Claudia Dain (26 page)

"He asks for you, Father," she said, turning her dark eyes upon him in entreaty, not seeing the man who walked softly and in shadow to the orchard's edge, disappearing into the grim shadow of the wall. "Will you come?"

"Of course," Father Matthew answered with a smile. "I am ever in the way of doing God's will."

He left the orchard without looking back and followed Marguerite up the stairs and into the cool sanctuary of the tower gate.

* * *

"He has nothing. This cannot be God's will."

"He has what he needs to make this match. That is clear."

Walter ran a hand through his red hair. In appearance he was much like Juliane and perhaps in temperament as well, though he and Juliane both denied it vigorously. Avice had their mother's dark hair and more uncertain temper. Juliane's temper was always certain; 'twas her will that was a problem.

"He has a tale and nothing more."

"He has a tale he is reluctant to tell. That tells me more than I need to know," Philip said quietly.

His color was fading, his features showing sharp, his breathing coming hard and thin; he would not last another week, if eyes could judge. Still, God could stay His hand and let Philip linger on this earth until the marriage of Juliane was set and settled. God willing, 'twould be so. Walter did not want to be the one to drag Juliane to the altar, and dragging it would take to get her there. If his father's will was followed, she would be married before he left this world for the next.

But still, Walter had his doubts. "He brings nothing," he said. "No land, no title, no influence. This does nothing for Juliane. She will never abide by this choice."

"She will," Philip said softy. "If I set her to it, she will. You must get Maud behind you in this," Philip said on a hiss of breath. "Bring my sister to me and I will see it done."

Maud? What part could his aunt play in this? She was a woman, and marriages were made between men.

"And what Ulrich lacks by an accident of timing in the matter of his birth, I will set to rights," Philip continued, pulling Walter's thoughts from Maud. "I was and am King Henry's man. King Henry the First shall be well served by me now in this raising of his son to a place deserving of his blood."

"He had many bastards, nigh beyond counting."

"And all provided for. He turned not from a one of them. Ulrich has his look and some shadow of his manner. Can any other man be better matched to my Juliane?"

There was that. Only a man of Henry's brood, blood, and bile seemed of the temper to take his sister and make her behave in the manner of a woman. If Ulrich had done that even in part without benefit of marriage, he could well be the man, the only man, fit for her.

"I will concede it," Walter said.

"Then set the wheels in motion, my son. My time is short, and I will not leave her without a home of her own and without the mantle of a man's honor to shield her from the storms of life."

"Aye, Father. I will begin it."

"Begin what?" Juliane asked from the doorway.

Walter stood and walked swiftly to her. He was the keeper of the lord of Stanora, monitoring all who entered the death chamber of his father. Death was a public event, but women were not in the public domain. Sheltered and sequestered they were supposed to be. How that Juliane did not understand that?

Worse, he suspected that she understood it very well and simply did not care. Finding a husband for such a one was a task most strenuous. Ulrich, close and ready, looked better by the hour.

"He tires. Leave him to his rest," Walter said, throwing an arm over the doorway, keeping her in the narrow gallery.

Juliane looked under Walter's arm. Her father did look weak and tired, pale and thin, his life drawing out like a fragile cord, frayed, and ready to break. She then cast a glance over her shoulder to the vast hall below. All eyes were turned up to watch the battle between brother and sister upon the wooden gallery, Ulrich's among them, blue and soft and curious. Compassionate. Avid. Of what concern to him that she speak to her father or not? He was a simple guest. Or so she prayed daily. He could be nothing more. He would be nothing more.

"I would only comfort him. He is my father, too, Walter. I want the joy of his company before he leaves us all," she said.

"Let her come," Philip said from the bed.

With some reluctance, Walter lowered his arm, and she passed into the lord's solar and went to stand by her father's bed, away from the eyes in the hall. Walter stood in the doorway, listening. Let him listen, then. Let him learn the nature of her heart and the direction of her will.

"You look well and good," she said to her father.

He laughed, a gasp of air mixed with a smile, ending in a light cough. A dying laugh. A last laugh.

"Do not flatter now, Juliane. Your blunt speech is a treasure. Do not toss it from you for a dying man, which is what I am and how I look."

"You look good to me," she said, kissing his hand.

"Ah, that I will believe," he said softly. "But let us talk of more weighty things than my handsome face. You are to be married."

He delivered it like the blow it was, tempered by love, but a blow against her very life.

"To Ulrich?"

"Whom else?"

"He is a knight with nothing but a name."

"But what a name," Philip said with a lopsided grin and a slow wink. When she pulled her hand from his, he caught a fingertip and held on to her gently. "And would you truly not marry? What, then, Juliane? The cloister? Father Matthew would have it so."

"Nay. There is more to life than prayers."

"And so I told him you would answer. There are two paths open to you: church or marriage. Which will you choose, for choose you must."

"I would choose neither."

"So I have chosen for you," he said. "You bring Ulrich all a man would want in this life. He will take the gift of you and cherish you long. He will be thankful for the gift of Juliane."

"Is that how it is with a man? He cherishes the woman who gives him worth? Nay, I think that only resentment will grow from such a seed as that."

"You are wrong," he said tenderly, his eyes closing in exhaustion.

She could see that her father's impassioned plea had weakened him, leaving him breathless and tired. She would not for the world weaken him with argument. But she must protest the thought of wedding Ulrich.

"How can you give me up in marriage? This was not to be my path. Would you throw me to a beggar?" she asked.

"He is the man I have chosen for you."

He said it simply, his eyes on Walter at her back. In truth, he did not say much, but what weight beneath the words! She could barely stand against the force of it. Her father had given her much, and they would neither of them forget it. She loved him. She would do whate'er he asked, and he knew it well.

"Why?" she asked, looking down at him. He was not so weak that he could be pushed to something, anything, not of his will and wisdom. There must be some lure which Ulrich had thrown up to the sky to tempt her father to make this match. "Why this man of all who have come here, testing themselves against the tale of me?"

"He is Henry's son."

Henry's son. Not the Henry who sat now upon the throne, they were too close in age, but the first King Henry, who had cast his seed so often and so well. Ulrich was his blood. Or so her father believed. If Ulrich lied, he had chosen his lie well. There was none to prove or to disprove his claim, and what man would not wish for the blood of kings to run into his legacy?

"How do you know? He was not claimed."

"Henry's death came close upon Ulrich's birth. There was no chance of claiming."

"But much of lying. There is no proof he is a king's son."

"There is proof enough," Philip said, closing his eyes against all argument.

Proof enough for her father, who was counting down his hours and needed to see her wed before he passed into paradise. Proof enough for her? There was no such proof, and there would never be enough to satisfy her, even if the king himself claimed Ulrich as cousin.

"Even so, he has nothing."

"He has royal blood, and his blood stands hard for you. That should be enough for any maid. Or did he fall to you?"

"Nay," she said unwillingly. "He did not fall."

"Then it is done," Philip said.

And so it was done, unless Ulrich disavowed the match. Small chance of that; this was his path into wealth and power. He would not refuse. What man would?

What man would? Perhaps her brother. He could not want her cast to that; a knight errant with nothing but a legend of royalty and a knight's sword to mark him.

"Is it enough for Walter?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at her brother in the doorway. He had stood and heard all, as was proper, bearing witness to deathbed instructions and dispositions. All that was said here would be recorded and would come to pass.

Aye, he had heard all and found himself marveling at his father's wisdom and at God's timing. Juliane had grown even more rebellious and contrary since he last saw her five years past at her own wedding. What man could rule her but their father, who commanded her heart and her head both? If Ulrich had defeated any part of her fractious nature, then he was welcome to her, and Walter would only pray the deed well done and soon. His sister needed a man to guide her, and Walter had troubles of his own that did not include Juliane and her willfulness.

"It is enough for my lord father and so it is enough for me," Walter said, staring hard into his sister's eyes, forcing his will upon her. "You shall marry Ulrich of Caen without delay. Let us see this done before the day is spent."

"'Tis too fast!" she said, whirling to face him, leaving her father's touch. "The church will not consent without the banns!"

"Father Matthew will do as I tell him. This is my domain. All here shall be as I say it shall be," Walter said. "And it shall be today, Juliane. Prepare yourself as you will."

Chapter 15

"She is yours, if you will have her."

Walter stood in the center of the hall, the fire an unnecessary blaze at his back. The day was hot even as the sun slid toward the treetops, slid down into darkness and Juliane still unwed. He would see it done, his duty to his father and his sister met this hour if he could, settling all before the dark closed in, ending the day.

Juliane stood at his side, stiff and cold, her face an icy mask of contempt and mute rebellion. He would brook no rebellion from her; she was in his keeping, passed from their father's hand into his, and he would do well by her, if she only had the wit to see it. She had grown too bold under their father's loose and indulgent grip.

There was a lesson in that, and he was certain of learning it; he would not hold his own wife in anything less than a firm hand of power. 'Twas what a woman needed, her nature leading her inexorably into sin and, worse, wantonness. His duty was to protect the women of his house, and, in spite of Juliane, that he would do. Delivering her into a strong hand was the surest course.

"I will have her," Ulrich said, looking straight into Walter's eyes. "Yet I bring nothing to the match but my name."

He was honest, and there was strong merit in that. And he was not afraid of Juliane and the tales of her. Another point in his favor.

"My father meets with his counselors and the scribes. Lands in St. Ives will be granted to you in fief. 'Tis the site of the herring fair, a rich property with rents paid at each fair. For the past three years, two fairs a year were hosted."

"You give this freely?" Ulrich asked, guessing it was from Walter's portion that Ulrich's gift was taken.

"For my father, yea, I give it freely. For my sister, I give it gladly."

"Then in your sister's name, I take it gratefully," Ulrich said.

"Take it in your own name at least," Juliane said. "There is none of me in this bargaining."

"Nay, you are wrong. 'Tis all of you," Walter said.

Ulrich said nothing, but his eyes shifted to Juliane.