Claudia Dain (29 page)

"She is here," Conor said.

"Aye, I am, Father," she said. Conor would not speak for her, not with her own father.

Before another word could be said, there was a press and movement of bodies at her back and Ulrich slid into the room. Nay, she was not surprised.

"It has been decided," Conor began.

"It has been decided," Walter said more loudly, grasping the reins of this announcement and pulling hard for control, "that Juliane be wed to Ulrich of Caen, though no more to be named of Caen, but of St. Ives. Let the marriage take place now. We begin with the signing of the contracts."

"Tell her the terms," Philip whispered.

Juliane kept her eyes on her father, trying to read his intention in that vivid blue, blue which shone more fiercely now than ever before, as if the very skies of heaven were reflected there.

"Juliane," Walter said, silencing Conor with a look. "Our lord and father would not leave you without the protection of a man's name and might when he passes out of this life. He would leave you within the grasp of a loving"—and here Walter looked briefly at Ulrich, who met his look—"protector."

"I do understand the concept, Walter," Juliane said curtly. "What
are
the terms?"

"Ulrich has been given St. Ives, which you know, but also, on your part, it has been suggested—"

"What?" she interrupted. Walter really could be so very long-winded at times.

"That the consummation be achieved under many eyes," Conor said with a slight smile of satisfaction. "With many witnesses to verify that this marriage is lawful and within the measure and meaning of church doctrine."

"Many?" she breathed. "Am I to be pierced for the amusement of all Stanora? Shall this breaching take place on a table in the hall? Shall bets be wagered on the cries ripped from me?"

She said all with calm calculation and cold precision. She was not ashamed, nor afraid. She was incensed, and a cold burning anger it was. This was Conor's doing; she could smell it.

"I can attest, without witnesses, that I am the man who can meet the measure and meaning of church doctrine on this," Ulrich said, his voice as brittle as an ancient sword. "No eyes need bear witness to our union. Our tongues will confess the truth of the act. Is that not so, Juliane?"

He challenged her not to lie, knowing in his arrogance and pride that he would not fall to her, that he would take her, marking her as his, placing her under the shadowy protection of his shadowy name. He had no name but the one she had provided him. She was bound to tell no truth to save him.

Yet was not saving
her
the issue? What man would mind an audience to any mating he might fall into? No man. Yet to spread her legs with so many watching... she would avoid it if she could. She would endure it if she must.

"This is beyond your authority," Conor said. "It is a condition of the marriage. Will you abide by Lord Philip's decision? That is the only question you must answer now."

"Tell me the terms," Juliane said, turning to Walter. "I would know all before Ulrich's word is taken on this."

"Not many eyes, Juliane," Walter said, turning his back to Conor. "Three pairs of eyes, and those all known well to you: Conor, Maud, and Father Matthew. The quiet privacy of your chamber, not the bustle of the hall at mealtime. The reason behind the act is the fear that this marriage will not be consummated and hence annulled, as happened once before. None here would leave you without a lawful husband; our father wants you well protected and is doing all in his power to see it so."

Aye, well protected. From Conor. Walter did not say the words, yet she could read them in his eyes. Conor was ever and always plotting something, his horse ever bringing him within Stanora's gates, his thoughts ever turned to opposing her father. Conor, who had his own plans for her, and for gain that had nothing to do with her safety or contentment. To thwart Conor was almost reason enough to acquiesce.

She could understand the choice of the witnesses. First, Conor, who wanted to prevent this marriage since he had not arranged it. She had seen Nicholas of Nottingham below in the hall as she had been escorted along the gallery. She knew that Nicholas was Conor's choice for her.

The second pair of eyes was for her benefit. Maud, whom she trusted, who had stood this test before with her, with her first husband, and by whose witness Juliane had been freed of that first, wrong mating.

The third witness was for balance. Conor might lie for himself, Maud might lie for her, but a priest would lie for no one. He would speak the truth, no matter where that truth would take them all.

Juliane nodded at her brother and then turned to look down at her father. He had been part of this arrangement, though she would wager high that he had not initiated this public breaching. That smelled of Conor. Yet what could he have done to prevent it? What could she do?

She might refuse the match before the mating. Her own voice carried no weight with these men, nor her wishes, but her father cared for her and would consider her wants and wishes. With Philip still living, she had a chance of escape.

She knew well what would happen during the breaching. She would fall to Ulrich.

"You want me wed," she said softly to her father, turning her back on all within that crowded chamber. "Is there not another you could name?"

Behind her all was still. She knew that Ulrich had heard her. She did not care. Let her father only name another man, a man far from Stanora, a man she could manage and defeat.

"I have chosen," Philip said. "Obey me, Juliane. I deserve no less from you."

"My lord," Father Matthew said into the awkward silence, "you will take nothing with you into paradise. All must be given so that you may pass out of this life as naked as when you came into it."

"I have given all," Philip said. "All my lands, my furs, my coats of scarlet and what coin I had, all given."

"There is Stamford," Matthew said, looking at Juliane as he said it.

"Stamford is mine!" she said.

"Stamford was your mother's, your father held that land in her name. Now it can pass to whomever he wills."

"Stamford was always meant for me. You know that," she said.

"God has greater need of it," Matthew said, saying it plain, staking what claim he could.

"Nay!" she said, turning to her brother. "You know Stamford has been mine from the start."

"We only have what we are given, Juliane," Walter said, seeing the wisdom of Matthew's idea.

"You press too hard," Philip said, trying to raise himself up and failing. "Stamford is given to the church. But I cannot leave her without a place of her own."

"She will have St. Ives if she takes Ulrich," Walter said.

"She will have nothing," Ulrich said to her brother, looking at her, his blue eyes hard and flickering like cold fire, "unless she comes to me, getting St. Ives in the bargain."

"If you will have her," Walter said.

"Without a name, I am not certain I want her," Ulrich said, torturing her, giving her bruises upon her pride to match his own.

"What of Nicholas?" Walter asked his uncle.

Conor shrugged, frowning. "Without Stamford he will refuse the match. There is nothing to be gained by it. Will you truly give Stamford to the church?" he asked Philip.

Philip looked at Ulrich and then at his son; he did not look at Juliane, for he knew what he would see there. But in Walter he saw careful wisdom, the shrewd manipulation and understanding of men that would be required of him as lord of Stanora. This was a good turning. It got Conor and his bruising will out of his gates. It got for Matthew what he most wanted: prosperous land for his bishop. It got for himself what he wanted: Juliane married and out of Conor's reach.

As for Ulrich, it was clear he wanted Juliane still, but he would make her clutch for him now, for had she not just been reduced to his place in the world? A place of no name and no land beyond what she could clasp to her breast in marriage. Aye, the tables would be turned most well. And it was only in this turning that Juliane would bend to marriage with any small measure of grace.

There could be no escape this time, for there would be no returning. If this marriage failed, all doors would be closed to her. Walter would not take her, that was clear. Conor would have no use for her. And he, Philip, would be dead, flown beyond all earthly cares. Ulrich was her only chance now.

She was no fool. She would take it.

"It is given. Let the monks of Crowland Abbey have it, and Father Matthew manage the transfer," Philip said, not giving Matthew what he wanted but giving him enough to keep him content, keeping to old bargains by a hairsbreadth.

"You leave me with nothing?" Juliane asked him.

"I leave you with two good hands. Grab what you may hold," Philip answered.

"He has no name!" she said.

"My name is as good as yours, lady," Ulrich said. "Better, in fact, for I now have St. Ives and you have naught."

"You do not have St. Ives without me," she said.

"You ask me to take you, then? To make you mine? To put my name and my touch upon you?" he demanded, taunting her.

"Nay, I said nothing like," she said. "'Tis only that, even now and in all this negotiation, all springs from me. You are nothing, have nothing, without me."

"Is this true?" Ulrich asked Philip. "Without Juliane there is no St. Ives?"

"It is true. To get St. Ives you must take her to wife," Philip said, seeing clearly where this led and knowing it was the only way.

"Then to get St. Ives, which I want beyond all reasoning, I will take her," Ulrich said, smiling like a panting wolf.

"St. Ives was my sister's portion. It should return to me if there is no fruit from your union," Conor said. 'Twas a fair request.

Ulrich paused and looked down at the floor. He sighed and, looking up, said, "That I cannot do."

"Why 'cannot'? 'Tis a simple request," Conor said.

"Because I have a son of my loins and of my blood," Ulrich said. "St. Ives is for him."

* * *

"You will not satisfy your loins here. Juliane is given to Ulrich," Edward said.

Nicholas did not look up from the sharpening of his long sword. 'Twas a well-wrought sword with a smooth grip that spoke of frequent use. The scabbard was well-oiled leather, black and tooled in a scrolling pattern. The haft of the sword was set with an onyx eye that did not blink but, black and bottomless, saw all.

"Juliane may be given, but the giving may not take. Is that not the very fiber of her legend?" Nicholas said.

"It will take this time," Roger said.

They stood above Nicholas as he sat, these friends of Ulrich, trying to push him from Stanora. There was only one reason to want him to leave: They were afraid for him to stay. Whatever Juliane's fate, it was not yet set in stone. Only the bedding would see that done.

"Am I unwelcome here at the marriage feast?" Nicholas asked, looking up from his sword, his dark eyes taking their measure and marking the breadth of their courtesy.

"Nay, not unwelcome," Roger said. "'Tis only that you should know what befalls here and not set your eyes upon what is now beyond your grasp."

"'Tis for her father to say what is in or out of my grasp," Nicholas said. "I am here at the invitation of Conor, uncle to Juliane. I am no wanderer."

"Then be welcome in Stanora, as we have been made welcome," Edward said. "Only know, as we know, that there is no place for you or for us here. We are all wanderers who wander past Stanora's gate."

"I am no wanderer," Nicholas said again.

"Even Conor has no place here," Edward said. "He has only the place which he has been allowed by blood ties. Beyond that—"

"There is nothing more needed than a blood tie. Those ties do not die. Conor, and Conor's kin, will always be welcome in Stanora," Nicholas said.

"Are you kin to Conor?" Roger said. "There can be no match to Juliane if your blood runs with Conor's name upon it."

"I am no kin to Conor, nor to Juliane," Nicholas said. "I am a guest here only, as are you. I seek nothing here beyond the measure of hospitality due all travelers."

"And a bride?" Roger asked with a half smile.

Nicholas smiled slightly in return, easing the moment. "Are not all men in search of a bride?"

* * *

"Did he come here in search of a bride?" Marguerite asked.

Maud shrugged. "Who can say? He has one now, though, by the grace of God and the bounty of Philip."

"But will it last?" Marguerite asked.

"Will it last? The question is, will she marry him at all?" Christine said, twirling a long strand of her soft brown hair.

"She will do as she is commanded by her father," Maud said. "As do we all. Let no one say that Juliane is not a proper daughter. She serves her father well."

"Serves him well in what?" Christine asked. "Her life is spent in spurning suitors. What service in that?"

"Have you heard Lord Philip complain?" Maud asked. When general silence greeted her question, she said, "Then there is your answer. Her father is most pleased with her, and will continue to be pleased by her for however many hours God grants him life upon this earth."