His Fair Lady (41 page)

Sir Royce tensed visibly at the man’s words
while Juliana fought back a sudden light-headedness. She’d not
expected this moment to come so swiftly. Indeed, she’d hoped the
king would not require the knight’s decision before tomorrow,
Christmas Eve, or possibly later still.

Leaving Luvena and Guy to see to their
lodgings and trunks, Juliana and Sir Royce followed the official up
several winding flights of stairs to the king’s private chambers.
Juliana’s heart pounded as much from the climb as from the
impending audience. There was no escaping her fate now, or delaying
it. Best to face it straight on and know what the future held.

The official led them to a handsomely
appointed room where tapestries, interspersed with antlers, covered
the walls. Approaching a second door, flanked by armed guards, the
official rapped several times then spoke with someone unseen on the
other side. Motioning Sir Royce and Juliana to follow, he ushered
them into the adjoining chamber.

Across the room, King John paced before a
table strewn with documents, drawing on the contents of his goblet.
Pausing long enough to replenish the drink from a pitcher, he
renewed his pacing, jutting his fiery head forward as he wrestled
some thought. As he caught sight of his visitors he turned and cast
a hard gaze over them. Instantly, Sir Royce bowed low and Juliana
dropped into a deep curtsy.

“Good! You are here. Rise, rise,” the king
commanded, his tone brusque, agitated.

Gesturing for those who attended him in the
chamber to leave, he seated himself on a chair before the
fireplace. He continued to study Sir Royce and Juliana closely, his
eyes shifting from one to the other. Apprehension slid along
Juliana’s spine. Was the sovereign always in such a cramped mood
when he was about to discuss the impending betrothals of his
nobles?

“Is the name Rennart de Friston familiar to
either of you?” he asked abruptly.

Royce exchanged glances with Juliana. “Nay,
Majesty. I’ve never heard the name.”

“Nor, I, Majesty,” Juliana added softly,
deeming the question odd.

The king dragged on his beard. “A knight,
calling himself by that name, arrived here at Guildford yesterday.
He holds a position of some import at the French Court as one of
King Philip’s ministers.” John pronounced his adversary’s name with
obvious distaste, then cleansed it from his tongue with a swallow
of wine.

“The documents Friston carries bear this
out,” the king continued. “But he makes another claim, one that is
most disturbing. He contends he is Lady Juliana’s cousin on her
mother’s side, through an aunt — Madeleine Soutere of Senlis.”

“That is not poss—” Juliana started to
object but the king raised his hand, staying her words.

“Friston brings a letter from the church of
Senlis, confirming the record of his baptism there as the son of
Madeleine and Geoffrey Soutere. The document appears authentic,
though the church’s seal is poorly made, its stamp somewhat
difficult to discern.”

King John rose and moved to stand before
Juliana, searching her eyes. “In short, Rennart de Friston claims
the right of guardianship to Penhurst’s lady and her estates, and
contests the awarding of that position to any other man.” John’s
gaze swung to the knight. “To point, you, Sir Royce. He argues the
English branch of the family did not approve of his parents’
marriage and that Lord Gilbert had refused to recognize the
couple’s offspring, though they were legitimately conceived — two
daughters and a son. Friston demands his rights as Lady Juliana’s
blood relation and vows to take the matter before the courts and
the Pope if he must.”

Juliana looked to Royce, alarm surging
through her.

“But that cannot be.” She returned her gaze
to the sovereign. “Lord Gilbert said my mother regularly visited
her aunts in Senlis and Chalon — one widowed, her children having
died in infancy, the other cloistered. ‘Twas why she and I traveled
to France with my father ten years past. While he set out on
Crusade, we repaired first to Senlis and were on our way to Chalon
when we stopped at Vaux. The family was not estranged from its
French relatives.”

John took up his pacing again. “The thought
of giving this man, Friston, guardianship of you, Lady Juliana, is
particularly loathsome to me. And though ‘twould please me to
intervene on your behalf, unless the baptismal documents can be
successfully challenged, there is little I can do.”

He stopped his pacing and faced them both.
“Mayhap, ‘tis best you meet the man.”

Juliana turned to Sir Royce, her heart
beating high in her throat, as the king spoke to the guards outside
the door. What cruel trick of fate was this, that this man should
materialize from seemingly nowhere and be allowed to take
possession of her and all that was Penhurst’s?

Her temples began to throb while a sickening
despair spread through her limbs. Juliana felt herself waver, but
Sir Royce caught her at once, steadying her as he held her near.
She lifted her eyes to his, finding concern sharpening their
steel-blue depths. Her lips parted at that look. Just as she
started to speak, a knock sounded at the door and one of the guards
appeared.

“Majesty, by your leave — Rennart de
Friston.”

As the guard stepped aside, a bullish man of
medium height and pitch-black hair entered in. His garments bespoke
of his high station — fur-lined velvets and a heavy gold chain and
medallion about his neck. Juliana’s gaze drew to the puckered scar
running along the left side of his face. It reached from hairline
to jaw, dividing his beard with an obvious part where the hair no
longer grew.

An icy cold swept through Juliana. As she
continued to look upon the ugly mar, her temples began to throb, a
knifelike pain stabbing her there. Unbidden, an image arose before
her mind’s eye — fire, dancing along the edge of a sword blade and
staining it red.

Friston bowed before the king, then rising,
he sought Juliana with his watery-blue eyes, so pale they appeared
nearly colorless. Her breath solidified in her chest as he held her
gaze, a smile unfurling across his lips, long and thin and
chill.

“Demoiselle
,
at last we meet. I confess, you are just as
maman
described. Somewhat older, of course, no
more the little stick she said you were. I am your cousin,
Rennart.”

Again he bowed, but as he straightened, he
cut his eyes up at Juliana in an eerily familiar way, jarring loose
some memory within her, some dark fragment from the past.

Juliana pressed against Sir Royce, trampling
upon his boots, an unholy fear seizing her. She sensed she knew the
Frenchman. Exactly how or why or when she encountered him she could
not say. But of one thing she held certain, they shared no common
blood between them.

“I realize my sudden appearance, even
my existence, must come as a shock to you,
demoiselle
.” A glitter appeared in his eyes as
he took a step toward her. “But then, I, too, was shocked to learn
you had returned from the dead. The news was slow in reaching my
ears at the French Court. I’d long thought you had perished at
Vaux.”

Sir Royce transferred Juliana from his
booted feet to a place directly behind him, then shielded her with
his body as he confronted the man. “I find it strange, Friston,
that you never assisted Lord Gilbert in all the years he searched
for his granddaughter.”

Again a shimmer appeared in the man’s pale
eyes. “He could have had my aid, had he wished it. On the other
hand, he was the only one who seriously believed the child yet
lived.” His watery-blue gaze fixed on Juliana. “I admit, I am most
grateful to learn I was mistaken.”

Pivoting, he turned to the
king.”Majesty, I have presented you my documents attesting I am
Lady Juliana’s sole living male relative, and thus her rightful
guardian. By law on both sides of
La
Manche
, I believe my rights of kinship supplant those
of anyone named as guardian in Lord Gilbert’s will.” His gaze
veered to Sir Royce. “If the document states the heiress possesses
no male relations such as myself, as I suspect it does, then it
invalidates itself by its own falsehoods.”

The king’s gaze drew to Sir Royce as well.
“Does the will assert there are no male relatives?”

“It does.” The knight nodded gravely,
causing Juliana’s heart to sink further.

Friston smiled his serpent’s smile.
“
Eh bien
. Unless any
objection can be made, and if I have your consent to assume
guardianship of my cousin, Majesty, I confess ‘tis urgent that I
return to the French Court. Lady Juliana and I need depart for
Paris at once.”

Sir Royce and King John each started to
protest, but Juliana’s voice rang out first.

“Nay, I’ll not go with you!”

“You have no say in this, cousin.” Friston
speared her with a wintry glare, turning her blood to ice.

“I may not, but my husband does,” she
countered boldly, notching up her chin, her pulse pounding.

“Husband?” King John and the Frenchman
blurted in unison.

Juliana quickly stepped before Sir Royce,
seizing both his arms. “Tell them, my love. Tell them how we were
secretly married at Penhurst. Tell them how you alone hold
governance over me, as my husband and Lord of Penhurst.” She
pleaded silently with her eyes, her fingers digging into the solid
muscles beneath his sleeves.

»«

Royce gazed at Juliana, astounded by her
claim. Yet, as he looked into her eyes, he found naked fear choking
their green depths.

“Is this true, Sir Royce?” the king
demanded, surprise rather than anger filling his voice. “Did you
and Lady Juliana marry? And without my knowledge?”

Royce continued to lock gazes with Juliana,
at a loss to respond. If he said yes, he would cast aside an
earldom plus a wealth of opportunity to benefit others,
opportunities that would place him in the highest circles of power
that revolved around the king. But if he denied Juliana’s words,
she would be given over to Rennart de Friston, a man who clearly
terrified her.

Again, he felt himself torn, cold reasoning
warring against fiery instincts over the landscape of his heart.
‘Twas the same battle he’d fought these many long weeks and without
resolution, the opposing voices clashing within him, clamoring to
have their own way.

Look henceforth through
the prism of your heart
. . . Friar Tupper’s words
echoed through the din.

The heart speaks truest
when reason fails.
He heard Lord Gilbert bid him, as
if from the grave.
‘Tis there you shall
find your answer.

Royce closed his lids, aware of Juliana’s
fingers still digging into his arms. Shutting out the chatter of
his mind, he reached within. Suddenly, in that welcomed silence,
the turmoil he felt began to dissipate. All became so simple, so
clear as he gazed into his heart. At its center, he found
Juliana.

Certain truths became clear as well. While
there was much to be accomplished and many to succor, there were
also many paths he might take in order to achieve his goals. But
what manner of knight would he be this day without Juliana? None at
all, he knew, remembering back to that gruesome night in Vaux and
to the transformation that took place within the heart of a
weak-kneed squire, all owing to a little waif of a girl.

As he ended that thought, an overpowering
conviction gripped Royce. Destiny bound Juliana and he together, as
much in this moment as it had that dark night long ago, even as it
had when Lord Gilbert sought him out at Westminster Palace and he’d
been given the quest to find her. Since the lord’s death, Royce
knew he’d been unable to decide on a husband for Juliana for the
simplest of reasons. The name of the man he would choose did not
appear on any of his lists — that of his own.

Opening his eyes, he sought Juliana’s and
smiled, an effusive joy welling up within him, a sense of rightness
that he should claim her as his own. But as he transferred his
glance to Friston, a fierce protectiveness took hold of him, his
mood darkening, his warrior instincts sharpening.

“Lady Juliana speaks truly. We are
indeed wed.”
In heart if not in
fact
, Royce added mentally, knowing he’d need seek the
confessional before all this was done.

Juliana eased her hold, a relieved breath
escaping her as she looked up to him with eyes full of gratitude.
Royce slipped his arm around her, drawing her against him as he
addressed the king.

“Forgive us for not consulting you, Majesty.
‘Twas an impulsive decision on our parts. After we’d been reunited
in Chinon, we formed, shall we say, a special attachment during our
journey to England.”

At least that was truth, Royce thought to
himself. He had the scars to prove it.

“We became quite inseparable,
actually,” he continued, thinking of how he’d tethered Juliana to
him on occasion, as warranted. “Our relationship continued to
deepen once at Wallingford.” He recalled the heated dance they’d
shared, his lips brushing hers. “As you know, I vowed to Lord
Gilbert on his deathbed to watch over Lady Juliana and to find her
a suitable husband. I believe my service in
Outremer
speaks of my abilities and skills. I am
able to defend the lady and her lands. Given our feelings for one
another, I felt myself to be the most suitable choice.”

“Majesty, do you accept this, this
contrivance?” Friston burst out.

Royce ignored him and looked again to the
king. “Lady Juliana and I would have waited to announce our
intentions at the Christmas Court, but in truth, we found our
longing for one another increasingly ungovernable.” Their
passionate encounter in the stable leapt to mind. “Thus, rather
than sin, we married in haste.”