Claudia Dain (10 page)

And he would answer it.

"A wager I would win, lady," he growled with a nod of apology to her watching father, "if I shall win no other."

Ulrich reached out and took her head hard in his hands and forced her back upon the bench against his arm, her neck exposed, lifted up for him, her pulse leaping beneath the thin, white skin. He held her by her jaw and by her golden hair; he held her for his mouth to take and lowered himself onto her with a buried growl of sudden, hot hunger.

There was no sound in all that vast hall. The only sound was the pulsebeat in Juliane's throat and the answering roar of his heart. She made no cry, no protest. She did not fight.

With a snarl, he laid his mouth upon that line of hidden blood and mouthed her, tasting her, learning the scent of her, the salt tang above the hot sweetness of her skin. His lips opened into a hungry kiss, his tongue licked out, testing her heat, the lick before the bite. The bite of the kiss. A kiss of hunger and of need and of blind lust. She was hot under his mouth, hot and sweet and soft. A kiss, a hot kiss with his open mouth upon her skin. A kiss to mark her, as no other had done. A kiss to bruise, if he could.

In that moment, she was his and he would mark her so.

She mewled a cry deep in her throat, and then her merlin struck. A beat of wings and then a clawing on his throat. With a single hand, he pushed the merlin from him, his mouth still upon her. No hawk would drive him off. No wound would kill his lust. Not in a lifetime of wounding would his hunger for her be met.

Fool thought. She was just a woman, and the world was full of women.

With a single hand, she pushed him from her throat, her hand going to the spot where he had been, wiping him away. Wiping his touch from her.

"Too late, Lady Frost," he said so low that none could hear, save her. "You have my mark, as I have yours."

He lifted his hair from off his neck and showed her the mark her merlin had made upon him. A stripe of blood flowed down his throat. 'Twas not deep, 'twas not long, yet it was a mark he would have for all his life. Let her know it. If this was to be the only bond they shared, then let them share it to the full.

"The second wager has been won," he called out to the hall.

Into the silence of that pronouncement, all eyes turned to Lord Philip. What would he do? His daughter had been treated most foul; no chivalrous knight would act so bold with a daughter of the house and in the public gaze.

"The second wager has been won," Philip repeated. "In the sight of all," he added.

Ulrich nodded his thanks at such benevolent mercy, and then Roger said with a laugh, "By all the saints that love me, Ulrich. I never meant for you to eat the girl!"

And all was laughter after that. Save from Juliane and, more strangely, Avice.

* * *

The second wager had been won and she was supposed to sit and be the source of merriment? Nay, she would not.

Her father had supported Ulrich and his stolen kiss. 'Twas hardly surprising. Her father had a sudden need to see her wed, and for Juliane to be lawfully wed, a man must keep his cock up and crowing. It mattered to no one that the only cock she cared to see was dead and roasted and served up on a platter. Whatever good was a man-cock? It could not be eaten and was as ugly as a runt piglet.

"I never thought to lose that wager," Avice whispered upon her left, beyond Philip and his useless ear.

"It was ill-advised of you to wager upon your sister, Avice," Maud said. Hopeless counsel now when all was done.

"I only wager when I think to win," Avice said. "I ask your pardon, Juliane," she said, leaning to look behind her father's back. "I did not think it in him to act so. He was almost wild. The tales of him speak of no such thing."

That was true. That was most true. That told something.

Juliane smiled. She was winning. Oh, he had stolen a kiss from her, and made the blood leap in her throat, but he had leapt upon her in anger. Because he was losing. Because he feared he could not manage her, or his floppy cock.

"Did he hurt you?" Avice asked, keeping her voice below the sounds of the hall, beyond Ulrich's hearing.

"Nay," Juliane answered loudly, "he did not hurt me. That blunt assault? That mistimed, ill-bethought seduction? Am I to fall from such rough handling? Nay, he did nothing more than reveal his desperation. Make any wager you wish, Avice; I will stand and he will fall. This game is playing out as do they all."

"Truly?" Avice asked, eyeing her sister with a soft gaze. "His kiss upon your throat did nothing?"

"Nothing but annoy," Juliane said, and if Ulrich heard, all the better, "and lose me my bird. Baldric?" she called, beckoning him with a hand. Baldric came at a trot, knowing her mind.

"She has flown, lady. I cannot find her in the hall."

Morgause, worth more to her than any man, had flown, her jesses trailing in the murky light of the hall. The sun still shone beyond the stone; she must be found before night fell or she would not be found at all.

"Then we are away," Juliane said, rising to her feet "I go in search of Morgause, who, after rough handling, has flown. Your pardon, Father?" she asked, not asking at all but merely informing.

"Aye, your pardon, my lord?" Ulrich said, standing at her side, taking her arm in his hand. She pried him off with a stiff grin on her lips.

"You are not needed," she said.

"All hands are needed in this," he said.

"You have hardly made her easy in your company," she said, walking from the table.

"I could as well say that she has hardly made me easy in hers."

"Say it, then. 'Tis nothing but the truth," she said. Baldric and Ulrich, soon joined by his small squire William, were on her heels.

"I would only help you, lady," Ulrich said from behind.

"Then leave me, my lord," she said stiffly. "I need no help from your hand. I want none."

"Need and want, they are not the same, lady," he said. "Let me only give you what I may. All else is in God's hands."

She was turning to set him down again, once and for all, when the boy spoke.

"He is very good with hawks, lady," William said, his gray eyes clear and earnest.

"We could use a good hand with hawks in this, lady," Baldric offered. "Morgause was in high feather. She will not come easily."

"Come, say yea to me," Ulrich urged, smiling, his blue eyes sparkling with good intent and latent humor. "I shall even swing the lure."

Aye, he was good at luring. She could feel his mouth upon her even now. The place upon her neck where he had taken her tingled and throbbed still, the feel of him fresh and hot.

"Very well," she said against every bit of common sense, "but if I know my merlin, you shall
be
the lure. Beware your eyes, my lord."

"Lady, in your company 'tis my heart I must guard," he said.

He said it with such overblown sentiment, with such sad eyes and mournful mouth, that she could not help laughing. It was to his credit that he laughed with her, making mock of all courtly ritual and the terms of courtly love. Which was only right.

* * *

"That went well," Philip said, watching them leave his hall.

"It did," Father Matthew agreed. "He is not afraid of her, that is plain. Is he still the one you would have her taker?"

"If all is as it should be," Philip said. "Let us see how he fares by Vespers tomorrow. I shall know enough by then."

"You know he has no land," the priest said.

"I know that few men do. If he can bed her, making the marriage lawful and unbreakable, then that is enough. It might be that I can find land for the man who can find his way with Juliane."

"You could still give her to the church."

"She will not go to the church," Philip said, shaking his head with a smile.

"And you think she will go to him? To any man?" Father Matthew said.

"Do I think she will go to any man? Nay, it is more than certain she will not. Do I think she will go to Ulrich?" Philip shrugged and rubbed his nub of an ear. "I think she might. What is more likely is that I think he has it in him to take her. She is a woman who must be taken; she will not give herself. That was proved when he took the kiss just now."

"She spurns a life lived in the power of the flesh. By your every word, she sounds destined for the abbey."

"Then you are not hearing me," Philip said with the smallest edge to his voice. "She will be wed. It is not in her to be praying away the hours of her life; she was not made for that. I will not send her to that."

"Yet if she wants it?" Father Matthew pressed.

"She will have what I want for her," Philip said, ending it. "But if you need your mind eased, ask her yourself. She will answer you straight; no other way is in her."

"That I know full well," Matthew said, smiling, easing the sudden strain in the conversation.

"But enough of this. What was in your packet from the archbishop of York? Any tidings?"

"Nothing but the province of the church," Matthew answered, swirling the liquid in his cup. He drank his wine well watered; he would not lose his head to drink.

"Then let that be your concern alone," Philip said easily, letting the conversation slide away.

Father Matthew let it slide and did not call it back.

* * *

"She laughs with him even now, her anger sliding from her like ice in August," Christine said. "That kiss did not bruise, not her heart nor her temper."

"She has a forgiving heart," Marguerite said. "She should be more wary. He has proved himself a man who will take what will not be given."

"A forgiving heart?" Christine said, laughing. "Nay, not that. It is that he did not move her at all. What man ever does? I had more hopes for him than for any other who has come here; I will confess to being disappointed."

"I think it is too soon to be disappointed," Lunete said. "It has only been a day."

They sat at one of the lower tables, away from the drama of the high table but with an excellent view of it all. A most lovely situation. They could observe, speculate, and analyze amongst themselves with no worry of being overheard.

Yet Roger and Edward did overhear them.

"Not even a day," Roger said, sliding next to Lunete and throwing a brotherly arm over her ten-year-old shoulders.

Lunete looked at his hand upon her shoulder, and then looked up at him until, with a small cough, he removed his arm. She had not fostered with Juliane for nothing. Did it matter to her that Roger was three times her age? It did not.

"What of our wager? We have won it. Ulrich took his kiss," Roger said.

"He
took
it; you say it well," Marguerite said. "There was little of soft seduction in it."

"A kiss upon the throat was the wager," Roger said. "Will you cry off now that you have lost?"

Marguerite did not answer. Nor did any of the ladies. With an exasperated sigh, Marguerite leaned across the table and kissed Edward upon the brow. Edward was hardly expecting it.

"There," Marguerite said. "The terms are met."

"Those are not the terms I would have called!" Roger said in humorous outrage. "I had that kiss in mind for me."

"The terms are met," Marguerite said again with demure dignity.

"Will you argue the terms now?" Christine said.

"Nay, he will not," Edward said.

"Easily said," Roger mumbled. "I am the one who has lost a kiss."

"And of kisses, you expected Ulrich to be farther in his pursuit of Juliane... or not so far?" Marguerite asked. "We could have told you that he will not win."

"How can you say he will not win when you do not know the wager?" Edward said, leaning forward, his elbows on the rough table. No cloths were spared for the lower tables; they were reserved for the high table.

"It is always the same wager," Christine said. "It is always the same result."

"Which is?" Edward asked.

"You know the tale," Marguerite said. "Why call us to repeat it? If not for the tale of her, would Ulrich even be in Stanora?"

Roger shrugged and said, "She is a known beauty. Men will travel far to see such."

"There was one," Lunete said, "who traveled from Navarre. Is any woman as beautiful as all that?" When Roger looked surprised and amused, she added, "Not that Juliane is not beautiful."

"Of course," Roger said, grinning.

"I think she is very beautiful," Lunete said again.

"I believe you," Roger said, nodding, smiling. Disbelieving.

Lunete sighed in heavy exasperation and kept her silence.

"You are so certain that her legend will stand?" Edward asked them all.

The ladies said nothing, they only looked amongst themselves; a look passed from brown eyes, to black, to gray, a shared look that excluded men.

"What do you know that we do not?" Roger asked, his light brown eyes suddenly hot with intensity. "What secret skill does Juliane possess that gives her this power? Or is it a potion?"