Claudia Dain (31 page)

In truth, she had never battled so hard and won so little ground against a man. A shiver of fear slid over her skin, fear that he might be right, that there might be no escape from him, that he might take possession of her body and her lands, and that she would be helpless, tethered to his wrist like a hooded hawk for the rest of her days. And worse, that she would lose herself in him, losing all of Juliane in the hot nest of Ulrich's groin.

"You cannot make me what I am not," she said, hoping it was true, wanting to convince herself.

"I cannot, that is true," he said, raising her hand to his mouth for a light kiss. The tingle on the skin of her hand from the touch of his mouth was a light burning. She ignored it. "Yet I can call forth from you what is within. And that I will do."

That was exactly what she was afraid of.

"Now," he said, "drink, for this is our wedding feast, a time for celebration."

"I could argue that," she said, rubbing her hand where he had touched her, rubbing the feel of him from her.

"I know you could," he said, smiling lightly, "yet you will not."

"Do not think you know me."

"I know enough of you to know that you would not disgrace your father by ill manners and ill frowns. This battle is between us, lady. Let this company not partake of it. Whate'er passes between us here will find its way to your father's ears. 'Tis not good discourse for a man on his way to heaven."

It was most difficult to admit that he was right. And so she would not; she would only put a false smile upon her lips and cease her tussling with him. It would, of a truth, serve no purpose here. Let their battles be for later, when it counted.

"Mutton?" she asked, indicating the tray before them.

"Another name for me, lady?" he teased. "Nay, I would prefer more wine. Share my cup. Let us drink fully, for 'tis fine wine."

"You would have me drunk? Is that your method?" she asked before taking a healthy swallow of wine. It was good, smooth and dark and sweet.

"I use what methods are available to me, as does any good warrior."

"Then battle on, Lord Mutton. I will match you," she said, grinning.

"Then match for match, swallow for swallow, Lady Frost. Something must melt you, if I cannot," he said, laughing at her as he spoke.

"You cannot, nor can the wine."

It was only later, when she had swallowed much more wine, that she wondered if he had complimented her ability to resist him only to get her to drink more. But that thought, like all the others that swirled in her head, was lost almost before it was formed.

She rather suspected that she was drunk.

Not that that would help him.

Ulrich looked rather hazy, warm, and glowing. His skin was of a fine texture, smooth but for the shadow of his beard. His cheekbones were finely chiseled, as was his nose, straight and fine. He had a scar upon his forehead that only showed itself when his dark brown hair was pushed back, as it was now. He sat grinning at her, his smile wolfish, his hand upon his brow and his fingers lost in his hairline. Was his hair soft? It looked so. Soft and dark and deep, like untroubled sleep.

Errant thought. Everything about this man was troubled. And he was not soft, no matter how often he smiled. That had misled her at first, but now she knew him better. He was all hard purpose and hard doing. Only his eyes were soft. Soft blue, like summer, like a sunlit winter day, like still water, like December ice.

What?

Ice and summer? That did not mix.

She
was
drunk.

She took another swallow and smiled at him. She might be drunk, but he would not win. Whatever it was he was trying to win.

She seemed to have forgotten.

He took a swallow, his throat moving sensuously as the liquid slid down into him, dark and red and sweet. He wiped a drop from his lip with the pad of his thumb. He had done that to her not long ago. A strange sensation. She ought to have been repulsed.

She had not been repulsed.

She had been... interested.

"I match you, lady wife," he said. "Swallow for swallow, was it not decided? What shall I win if I win at this contest?"

"You have won me," she said. "Is that not enough for you?"

"Have I won you? I thought that was in dispute."

"It is," she said, nodding. Her head felt very loose upon her neck, pleasantly heavy. "Yet I had not thought it in you to challenge a lady to a drinking contest. It does not seem very rich in courtly valor to me."

"A strong opponent requires strong methods."

"The wine
is
strong."

"And sweet," he said, taking another swallow. "I have outdone you, Juliane. You are beaten by a swallow."

"I am not," she said, taking the cup from him with two hands, it was oddly heavy and awkward to her hands. She took a full mouthful and swished it in her mouth before swallowing. "There, you are defeated yet again."

"Until the next swallow," he said.

Was he closer of a sudden? It seemed so. Close and hot and smelling sweet. Nay, that was the wine, not this errant knight come clambering into her bed.

Nay, not her bed. Not yet. Not ever.

He would not have that of her, no matter the sweetness of his mouth.

Nay, nay, 'twas the wine that was sweet, not his mouth. Never his mouth.

"May I take your mouth in mine? I would test such sweetness for myself," he said.

What was this of sweet mouths? Had she said his mouth was sweet? There was too much of wine in her and not enough of discretion.

"Nay," she said, pulling herself up straight. She seemed to have been leaning heavily upon the table. "No kissing. This is all of drinking, and I mean to win, Ulrich. And no cheating on your part. I know how you play at games. If cheating will serve to win, then cheating you will do."

"I think you speak of yourself, lady wife," he said, taking another heavy swallow. When had a man's throat offered her such fascination? She could see his pulse pounding softly beneath the skin, could almost feel the heat of him rising out and grabbing her, pulling her into him, demanding that she kiss him there.

She bumped her head into something. 'Twas his shoulder. Pushing herself off, she said, "Forgive me. I lost my balance."

"Lean upon me at any time," he said, brushing a finger over her hair. It seemed strangely disordered. Perhaps he had done that, fussing with her as he was. "I believe you owe me another swallow. Unless you wish to cry off?"

"I will never cry off, and never to you," she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She could do that herself. She took another swallow and quickly followed it with a chunk of bread. A bit of bread would settle her eyes and bring all back into clarity.

She was becoming too easy in his company, and the pulsebeat in his throat was raw distraction.

He was doing that on purpose, she just knew it. It was only that she did not know how.

* * *

"He has managed to get her to drink herself into submission, though I cannot say I understand how he did it," Conor said in an undertone to Nicholas, who sat quietly by his side at this table of forced merriment.

Was there anyone in Stanora who wanted this marriage between Juliane and Ulrich? Aye, there was Philip, ever obstinate, ever contrary. But Philip was one foot into heaven. When he was fully there, it might be arranged for Walter to change his stand on the matter of Juliane and Ulrich.

But then it would be too late. Juliane would have been breached, her lands transferred to the church, and Ulrich in hard possession of St. Ives. It was too late now, but for the consummation.

All rested upon that.

Could Ulrich take her?

There should have been no doubt of it, except that it had been tried before unsuccessfully. Watching her now, soft with wine and swaying toward Ulrich, Conor thought that there was scant chance of failure. She would fall to Ulrich like a plum from a high branch.

Unless she fell to someone else first.

"He challenged her," Nicholas said softly, watching the couple at the high table, his dark eyes smoldering.

"He challenged her? That was not nobly done."

"But effective," Nicholas said with a crooked smile.

"You give her up too easily," Conor said, feeling his way with this man, like a spider crawling along a web, searching for breaks in the weaving with gentle legs.

"I never had her. What did I give up?" Nicholas said, turning his black eyes from Juliane to Conor. He did ever seem to watch Juliane. Perhaps that fire still smoldered after all, no matter his negligent ease in watching Juliane slip from his reaching hands.

"Neither does he have her. Not yet."

"The contracts are all but signed. Philip has made his will clear. 'Twas not my name he fastened upon hers."

"That could change."

"How? Did you not tell me that Stamford is lost to her? That her only chance of wealth is to take Ulrich and St. Ives? This game is done."

"If he does not breach her, all is off. The marriage undone."

Nicholas chuckled and looked again at the high table. Juliane was watching Ulrich speak, her eyes upon his mouth, her own mouth opened and her skin flushed red.

"He looks ready to breach her now, if he followed his wants. And hers. She will not stop him. He will not fall, not when she is so willing to fall before him," Nicholas said.

Conor considered Nicholas. He did not know him well, though they understood each other in part. How far Nicholas was prepared to go to achieve his ends, that he did not know. Yet the time for caution was running out. The contracts
were
all but signed, and Juliane
did
look too ready to tumble into Ulrich's bed. It was act now or not at all, and Conor was not a man to turn from action, especially in regard to Philip.

"Not if she falls to you first," Conor said, his mouth hidden behind his cup.

Nicholas turned hard to look at him, his eyes black with tumbling shadows of consideration and doubt.

"You suggest that I steal her from under her husband's very eyes?"

"He is not her husband yet. Whoever takes her first takes her last. Contracts can be rewritten."

"This is not the way of honor," Nicholas said stiffly, holding Conor's gaze within his own.

"This has been done before. Time and again."

"That is no answer."

"Then what of this answer?" Conor said, his tone biting. "How do you think Philip came by my sister?"

The words fell from a height of surprise into sudden and thoughtful silence.

"He took her?" Nicholas said.

"He took her, his sister Maud aiding him most well with Emmelia, and then he was given her, and the riches of Stamford and St. Ives. I wanted St. Ives back and Stamford entrusted to the proper family."

"Away from Philip," Nicholas said, finishing the thought. "Yet Philip is dying. All now is loosed from his grasp."

"Yet not from his will. 'Tis his will in dispensing what he took by force that I fight now. Will you do what he has done and, by this equal measure, right things?"

"He has done me no wrong."

"Then you do not want Juliane?" Conor said, knowing the answer.

Nicholas turned again to look upon her. She glowed gold and white in the afternoon light in her bliaut of honeyed white and her snowy pelisse, a maid to make a man want and keep wanting, a maid to turn a man's thoughts from all but her. So it was for Nicholas. All men wanted Juliane. Yet only one man could have her. She wore a large brooch of polished silver shaped like a bird in flight and adorned with warm amber and glimmering topaz; it suited her and seemed to speak to him. She was a bird about to be snared by another man, and Nicholas's hand was so close, so very close, to closing on her himself.

"Nay, I want her," Nicholas said in a hoarse undertone. "But what of Walter? Will he so quickly turn from his father's will and wish?"

"He will. He only wants Juliane settled into marriage. Does it matter the man?"

"What of St. Ives and of Stamford? Stamford is given, and St. Ives as well. What do I gain beyond Juliane in this taking?"

"Stamford is for the church and I will not fight that; that gift goes freely for good cause. But St. Ives I will not give so easily. St. Ives must return to me and mine. I will not see it go to this nameless knight with a legend for seduction. He fell well when he fell into Stanora and the legend of Juliane, yet this tale is not all told. Ulrich can fall out of fortune's path as easily as he fell into it. I will see him set upon another path, one of my devising, and then—"

"St. Ives falls free?" Nicholas asked, finishing the thought writ large within Conor's heart. "But only as far as my hand," he said, decided
.
"I
want St. Ives. I will take Juliane."

"Done, if you but swear fealty to me. Take her and it is yours."

"Agreed. Yet what of Ulrich? How will you keep him from her?"

"I will take care of Ulrich," Conor said, his blue eyes scanning the hall. "He has a son he must protect, does he not?"