Sin and Surrender (17 page)

“You are only saying that because you were wearing just a scrap of cloth.”

“That did not bother me.”

She looked over her shoulder and met his gaze. “And the state of my garments did not bother me. I do not wish to be treated differently, Paul. Understand that.”

“Oh, I understand you well,” he said softly.

She pressed her lips into a flat line of disapproval. He gave a last tug, the laces sagged, and she gladly stepped away from him.

“Get dressed behind the screen,” she ordered. “I will be finished bathing before you’re done.”

“Is it not a woman’s prerogative to enjoy a long bath?”

“I do not need such things. Now go.”

He chuckled even as he took several garments out of the coffer and disappeared behind the changing screen. “Michael unpacked our things,” he called. “I am certain he did not enjoy it.”

She muttered an agreement, but she was focused on hurrying as she disrobed. The wet garments landed in a heap on the floor, and then she was in the bathing tub,
almost shuddering as the heat warmed her muscles and bones.

“Do you need assistance?” he called.

She ignored him, washing hurriedly. Her hair was more difficult to manage. She didn’t want to waste the bucket of rinsing water simply wetting her hair, so she awkwardly dipped her head where she could, and used the wet cloth, as she’d done for Paul.

“Your hair must be difficult.”

“If you are spying on me, that will lead to a challenge,” she said firmly.

“I would not dream of something so underhanded.” He paused. “Nay, I would
dream
about it, but never would I do it.”

She poured the last bucket of water over her head, hiding her laughter.

T
hroughout supper, Juliana felt eyes regarding her—regarding both of them. It was important for people to speculate about Paul, of course. And he played Sir Paul the Dissolute as a charming man with grandiose gestures, poorly hiding a weak intellect. It would be amusing were it not so serious. They were waiting for the next contact from traitors against the Crown, men so desperate they would invent a lost, living prince.

But something else was bothering her, and she’d learned never to ignore her instincts. Gooseflesh rose along her arms, even as she finished eating the first course of lampreys spiced with ginger and cinnamon. There were hundreds of people in the hall; it was so crowded that she rubbed elbows with Paul and the man on the other side of her. Yet, still she felt that something was wrong.

It wasn’t until she was eating from the cheese selection at the end of the meal that her gaze met that of a man two tables away from her. He was staring intently at her.

And then she recognized him, and her stomach did a little twist of both gladness and dismay. He was Alexander Clowes, a young man who’d fostered with her family throughout his childhood. He’d been her dearest friend, her staunchest defender—and now he thought her a strumpet, for she could see at once that he recognized her.

She didn’t alert Paul; perhaps she was wrong.

The guests rose at last from the tables, and the servants began to dismantle them. Musicians warmed up in their gallery overlooking the hall.

And still Alex watched her—if it was Alex, of course.

His hair was as dark as Juliana’s. Though his eyes must still be the green of forest leaves, his body had changed, maturing into a man of average height but with impressive shoulders. He’d always taken his training seriously, and she’d admired that about him, watching him on the tiltyard when her father had forbidden her own training.

Now Alex watched
her
openly, for any man could.

“I am going to leave you,” Paul suddenly murmured into her ear.

She almost jumped in surprise.

“Fear not. No one shall aim a dagger at my heart in front of all these people.”

“But where—”

“I go to join the men surrounding Kilborn. Concu
bines are not permitted. Can you occupy yourself?”

She nodded, feeling distracted, and Paul’s attention sharpened on her for a moment, but he said nothing. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek—focusing her attention back on him.

“Ah, a reaction,” he murmured, his lips still touching her. “You soothe my battered pride.” He chuckled, squeezed her hand, and left her.

It seemed only a moment had passed before Alex moved toward her with purpose. She was used to remaining calm in even the most dangerous of situations, and that skill did not desert her now. She would deal with whatever happened, bear his scorn with the grace of a longtime concubine. Drawing her character around her like a cloak, she smiled serenely at Alex when he came to a stop.

To her surprise, he bowed to her, even as she saw Theobald moving closer, hand on the dagger sheathed in his belt. Alex saw him, too, and hesitated, looking from one to the other. She shook her head at Theobald, and with a nod, he retreated.

Alex was waiting patiently. “Mistress Juliana,” he said, as if trying the name on his tongue. “The others called you that, but I already knew.”

“Aye, as I knew you, Alex. Or is it Sir Alexander now?”

He was a younger son, not in line for his father’s title.

He grinned. “It is, but I do not wish you to call me that.”

She began to relax. Though playing a proud concubine, she’d once been a gentlewoman. The character she was portraying should be embarrassed to be seen in such humbling circumstances by someone from long ago.

She was not fooling herself—she
was
embarrassed to have Alex think she’d not been able to provide for herself, had had to depend on a man’s money and protection.

But it could not be helped. The mission was more important than her pride; it meant a peaceful future for the kingdom.

Alex was staring down at her as if bemused. “I had not imagined that you could grow lovelier.”

Playing her part, she glanced as if to be certain Paul wasn’t watching. And he wasn’t; he was listening intently to the other men, looking a bit confused.

And then she smiled softly at Alex. “You are too kind.”

“Where have you been?” he asked. “When I heard about your father, I came as soon as I could, but by the time I arrived, your mother had already died and you had disappeared. Juliana, I am so sorry.”

He whispered the last words with such sympathy that for the first time in years, she felt her eyes sting with tears. Mortified at her lack of control, she blinked them away.

“You are kind, Alex, but I could not stay where I was no longer welcome.”

“But your steward said they would have cared for you.”

“I know—and they would have offended the king and risked their own livelihoods. I couldn’t allow them to do that.”

“Always thinking of others,” he said, shaking his head.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t think of herself like that.

Now it was his turn to glance at Paul, before saying, “We were told you’d gone to a nunnery.”

She felt her face flame—she couldn’t help it. But she met his gaze evenly. “And now you know the truth.”

He stared at her, then looked down, his smile wry. “Part of me is relieved, if you must know.”

“I do not have to know your feelings, Alex. You owe me nothing.”

“But I want you to know that I … that I understand. I am relieved to find that you did not hide yourself away, spending your days kneeling in prayer. It may be blasphemous, but I am glad you have been in the world, and perhaps known some happiness.”

She was Juliana the wise concubine as she said, “Happiness? You show your ignorance, Alex.”

His smile faded. “Does he beat you?” he demanded
softly, his hands fisted, his body tense as if he’d attack Paul.

“Nay, please, nothing like that,” she quickly said, reaching to touch his arm, then stopping herself.

He noticed and dropped his gaze awkwardly.

“But I am his toy, Alex. I do what he wishes. And in return I am safe and warm and well fed. I never expected happiness, but I am content.”

“Content?” he echoed, his tone tinged with sorrow. “Is that how we dreamed of our lives when we were children, lying by the stream waiting for fish to nibble our hooks?”

She smiled at the image of such innocence; it seemed so long ago. Alex had been her one true friend, for the little girls hadn’t understood her, and the boys were the children of her father’s soldiers and servants, trained not to become too personal. They’d tolerated her on the tiltyard, with her little dagger and her wooden sword, because she was the viscount’s daughter.

But Alex … Alex had befriended her. He’d come to them homesick at eight years of age, away from his parents for the first time, and been teased by the other little boys. Juliana had understood his pain of being an outsider, and they’d become playmates, and then friends, until his parents had taken him away for good when he was fifteen.

“Juliana?”

She realized Alex was studying her with concern. She fluttered her hand. “I am simply remembering. Pay me no heed. I had a much better childhood than most, and you improved it.”

He blushed, and she wondered if he could still be so innocent.

“Alex, I need a favor.”

He glanced at Paul once more, then said resolutely, “Anything.”

She chuckled. “Nay, I do not want to be spirited away from Sir Paul. But … I told Lady Kilborn that I was the daughter of an impoverished gentleman who sold me against my will to a Frenchman before I met Sir Paul.”

His expression softened with compassion.

“I no longer use my surname. I do not wish to hide our friendship, but … would you mind not mentioning my real family?”

“Of course, Juliana! I understand you not wanting to remember such pain.”

“Yet I am of Yorkshire, and bound to meet others I know. If that happens, so be it. They’ll think the truth, that I’m lying to cover a shameful past. I do not think anyone I know would deny me that small comfort.”

“Your true parentage will be our secret,” he said sincerely. “Does Sir Paul know?”

She shook her head. “Nay, he is a man who thinks appearances are as important as a person’s worth.”

“Then he has no depth to him, Juliana. You should—”

“Don’t, Alex,” she said sharply.

He stared at her.

“My life is private, my decisions my own. You would not want anyone to gainsay you, now would you?”

His smile was reluctant, but it appeared at last. “You always were a strong woman, Juliana.”

She met his smile with one of her own. “And how are
you?”
she asked brightly.

“A subtle change of topic.” He shook his head in amusement. “I am well. My older brother is now the baron.”

“I did not hear that your father had died. You have my sympathy.”

He smiled. “Thank you. But save your sympathy for my brother. He is married, with three unruly children and a shrew of a wife.”

She laughed aloud, then saw several people look her way in curiosity. Tamping down her mirth, she said, “Did you not always say he deserved such a woman?”

“Aye, and he’s paying for his years of bullying me. I almost feel sorry for him.”

They both paused, and she asked the question she found herself surprisingly reluctant to vocalize. “And are you married, Alex?”

“Nay, I am not.”

Was that another blush?

“Surely, there is a lady you are interested in.”

He shrugged. “No one in particular. I am the younger brother of a baron, Juliana, and not supremely wealthy. There are better choices for young ladies.”

“Then they’re fools,” Juliana said firmly.

This time,
his
laughter turned heads.

Paul had seen the man approach Juliana from the beginning. Since Paul had easily managed to appear stupid and distracted all at the same time, most of the men around him surely guessed he was jealous of this stranger making his concubine smile.

And he hadn’t seen that kind of smile on Juliana in … well, perhaps never. When he’d first known her, she’d been a brave, eager young woman, still tense with hidden worry about her future. Now he’d been with her a fortnight, and he’d seen her sensual smile, her confident smile, but this stranger inspired a new softness in her, one that made his chest feel uncomfortable. It was easy to portray simmering jealousy when he suspected he felt a bit of it himself.

He shouldn’t be jealous; Juliana was focused on the mission, and somehow, she must believe that this stranger could help her.

But that smile …

He tried to distract himself with consideration of Michael’s revelation about being a Keswick knight. It made the man’s anger toward Paul perfectly understandable.

Michael was loyal to Adam, and thought Paul ungrateful and perhaps even selfish. He could not change Michael’s opinion of him—he would never explain the full truth—but at least now he understood and could even sympathize with the knight.

But Paul had a mission to perform, and it required getting to know his host and the other guests. Besides Lord Kilborn, there were a number of aristocrats present, from two dukes all the way down to several barons. Thrown into the mix were several dozen wealthy, influential knights of property. Most of the guests were from the north of England, so that did not narrow down his list of suspects.

But someone in this castle had brought Paul here for a reason; someone wanted to use him to throw the kingdom into an uproar, lure foreign invaders, and overthrow the king. Much as he could only wait to be contacted, he had the ability to study the guests and make his own deductions.

But he kept hearing Juliana laugh.

When at last he’d run out of simple things to say, and it was obvious Kilborn was growing tired of explaining things to him, he took his leave and began to move across the crowded hall.

Many couples danced to the musicians’ lively tune. Men played dice against the wall, and he saw Joseph and Michael in that crowd. Theobald stood beside the
great double doors, near to Juliana, his charge, arms folded across his chest, his expression impassive. The mask was like a wall between other people and him, and Paul suspected that was the way the man preferred it. Old Roger sat before the hearth with other men his age, appearing to drink far too much.