Castles in the Air by Christina Dodd
A cup presented itself beneath her nose, and a voice said, “My lady, I’ve brought you your favorite wine, well-strained.”
Startled, Juliana took it from the beaming Valeska. She’d been focussed so intently on each inhale and exhale, she’d noticed nothing else.
“And I brought a wrap for your feet.” Dagna laid it across Juliana’s lap, hiding Raymond’s arm and giving him, Juliana feared, tacit permission to caress her as a husband would. They had been betrothed by proxy, and to the servants, the old ladies, the men, the wedding ceremony was a formality. Performed on the steps of the church, it would give their children the shelter of legitimacy.
When those children would be conceived mattered to no one but Juliana.
To the two old ladies hovering over her, anticipating her every need as if she already carried the babe they desired, she whispered, “Go away.”
They retreated, unoffended, still smiling.
Raymond murmured in her ear. “They want only your comfort, and are perhaps overzealous in their pursuit. Don’t be angry.”
“I don’t punish servants for my own bad humor,” she said stiffly.
“I never thought you did.”
“And Sir Joseph learned better. He grew up at my father’s side, and one of the first rules my father taught me was not to abuse my servants or my serfs or my villeins.” She took a breath and wished she could stop talking. She stifled the yawn which struggled from her depths to the surface. The excitement, the fear, the anger of the evening had left her exhausted and unable to cope. She wanted to sleep. But Raymond still pressed close to her. When he spoke, his breath warmed her cheek. She saw his jewelled eyes gleam in the firelight. She absorbed the warmth of his body. Did he, like the rest of the castle, consider the proxy betrothal valid unto the day? Would he expect to join her on her bed?
The thought brought an odd flush to her cheeks. His arm seemed to toast the skin of her belly, and her skin itched beneath its weight. She pressed her thighs together to relieve the sense of pressure, but that only made it worse, and she lost control of her breathing—a double disadvantage.
Scornfully, she labelled this as youthful, immature, lacking in sense. Any woman who reached the mature age of eight-and-twenty should know the insanity of allowing such sensations to control her emotions.
She sipped the mulled wine and considered how she could remove herself from his grasp. Should she stand without explanation and leave? Should she excuse herself to supervise an already efficient household, or explain she must use the garderobe? Should she express concern for her exhausted daughters, check the pallet where they slept, then never return?
She didn’t know. She was afraid she had become the celebrated whore of Sir Joseph’s ranting. When she looked at Hugh and Felix, she felt as if she rocked in a boat in a fierce storm. When she looked at Raymond, the waves calmed, the wind smelled fresh, and only Juliana and Raymond existed, alone on the sea.
Whatever his true feelings were at being condemned to marry her, he played the faithful lover well. Such kindness when none was required made her resent him all the more. She should hate him; it proved impossible. She found herself wishing she’d met him before, when she had known how to laugh. She’d never been a beauty, but at one time men had flocked to her side for a smile. In her imagination, she saw herself laced into a sky-blue cotte with a sun-yellow chainse peeping out. Men surrounded her, but none of them frightened her. They weren’t important, for she was not only the lady of Lofts, but the wife of a great knight and the mother of brave daughters. Her girls explained they owed their courage to their mother’s example. Her husband—
The support beneath her head gave way, and she blinked. A hand, broad, callused, hovered in the line of her vision. Raymond’s hand. Without thinking, she placed hers in his grasp and let him swing her to her feet.
She stood swaying while he said, “Lord Hugh, Lord Felix, our acquaintance will no doubt prosper, but tonight, Lady Juliana is nodding. The servants are drooping, and your journey has made you wish to seek your own pallet. ’Tis time to sleep”—he wrapped an arm around her shoulder—“and we bid you good-night.”
8
He hadn’t even kissed her.
Juliana groaned as stripes of sunlight pressed on her eyelids. It couldn’t be morning. Not yet. Not when so many ordeals faced her today.
It should have been the laughter she dreaded, the laughter directed at the gullible Lady Juliana. She curled into a little ball and dragged the pillow over her ear.
She did dread the laughter, and the merriment with which her household would prepare for their mistress’s marriage. But more than that, she dreaded facing Lord Raymond. Last night he had been so kind, so apologetic, so completely a chivalrous knight. He had helped her climb, fully clothed, up on the bed. He’d sat on the covers and explained how the disastrous masquerade had come about, how he’d lied only to ease her fears, how he had become trapped in his disguise, and how he’d intended to reveal himself.
He’d been a bit vague about when he had intended to reveal himself, and he’d invited her to speak her thoughts. She’d wanted to. She’d wanted to badly, but every time she looked at him, she was struck by a sense of vertigo. She’d been imprisoned in this stony, thorn-edged tower for too long, and Raymond pushed her out on the ledge and was going to make her fall.
Every time she looked at his shaven chin with its newly revealed cleft, every time he leaned close and she inhaled the fresh-washed scent of him, every time she heard the determined rumble in his tone, she felt the surge of air in her face and saw the ground rushing up at her.
But he hadn’t tried to kiss her. He hadn’t even tried to join her under the covers. She was glad to put off that ordeal a little longer. She didn’t mind that she was cowardly, and so stained by her disgrace he dreaded the marriage bed as much as she did.
“Why do you wish to wed her?”
Hugh’s bass rumbled through the great hall, and she closed her eyes and snuggled into the feather mattress to shut him out. To shut the whole wretched day out.
Still loud, Hugh continued, “A man like you—”
Raymond interrupted quickly. “What do you mean, a man like me?”
The knights sounded as if they stood right beside the master bed, and she pulled the warm furs closer about her shoulders.
“A man like you,” Hugh said stiffly, “has lived at court and all over the continent. You have the backing of the king. Why would you want to come to a provincial backwater in England to marry a woman like Juliana?”
“A woman like Juliana?” Raymond inquired.
“You’ve eyes to see.” Juliana could almost imagine Hugh’s shrug. “She’s pretty enough, but she hasn’t lived an exemplary life, and she doesn’t own many lands, not when compared to what you’re used to. She’s jumpy and suspicious, and doesn’t listen to a man when she should. Too much indulged by her father, I guess. When he rejected her, it struck her down and she became strong-willed and determined. And of course, she’s a snivelling coward.”
She stared at the wall. Sunlight beamed through the arrow slit and told her she’d slept too long. Morning mass was over, morning’s meal cleaned up, morning work had commenced, and she still didn’t want to face the consequences of last night’s events.
Raymond sounded polite. “How can she be a snivelling coward and a strong-willed woman at the same time?”
“That’s Juliana.” Hugh’s voice softened with affection. “She’ll keep a man on his toes.” He cleared his throat, deepened his voice. “But I don’t understand why you want to wed her.”
“Because the king commands it.” Raymond’s answer couldn’t satisfy Hugh, but in a different tone, he asked, “What think you, Cuthbert? Can we build here?”
Ignoring the chill that struck at her skin, Juliana snuck an ear out from beneath the covers. Build what? Where? What mischief was this phony castle-builder making now, and why did he have her carpenter from the village here in the keep?
Hugh sighed, loud and exasperated. “Raymond, if you would give me your attention.”
“You have my attention.” Raymond’s voice dipped, became muffled.
Obviously piqued, Hugh said, “Lady Juliana is fragile, unused to the hearty ways of men. It has been suggested you would not realize her delicacy and perhaps use her ill.”
“Who would suggest such a thing?”
Raymond sounded overloud to Juliana, but she lifted the pillow to hear the reply.
“It doesn’t matter.” Hugh sounded chagrined, a man who’d said the wrong thing and achieved the wrong results. “What matters is you and your station.”
Raymond ignored that protestation with the arrogance of one born to power. “Last night you seemed easy enough in your mind about the marriage. What changed it so abruptly?”
Juliana heard a shuffling, and remembered how Hugh moved his feet when cornered. He denied Raymond’s tacit accusation. “No one! No one changed my mind.”
“I asked what changed your mind,” Raymond reminded him, “not who.”
“Nothing changed my mind.” Hugh spoke too rapidly. “I just want to do the right thing for Juliana. Don’t you like to do the right thing for the women you feel responsible for?”
In marked contrast, Raymond drawled as if his thoughts impeded his speech. “I do the right thing for the women I am responsible for.”
“I feel the same responsibility a brother would feel for Juliana.”
“Or a father?” Raymond said.
Hugh plunged on. “But you could easily persuade our noble sovereign to award you a new bride, and it would be advantageous for you to have a wife accustomed to the court’s ways.”
“You want her for yourself,” Raymond accused.
“I want the best for Juliana,” Hugh replied, stiff as any man whose secret has been revealed before all.
Raymond lowered his voice, made it intense and threatening. “Listen to me, Lord Hugh. Lady Juliana is mine. My woman, my heiress, my bride. No challenge shall go unanswered. Henry gave her to me, and she’s mine.”
What Hugh would have answered, Juliana never discovered. Such a blatant declaration in front of the whole room infuriated her, and she swept back the covers and prepared to leap up.
Raymond stood beside the bed, tall and broad and handsome as she feared. He spoke to her now, not Hugh. “We spent the night in a snowed-in hut all alone, and there I determined she was mine.”
It was a lie, the worst kind of falsehood, one that stole her virtue and reduced her, once again, to status of fallen woman. She bounded up until they were nose to nose—and faltered. His gaze locked with hers and he smiled without warmth.
“Did we wake you, Lady Juliana?”
“What—?” She glanced around, noted in some lesser part of her mind that Hugh stood beside him, her screen had been removed, and on the dais beside her bed knelt her master carpenter. She wanted to attack Raymond for his blatant declaration, demand he explain, but she shrank from the confrontation. If she insisted he clear her name of wrongdoing, would Hugh tell him the truth? Would Felix come from his place by the fire to smirk with his red lips and strut like a little peacock? Would Sir Joseph—?
A quick survey of the great hall confounded her. Sir Joseph was still missing, but such a blessed state could not continue. Her whole life he’d been there, sneering, snitching, so rather than reply to either Raymond’s question or claim, she asked, “Cuthbert, what are you doing?”
Cuthbert scrambled to his feet, bobbed his head, and beamed. “M’lady, yer new lord cares only fer yer comfort an’ th’ comfort o’ yer people. ’Tis honored I am t’ offer ye congratulations on yer marriage. Honored.”
“My thanks, Cuthbert.” Confused, she shivered as the chill struck her.
“You’re cold,” Raymond said smoothly. “Let me warm you.”
He picked up a fur and prepared to tuck it around her, but she snatched it from him and wrapped it around her hunched shoulders. “I’ll do it.” In a forced, but pleasant tone, she asked, “Cuthbert, do you have enough to keep you busy this cold winter?”
Cuthbert laughed heartily. “Ye jest, m’lady. This winter, me family will have th’ extra they need fer true comfort.” He swung his arm to slap her on the back, realized his error, blushed a painful red. Bowing, he retreated back to his straight edge.
With her eyes, she measured the marks he labored over. Scratched into the oaken floor, they marked an ample area around the bed and they puzzled her. Whatever was happening, she didn’t like it. She knew she didn’t like it. but when she looked up to Raymond, tall, and even taller on the dais, she opted for diplomacy. “My lord, what is your plan?”
He sat down next to her; that didn’t make it better. His weight depressed the mattress, and she had to brace herself to keep from rolling into him. Now he was close enough for her to inhale his essence of smoky fires and sawn wood. He said, “Lofts’s keep is badly lacking in the comforts essential for a lady’s pleasure.”
Her keep lacked comforts? She swept it with a glance. The long, narrow arrow slits let in light but kept out most of the cold. The fire burned continuously on a central tile hearth, and the smoke exited through louvers in the roof. Rushes covered the floor and the removable trestle tables were easily cleared to give work room. What more could a lady ask for? In discouraging tones, she said, “I’ve heard some castles have their fires close to the wall.”
“I have seen it,” he agreed.
She sniffed. “A foolish idea, to my mind. How can all the folk warm themselves?”
Raymond didn’t act at all like a superior male who’d seen the world and all its wonders. “Some keeps have more than one hearth. Say, one against that wall”—he pointed to the far wall—“and one against this.”
“What a mess that would be,” she scoffed. “How can the smoke reach the peak of the roof without much meandering?”
“A hood is built above the hearth to collect the smoke.” Raymond treated her concern seriously.
“I’ve done it myself,” Hugh added, and flinched when Juliana glared. “It works well, and it seems to heat the stones. My keep is much warmer than this old pile of rock.”
The disparagement in his tones irked her, and she turned her back on him and spoke to Raymond. “I have heard some ladies insist on a place to sit ringed in large windows to let the sun in.”
“Aye, I have seen that,” Raymond acknowledged.
“It saves the eyes of the sewing maids,” Hugh said.
“Do you ruffle the covers with your sewing maids, now?” Juliana snapped, pushed by his championship of Raymond.
He snapped back, “You’ve got a saucy mouth for a lady, and you’ll give Lord Raymond a disgust of you. Besides, what does it matter to you whom I ruffle the covers with?”
Juliana blushed, mortified at being so justly reprimanded and worried the mere mention of bed-time activities would give Raymond a taste for them. “So it saves the eyes of the sewing maids. ’Twould be a fine idea, but what of a siege? My master castle-builder—” She snapped her mouth shut. The devil could fly away with him before she’d quote him to himself.
Raymond didn’t point out her unconscious error. “I told you any opening is a weakness in the defenses, but when larger windows are added, it is usual to add them in an upper storey, above the great hall, as part of a solar.”
“A solar?”
“A place away from your family and retainers, with ample room for your chests and our bed,” Raymond explained. “A place with windows that allow the sun to light your weaving.”
She was horrified. “Sleeping in a separate room from the people of the castle? But—”
“When spring comes, we’ll have the master builder construct a stone structure for a proper solar, but for now Cuthbert will build walls for a makeshift room
“An addition for my pleasure? Are you mad?” She gripped the covers to keep from sliding into him. “No members of my family have ever so separated themselves from their people. It will encourage sedition, a lack of loyalty.”
“Your words are your father’s,” Hugh said.
She turned on him, her fists bunched. “What’s wrong with that? My father was right.”
Hugh planted his feet, put his hands on his waist, and challenged her. “About everything?”
She wanted to cry, “Aye!” but she dared not. Too well she remembered her father’s coldness as he withdrew from her after her ordeal. She’d needed him badly then. He’d failed her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d betrayed her, too. Not even Sir Joseph’s admission eased the pain of her beloved father’s defection. Her gaze fell; she scraped the furs with her nails and wished they were Hugh’s eyes. “Go away, Hugh,” she ordered. “Just go away.”
Big, brash, and offended, Hugh stomped toward the fire.
“He means well,” Raymond said.
“I know, but he’s been a trial to me.”
“Is he the one who hurt you?” Raymond probed.
“Hurt me?” She laughed weakly. Was she concealing a secret Raymond had already discovered? “Hugh wouldn’t hurt me. Not deliberately. Anyway, I’ve forgiven him.”
Raymond moved closer again, and propelled by a conspiracy of feathers and gravity, she tumbled into him. “Shall I kill him for you?”
Shaken by the offer, she exclaimed, “Nay!”
“I would. I would kill any man who hurt you. Did you hear what I told Hugh?”
Raymond sounded sincere, but men were tricksters all. “I…when?”
“When we stood beside the bed.”
Her gaze dropped to her fingers, frantically groping for an anchor among the furs.
His hand covered hers; he pried the nervous digits from the strands and cradled them. He stroked her palm, tallying each callus with little circles that tickled. “Valeska and Dagna taught me to read palms. Would you like me to read yours?”