Knight Errant (8 page)

Juliana felt her lips twitch in surprise as she resisted the impulse to drop her jaw. Who knew that gruff Robert Clarwyn could act the courtier and sing ballads?

“And to what would you compare the lady’s eyes? Or have you no poetry in you with which to show a lady your admiration?”

Ignoring the Saracen, Robert turned to Juliana. He placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. One calloused digit stroked the delicate flesh beneath her jaw.

Her skin shivered and burned where he touched her, but she could not look away.

“I would say,” Robert continued, “that because her eyes are as blue as the Madonna’s robe, I find my only hope of heaven in her glance.”

Her smile fled, and her heart raced after it. “Oh my.”

“Very good.” Luigi sneered. “You have caused the lady to lose her smile.”

“Aye, I have.” He grinned broadly. His fingers lifted, and he turned away.

She placed her hand against the spot where Robert’s touch had lingered.

“Did the brutish knight hurt your delicate skin,
mi amore
?”

“What? No.” She dropped her hand. “Not at all, sir.”

“Then you liked what he said? That pompous comparison to the Virgin’s robe?”

“Yes. No.” She had liked what Robert said very much, too much. And therein lay a problem. She could not cleave to both her Beguine beliefs and a man. Juliana took a deep breath, quelled her confusion, and rebuilt her equilibrium. “That is, I did not dislike it. You are both very skilled at flattery.”

• • •

That night after the evening meal, Robert watched from the bow as the sailors gathered in the center of the ship. Juliana and her fellow Beguines stood on the upper deck. One man took out a mandolin and began to strum a tune. Another sailor found a reed pipe; a third produced some drums. Several other men sang quietly until one of the crew approached the Beguines.

Whatever the man said, the ladies followed him to the middle of the deck.

The music swelled and grew faster. Gretle joined a short fellow in a rapid jig. Soon several crewmen danced to a lively tune, the activity spreading throughout the deck.

Robert noticed Luigi give instructions to a sailor at the ship’s wheel, then head for the dancing. The jostle of shifting people separated Robert from Juliana, and he found himself hurrying to her side, arriving there at the same moment as Luigi.

“
Bellissima
, may I have this dance?”

“Milady, would you care to dance?” Robert bowed.

Juliana looked up at him, pleading in those heaven-blue eyes.

He held out his hand.

She shook her head. “I really must honor our host before I dance with a friend.”

He watched her walk into the crowd with Luigi. Robert felt elated and crushed. She thought of him as a friend. That was a good thing, an indication that she trusted him. Then why did he feel so sad?

He considered the question until a rousing cheer broke over his ears. Raising his head, he saw Luigi toss Juliana into the air and catch her. ’Twas most unseemly.

Robert could not be bothered with feelings now. He had to be certain Luigi behaved himself, so he pushed to the front of the group. Berthild and Gretle had joined the dance with a couple of the sailors. Luigi could not try anything untoward with so many people looking on. Still, Robert fixed his gaze on the captain’s hands throughout the song.

At the end, the man escorted a laughing Juliana back to Robert. She grasped his hand as the music started up again. “Come, Sir Robert. ’Tis your turn.”

He allowed himself to be pulled into the center of the dancers and bowed.

The event was supposed to be innocent fun. But nothing about dancing with Juliana was innocent—except the lady herself. Robert doubted she knew the power she held. A touch of fingers here. A brush of arm there.

’Twas nothing like the heated kiss they had shared in Genoa, but the tremors of delight at each touch were the same. In Genoa, he had the excuse of protecting her and the anonymity of a huge crowd. Here, before her sister Beguines and men to whom she was known, he could only look and hold her gaze as the movements required. He had no excuse for the heady rush of passion that seized him.

While they capered, he could see the rise and fall of her breasts, remember their softness pressed against him. He could stroke the barest tip of her finger and recall her grip in his hair as she had kissed him. Even with the tang of the sea, he could smell the sweet scent of her and feel his body harden as it had in Genoa.

Saints, how he wanted her, and he could never have her. He was in agony. Yet, he would not give up this tender pain for Gabriel and all the trumpets in paradise.

• • •

Juliana hurried up the short stairs that led to the quarters assigned to the women. Behind her, laughter continued apace with the music. She hated to stop, but many more of Robert’s casual touches and she would surely faint from sheer pleasure.

She needed to get away from Robert, away from her treacherous emotions. She needed time and space to think.

Luigi stepped between her and the door to calm and safety.

“Do not go,
bella mia
.”

Not wanting him to see her distress, she smiled, but her hands fluttered for a moment. Luigi caught them, covering her fingers with kisses before she could fold her hands together. She tugged, but he refused to release her, pulling her closer instead.

Still gripping her fingers, he raised one of his arms over her head in a move used by contra dancers and adroitly settled it at her back, his palm resting at her hip. He had secured her between her own arm and his. Unless he let go, she could not move.

“Please.”

“
Si
.” He kissed her swiftly, then raised his head to study her face.

As kisses went, Juliana supposed Luigi’s caress was adequate. She had only Robert and her former betrothed for comparison, but she found the Saracen’s lips dry and passionless.

“That touch did not stir you in the least, did it?”

She blushed and lowered her eyelids. “I . . . you mustn’t think . . .”

“Shh.” He laid a finger against her lips. “Do not dissemble,
bellisima
. ’Tis a shame, but I can tell that your heart lies elsewhere.” Abruptly he dropped his hand and stepped back from her.

“Is all well here, Lady Juliana?”

She started. Robert’s stern tones came from over her shoulder. What must he think to find her alone with Luigi?

“All is perfectly well, Sir Robert. Our captain simply wished me good night.”

Robert raised a brow. “Then allow me to add my wishes for happy dreams and a peaceful rest.”

“Thank you, and good night to you both.” She escaped into the cabin and prayed for calm.

Finally alone, Juliana considered the encounter with Luigi. The captain did not strike her as a person who easily gave up when he wanted something. Yet, he had been the one to back away when he recognized her lack of feeling for him. He had pointed out that her heart lay in another direction. Somehow she did not think he meant her devotion to good works and the Beguines. No, he meant Sir Robert, a much knottier problem than a captain whose ship she would leave in a few days. Robert would be at her side for far too many days. The terrifying truth was, she wanted him in a most elemental and disturbing manner. Worse yet, she liked him.

She sat on the narrow cot and dropped her head into her hands. This was horrible. She liked Robert Clarwyn . . . truly liked him . . . a lot. The kiss they shared in Genoa was never far from her thoughts.

“Hmpf,” Berthild grumbled as she entered the room. The older Beguine sat beside Juliana and studied her. “Why, child, did you say you were tired when you clearly are not? Overwrought perhaps, but not tired.”

“Oh, Berthild, I am cursed. God has not forgiven me for my sins.”

“Child, you are so young, what could you have done that is so unforgivable?”

“What haven’t I done? ’Tis my fault that Basti rampages against the Beguines. Had I not beaten the man with his own crook, chased him from his own chapel, then told the bishop of Basti’s abuses, he would not have been sent away to Rome. He would never have drawn the pope’s attention or become so powerful that simply by wishing it aloud he could decimate an entire beguinage. He would not hate us so, nor would he stir his agents and others against us.”

“Tut, you blame yourself needlessly. Giorgio Basti terrorized many of our community. You simply did what others before you should have done. You were right to stop Basti’s attacks on young girls. Accusing him to the bishop was the only means you had to be heard. What happened to the priest afterward is on the shoulders of those who sent him to Rome and those who gave power to such a monster.”

“What of the trouble I’ve caused you and Gretle? Because of me, you were forced to endure a dangerous delay in Genoa, travel separately from the safety of the caravan, and take passage on a Saracen ship.”

“True, true.” Berthild patted her hand. “Yet without you, most likely we would lie smashed to bits at the bottom of that bridge you had the good sense not to cross.”

“And look where that has brought us. At any moment, I am like to be snatched back to England against my will. I swear I know not why Sir Robert has yet to haul me bodily across his saddle and ride off to fulfill his precious promise to Edward Plantagenet.”

Berthild placed a hand under Juliana’s chin and lifted her face upward. “Come now, dearest sister. You must know that Sir Robert has not taken you away because God needs you in Palermo. If you have confessed your sins to God and made amends for them, you must also know you are forgiven.”

“Then why am I cursed with these feelings for Sir Robert? I do not want to end up like my sister and my aunt. I will not!” She beat a fist against the thin mattress.

“My dear girl. ’Tis not such a curse. I have a few feelings about Sir Robert myself.”

“Berthild!”

“Do not be so surprised, child. I may be older than you, but I am not dead, and Sir Robert is a very handsome man. Well-mannered, too, if a bit somber. I wonder what troubles he bears?”

“His troubles are of no moment. All I know is that I cannot have feelings for him. I will not!” Juliana thumped her fist upon the mattress once more, as much to convince herself she believed what she said as to emphasize the point.

“’Tis not always for us to decide where our affections will lie.”

“You do not understand.” She stood and paced the small chamber. “A woman’s love for a man is a terrible thing for the woman. He becomes her entire world, her sole reason for being. And the man . . . such love is less than nothing to him.” She halted before her friend and struck the air with both fists. “Dogs receive more attention from men than the women who love them.”

“I have not found that true. Look at our groom, Henry. He is most tender in caring for our needs. My own father was generous and kind, as was the priest in the village where I grew up. The lord of our county was also a good man. Stern but fair. Only when I married against my father’s advice did I meet men of a different stamp.”

“You were fortunate, for I cannot believe that most men are as gentle as you claim. Considering what men did to your daughter, ’tis more than generous of you to credit any man with kindness.” Juliana twisted her hands together and commenced pacing once more.

“Let us not talk of that. I am concerned for you, child.”

Abruptly, she sat next to Berthild and hugged her. “I am so sorry. I know how those memories pain you. I should not have mentioned it. But I have good reason for my feelings about men.”

“I do not doubt you.” The older woman patted Juliana’s arm. “Tell me.”

Juliana stared at the floor of the room and let memory take her. “My sister Eloise confessed to me on the eve of her marriage that she loved her betrothed deeply.”

“Your sister was blessed.”

“Was she? Six months later, Eloise came home. Bruises covered her face and body, even though she was heavily pregnant. She asked our uncle for shelter from the husband who beat her. The same man that she loved so deeply.”

“That is a great tragedy.” Berthild hugged her closer.

“’Tis worse. Our uncle sent her back, saying that she should be grateful for a husband who chose to discipline her wayward woman’s soul. My aunt raised a mild and rare protest. She received the back of my uncle’s hand for her daring.”

Juliana’s eyes filled with tears as she recalled the desperation in Eloise’s face when her husband came to carry her back to their home.

“How fares your sister now?”

“Dead these four years past.”

Berthild took Juliana into her arms. “I am so sorry.”

Still stiff and locked in memory, she added, “My uncle sold me in marriage to an earl, an old and vile man who had already buried three wives and four betrothed brides. I went alone to my wedding. My uncle refused to bear the cost of attending. The earl tried to take advantage of my innocence before the ceremony. I hit him with a stone and escaped with the aid of the local abbess.” Juliana had been terrified. Knowing exactly what would happen when her violence was discovered, she’d left the castle, walking the short distance to the abbey in fear for her life.

“I tried to live as a nun but always seemed to break the rules. The abbess told me about the Beguines and the trade they engage in. She helped me find my way to Ghent. No man would have done so.” She had been happy in the Ghent beguinage, once she recovered from her fears. No one there knew her or her history. Feeling truly safe for the first time in her life, she took an active part in the Beguine life, even coming to act the protector for women who, like her, joined the Beguine to escape the cruelty of men.

“So that is how you came to Ghent. I had always wondered.”

“Aye. Until the abbess wrote me of the earl’s death two years since, I thought my blow had killed him. She wrote to tell me ’twas safe to return to England, but I know I can never go back. ’Twould place me within my uncle’s reach, and his anger over the loss of the connection with the earl might well kill me.”

“Do you truly believe that your uncle would murder you?”