Knight Errant (28 page)

“I will take the cloth,” Robert interjected.

“I will not marry that cursed Scot,” Juliana insisted at the same time.

“Trial by combat to the death,” urged Marr, who remained coolly impassive to her curses.

“Ridiculous,” she scoffed. Fear tightened her shoulders. She could not risk Robert’s life.

Robert remained silent.

Edward’s eyes narrowed then he nodded. “You would make a very bad monk,” he told Robert.

“I know, but you do not deserve her,” Robert said to the Scot.

“And you do?” He cast a look at Robert, teeth bared in what might pass for a grin.

“Nay. I doubt any man is good enough.”

Marr’s expression softened. “I feel verra sorry for ye, mon.”

Somehow, this bizarre conversation seemed to make perfect sense to the three men. They were all daft as daisies.

“Stop it this instant.” She stamped her foot and clenched her fists at her sides. This was awful. She was about to lose her temper, and she never lost her temper. She struggled for control. “You cannot consider this, cousin.”

“I can and I will. Marr is right.”

“O’ course I am,” Marr agreed affably. “Listen t’ me, lass. With all the shoutin’ done here, word of your marriage t’ Clarwyn is spreadin’ through the court even now. That gossip can only cause me shame. Nor would I wish t’ take the leavings of a man turned monk.” ’Though ’tis thanking ye I am for the offer.” He nodded to Robert. “Trial by combat t’ the death, as your cousin has already pointed out, will leave ye a widow. ’Tis no shame in marriage w’ a widow, even if she’s increasing with her first husband’s child.”

“I am not with child,” she protested once more, continuing to battle for calm.

“’Tis pleased I am t’ hear it.”

“Not many Englishmen would be so understanding” was Robert’s terse comment.

“Then few Englishmen know what is worth fighting for.”

“Recall who your host is, Marr,” Edward said silkily.

“My apologies, but I will not unsay the words. T’ do so would imply that Lady Juliana is not worth the effort or the sacrifice, and I doubt ye would agree wi’ that.”

“Nay, I would not,” the king of England remarked. “My cousin is England’s best hope of strengthening accord with Scotland since your king broke his fealty to me and allied himself with France.”

“Then we are agreed on combat?” Marr held out his fist.

The two Englishmen nodded and placed their palms upon the Scot’s hand.

“Wait, you cannot do this. Sir Marr, you are here to save your heritage by marrying. Who will do that if you lose?

“You mistake the matter, lass. I willna lose.” He stared a challenge over her head at Robert.

“Robert?” The strangled question died in her throat.
What of his vow not to kill in battle? He could not mean to go through with this.

He shook his head and refused to look at her, turning instead to Edward. “When and where, sire?”

“Here and now is fine with me,” said Marr, who once more lounged against the wall.

“Excellent,” Edward said. “’Twill take but a small amount of time to prepare the field. I will tell our hosts to make all ready while I announce the combat.”

Juliana felt her tenuous hold on sanity slipping. “You are all crazed. ’Tis nonsense to hold this combat. I will not wed this Scot, no matter who wins. Robert, you must tell them—”

“You have no say in the matter, Juliana,” Edward interrupted. “I am your liege lord. If I say you will wed the Scot, wed him you will.”

The last thread of her restraint snapped. “You would not dare.”

“Oh I will,” he said. He stepped to the door, calling for his guard.

Her breath all but stopped, and she wobbled in danger of fainting. Robert could not die. He was her husband, and she loved him.

Suddenly, Robert was beside her, taking her hands.

His touch steadied her, and she drew in a deep breath.

“Juliana, accept this. Do you not and you will only make yourself miserable.”

Tears of frustration clouded her vision, and she put a hand to his cheek. “Without you I will always be miserable. I want us both to be happy. Please, Robert, do not do this. You are the best man I have ever known. I love you.”

“Then make me happy and wed Marr when the combat is done.”

“How can you be happy if you are dead? And were I willing to wed that Scot, I would do so now and stop this absurd fight. Please, your promise to the bishops in Rome…”

“You cannot stop the fight.” His eyes warned her to say nothing of his vow of peace. “And you cannot marry Marr as long as I’m alive.” With the tip of a finger, he caught a tear that trembled on her lashes. “Dead or alive, if I know you are safe and cherished, I will be happy. He seems a good man, Juliana. Give him a chance. You may come to love him.”

“I can never be content with him. If he kills you, I swear I shall hate him and all his clan forever.”

“Dinna swear t’ that which you will regret, lass.”

Juliana jumped away from Robert at the sound of Marr’s voice. She had forgotten the Scot was still in the room. With a glare she turned back to Robert. “I will cry great rivers at your death, because I love you.”

“Juliana …”

She never knew what he was about to say.

The door opened, and Edward returned with several guards. “Robert, these men will assist you in preparing for the battle while the field is readied. Sir Marr, I assume you have your own aides?”

“Aye.”

“Then let us this get this business over with.”

“Aye, sire.”

Left behind in the audience chamber, Juliana stared at the fire. The season was turning cold, and the fire warmed her chilled fingers. But nothing could melt her icy fear for Robert. She had failed to help her Beguine sisters, losing the letters and leaving her friends to risk Basti’s wrath. Now the thought of a world without Robert was too grievous to be borne. She loved him. The knowledge was like an arrow to the belly. If he were dead, she wanted to die, too.

But what could she do? Edward would not listen. The Scot would not listen. Even Robert was deaf to her pleas. Their stubbornness would lead to disaster.

Brow furrowed, she paced the length of the chamber and back, frustration increasing with every step. Why hadn’t Robert told Edward of the vow of peace? Didn’t he know he was committing suicide in this fight? She knew he would never break his vow. If she didn’t want him alive so badly, she’d break his neck for him rather than watch him die by the sword without making any effort.

Her eyes fell on the casket of beans she’d intended to return to him. She lifted the container, tears welling along with anger and frustration. He wouldn’t need
caffé
beans if he was dead, would he? Damn him!

She raised the casket over her head and threw it against the far wall. The shattering crash of the wood against the stone and the rushing rattle of the spilled beans were momentarily satisfying. Anger and frustration splintered away. Leaving only fear and sorrow constricting her heart. Tears flooded, and she cast herself to the floor atop the scattered contents of the casket, sobbing her heart out.

Long minutes later, she ran out of tears. Using a corner of her shawl, she dried her eyes and mopped at her cheeks then moved to pick up the shards of the casket intending to throw them into the fire. The beans would be disposed of when the rushes were changed. She’d gathered only a few large pieces of wood when she noticed a vaguely familiar wax-sealed packet. Was it? It couldn’t be. How would Robert have acquired copies of the papal letters?

Hands trembling, she dropped the wood and reached for the packet. She broke open the wax, unfolded the vellum sheets, staring open-mouthed as she recognized not copies but the original letters. She clutched the vellum to her chest. How Robert had come by this manna from heaven she neither guessed or cared. All that mattered was that she now held his salvation and that of the Beguines in her hands. She would trade Edward the letters for Robert’s life and their marriage. Edward would find another bride for Sir Marr. And she need not tell her cousin that she would spread copies far and wide, declaring the truth about women in the church.

Enough plotting. She leapt to her feet, gathered her shawl about her, made sure her grip on the letters, and ran from the room. She would make Edward listen.

By dint of smiles and an icy authority that she rarely chose to use, Juliana forced her way through the crowd to Edward’s side.

“Cousin, you must stop this combat immediately.”

Edward turned a piercing stare on her. “Lady Juliana, you will cease attempting to interfere in matters of state.”

She thrust the papers at him. “But I have news tha—”

“Unless you have some comment to make concerning the trial about to commence within that circle, you will be silent.”

She shook the letters before his face. “You don’t understand. I have—”

Edward grasped her wrist, snatched the papers from her and pushed her arm away. “What I understand is that you do not know how to obey orders. I must remember to tell Marr to beat you regularly. Now, you will cease attempting to interfere, or I will have you gagged and bound. Is that understood?”

She had failed. Because of Edward’s stubbornness, Robert would be killed. Eventually, her cousin would read the documents and, in sorrow no doubt, allow her to retire from the world—where she would carry out the work of copying and sending the letters—rather than marry the Scot. But until Edward read the documents, she would have to suffer Robert’s death in silence. Unaware of the tears that dripped steadily down her cheeks, she turned to observe the field of combat.

A circle had been roped off on the keep’s training ground. The sandy area had been raked clear of debris. All who lived and worked nearby crowded around, waiting for the combatants to appear. The Scot arrived first. He took a whetstone from a bag set down outside the circle and began to hone his long blade. He wore no armor, not even a shirt, only his trews, leaving his lower legs and feet bare as well.

“Is he mad?” she whispered.

“Nay,” Edward answered. “Without armor he has greater movement and quickness. The lack of boots assures his footing in ground that could become slick with blood and sweat.”

“Does Robert know this?”

“Aye,” her cousin said. “Look.”

Robert approached, attired in his breeches only, no shirt, no boots, and no armor.

“He is not as large as the Scot,” a man observed.

“True, the Scot has a longer reach and greater weight,” remarked Edward. “Still, Ravensmere can get under Marr’s reach, and the Scot’s own weight can be used against him.”

“But Robert will not fight,” stated Juliana flatly.

“Why say you this? Do you have so little faith in your current husband?” asked the king.

“I have the utmost faith in him, and that is precisely the problem. To save me from the stake, Robert was compelled to swear that he would not kill in battle for a year and a day.”

“Why did one of you not tell me of this vow before the bargain was struck and could still be undone?” Edward snarled, anger flashing across his face. “Through sheer stupidity, I am about to lose one of my best knights.”

“’Twas not stupidity that kept me silent, cousin, but loyalty. Robert did not want me to mention it, and neither you nor Sir Marr would listen to me. As for Robert, I believe he is too noble for his own good. He regrets that through circumstance he was forced to marry me and spoil your plans. He sees this fight as a way to atone for disloyalty to you. The fact that he did so for the best of reasons is irrelevant to him.”

Edward stared at her, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Your husband is a fool.”

“Aye, but I love him anyway.”

The royal gaze narrowed. “You do?”

“Yes. When we were forced to wed, I was angry, not at Robert but at my loss of freedom.”

“Bah, freedom is highly overrated, and no responsible human being is ever truly free.”

“I agree. These past weeks traveling with Robert have shown me how truly blessed I am.”

A roar went up from the surrounding crowd.

Juliana whipped her gaze to the center of the ring. Robert and Marr stood face to face and saluted each other with their swords.

As the sun’s rays touched the field of combat, their swords clashed with the first stroke.

• • •

Robert fought with every defensive trick he knew. For a long while, he blocked all of the Scot’s blows. The sun climbed, and the day became warm. Sweat slicked their bodies. Then the Scot struck, was blocked, spun and struck again. Robert was not quick enough, and a bloody gash opened along his rib cage. He did not falter. In order to give that cutting stroke, the Scot exposed his shoulder, but Robert stepped back. ’Twas a reasonable risk on the Scot’s part, well worth it if he landed his blow.

“Bluidy fool. Ye had an opening and dinna take it. Are ye that puir a swordsman, or are ye a coward true?”

Robert refused to rise to the bait, calmly waiting the Scot’s next attack. He cast a quick glance to the crowd. They were all focused on the combat. Juliana would be able to leave the castle unnoticed. If she could not bring herself to wed Marr, Robert prayed she would use the opportunity he gave her.

The Scot blistered the air with curses, trying to provoke a careless move from Robert. But he could not be swayed to act in anger or haste. Juliana needed all the time she could get.

Marr lunged, wildly. Robert dodged. The Scot settled to a more methodical attack, nicking Robert whenever and wherever he could.

Robert did his best to minimize the damage. He could ill afford to lose blood and become weak, thus ending the battle too soon.

He feinted then drove the Scot back with a flurry of slashes he knew the man could block but would cause him to give ground. ’Twould delude the fellow into thinking this was actually a battle instead of an execution.

As Marr hung on the rope, Robert caught sight of Juliana beside Edward, tears streaming down her face. He froze instead of stepping out of the Scot’s reach as he intended. What was she doing here, and why was she with Edward?

Marr swung savagely. The clash knocked Robert’s blade from his grip and numbed his arm from fingers to elbow.