Suzanne Robinson (7 page)

One showed the myth of the unicorn, while another
pictured Francis of Assisi among the creatures of the forest. She loved this image in particular, for she’d come to believe in Francis’s teachings. His precepts of simplicity, the oneness of nature and mankind, peace, humility, and love for the meanest creatures, these appealed to her. Friar Clement, the Franciscan who lived in a cave in the hills above Wellesbrooke, was her friend. He spoke continually of how people were flesh and blood, not pure spirits, and that they should practice kindness and courtesy.

Thinking of the teachings of Francis of Assisi and Friar Clement eased the tumult within her and made her happy. On their long walks in the hills, Friar Clement had pointed out how the beauties of the earth were a sign of the presence of God—the birds, the flowers, the animals, the sky. Peace descended upon Juliana as she thought about the view from the hills of the glittering Clare and the dark green of the forest beyond.

Friar Clement never spoke about human beauty, though. What would he say about the exquisite Gray de Valence? Was his beauty more evidence of the presence of the Lord, or was that soft moonlight hair and powerful body but lures, the disguise of Satan? Juliana was musing upon this question when Alice answered a knock at the door.

The maid engaged in a whispered conversation with a page. “Mistress, a servant of one of the guests has taken ill. A man-at-arms has come for the leech your father hired for the tournament, but the fool has gotten himself drunk.”

“Very well.” Juliana threw back the covers. “Fetch my healing box, and you’d better bring my casket as well.”

The call to attend a sickbed late at night was one to which she’d grown accustomed. At one time, Mother had despaired of weaning her from her love of practicing at
knife-throwing and other arts of weaponry with her brothers. Then she had introduced Juliana to the mysteries of herbs.

Dressing quickly in a plain linen gown and mantle, Juliana took her healing box from Alice. The maid and the page led the way down the spiral stair holding tapers. In the arcade of the old hall the man-at-arms was waiting, and soon she was following him out of the castle by the landward gate.

The stretch of land between the spiked palisade and the moat was covered with encampments, and the group wove its way through the multihued tents of the knights and barons who had answered the call to tournament. Juliana walked around a line of tethered horses, passed squires giving chain mail a final polish before retiring, held her skirts as she eased by campfires. Then her steps slowed, for the man-at-arms was heading for tents of green and white trimmed with gold.

A pennant flew in the breeze, and she could see the dragon writhing on it as its golden wings caught the light of torches set beside the tent entrance. She hesitated, realizing that the guard’s cloak had concealed the colors that would have identified him as a de Valence man. The escort stopped at a small tent beside the pavilion reserved for the Sieur de Valence. Juliana nearly sighed her relief.

The man held open the tent flap for her. Holding her healing box in one hand, she pressed the other against her skirt as she stepped through the narrow opening. She stopped just inside and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight. Silk hangings of crimson and gold in abstract designs dazzled her vision, and she glimpsed a rarity, an ostrich-feather fan. A dark figure was kneeling beside someone on a cot draped with more silk and furs.
The figure rose up, higher and higher. Juliana craned her neck back. The man turned toward her as he spoke.

“What took you so long, you flea-ridden—”

Juliana felt her jaw drop as Gray de Valence loomed over her, scowling, his arm drawn back to deal a lazy underling a blow of chastisement. He froze as they beheld each other, his arm still drawn back. Slowly it lowered until it came to rest at his side. His gaze never left hers.

“Just God, if it isn’t the insolent maid with the damascened eyes—again.” He almost smiled, but a cough from the patient on the cot rid him of all amusement. He glared at her. “Where’s the leech?”

Juliana recovered her senses, blinked, and said, “He’s drunk. They sent for me.”

He did smile then, as he raked her body with a glance.

“This is no matter for maids, Juliana mine. My servant is quite ill, and there’s no time for unskilled dabbling.”

There was a long, racking cough from the patient that ended on a moan. Juliana looked around de Valence and saw a black-haired youth toss his head from side to side.

“You, my lord, will call me Mistress Juliana.” The patient groaned, and she nodded at him. “Do you want me to help him or not? Speak quickly, my lord, for I’ve no patience with men who think women healers are naught but charlatans or witches. From the sound of that cough, your intolerance and ignorance could cost your servant his life.”

He scowled at her, but said nothing as he turned back to the patient. Kneeling beside the cot, he said roughly, “This is Imad, my servant. Help him if you can, but be careful.”

Ignoring de Valence’s rudeness, Juliana set her healing box on the ground and joined him. Briefly she wondered about the luxury de Valence had provided for a mere
servant. On the cot lay a youth unlike any she’d ever seen. His skin was a warm brown, his hair obsidian black. Slight, with a sharp, straight nose and date-shaped eyes, he muttered to himself in a guttural foreign language. He had been propped up on pillows of costly samite to ease his breathing, but he still wheezed. Juliana put her hand to his head and felt the heat of fever.

As she bent over Imad, he began to cough again. His body shook with the violence of the spasms. Suddenly de Valence leaned close and gripped the boy’s shoulders. His arms came down over hers, and he held Imad steady. Trapped with her hands on the boy’s forehead and neck, Juliana pursed her lips and waited for the coughing to subside. Her arms were on either side of his left one. De Valence moved, and his shoulder pressed into her breast. Juliana started, then pulled away, causing de Valence to turn his head.

She went still, for he had fastened a tortured look upon her. This time when she stared into his eyes, she found no derision, no cool iniquity, only fear, and beneath that, something disturbingly intense.

She stuttered, “H-he has a catarrh.”

“I know that, woman,” de Valence snapped. “Do something about it.”

His sharpness destroyed her fear, and she straightened up to glare at him. “You’ll address me with courtesy, or I’ll not lift my hand to him.”

“Arrogant little—”

Juliana rose, but he caught her wrist.

“No, don’t leave. Forgive me. Imad is dear to me, and I’m worried.”

Juliana stared at the hand holding her wrist, and he quickly released her. A small victory, and one she dared not test. She would have treated the boy despite his master’s rudeness, but de Valence needn’t know it. Calling to
Alice, who was waiting outside, she ordered the maid to set water to boil on several braziers.

While Alice and the man-at-arms were busy complying, Juliana delved beneath the neck of her gown to find the chain from which the key to her healing box was suspended. Unlocking the box, she searched among dozens of small vials, tubes, jars, and bundles. At last she retrieved a small black tube sealed with a cork and wax. Breaking the wax, she went back to the cot where de Valence was still kneeling. “I’ll need wine.”

A word from de Valence sent the man-at-arms scurrying from the tent. In but a few moments he was back with a flagon and a cup. De Valence filled the cup and held it out to her.

“Hold it quite still,” she said as she uncorked the tube. “This is wolfsbane—”

De Valence cried out and jerked the cup out of her reach. “Wolfsbane! You’re going to poison him. Are you witless, or simply mad?”

“Enough!” Juliana’s booming command caught de Valence off guard. He blinked, then stared at her. “You listen to me, my lord Know-all. That boy’s cough is dangerous.”

Turning to Imad, Juliana pulled down the covers over the boy and pointed to his chest. “Listen to his breathing. Go on. Put your ear to his chest.”

De Valence complied, lowering his head to the boy’s chest. After a short space, he closed his eyes.

“Mercy of God.”

“His chest is filled with liquid,” Juliana said. She pointed to the pots of water Alice had set to boil on the braziers. “He must breathe warm air. The water must be kept boiling, and I’ll put herbs in it to ease his chest. But the catarrh has advanced to a dangerous strength and
must be fought with the wolfsbane. Without it, he will get worse.”

“Worse?” De Valence whirled around, the wine cup still in his hand, and cast a glance of anguish at Imad.

Juliana pursed her lips and surveyed the boy as well. He was flushed with fever and every breath sounded rough and liquid. “I’m not accustomed to justifying my remedies, but you’re a stranger, so I’ll tell you that I’ve helped others with wolfsbane, including the Countess of Chessmore.”

Running his hand through his hair, de Valence looked from Imad to Juliana. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, then swore and held out the cup. Juliana took it, emptied a minute portion of dark powder into the wine, and swirled it around.

“Hold him upright,” she said.

De Valence did as she requested, and Juliana held the wine to Imad’s lips. The boy protested, but at de Valence’s command, drank. Stepping back, she watched de Valence settle Imad under the covers, but soon grew annoyed at the way he stared at the boy as if he expected him to expire at any moment. She turned her back to them, put away the wolfsbane, and retrieved her small jar of cinquefoil.

Alice had anticipated her, and brought the cooking pot used to heat tisanes and other remedies. In it was simmering watered wine laced with honey. Juliana put several pinches of cinquefoil into the brew along with hyssop and a little valerian. Alice returned the pot to a brazier and stirred it.

Looking up from replacing the herbs in her healing box, Juliana found de Valence staring at her. Under that assessing, speculative perusal, she grew uneasy. She shut the lid of the healing box, found the key and fumbled with it as she tried to turn it in the lock. He was still
staring at her when she chanced a look, but his gaze was filled with surprise, and he nodded at Imad.

“His coughing has eased a bit.”

Juliana heard the note of astonishment in his voice and sniffed. “You mean he’s not dead?”

De Valence swiftly turned back to her. “You take offense easily, Mistress Juliana. Please understand that I wasn’t aware of your skills, and to find so lovely a maid gifted with such an art is unusual.”

Thunder of heaven, the man uttered compliments as easily as he snapped orders. Did he know how unaccustomed to flattery she was? Juliana eyed him with distrust, but he only met her glance with an easy, composed smile. Then he alarmed her by rising abruptly and approaching her.

She clutched the healing box in front of her and tried not to skitter backward. After all, Alice was with her. Still, she couldn’t help the tiny jump she gave when he took the box from her, set it aside, and clasped her hand. Bending over it, he brushed his lips against the skin on the back of it. She felt the soft pliancy of his mouth as it skimmed over the surface of her skin once, twice, a third time, in a caress of such intimacy that she found herself short of breath and unable to do more than stare at his bent head in astonishment. Then alarm descended upon her. He straightened, still holding her hand, and drew her close so that she felt his hip brush hers.

Using a vibrant and yet low tone only she could hear, he said, “I’m in your debt, fair Juliana. Tell me, damascened love, how may I repay you?”

She felt surrounded by heat and muscle, and transfixed by the memory of supple lips molding themselves to her flesh. Never had a man approached her so boldly or so intimately; the last of her courage deserted her. Ducking low to retrieve the healing box, she slipped out
of his grip and put the container between them. She tried to speak, but her voice cracked, and she was forced to start again.

“I—I’ll leave Alice with the boy tonight.” She skittered backward toward the tent entrance, but he followed her. “She’ll keep the water boiling and give him a healing tea I’ve made.”

De Valence stepped around her and blocked the entrance. She collided with the arm he put out to stop her.

“You haven’t said how I may repay you.”

Juliana swallowed hard. “That’s unwarranted, my lord.”

“Look at me, Mistress Juliana, or are you afraid to?”

At this, she lifted her gaze to scowl at him.

“Ha! I knew it. The insolent little black duck.”

Eyes growing round with dismay, irritated that he could fluster her so easily, Juliana lifted her chin. She knocked his arm aside and marched out of the tent.

“Arrogant Viking,” she muttered to herself. She nearly stumbled when he called after her.

“Very well, Juliana mine. I’ll think of a way to recompense you in some fitting manner at the tournament. I’ll devote myself to the task, and to making you blush and quiver again as you did when I kissed your hand.”