Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (16 page)

"What did you bring us? A book?" one of the girls asked.

"If I give you any more books, your shelf will fall from the wall," Gawain said.

"You always bring us a new book each time you come home!" the other twin said.

"Oh, aye," he said, as if he just remembered, though Juliana could tell he teased them, "there is a book in my pack. 'Tis the tale of Sir Bevis of Hampton."

"Mama told us that story. He fought a dragon and saved England, and crossed a desert to find his love." One spoke, and both sighed.

"Now you can read it to your heart's content," Gawain said.

"What did you see in Newcastle? Did you speak with the king? Did you attend a jousting tournament?" The questions came so fast, in such similar voices, that Juliana could hardly follow who said what. "Robin said you went to a great feast!"

"Aye, we did that," Gawain said, glancing at Juliana.

"Did you bring something for Mama? Or anything for us?" One twin—perhaps Catherine—smiled with such charm and candor that Gawain chuckled and Juliana smiled to herself.

"Have you been sweet and kind girls?"

"Always." One batted her eyes, while the other giggled.

"Robin said all of you attended the king's feast, with subtleties and cakes and swans and acrobats, and met your bride there. Tell us about it!"

Gawain's fingers flexed on Juliana's arm; his touch was oddly comforting. "There were cakes and sugar castles, and swans and peacocks.... We saw the king, but not the queen, for she is still in London. I rode in a joust and won the day, and ate so much at the feast that night that I feared I would burst." He grinned. "But I did not eat as much as Edmund and Robin."

"And you won a bride," Catherine said. The girls had shifted again fluidly, and now stood shoulder to shoulder. Juliana, despite her fatigue, tried to note who moved where to keep them identified.

"I did. She was dressed all in white, the loveliest creature I had ever seen." Juliana blinked at him in surprise, but he did not look at her. "I have other news. I am being sent back to Scotland."

"Robin told us. Mother was distraught about it."

"I feared so," Gawain said.

"You can reassure her about it. And be sure to tell her about your wedding—and us, too," the second twin said. "Do not spare any detail. That will please Mama. You know how much she loved the splendid celebrations at the court, when she and Father went there together." The girl—Eleanor, Juliana thought—pouted. "I wish you had sent word here and invited us to your wedding. Newcastle is not so far from Avenel."

"And miss seeing the surprise on your silly faces?" Gawain answered. "'Twas a wedding. They are all alike." His teasing grin made the twins moan as they climbed the stone steps of the keep together.

Opening the outer door, he ushered Juliana and the girls inside a shadowed foyer with three doorways and another flight of stairs. "Stay here," Gawain told his sisters. "This must be private." He turned them gently toward a curtained doorway, and led Juliana up the steps with him.

She climbed, head held high, though every fiber of her body seemed to tremble. The sound of their footsteps echoed.

"My sisters like you well," he said, "though I apologize for their constant chatter." He glanced at her, but she did not answer as she went with him down a corridor that smelled of stone and, oddly, camphor.

Nearing an arched doorway, Gawain paused. "Now I must ask that my courtesy to you be repaid," he said quietly.

She tilted her head, listening, waiting.

"I want you to act the happy bride when we enter that room."

Drawing her brows together, she folded her arms over her chest and looked away. Surely that was the last thing she could pretend. She could think of no reason to comply with his request.

"You can speak," he said curtly. "Answer me."

She looked at him. "Happy bride? Are you daft?"

"You act the mystery maiden well enough. Now play the loving bride. Coo and smile and cling to my arm—whatever a joyful bride might do." He held out his arm.

She pushed it away. "I am nae some happy new-made wife, loved and content," she said. "I am a prisoner. Until an hour ago, I was chained and humiliated—and will be again, I expect."

"'Twas not my choice to see you so treated."

She lifted her chin. "So in return for giving me a little freedom from my chains, you think you deserve a favor?"

He sighed impatiently. "I have done a bit more for you than that. I ask only this in return."

"I want your promise that there will be nae more chaining."

"'Tis not a bargain I can make."

"Nor can I play the happy bride." She looked away.

"Please," he whispered. That one word, ragged and plaintive, caught her sympathy and her curiosity.

"Why?" she asked softly, intrigued.

"Because I am about to introduce you to my lady mother."

"Are you so terrified of your mother that you must lie to her, and have me lie to her, about our marriage?"

"Not at all," he said, lips tightening.

"She must be a virago! Her oldest son begs favors in corridors to avoid telling her the truth!"

He stepped toward her, and she stepped back, until her heel hit the wall. "I swear," he said, "the mute swan is sweeter to the ear than the honking goose."

She glared up at him. He returned it, full bore, until she shrank back.

"Whatever your opinion," he said, "do this, and I promise courtesy—though I would far rather throttle you just now."

"I will not do it," she said firmly.

"Only pretend this in front of my mother. You can despise me all you like in private."

"Your lady mother should know how her son takes a lass across England in chains," she said. "She should hear how he binds her even as she sleeps, and will not let her go, and keeps her captive so he can gain his king's favor."

"I did what I had to do, and tried to treat you gently."

"Gentle for a guard, but rough for a husband."

"You do not want a husband," he reminded her.

"Nor a guard," she retorted. "Especially one who keeps my key, locks and looses me at his will, and wants me to play sweet bride to his courteous knight so he will look the perfect son."

He took another swift step toward her, his cheeks flushing, eyes blazing dark. Juliana pressed her shoulders against the wall as he leaned over her.

"I should never be alone with you," he said, pressing a hand against the wall. "It loosens your tongue."

"Better my tongue than my chains, some would say," she snapped. "At least you cannot control my speech—or my silence."

He cast her a sour look, slanting his weight forward on his hands to trap her where she stood. "Little Swan Maiden, silent and still," he mused, looking at her. "Delicate lady in need of a champion. Wildcat and hellion, needing no help from anyone. Now a bitter-tongued Highland fishwife. Who the devil are you?"

"Just a lass who wants to go home. So much," she added in a whisper, looking away as the need to be home overwhelmed her.

"I will take you there, but first you must act glad to be my wedded wife. If you please," he added between his teeth.

She narrowed her eyes. "'Tis all you ask of me?"

"Aye."

"You do not expect... wifely duties?"

His gaze slowly raked down, then up again. "None," he murmured, his expression so direct that she glanced away again. "Until you want that too, and grant yourself to me—freely."

Silence lingered. She peered at him and was caught in his dark, deep gaze. "Only this, and then you will take me back to Inchfillan Abbey?"

"If 'tis where you live. We can stop there on our way to Elladoune. That too is home, is it not?"

"Elladoune!" She looked at him in surprise. "Why there?"

"I am to command that garrison."

"'Twould have been a small courtesy to tell me where you were taking me. I thought I was going to another prison." Her heart beat hard and fast. She had scarcely hoped to set foot in Elladoune ever again, and now suddenly she had the chance. "We are to go there together, as husband and wife? Or as king's man and captive?"

"Husband and wife would be more peaceful, would it not?"

She frowned, thinking. Wondering. "Aye," she admitted. She glanced at him. He leaned closer, until she felt the warmth of his breath upon her lips. Without meaning to, without thinking, as if she were spellbound, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

"I wonder," he whispered, "what a peaceful marriage might be like between us. Do you?"

She parted her lips, began to speak, but could only stare up at him. He closed his eyes, and hers drifted shut too, and a moment later his lips touched hers, pressing gently.

As with the soft, brief kiss at their wedding, unexpected pleasure whirled through her. A flash of desire, hot and bright, followed. She almost moaned with the urge to surrender to him, but she stayed still and passive.

He drew away and gazed down at her. "Is it so much trouble," he murmured, "to pretend for a little time that we are content, each with the other?"

She stared at him, her heart racing crazily, her breath deep and fast. She leaned toward him, breathless, then pressed back against the wall.

"Juliana," he said. "I beg you to do this for me." She sighed. "Will you expect the same at Elladoune?" He pushed away from the wall. "Please yourself," he growled, and turned away.

"I—I will think on it," she said cautiously. The door at the end of the corridor opened, and a servant woman looked out at them. Gawain grabbed Juliana's hand. "Think fast," he said, and pulled her along with him.

Chapter 12

The bedchamber was shadowed, its windows partly shuttered despite the mild weather. The woman seated in a chair beside the crackling hearth fire wore a blanket over her knees. Gawain walked into the room, releasing Juliana's hand. He looked at his mother, and his heart hurt.

She was thinner than he had ever seen her, though he had been here but a month ago. Dark-haired and brown-eyed like her son, Lady Clarice was still a beautiful woman, though she had lost strength. Her slowly progressing disease seemed to clarify her, illuminate her from within. Each time he saw her, she seemed more spirit than flesh, as if she were gradually transforming on the path toward death.

Her hair was leaden in color, her eyes were sunken and shadowed, but a light burned bright and warm in her dark eyes. The elegant shape of her skeleton was evident in her face and in the thin hands draped over the arms of the chair.

She smiled. "Oh, Gawain!"

"Mama." He stepped forward and bent to kiss her parchment cheek. "I trust God keeps you safe in His hands."

"Safe enough, and better now that I have heard your news from Robin. My dear, you are too thin. We must feed you well while you are here." She peered past him. "So this is your bride!"

"Juliana Lindsay," he said softly. He walked over to take Juliana's hand and lead her forward, silently praying that she would guard her tongue with his mother, if not with him. Like all the members of his family, he feared to stir the shadow of death that hovered so close to his mother.

"Lady Clarice of Avenel," he told Juliana. She nodded, her dark blue eyes huge in her pale face as she looked from him to his mother, and back to him again. He sensed her astonishment. He had not told her that his mother was gravely ill. The words were far too hard to speak.

"Robin said you had married," Lady Clarice said. "'Tis joyful news, and such a surprise. King Edward is full of surprises these days. Henry asked for advice in finding a match for you, and then the king orders you wed to one of his own guests. The Swan Knight and his Swan Maiden. How kind of Edward."

"Aye," Gawain said, understanding immediately the story Robin had brought his stepmother, no doubt at Henry's urging.

"Juliana, welcome." Clarice began to stand. "Come here."

Gawain murmured in protest, reaching out. The servant girl stepped forward to push on Lady Clarice's shoulder until she subsided in the chair, then plumped a pillow behind her.