Leigh, Tamara (28 page)

"But Bernart hates her. Never would he have allowed her to live at Tremoral had I not pleaded and threatened—" She caught back the words. She could not tell him of Bernart's emasculation. It was all the protection
afforded Alaiz.

"What did you threaten, Juliana?" She lowered her gaze and shook her head. He was quiet a long moment, then knelt before her. She met his gaze, saw in his eyes an urgency she'd not seen before.

"Tell me," he said. "Give me reason to believe you, reason not to take this
child
from you."

Had she heard right? Did she tell him the truth, would he turn from his vengeful quest?

"Trust me," he urged.

She wanted to. Longed to seek comfort in his arms. But Alaiz would
suffer
for it. Juliana laid a hand to Gabriel's unshaven jaw. "Forgive me. Though I long to trust you, I cannot."

The urgency emptied from his eyes. "Then naught changes. I shall have your clothing delivered to you." He straightened and strode to the door.

Juliana watched him go. If only she could tell him. If it were not that Bernart held Alaiz, she would, and Bernart's secret be damned! A thought struck her then, a way to right the wrong. "Gabriel!"

He halted. It was a long moment before he turned.

"Bring my sister to me and I will tell all. I swear it." He appeared unmoved. "Two more months and you may return to your beloved Alaiz." "Gabriel—"

"Sleep well." He stepped onto the landing, closed the door, and turned the key.

Juliana listened to his receding footsteps, then lay back upon the mattress and squeezed her eyes closed. With a muffled sob, she turned onto her side and curved an arm around her belly.

Just as she could no longer deny her feelings for the life that grew within, no more could she deny that which she felt for Gabriel. She loved him, even when he affected to possess no feelings. Could it be he loved her as well? Was that the reason he sought the truth denied him? Though it was folly to entertain the idea, she longed to believe it.

Another sob escaped. She scooted farther up the bed, buried her face in a musty pillow, and loosed her weary emotions.

Although Blase surely knew what had transpired the night past, he said naught of it when he sat beside Gabriel at the morning meal. Even when they stood alone outside the stables an hour later, he maintained a silence so outspoken it was all Gabriel could do not to choke it from his throat.

"Will you return?" he asked tightly.

Blase looked up from cinching his saddle. "Perhaps."

Gabriel knew he ought to bid his brother farewell and get on with the day, but could not. "You think I am wrong."

"I do."

"After what happened last eve—what she has aspired to these past months—still you think her one who does not easily deceive?"

Blase finished with his saddle and met Gabriel's gaze. "Nay, not easily, but in some things we have no choice. You see, Juliana does not know as I do that when the babe is born you will be unable to take it from her."

Would he not? Blade did not know him.

"Thus," he continued, "she but tried to preserve her motherhood."

As indicated on the night past, but there was more to it. There was Alaiz and the threat Juliana had made to Bernart did he not allow her sister at Tremoral. What?

"Do you continue to put our mother's sins upon her," Blase said, "you will lose her."

As if he had her. Gabriel clenched his hands. She was another man's wife.

"Think on it," Blase said. He grabbed the pommel, put a foot in the stirrup, and swung atop his horse. " 'Tis past time I began my journey."

As Gabriel stared up at Blase, he fought an internal battle. And lost. "You will be passing by Tremoral on your way to Briarleigh?"

"Of course."

"Providing it does not place you in danger, I would ask that you inquire at the villages for tidings of Lady Alaiz." "For what reason?"

Though Gabriel hated admitting it, there was only the truth. "Juliana fears for her sister. 'Twas the reason she gave for attempting to escape."

Blase nodded. "I will send word, but what will you do with it?"

What would he do with it? Arrange to take Alaiz as he'd taken Juliana? Bring her to Mergot as Juliana asked?

Cursing himself for allowing Juliana to dictate his actions, he said, "I have not decided."

"Then do." Blase took up the reins and urged his mount around. "Farewell, brother."

Gabriel raised his hand. "Godspeed." As he watched Blase pass beneath the portcullis, he was washed with regret. He would miss his brother, even his unsolicited wisdom. He glanced at the prison tower. What would it be like when he sent Juliana away? He snatched the question back. As angry as he was, Blase was right. He did not want her to go. Hence, it was not when he would send her away, but rather when Bernart would come to claim her. And he would come. Though Gabriel was careful to keep Juliana's identity hidden, someone would recognize her—be it six months from now or six years.

He growled low in his throat. His plans to claim his child were folding, and all because of emotions he should never have allowed himself.
Damn it all!

As he stared at the tower, he caught a movement in the uppermost window that overlooked the wall walk and gatehouse. It was Juliana. Had she seen Blase's departure? Likely. What she could not know was that his destination was other than one of Mergot's villages. Her champion was gone.

For a moment, Gabriel entertained releasing her, but only for a moment. Juliana was safer in the tower, where she'd be unable to make mischief that might endanger her or the babe. Too, Gabriel needed time to sort through his feelings and plan for the future, and that was too difficult to do with her present.

He turned on his heel, strode the outer bailey, and crossed the inner bridge that took him from Juliana's sight.

Chapter Eighteen

England, January 1196

Blase had but to listen to gain word of Lady Alaiz. His priest's robes exchanged for nondescript garments that none might recognize him from four months past, his mount tethered in the wood, he stood back as the village buzzed with news. Thus he learned of Sir Randal Rievaulx's death at Lady Alaiz's hands a fortnight gone, and of her escape from Tremoral that had been discovered this morn when she was to have been brought before the sheriff.

Clever girl. None had believed her capable of such. It made him smile. Though he did not condone murder, neither was he of the villagers' belief that the knight's death had come of a mad frenzy. True, he knew Lady Alaiz only from having helped Gabriel steal Juliana from Tremoral, but her behavior had not been that of one who was mad. Her head injury made her slow, that was all, meaning something had provoked the attack upon Sir Randal. He would not be surprised if she'd acted only to defend herself. Still, she'd be tried for murder and sentenced to death were she caught. If possible, he would see she was not.

Blase grimaced at the sight of his breath upon the air and pulled his mantle more closely around him. He hated winter. With a grumble, he pushed off the trough against which he'd leaned this past half hour. Ah, the things he did for Gabriel...

As he started for the wood, a hand fell upon his sleeve. He turned to a young woman whose loveliness was marred by a flush of angry red upon her right cheek and alongside her eye.

She tried to smile, but it was a false attempt in spite of the sweet bow it made of her mouth.

Who'd struck her? For what? Wrath coiled Blase's innards. "Aye?"

Her throat bobbed. "You would like me to... pleasure you?"

It took much control not to reveal his surprise. Naught subtle about her offer, but neither brazen. Someone had sent her to him with threat of more than a backhand.

A thousand nettles settling his back, Blase glanced beyond the golden-haired woman to the villagers. None looked to pay him and the woman any heed. Someone in the wood, then? Kinthorpe?

Beneath his mantle, Blase drew a hand up his scabbard and pressed the heel of his palm to his sword hilt.

"You would like?" the woman pressed, her gaze wavering in her fear.

Nay, it made no sense that Kinthorpe would send her to draw him out of the village. Like lightning to the ground, the lord of Tremoral and his men would ride upon the enemy wherever they found him. More likely it was one who thought to relieve him of his purse.

He slipped a smile for any who watched. "Aye, I would like. Where?"

Her beautiful eyes said she'd hoped he would decline. "The wood?"

Where he would be set upon. It would not be the first time he had dealt a swift blow to one who thought to take from him. Of course, there might be more than one. As the fire of combat was too often denied him, it would be a nice diversion. Too, it would warm him for the chill ride ahead.

"Aye, the wood." He laid a hand to her arm, turned, and drew her forward.

As her feet dragged, and since some degree of groping would be expected, Blase pulled her against his side and turned a familiar arm around her small waist. She tensed further.

"Where in the wood?" he asked low. She glanced at him and choked, "Wherever thee would like."

"Nay, where waits the one who sent you?"

She stumbled and swept her fluttering gaze to him. "I-I do not know what—"

"Aye, you do." He tightened his arm around her, urging her on. "Now tell where he is."

Her eyes reared. "I did not wish to do it. Truly, I would not have had he—"

"I know." With the wood before them, he could not afford a lengthy explanation. "Where is he?"

Doing her best to hold his stride, she shook her head. "I do not know. I was but to approach you did you make to leave the village."

Alarm daggered Blase's spine. Not a thief, but Kinthorpe. Someone had recognized him as the priest come to Tremoral the night Juliana was taken and had gone for his lord. That realization tamped Blase's lust for sword-play. It would not be one on one, or one on two or three. More, did Bernart recognize him as the beardless youth he'd last laid eyes to eight years past, he would know it was Gabriel who held Juliana. It was time to leave Kinthorpe lands.

"He was astride?" Blase asked, hoping for a measure of how long he had until Kinthorpe descended. "Aye."

"How long since he rode?"

"Mayhap a half hour. Mayhap more."

"I thank you." He halted inside the tree line, then loosed her. "You have done as you were bidden; now go." He would not have harm done her.

Her eyebrows gathered, and her mouth curved downward. "I am sorry. Pray, forgive me."

He nodded. "Go."

She ran. As did Blase.

Damnation!
He ought not to have left his horse so deep in the wood. Of course, had he not it mightn't be waiting for him when he reached the ravine. As he chased a path through the wood, he kicked up mildewed leaves, vaulted fallen trees, ducked barren branches. Soon he would be mounted and away from here.

But another had other plans. At the sound of approaching horses, Blase glanced over his shoulder and expelled a curse. He was sighted. Naught to do but stand and fight those who outnumbered him a dozen to one.

He thrust his mantle back, reached for his sword, and spun around.

Then came a huff of air, followed by ripping, tearing, burning. Fingers spasming around his sword, he was slammed hard against a tree trunk, grunting as the back of his head struck bark. Past constricted lids, he picked out those who approached at a more leisurely pace than moments earlier. And at their head was the bloated figure of a man who had to be Bernart Kinthorpe, though he no more resembled his former self than ugly did beautiful.

Blase tried again to pull his sword, but his hand refused to obey. He dropped his chin, and followed the hilt to his twitching fingers.

What had been done to him? His every breath loud in his ears, he looked to the bloody mess of his upper arm, then to his shoulder, from which an arrow protruded.

Heavenly Father!
He was staked, his body pinned to the tree by that shot from a bow.

"Where is she?" demanded one whose voice bordered on a pitch nearer a woman's.

Strangely aware of the thud of his heart, Blase looked up to find Kinthorpe before him, his horse turned sideways. "Who speak you of?" Blase taunted the one responsible for crippling his sword arm. But it would not end at his arm—he saw it in the bastard's eyes a moment before he shifted his flab out of the saddle and clumsily made the ground.

" 'Tis my wife I speak of!" Kinthorpe spat as he took three labored strides to cover what Blase could in less than two.

Blase dropped his aching head back, giving Kinthorpe his full gaze. "A wife ought to be in her husband's bed. Have you looked there?"

Red burst upon the man's face. He growled, bared his teeth, and drew an arm back, but then came recognition. Veined eyes emerged from flaccid lids, and his lower jaw parted from the upper. "Blase De Vere," he said softly.

"Your brother's face I would know even had you and I never met."

Not even when Blase's father had set him aside, as he'd done Gabriel, had Blase regretted the resemblance. But then, never before had it boded such ill. Given another moment, Kinthorpe would realize who'd taken Juliana.

As if struck, the man stumbled back, eyes jerking, head bobbing. Then he went still, and remained so until he threw his head back and howled.

Blase looked beyond the pitiful figure to Kinthorpe's men. They stared at their lord with tangible unease. Though they could not possibly serve him with pride, they were his men and would not utter word against their lord did he gut his prey. He must save himself.

He reached up, snapped the feathered shaft where it entered his flesh, and wrenched forward. He came free, but not without such excruciating pain that his legs fell away. He landed hard on his knees and forced his uninjured arm to retrieve his sword. Awkwardly, he pulled it forth and swept it before him, but his vision wavered... receded.
God in heaven!
He would not lose consciousness. Would not!