Love Everlasting (5 page)

One of Royce’s duties was to keep track of
such agents and their activities, to feed them false information on
occasion, and to make certain they did no irreparable harm. Only
rarely were King Louis’s spies apprehended, for Royce reasoned that
it was better to have spies whom he and his people knew and could
watch closely, than to have King Louis send agents to King Henry’s
court whose identities no one knew. Though there surely were
unidentified spies at court, constant vigilance kept the damage
they did to a minimum. King Henry had his own spies planted in
Louis’s court.

It was a game they all played and usually
Royce enjoyed the battle of wits. But not if one of those secret
agents was the woman he was expected to marry and to bed on the
morrow. What truly horrified Royce was the eager rush of heat he
experienced when he contemplated the necessary consummation of his
unwanted marriage. He ached to plunge into Julianna’s cool, pale
body, to explore her reactions when he asserted his husbandly
rights. Even more did he long to plumb the secret depths of her
heart and her mind.

Despite his almost boyish eagerness to accept
the challenge she represented, he was old enough and experienced
enough to recognize the danger involved in wedding her. Which was
why he uttered a sigh of relief when he saw coming toward him one
of the few men whom he knew he could trust with his very life.

“Cadwallon,” he called, striving to sound
cheerful. “Well met, my friend. Come with me. I have work for
you.”

“This is fascinating information,” Cadwallon
exclaimed. “Of course, Kenric is sure to be involved in some way.
And you are actually going to marry the lady? Well, my friend, I
predict that you will have an interesting life. Possibly, a
foreshortened life.”

Cadwallon, Royce, and Michael were in Royce’s
office, one of two connecting rooms that had been permanently
allotted to Royce when he first became King Henry’s spymaster. Only
a few trustworthy souls knew of the door behind one of the wall
tapestries. That door opened to a private stairway by which Royce’s
agents could come and go unobserved from rooms or corridors in the
castle that everyone referred to simply as “the fortress.” A second
door, concealed behind another tapestry and with little secrecy
attached to it, led to Royce’s bedchamber.

The office, the center for Royce’s secret
work, was safely located on a level of the fortress that was too
high for enemy arrows to be a concern. Thus, windows could be
larger than at the lower levels, and two pairs of long, double
openings in the stone provided plenty of light, with shutters to
close out cold or rain. The table that Royce used as a desk was
placed in front of the windows so the face of anyone standing
before the desk would be clearly illuminated, while Royce’s own
features remained shadowed.

In one corner stood a high, clerk’s table
that was fitted with a slanted writing surface topped by a shelf
that held an ink jar, quills with a knife to sharpen them, and a
sand shaker. This was where Michael labored over the letters that
Royce dictated, both coded and in plain Latin, and the records of
the missions deployed in King Henry’s behalf, which were always
written in code and which were stored in secure boxes.

At the moment, Michael wasn’t writing. Having
laid down his quill pen in the narrow tray reserved for it, he
lifted his crippled left leg so he could swing around on his stool
to face the other two men. With his leg disposed in a reasonably
comfortable position, he folded his arms and stared hard at
Royce.

“Do you truly believe the lady is dangerous?”
Michael asked, referring to what Royce had just finished telling
him and Cadwallon.

“I’m not certain,” Royce answered. “What I do
know beyond any doubt is that Julianna is too well-born for me to
charge her with a crime unless I have absolute proof. Since no
proof is available at the moment, the obvious solution is the one
that King Henry desires of me. I shall marry Julianna, secure her
lands, and worry about the rest later.”

“But, what do you think?” Michael persisted.
“I have great respect for your judgment of people.”

“The lady is afraid. No, more than just
frightened,” Royce corrected himself. “She is terrified.”

“If she is a secret agent, she has good cause
for fear,” Cadwallon said, a frown creasing his pleasant features.
“In that case, she fears you will find her out and punish her. It’s
odd, though.” He paused, his frown deepening.

“What’s odd?” Royce asked.

“Janet likes her. And Janet is almost never
wrong about other women.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Royce promised.
“Meanwhile, I require more information about my future wife.
Michael, please provide to Cadwallon the names of the agents who
were watching Deane of Craydon’s estate before his death. You will
also need the list of all those who entered or left the estate in
the days just before Deane died and in the days immediately
thereafter. I want the two of you to locate and question anyone on
those lists whom you consider to be even the least bit suspicious.
And Michael, use Brian, too, if you need to deal with lower
servants or stablehands. Your squire is a discreet lad and he won’t
be as obvious as a knight who’s asking questions of the
servants.

“By the way,” Royce added, “I agree with you,
Cadwallon, that Deane’s nephew, Sir Kenric, must be involved in any
treachery that wicked old man was working. So, I want Kenric’s
recent activities investigated. Set a man to watch him, but make
certain he doesn’t learn he’s being watched.”

“Royce, be careful,” Cadwallon warned. “King
Henry can’t afford to lose you, not with King Louis of France
stirring up a storm of intrigue. Speaking on my own behalf, I’d
hate to have to bury one of the best friends I’ve ever known.”

“Nor would I look forward to that prospect,”
Michael added with great seriousness.

Royce glanced from Cadwallon’s solemn face to
Michael’s equally serious visage, and for the first time since his
meeting with Julianna, he smiled.

“I have no intention of falling victim to
Lady Julianna,” he told them, “nor to Sir Kenric.”

What he did not tell his friends was that,
despite his suspicions of Julianna - or, perhaps, because of them -
he was looking forward to his marriage. Mystery and challenge
awaited him on the morrow and he welcomed whatever might happen.
His life had been too staid and peaceful of late. He had felt old
and a bit useless as he sent younger men out on secret missions.
This mission was his, alone.

From a place deep within the secret recesses
of the heart that Royce had restrained for too many years he heard
the distant echo of laughter and the first, faint notes of a
trumpet sounding the call to arms.

* * * * *

The official ceremony of reading and signing
the marriage contract was over. Reluctant bride though she was,
Julianna hadn’t been brave enough to refuse to speak her consent.
With the first part of the wedding completed, a High Mass to bless
the union was celebrated by the bishop of Caen. A long, elaborate
banquet followed, presided over by King Henry and Queen
Adelicia.

As the short December afternoon darkened into
early nightfall the bride and groom were escorted to Royce’s
brightly lit bedchamber by the guests, most of whom were
inebriated, to say the least. Stripped naked with the assistance of
all-too-willing hands, they were pushed onto the big bed. Julianna
did not look at Royce’s body, nor did she meet his gaze.

With the guests offering advice and
encouragement, Royce laid his large, warm hand on Julianna’s thigh
and brought their legs together in the traditional, symbolic
consummation before witnesses, though they were not legally wed
until the actual act had been performed. That more private act,
Julianna acknowledged with a clenching sensation in her stomach,
was only moments away from completion.

Everyone applauded Royce’s action. Julianna
sat up and looked around the crowded room, seeking a friendly face.
Janet smiled at her and pressed her hands together, as if saying a
prayer. Cadwallon carefully ignored Julianna’s nakedness, but gave
Royce an encouraging nod, instead. Meanwhile, Sir Kenric scowled
from the doorway and did not actually enter the room.

“Well done,” King Henry said to his
spymaster. To Julianna he added in a serious tone that was at sharp
variance to the ribald comments of the rest of the onlookers, “Be a
good and honest wife to Royce. Obey him in all things.”

“Yes, my lord.” Having been through this
particular ordeal twice before in her life, Julianna knew what was
expected of her, though she was surprised when Queen Adelicia laid
a hand on her bare shoulder and bent to kiss her cheek.

“Never mind,” whispered the queen, who was
several years younger than Julianna and wed to a man half a decade
older than Royce. “All will be well, I’m sure. You’ve married a
good man.” With a smile for Royce, Adelicia took her husband’s arm,
urging him toward the door.

“Come, my dear lord,” she said. “It’s time
for us to leave these two alone.”

“Aye.” Still serious, King Henry looked at
Royce. “Thank you, my friend. I will sleep easier tonight than I
have for several months. Nor will I forget the vital service you
have performed for me this day.”

“But Royce hasn’t yet performed his vital
service to Lady Julianna,” cried one courtier, leering at the bride
in drunken anticipation.

“That’s quite enough,” Queen Adelicia
admonished him gently. Waving both hands, the queen shooed the
merry guests out of the room ahead of herself and the king.

As soon as the last reveler was gone Royce
snatched up his dark green bed-robe and wrapped it around his
waist, holding it with one hand while he went to bolt the door. He
paused there for a moment, his free hand flat on the wood and his
forehead against the doorframe. Then, while Julianna watched in
anxious silence, he began to snuff all but a few of the many
candles that had illuminated the chamber during the bedding
ritual.

Julianna pulled up the sheet that had been
dragged to the foot of the mattress during the boisterous ceremony.
It was one thing to be naked before a band of drunken courtiers
while the king and queen formally witnessed the marital bedding. It
was another matter entirely to sit unclothed in her husband’s bed
while he examined her and criticized her every flaw.

She wished she’d had more than just two cups
of wine during the feast. If she were as drunk as most of the
wedding guests, perhaps the next hour would be easier to bear.

As a veteran of two marriages, Julianna knew
how it would be. She knew everything that was wrong with her body.
She was too tall, a fact she could not help; still, her unfortunate
height had greatly annoyed her previous husbands, both of whom had
been shorter than she was. According to those husbands, her jaw was
too square, her shoulders and hips were too broad, her breasts were
too large, and her legs were too long. In no way did she match the
slender, small-breasted, delicate ideal of beauty.

She closed her eyes, reaching within herself
for strength to endure the next part of the night’s ordeal,
preparing to accept Royce’s scorn with appropriate meekness. When
long moments passed and he said nothing she opened her eyes again,
to find him standing at the side of the bed, watching her with an
intensity that sent a bolt of genuine fear through her.

Julianna stiffened, expecting him to release
the bedrobe he still held tight at his waist, then push her onto
her back and begin to probe her body in the most painful way. When
he extended his hand she winced and shied from his touch.

Royce’s hands were large and they bore the
callouses that all warriors developed after years of constant
practice with broadsword and mace and lance. His fingers stroked
her unbound hair, twisting one lock around his knuckles. Julianna
gritted her teeth, waiting for him to tug at her hair until it
hurt.

“This is the first time I’ve seen your hair
uncovered,” he said softly, a strange note of wonder in his voice.
“It’s darker than I thought it would be, the color of the very best
honey, not quite gold and yet not brown, either. It’s rich and
thick, and it clings to my fingers like honey. Your hair is
beautiful, Julianna.”

What devious ploy was this? Being unused to
gentleness and praise, she didn’t know how to respond. She
discovered that she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was dry and an odd
obstruction closed her throat.

Royce smiled and sat on the edge of the bed.
It was a very large bed, the frame and posts finely carved of dark
wood, with deep green wool hangings, and it took up more than half
the space in the room. Julianna had been told that when in Caen,
Royce always occupied the same apartment, which included a second
room that he used for an office. Like every noble, he took his
furnishings with him when he traveled, so there seemed no reason
beyond personal preference and the king’s indulgence for him to
have two rooms every time, especially when the fortress was
overcrowded, as it was at present. Unless, of course, one of the
apparently solid stone walls of those two rooms concealed a secret
passageway which Royce’s secret agents could use to enter or leave
unobserved.

Julianna caught her breath in fear, not
because Royce’s hand was gliding along her too-square jaw and on
down to her throat, but because the exact location of a secret way
in and out of the fortress was just the sort of information she was
supposed to uncover and report to Kenric.

Royce pushed the sheet down, unfastening her
fingers one by one from the tight wad of linen she was clutching to
her bosom. He laid his palm against the lower curve of her breast,
then bent his head to flick his tongue across her nipple. Heat
stabbed into her. Julianna cried out in anguish. Royce lifted his
head to stare directly into her eyes. She saw warmth in his
greenish gaze and a quick glimmer of what could have been real
concern for her.