Sin and Surrender (21 page)

“Was that your father you were with?” Juliana asked, patting the bench beside her.

Margaret sat down, and Juliana slid closer to Paul until their thighs touched.

“Aye. He means well, but he’s rather distracted at tournaments.”

“Does he yet compete?” Paul asked.

“He ordered new armor just for this event. I have never seen so much decoration in my life.” She shook her head. “Forgive me for saying so, Sir Paul, but you men are quite vain.”

Margaret paused, her expression showing concern that she’d offended Paul.

“I tell him so all the time,” Juliana confided, as if they shared a secret about men.

Margaret brightened. “Do you remember that shirt you embroidered in the sewing chamber? ‘Twas for my father.”

“Did he approve?” Juliana asked, squinting as if she awaited an unfavorable verdict.

“I admired the handiwork, and he must have as well, for he said nothing ill.”

Juliana wasn’t quite certain that was a compliment.

Paul stood up. “I do believe the final footrace is upon us. One of my men is competing. I shall go watch him.”

“We’ll follow at our own pace,” Juliana said, then
shared a quiet laugh with Margaret as Paul strode ahead of them.

She felt a warm ease in Margaret’s presence; it was unfamiliar, uncanny, and pleasant, all at the same time. Yet why should she be at ease? They had nothing in common—Juliana didn’t even like the feminine arts, knew only the basics of running a household. Now, estate management, the account books—those she understood.

But she didn’t know how to oversee the brewer’s latest ale, or what vegetables one planted first in a kitchen garden after winter. She was helpless as a woman, and it had never bothered her in the least—until playing Juliana the Concubine.

But Margaret liked to gossip, and that could prove useful, so Juliana encouraged it. Margaret had amusing insights into people and a commonsense approach to life. She knew her worth as a bride, but did not overly concern herself with it. Together, they strolled the tournament grounds, Juliana subtly guiding them so that she could keep Paul in her sights. Being away from him allowed her to see who was watching him—and there were plenty, Margaret’s father included.

And always the messengers continued to arrive and depart on hurried, unknown missions.

T
o Paul’s surprise, several wellborn men were paying particular attention to him throughout the afternoon since Lord Kilborn’s introduction. He did his best to seem cheerful, yet not the greatest thinker. He bragged a bit about his preparation for the tournament, knowing he’d look more the fool when he didn’t perform well.

But always he kept an eye on Juliana. Oh, he knew that Theobald guarded her well, but he found that she was usually in his thoughts—not a good thing when one is trying hard to infiltrate a group of traitors. He told himself that it was because he was so frustrated by desire for her, but he was beginning to wonder if that was entirely true.

And when at last he was alone, and looked for her, she was watching him, waiting, and answered his beckoning. He watched her walk toward him, glad he didn’t have to hide his admiration.

She took his arm and leaned into him, whispering, “Any intriguing news?”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “None, but the introductions will be helpful. There seems to be interest in me, which is good. And you?”

“I talked with more of the ladies, met some children. I had assumed before arriving here that I would be something of an outcast, but Margaret is making far too much effort to include me. ‘Twas … interesting—oh, not for the mission, of course. You don’t need to feign interest.”

“I am hardly feigning. Tell me.”

They strolled near the stands set up along the lists, where the jousting would begin on the morrow. Children ran, people hurried by, but it seemed as if they were alone with their conversation amidst the din of revelry.

Juliana took a deep breath, glancing at him as if to say, “You asked for this.”

“‘Tis Margaret I worry about. Being the daughter of an earl, she is prepared to soon make a good marriage. Yet should she be seen so much in my company?”

“You are worried for her reputation?”

She nodded. “Even though she seems not to be. And her parents have not forbidden her.”

“She did say that her father paid Edward little mind. Mayhap her parents are the same with her.”

“Mayhap.”

But she still seemed troubled.

“Do you worry that your friendship will disappoint her?” he asked softly.

She stared up at him with wide eyes. “How could I—” Then she paused, her brow furrowed.

“You told me you felt you were a disappointment to your parents. I still believe you were being too harsh on yourself, but regardless, being a daughter and being a friend are two different things.”

She smiled without much mirth. “Aye, I disappointed them. Yet I miss them, too. And Margaret makes me consider that perhaps I missed the closeness of other women more than I realized.”

Paul felt almost guilty that he had family, and had left them, when she so obviously missed hers.

“Being with women is not easy, of course,” she continued, her expression wry. “We do not have so very much in common.” Then she hesitated, and spoke in a softer voice. “And there is a small part of me that does not want to appear too feminine, too weak before our fellow Bladesmen.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, as if to gauge his reaction. “You should understand how the Bladesmen might see me, since you were obviously upset when you discovered a woman would be guarding you.”

He stared at her in surprise. “You think my anger had to do with the fact that you’re a woman?”

“Of course it did,” she said dismissively. “I saw your
reaction when Timothy brought me forward.”

“My reaction had to do with the League, not you. I hated having to behave so incompetently, or having to rely on other people to protect me, when I was proud of what I’d accomplished on my own.”

She watched his face as if looking for any hint that he was not telling the truth. And because she was a solitary woman in a very male League, he did not take offense.

Juliana barely kept herself from gaping like a fool. He hadn’t objected because she was a woman? She’d been looking down on him for, lo, these many weeks, for a groundless reason?

“You seem surprised,” he said dryly. “You did not think much of me, did you?”

“Well, did you give me a reason to? I could not fathom why you distrusted the League, who’d saved my very life—and yours,” she added pointedly. “But believe me, I do not discount your pain.”

He arched a brow, but said nothing.

And she had much to think on. She felt relieved in one sense, because now she knew he valued her work, even though she was a woman. Yet this further accentuated the softness she’d been feeling for him, and that could not be good, when one was battling both his desire—and her own. It was one more crack in the wall that held her back from giving in to passion, giving in to what he could teach her.

“I am pleased that you’re enjoying meeting other women,” he said, reaching out to scoop up two tarts from a nearby tray. “Even from the moment I first met you, I was worried that you would be too isolated living with the League.”

“If you felt isolated, why did you find it so easy to leave all you knew and travel to Europe, where you knew no one?”

“I am a man,” he said, as if that answered everything.

“So you think a man bears isolation better than a woman.”

“I did not say—”

“But you’re glad I’m making friends, behaving as other women. And a woman’s purpose, according to society, is to marry. You do not think it can be isolating to leave all you’ve ever known, marry a man and put yourself into his household, where you’re a stranger?”

“And bear his children, and be a part of a family. It does not sound isolating to me—but then I wouldn’t know,” he finished wryly.

She sighed. “Aye, you wouldn’t know.”

And he didn’t want to know, she realized.

That evening, when the trestle tables were folded away and the minstrels began to play, Paul found himself a popular man. He liked to dance and made it his mission that evening to meet the ladies of the castle. He
had to achieve the notice of the men somehow.

But of course, he reserved the first dance for his concubine. The dance was lively, couples intertwining, linking arms to pass the ladies around, and then having the chance to lift Juliana high into the air before passing her to the next man. She moved with such grace, and the memories of her dance in a tavern before a dozen gaping men still aroused Paul every time he thought of it. She had a special way of meeting his gaze that was at once intimate and erotic, and yet full of amusement.

When he danced with the next woman, and the next, he warned himself that he was used to different women every night, in every city—that he would grow bored with Juliana’s constant companionship now that he had so many women to pick from. But strangely, he didn’t find himself drawn to any of the others. Surely, it was because he was aroused by the chase, by the hopeful triumph of having Juliana at last in his bed—naked, not clothed up to her chin.

And watching her dance with other men was not as easy as he’d imagined. More than once he thought Theobald should have intruded on too familiar a touch, but always Juliana controlled a man’s free hand, her expression pleasant, but without the glimpses she gave to him of the fiery woman underneath.

And then she danced with Alex.

Paul was drinking a tankard of ale, standing alone near one of the hearths as he watched them. Alex wasn’t all that much taller than Juliana, and that kept their heads too close together. The song was slower, and partners did not change, enabling them to carry on a disjointed conversation.

Paul felt someone approach from behind, turned alertly, only to find Theobald standing next to him, hands clasped behind his back.

“A good evening to you, Theobald,” Paul said, surprised.

“Sir Paul.”

“Are you enjoying the tournament?”

Theobald eyed him impassively. “I am a soldier, sir. I do not need to
enjoy
such things.”

“But you like to win.”

“Aye,” he admitted at last.

“‘Tis not easy to pretend we are not better than most here.”

“As you will discover on the morrow, Sir Paul.”

“But what if I face you?”

“Then I will win, will I not?”

Paul chuckled. “Only if we meet toward the middle of the competition. I intend to win a few before I go down with my ineptitude.”

Theobald said nothing, turning down an ale when Paul offered.

“Is your home near here?” Paul asked, needing a distraction.

“We do not discuss our backgrounds.”

“I thought that a rather innocuous question. But very well. Tell me how you came to wear the mask.”

Again, Theobald did not speak immediately, and Paul thought he might have gone too far.

“Not many men question me about such a thing,” Theobald finally admitted.

“You intimidate them.”

“The mask intimidates them,” he said impassively.

“Nay, ‘tis the man beneath it. You do not make it easy for another to talk to you.”

Theobald said nothing.

Paul smiled. “And you make my point for me.”

Frowning, Theobald sighed. “An opponent’s sword laid open my face and destroyed the eye. It healed poorly.”

Paul withheld a wince. “You were lucky to have lived.”

“I saw it that way. Upon seeing my face, others did not.”

Paul wondered if he had a wife who had been horrified by the disfiguration.

“So you took to wearing the mask.”

“‘Twas simpler. Yet sometimes it makes it easier
to do what we do. People don’t want to see me. Yon Joseph”—he pointed to their fellow Bladesman, who was surrounded by several eager women—“always stands out.”

Paul put a hand on Theobald’s shoulder. “You find a good outcome to something that would crush another. And you’re talkative,” he added, suddenly suspicious. “Why is that?”

“Some of us believe you might take poorly Juliana dancing with other men.”

“I have no claim on her,” he said indignantly. “We are partners as much as you and I.”

“My good eye is still working,” Theobald said with faint sarcasm.

Paul crossed his arms over his chest. “I am glad you see she is easy to look upon. Tell our fellow soldiers not to be concerned.”

“Hmph,” was all Theobald said.

Juliana found it was easy to talk to Alex. He danced effortlessly, yet still showed interest in conversation—instead of staring down her gown, as so many other men felt free to do, including Paul.

As she whirled in Alex’s arms, she let herself imagine marrying someone like him. She’d never thought to marry at all, but Paul had made her realize that she could not live in isolation at the League fortress forever.

eople had lives to go to, and she had to build one for herself. Her only relatives—cousins—had refused to take her in, and she would not go to them now. Hence, she had to find her own household. And that meant a husband.

Alex was convenient in so many ways. He knew she lacked a dowry, not to mention a woman’s skills, that she preferred the pastimes of men—and he didn’t judge her for it. Even now, he showed interest by seeking her out. Was that enough to begin a relationship?

Yet … a man like Alex could never know of the time she spent with the League. He would always believe he wasn’t the first man in her bed, and someday that might make him bitter. She knew that other Bladesmen kept their secrets from their spouses—but they were men, able to travel as much as they wished. How would she explain needing to leave every year for two or three weeks, perhaps returning with injuries? She could not always say she was attacked on the road. And a husband would not allow her to travel alone anyway; he’d send guards, if he didn’t insist on going himself. She would have to escape them all, and lose his trust in the process.

Here, among normal husbands and wives and families, she accepted with a finality that she could never be like them. And giving up the League? Nay, it gave her a purpose that being a wife and mother could not do.