Sin and Surrender (19 page)

His smile lacked amusement. “A father would have protected us. He gave us over to an experiment.”

She could only study him in confusion.

“Instead of allowing us to be children, they trained us as Bladesmen from the start, hoping to make perfect weapons out of the three of us, a new army.”

Uncertainty encroached at the edge of her mind. “That cannot be. You were only a child, how could you know that—”

“Our only toys were wooden swords and daggers, not balls or hoops. We studied constantly, everything from the techniques of the Holy Land to estate management, for when we would be in disguise within a household.”

“But surely any knowledge is for the good.”

“Knowledge, aye. Imprisonment—nay. We never left there to see the outside world, Juliana, never saw women, not once. A murderer took our parents, and the League took our childhood. Bladesmen came and went, but never us. The Council thought they were preparing
us for assignments, but they didn’t prepare us for life.”

He stalked across the chamber, anger simmering almost visibly about him.

“But … ‘twas to help people,” Juliana said with quiet conviction. “The League is a noble cause.”

“Aye, you sound like my brother, Adam. I resented his dedication, his inability to see how our lives had been corrupted without our permission. If our parents had been alive, would
they
have allowed it?” he demanded.

She bit her lip, knowing the truth.

“I don’t think they would have, but then again, what do I know? I don’t know anything about parents and children, or how to relate to them.”

“But Timothy was—”

“My foster father? Aye, he was. But he had a home to return to, where they did not know his secret life. He tried to be with us as much as possible, but you can see how that would have been difficult. We were
different,
Juliana. And as we reached manhood, and they finally began to allow us some freedom, they realized that we were flawed as Bladesmen. We didn’t know how to disguise ourselves among men, because we’d never been as other men. We hadn’t grown up in the world, didn’t understand its intricate rules. The experiment had failed.”

“I would never think you didn’t know about the world, Paul.”

“Nay, not now. When they realized their mistake,
they worked rigorously with us to teach us everything from serving a lord to dancing with ladies—without real ladies to dance with, I might add.”

She winced. “You surely did not appreciate that.”

The image she had of him dancing with his brothers must have occurred to him, as well, for at last his pacing slowed, and a faint, mocking smile touched his mouth.

“I know you will find this terribly hard to believe,” he continued, “but I did not understand courtship, how to appeal to ladies, the subtleties of compliments and slow seduction.”

“Subtleties? And you think you’re capable of that now?”

He didn’t answer, but his lips twisted in a wry smile that seemed somehow sad. He had said something important, something revealing, but she didn’t understand what it was, didn’t know even how to question him.

“But you went on missions for the League, you saw how they helped people, helped the king.”

“The people they chose to help, aye. But perhaps others were not so fortunate. And which king? We’ve had several these last few years. It makes one wonder if they helped one king against another.”

He seemed to be studying her, looking deeply into her eyes, and it made her uncomfortable.

“Nay, they are not about politics, you know that,” she said. “They help innocent people. Right now, with
the king in danger, all Englishmen need help.” Turning toward the bed, she said, “I do not claim they did right by you, Paul. But you had to be kept secret and safe, away from an unknown murderer.”

“Making excuses for them, Juliana?” he asked softly.

“The League does not need that from me. They thought they could help more people by training you and your brothers.”

“Aye, they thought that,” he said impassively. “But that does not excuse the fact that they carelessly hurt the innocent to achieve their noble goals.”

“They made a mistake,” she insisted, as pain settled on the edge of her awareness. “You said they agreed the experiment failed.”

“Aye, they said they would never do such a thing again.”

Her relief was a bit too overwhelming, but she didn’t want to think on that. “They’re not perfect, Paul, and they now know that. But ‘tis a terrible shame that you and your brothers suffered.”

“If it makes you feel better, my brothers do not consider that they suffered. They are both still members of the League.”

It did make her feel better. “That was honest, Paul. You did not need to make light of your own feelings by showing me that your brothers disagree.”

“You should know the facts, all of them.”

His voice sounded strangely full of purpose, but she didn’t question him. She hesitated, then removed her dressing gown before climbing into bed. Although he blew out the candle, he didn’t join her.

“Paul?”

“Sleep, Juliana. I find that memories, once resurrected, do not easily disappear.”

She pulled up the coverlet and rested her head on the cushion. She fell asleep watching the faint dark shadow of him as he paced.

The next morning, mass was held in the courtyard, for the tower chapel could not hold all the guests. Paul knelt at Juliana’s side and rather than piously bow his head, he found himself watching her as she prayed to God.

Did she pray that the League experiment was its only flaw? That her great and glorious League had learned its lesson and would never sin again?

Last night, the truth had been on his lips, burning to be told. But then she’d tried to defend the League, to see the good in them. He found himself feeling sorry for her rather than angry. It would crush her to know the truth of her father’s innocence, and the League’s part in his betrayal.

They broke their fast in the great hall, and Paul watched as afterward, all the men rose up to go out onto the tiltyard and to the lists, practicing for the opening of
the tournament on the morrow. He’d already determined that Sir Paul the Dissolute would think himself above needing to practice. He listened to the excited voices, the boasts, the cheerful rivalries. Then he realized that Juliana was watching him from her place at his side. The other people they’d shared the table with had already gone, and the servants had begun to swarm out from the kitchens.

Softly, she said, “You would normally be with those men, preparing for the tournament.”

“Aye. But if I practice, ‘twill be obvious how ‘unskilled’ I’m to be. Rather, they should be curious.”

She smiled. “Do you usually boast as they do?”

“There is no need,” he said loftily, pushing to his feet. “I developed quite the reputation in Europe. All wanted to challenge me, and my presence signaled a tournament’s success.”

“All that, and you do not even boast,” she said dryly.

He smiled down at her. “Shall we walk out in the ward? ‘Tis a fine summer day.”

She allowed him to take her hand and slip it into his elbow. From the corner of his eye, he saw Theobald leave his place at the door and follow them, watching Juliana’s back as if he didn’t trust Sir Paul the Dissolute. As they walked down the stairs to the courtyard below, people hurried back and forth, or lingered in groups to talk. A flock of geese was being driven toward the
kitchens at the rear of the castle by a goose girl; they could hear the mooing of cows in a dairy shed, and the clang of metal on metal at the armory.

The walked through the open gates to the outer ward, and on the dirt grounds, dozens of men practiced every discipline, from sword fighting to jousting to grappling to throwing daggers. The few benches were filled with spectators, so they wandered slowly among the crowds.

People glanced at them, but no one approached, although occasionally, one of the women from the sewing chamber smiled at Juliana.

“Do you see the messengers?” Paul asked beneath his breath.

She nodded. “I’ve seen two leave since we’ve been outside. They could simply be carrying correspondence from the noblemen to their estates.”

“They could. But I imagine Bladesmen will be following them to see.”

They stopped beneath the shade of an apple tree, heavy with unripe fruit, and studied the sword fighting. Men used dull swords for tournaments, but bruises—and broken bones—could still result. Quietly, they talked about what they saw, mentioning skill, wincing over poor technique. She was very easy to talk to, something he’d found difficult with other women. Oh, he could charm and make small talk with ease, but true exchanges of conversation meant one had to be interested
or familiar—and he’d never been either with women.

Off to the side, little boys mimicked their fathers and older brothers. They had wooden swords and they hacked each other unmercifully, laughing and jeering.

“My brothers and I occasionally enjoyed ourselves in a similar fashion,” Paul commented.

“Only occasionally? I assume you practiced much.”

“We did, but we had to treat it seriously. No games on the tiltyard. It was drilled into us that it would someday be life and death. But when we were alone, sometimes our practice became a wrestling match.”

“And who won?”

“Adam, being the eldest.” He smiled down at her. “There was much celebrating on my part the day I finally defeated him.”

“Celebrating? Or crowing like a rooster?”

He chuckled.

On the fringe of the children stood one lone boy. Paul couldn’t estimate his age, but he was old enough to be carrying a wooden sword. It hung from his hand, and he moved from foot to foot restlessly as he watched the others.

“He looks so sad,” Juliana said.

Paul glanced at her. “Childhood can sometimes be sad. You know that too well.”

The little boy, in scruffy breeches and a dirty tunic, lifted his toy sword halfheartedly, swinging it a bit,
trying to thrust once, although he tripped on his feet.

Juliana suddenly tugged on Paul’s arm. “Let’s talk to him.”

He frowned, but couldn’t resist her without drawing attention. “Whatever for?”

“Do you have something else to do?”

As they came closer, the boy swung the sword without looking behind him, and hit Juliana in the hip. The boy turned about and then gaped, his face white.

Juliana smiled brightly. “‘Twas an accident.”

He dropped the sword and ran.

Paul watched the disappointment and concern sadden her expression. She was a woman, though she always tried to pretend she was just one of the men, and women felt close to children.

“I would follow him,” she said with a sigh, “but that might frighten him worse.”

“Allow me!” called a young woman. Petite and plump, she practically ran past them, holding her headdress in place. “He is my brother!”

Paul saw the hope and relief in Juliana’s eyes, but she said nothing for several minutes, until she shaded her eyes and pointed. “Look! She found him!”

The young woman had the little boy by the hand as they walked through the outer ward toward the inner. She was talking to him softly, while his head hung with shame. But she glanced at Paul and Juliana and smiled
with encouragement before disappearing through the gatehouse.

“There,” Paul said. “All is well.”

Juliana hesitated as if she might disagree, then turned back to the tiltyard with a sigh. “Look at the way the man in green holds his sword. He will not last during the melee.”

Juliana was trying hard to distract Paul from her mistake, but she knew it wasn’t working. He kept giving her puzzled looks, and she realized she might have revealed a bit too much of her softer side by her concern for the little boy. But she hadn’t been able to help it—and she was not about to apologize.

Just when she thought he’d forgotten her foolishness, the woman who’d found the little boy approached them alone. Juliana recognized her from the sewing chamber, but they had not spoken.

The woman smiled and said, “A good day to you. I am Lady Margaret Foxe.”

Juliana returned her smile. “And to you, Lady Margaret. I am Mistress Juliana, and this is Sir Paul.”

Lady Margaret ducked her head shyly at Paul’s regard, but she kept peeking with curiosity at Juliana. Perhaps she was intrigued to be openly talking to a concubine.

“Is your brother well?” Paul asked.

Juliana glanced at him in surprise.

“He is,” Lady Margaret said. “Our mother is quite exasperated with his shyness and sensitivity.”

“Then we need not worry that we will be challenged by your father?” Paul asked dryly.

Lady Margaret giggled. “Nay, please do not. My father is quite preoccupied with himself at this tournament. He is the earl of Staincliff, and you would think that he was attending Parliament, so serious has he been.”

Juliana shared a glance with Paul, wondering if her father had a darker purpose.

“He has no time for Edward,” Lady Margaret continued, “and does not want to see that he struggles.” She briefly covered her mouth. “Oh dear, I am speaking too freely.”

Juliana smiled. “Nay, you are easing my conscience.”

Sir Paul the Dissolute shook his head. “I will leave you ladies to discuss such feminine matters.”

Lady Margaret blushed as Paul kissed Juliana’s hand. Juliana watched him find Timothy, who’d just stepped off the tiltyard, covered in perspiration and dirt.

Urgently, Lady Margaret said, “Tell me I did not offend your—your—”

“My patron?” Juliana finished for her, smiling faintly. “You did not.”

“Forgive me, you must think me a fool.” Lady Margaret wrung her hands. “I have never—I know not what to say—”

“To a concubine?”

Lady Margaret winced and nodded.

“You are doing fine, my lady. I am simply a woman.”

Well, perhaps not “simply.”

“Yet, my lady, you should also think of yourself,” Juliana cautioned. “Perhaps you do not wish to be seen speaking with me.”

Lady Margaret’s lips pursed mutinously. “That concerns me not, Mistress Juliana. People cannot be judged for the choices forced upon them.”