “Behold, your master castle-builder, safe from the arms of the salty sea!”

  23

  Unable to believe this reincarnation of his nemesis, Raymond stared, as, like a well-feathered rooster, Papiol strutted back and forth. He praised the ox-drawn cart that had taken him to the harbor too late to board the ship. He praised Lord Peter and Maud for giving him succor in his extremity. He praised le bon Dieu for bringing the queen of England to their magnificent castle where she would find him, and praised the queen of England for her continued patronage, and praised the maid who’d warmed his bed last night.

  His praise, in fact, extended over the whole world—except to Raymond. And Papiol’s sentiments, Raymond reflected, were wholly reciprocated.

  As Papiol wore himself out, Eleanor said, “You have a very odd look on your face, Raymond. Does your arse still bother you?”

  Raymond met her amused gaze. “The pain in my arse is growing by leaps and bounds.”

  Eleanor laughed heartily and waved a dismissive hand. “You and your lady are creating a rather large puddle on the floor. Go and do whatever’s necessary to make yourselves presentable.” Juliana made her obeisance and left with alacrity, but Eleanor caught Raymond’s sleeve. Lowering her voice, she said, “I received the message and the gold you sent from Keir, and I brought the bride gift you requested. It’s most unusual, and most unattractive.”

  Raymond had almost forgotten the bride gift, and he refused to yield to the inquisitiveness twinkling in Eleanor’s eyes. “Good.”

  “You’ll not satisfy my curiosity?” she appealed. “After I dragged it all this way?”

  “You don’t have to know everything, Eleanor.”

  She tilted her head back. “That’s true, but I do know an unhappy couple when I see one. Is there anything I can do? We—Henry and I—meant this union to be reward for you, not a trial. I’ll talk to Juliana if you wish.”

  “Nay!” he barked. Then, collecting himself, “Nay. The fault is mine.”

  Pressing her ringed fingers against his, she offered, “Let me help if I can. Sometimes a royal word is worth all the frantic activity of men.”

  Raymond indicated Papiol with a jerk of his head. “You’ve done too much already.” Eleanor laughed again, but it was true. More than returning Papiol, Eleanor had given him a reprieve from exile.

  Although his honor demanded he immediately leave Ju
liana, he couldn’t, for the queen visited. He couldn’t seek an annulment, for the king demanded he retain Juliana’s lands. He would remain her husband, and even if he moved his official residence to Barton-hale and she stayed at Lofts, he would still have to meet with her at Christmastide and Easter, at harvest accounting and at Midsummer…what pleasure he would find in the touch of her hand!

  What agony he would endure while away from her.

  So it was a painful reprieve, but a reprieve nonetheless.

  Eleanor interrupted his harsh reflections. “I’m occupying your nuptial bed, but there is no other in this castle. If I might give you some advice—have another bed built for visiting royalty.”

  Staring at her, Raymond scarcely believed his good luck. He didn’t have to share Juliana’s bed tonight? He didn’t have to curb his needs and fight her allure? “Another reprieve,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  Collecting himself, he bowed over her hand. “Thank you for your advice, Eleanor. I will certainly think about building a new bed.”

  As he strode away, she murmured, “Funny. That sounded as if he told me to tend to my needle.”

  “The sun is out.” Keir stood in the doorway of the great hall, and proclaimed again, “The sun is out!”

  The call reverberated through the great hall, bounced off the cold stone, and betrayed how desperately tired the occupants were of staring at the walls of the keep.

  Margery and Ella threw themselves at Keir, begging, “Can we go outside? Can we? Can we?”

  Keir’s hand lingered on their bright heads. “You’ll have to ask your father,” he said, then came to kneel before the queen. “You ordered I inform you at the first sign of sun, and so I do.”

  “Gracious thanks, good Keir.” Raising her voice, she demanded imperiously, “I wish to be entertained. Out of doors.”

  “’Tis a quagmire out there,” Raymond warned, holding off the clamoring children and eyeing the mud splattered well above Keir’s knee.

  “We’ll make mudpies,” Eleanor countered, rising to her feet. “We’ll look at that wall of yours, and you can present your bride with her gift.”