Juliana Garnett (21 page)

Into the silence that fell between them, Sir Robert interjected in his rough English: “Is it true that Wulfridge lies on the northern coast? I understand it is lovely there.”

Emotion flickered in Ceara’s eyes, and it was she who answered Robert. “Yea, Sir Robert, it is a most lovely and fertile land, with fresh water and broad moors, and forests abounding with game. You would be welcome should you decide to visit, as you are my lord’s companion and friend.”

Neatly done, Luc thought grimly, as if she had every right to extend invitations in his name. He released her wrist. “Sir Robert is well aware that he is welcome in my home.”

It sounded churlish even to his ears, and he saw that it did not pass Robert’s notice as his friend grinned.

“There have been times in our past, Luc, that I was not so certain of a welcome at your hands, you may recall.”

“I recall.”

Another abrupt, surly reply that this time engaged the king’s interest. Luc felt foolish as William asked if all was well.

“Yes, sire. A surfeit of natural strain from the day’s events, is all.”

“Then perhaps you should ease your strain with merry-making instead of serious discussion. The minstrels play. Do you ask your lady to dance, Louvat. It will set the mood for us all.”

Luc had his doubts about that. Those who were inclined were well on their way to being merry, and those who were sullen would not be cheered. But there was no use in saying that to the king, so he stood and held out his hand.

“My lady, do me the honor of a dance, if you will.”

Ceara flashed him a quick upward glance. Consternation replaced defiance as she lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “My lord, I do not know your Norman dances.”

“Then the minstrels will play a Saxon melody. That should
please you, as I am certain you will dance better than I, and thus shame me in front of all present.”

It was apparently just the promise to convince her, for a smile curved her mouth and she placed her fingers in his outstretched palm. “Then of course I accept.”

“I thought you might not be able to resist a challenge like this.”

“I am dismayed that you know me so well, my lord.” Her smile deepened, and she swung gracefully into the space cleared for the dancers, allowing him to continue holding her hand. Then she surprised him by affecting a deep, charming gesture of courtesy, bowing slightly with one foot forward and knees bending, the movement so effortless that one could see she had been born to it.

“When you are ready, my lord husband.”

Fey creature, a changeling that swept him from anger to admiration with the blink of an eye, a woman as lovely to look at as she was capricious. Luc expelled a deep breath, and glanced toward the musicians.

Robert stood at the alcove where they played. He intercepted Luc’s signal, and the musicians began to play a lively Saxon tune, the melody a bit halting as they were unfamiliar with it, but recognizable enough that some of the Saxon barons rose to join the dancers.

The mood in the hall grew gay and lively, as even some Normans joined in the unaccustomed steps of the Saxon dance. Ceara moved effortlessly, her skirts swinging about her slim ankles, her steps precise as she taught Luc. He did not tell her that as a boy he had been familiar with these dances, but allowed her to tutor him as if he had never pranced around the fire on a midsummer night.

“You learn quickly, my lord,” she said once, glancing up at him, and he accepted her compliment with a shrug.

“All dances are similar.”

“ ’Yea, so I have heard.” She swung past him to the next partner, then skipped down the line before passing him again.

Robert had joined the dancers, and he grinned as he took Ceara’s hands in his, obviously enjoying the moment. Sweeping her past Luc, he whispered loudly in English, “No need to look so black, my lord. She’ll be returned to you soon enough.”

Luc scowled. Even in jest, Robert need not foster any hope in Ceara that her husband cared for her. For he did not. He had wed her because his king requested it. If he desired her at all, it was not for any reason other than the usual reason a man desired a woman.

The steps of the dance took him in a pattern that required the frequent changing of partners, so that he was not often paired with Ceara. Yet he found himself watching her, seeking out the deep blue gown and tall, slender woman with the bright hair. Flowers had been woven into her loose curls, dainty white and blue and pink, trailing from a woven coronet of ribbons. The gown was lovely—as well it should be, for it had cost him a goodly portion to have it made for her in time for the wedding. The seamstress had done well, for the rich material was fitted to her waist, where a girdle of finely wrought gold links rode her slim hips. Intricate embroidery of golden thread trimmed the hem and long trailing cuffs of the sleeves.

As she swept gracefully past him, her eyes alight and her face flushed with exertion and enjoyment, Luc realized she was truly beautiful. He had never seen her thus, without a guarded expression or eyes full of contempt, and it rankled that she could so quickly forget her perfidy in lying to the king. And it was even more annoying that she could enjoy herself with such ease.

“My lord Luc,” a breathless female voice implored, and he turned toward Lady Amélie’s smiling invitation, “do me the favor of escorting me to the bailey for some fresh air. I find it most stifling in here.”

Luc hesitated. He had assiduously avoided Amélie these past weeks, successfully evading her furious questions after she had
learned of his betrothal to Ceara. Now, it seemed harmless enough, as the wedding was done and the widow would surely realize the futility of further pursuit. He bowed.

“I am at your disposal, Lady Amélie. A few moments of air that does not smell of smoke would benefit us both, I think.”

He escorted her from the hall, allowing her to place her hand on his bent arm and walk beside him. A cold November wind blew as they left the shelter of the castle and walked along the ramparts. Torches sputtered in iron holders on the walls, casting flickering pools of light across the ground. Ever-vigilant guards glanced at them, then away. Amélie snuggled closer to him, shivering.

“It is colder out here than I had thought. Let us step into an alcove. There, we could share privacy and—anything that comes to your mind.”

Luc paused to look down at her. “Amélie, you must know I am wed now.”

“Of course I know. Do you think me blind and deaf?” She struck him lightly on the arm, shaking her pretty head. “But I also know it was not of your choosing. Everyone knows that the king commanded it.… Luc, why did you not come to me? Do you not find me desirable?”

“Yes, you know I do. If I remember aright, it was you who did not find me so desirable not too long ago.”

“Foolish man. I have told you my reasons.” She sighed and turned away. “If I had any idea you would have taken it so amiss, I would never have sought to inspire you to throw yourself into the arms of danger with my ploy. Oh, Luc, you must know that I care deeply for you.…”

He took a step back, frowning down at her. Torchlight wavered rosily over her lovely features, and her green eyes glinted with a moist sheen. His frown deepened, and he put out a hand to touch her wet cheek. “Tears, Amélie?”

She choked slightly and bent her head from his touch. “Why have you avoided me this past fortnight?”

Cynically amused by her show, Luc shrugged. “There was no point in seeing you. William bade me marry Ceara, and there was nothing else to say to you.”

A steely note crept into her tone. “If you had only replied to my messages, I could have saved you from being wed to that Saxon chit.”

“I doubt that. Once William has set his mind on a course, it is easier to change the direction of the wind than his decision.”

Amélie frowned, her dainty brows puckering over the straight line of her nose. “Certainly, but as the king’s wife is my cousin, I could have saved you if only you had come to me in time. Now, you are in a travesty of a marriage with little hope of escape.”

Impatient now, Luc cupped her elbow in his palm and turned her back toward the castle doors. “It is growing late and we may have been missed. We need to return before the king wonders where I have gone during my own wedding feast.”

“Oh, Luc—” Amélie turned and pressed her face against his chest. “I regret being so tardy in declaring my feelings for you. Can you ever forgive me, and … and think kindly of me?”

“I think kindly of you now, Amélie.” Feeling a little awkward, Luc put his arms loosely around her body and held her. “But even had the king not decided I should wed Ceara, I do not think you and I would be suited to one another.”

Her head tilted back, and even in the dim light he could see the sparks of anger in her eyes. “You do not mean that, Luc Louvat. You know you do not. You wanted me. You threw your heart at my feet in Winchester, and I spurned you so that you would renew your efforts to win lands and a title. You did that—you did it for me, so I would accept your suit.…”

“Amélie, what I have done, I have done for myself. You are lovely, it is true, and I did want you, but not in the way you so plainly think. There is a vast difference between bedding a woman, and wedding a woman.”

It was as blunt and kind a refusal as he could make it. His
patience was wearing thin, and if the situation was not so irritating, it would have been amusing. But he was not so big a fool as to believe Amélie’s vows of affection. What she desired most was a man’s purse, not his heart. Her last husband had been elderly and frail when she wed him, unable to increase his holdings through merit, so had left his young widow with a title and not much else. Since then debts and heirs had taken most, leaving Amélie to make her own way.

Now she looked up at him with a pale face and flashing eyes, and he felt a twinge of regret for being so plain-spoken. He cupped her chin in his palm and said softly, “You are very beautiful. I remember fondly our times together, but it is not to be again. My liege lord bade me wed, and that I have done. I will make the best of it, just as you made the best of your lot when your father wed you to Lord de Vescy. Now let us go inside, each to our own lives.”

Her anger was clear on her face, but she shrugged. “I am already on with my new life, Luc, though you might not care to hear of my plans. Once, they included you, but now … I can only say that you will always be in my life.”

He frowned. “As you will always be in my past, Amélie. There is no room for you in my life now.”

Amazingly, Amélie did not rail at him as he expected, but threw her arms around his neck and lifted to her toes to press a fervent kiss on his mouth. He did not push her away at once, but let the kiss linger a moment before gently taking her wrists in his hands to disengage himself.

A discreet cough was his first hint that they were not alone, and he drew down Amélie’s arms and turned, expecting to find one of the guards. Instead, it was Robert and Ceara who stood there, Robert looking chagrined, and Ceara looking furious.

To make matters worse, Amélie cooed, “Why, Luc, we have been found out, it seems. I knew we should have gone to my chamber instead.”

Releasing Amélie’s arms, Luc shook his head. “There is
nothing we would have said there that could not be said here in plain view of all. Robert, what do you here?”

Robert gave a half shrug. “You were missed, and your lady wife and I were sent to search for you. The king wishes to toast your health, and has missed your presence.”

Worse and worse. Luc moved forward, intending to take Ceara by the arm, but she jerked free of his attempt. Her eyes glinted blue fire in the dim light.

“Knave! I will not suffer your touch when you have just been holding another! Get you away from me.…”

He grabbed her arm before she could elude him again, and walked her several steps from Robert and Amélie. “This is not what you think, Ceara. Do not act the witless wife already. We have not been wed a full day yet.”

“ ’tis not I who have forgotten that, my lord. Go back to your whore. She awaits you with your kiss still wet on her mouth—free my arm. Free my arm or I shall set up such a howl, all in York will come running to see the cause.”

There was no doubt she meant what she said, and Luc released her arm with an oath. “
Sacré croix
, Ceara. Do you think me so unaware of my duty that I would woo another woman the same night I wed you?”

“The proof is before my eyes.” Ceara shot a dark look toward Amélie. “Perhaps you should tell the king that he wed you to the wrong woman. It is obvious you have a favorite.”

Luc’s mouth set in a taut line. “I am in no mood to argue the truth. As I detest those who lie, I do not lie. If you would believe me, do so. If not, ’tis your own folly. But hear this—I will not suffer your ill temper because you choose wrongly. You will not lesson me with this, Ceara.”

“Do you think I want the world to know of your false vow? I do not. All know already that we are forced to wed. I will not take on further shame because you choose to play the lecherous goat.”

Luc stared after her angrily when she turned and walked
away. Curse her, he would not give her the satisfaction of running behind her like a love-sotted youth. Let her think what she willed. If she believed him no better than to make an assignation on the same night he was wed, then he could say nothing that would convince her differently.

“Luc.…” Robert stood at his side, his voice low. “I did not think we would find you in so awkward a situation. The guard said you walked outside to the ramparts, but did not mention that you were with a lady.”

Luc glanced at him. Remorse settled on Robert’s dark features. “It is of no matter. I cannot school my every deed or word so that it is not misunderstood. If Ceara chooses to believe me false, it is her burden. Now come. If William has summoned, I had best return.”

He turned to Amélie. The expression on her face was as contented as a well-fed cat’s, and he couldn’t help a rueful smile. “Well you should look so smug, my lady. You have stirred a hornet’s nest. It should provide you with much entertainment.”