His Fair Lady (19 page)

In truth, over the past days, he’d felt
increasingly anxious to get on with his purpose for returning from
the East — to claim the estate awarded him by the Lionheart. ‘Twas
an agreeable property in Kent, King Richard had assured, Birkwell
by name, well situated and with prime potential.

As Royce understood it, Birkwell was one of
the adulterine castles, slighted when Richard’s father had assumed
the throne and sought to break the power of England’s unruly barons
who’d built without license. Even when it became a royal holding,
Birkwell had been, and continued to be, overseen by the neighboring
bishopric, responsible for collecting the rents and taxes,
contributing a portion of the profits to the church for its
stewardship, and applying the remainder to the upkeep and
improvement of the land and castle buildings.

Over the last years, Royce had received
reports from Richard’s royal accountants, confirming this to have
been done in his behalf. He’d received no reports, however, since
the Lionheart’s death and John’s ascendancy. ‘Twas what had
prompted his return.

Had he been wrong to remain in
Outremer
? Royce wondered. Any other
knight would have ridden home apace to claim his new lands. But
trusting the king’s word that an able steward would oversee
Birkwell, he elected to remain longer in the East. He hadn’t
intended to stay as long as he had, but there had been so many
needs amongst the people there. So many still. . . .

Whether he’d been right or wrong in his
choices, Royce knew he must ride for Birkwell as soon as possible
and assess the estate’s condition. Already the days pressed toward
November. Winter would soon be upon them.

“Who goes there?” the watchman shouted from
the gate, signaling Royce to stop.

“Sir Royce de Warrene on business of his
majesty, King John,” he called back, reining Hannibal to a halt. “I
bring with me Lady Juliana Mandeville.”

The watchman strode forward, his spear
gripped firmly in hand. “Have you papers?” he asked brusquely, his
gaze moving to the fading bruise on Royce’s face, then to the scab
above his brow.

“Aye.” Royce withdrew the parchments from
his surcoat and handed them over. “I seek Lady Juliana’s
grandfather, Lord Gilbert Osborne of Penhurst. Do you know if he is
here at Wallingford?”

The guard’s eyes shifted to the maid,
skimming her closely — too closely for Royce’s liking — before
returning his gaze to him. “Nay, I know naught of your lord but the
Constable will.” Returning Royce’s papers he waved them through.
“You may pass.”

Juliana remained silent, her grip tightening
about Royce once more as they passed beneath the gate’s archway and
iron-clad portcullis. Entering a short tunnel, light spilled down
on them from murder holes overhead and streamed through arrow slits
piercing the walls on either side. Ahead, Royce spied another gate,
positioned to slide into place, making the tunnel a death trap for
any who dared to come with malice in mind or against the king’s
will.

Emerging from the jaws of the gatehouse,
they traversed a second bridge, suspended over a second moat, this
one with swans gliding over its watery surface. The sight seemed to
delight Juliana, for she eased her hold on him long enough to point
them out, saying something he did not quite catch. At the next
gate, Royce again presented his papers and again endured the
guard’s scrutiny of his face before being motioned through.

Next they came upon the castle’s lower ward,
filled with workshops and abuzz with people. Hammers clanged on
steel and on iron as armorers and smiths worked at their crafts.
Carpenters axed and sawed their wood, wheelwrights pounded metal
stripping onto wheels, the castle crier bellowed some message lost
in the din, while a clutch of men argued loudly over a vat of
crimson dye. Throughout the ward, the smells of livestock, smoke,
and the caustic concoctions used by the craftsmen choked the
air.

At the third and last gate, Royce identified
himself and Juliana once more and asked to be led to the
Constable.

“Constable Howarth is just over there, the
man in the fur-collared cloak.” The guard gestured with his spear
to a figure in the inner ward, not two hundred paces away. His gaze
returned to Royce, skimming over the side of his face and to his
brow.

Royce’s patience eroded. At least he didn’t
have to admit to these soldiers ‘twas the sweet-looking maid
perched behind him who’d dealt him such damage. Hopefully, he’d
finish healing in the coming days, though by then, he’d be far from
this place. With luck, no one would press him for explanations in
the meantime.

Setting his heels to Hannibal’s flanks,
Royce urged his steed forward and entered the core of the castle.
There the royal keep rose before them, an immense, square tower
dominating the inner ward. Again they discovered a great bustle of
activity, though the personages here appeared to be of a more noble
stamp and the air proved sweeter.

Dismounting, Royce lifted Juliana to the
ground beside him. After retrieving his saddle pouches, he gave
Hannibal over to one of the young grooms, who conducted him toward
the stables on the east side of the ward. Royce slipped a glance to
the maid, who appeared somewhat overwhelmed by their surroundings.
To her credit, she remained outwardly composed. Still he noted how
she clutched her mantle close about her as though it might provide
some security.

Lifting his hand lightly to the small of her
back, Royce ushered Juliana toward the man who’d been identified to
them as Wallingford’s Constable. They stood waiting several minutes
as he finished instructions to one of the squires, then, at last,
took note of them.

“Good sir, good lady, forgive me. I did not
see you standing there. Might I be of help?”

“Hopefully so. I am Sir Royce de Warrene and
this is—”

“Sir Royce! Her majesty the queen bid me
watch for your coming. Welcome to Wallingford. ‘Tis an honor to
meet you. I have heard of your bravery in the East — Acre and
Ascalon,” he enthused, reaching out a meaty hand and clasping
Royce’s. “I am Constable Howarth.”

“Constable.” Royce acknowledged the man as
he freed his fingers, aware of the maid’s eyes widening over him at
the man’s effusive greeting. “May I present Lady Juliana
Mandeville. We are in hopes of finding her grandfather, Lord
Gilbert Osborne, here.”

“Lord Gilbert? Aye, exactly so. He resides
in the northwest tower I believe. I will find out precisely.
Meanwhile, you will wish lodgings and a chance to wash and
change.”

Juliana, who’d remained docile for the whole
of their journey from Dover, suddenly came alive and turned toward
Royce, stepping before him. “Is there need, Sir Knight? Surely,
once Lord Gilbert verifies my identity — leastwise, who I am not —
we shall depart and be on our way back to the coast. The day is not
so very late after all.”

Royce steeled himself, her words like a burr
beneath his skin. Had he mistaken the maid’s silence for acceptance
of her lot? He loathed to think what Juliana’s reaction would be
once she realized she was indeed the lost heiress and destined to
remain on England’s shores. Likely, she’d resort to her wiles and
deceits again — lying, stealing, and taking every opportunity to
flee. He need warn the enfeebled Lord Gilbert to be on guard. No
telling what mischief she might cause, even in such a place as
Wallingford.

Royce leveled her his sternest look. “You
will wash and change and make yourself presentable for Lord
Gilbert. Must I remind you, he has waited years for this moment — a
full decade to be exact. You will not spoil it, no matter whom he
decides you to be,” he warned tersely.

Juliana pressed her lips together,
fire flashing in her eyes as she glared back at him. “Then let us
be done with it for my betrothed awaits me across
La Manche
, and my foster parents are
surely sick with worry.”

Royce ground his teeth. He did not wish to
hear another word of her “betrothed,” though he did sympathize with
Georges and Marie.

“I agree, let us be done with it,” he said
between his teeth, the wound on his arm beginning to itch as his
temper rose.

Had the maid a grain of appreciation for
Lord Gilbert’s plight, for his loss and for all he’d done to find
her over these many long years? The maid would have to accept facts
sooner or later. He only hoped she didn’t break the old man’s heart
while stubbornly resisting what Royce already knew to be true. She
was Juliana Mandeville and would not be returning to Chinon.

“Doubtless Constable Howarth will lodge you
in the ladies’ chambers in the keep.” He slipped a glance to the
man and found him nodding, his eyes rounded wide over the two.
Royce returned his attention to the maid. “I will seek you there in
one hour’s time. Prepare yourself to be presented to Lord Gilbert.
And if you have forgotten your own observations, escape is not
possible from Wallingford. ‘Twould be unwise even to consider it.
There is an entire garrison and all the castle folk to call upon to
find you if need be.”

“Escape, Sir Knight?” Juliana stiffened and
tipped up her chin. “Surely you jest. I have no need to attempt it
when in an hour’s time they will be open to me when Lord Gilbert
sends me on my way.”

“An hour’s time then,” Royce growled. “Be
ready. We will see whether you leave or stay.” He turned to the
constable and gave over the leather pouch containing the maid’s
clothes. “If you will point me to where the king’s ministers
convene, there is a matter I must see to. I will seek you again,
forthwith.”

Constable Howarth appeared momentarily
flustered by the couple’s heated exchange. But after apprising
Royce that he would find the court officials in the south tower, he
bid the maid follow him.

Plucking up her skirts, Juliana tossed Royce
a stinging look, then turned on her heel. With head held high and
defiance starching her spine, she trailed Constable Howarth to a
flight of stairs at the side of the keep.

Royce heaved a sigh. He’d been right.
‘Twould be good to be done with this particular quest and attend to
matters concerning his future. ‘Twould also be beneficial to his
temperament, which had remained ragged since first encountering the
maid. He need only survive the coming hour, when he would
relinquish her to her grandfather’s keeping. Juliana would then be
another man’s concern.

After checking on Hannibal, Royce went in
search of the king’s ministers to request an audience concerning
the Lionheart’s grant and the conferment of Birkwell. That done, he
verified Lord Gilbert’s whereabouts, as well as Juliana’s, and took
up quarters for himself. An hour later, having washed and changed
from his mail hauberk, he arrived at the chamber set aside for the
noble maidens of Wallingford and knocked soundly on the door.

Duty had been served, honor preserved, his
wrong righted, Royce told himself, straightening his tunic. After
delivering Juliana, he would seek the document and license required
for Birkwell, find his pallet early, and depart at first light.
‘Twas a sound, orderly plan.

The door drew open revealing a needle-thin
woman, one of the ladies’ maids by her garments. She eyed him
closely, but before he could speak, a patch of color across the
room caught his eye, a beautiful rose-pink that he well remembered.
As his gaze drew toward it, he found Juliana standing profiled
against a window as she gazed out on the courtyard below. She wore
one of the gowns he’d had specially made for her, its rose-petal
color the most flattering of all the gowns to her pale beauty.

As she sensed his presence and looked toward
him, Royce’s throat went dry. God help him, she looked part angel
and part temptress — all sweetness and purity on the one hand, and
on the other, the very embodiment of a man’s most secret,
passionate fantasy. At least his.

The admittance surprised Royce. He realized
now he’d been holding the feeling in check, suppressing his
attraction.

Royce’s anticipation to be rid of the maid
suddenly diminished. He should savor these last moments with
Juliana, he told himself. True, she’d been a thorn in his side all
the way from Chinon, but she would always hold a special place in
his heart — especially the memory of the child she once had
been.

Royce cleared his throat. “Are you ready, my
lady?”

For a moment Juliana hesitated, lifting her
hand to the silver cross that lay over her heart, as ever she was
wont to do. Unknowingly, Juliana kept a part of him with her as
well, Royce mused. To his surprise, he found that pleased him.

As Juliana joined him at the portal, Royce
offered her his arm. When she looked uncertain of what to do, he
took her hand and placed it upon his forearm, leaving his own hand
covering hers as he escorted her from the room. They made their way
along the corridor and down the winding stairs and passed long
minutes later onto the castle grounds and proceeded wordlessly
toward the northwest tower.

Royce did not miss the keen interest Juliana
drew — the looks cast her way, or how the men paused in their
various tasks and halted in their tracks. ‘Twas to be expected.
Juliana was exquisite. If only her admirers knew the full extent of
the maid’s capabilities, they might seek to flee rather than gawk.
His injuries were proof of that.

Who was he fooling? Royce chided himself.
‘Twould be no difficult matter to find the maid a husband even if
she remained nettlesome and unpolished. What man would not wish to
climb into her bed?

Without thought, Royce tightened his hand on
Juliana’s.

»«

Feeling the strengthening pressure of the
knight’s fingers upon her hand, Ana lifted her eyes to his. Was he
conveying reassurance or protectiveness in that touch? Or was it
only a reflex, made for no reason at all? She could not tell.