Claudia Dain (9 page)

Edward kept himself aloof from ladies, knowing he had no hope of winning one to wife without land or place or name beyond the city where he was born. He did not allow himself to want that which he could not have except by God's miraculous grace. Yet what man could control his every thought? Some stray desires crept through the best defenses, even of a man as careful as Edward.

"The sister Avice, of course," Roger said. "She is more like her sister than first appears, by the way. There is more bite to her than purring. At least with Edward."

"Avice?" Ulrich said, brows raised.

Roger of Lincoln as the oldest of them had been the longest in the world and knew its harsh ways and careless indifference, yet he was the most good-natured and joyous of them all. A man who smiled at snow and laughed at storm. Ulrich saw him rarely, as they served their king in differing lands and battles. For all Roger's laughter, he lived a solitary life, yet found no cause to complain of it.

"I think she is pretty," William said from his spot by the door.

"Do you?" asked Ulrich, turning to his squire.

"Her eyes are very blue," William said in explanation.

"They share the same eyes, those two," Ulrich said. "I saw it when I saw her. The same chill blue surrounded by the darker band."

"Very chill," said Edward in an undertone.

"Then warm her, if you will," said Ulrich. "Or do not. Since no net of wager has been cast around
you,
you are not constrained to act in any way but that which meets your will."

"Is this fear I hear?" Roger said, sitting up and grinning. "Do not say I will lose my wager. I need all the kisses and cloaks that may fall into my hand."

"What falls into your hand is the province of your own will, brother. I cannot meet all your needs; you must sometimes, in some ways, meet your own."

"If I must," Roger said, shrugging lightly. "If you must fail me, then I must."

"Leave off," Edward said. "He will not fail, either you or himself. How can he? Is he not Ulrich?"

"And has the lady not already christened me Ulrich of the Sweet Mouth?" Ulrich said, leaning against the wall next to William.

Roger laughed and said, "Has she? Then the game is almost won. By the saint who protects me, how this will soar your name to the ends of Aquitaine. This is quick even for you, brother."

Ulrich smiled and said nothing. Quick? Nay, it would not be quick. Not with her. But it would be done, and he would find much joy in the doing, for this was a woman who could see to her own defenses. He need not wear gloves of gentleness with her. Nay, not with her.

* * *

The meal was ready. The hall was half shadow, half light in the hour before Vespers. Dark was hours away yet, but the sun was low on the horizon and the light it sent forth was long and low, skimming the treetops, gilding the hills, turning the stones of Stanora to molten gold. Lighting the Lady of Frost to sparkling ice and frozen fire.

All were within the bustle of the hall, all finding a place at the tables spread out around the central fire; squires, kitchen serfs, men-at-arms, serving girls, gentlefolk, all finding a place, be it at work or at rest, in the vast hall. All except Juliane. She stood in the doorway that housed the stone stair, her hawk upon her red-gloved hand, watching them all. Waiting. Smiling.

She saw him and did nothing. She did not blush. She did not turn. She did not hide her face or drop her eyes or seek the company of the other women of her house.

Nay, such acts were not in her.

She watched him watch her, and she smiled a cold, hard smile. Predatory, he might have said, if such a thing were said of a woman. Perhaps it was the merlin upon her wrist which made him think it.

But it was not.

She watched him, taking his look as easily into herself as sand takes the sword, and with as little effect.

This was what she did to men; he understood it now. She took all that a man was and did not shy or turn away or behave in any way that a man expected of a woman, and so the men were turned upon themselves and awkward shy with her, losing all the heat and passion and power that a man brought to a woman who was knitted together in the proper way of things. A submissive woman. An obedient woman. A woman under a man's will and hand.

This woman was under no man's hand.

This woman taunted them all.

Yet in her strength, he rested easily. In her strength, he could relax and find his way with her as he would. By her very weapon, he would defeat her, taking her down as softly as he could. Yet she would fall.

Ulrich smiled and kept watching her, wanting her to see him smile. Wanting her to know that his fire was not dimmed, that his power had not turned, that he was not cold with dread of her. He rather liked the icy fire of her, this Juliane who turned hard men soft with a look, a word, a touch. Let her look, let her speak, let her touch; he would not be turned. He would not fall soft. Her strength fed him.

"She looks for you, brother," Roger said quietly.

They walked through the hall, past the tables set and steaming with food. He had been invited to sit at the high table as an honored guest, though Ulrich could not think why. He was a simple knight, owning nothing to give him worth in the eyes of the lord of Stanora; a place with the men-at-arms would have better suited his station. Yet who would complain of the honor of the high table? Not even he, though he did wonder at it.

"And she has found me," Ulrich said, smiling at her again before he looked away. He could look away from her. Let her know that and ponder it.

"By the saints, she is a beauty," Roger whispered. "How can you turn from her? 'Twould be like turning from a treasure chest heaped and gleaming with gold and jewels."

"This jewel cannot be mine," Ulrich said. "How else but to turn away? Yet I will show her that I am the man who will remain a man with her. Let her see that and wonder if her power fades."

But he could feel her pull, despite the noise, the smoke, the smells, the bodies twisting in the twitching light of setting sun and fire and candle. He could feel her. He had never known such desire. It pulled at him like the surf, dragging him out of himself and under, to be lost.

Yet he must not be lost and he must not lose. There was too much loss in losing for Ulrich of Caen. He could not lose one thing more.

Edward and Roger sat quickly at a table, William at their backs, ready to do service. Ulrich made his slow way to the high table, sure to be there before Juliane began her march across the long length of the hall.

And so it was.

"She comes," Edward said as William lifted the wine for pouring.

Across the floor she came, like a queen, like a goddess from far-off ancient Rome, that fabled empire of dreams and swords. Her merlin sat easy on her arm, its black and staring eyes searching the hall for prey and finding none, yet searching all the same. As did Juliane. But she had found her prey in Ulrich, or so she thought, if he could read the look behind her eyes.

He read her well enough.

She was wearing gold. Her bliaut was of honeyed white and her pelisse was gleaming goldenrod. She shimmered. Her hair hung down in feathered whispers that caressed her breasts and curved around her back to lie in tatters on her hips. Upon her hips lay a girdle of golden circlets lit with lapis lazuli. Upon her breast was a brooch of silver chased with amber and topaz and shaped like a bird in flight.

It suited her.

She suited him.

Ulrich shook the words from him. She would suit any man who saw her, such was the power of her sensual beauty. Yet when the man drew close, her talons would strike, bleeding from him all that he prized in himself. All power, all heat, all control.

Still, she suited him.

Still, he would master her.

"Come, Juliane," Lord Philip called, his hand outstretched in welcome. "Your place is at my side."

And next to Ulrich. Ulrich looked at the lord of Stanora, who whispered loudly, "I only mean to help you, boy, to win your wager."

Juliane sat down, the merlin set between them. The hawk turned cold eyes upon Ulrich and considered him; Ulrich returned the look.

"A wager? About me?" she asked, looking at her father first and then at Ulrich. "What a first for me. Who shall win, do you think?" she asked sweetly, her talons gleaming as boldly as her jewels.

"I shall win," Ulrich said, staring into her pale blue eyes.

"You sound very sure," she said.

"I am very sure," he said in his turn.

Father Matthew rose to offer the blessing on the meal, ending their battle for the moment. If his prayer seemed overlong, there was none there who would remark upon it. Perhaps because it seemed the quiet before the battle trumpets.

The prayer of thanks and supplication ended. The battle began.

She took a delicate bite of fish and followed it with a twist of bread and a swallow of wine. He watched her eat.

She was thorough, dainty, methodical. If she was hungry, her manner did not show it.

"If you think that by watching me you will understand me, you have taken a wrong turning in your reasoning, my lord," she said, looking full at her plate and with no glance for him. "Other men have tried that course and failed."

"All men have failed with you, Juliane," he said.

"Yea, they have," she said, glancing at him as she dipped her bread in fish sauce.

"And so will I?" he asked with a half grin.

She laughed softly and said in mock seriousness, "Have you read that in my eyes, my lord? Let me give you something better and surer: the words of my mouth. Yea, you will fail with me. I will not fall to you."

Ulrich laughed with her and said, "And I, sweet Juliane, will not fall to you."

"Will you wager on it?" she said. "Oh, I have forgot. You already have."

"There is too much talk of wagers in this hall," he said. "I would not waste such talk on you, lady. Let us do more with our time than talk of wagers and of falling. Shall we not rise up together, at least in the speaking of it? That is more to my liking."

"What is to your liking does not interest me, my lord," she said, giving her full attention once more to her plate. "Rising and falling, those are the concerns of a man. I am a woman. My interests take a different course."

"Let me run that course with you and you will find that rising and falling will be a part of all."

"Are you so sure?" she asked.

He noted that she still avoided his gaze. She was keeping to herself what she could, her eyes and the thoughts behind them. A woman's game she played, after all.

"I would not injure you with a careless word, my lady, I would only remind you that you are a woman of compelling beauty. Nay, more than beauty. Fire. Heat. Passion burning low and dim, but burning still. You glow, Lady Juliane, you glow, and my eyes burn with desire at the sight of you."

"Then turn your eyes, my lord of legend; I would not burn you for the world," she said simply, unmoved, eating her fish with precise bites.

Philip sighed into his wine and looked at Ulrich over his cup in disappointment.

"What course would you have me run, lady? Command me," he said.

"I do not want you, my lord, neither your service nor yourself," she said. "I have all the devotion I can suffer."

He was failing. He could feel it, though he had never felt the like before this moment. She was beyond the reach of his words. Of his charm and his seduction, his ribaldry, his play, his look, his manner, his very self; she was beyond his grasp. The hardness of his cock, which rose and stood whene'er he looked or even thought upon her, failed him. He sank. He fell.

How was it so? He could not fail, not from mere rejection. Yet when had he ever been so boldly and so publicly rejected?

Hard, hot anger rose in him that she dared defeat him with dismissal.

"Shall I tell you what the wager was and is?" he asked, turning upon the bench to face her as best he could. Their knees bumped and pressed. He did not pull back from her.

If he bruised her, let her wear that mark of Ulrich upon her, if no other. "There are two. One is that I will stand before your chill, lady. The wager is that I will not fall. No harm to you, no seduction of your body, no ripping of your maidenhead, no blood, no wounds, unless they be upon your cold and stony heart."

The hall had gone still.

"The second wager was struck just after None. Your sister and your fosterlings and my brother knights, albeit against their own counsel, wagered that I would tender a kiss upon your tender throat. That is all. A kiss. A single kiss."

Juliane had stopped eating. She sat looking at her food, her head bowed, the merlin upon the edge of the table fluttering in agitation. Her pulse was racing in her throat, a sign of emotion in a taut, still neck. Her skin was the color of ripening wheat, her hair a tangled web of golden strands that sheathed her neck and breast with all the comfort of a cloak. That pulse, it rushed, it pumped, pressing against her skin, calling to him of blood and heat and life, of passion's very heart. Calling to him, beating for him, pulsing, pressing, calling, calling.