Sin and Surrender (11 page)

His dreams had been haunted by her kisses, and lying beside her hadn’t helped. As the nights grew cooler the farther north they’d gone, he’d awakened more than once with their arms or legs touching, as if seeking warmth from each other. Instead of being as embarrassed as a maiden, Juliana had only laughed when she’d discovered what their bodies had done in the night.

Paul hadn’t felt like laughing.

When the servant had taken their order and left, Paul
leaned back in the settle and put an arm around Juliana. The other Bladesmen were at the next table, talking in low tones, and watching the locals with deliberate intent. Theobald spoke to no one, letting his angry eyes graze the growing crowd.

Perhaps word of a free-spending stranger’s arrival had already spread, for more than one man entering the tavern had seemed to be looking for someone in particular—and stopped looking upon seeing Paul’s retinue.

Juliana leaned her head against his shoulder and spoke softly. “Theobald is making himself quite feared.”

“The better to keep the unsavory away,” he replied, his gaze roaming, never staying on one table for long. “I’ll make sure another story about him circulates later.”

Paul noticed that it was rather easy to peer down her bodice to the enticing valley between her breasts. He was allowed to look, of course—he was supposed to. When Juliana realized the focus of his gaze, he leered down at her.

“Lovely view.”

“Hmm.” Her tone was not exactly friendly, but her bold smile gave the right impression.

Yet her gaze never stopped wandering the crowd, and Paul thought he sensed a different wariness.

“Is something amiss?” he asked softly.

She hesitated, then glanced up at him, letting her
hand rest on his chest, right over his heart. He tried to keep his thoughts on the mission, on their conversation, so his heartbeat wouldn’t speed up and make her curious.

“Timothy surely knows, and you might as well, too. I was raised in Yorkshire.”

He knew that, of course. “Yorkshire is a large county.”

“Aye, but there is still the chance I might be recognized. It has not been that many years since my departure. But that’s the reason I’m keeping my real name. I disappeared from home after my mother’s death, and I’m sure many will not be surprised that I had to put myself in the keeping of strange men.”

Yet the League had put her in this situation, not caring how she might be hurt as long as their mission was successful. But it wasn’t all the League—Juliana had bravely made her choice, knowing what could happen.

To lighten her mood, he said, “So now I’m strange.”

She giggled. “You say such silly things, my love.”

“Only to amuse you, my little duckling.”

This time, she pinched his thigh.

As their meal was served, a small quartet of minstrels set up near the hearth and began to play. The music was lively at first, leading to toes tapping, and tankards being raised in toast to their talent. A pretty serving wench, who openly flirted with Paul every time she brought him an ale, did a lively dance before him,
hands on her hips, jumping from foot to foot, letting herself be passed from man to man as everyone laughed.

Paul admired Juliana’s show of jealousy throughout, her narrowed eyes, her cool disdain. She kept her hands on him, and he certainly could appreciate that. More than once he saw Timothy watching them, although to the casual eye it was in the guise of a guard.

Did Timothy regret giving Juliana this opportunity? Or hadn’t her age and inexperience mattered, when she was what the League needed?

The lively music ended, and the serving girl curtsied to hearty applause. Paul did his part by not attempting to placate Juliana. The minstrels began a new song, slower, with a provocative beat.

Suddenly, she slid out from beneath his arm and off the settle. Moving out into the open area before the hearth, where the serving girl had danced, Juliana turned back to Paul and lifted her arms toward him, as if beckoning. His smile slowly died. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glowering Theobald with his hand on the hilt of his sword. The other Bladesmen looked with interest at Juliana, as if she only concerned them as their master’s entertainment.

The music thrummed louder, the musicians encouraging her. Paul swallowed hard.

And then Juliana began to move.

Her hips circled in sinuous rhythm, her arms swayed,
her long, black hair swung as if with its own dance. For a moment, the crowd went silent with an awe Paul shared. She was majestic, she was smoldering with sin, and all the while she never broke her shared gaze with him. She cast a spell, weaving a magic he hadn’t imagined possible. The Bladeswoman was gone, the temptress left in her place, dancing, swaying, undulating to the slow, erotic beat of the music. He could hear his blood pound in his ears.

Some distant part of him tried to imagine how Paul, the arrogant prince, should act. He forced a grin, as if he’d seen this before, but still enjoyed the show.

And then he thought of Juliana, and the stir she was causing among all the men. Most were slack-jawed in wonder, but some licked their lips, bodies tense, as if they might take their chances on overpowering Paul’s retinue.

Paul quickly came to his feet, stalking Juliana. She came to a stop before him, her body dampened with perspiration, her eyes full of triumph and pride. She swept into a deep curtsy, raising her amused eyes to him.

“Time for bed,” Paul said.

She laughed at him, even as he swept her up into his arms.

J
uliana wrapped her arms around Paul’s neck, feeling giddy with triumph. She’d made a spectacle of herself, of course, but she’d brought Paul even more notice, the noble northern prince returned home at last.

But although Paul carried her with ease, his muscles felt tense, and now that he was away from the tavern, his smile had been replaced by a frown.

Feeling her first unease, Juliana looked about and saw that the Bladesmen were surrounding them, alert, gazes scanning the entrance hall and the staircase. None of them looked at her.

Well, she didn’t expect open congratulations, but perhaps a smile or two.

“Paul?”

“Not now,” he said, in a low voice.

It was then she became aware of raised voices behind her, shouts and calls, the slamming of tankards onto wooden tables.

Someone was coming down the stairs just as they
were starting up. Paul laughed drunkenly, reeled a bit with her in his arms as he backed up. She gave a cry of laughter, tightening her hold on him.

The man they let pass bobbed his head in thanks, stole a wide-eyed look at Juliana, saw all the men surrounding her, then hastened his pace away.

“Sir, perhaps I should take Mistress Juliana,” Timothy said, his tone full of a disapproval that seemed used often.

“Nay, I am fine.” Paul bumped Juliana’s feet against the wall as he negotiated the stairs.

She winced dramatically, but said nothing. At last they were outside their door.

“I will see you in safely,” Timothy loudly insisted.

He obviously played to an audience who might be overhearing.

“I need not your assistance.”

Paul spoke with tight petulance, a grown man who was not happy being ordered about.

“Well you shall have it.” To the waiting Bladesmen, Timothy said, “You have your orders.”

Juliana watched them disperse, feeling foolish because she was still held in Paul’s arms. Once inside, he released her and stepped away rather abruptly. Timothy looked out the window, then closed the shutters. Both men turned to her, Timothy frowning, and Paul assessing.

“Is something amiss?” she asked in bewilderment.

“That was … quite the dance,” Timothy said slowly.

Paul silently turned to stoke the fire.

Juliana spread her hands wide. “The moment called for it. I was playing my part. I believe I was a success.”

She thought Paul’s shoulders shook a bit, but he didn’t turn from the fire until Timothy called his name. Paul’s face was impassive and polite when he faced them.

“Paul—” Timothy began, and then broke off, looking back and forth between them.

Paul waited patiently, and so did Juliana, but she felt confused by the undercurrents she sensed between the men. She didn’t like feeling this way, as if she should understand what was happening. So she waited as patiently as Paul, pretending to be unperturbed.

Timothy sighed.

“I think I will ask Theobald if he wishes to work in some training this evening,” Paul said mildly. “The night is dark, and if we work in the stables, no one should notice me.”

Juliana withheld a startled laugh. “That is a ridiculous idea—and dangerous. Why would you risk …”

But she trailed off when she saw Timothy giving it real thought. What was going on?

“Theobald has first shift tonight,” Timothy said at last. He ran a hand through his hair.

Juliana gave a heavy sigh. “Good. I would have had
to follow you to do my duty, Paul, and that would have raised suspicions.
All
of this”—she threw her hands wide—“would raise suspicions. I might have had to forbid you, as your personal guard.” She wanted to demand to know why they were both acting this way, but was beginning to suspect she would only be showing her naivete.

Timothy gave a last sigh. “You are correct, Juliana. I will leave you in peace. I only ask that next time … you give us some warning of what you plan.”

“I will try, sir, but I cannot guarantee it. If the moment calls for such a risk …” She trailed off with a shrug.

Timothy let himself out the door.

Juliana saw a shadowy glimpse of a large man in the corridor, and knew it was Theobald. Then the door closed.

Paul was watching her, and she could not read his expression. She put her hands on her hips, arched a brow, and waited.

“That was …” he began.

“Quite the dance. So Timothy already said. He seems to regret my interpretation of the character. Think you I was wrong?”

“Nay, you made it seem as if I must have great wealth, to be able to afford to keep a woman with such gifts as yours.”

“I imagine that was a compliment, but it makes me
feel like a commodity rather than a woman,” she said dryly.

Paul’s smile looked strained. “I rather enjoyed being fought over through dance.”

She heaved a sigh and began to tug on her laces. She could see that water had been left for her use, and she desperately needed to cleanse away several days’ worth of travel. She would have to send for a bath in the morning.

And still Paul watched her, saying nothing. She wanted to ask for his help with her laces, but it felt awkward tonight, too personal. There was an uncomfortable, growing feeling of tension that seemed more powerful than any night they’d previously spent together.

She decided to respect her feelings of warning and leave him be. Thankfully, there was a changing screen in their bedchamber, and she retreated behind it, bringing a basin of water and linens. When she emerged in her dressing gown, he was standing at the open window, looking out.

He glanced at her briefly. “I am not tired. I shall join you eventually.”

She nodded and retreated to the bed. It was narrower than at the last inn, so she lay down near to the edge to leave him room. He remained a long time looking out the window, but at last he took his turn behind the changing screen. She found herself dozing. When she
came awake with a start, the fire had diminished, leaving the chamber flickering with darker shadows.

And then she saw Paul. Without holding a weapon, he was moving through a series of sword skills, as if sparring with an opponent. His skin glistened with perspiration, and he suddenly pulled off his shirt, as if his exertion had overheated him. Juliana found herself barely breathing, watching him move in a dance of power, his muscles smooth, his skill a certainty that was as alluring as his body.

This went on for some time. She came up on her elbow, making it obvious she was awake, yet still he didn’t stop, pivoting and parrying, blocking and advancing.

At last she slid from the bed and went to stand before him. He stopped immediately, his breathing harsh, his chest rising and falling. He looked down at her with blue eyes gleaming by firelight.

“Paul, you must come to bed. You will be exhausted on the morrow.”

He moved away from her, taking a towel and wiping it down his face and chest.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“You and I have had no chance to train as the others have,” he said. “Our roles forbid it. Do you not feel restless, as if you could crawl out of your own skin?”

“I know exactly how you feel. But is this only about training?” she asked.

He paused, then met her gaze boldly. “I’m trying not to remember the way you danced tonight. I keep imagining you making such movements beneath me in that bed.”

What could she say to that? Though she imagined the same thing, she would not ease her curiosity so recklessly.

“You know what you did to all those men who watched you.”

And she did know—she’d been taught how men react to a provocative woman, but had never seen it happen before her very eyes. And the way Paul was looking at her made her feel too good, too daring.

“I know not what you want me to say,” she whispered.

“There’s nothing you can say. Timothy is worried I won’t be able to control myself alone with you night after night, and that your dance made everything worse.”

“How could he believe that when he knows you so well? He knows the kind of man you are.”

“Every man has his limits.” He lifted a hand, as if he’d touch her hair.

She froze, knowing she should step away, but unable to do so.

“I want you,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot stop think
ing of that kiss, and now this dance … You’re haunting my very dreams, sweet Juliana.”

She hesitated, more tempted than she cared to admit. He was partially nude, so beautiful. He could show her the things she’d only heard about. And she even knew ways to avoid making a child together.

But this was a temptation to something she’d soon regret. Such intimacy would interfere with their mission, might make things awkward between them. How could she vow to never have a relationship with someone in the League, and then be so quick to consider breaking it with the first man who kissed her?