Castles in the Air

by Christina Dodd

  “Bride gift, bride gift,” Ella chanted, and alarmed, Raymond glanced about.

  “Juliana’s down in the kitchen, ordering the noon meal. Royalty are such a drain on the resources when they visit, I’m afraid we must move on soon. Did you really think I’d so lost my senses as to reveal your present?”

  The days inside had worn away Raymond’s patience also, and it was all he could do to say, “Not at all, Eleanor.”

  Eleanor lifted her finger, and a lady-in-waiting came running with her cape. “You must give her the gift before I leave. I wish to observe her reaction.”

  “As you wish, Eleanor.”

  “I should order your head removed for your excessively polite insolence”—she leaned closer and examined his face—“but you look so thin and worn I’ll attribute it to lack of sleep and excuse you.”

  “I thank you, Eleanor.”

  As she swirled the cape around her shoulders, she lifted one inquiring brow. “But if you can’t sleep when half the hall separates you and your wife, how will you sleep when you share the same bed?”

  His teeth clicked together for a wide, false smile. “Sometimes, Eleanor, you’re a damned annoying woman.”

  She returned the smile with equal vehemence. “So Henry says.” Lifting her hands, she called, “Attention! We are going outside to christen the curtain wall of Lofts Castle.”

  From the corner of his eye, Raymond saw Juliana step out of the stairwell. She paused as if amazed, and he had the chance to feast his eyes.

  She, too, looked thin and tired, worn by the demands of a royal household on the lady of the castle. When she hadn’t been on her knees, doing penance for some sin, she’d been running from the kitchen to the larder to the wine cellar, ordering the entertainment—she depended heavily on Valeska and Dagna and their acrobatic skills—and organizing games. On their first night home, the queen’s minstrel sang an epic ballad about a Crusader hero. As he sang, it became clear the hero was Raymond, and Raymond had cringed beneath the approbation of the court.

  Juliana had stood to applaud the song, presented the minstrel with a fine woolen cape, and now, every night, the minstrel sang that damned song.

  Raymond had seen Juliana consulting with the minstrel, and he suspected her interference, but what could he do? The court seemed to adore having a hero in their midst. The ladies-in-waiting hung on him, and one, bolder than the rest, had offered her services.

  That was when he’d discovered Juliana had gelded him.

  He didn’t want just anyone. He wanted Juliana.

  Now, unaware of her crime, she pushed the wisps of hair off her forehead slowly and listened to Eleanor.

  “Keir, would you arrange seating for me and the other noble ladies?”

  Keir bowed. “With pleasure, Madame.” He snapped his fingers at Margery and Ella. “Do you want to come with me?”

  They jumped at him, and he slung Ella on his back. “Hugh, you take Margery,” Keir commanded, and grumbling good-naturedly, Hugh did.

  “We’ll bring down a cask of…what do you think, Raymond, wine or ale?”

  Eleanor made the decision herself. “A cask of both. We’ll have a party.” Catching sight of her confused hostess, she said, “Eh, Juliana? A party to celebrate your wall. Do you have a gold cup we can use for the ceremony?”

  “Nay, Madame, but there is the ceremonial cup we use at Christmastide to wish Apple Tree Man wes-hâl.”

  Eleanor looked delighted. “That will do nicely.”

  Juliana nodded to Fayette. “Please fetch it.”

  “Aye, m’lady, but”—Fayette hesitated—“do ye think Apple Tree Man’ll like us usin’ his cup this way?”

  Eleanor blinked. “We won’t tell him.”

  Juliana agreed, adding, “’Twill be good to get away from”—she glanced at Raymond—“the great hall.”

  Irritated by lack of sleep, by constant arousal, he drew himself up and snarled, “I’ll go pick out the wine.”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Fine,” he said.

  Lord Peter hastened up and stepped between them. “I’ll go with you, Raymond, to help you carry the casks.”

  “Fine,” Raymond repeated, and grabbed a torch from the wall.

  They trod the steps to the wine cellar, and Lord Peter said, “It’s dark down here. Almost as dark as the inside of a woman’s mind. They’re strange creatures, aren’t they?”

  “Women are foolish creatures.” Raymond unlocked the door and slammed it against the wall. “Is Maud ever foolish?”

  “Frequently, especially when she claims I’m foolish. What kind of wine do you wish?”

  “The kind that mixes best with mud.” Raymond placed the torch into a sconce and squinted, sightless, at the markings on the casks. “Doesn’t she understand we have to remain wed? The queen has insisted. Our children expect it.”

  “So you will stay.”

  “Nay! I mean, aye. But even if I want her, dream of her…” He opened a tap and splashed ale in his face trying to dissipate the effects of his dreams. “…brood over her, I can’t force myself on her. She saw me chained and humiliated. She despises me. She saw me mad with the fighting frenzy not once, but twice. She fears me.”

  From the doorway came Juliana’s indignant voice. “You dolt.” She advanced into the room. “You idiotic gazob. How dare you think I despise you because you were chained?”

  Raymond found himself unsurprised. Something in the ether—a sudden warmth, a tingling—had warned him of her presence. Leaning back against the cool stones, he put his head back and visualized, once more, the scene in the moonlit meadow. “I saw the look on your face when Keir freed me. I thought you were going to vomit.”

  Lord Peter interjected, “I would vomit myself, to see you so abused.”

  “I wasn’t repulsed that you were chained,” she denied. “I was frightened that Keir would kill you with that ax. Tosti had been tortured to death. Denys had died as I watched over him. There were dead mercenaries by the fire. Death was all around me. But once I realized who was chained to the tree, I wasn’t afraid. Finding you was the only luck I’d had that day.”

  “You were afraid.”

  “Not for me. I knew you’d never hurt me. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to help you.” She sniffled, and her voice choked. “I didn’t know how to help you. But I came to you, petted you, talked to you”—sobs began to punctuate her words, and she shook with each one—“and I only despised…the man who had abused you. I was…so afraid I’d lose you…I only tried to help…and you’ve hated me for it ever since.”

  She whirled and ran, leaving an uncomfortable silence, a silence that was finally broken by Raymond. “She thinks I hate her because she helped me?” he said incredulously. He cleared his throat. “As I said, women are foolish.” But his voice lacked conviction.

  Perched on an upturned cask, Lord Peter suggested, “Why don’t you tell her you don’t hate her?”

  Juliana dragged her toe on each tread as she climbed the stairs. She didn’t want to go christen the wall. She didn’t want to feign laughter, make conversation, or be pleasant to that woman who wanted to take Raymond to her bed. She didn’t want to do anything but curl up in a corner and cry.

  Valeska and Dagna thought that time was on her side. But it wasn’t. Every day, Raymond grew farther away from her. As she’d run to the larder, to the kitchen, to the cellars, she’d been able to think of naught save Raymond. The way he smiled, his easy banter with the queen, his way with her children. She loved everything about him—and he thought she despised him? That she feared him?

  “Juliana!”

  The queen’s voice made her start guiltily.

  “Come out of the stairwell and prepare yourself.”

  “Aye, Madame.” Juliana scrubbed at her face, hoping to erase the signs of tears. When she stepped into the great hall, it was virtually empty. The queen stood by the fire, Valeska and Dagna were packing bread and cheese in several large baskets—but all th
e servants, the ladies, and the knights of the queen’s household had vanished.

  The queen’s imperious voice tore Juliana from her reflections. “Are you ready to go outside? Come, come, you must not keep royalty waiting.”

  Juliana could never tell whether Eleanor poked fun at herself or was in earnest, and she hurried to do as directed. As she sat to put on her overshoes, the queen asked, “Did you make Raymond realize what an ass he’s being?”

  Relieved to find her feelings shared, Juliana asked, “Do you think he’s being an ass, too?”

  “I do,” Valeska chimed, “He reminds me of…a knight I once knew. He always did what he thought was best for me and never asked me what I thought. Men are jackasses, one and all.”

  “What happened to your knight?” Juliana asked.

  “I left him. I’ll have no man telling me what to do.” Valeska covered the basket with a cloth and grinned. “The Saracens cured me of that.”

  Eleanor, in her best royal voice, said, “Lady Juliana can’t leave Raymond. She has to remain wed.”

  Juliana nodded. “Exactly. It’s for the good of the realm. He’s now wealthy, he could live at court among royalty—among his relatives—and the reason he wanted my lands no longer exists—”

  “How does that alter the matter?” Eleanor inquired. “Once he had the blessing of the Church on your union, he could do anything he wished with your possessions, and you would have had little recourse.”

  Juliana tugged on her wooden overshoes. She knew that. Only…she’d come to depend on her wealth as a way to keep Raymond close. To find herself married to one of the greatest and wealthiest peers of the realm…well, it fed her insecurities. “Why did he stay, then? Why did he garner the affection of my daughters? Why did he make me love him?”

  As Juliana fumbled with a cloth to wipe her nose, Dagna said, “I do not claim to understand the superior workings of a man’s mind—”

  Eleanor snorted.

  “—but perhaps he’s stayed for the pleasure of your company.”

  “Then why can’t he stand to be in the same room with me?” Juliana jutted her chin. “Huh?”

  “Because he’s an ass,” the queen pronounced.

  Tears filled Juliana’s eyes again. “He’s not an ass. He’s wonderful, and I will wither and die without him.”

  “Tell him that.” Eleanor surveyed the watery Juliana as she shook her head, and insisted, “Tell him. It is your queen’s command.”

  Juliana fought her way through the crowd to the doorway and stepped out of the keep. A sea of mud glinted in the bright, new-washed day, and she warned, “I don’t know, Madame, this looks treacherous.”

  “Good,” Eleanor said robustly. “I need some excitement. I’ll go first.”

  Clambering down the ladder, she put her foot on the ground—and sank, and sank. “I suggest removing your overshoes, and your shoes, too.” With an expression of delicious disgust, she put her other foot down. She saw Papiol trying to sneak back into the keep and, in her most authoritive voice, ordered, “All of you.”

  With resigned sighs, and a few squeaks from Papiol, the court sat down and removed their shoes. Barefooted, Juliana watched as the queen, dressed in the finest wools, held her cotte high and began to negotiate the slippery bailey.

  “Mama! Mama!”

  Margery and Ella stood at the drawbridge, their skirts trussed up, waving madly. “Come see your wall! Come see the seats we made you!”

  Juliana waved back with considerably less enthusiasm, then descended into the mud. Cold as last night’s lamprey pudding, it slithered between her toes. She sank halfway to her knees, and when she lifted her foot out to take a step, the mud released her reluctantly. The sucking sound it made embarrassed her, and the lady-in-waiting who followed close behind her exclaimed, “I know knights who sound daintier after a supper of pease porridge.”

  Juliana laughed.

  She couldn’t help it. She was outside for the first time in days, the sun shone warm on her shoulders, and every time she lifted her foot that dreadful, mortifying, funny noise erupted from the mud. Ahead of her strode the queen. Behind her in a long line stretched Eleanor’s courtiers, dressed in fine clothes, speaking fine French, and as each one of them lifted a foot, it sounded like a vulgar digestive noise. It always brought forth the same response.

  They laughed.

  They laughed and tripped, held on to each other and laughed. They laughed at Papiol, trying to tiptoe as he muttered a dialogue with himself. They laughed until Raymond roared from the keep, “What are you doing?”

  Turning, Juliana waved at him as he stood with a cask under each arm and his eyes wide. “We’re obeying the queen’s orders. Come on, it’s fun!”

  She didn’t wait, but followed the queen across the drawbridge and down the hill to the low hedge of stone blocks Keir had placed as a bench. Shaped in the elegant curve of a Roman amphitheater, it faced the curtain wall and provided seating for the court. The queen took the highest block, of course, and as the courtiers straggled down they filled in, jostling for position. They cheered when Lord Peter appeared, and they cheered louder when Raymond appeared, holding the two casks.

  They were ready to be entertained.

  “Keir, take the ale and tap the cask,” the queen commanded. “Raymond, put the wine close on that low section of wall, and since you did the wall, you’ll do the christening.”

  Raymond nodded, knowing full well what was to come and dreading it.

  “Juliana will help you.” Eleanor made shooing motions toward the construction and stage-whispered to Raymond, “The bride gift is up there.”

  Juliana glanced at the half circle of grins, then at Raymond. Clearly dubious, she took the cup and started up the steep hill. Raymond followed, and he groaned at the whispers and giggles that broke out behind them.

  Taking advantage of her smaller steps, he passed her on the slope and placed the cask on the wall.

  He’d ordered the bride gift when he was determined to make their marriage a true one. When he was hopeful of winning her love. He’d dreamed of presenting it to her in private, when she could express her appreciation properly. But everything had gone wrong, and now he had to present it to her in front of the court. ’Strewth, how he feared her scorn.

  With his cloak he concealed the unattached pile of sandstone holding his huge, square gift. When she had placed the cup beside the cask, he moved aside and gestured—not grandly, as he’d once planned, but with a flip of his arm. “It’s your bride gift,” he said in an undertone. “They all think I’m a fool to give a lady such a thing.”

  She stared, and doubt grew in his mind.

  “It’s the bear off my family crest,” he explained. When she still said nothing, he cleared his throat. “Carved into a block of stone. To set on the top of the wall when it’s finished. Like a gargoyle.”

  She lifted her gaze from the ugly creature of curved fangs and claws. Her eyes swam with tears, and she whispered, “A bear. You gave me a bear.”

  He didn’t know if she cried from joy or distress until she flung her arms around his neck. “You are the most generous…”

  The press of her body against his soothed him, aroused him. He wrapped her close, but she started, her hands loosened, and she tried to pull away. “I’m sorry,” she apologized breathlessly. “Your neck—”

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “You don’t like to be confined,” she insisted.

  “No, I don’t.” He shrugged in surprise. “I had forgotten.”

  But he released her, and she circled the bear. “Look at the great arms outstretched, the ferocious snarl, the wild hair.” She touched the stone.

  He didn’t know what made him say it. “’Tis I, set in stone and bound to protect you.”

  She leaped back as if his words made it so. Then, uncertain, she cocked her head and examined the bear once more. “It does have a resemblance, does it not?” She chuckled, a wavering laugh, but her smile faded, and she twis
ted her fingers until they were white. “I will join this stone one day, cold as the earth, staring out at the road, waiting for you to return to me.”

  Her agony sounded real, but he would do what was best for her, regardless of how she fought. “’Tis better if I leave.”

  Whipping around, she pushed him with her hands on his chest. “Better for whom?”

  He staggered backward and sat down with a plop in the mud. The courtiers cheered, but Raymond scarcely heard them.

  “Better for you, perhaps. You’ll be away from this provincial castle, away from the children, away from the responsibilities. You’ll be at court, giving Henry his advice while I stumble along alone. Always alone. You’ll be bringing your love skills to other women—prettier women, sweeter women, richer women, braver…” The words clogged in her throat.

  A pain twisted in his chest, a pain greater than any he’d endured in all his loveless life. “Advising Henry holds no charm for me. As for other women”—he chuckled mirthlessly—“I’ll never see another woman without seeing your face, nor hear a voice without recalling your song, nor—”

  “Then why do you turn from me so coldly?” she cried. She pointed at the bear. “Here’s the answer, is it not? You blame me for everything that happened at Moncestus Castle. ’Twas my failure to confront and curb Sir Joseph that caused it all.”

  He struggled to stand. “Confront Sir Joseph? You did. I saw you.”

  “I should have done it as soon as my father died.”

  Unable to pull himself out of the sticky embrace of the mud, alarmed at Juliana’s despair, he put his hand down and pushed himself to his feet. “He would have killed you!”

  “I doubt that.” She took his filthy arm and wiped at it with her skirt. “I think it would have removed the sting from his tail most effectively. He wouldn’t have influenced Denys, Margery would never have been taken, Bartonhale would not have been stripped, Felix’s men wouldn’t have been murdered, you would not have been chained—”

  “Are you God to have so foreseen these events?” he asked angrily.