Castles in the Air

  The entire castle was worried.

  What had dampened her vivacity? Raymond leaned his elbows on his knees and watched her as she moved from torch to torch, removing them from the sconces on the wall and giving them to Layamon to extinguish. “Is she really so offended that I gave you Bartonhale Castle?” he murmured.

  “I tried to warn you,” Keir said. “You look out over the lands and see the place where you will put down your roots. She looks out over the lands and sees her home.”

  Raymond glanced at Keir. His usual imperturbable friend had a slight pucker between his brows—a sure sign of agitation. Raymond said, “I’ll convince her ’twas my own blundering that disgruntled her.”

  “Do so,” Keir advised. He stood and stretched. “You have ways to sweeten her disposition I do not, and I would prefer that if the lady is angry, she is angry at you.”

  Slyly pleased, Raymond chuckled. “A bit in love with her, aren’t you?”

  Keir looked right at him. “Aren’t we all?”

  He left Raymond with a half smile on his face. “Oh, aye,” Raymond whispered. “Aren’t we all.”

  He welcomed it, this sweet emotion for a woman. So long ago he’d seen her, captured her, then found himself captivated. He hadn’t liked it, hadn’t liked the softness she engendered in him. He’d seen it as another manifestation of his monstrous cowardice, but now he wondered…was it only the recognition of one kindred soul for another?

  One by one, the servants found their places among the reeds or on pallets, rolled themselves into their rugs, and closed their eyes. The usual banter was absent tonight; they all experienced the strain of living with an unhappy mistress. Rather than retreating to the solar, Juliana pulled a bench closer to the fire and sat down. Her back was to Raymond—deliberately, he was sure. A man, when he was angry, would roar and bluster. A woman took refuge in silence until like a chastised dog the man came to beg pardon. Raymond stood, checked to make sure his tail was firmly tucked between his legs, and went to ease her manner toward his friend. If not…well, perhaps he could lure her to their bed and bribe her with love. He smiled at his body’s immediate response. He’d bribe her, regardless. Casually, he wandered over to rest his hand on her shoulder. “Come to bed.”

  She shrugged in a rude attempt to dislodge him. “I’m not sleepy.”

  Raymond considered her. True, she didn’t sound sleepy. She didn’t sound angry, either, or offended, or any of the ways he’d expected her to sound. She sounded frightened.

  Frightened. That he would beat her about the scene in the kitchen? About Keir? Hunched over the fire, cradling her bandaged hand, she watched the embers as if they would speak to her if she waited long enough.

  With his toe, he shoved at the figures sprawled around the hearth and they rolled obediently away. He perched on the other end of the bench, as far from her as she could wish. “I’m not sleepy, either.” Stretching out his hands to the flames, he said, “This reminds me of our first night together.”

  “Two moons ago. So much has changed since then.” She sounded distracted. “So much remains the same.”

  He watched her rub the scar on her cheek, and thought he understood her thoughts. Words were his tools, and he picked them with the care of a master craftsman. “You thought I would force my will on you.”

  A shudder shook her, and she lifted her gaze to his. The despair he’d suspected, the shame and fear, filled her eyes. He scooted closer, lifted his arm to wrap it around her shoulders, but she cried, “Don’t touch me!” Glancing around at the wrapped figures around them, she lowered her voice, but her intensity did not diminish. “You don’t want to touch me.”

  What a statement! He suffered when he didn’t touch her. He sweated, struggled with demons while he waited to touch her. Joining in the dance of love each night had not eased him. It had only made him aware of his needs, of his growing sense of possession, and of how delightfully she danced to his music. Cautiously, he said, “I like to touch you.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. The copper-colored hair flew around her shoulders, and she couldn’t seem to stop. “You wouldn’t want to if you knew.”

  He exhaled in a long, comprehensive breath. So—this wasn’t about the day’s events. He gripped the edge of the bench with his hands and tested her. “I want to apologize about Keir.”

  Her fevered gaze found his. “Keir?”

  “My knight. Your new castellan.”

  “Oh.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Keir. Why do you distract me? This is of no moment now. I have a confession to make.”

  He swept a strand of hair off her cheek to prove he could touch her, and when he leaned back she looked at him as if he were dead to her. Unable to find adequate words, he crooned, “My lady love, don’t hurt yourself so.”

  Her hand pressed the place above her heart, and her head drooped. She seemed to be listening to some dirge inside herself. Whatever swept the hope from her life and the joy from her face was so terrible—so she believed—he wouldn’t long for her once he knew it. And for some reason, she had decided he should know now. He didn’t hesitate. Voice rough with smoke, but luxuriant with compassion, he said, “Secrets are a burden on the soul. Tell me yours, and I’ll carry half the burden.”

  She made a sound in her throat, half snort, half sob, and all skepticism. “No one wants a woman like me,” she answered. “Certainly not a man like you. The king’s kinsman, heir to a noble title and fortune.”

  “Ah.” He drew out the breath. “You’ve been talking to my parents.”

  “Your mother. Isabel.” She choked on the name. “She’s a dreadful woman.”

  “Surely an understatement.”

  “But she knows the truth of matters.”

  “Such as how I should live my life?” Her stricken face forced him to take a grip on himself. “Isabel knows the truth of nothing.”

  “She knows what you don’t know.”

  He took a breath and took a chance. “About your rape?”

  Her anguish wasn’t pretty, and he could no longer restrain himself. He snatched her close against his chest, wrapped her in a hug so tight she couldn’t escape. He murmured, “You see? I did know, and it doesn’t matter.”

  She fought her way out of his arms as if they were instruments of torture, not protection. “You don’t know anything.”

  Heads lifted off the floor, and he propelled them away with one sweep of his hand. “Tell me.”

  “You’ve been asking questions.” She wrapped her shawl closer in a self-protective gesture. “Just like your mother.”

  Setting his teeth, he refused to answer.

  Her accusing gaze wavered, then dropped. “Nay, you wouldn’t ask questions. Who told you the rumors?”

  “You did.”

  Her gaze snapped back to his. “Nay. That is…did I talk in my sleep?”

  “We haven’t been sleeping enough for you to talk,” Raymond said, taking her hand. He stroked the rough knuckles, watching as his thumb dipped into the hollows and scaled the peaks. “You dropped clues, my girl, bits of a puzzle to piece together. At first, I thought you had taken some inappropriate lover to your bed and been caught. But then I thought—would a secure woman ever strike a man as you struck Felix?”

  “You’ve taught Margery to strike,” Juliana mumbled.

  “Taught her. Women are so imbued with gentle qualities, they must be taught to defend themselves.” He gripped her wrist until she looked up at him. “Who taught you?”

  “No one.”

  “Exactly. No one. So some hard experience taught you. When Sir Joseph taunted you, threatened you with such violence, and expected you to cower, it became too clear.”

  “Sir Joseph,” she said with loathing. “You knew because of Sir Joseph.”

  “’Twas not all Sir Joseph.” Catching a handful of her glittering hair, he said, “This told me.”

  She froze.

  “Someone cut it, didn’t they?” The firelight painted a false color on her
face, now white and strained. “Sir Joseph?” he asked, knowing it to be false.

  “Nay.” She formed the word with her lips, but no sound escaped her.

  It sounded like a guess, but he already knew the truth. “Your father. He cut it so all the world could read the sign of your shame.”

  Tears filled her eyes and overflowed in silent, wrenching agony. Her intense whisper sliced through the sighs of the sleepers, the crackle of flame. “But I wasn’t raped.”

  Taken aback, Raymond studied her.

  Her trembling chin firmed, her hand squeezed his so hard his knuckles popped. “I fought so hard, and I escaped unscathed, but the truth didn’t matter. Only what appeared to be the truth mattered. My father wouldn’t listen to me. I told him and told him. He said he didn’t believe me. He said it was my fault I was taken. He said it was my fault anyone wanted to take me, because I dressed attractively and smiled at the men. He said it was my fault I was hurt, and he told me I had to marry…had to marry.”

  “Felix?”

  She turned on him in something like rage. “Aye, Felix! Do you know everything?”

  “Not everything. Not nearly enough. Not soon enough. If I’d known before he left…let me kill him,” he said.

  “Nay!” Horror bathed her in stark shades of white skin and red cheeks. “He’s not worth going to confession for.”

  Any other time, he would have laughed at her succinct summing up. “’Tis a sin I’d carry lightly on my soul.”

  “I might as well blame Sir Joseph’s staff for striking me when Sir Joseph swings it.”

  “You believe Felix is an instrument of some greater authority?”

  “My father had wanted me to wed Felix, and I had refused.”

  “Your father.” Raymond condemned the man by his very tone.

  He could have forced me. He could have locked me up and beat me until I agreed, but then he would have had to tend to my children. The servants would have been unhappy, and they would have burned his dinner, let the fire go out, and made his life a misery. And I would have been angry at him. It would have been uncomfortable for him, and he was a man who liked his comforts. So it would have been easier…” She rocked back and forth, holding her belly as if it ached. “I think sometimes my father conspired…”

  She took a deep, quivering breath, fighting to keep the tears at bay. “Father said his reputation would be repaired if I wed.”

  “Your father’s reputation?” he asked ironically, hiding the rage that made him want to rail at a dead man.

  Here was the anguish Raymond saw. It wasn’t a rape that destroyed Juliana, nor the violence she’d been subjected to. It was her father’s betrayal, and the suspicion of a yet greater betrayal. She knew her father had wanted her to marry Felix. She knew he believed she had been raped and his subsequent humiliation of her had etched her soul.

  But had her father been the driving force behind her kidnapping? Had he encouraged Felix to rape her and thus force her to wed? Could he have ignored her anguish and pain to enforce his will? It seemed a sly, sideways method of coercing his only daughter, but Raymond had heard nothing to admire of the man.

  With a show of fierceness, she said, “Aye, his reputation.” Then her vehemence faded. “When I wouldn’t wed Felix, he hacked off my hair with his knife so he would remember, every time he saw me, my shame.”

  Raymond’s heart misgave him, for he comprehended more than he would say. He, too, had been subjected to the greatest indignities a person could sustain, and found his survival instinct too powerful. He’d compromised his religion, his upbringing, his principles. Her confession tempted him, made him want to tell her of his own guilt, but he couldn’t. His iniquity was so much greater than hers, she would eventually come to despise him—and her disgust would wound him beyond reparation. As a sop to his conscience, he pushed his hair behind his ear and turned it toward the fire. His glittering earring drew her gaze, and he asked, “Haven’t you ever wondered why I wear this?”

  Her hand lifted, reached in a slow and almost reverent manner, touched the beaten gold.

  “’Twas one of my master’s whims, to have all his slaves marked with one large loop in the ear.”

  “It’s so large. Didn’t it hurt when they put it in?”

  “All the marks of slavery hurt, and I still bear them all. I’ll bear them as penance forever.” He ran his fingertips along the edges of her shimmering hair. “So you see, your father didn’t understand shame. We understand shame.”

  She touched her hair as if assuring herself it had grown, and he was satisfied he’d formed another link in the chain that bound them together.

  Their hands brushed, and she subsided. “Papa invited Felix back to the castle after he attacked me.”

  “Why do you still let him visit?”

  “Felix never seemed to realize how heinously he’d behaved. And”—she hesitated—“I was haunted. I always wondered if it was my fault that he kidnapped me. What if I did entice him without realizing it?”

  Guilt had been forced into her soul as surely as the gold had been forced into his ear, and he said sharply, “You didn’t. Don’t even think such a thing. And you’ll not have to face him again.” He looked down at his fists. “I suspect Felix now realizes his welcome has worn thin.”

  “I don’t know what kind of fury transformed you. I don’t even care. I can only thank you for removing him from my life.”

  She sounded breathless, almost afraid, but her gratitude shone from her blue eyes. Raymond realized she’d heard about his frenzied attack on Felix. “’Twasn’t hard to intimidate the little maggot into leaving.”

  She brightened. “Is that what you did? Did you intimidate him?”

  “I certainly did.”

  “Good, because Papa made me wait on him as if I were a servant. He wanted to impress me with my sin. My sin.” She mourned, “My own father wouldn’t believe me.”

  “I do.”

  She stared as if she didn’t understand.

  “I believe you.”

  “You can’t believe me.” With a wealth of bitterness, she said, “I’m only a woman, one of Eve’s descendants. Men can’t be trusted to know their own minds around me. Men aren’t accountable for their actions, for I tempt them.”

  “I’ve heard that before. ’Tis nothing but a specious reasoning for men who are too weak to control their urges.” He patted his own shoulder. “You forget, I’ve been on the receiving end of a log.”

  Her laugh was sharp and hysterical. “I wasn’t so clever when…when that stupid ass kidnapped me. I fought him, and he kept saying, ‘This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.’ He beat me until I lost consciousness. When I woke I was alone, and I escaped.” She pointed a finger at him as if he’d argued. “But I wasn’t raped while I was unconscious.”

  The rage Raymond felt for her father didn’t ease, it only compounded, piled on top of that he felt for Felix. “Was that the argument they used to try and force you to wed him?”

  She didn’t answer directly. “When a man takes a woman, he leaves evidence—proof that makes a woman count the days until her next monthly flux. There was no evidence. I wasn’t raped, and I was glad. Foolish of me, I know, for it shouldn’t matter. I’d already been degraded, treated as if my tears and my pain were worthless. But I didn’t want to be used as if I were a bucket for his waste.”

  “It wouldn’t matter to me. It matters that you were hurt and unhappy. It matters you’ve lost your faith in those who should protect you.”

  “Sir Joseph never believed me when I said I wasn’t violated. He insisted I should be grateful I wasn’t killed as well.”

  “Sir Joseph has a lot to answer for,” Raymond said grimly. He wanted to shout and beat his chest, and his anger grew with his restraint. All he could do now was soothe her wounded spirit. “But Sir Joseph is not important. You are my wife. You fulfill my every dream. Nothing you do can send me away. Even if you’d been raped, I would not abandon you.”

  R
ecalling her mission, she said, “But you must. The king—”

  “Does very well without me.”

  “The queen—”

  “Will come to see me if she desires.”

  “England—”

  “Can sink below the waves. As long as I’m with you, I won’t care.” Bringing his lips close to hers, he gentled her with one soft kiss.

  “You can’t—”

  Another kiss, soft as a spring breeze.

  “There’s no sense—”

  He used his tongue.

  With her uninjured hand, she pushed him away. “That’s not likely to discourage me from arguing.”

  She sounded almost normal; brisk, impatient, humorous. His sigh of relief was silent, but heartfelt. Chuckling, he lifted her fingers to his mouth. He ran the edge of his teeth along her knuckles and said, “Come with me. I’ll see if I can discourage you from arguing.”

  “Nothing’s settled,” she warned, but she allowed him to tug her to her feet.

  He led her to the solar lit only by the night candle and thrust her through the door. “Stay here,” he said.

  The silence in the little room was awesome, and Juliana hugged herself as she waited. She’d failed to drive Raymond away, and she found herself unable to work up any repentance.

  So he’d known, and he hadn’t judged her lacking. He’d married her, treated her with honor. How odd she felt, like a babe, free of guilt and bitterness, willing to be pleased with the face of her loved one.

  Loved one. She closed her eyes and hugged the thought. The aching place in her chest had been transformed. The tightness had eased. She could take a deep breath, could laugh aloud with no restraint. Lifting herself on her toes, she twirled through the reeds like a rosy cherub. Dust rose beneath her feet, and she decided to decree a castle cleaning tomorrow. Tomorrow, the old would be swept away, and all would be new and clean. She flung herself on the bed and deliberately messed the covers, finding as much pleasure in her infraction as any child.