Claudia Dain (14 page)

"How did it look?"

Juliane could feel Avice shrug against her side.

"It looked so full of passion, so relentless, so... wild."

Relentless, that was the word for it.

"Have you ever been kissed like that before?" Avice asked.

"Nay," Juliane said slowly, casting the word and the truth of it up into the night air, casting it away from her. "I never have."

"What was it like?" Avice said, turning on her side and propping herself up on her elbow.

"It was..." Juliane said, stretching her response out, teasing her sister. "It was... passionate... and relentless... and wild."

Avice laughed in pure delight "I knew it had to have been! And were you truly not frightened by it? By him?"

"Nay," Juliane answered. "I was not and I will not be. Place another wager if you choose. I will stand against Ulrich, even if he plays false, as he did today."

"I cannot decide if I would enjoy another wager placed against Edward of Exeter's pride or if I do not want even a wager to bind us. He is a most stern man."

"Stern?" Juliane said. "I would not have thought him stern. He is handsome, I did note that, and his eyes are quite green."

"They are not. They are ordinary hazel."

"Ordinary hazel? Is hazel so ordinary, then? I thought you liked hazel eyes, that you thought them very changeable and mysterious," Juliane said, teasing Avice without a drop of mercy.

"There is nothing mysterious about that man. He is irritating and irritable and nothing more."

"He did not seem irritating to me, or perhaps it is that he was not being irritable
toward
me. I found him most agreeable."

"Spend even one hour more with him and you shall discover the truth about his temper," Avice said.

"An hour and I shall know the troth?" Juliane said. "Shall we wager on it?"

Dead silence met her suggestion. It was almost as if Avice had finally fallen asleep; almost but for the stiff tension emanating from her still body.

"What would be the wager?" Avice asked.

"Perhaps it should be that after an hour in his company, I could make him laugh."

"I do not think he
can
laugh," Avice grumbled, tugging at the blanket. Juliane kicked her feet free.

"Then it is a most fair wager. I could well lose it," Juliane said.

"When have you ever lost?"

"Perhaps tomorrow, when I cannot make him laugh?"

"Done," Avice said after the smallest hesitation.

"Done," Juliane said. "And what shall I win?"

"I note you do not ask what you shall lose."

"Win or lose, what are the terms?" Juliane said.

"The terms?" Avice asked slowly. "I am too tired to think of terms now. Tomorrow will be soon enough."

Which Juliane understood to mean that Avice could not now think of terms horrible enough; when she was fresh from sleep, then she would be ferocious enough to think of terms most to Juliane's disliking.

"Tomorrow, then," Juliane said, shifting onto her side. 'Twas only the way of wagering, to make the wager worth the cost. There was no ill will in setting a penalty or a prize.

"What is it like, Juliane?" Avice asked as they slid toward sleep. "The heated wagers and the men come to test themselves against your chill name? What is it like to be bathed in legend?"

Juliane's thoughts tumbled awkwardly, painfully, and she answered her sister with a sigh of weariness. "It is an old game."

"A game you have mastered, winning every pass."

"Aye," she said. "I win."

Of course she won. She had to win. Winning was all that was left to her, but she said none of that to Avice. Avice had slipped down into slumber, finding rest when Juliane could find none.

Chapter 8

The day dawned bright and hot, the wind hiding behind high-flung cloud, making the sky white and still. The people of Stanora rose for Prime, the first mass of the day and the one designed to set their hearts and minds upon the will and might of God. In practice, some responded better to such guidance than others.

Juliane wore a bliaut of icy blue and a pelisse of startling white. She glowed against the white heat of the day, and she knew it. Her hair she wore unbound, a gleaming net of gold to fall upon her like scattered jewels and careless finery, curling in half-felt embrace about her ribs. Her girdle was silver set with lapis and topaz, hot and glittering against the chill white and blue of her garments.

She was a maid to make a man look. She knew 'twas so, and so was pleased when Ulrich looked and looked again as she came, late, into the church. He looked so long upon her, his jaw slack, that both Edward of Exeter and Roger of Lincoln turned to look as well, which was more than fine. Let them all look. They should look; look and not have, see and not understand. Especially Ulrich.

He, himself, looked most fine today. His dark hair was wet and pushed back from his brow, his skin glowing with the touch of the sun, his blue eyes sharp and bright beneath his lance-straight brows. He had a nose like an arrowhead, straight and slim and smooth, pointing with soft force to a full and generous mouth. A most compelling man, she could admit, if only to herself. She had felt that mouth upon her throat and would not soon forget the soft and urgent heat of him.

He was well deserving of his name, she would grant him that. That and no more. No more kisses, no second touch. No part of him would take any part of her; let that be his lesson for today. His wager was lost. He had only to admit it.

As she let her eyes drift down to the stones beneath her feet, she was the very image of sanctity and piety. The very image of a godly daughter, with only innocence as the chosen companion of her heart; the very daughter any lord would claim with cheer.

Except that her father knew her better and had little cause for cheer.

Avice walked at her side, gowned in shades of green. Her bliaut was the color of the deepest wood and her pelisse the green of March, upon her sleeves were embroidered stems of purple heather, long and lacy and climbing up her arms. Her girdle was of copper bound in silver and set with amethysts that sparkled in the heat. Avice looked beautiful, yet all eyes were upon Juliane, as they ever were in times such as these. These times of wagers and of winning.

As to wagers, Avice had not yet set her terms. That would come after Prime. Juliane was not worried. Did she not even now have Edward's gaze in her possession? How soon would follow his laughter?

As soon as she decreed.

"He cannot stop looking at you," Avice whispered as they knelt side by side.

"I know," Juliane whispered in return, thinking of Edward.

"I think he plans even now to kiss you again," Avice said, thinking of Ulrich.

"Planning is not doing," Juliane said, laying the matter of Ulrich to rest with the dead.

"Proclaiming is not stopping," Avice answered, unburying the dead.

Philip snapped his fingers at them, his brows lowering in stern warning to silence them. But his disapproval did not stop their looking. Nor did it stop the looks they received from the opposite side of the aisle.

Prime seemed to last longer than usual. Perhaps it was the heat. Perhaps it was the stares. Perhaps it was only that Juliane was eager to begin this new game of winning a laugh from quiet Edward. He was a man of Ulrich's age, of Ulrich's generous height, of Ulrich's bearing, yet unlike Ulrich for all that. His hair was light brown, the color of stripped bark in the sun, and his eyes were shining hazel green. His nose was blunted, his mouth less formed, his brows lacking the winged shape of Ulrich of Caen's. Still, a handsome man, steady in his manner, reserved in his speech, a knight of good name and strength. Just the sort of man to find the joy of laughter.

Just the sort of man to fall to her.

"Stop staring at him," Avice whispered.

"I am not staring," she whispered back, keeping her head down in supposed prayer.

"You are! Why else would he be staring at you?"

"He is staring?" Juliane whispered, smiling.

"You know—"

"Lord Philip looks very angry," Lunete said softly, smiling at Lord Philip innocently.

Avice and Juliane stopped talking. Again.

Prime dragged on. The flies were thick and loud as the morning gathered heat. Father Matthew's voice droned on, his Latin perfect and precise, his manner matching. The drone of flies made mock of his Latin, merging and disguising his words, blending with his message and leaving only dreams. All words were lost to buzzing.

"He looks less sour today," Avice said as Father Matthew began his final benediction.

"He looks the same to me." Juliane said.

"I think he looks very handsome," Christine whispered. "The blue tunic suits him most well."

Blue tunic? Edward was wearing the color fawn. 'Twas Ulrich in the blue, a fine, rich blue that mirrored her lapis girdle. As to that, he did look very well in the blue. Yet she had no time for Ulrich; Edward was her goal today.

"Yea, he looks right well," Juliane said casually "'Tis a lovely tunic. And look how Edward's hair shines against his soft fawn tunic. Why, he glows like a candle."

"He does not glow," Avice said.

"Glow?" Marguerite said. "Men do not glow, or should not," she said solemnly.

"Is there not such a thing as battle glow?" Lunete asked.

"There is such a thing as penance," Philip said sternly at their backs. The younger girls jumped. Avice and Juliane merely turned to face their father, their faces innocent of wrong, of even the thought of wrong. 'Twould not be far off to say that they came close to wiping the stain of original sin from their expressions.

"Maud!" Philip said, Prime over. "Can you not keep better charge of the ladies of this house? They whispered so that the very flies were deafened by their hissing."

"Brother, I will see to it," Maud said, coming to his side. She had been standing at the end of their row, next to mild Marguerite, who never spoke during the mass. Juliane had chosen her spot well and with much experience.

"Very well," Philip said, and with a look to where Ulrich stood, he left the chapel, his steward close upon his heel.

With a look to where Ulrich stood? What game was this?

In a long stride, Ulrich was before her, Edward, Roger, and William at his back. If he thought to surround her and intimidate her with a force of men, he had misjudged. There was nothing she liked more than a force of men to reckon with.

"Edward," she said, striking first, "that color suits you well. We were all remarking upon it. You truly caught every eye."

"Did I?" Edward asked, bemused.

"Oh, aye," Juliane said, smiling softly. He looked halfway to a grin even now; she really must find out the terms of this wager before it was won altogether and Avice cried off.

"What about his tunic?" Maud asked.

"The color," Juliane said. "It is most fair and suits Edward of Exeter most well."

"Aye, and so it should," Maud said crisply. "A tunic must fit if it is to function, and why not have one in a color which suits? Tell me, Edward, are these the colors of your house?"

"Lady," Edward said solemnly, "I have no house. This tunic is only one which I won from Roger of Lincoln in a wager some months back."

"Does the color suit me as well, Lady Juliane?" Roger asked. "I feared it did not and so I willingly lost it to him," he added in a loud whisper.

"Then your wager was ill-struck, my lord," Juliane said, "for this lovely shade of fawn would suit your dark hair very well indeed."

Edward had no house? No roots to bind him to the earth? That was sad indeed. The world was hard and cold without a house to spring from. She could almost want to win a laugh from gentle Edward for that reason alone.

"A compliment from the Lady Juliane?" Roger said. "I am won at the word."

"The lady is quick to praise and pet," Ulrich said, his voice low and musical. Intimate. "Do not make much of it, Roger, and you will protect your heart."