The king has charged Sir Thomas Carlwick with learning what became of Baron Groswick. No one has seen or heard from the man for more than a year. Thomas' inquiries have so far turned up no sign of the Baron. When he goes to Groswick Keep, he gets a mixed reception. Young, lovely Lady Juliana welcomes him graciously, but that evening someone tries to kill him by firing a crossbow at him. Juliana apologizes and tends his injury. She also tells him she has no idea what happened to her husband, but she's beginning to accept that he's dead.
Thomas is attracted to Juliana, finding in her everything he's wanted in a woman. Despite a past that was nearly destroyed by a woman's lies, Thomas is ready to settle down again, and he believes Juliana is exactly what he's looking for. As soon as he can prove Baron Groswick is dead, Juliana will be free to marry him.
But he may not want her anymore when he learns what really happened to Baron Groswick.
Chapter
One
"Sir Thomas? Are you
sure a messenger was sent to Groswick to inform
them of our coming?"
Thomas shook himself
out of an exhausted half-doze and followed his squire
Ralf's line of sight straight ahead to where their
destination loomed. The reason for the question
was clear.
The place looked incredibly
forbidding, inhospitable, and unwelcoming.
The huge, dark, stone
fortress had a four-story main keep surrounded by
a two-story wall. The remote setting, with the keep
hedged in on two sides by hills and accessed by
a road through a narrow pass to the gate, contributed
to the feeling. Even as they approached, an enormous
portcullis remained adamantly closed over a heavy
wood door. No movement or greeting of any kind indicated
they'd been spotted or would be welcomed.
Thomas was used to
being greeted with courtesy, and sometimes even
with elaborate pomp and ceremony. He didn't favor
excessive display, but the complete lack of welcome
here dismayed him. This mission had already taken
too much time and too much travel.
"The herald said his
message had been delivered." Thomas sighed and rubbed
at his throbbing head. He just wanted to be done
with this Groswick affair. He was close to thirty,
getting too old for this, though his friends would
laugh did they ever hear him say so. His tired bones
wanted rest. But even more, his spirit craved a
place to call home. Not so much a place, though,
he realized, probing feelings kept long buried as
one would test a damaged tooth to see how much pain
it could cause. He wanted family, people he could
settle with and become close to. He longed for peace,
order, a secure and comfortable place to lay his
head at night.
Once before, he'd
had all that, but a woman's lies had torn apart
and destroyed it. Now, however, after two years
spent watching his closest friends find comfort
and happiness in marriage to extraordinary ladies,
the seed that had lain dormant for so long sprouted
and began to unfurl. He wanted what they had, or
at least some reasonable shadow of it.
Both of his closest
friends had found unusual and special women to fill
their hearts. Women who could love and submit freely
to their husbands, yet still be strong, brave, and
intelligent. They'd had to be. Lady Rosalind and
Lady Mary had each survived terrible things and
come through desperate tests, emerging stronger
and wiser from them.
He sighed and set
those thoughts aside. For now he faced the problem
of entrance into this dreary and shuttered keep.
He expected at any moment to see the portcullis
rise in acknowledgement of his arrival. No one could
think one knight traveling with only his squire
and one other vassal represented any threat. But
though they rode up close to the gate and stopped
there, nothing happened.
The drizzle turned
into a full-bore rain as the gray remains of the
day faded into twilight. Thomas watched the wall
around the gate and the guard tower over it. He
caught periodic flashes of movement. The place wasn't
deserted, and their presence must have been noted.
After waiting a good
while, Thomas rode forward, signaling his companions
to remain behind. He stopped just below the gate.
"Greetings! I am Sir
Thomas of Carlwick. I come in peace, in the name
of the king." He shouted, trying to make the words
as forceful as they were loud. "Open for the king's
representative."
He backed away, rejoining
Ralf and Bertram. Again they waited, expecting that
the order would bring quick action. It didn't.
His helmet kept most
of the rain off his face, but the moisture still
leaked beneath his chain mail byrnie and soaked
his undergarments. Daylight was fading quickly,
and he had no wish to spend the night camped out
on the plain.
When his patience
wore out, he rode forward again. "I am Sir Thomas
of Carlwick. I represent the king. Admit me or risk
the king's wrath and the weight of his might on
you."
On the rampart above
the gate and in the guardhouse, figures scurried
around. After another pause long enough to set him
grinding his teeth, a metallic screech finally signaled
their impending admission. Nonetheless, they still
had to linger another fifteen minutes in the drenching
rain while the portcullis creaked upward and the
heavy wood gates swung ponderously open.
He was in no good
humor when they were finally able to enter the grounds.
They stopped in the bailey. A groom and a pair of
stable boys came forward and assisted them to dismount,
then took charge of their horses.
A man in livery appeared
at the top of the stairs that clung to the side
of the keep wall, standing at the main door, waiting
to invite them in. Weary to the bone, they climbed
the steps and stood before the servant.
"I'm Sir Thomas of
Carlwick," he announced again. "My squire Ralf and
my man, Bertram." The servant bowed.
"Enter and be at peace,
Sir Thomas," the man invited. "I'll announce your
arrival to Lady Juliana."
Instead of letting
directly into the main hall, the door gave into
an anteroom, where Sir Thomas removed his helm and
shook rain off his cloak. Perhaps it was the gloomy
weather outside or the fact that only two torches
in high brackets illuminated the area, but the tall,
undecorated stone walls of the entranceway loomed
forbiddingly and the whole had an air of mourning
or despair.
The man led them into
the great hall, announcing Sir Thomas's arrival
as they entered. Here the atmosphere lightened.
More torches brightened the area, assisted by the
blazing fire, which burned in an enormous fireplace
on a side wall. The aromas of roasted meat, fresh-baked
bread, and ale assaulted him and set his stomach
rumbling. For all that, though, no more than two
dozen people occupied a room which could easily
have held a hundred or more. The table on the dais
at the far end was empty.
A woman rose from
the center of the side table where most of the people
gathered and approached him. Her clothes were of
good quality cloth, though plain, and she wore a
simple cap on her head. She was young, very pretty,
and carried herself with regal grace.
"Sir Thomas," she
said, dropping into a deep curtsy. "Welcome to Castle
Groswick. I'm Lady Juliana. I regret we kept you
waiting so long in the rain, but I fear we were
unprepared for visitors, and the guards on duty
have little experience. They knew not what to do
and perforce needed to confer with their superiors
prior to making a decision to admit you." Her voice
was sweet, but had a surprisingly rough, hoarse
undertone.
She looked at him
closely, no doubt noticing how the rain plastered
his hair to his head and dripped off his nose and
armor. "Please come close to the fire and dry off,
Sir Thomas. Your men, also. Quarters are being prepared
for you even now, but as we were not told the date
of your coming, it will be some time yet before
they're ready."
She moved toward the
large fireplace, and he followed, with Ralf and
Bertram behind him. The warmth washed over and soothed
him as they approached the blaze. It mitigated some
of his anger. Thomas stripped off his gauntlets
and rubbed his cold hands together near the fire.
"I've sent for mulled
wine and food for you as well," the lady said. "As
you see we're a small household, but we do try to
receive guests hospitably."
A servant appeared
bearing a tray with cups and a pitcher of steaming
liquid. The aroma-the tang of wine laced with cinnamon
and other fragrant spices-hit him forcibly in the
gut.
Lady Juliana poured
out the mixture into a cup, which she brought to
him.
Their hands met as
he took the cup from her. Warmth flowed from the
clay vessel into the palms he wrapped around it,
a blessed, welcome heat. Something else flowed into
his fingers in the places where they touched Lady
Juliana's, a warmth of a different kind. It sparked
and tingled, sending a river of fire through his
veins and into his loins. His cock took notice and
stood immediately to attention.
Thomas smothered a
groan as he fought the reaction. He'd gone years
with no more than the occasional meaningless joining.
Only once since Margaret's betrayal had he felt
the stirrings of anything beyond physical need,
and the woman who'd provoked it was married to his
closest friend. Was he doomed to be roused only
by those beyond his reach? This lady was married
as well, and any attraction to her could only complicate
his mission and his life. But she was a lovely woman,
with a slender, graceful figure, and glossy, dark
brown curls escaping from her cap to give her a
winsome air.
He drew a deep breath
and looked down into the cup before he sipped, watching
the way the darkish liquid swirled as he tipped
it. He took a drink and didn't have to feign enjoyment
or relief. The flavor matched the aroma, a sharp
brew of fermented fruit laced with the taste-pleasing
enhancements of the spices. It warmed his mouth
and spread the heat all the way down as he drank
deeper. Tense muscles, especially in his shoulders
and back, began to loosen and relax.
He closed his eyes
for a moment to relish the taste of the liquid and
the feel of the warmth. When he opened them again,
he made the mistake of meeting Lady Juliana's gaze
directly.
Her eyes were an unusual
light blue/green shade, large, clear, and direct.
They sparkled with her smile of welcome for him,
but… Surely it was his imagination that led him
to think he saw another world of emotion just below
the surface. Yet he would swear he found in her
gaze an innate strength, endurance, courage, shades
of sorrow or grief, and more… Oh, no, he didn't
need or want to see that. He could admire the passion
she held in firm check, but he would have to take
care to avoid it. She belonged to another man-if
that man were still alive, something he had begun
to doubt.
He pulled his gaze
away from her eyes and let it roam the rest of her
face. Her fine, clear, pale skin bore a few light
freckles, mostly around her slim nose. They didn't
damage her looks at all. The scars did, unfortunately,
though the beautiful line of cheek and jaw drew
attention away from them and almost nullified their
effect.
The uglier of the
two was a line that curved from just above her left
cheekbone to her temple. Even though it showed tiny
circular marks on either side of the scar where
it had been stitched closed, it was still almost
a quarter-inch-width of whitish flesh. The other
was a narrower, straighter line from almost the
middle of her chin up and across to an inch or so
beyond the corner of her mouth. The pinker coloration
suggested it was a more recent addition.
Oddly, he found they
increased rather than destroyed her attractiveness.
The newer one bracketed her lips and emphasized
their lovely curve and rich pink color. They marked
her as a woman who'd experienced some of life's
darker side rather than a naïve young girl.
He didn't think he'd
shown any reaction to the scars, but after a moment
her lips tightened and some of the sparkle faded
from her eyes, so apparently she'd noticed something.
The scars looked like many he'd seen on men following
a battle, which made him wonder how they came to
be on the face of a young and otherwise lovely woman.
Something about her bearing said she would not want
to talk of them.
He took another long
drink of the mulled wine. Moments later more servants
approached bearing platters of food.
"Sir Thomas, if you
and your men will have a seat, the food is here."
Platters of meat sliced
from a roast fowl, salted pork, and freshly baked
bread were placed before them along with bowls of
roasted tubers and boiled greens. The aromas emanating
from them had his stomach rumbling and mouth watering
long before the first bite hit his tongue.
"Pass on my compliments
to your cook," Thomas said around a piece of meat
so savory he couldn't remember when he'd last eaten
anything so good. The lady ran her household well
if the quality of food and service were any indication.
Lady Juliana nodded
and went to talk to a servant for a moment. When
she returned, she sat down on the opposite side
of the table from him.
"I trust you're feeling
somewhat better now, Sir Thomas," she said.
He looked up and nodded.
She drew a deep breath as though getting ready to
speak, but she let it out again on a long sigh.
He watched her pick up a cup of wine and put it
down when her hands shook so hard she couldn't keep
the liquid from sloshing over. Was it just his presence
that made her so nervous? Unexpected guests? Or
did she feel the same sense of connection he'd noticed
when they'd touched?
An older woman toddled
into the room and straight to his side. She was
short and hunched over, with a wrinkled face and
rheumy eyes whose color might once have been the
same as Lady Juliana's.
"I heard we had guests
just arrived," the old woman said, staring hard
at Thomas. She was very close and her eyes narrowed
in a squint, so she probably couldn't see very well
anymore. Her breath came in harsh, wheezing pants.
"Who be you, sirrah?"
"Mother!" Lady Juliana
drew a sharp breath. "This is Sir Thomas of Carlwick,
come here from the king. Sir Thomas, may I present
my mother, Lady Ardsley."
Thomas stood to bow
to the lady, and found himself towering so high
over her, he was looking down on the top of her
head until she craned her neck to stare up at him.
"Lady Ardsley," he acknowledged.
"Sir Thomas, is it?"
she asked. The old lady nudged the occupant of a
nearby chair and the young man obliged by sliding
down to the next seat, giving his place up to her.
"Carlwick… Are you not related to the Dunstons?"
He nodded as he lowered
himself back into his seat. "My mother is niece
to Lord Dunston via her mother."
"Ah. You're Lord Carlwick's
heir?"
Thomas worked to repress
a laugh at the catechism. "Nay, lady. I'm his third
son. My brother Walter is the heir."
"Aye, I had heard
something of that sort. Where did you foster?"
"With the Earl of
Pennington, my lady."
She struggled to catch
a breath before she could speak. "Good man, the
Earl. Have you traveled much lately? Were you on
the Continent? Have you met the Black Prince?"
Juliana drew a sharp
breath as her mother fired questions at him. "Mother!
If you please! Sir Thomas has just arrived. He's
tired and has yet to eat his fill. Give him a few
moments of rest before you quiz him."
Thomas did laugh out
loud this time. Juliana looked shocked, while her
mother chuckled. "I can answer your questions quickly,
my lady." He looked at the older woman. "I have
traveled a great deal lately. I have been on the
Continent and have indeed met the Black Prince,
but in London, not on the Continent."
The old woman grinned.
"Thank you, Sir Thomas." She went on to pepper him
with a series of questions about his life, training,
thoughts on various subjects, and marital status,
stopping only long enough to catch her breath occasionally.
Thomas answered them all as courteously as could,
deflecting those he didn't wish to say much about.
Lady Juliana's discomfort at her mother's brazen
curiosity showed in her rising color as he admitted
he was a widower, but steered the topic away from
the question of how his wife had died.
"And what is your
business here with us?" the older lady asked, reaching
what he suspected was the true goal of the catechism.
"We are of no great importance to the king."
He felt his grin fade.
"You are of more importance than you realize. But
I believe my business will have to be discussed
with Lady Juliana in private. I think, though, it
will wait for tomorrow. I've had an exhausting journey
and my mind is far from clear."
He feared offending
the old lady, but after looking taken aback for
a moment, she grinned slyly. "Aye. Of course, Sir
Thomas." The suggestive way she said the words made
him uneasy, but then she was an elderly, somewhat
eccentric, and probably quite ill woman.
She grabbed her cane
and hoisted herself to her feet again, emitting
a series of creaks from joints in the process. Once
upright, she took a moment to catch her breath again.
"With your permission, Sir Thomas, I believe I shall
retire now. I need my rest."
He stood to acknowledge
her. When he sat again, he looked across the table
at Lady Juliana. He had expected amusement or the
continuation of her exasperation. Instead he saw
fear in her eyes.
She masked it quickly
when she realized he looked her way, putting on
a show of rueful amusement. "Please forgive my mother,
Sir Thomas. She means well, truly, though her manner
is somewhat forward."
"There's naught to
apologize for, my lady. Mothers are allowed much
by virtue of the lifetime of sacrifice and care
they've given their children. Are you her only child,
since she lives with you now?"
"Aye. I had an older
brother, who died young, and several other brothers
and sisters who died at birth." The lady's expression
softened in sympathy and love. "She has suffered
much. And now her body is failing and she suffers
with that. Yet never does she voice any complaint."
A manservant approached
and waited for her attention. Lady Juliana nodded
to him and the man drew close and leaned over to
say something to her, speaking so low only she could
hear. After a moment, she nodded. The servant withdrew
a bit, though he waited nearby, and she looked back
at him.
"Your quarters are
ready for you, if you wish to retire, Sir Thomas."
He'd stopped eating
a few minutes past. His full belly combined with
the effects of an exhausting journey and the potent
ale to bring him to a point of having to expend
all his energy to prevent his head from drooping
onto the table.
"My lady, I cannot
tell you how pleasant is the prospect of sleeping
this night in a warm bed. I am more grateful than
I can say for your hospitality." He stood, noting
with some embarrassment that his own knees creaked
as he did so.
"If you'll follow
Daniel, he'll show you the way." She nodded toward
the waiting servant.
Thomas hoped he wouldn't
disgrace himself by tottering or falling over in
his exhaustion. He made it to his feet without incident
and bowed his goodnights to the lady.
"Good rest and sound
sleep find you, Sir Thomas," she returned.
Ralf and Bertram followed
behind as they trailed the manservant along a corridor,
up a flight of stairs, and then along another corridor.
Exhaustion couldn't
account totally for his lack of alertness. Some
of it also came simply from not expecting any threat
in this place. Only a mixture of instinct and luck
kept him from being killed or seriously injured.
The sound of a footstep
well behind roused his awareness at some deep level.
He was already turning when he recognized a faint
clicking noise behind him as the sound of a crossbow
bolt being released. He threw himself back and to
the side, knocking both Ralf and Bertram into the
wall.
The bolt whizzed past
him, close enough to tear the sleeve of his shirt
at his wrist, just below the edge of his chain mail
hauberk, and scrape across the flesh. He noted the
sting as he whirled to go after whoever had fired
the bolt. The torches were widely spaced in this
corridor, leaving several recesses in deep shadow.
He went to the one he thought closest to where he'd
find the shooter. A door there opened at his touch,
but it gave onto a steep stone staircase going down.
He raced down the steps, but found no one in sight
in the corridor that led off it.
Thomas sighed and
gave up. Too many doors offered places the shooter
might have ducked into. And clearly his assailant
knew the keep far better than he did. He wouldn't
find him.
As he neared the top
of the steps again, a crowd of excited people met
him head-on. Ralf and Bertram led the group. "Are
you well, my lord?" Bertram asked.
At the same time,
Ralf asked, "Did you find him?"
"Nay," he said, answering
the second question first, and added, "I'm well.
The bolt merely grazed my wrist. Did someone retrieve
it?"
"I have it here, Sir
Thomas." The servant who'd led them thus far spoke
from behind the group, which parted as all turned
to stare at him. The man looked shaken, his eyes
very wide, his face pale. He held out the crossbow
bolt. Sir Thomas took it from him, then grimaced
in disgust. It bore no markings or distinctive shape
that would tie it to a specific individual.
A group of ladies,
drawn by the commotion, hurried down the hall toward
them, a pair of maids, and Lady Juliana herself.
She ran ahead of the group when she saw him.
"Sir Thomas, what
has happened?" She gasped out the words between
panting breaths. She looked down at his sleeve and
her breath caught on a sharp gasp. "You're injured!"
He noticed the sting
at his wrist again for the first time since he'd
taken off after the wielder of the crossbow. A red
stain spread on the fabric above.
He shook his head.
"It's naught. Just a scratch. I'm more concerned
with who fired the bolt. And why?"
Her eyes widened as
she looked at his arm then up looked up to meet
his gaze. "A bolt? A crossbow bolt? Was fired at
you?"
He nodded toward the
manservant still holding the bolt on his outstretched
hands. "Had I not heard him a moment before he fired,
'tis likely I'd have been killed." He stopped and
considered. "Unless 'twas not I that was the target.
Yet I cannot imagine why anyone should want to kill
Ralf or Bertram or your manservant. In truth, I
know not why anyone should be bent on my murder
either. Is your household always given to such violence,
my lady?"
She sucked in a sharp
breath. "Nay, Sir Thomas. I…I know not what to say.
I'm beyond words." And for a moment, it appeared
she was. "Never before, to my knowledge, has a guest
been threatened or harmed within these walls. I'm
mortified that it should happen now. May I see it?"
She nodded toward the bolt.
He handed it to her.
She called one of her ladies, who bore a torch,
to move closer to allow her a better look at it.
She turned it over in her hands several times before
she sighed and gave it to one of her maids. "I see
nothing on it to indicate who it may have belonged
to. Save that in my chest, Avice."
She turned to Thomas
and reached for his sleeve. "A scratch this may
be, Sir Thomas, yet does it need cleaning and possibly
stitching. In your quarters, please." She signaled
the manservant to lead the way again.
"You needn't concern
yourself with it, my lady," he said. "I barely feel
it. I doubt it needs stitching."
In truth he wasn't
so sure, but he did know that the lady's presence
was doing things to him he could scarce bear. In
her concern for the attack on him, she appeared
to have forgotten that she'd removed her overgown.
The shift she wore now did little to conceal the
curves of her lovely figure. He could see clearly
beneath the fabric the outline of her breasts and
the darker tips pressing against the fabric. He
desperately wanted to reach out and touch them,
test whether they were as soft as they looked. She'd
removed her cap as well, and her hair hung loose
around her face, a fall of thick, glossy brown curls
halfway down her back.
She looked smaller
this way, and younger, yet the strength of her will
and authority forestalled all argument, and he allowed
her to accompany them to his quarters without demur.
While Ralf and Bertram
helped him remove sword and mail, she sent her maids
for water, clean linen, and salve. When he stood
in his shirt and breeches, she took his hand and
pushed the sleeve up from his bleeding wrist. She
used the sleeve to wipe away the blood, promising
to have the shirt repaired and laundered.
As he'd told her,
the wound was little more than a scratch. He heard
her sigh with relief as she realized it as well.
Still she washed it
carefully, holding his hand in hers to steady it,
then smeared salve across the injury and wound a
length of clean linen around the wrist. Her hands
shook the entire time, whether from fear, anger,
or something else, he couldn't judge.
When she'd finished,
she continued to hold his hand a while longer. Her
gaze ran up his sleeve and paused a moment at the
opening where his partially unlaced shirt showed
his chest and throat. Her hand tightened around
his, though he was sure she wasn't aware of it.
She slowly looked up from his throat to his jaw,
his mouth and then met his eyes.
He stared back at
her, meeting the blaze that lit her light, greenish
eyes. There was much more within this calm, sweet-seeming
lady than could be read on the surface. Deep, raging
emotions boiled inside her, held in check by her
strong will. Among them, he was sure, was a passion
she just barely contained. And his presence roused
it in her. Her eyes widened. Moist, glistening lips
parted.
How could Lord Groswick
leave a lady such as this alone for so long a time?
She was so lovely, so warm and welcoming. It raised
a deep anger and even deeper doubt in him. A man
surely wouldn't leave the side of such a lady for
any length of time without desperate reason. Were
she his, it would take some truly grave need to
force him from her for more than a few days.
His men must have
put more wood on the fire. His body was blazing.
The warmth gathered and settled in his groin, making
him hard and needy. He dared not let it show and
fought with all his will to contain the raging inferno
that fired his blood.
The lady abruptly
realized the danger. She closed her eyes, lowered
her head, and took a deep, noisy breath. Her breasts
bounced as she let the air stream out again. It
took her a moment to get control, but then she opened
her eyes and released his hand.
"Sir Thomas, I apologize.
None of this should have happened." She rose to
her feet. "Every measure will be taken to discover
the culprit and ensure he's punished."
He suspected her apology
was intended to cover more than just his injury.
"I trust you will,
my lady."
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