By late midday there was a feast spread on long tables in the center courtyard of the village and the atmosphere was one of excitement and laughter. The sense of anticipation was overwhelming. The children, sensing that something was about to happen, were screaming and laughing and chasing each other, and no one paid them any mind except to keep them from falling into caldrons of soup. The Irial adults watched fondly as the young people eyed one another and giggled senselessly if they should happen to touch.
And there was a lot of touching that day. Girls bent over boys so their breasts touched shoulders. Boys reached for things and their elbows “accidentally” came into contact with breasts. Everyone dropped everything so that there was much bending together, or one bending and coming up slowly to look long at the body of another. There was teasing and laughing and playful slaps, and by the time the feast was ready, everyone was warm from more than the sun.
“Are you available?” asked a tall, healthy, extraordinarily handsome young Vatell guard of Jura. “If our queen marries your king, you will be free.” He leaned close to her to whisper and his breath was on her neck. “I can make you forget that Englishman.”
Jura smiled at him, her lips close to his.
But before she could answer, Rowan grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “What are you doing? I thought you were with Lora.”
“And you were with Brita. Have you planned your marriage ceremony?”
He had her by the arm and was pulling her toward her aunt’s house. “We must talk.” Once they were secluded in a room, Rowan turned to her. “I have told Brita I cannot put you aside until after the marriages tonight. God’s teeth, but I hate lying. I will do penance for this. I think I may have a temporary solution to our problems: your brother.”
“Geralt? What has he to do with this?”
“While you have been may-daying and matching one lust-filled wench with an equally lust-filled male, I have been observing. Your brother is taken with Brita. I don’t know if her beauty interests him or her power. For all I know he plans to join with her and slaughter me. No! Don’t protest. It is only conjecture. I want you to tell me if you think he could interest a woman of Brita’s appetites.”
It took Jura a moment to understand what he was asking. “Do you mean, is my brother a man?” she said through closed teeth. “Can he give pleasure to a woman? More than you can,” she half yelled. “He has had many women and none of them have complained.”
Rowan looked shocked. “Jura, what—” he began, then stopped and stared at her. After a moment, he turned away. “For once, let us not fight. I have told Brita I will not bed her tonight but the woman is…persistent. I thought I might do well to supply her with some eager young man.”
“You control too much, Englishman,” Jura said.
He looked back at her. “I can perhaps control a country but I do not think I can control my wife. Tonight there will be a…a strain in the air. There will be many couples in the midst of their wedding nights and Brita will cause trouble if she is not occupied.” He stopped suddenly. “This is my concern. I will go find your brother.”
When he had left the room, Jura sat down heavily on a stool in a darkened corner. What had started off well between them that first meeting by the water, had now turned to this.
She did not look up when the door was opened. “Jura,” Lora said, but Jura did not look up.
Lora looked at the proud Jura slumped in a corner and guilt overwhelmed her. She had not welcomed this woman as Rowan’s wife, had made no effort to understand her Lanconian ways. But while Rowan and Jura had been away, she had spent time with Cilean and she had heard the truth of what had happened at the Honorium. Jura had tried to make it so that Cilean could win, but Cilean had fainted and Jura had won by default.
Lora had sought out Daire and asked him about Geralt and Jura and realized that Jura had reasons to believe Rowan should not be king. Jura knew nothing of how Rowan had trained nearly all his life in order to be a good king.
And Lora had wormed from Cilean the truth about where Rowan and Jura had gone. She had fretted and worried every minute they were gone, angry at Jura for being a burden to Rowan. But then he had returned, both of them safe, and Rowan had even said that Jura helped him. Later Lora had made Rowan tell her how Jura had protected his back.
Lora’s opinion of Jura was beginning to change. And then, of course, there was Phillip’s adoration of Jura. The boy followed her everywhere and Jura never lost patience with his questions, was never curt with him.
Then Rowan had forced Lora to spend the day with her sister-in-law and Lora found herself liking Jura. Jura seemed to have none of the jealousies that the women Lora had known in England did. Jura ignored the way Rowan hovered near Brita, the way he smiled at the woman, even the way he looked at the pretty Vatell and Irial women.
While she and Jura had been matching couples and contriving ways for them to be alone, Lora had thought of matching Rowan and Jura. Of course they were already married, but she had seen no evidence that they shared any secrets or intimacies. They had gone away together as strangers and returned as strangers.
As the day was drawing to a close and the couples were pairing themselves off in preparation for the mass marriages, Lora saw Rowan angrily pull Jura away from the crowd. It was not the gesture of a lover but the act of an angry father with a wayward, defiant child.
Lora’s matchmaking qualities came to the surface. She found Xante and told him to have Rowan’s campaign tent erected five miles down the river, away from everyone else, in a quiet, secluded place. Then Lora had waited until she saw Rowan storming out of the stone house and she had gone to find Jura.
And now her heart went out to this proud woman who looked so dejected and forlorn.
Lora didn’t waste any time. “Come with me,” she ordered.
“What?” Jura asked, blinking.
“Come with me.”
“Is someone hurt? Someone needs me?”
“Yes, your husband needs you. Lanconia needs a queen. You need children of your own before you completely steal mine, and you need what I have to offer,” Lora said.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. Now come along. We have work to do.”
Jura allowed herself to be led from the room, out of the house and into another house where Lora was staying. Lora had taken over the simple farmer’s stone dwelling, and trunks and boxes were piled to the roof. She called for young Montgomery to stop flirting and come and move the heavy trunks for her.
“I am going to dress you in the English fashion,” Lora said.
Jura backed toward the door. “I’ll not wear one of your tight-waisted gowns,” she said. “If we were attacked, I could not fight.”
“The only one who will attack you tonight is your husband,” Lora said, then turned at a sound from Montgomery. “I didn’t give you enough work to do that you eavesdrop on women’s talk?” She went toward Jura. “Daire asked you to marry him, didn’t he? What caused him to propose?”
Jura smiled warmly in memory. “I beat him in an archery contest.”
Both Lora and Montgomery gaped at her.
Lora recovered first. “There is a basic difference between English courtship and Lanconian courtship,” she said softly. “I don’t believe an Englishman would ask a woman who beat him in an arms’ skill to marry him.”
“But it is necessary for a woman to be strong.”
“It is also sometimes necessary to be soft,” Lora answered gently. “And tonight you will be soft. Montgomery!” she snapped. “Have you uncovered that trunk yet?”
The boy, obviously fascinated by the women’s conversation, opened an oak, iron-bound trunk. Lora looked through it until she pulled out a heavenly, beautiful gown of deep, dark sapphire-blue velvet.
“It is my longest gown and I believe it will fit you perfectly.”
Jura backed away from the gown as if it were poison, but then a ray of the setting sun touched it and she moved clos
er. She had never seen such fabric and the woman in her ached to feel it against her skin. “I could not wear…” she began, but hesitated, then looked at Lora. “Your brother would like this better than my being a good shot?”
“Jura,” Lora said with serious intensity, “when I have finished with you, my brother will fall to his knees before you and beg you to forgive him for any unkind word he has ever said to you.”
Jura snatched the dress from Lora’s hand. “Let us begin.”
Lora ran Montgomery from the room and began to dress Jura.
Jura was used to the loose-fitting tunic and trousers she wore as a guardswoman, and she had worn gowns for ceremonial occasions, but she had never worn anything like this English gown. First, there was a tight-fitting dark gold tunic that laced up each side. Lora called the fabric Italian brocade. Over this went the rich, thick blue velvet surcoat that had the sides cut away to show the deep curve of Jura’s waist and hips.
Lora unbraided Jura’s dark hair and it fell in ripples made from the braids to her waist. About Jura’s forehead, Lora placed a simple circlet of pure gold, and on her feet were soft leather slippers instead of the tall boots Jura usually wore.
Lora stood back and looked at her sister-in-law critically. “Yes,” she murmured, “yes.”
“I…I look all right?” Jura asked. “As good as Brita?”
Lora laughed at that. Jura had no idea of her beauty or the power it gave her. To Jura, power was being able to shoot well, ride well, to stand close to a man in battle. But this beauty of hers was a new power altogether.
“Brita is a chamber pot next to you,” Lora said, making Jura smile. “I want you to go out that door and go straight to your husband. Don’t rush, but let everyone see you, and when you get to Rowan tell him that you will be waiting for him in his tent after the marriages. Don’t tell him where it is, let him find out, and don’t say anything else except that you will meet him in his tent. If he tries to talk to you about what is good for Lanconia or what must be done with this Vatell queen, merely tell him to bring his lute—then leave. Understand me, Jura? Do not let him treat you as a man.”
“As a man?” Jura whispered. “I do not think I understand the English mind.”
“And he doesn’t understand a Lanconian guardswoman. I don’t know how you two met before the Honorium, but I’ll wager it wasn’t when you were beating the men in war games.”
Jura smiled in memory. “No, it was not.”
“Now go out there and let my brother see you. Remember that you are beautiful. No, better yet, let the eyes of the men tell you you are beautiful. Go on,” Lora said, pushing Jura. “The marriages will begin soon and Rowan must preside over them. Xante will escort you to Rowan’s tent and my brother will come to you as soon as possible.”
“And then what?” Jura asked. She wanted to postpone leaving the house as long as possible. She felt very strange in the tight garments that tangled about her feet, and she was afraid she would trip and fall. And she felt almost naked without her weapons. No knife rode on her hip, no arrow sheath hung at her back. No sword, no shield, no lance filled her hands.
“I will have a supper sent to you and you will sit in a chair with Rowan at your feet and he will play and sing for you. Jura, do not look so frightened. It is not a battle you are going into.”
Jura gave a weak smile. “I would rather fight four Zernas at once than do this.”
“Go!” Lora ordered, shoving her forward.
Jura swallowed hard and left the little stone house. She knew Rowan would be near Brita and the queen had established herself on a carved chair at the eastern boundary of the public square where she could see and be seen by all. Right now it seemed like a long way away. Jura kept her eyes straight ahead and walked with a purpose.
People began to stop and look at her, and at first she thought they saw her as ridiculous, but as she saw their eyes, she began to gain confidence. The women, even the prettiest women who had had their choice of suitors, were frowning at Jura, while the men…The men were gaping.
“That is Jura,” she heard whispered as if they had never seen her before.
Jura’s shoulders went back and a little smile spread across her face. It was rather nice to be looked at this way, she thought as she slowly made her way toward where her husband must surely be.
He was not far from Brita but at least he was not hovering over her as he usually was. Instead, Geralt was sitting by Brita, his black eyes devouring her. He glanced up at his sister but he did not notice any difference in her appearance and quickly looked back at Brita. But Brita turned, stared, then gave Jura an appraising look, as one would try to judge the strength of an enemy. Her eyes followed Jura as she walked toward Rowan.
Rowan was intently conversing with Daire and was unaware of the commotion Jura’s approach was causing.
Daire looked up, saw Jura, then looked back at Rowan. But then Daire’s face changed and he turned slowly and stared at her. He had not looked at her like this the day she had beaten him at an archery contest. Then he had been proud of her, but this new look was something altogether different, and it made Jura feel quite, quite good.
Frowning at Daire’s distraction, Rowan followed his glance.
Jura’s lack of confidence disappeared instantly when she saw Rowan’s face. His eyes bugged and his mouth dropped open. He looked to be paralyzed as he watched her come forward.
Jura was astonished as she found herself not walking with her usual purposeful stride, but in a slower way that made her hips move from side to side. Suddenly she felt more powerful than she ever had in her life, much more powerful than when she carried a lance and a battle-ax.
Rowan continued to gape in a very flattering way as she approached him.
“I will meet you in your tent after the ceremonies,” she said, her voice low and husky.
He nodded and she smiled, then turned to leave.
“Jura,” he called, “where is the tent?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Find it,” she said. “And bring your lute. I may want you to play for me.”
Her heart was pounding as she turned away, but she was smiling. Behind her she could hear Brita demanding that the attention be returned to her, but Jura felt that she had won.
All she had to do was continue her act tonight, she thought with a gulp.
Chapter Twelve
THE INTERIOR OF Rowan’s tent was a sumptuous affair, the walls hung with heavy samite silk, and now there were carpets from the faraway Holy Lands on the ground. English furniture, two chairs, a little table, candle stands, and a bed filled the space. Jura found her face blushing as she looked at the large feather mattress draped with a beautiful embroidered cover against the far wall.
She sat in the tent and waited for the arrival of her husband. Servants came with food and placed it on the table as they gave Jura knowing looks.
“How go the ceremonies?” she asked.
“The bushes and beds are filled with lovers,” the man replied, smirking. “And Prince Geralt has claimed that Vatell queen’s bed.” They left her alone.
Jura was not sure she liked her hot-tempered brother placing himself under the influence of so treacherous a woman as Brita. No man seemed able to handle her. But then Jura thought that perhaps Rowan was handling her rather well. She had said she would not allow her people to marry the Irials unless Rowan married her, but here she was with her people married and she was not united with the Irial king.
Jura was thinking so hard about this that she did not hear Rowan approach the tent. He must have left his horse some distance away.
“Is that smile for me?” he asked softly.
She looked up at him and her smile broadened. “You have done what you said. The Irials and Vatells are married and Brita has only a prince in her bed. Perhaps there is hope for you as king.”
Rowan laughed. “I have had to risk much to earn that compliment.” He walked toward the little table where the food waited. “Ma
y I pour you a glass of wine? This looks to be some that I brought with me from the Frankish lands.”
She accepted a tall, golden mug set with rough-cut rubies from him. She tried not to gape at the mug and to act as an Englishwoman might. “Nothing went wrong at the ceremonies?” she asked.
“No.” He grinned. “Though I think there was some bedding done before the vows, thanks to you and Lora sending couples off alone.” He sat on a carpet on the floor and leaned against the foot of the bed. There wasn’t much room in the tent and of necessity everything was very close.
Jura took a deep breath. She didn’t know how to be friendly with this man. They had done nothing but fight since they had met. “When we guardswomen have trained very hard, we rub each other’s shoulders. Perhaps I can do the same for you,” she said tentatively, afraid he might reject her.
Rowan smiled at her with great warmth, and there was gratitude in his eyes. He leaned back and held out his hand to her as she went to him.
She knelt beside him for a moment, still holding his hand, and looked into the deep blue of his eyes. For the first time in a long while, she felt herself drawn to him. Right now Lanconia, Daire, Cilean, her brother’s right to the throne, all of it seemed a faraway dream. When she moved, the velvet undulated about her body, and now the candlelight was gleaming on Rowan’s golden hair.
“You must remove your tunic and lie facedown,” she said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.
His eyes turned hot and the lids lowered as he looked at her eyes then her lips. He set his wine aside then unbuckled his belt and pulled his tunic over his head. He wore nothing beneath and the candlelight shadowed and highlighted the heavy muscles of his chest. There was a scar across one shoulder and she lightly put her fingertips on it.
Rowan smiled at her. “I wasn’t giving Feilan my full attention and he thought he’d teach me a lesson.” He clasped her fingertips, then brought them to his lips. “You are beautiful, Jura,” he said as he kissed her fingers, then put her thumb inside his warm, wet mouth and ran his tongue over it. He made little nibbling kisses to the inside of her wrist and began to work his way down the inside of her forearm, pushing her sleeve back as he went. “I thought you were beautiful the first day I saw you but now…”