Lady Fortune (6 page)

“If he had reason,” she said.

That stopped him. He’d been imprudent with the lady Julianna. But then, imprudence was one of his many sins. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “What other sins torment me? I’m greedy, gluttonous, a lover of wine and ale and good food and wicked women. I’m lustful, crude, lazy, and a devout coward. I sleep through Mass, lie through confession, and tumble any lady who takes my fancy, be she trollop or nun or even holy saint.” He rolled to his side, staring up at her through the candlelit darkness. “And I never take no for an answer.”

She didn’t move. She sat on the wide bed beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her brown eyes wide and wary. “Then you’re more like most men than you believe,” she said. “Rape and plunder and pillage—”

“I have yet to commit rape,” he said, watching her carefully to gauge her reaction. “I don’t need to take a castle by force, when there are all sorts of interesting ways to storm her barricades and breach her private compartments. And I’m far too lazy for plunder and pillage. You need a horse for that.”

“And you don’t ride?”

“Never. They’re huge, vicious creatures. They step on your feet a d drool on you. Confess it, you’re just as glad you were forced to ride in the litter with me.”

“You are mad,” she said flatly. “That’s proof of it.”

He rolled onto his back, looking up into her eyes. “Perhaps you are a saint, my lady,” he murmured. “My back is miraculously healed.”

“Your back is far from healed,” she said sternly. “You shouldn’t be lying on it.”

“That’s all right, then,” he said sweetly. “I was planning on being on top the first time anyway. We can be more creative later.”

The color flooded her cheeks quite nicely. It surprised him to see it—after all, she was a widow, a woman who’d spent almost ten years of married life with a supposedly lusty older man. She’d run her own household quite efficiently, according to Nicholas’s sources, and if she failed to produce an heir for her husband, she’d surely been satisfactory in all other areas or the old man would have dispensed with her.

She scrambled away from him, but his hand shot out to capture her wrist, keeping her there beside him. He didn’t hurt her—he derived no secret pleasure from bringing pain to others—but he wasn’t about to let her run away. He was very strong—few people knew that about him— but he could keep her at his side with only minimal effort.

She struggled for a moment, pushing at him with her other hand, and he wondered if she’d try to use her feet. He’d like that—it would ensure that she’d have to swing her legs onto the mattress to reach him, and then he’d keep her there until he was finished with her. Until he taught her to purr.

But she remembered her dignity and abruptly stopped struggling. “Let me go,” she said. “Please.” She sounded deceptively calm. He wasn’t fooled for a minute.

“I don’t want to. Humor the madman, Saint Julianna. One chaste kiss would heal my wounds and show me the error of my ways.”

“I hadn’t realized that chaste kisses were what you had in mind.” She’d managed to bring a touch of asperity into her voice, and for a brief moment he wondered whether she was simply being coy. And then he saw the real shadow of fear in the depths of her warm brown eyes, and he released her.

She was off the bed and out of his reach in a flash, so quickly that she probably assumed she was safe. She wasn’t, but for the moment he felt oddly chastened. She was afraid of something. Of him, perhaps. Or possibly men in general.

It would be a great shame if his sainted Julianna found lovemaking repugnant. She was far too desirable to waste on unwarranted fears. Her husband must have treated her very badly indeed.

She would have to be handled delicately, but he was capable of truly wicked subtlety. He’d have her on her back, weeping with pleasure, before she even knew what had happened to her.

But this castle must be taken by stealth, not force. He smiled at her with beguiling sweetness. “Have I frightened you, my lady? I assure you, I mean no disrespect. I’m only a poor fool, unwise in the ways of gentle ladies.”

“You’re far too clever for your own good,” she snapped, not the slightest bit deceived.

He liked that about her. It was dangerous, this ability of hers to see through his machinations, but it was enchanting as well.

She looked less than thrilled, and he decided he was fortunate there was nothing close at hand in his spartan room. She would likely pitch it at him.

“Clearly I made a mistake in coming to your aid,” she said stiffly.

“Ah, but my lady, ‘tis a saint’s duty to tend the unworthy. Count it as penance for those uncommitted sins of yours.”

She was standing by the door, but she hadn’t run away yet, a fact which pleased him. “I could commit a sin or two,” she said in a slow, meditative voice.

She’d managed to astonish him. “Oh, lady, commit your sin on me,” he said, rising on his elbows. His back still hurt, but it was fast on its way to healing, and he was more than willing to ignore it if she would give him half a chance.

Her smile was dazzling, erotic in its sweetness. “Lord Fool, I will,” she said in a husky voice full of promise. She moved toward him, her luscious hips swaying, her mouth curved in a promising smile, and he held out his hands for her, ignoring the stiffness in his shoulders.

She slid out of his way with a graceful step, reached down for the bowl of water and rags she’d used to soak his back, and dumped the contents over his head.

She was already out the door before he could explode in rage. By the time he reached it, she was racing down the darkened hallway, her skirts dragging on the floor behind her, and he wondered if that was a breathless sound of laughter drifting back toward his ears.

He shrugged out of the remains of his tattered, water-soaked shirt, and shook the droplets out of his hair. He’d made the sorrowful Lady Julianna laugh. For that he’d gladly go through a thousand dunkings.

He’d make her laugh again. He’d chase the sorrow and the fear from her brown eyes, and he’d teach her to love her tall, luscious body. He would love her, well and often.

And when he left, the Blessed Chalice of Saint Hugelina the Dragon and Julianna’s own personal saintliness would be gone for good.

Julianna’s laughter halted abruptly when she reached her room. It was a large room with an adjoining chamber, and she’d expected to share it with several women, as was the custom in most large households. Indeed, it was only one of the many things she mourned about her lost life at Moncrieff—her solitary bed. Other women snored, or were less fond of bathing, or were even, occasionally, infested with tiny bugs.

But she would have chosen a dozen lice-infested slatterns to the woman sitting in the chair by the fire. Lady Isabeau looked up at her daughter, her serene face expressionless, her needlework still in her lap.

“My lady,” Julianna greeted her with cool courtesy. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” It was likely a vain hope that her mother wasn’t there to stay, but at least by tomorrow she’d be a married woman, sharing a bed with that huge, frightening man who’d called her “daughter.”

“This is my room, Julianna. I wanted you with me, at least for one night.”

Julianna glanced behind her at the still-open door. She could see several of the household women beyond the portal, obviously curious, and she shut the door quite firmly in their faces. “Very well,” she said in a neutral voice.

“The abbot has requested our presence,” Isabeau continued, seemingly undaunted by Julianna’s coolness. “I believe he wants to hear our confessions before he takes up his duties.”

“I have nothing to confess.”

Isabeau’s smile was only faintly wry. “What about the commandment?”

“Honor thy father and mother? Have I shown you any dishonor, my lady? Any discourtesy?” Julianna fought the quaver in her voice. She didn’t want to talk about it or think about it. She was exhausted from the endless, uncomfortable trip in the bouncing litter, disturbed and oddly excited by her encounter with Master Nicholas. She was in no mood to discuss her sins with the harsh priest, nor to quarrel with her mother.

Indeed, Isabeau was far too much like Julianna’s dreams, and less like the monster her altered memory had painted her. The small, pretty woman sitting by the fire looked far younger than her years, and her soft voice was the same that had once sung lullabies to a baby, had whispered soothing words to a weeping child. The small, delicate hands had stroked Julianna’s hair and comforted her in times of grief. The huge brown eyes had been filled with tears the last time Julianna had seen her, as her father had carried her off to her new home, ignoring her screams.

Odd, but she’d forgotten her mother’s tears until now. And if her mother were not the unnatural monster she’d remembered, then what was truth and what wasn’t?

“You’re a most dutiful daughter,” Isabeau said softly. “But you’ve never forgiven me, have you? You thought I could save you.”

“I thought you could try,” Julianna whispered.

“Oh, my angel…” Isabeau said brokenly, but a loud rapping at the closed door stopped her words, and Julianna moved quickly to open it, anything to halt the painful conversation.

She recognized the servant standing there as Master Nicholas’s man—a swarthy, wicked-looking fellow, the perfect foil for the trickster who called himself a fool. “Father Paulus is asking for you, my lady,” he said in a raspy voice, looking less than pleased. “I’m to bring you to him before I can see to my master.”

“Your master is fine, Bogo,” she said. “He’s just been enjoying the benefits of a cooling bath.”

She’d expected to confound him. Instead the ugly face curved into a surprisingly gleeful smile. “What did you do to him, my lady? Whatever it was, it was way overdue, to my way of thinking. You’ll be good for him.”

“Good for him!” she echoed in shock. “I won’t have anything to do with him!” Before Isabeau could ask any difficult questions, such as why her daughter would have been alone with the fool, Julianna rushed on. “And we can find our way to the abbot’s chambers on our own— you can see to Master Nicholas.”

“Sounds like you’ve already seen to him,” Bogo chortled. He glanced past Julianna to Lady Isabeau, and his manner changed subtly. “Do you need my help, Lady Isabeau?”

She smiled up at him, in the smile that enchanted all men, Julianna thought. There were times when she would have given anything to have her mother’s beguiling smile, her ability to turn men into slaves with nothing more than a soft word and a friendly glance—before she realized that she wanted no slaves, male or otherwise. She just wanted to be left alone.

“We’ll be fine, Bogo,” Isabeau murmured. “Father Paulus will be hearing confession in the large chapel, will he not? I know it well—I’ve spent many hours in private meditation within its gentle walls.”

“Meditating on your sins?” Julianna muttered. Hating herself for her pettiness, unable to keep her unruly tongue still.

Isabeau turned her serene smile on her daughter. “Unlike you, my dear, I am far from blameless.” She rose, setting her needlework on the wooden chair behind her. “Shall we go? The sooner we confess our sins, the sooner we’ll be shriven. And of course, it should only take a moment for you.”

Julianna bit her lip. Isabeau’s gentle voice made her feel like a spoiled child, crying for the moon. But then, she hadn’t wanted the moon. She’d only wanted her mother.

“Indeed,” she said.

She followed her mother’s slight figure down the shadowy stone halls of
Fortham
Castle
, wishing she could move with her mother’s effortless grace. She tried to concentrate on other things, on the fortress-like surroundings, seemingly devoid of a woman’s touch, the chill of autumn settling down around the stones, the quiet sound of her mother’s footsteps as she made her way down the circular stairs. The trip to the spacious chapel seemed to take forever, and Julianna was yawning by the time they reached their destination.

The abbot was awaiting them, an impatient expression on his round, colorless face, a petulant twist to his thin mouth. He was a small, soft man, seemingly harmless. But she’d seen what harm those small, soft hands could do, and she didn’t make the mistake of underestimating him.

“Daughters of Eve!” he greeted them in a loud voice. “Prostrate yourselves and hear your penance.”

“Father Paulus…” Lady Isabeau protested gently. “We haven’t made our confession yet.”

“Don’t dare to instruct me, my lady! The Lord has spoken to me, sent me to this wicked place, and I will brook no defiance. If you wish forgiveness for your many sins, you will prostrate yourself now, in full view of all who come here.”

To Julianna’s horror, her mother dropped to her knees, then stretched herself out on the hard stone floor of the chapel in an attitude of devout penance. Father Paulus fixed his beady eyes on Julianna. “On the ground, lady, or I’ll have servants force you there.”

Julianna had her doubts that he could exert that much influence, but she decided not to take a chance. She lay facedown on the stone floor, near her mother, breathing in the chill of the stone beneath her face.

“You know your own wickedness!” Father Paulus intoned above them. “Your unworthiness, your lustfulness, your wicked sins of heart and soul and mind.”

Julianna wasn’t about to confess to lustfulness, particularly since the very notion gave her chills far more profound than those caused by the icy chapel. There was a brazier in the corner, she’d noticed, but it was unlit. Clearly Father Paulus preferred mortification of the flesh. She kept stubbornly silent, ignoring the frigid temperature of the large chapel.

“Daughters of Satan,” he proclaimed loudly, and his voice echoed off the harsh stone wall, “you have been brought forth to tempt men, to lead them from the paths of righteousness, to torment them and destroy them. Know that I am immune to your evil wiles, and I will protect those around me. I will show them the true way, and I will turn you both from the path of idolatry and lust that you have sought.”

Julianna made a small, involuntary sound of protest, but Isabeau was still and silent.

“The world is an evil place, and women are the cause of that evil, an instrument of the devil sent to destroy the flower of goodness in man. The only hope for salvation is chastity, humility, and silence.”

Chastity was no problem, but humility was harder come by, and silence just about impossible to attain. “My mother marries tomorrow, Father Paulus,” Julianna said, lifting her head. “How can she take a vow of chastity? Is it not the church’s ruling that marriage be for the procreation of children?”

“Silence!” Father Paulus thundered. “The begetting of children is a task you and your mother have failed most dismally, rendering you worthless in the eyes of the church. Do not dare to speak to me of church doctrine and add the sin of heresy to your crimes. The punishment for heresy is burning, and I will not shirk my duty.”

Julianna discovered silence was quite a lovely thing. She didn’t doubt for one moment Father Paulus’s determination. Anyone who would inflict that kind of damage on Master Nicholas’s strong back wouldn’t hesitate to burn a heretic.

For a brief moment she was distracted by the memory of that back. Not the bloody welts, nor the faint whiteness of previous scars, but the shape of him, the strength of him, lying in the bed, watching her. It was oddly disturbing, and she shook her head slightly, to clear the vision.

“Don’t shake your head at me, you wicked, sinful creature!” Father Paulus thundered in mighty tones. “Your wanton mother knows her place in this world, even if you could have benefited from good and regular beatings. It is a great tragedy that you were sent off to practice your wiles on an innocent husband, instead of staying beneath your father’s guiding hand.”

Julianna bit her tongue. It was so cold on the floor that she was beginning to shiver, and she suspected that before long she’d confess to anything—heresy, witchcraft, or lust—to get off the ground and close to a fire. She wasn’t made for martyrdom, she thought wryly. The Blessed Saint Hugelina the Dragon would find her sadly wanting.

“I see you tremble. I don’t doubt you tremble for fear of your very soul. But it is not too late. Lady Isabeau, you will keep your marriage chaste until I decree the time is right for holy conception. Under no other circumstances are you to tempt your husband or succumb to his base urges, for peril of your very soul. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father Paulus.” Lady Isabeau’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“And you, Lady Julianna,” he continued, his voice growing harsher. “You will dress in drab clothes and hide your hair, you will keep a silent tongue and do only good works, you will raise your eyes to no man, and you will spend five hours on your knees every day. We will drive the wickedness from your body, or we will burn it.”