Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (18 page)

She fought sudden tears as a yearning ache assailed her. Deep in her heart, she longed for something else, feeling the lack but uncertain what she needed. Home, certainly; love, perhaps. She thought of Gawain then, and shook her head wearily.

Dear God, she thought, she was tired, and lonely, and frightened. Covering her face in her hands, she sobbed out. As a knock sounded on the door, she lifted her head.

"A moment, Philippa," she called. Sniffling, wiping her eyes, she crossed to the door to undo the iron latch and pin.

She opened the door to Gawain. Startled, she felt her heart bound. He smiled and tilted his head.

He looked astonishingly handsome. A trick of light and shadow, she thought, staring. He was freshly shaved, his cheeks flushed from a bath, his hair damp, the waves brushing the column of his neck. He had exchanged his dusty surcoat and chain mail for a tunic of dark green linen. A soapy fragrance wafted toward her, an herbal scent reminiscent of sage.

He tightened his eyes in concern. "Are you unwell?"

"Tired," she replied, almost undone by his tender question. She stepped back, sniffling. He entered, carrying the pack that had been strapped to his horse's saddle. He walked into the room and set it on the floor. She heard the harsh jangle of the chains tucked inside.

"Come to chain me for the night?" she snapped.

"Not yet," he said dryly. "If you are ready, my family would like you to join us for supper in the solar. My mother is not strong enough to come to the great hall for meals, so we gather in the solar with her. My sisters are hoping to read to us tonight, since I brought them a new book."

"I must finish dressing. I was expecting Philippa."

"She is with my mother. My sisters wanted to help you dress, but I thought you needed better peace than that just now. Their own little handmaid is as giggly as they are, so I told the girls that I would fetch you myself. They think I am eager to be alone with you. The thought delights them."

"But doesna delight you," she retorted. She went toward the bed to pick up the white veil.

"If you need help, I can assist. Though I know naught about weaving odds and ends into the hair, as the twins like to do."

"I am nearly done." She slid the silk through her hands. "Go on. I will join you soon."

"My dear wife," he said, folding his arms and leaning against the door, "this castle is a maze of halls and stairways. You might get lost," he said wryly.

"'Twould be a shame if I found a way out and went back to Scotland on my own," she muttered. She shook the veil, floated the rectangle over her hair, and slipped the braided silken circlet over the crown of her head.

"There would be dire consequences if that happened."

"Dire for you, bonny for me."

"Swan Maiden," he said, "do you still think to fly away?"

"They say I have that power." She reached up to adjust the veil.

He came toward her. "The thing is crooked. Let me—"

Flustered, she stepped away from him. "I can manage."

"My mother, and other married women I have seen, wear theirs just so." He tugged on the veil, cradling the crown of her head. Shivers slipped through her. Gawain picked up the silken ends and tucked them around her throat, wrapping one longer side under the headpiece. His thumb grazed the line of her jaw, just above the silk. "There."

"Thank you," she whispered. Shivers cascaded through her still, even when he lowered his hands.

He reached out to pull open the door for her, and smiled, fine lines crinkling around his warm brown eyes.

She tilted her head. "Why are you kind and charming to me at times, and so hard with me otherwise?" she asked impulsively. "What is it you want from this marriage?"

He frowned slightly. "What does any man want from a wife?"

"Since you let me be last night, it cannot be lust," she said boldly. "If 'tis land, wealth, and title, you will not have those of me, for I have no inheritance worth claiming. Is king's favor enough to content you?"

He closed the door again, abruptly, and leaned his hand against it, his arm above her head. "Each time you see a chance to sting me, you try, lady. My patience grows short with it."

"My patience grows short, too," she said.

"You," he said, "have none."

"I do, when I want. Just now I want to be free. I have had enough of captivity."

"But not enough of honing your anger on me. I am not your enemy or your tormentor. I have shown you naught but kindness, and I expect it in return."

She looked away, feeling her cheeks burn, knowing he spoke the truth. She had sometimes behaved poorly toward him though he had helped her. "Likely you intend to shut me up in Elladoune and await new orders from your king."

"If you cannot rein in your damnable temper, you may just find yourself shut in a tower somewhere."

She flashed him a scathing look, and felt as if it met a brick wall. He stared at her until she glanced away. "But you may keep your kitten in your cell with you," he added when she was silent. "She is in the solar, awaiting you in a basket."

She pursed her lips. "Do not think that will make me like you better. I have agreed to be kind to your mother, and I will, and to your sisters too. As for you—"

"Being kind to my mother is more important to me."

"I do not wish to upset your mother. She is a good lady."

"Aye," he said gruffly. "Juliana—my mother and my sisters do not know the full truth about us, or about you. And none of us will tell them—at least not yet."

"They will cease to like me once they learn the truth."

"I doubt that, but—" He heaved a sigh. "My mother may not live long enough to learn the truth. We will not burden her—or the girls, who have enough to bear with our mother so ill—with the poor circumstances of our marriage, and the king's orders."

She nodded soberly. "For now. And later?"

"We shall see. We will go on to Scotland, and do our best to abide by the king's orders."

"Ah. Chains for me, and lessons in obedience, and land and accolades for you."

He gave a huff of frustration, and his eyes seemed to blaze. "Do you think I wanted this?" he demanded. "Do you think I like seeing you chained, and displayed?"

"You did not prevent it," she said.

He closed his eyes. A muscle moved in his jaw. "I had choices to make. There are matters you know naught about, and reasons for what I do."

"Tell me, then. Why are you part of this? You do not seem a man to play the king's cruel games, yet you do."

"I do indeed," he said softly. "Now."

"What do you want from this marriage, and this evil scheme to keep—and train—me?"

He let out a long breath. "What I want most of all," he said, "I gave up on gaining years ago. I have new goals now."

Juliana sensed tension in him, and more—a current of sadness, even loneliness. She tilted her head in sudden sympathy. "There is something you greatly desire," she said more gently. "What is it?"

"I want whatever my king wants, of course," he said brusquely, and opened the door. "Supper grows cold, and my family is eager to see you. Remember," he said as she sailed past him into the corridor, "for now, you adore me."

"Oh," she said flippantly, "how could I have forgotten?" She marched ahead, and heard his dry chuckle behind her.

Chapter 13

"An elderly man, a wife he took to hand, The king's daughter of Scotland..."

Eleanor's voice skimmed over the opening passages of the story of Bevis of Hampton. Listening, Gawain stretched out a hand to scratch the ears of the old mixed breed hound that lay beside the fire.

"This maid, I have ye told, Fair maid she was and bold, And nobly born."

He glanced at Juliana. Seated in a chair beside him, she held the white kitten in her lap while she, too, listened. Fate had certainly brought him a fair maid of Scotland, he thought. What would come next, he did not know.

A groan from Robin caught his attention. His stepbrother sat at a table, facing Catherine over a chessboard. He lamented some clever move she had just made.

Eleanor continued to read, curled at her mother's feet on the other side of the hearth, turning the parchment pages of the illuminated manuscript. Lady Clarice listened, a blanket tucked over her legs despite the warm room. She stifled a deep cough behind a cloth and took a sip of wine. Philippa looked up quickly from a seat in a corner, where she sewed.

Despite the sorrowful uncertainty of his mother's illness, Gawain felt some contentment. What surprised him was that Juliana's presence added immeasurably to that. He watched her dangle a ribbon for the kitten's amusement. He wished this peaceful, loving moment—like a little bubble containing paradise—could continue indefinitely.

His gaze flowed over her from head to foot and up again. The plum-colored gown contrasted with her pale golden coloring, and her cheeks were pinkened from the heat of the fire. The cut of the fabric enhanced her lithe body while revealing the grace of her long throat. Profoundly attracted to her, but uncertain how she felt, he glanced away. Eleanor had finished her passage, and she and her mother were staring at him.

"A fine story," he said hastily. He had read more of it on his own than he had heard from Eleanor just now. "A good adventure, though without the poetic sensibility that our lady mother prefers in a long epic tale, such as that of Gawain and the Green Knight."

"Few could surpass the Gawain poet." Lady Clarice smiled. "'Tis one of my favorites—I gave my son that name." She smiled. "But this story is exciting. We shall hear more tomorrow evening. Juliana, have you heard the tale of Bevis before?"

Juliana shook her head, her fingers easing over the kitten. "'Tis new to me, my lady."

"No doubt Juliana has heard many other stories," Catherine said. "Scots storytellers are said to be the finest of all. Gawain, surely you remember the tales from your earlier days?"

He shrugged. "'Twas long ago," he murmured. "My grand—" He stopped suddenly, recalling that Juliana did not know about his origins as yet. And his mother, who did not like it mentioned, was frowning. He cleared his throat. "Er, we had no time for stories. We were... concerned with other matters."

"Matters of war," Juliana muttered.

He reached over to rest his hand upon hers. "Sweet lady wife." Her quick answering smile was forced.

"Lady Juliana," Robin said gallantly, "do not fret over it. Leave such matters to men who are trained to war."

She scowled at him. "Were war left to women, who are nae trained to it," she said, "there would be none." Robin blushed and lifted a hand in apology.

"Well done," Lady Clarice said, smiling.

"Juliana, tell us what you most like to do at home in Scotland," Catherine said. "Where is your own castle?"

"I once lived in a place called Elladoune," she replied. "'Twas burned by the English." Her bluntness caused Lady Clarice and the twins to gasp. Gawain frowned warily.

"My mother told my brothers and me many tales and legends about warriors and their ladies—wonderful, magical stories," she went on. Relieved, Gawain hoped she did not intend to press the other issue. "Later, we lived in the forests with outlaws and dispossessed families, where I learned to hide from English soldiers. And there, too, I heard wonderful stories, at night, by the fire, from a harper left homeless by the war."

"Oh, my," Lady Clarice said faintly. "Homeless! Dear saints. We did not realize that you were... a victim of the Scottish war."

"Most Scots are victims of the war in one way or another, Mama," Gawain said. He felt strangely humbled, for he had not known that Juliana had lived homeless after Elladoune. He looked down to pet the old dog, telling himself that he should have asked how she had fared.

"I lived in the forest for two years, my lady," Juliana said. "We were safe there, with other dispossessed people. We learned to fend for ourselves and to avoid the English." Aye, Gawain thought, listening. She knew how to fend for herself. And he realized why she found it so hard to trust English knights.