Knight Errant (26 page)

He shifted so he could watch her sleep, knowing that the mere sight of her could ease his guilt and regret. Every time he thought he understood her, knew all there was to know, she surprised him, revealing some unsuspected strength or weakness. How could a woman with such vast experience of the evil of men tolerate being among them even for brief periods, let alone spend a lifetime locked to a man in marriage? Now he understood why the Beguine life appealed to her. Once Edward dissolved Juliana’s existing marriage, would her Scottish husband understand? Would he be patient in teaching her that not all men were like her uncle, Basti, or Aelfred Clarwyn, the first Baron Ravensmere?

When she had spoken of her uncle, Robert had wanted to kill the man and cursed himself for the impulse. Nonetheless, for perhaps the first time, Robert acknowledged that he carried no blame for the inability to right all the wrongs done to Juliana in the past.

If he continued to dwell on the past and his failures, he would never surmount them. He must concentrate on the future, on protecting Juliana at all costs from those who threatened her now. His duty, if not his mind, was clear. He would keep her safe or die trying, until the time came to hand her over to Edward and the Scot.

He slept for a bit, then woke and watched the daylight reveal Juliana’s face. Too soon they must rise and face the day. He smacked her gently on the behind to get her to move, and then kissed her soundly awake.

“Mmm,” she purred when he gave her time to breathe. She settled comfortably against him, prepared to go back to sleep. Robert was tempted to let her, but reality had already intruded in the form of a knock at the door.

“No you do not, milady.” He shook her awake. “’Tis time to break our fast. We have much to do this day.” He leapt from the bed and went to the door. He held a mumbled conversation with the servant who had brought their breakfast then returned to Juliana who now sat upright. Her red-gold curls tumbled about her face to fall over her kiss-reddened breasts.

“What must we do today, husband?” She stretched, and he feasted on the sight of her delicate curves. It pleased him that she seemed well recovered from the night’s events. But he knew that no other such night would occur. When they reached England, Edward would have the marriage set aside. Much though Robert longed for more nights in her arms, he would not fight his king for Juliana. Aside from his vow not to lift his sword, the shame for any woman who wed a Clarwyn was too great.

“Do you not recall our plans to outwit Basti?” he spoke casually.

“I do.” She jumped eagerly from the bed and crumpled to the floor with a cry.

“Juliana!” He raced to her side and lifted her carefully from back onto the bed.

“I felt so very good, I forgot about my foot.” She smiled, though tears of pain dusted her cheeks, and she clutched the injured joint.

Pleased with both her compliment and her courage, Robert kissed her, sipping at the salty drops. “Here, let me see.” Tenderly, he unwrapped the heavy bandage the doctor had swathed about her limb. He bit back a gasp. The foot was swollen and discolored from toe to mid-shin.

“It looks horrible, does it not?”

He looked up to find Juliana’s gaze on his hands. “Aye.” He kept his voice grim, refusing to give in to the rage he felt building inside him. “Once I get you to England, I will come back and kill Basti.”

“No, Robert.” Her gentle fingers touched his shoulders. “’Twould stain your soul forever to do murder, even to such a one as Basti.”

He bent his head, praying she had not seen his resignation. He already had deaths on his soul, and whether the killing was justified or not, he was beyond redemption. He re-wrapped her ankle and stood. “Wait here.”

She smiled up at him. “I am not going anywhere.”

He found her shift and a practical woolen gown and helped her into them. Sitting her on the bed, he handed her some bread and cheese. He dressed while he broke his own fast.

“Do you have a brush?” Juliana asked as she dusted crumbs from her fingers.

“Aye.” He found it in the small chest the servants had brought yesterday. He hesitated, pretending to have trouble finding the brush while he made certain the casket of beans still lay at the bottom. Satisfied, he closed the lid, gave the brush to Juliana, then went to the door and asked one of the guards to send for Fra Marco. While he waited for the priest, Robert gathered their few belongings in preparation for leaving. The knock came; Fra Marco had sent a note. Robert checked the seal. It was unbroken. He went to the fireplace and scanned the contents.

Sir Robert,

Basti has discovered how I aided you. I am safe at present with my connections here, but my open assistance will now do you more harm than good. The bishop’s chair waits for you and Lady Juliana. Go to the Inn of the Three Swans and ask for Dominic. He will help you to carry out the plan we discussed. Burn this letter before you leave.

May God go with you.

Fra Marco Donatori.

Robert carefully burned the letter, separating the ash before he went to the door again. “Lady Ravensmere and I are ready to depart.”

• • •

At an inn many leagues north of Rome, Juliana perched on the bed, and Robert sat as far from her as possible in the room’s only chair. A lighted brasier rested on the floor between them, they warmed themselves and chewed on the meat pies provided by the host.

“I have thought,” Juliana said, “of a way for us to escape this marriage and any anger Edward might have because of it.”

Robert swallowed and looked up from his pie. “Either you have wrought a miracle or you are much smarter than every priest I consulted in Rome.”

“No.” She smiled. “But I am perhaps more imaginative.”

“So how would you solve the dilemma of our marriage?” Robert nearly choked on the words. As necessary as it was, he found himself reluctant to end his time with Juliana until the last possible moment.

“I must die.”

He did choke. He forced down the lump of pie that blocked his breathing. His throat still felt tight, so he gulped half his ale, just to be certain the meat had gone down.

“You would commit suicide over a situation that is not of your making? ’Tis foolish beyond belief. And you worry over my soul should I decide to return and give Basti the death he richly deserves?”

Juliana laughed. “You misunderstand. When we reach the farthest point from both London and Rome, I will simply disappear and take a new name. You will go on to Edward and report that I died on the journey. ’Tis simple.”

“’Tis a lie, and I will not do it.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? The plan offered resolution to all issues, save one. Edward would be angry, no matter the cause, should Robert fail to produce Juliana for marriage to the Scot. But her reported death would be worse than her marriage. With enough greased palms, a marriage could be set aside no matter what papers claimed it could not. And papers could be lost or burnt. Too, Edward grieved for his Eleanor and would not take kindly to the death of another female relation. Death, however, could not be reversed, even if lied about. Even in pretense, he could not live with Juliana’s death.

• • •

“I asked why.” Juliana insisted on an answer.

“Because I said I would not.”

“Is that all the answer I will get?” She knew she being churlish, but she was weary of his moodiness and reticence. She did not want to abandon Robert—she would miss him greatly—but to fake her death was the best solution she could arrive at. With a new name, she could return to Palermo and try again to deliver copies of the documents that would topple Basti and his ilk. Yet, if she must be tied in marriage ’twould be on her terms, and she wanted to know what so burdened Robert’s soul.

He crossed the room in an instant. He grasped the front of her gown and lifted her face to his. “No woman will die because of a Clarwyn. Not again.”

She barely restrained herself from cowering, so great was the anger she saw there. Rage too like her uncle’s flared in Robert’s eyes. But Robert was not her uncle. Time and again he had proved himself the very model of a gentle knight. She would know what caused his anger.

“Do not press me on this.”

“I want to know what haunts you so; what drives you to deny the rock solid goodness in you.”

He stood for a moment, shaking with violent emotion, and then dropped her to the coverlet. “I killed my father,” he shouted and stepped back from her. “I killed him because he was a murdering bastard who raped women, slit their throats, and watched them bleed to death.” He continued to back away. “I killed him because he threatened the life of my sister. I killed him because everything he ever told me was a lie: honor, love, courtesy, his pride in me, all lies.” He came to a halt with his back against the door. “I killed him because he was nothing but a dirty, filthy murderer and he killed my mother.” Robert left the room before she could utter a word.

The coldness that developed between them settled in the moment he stalked back into the room from the dark, chill night. She’d had nothing but time to think and to wonder. ’Twas no surprise guilt and anger drove him like rampaging demons. His gentleness with women might surprise others, but to Juliana it made complete sense. Robert was fierce in defense of those he believed defenseless and just as fierce in blaming himself. He said he killed his father to protect his sister. That could hardly be considered murder, yet a son might not be able to forgive himself no matter how justified.

She had never seen him rage thus. ’Twas a frightening sight. And if she had not known in her heart that Robert would never hurt her, she would have truly feared for her life. As it was, his inner pain worried her deeply— how could she help him see that he was nothing like the monster he claimed was his father?

Before she could help, she needed to know more, and experience had taught her that unburdening oneself to another person could ease the worst regrets. Simply by listening, she might be able to ease his burdens. But first, she had to get him to talk to her.

When Robert marched into the room from the bitter cold outside, he was icy in both body and spirit. Using a crutch, Juliana went to him, intending to give warmth and comfort, but he set her aside.

Shaking her head she remained by the door and watched him take the one chair to the farthest corner of the room. He stood, staring at the seat as if he doubted he deserved even that small comfort. His shoulders were hunched and his body trembled. Was it cold lingering from his time outside, or did guilt now wrack his body as it had his soul.

“You cannot avoid me,” she said.

The hunched shoulders shrugged.

“Please talk to me, Robert. You know I will not judge you.”

“I care not if you judge me. I have already determined how flawed I am.”

She wanted desperately to go to him, hold him, and comfort him. “You are wrong, you know.”

His shoulders dropped then tensed as he whirled on her, fists clenched. “You cannot know, cannot understand. I need some shred of dignity. Talking about it will not help.”

His expression was so like her uncle in a rage, it was all she could do not to flinch. But she would not let Robert imagine he frightened her. ’Twould only confirm his opinion that he was as monstrous as his father.

She raised a brow and forced herself to show a calm she did not feel. “Prove it. Prove that I cannot understand. Tell me what your life was like. Tell me what happened. Then decide if I am incapable of understanding. Tell me now, and I’ll not ask you to speak of it again.”

He thrust his hands into his hair, anguish clear in his features. “What more can I tell you? That I loved him, thought the world of a man who even when he told me I was everything he could want in a son, lied without conscience.”

He slumped into the chair and stared. He did not seem to see her.

“We lived in an isolated corner of England and rarely saw other folk. Our family was close, my father and I closer. He would leave every month or so. Every parting was wrenching, every return joyous. I never suspected until years later. When I was older and found him cleaning his sword one day not long after one of his journeys. He was cleaning it with dress material. The type of silk and samite worn by my mother on high occasions.”

She dared not interrupt him, dared not move lest she cause him to stop.

“I thought it odd, but he made some excuse—I cannot even recall what—and I thought no more of it until weeks later. He’d been gone again. I did not see him clean the sword, but I found the bloody rags. He’d been careless and had not hidden them. There was so much blood, I wondered if he’d encountered thieves or beasts and had been forced to fight them off. I intended to ask him but decided to dispose of the rags first. I was on my way to the fire kept burning in the blacksmith’s shop when I saw a feed bin left open. I went to close it. I looked inside first to assure myself no animals had gotten within. I found more rags. Hundreds of bloody rags just like the ones in my hands. They had to belong to my father, but how had he gotten so many and why not throw them away or burn them? He couldn’t have encountered that many thieves or wild animals.

‘I was confused and frightened. Where was he? What was so important that he would have left such things lying about? I dropped the rags into the bin and ran to the keep. I heard the screams before I got to the door. I raced up the stairs to the solar. My mother lay on the floor, bleeding to death, and my father held my sister at sword point against a wall. I did not stop to think. I did not ask what had happened. I simply drew my dagger and leapt on him. I went for his sword arm first to keep him from slicing my sister open as he had my mother. Then I must have stabbed him in the back a dozen times before he dropped to the floor.

“Even as he lay dying, he ranted about what foul, evil creatures women were and that he’d lived too long with their sinful influence. He told me about the women he’d killed to rid the world of their filth. Even his wife and daughter deserved death for they had questioned his behavior—as I had intended to. He did not seem to realize that I was the one who’d stabbed him, and instructed me to carry on his work.”