Castles in the Air (30 page)

“Tell us,” Raymond said from between clenched teeth.

Raising his head, Lord Peter looked straight at Raymond. “Your parents are dead.”

Juliana gasped at the sad tidings so plainly put. But as Raymond said nothing, did nothing, she realized the source of Lord Peter’s uneasiness.

Raymond did not love his parents. The grief she’d experienced upon learning of her own parents’ passing did not seize Raymond. As he stood there immobile, it wasn’t evident what he thought, or what emotions boiled in him.

“My parents are dead,” he repeated at last. “How did this happen?”

“Winter is no time to take a ship across the channel, and the wreckage of a ship has been washing up against the cliffs. The fisherfolk identified it…”

“As my parents’ vessel?” Raymond wrung out a lock of hair that dripped in his face. To Juliana, he said, “These last two days, I’ve taken comfort in the thought the rain has washed away the reminders of the cesspit.”

It seemed an aside, but Juliana understood. This was a break from the heavy atmosphere of unhappiness sur
rounding every evidence of mortality, and from the guilt surrounding these deaths. “I, too, have been glad for the rain,” she agreed. “It’s cleansing, like a baptism.”

Whistling tunelessly, Raymond stared up at the weeping sky. “It’s very odd. My parents have been there all my life. They have tormented me, controlled me, made me so angry I have screamed like an ale-wife. I hated them, but Juliana taught me there were worse things than unloving parents.”

Dumbfounded, Juliana queried, “I did?”

“Aye, you did. ’Tis worse to have a father who loves you, yet lacks the strength of character to support you through your travails. ’Tis worse to have a father you love, yet who’s so weak you suspect him of betraying you. To put that aside took real fortitude.” He sighed and rubbed his fingers together to warm them. “So my parents have left this world, and I find I no longer hate them. Nor is there a shred of grief in my soul. There’s nothing but pity for them.” He surveyed the bailey. His gaze rested on Margery and Ella outside the smithy with Keir and Hugh, then roamed the lands through the open gate. He smiled. “They had not a tenth of the riches I have found.”

He looked at Juliana, and she plucked the thought from his mind.
The riches I will renounce
. Aloud, he asked, “Shall we go in?”

They stepped into a great hall overflowing with women. Some Juliana recognized, some she didn’t. Some were serving maids. Others appeared to be noblewomen. Julian gaped at the swirl of activity, noting it circled around one aristocratic lady seated at her sewing frame. For one mad moment, Juliana thought it was Raymond’s mother, returned from the dead, but Raymond disabused her with a pleased exclamation. “Eleanor!”

The lady rose and came toward him with arms extended. “Cousin.”

Juliana glanced at Lord Peter for guidance. He paid her no heed but stepped back a respectful distance. Raymond went hastily down on one knee.

“Oh, Raymond.” The lady called Eleanor pounded Raymond on the shoulder. “No ceremony with me. Stand up.”

Raymond did as ordered, embracing the lady with equal parts enthusiasm and respect. “When facing a monarch, I find it’s best to assume an attitude of meekness until I discover if I’m still in favor.”

“You are ever in favor with your queen.”

As their banter penetrated her weary mind and Juliana grasped that Eleanor of Aquitaine, former queen of France, present queen of England, and duchess in her own right, honored her home, she sank to her knees—although whether from respect or amazement, she couldn’t say.

With an arm around her shoulder, Raymond turned to face Juliana. “May I have the honor of presenting my wife, Lady Juliana of Lofts?”

This was indeed the queen the troubadours sang of. Her countenance disclosed the relationship about which Geoffroi bragged, but her beauty surpassed Isabel’s. The overweening pride that marred Raymond’s parents was absent in Eleanor. She had no need to remind those around her of her status. She was the living embodiment of romance, intelligence, and life—and she knew it.

Assessing Juliana with one shrewd glance, she held out her hand. “Stand, cousin. You’ll not be on ceremony with me.”

Juliana took the hand almost reverently and came to her feet. “I never dreamed of this honor,” she stammered.

Eleanor pulled a wry face. “Didn’t Raymond warn you I’d visit?”

Wordless, Juliana shook her head.

“Shame on him.” Waggling an authoritarian finger, Eleanor said, “Raymond is my favorite cousin, and he’s Henry’s, too, when Henry is in his right mind.”

“How is the king?” Raymond asked, leading Eleanor back to her stool.

With a moue, Eleanor admitted, “I don’t know. I gave birth to another of his sons at Christmastide, and he has expressed his gratitude by staying as far away from me as possible.”

“My congratulations, Madam, on another healthy son.”

Raymond’s deep voice made the plaudit sound like a benediction, but Eleanor rolled her eyes. “He’s a mewling babe, and I cannot like him.”

“Because of the circumstances of his birth?” Raymond asked.

“No doubt, although I don’t emulate the Madonna at the best of times. I’m a good queen, a good duchess, a lusty wife, a fair poet, and a beauty.” Her smile mocked herself and the lines which life had etched on her face. “I don’t have time to be a good mother, too.” Her fingers fluttered. “Although I’m a better mother than Henry is father. Henry’s well, I’m sure. When is Henry ever ill?”

Raymond captured her restless hand. “He is never ill.”

Gazing at Raymond, Eleanor said, “You have the look of him sometimes, especially in your rages.”

Raymond dropped her hand. “Henry froths at the mouth when he rages, Madam.”

“Aye, so he does.”

Juliana suddenly saw Raymond’s earlier transformation from gentle knight to raging beast in a less sinister light, and almost laughed aloud. King Henry’s paroxysms were legendary. While in the grip of one of his rages, gossip claimed, he rolled on the ground, chewed the furniture, and banged his head, and all fled from him.

A family characteristic? The justification for the bellicose bear on the family arms? Perhaps. Juliana had reason to be grateful for that bear.

Lifting her needle, Eleanor then gave permission to those around her to be seated. Her ladies-in-waiting sank back onto their designated benches. Raymond indicated the bench directly in front of Eleanor, and Juliana sat. He propped his foot up beside her and leaned his elbow against his knee. Juliana decided he did it to avoid making contact with her.

“Sit, Raymond,” Eleanor commanded.

“Nay, Madam. I have been sitting on a horse for two days, and have no need to place my arse on any hard surface for a long time.”

“You’re crude.”

“I’m sore.”

A smile played around Eleanor’s mouth, and she seemed not at all offended by Raymond’s bluntness. Dipping her needle into her work, she said smoothly, “Regardless of our differences, in one thing Henry and I are agreed. We are glad, Lady Juliana, of your marriage to Raymond. It had been much on our minds at court, especially when you did not come when summoned.”

Eleanor’s lightning glance destroyed Juliana’s composure, and she shifted on the bench. Before Juliana could draft an excuse, Eleanor continued, “Our cousin Raymond is a treasure who has set many
a maiden’s heart beating faster. But more important than that, he is a mighty warrior.”

“I do know that,” Juliana said.

“Aye.” Eleanor examined Raymond’s battered face as if she’d just noticed its injuries. “You’ve just had a demonstration.”

Juliana looked on him, too, and she wanted to cry at the damage to his handsome face. But she couldn’t keep the pride from her tone when she said, “He saved my daughter.”

“All the more reason for you to cease any resistance you have to this union.” The whip snapped in Eleanor’s voice, and Juliana tried to protest. Eleanor raised one long, pale hand. “It is the king’s will, and mine, that the borderlands of Wales be in secure hands, and the hands we chose were Raymond’s. Is that clear?”

Observing the grim brackets around Raymond’s mouth, Juliana remembered his fervent determination to end their marriage. She wanted, so badly, to use the queen’s command as a way to chain Raymond to her side. But she knew how he hated chains, and she couldn’t be so selfish as to keep him when he wanted to go. “My queen—” she began, but Raymond’s heavy hand on her shoulder cut her off.

“It is clear to both of us,” he answered, stiff with pride.

Eleanor flicked a glance at them, seeing below the surface. But she approved his acquiescence with a biting, “How wise you are, as befitting the count and countess of Locheais.”

Juliana wet her lips. “Madam?”

“The count and countess—” Eleanor broke off. “I’m sorry, Raymond. I assumed Lord Peter had told you of the drownings of your parents.”

“He did,” Raymond replied.

Faintly puzzled, Eleanor said, “I won’t insult you by offering my condolences. I know what you thought of them, and rightly so. But you do assume your father’s title. You’re heir to all his lands and your mother’s, too.” She invited his smile with her own grin. “A preposterous amount of money and land. When I wage war on Henry, I’ll know whom to approach for a loan.”

“When you wage war with Henry—” Raymond began, but stopped when Juliana half rose in her chair.

“You’re wealthy,” she said to him accusingly.

“Well…aye.”

She sounded witless, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. “And you don’t need my lands.”

“Henry needs them,” Raymond joked. Seeing the panic on her face, he sobered. “You always knew I would eventually inherit.”

Still stupid with shock, she said, “Avraché will be yours still, for your mother—”

“Had no time to give it to the Church,” he agreed.

Regaining control, she tried to smile, tried to be glad for him. “How marvelous for you. You’ll have your home back.”

“My home?” He shook his head. “Nay, Avraché was never my home. I was raised there, but—”

“But you were so upset when your mother threatened to take it from you,” Juliana burst out.

“Well, aye, I would be. They had promised for years to give it to me to use as income, and in one vindictive move my mother tried to strip me of even so minute an amount.” To Eleanor, he said, “Isabel wanted to give Avraché to the Church.”

“Henry would never allow that,” Eleanor snapped.

“Perhaps I could endow an abbey there in her memory?”

Eleanor considered, then concurred. “As I have endowed the abbey of Fontevrault. A kind idea, for if the nuns must pray for Isabel’s soul every day, she will surely pass from purgatory before this millennium is through.”

“So soon?” Raymond asked ironically.

“God’s time is not of this world.” Eleanor’s rebuke possessed every evidence of piety, but she scarcely drew breath before she changed subjects. “Where is my master castle-builder? I sent him to Lady Juliana to build her a new curtain wall. Where is he?”

“Your master castle-builder?” Straightening to his full height, Raymond hooted. “That midget apprentice is
your
master castle-builder?”

With a gracious inclination of the head, she affirmed, “He is.”

Throwing back his head, straightening his shoulders, Raymond declared, “He didn’t believe we could dig a foundation in the cold, he didn’t believe we could raise a wall in the wet, and he was dismissed and sent to—”

It struck Juliana at the same time it struck Raymond. “May God rest his soul,” she said. “You sent him to set sail with your parents.”

From the shadows beyond the fire, there was a sudden movement, a bold flash of color, and Papiol stood before them, arms outstretched. “Behold, your master castle-builder, safe from the arms of the salty sea!”

Unable to believe
this reincarnation of his nemesis, Raymond stared, as, like a well-feathered rooster, Papiol strutted back and forth. He praised the ox-drawn cart that had taken him to the harbor too late to board the ship. He praised Lord Peter and Maud for giving him succor in his extremity. He praised
le bon Dieu
for bringing the queen of England to their magnificent castle where she would find him, and praised the queen of England for her continued patronage, and praised the maid who’d warmed his bed last night.

His praise, in fact, extended over the whole world—except to Raymond. And Papiol’s sentiments, Raymond reflected, were wholly reciprocated.

As Papiol wore himself out, Eleanor said, “You have a very odd look on your face, Raymond. Does your arse still bother you?”

Raymond met her amused gaze. “The pain in my arse is growing by leaps and bounds.”

Eleanor laughed heartily and waved a dismissive hand. “You and your lady are creating a rather large puddle on the floor. Go and do whatever’s necessary to make yourselves presentable.” Juliana made her
obeisance and left with alacrity, but Eleanor caught Raymond’s sleeve. Lowering her voice, she said, “I received the message and the gold you sent from Keir, and I brought the bride gift you requested. It’s most unusual, and most unattractive.”

Raymond had almost forgotten the bride gift, and he refused to yield to the inquisitiveness twinkling in Eleanor’s eyes. “Good.”

“You’ll not satisfy my curiosity?” she appealed. “After I dragged it all this way?”

“You don’t have to know everything, Eleanor.”

She tilted her head back. “That’s true, but I do know an unhappy couple when I see one. Is there anything I can do? We—Henry and I—meant this union to be reward for you, not a trial. I’ll talk to Juliana if you wish.”

“Nay!” he barked. Then, collecting himself, “Nay. The fault is mine.”

Pressing her ringed fingers against his, she offered, “Let me help if I can. Sometimes a royal word is worth all the frantic activity of men.”

Raymond indicated Papiol with a jerk of his head. “You’ve done too much already.” Eleanor laughed again, but it was true. More than returning Papiol, Eleanor had given him a reprieve from exile.

Although his honor demanded he immediately leave Juliana, he couldn’t, for the queen visited. He couldn’t seek an annulment, for the king demanded he retain Juliana’s lands. He would remain her husband, and even if he moved his official residence to Barton-hale and she stayed at Lofts, he would still have to meet with her at Christmastide and Easter, at harvest accounting and at Midsummer…what pleasure he would find in the touch of her hand!

What agony he would endure while away from her.

So it was a painful reprieve, but a reprieve nonetheless.

Eleanor interrupted his harsh reflections. “I’m occupying your nuptial bed, but there is no other in this castle. If I might give you some advice—have another bed built for visiting royalty.”

Staring at her, Raymond scarcely believed his good luck. He didn’t have to share Juliana’s bed tonight? He didn’t have to curb his needs and fight her allure? “Another reprieve,” he whispered.

“What?”

Collecting himself, he bowed over her hand. “Thank you for your advice, Eleanor. I will certainly think about building a new bed.”

As he strode away, she murmured, “Funny. That sounded as if he told me to tend to my needle.”

“The sun is out.” Keir stood in the doorway of the great hall, and proclaimed again, “The sun is out!”

The call reverberated through the great hall, bounced off the cold stone, and betrayed how desperately tired the occupants were of staring at the walls of the keep.

Margery and Ella threw themselves at Keir, begging, “Can we go outside? Can we? Can we?”

Keir’s hand lingered on their bright heads. “You’ll have to ask your father,” he said, then came to kneel before the queen. “You ordered I inform you at the first sign of sun, and so I do.”

“Gracious thanks, good Keir.” Raising her voice, she demanded imperiously, “I wish to be entertained. Out of doors.”

“’Tis a quagmire out there,” Raymond warned, holding off the clamoring children and eyeing the mud splattered well above Keir’s knee.

“We’ll make mudpies,” Eleanor countered, rising to her feet. “We’ll look at that wall of yours, and you can present your bride with her gift.”

“Bride gift, bride gift,” Ella chanted, and alarmed, Raymond glanced about.

“Juliana’s down in the kitchen, ordering the noon meal. Royalty are such a drain on the resources when they visit, I’m afraid we must move on soon. Did you really think I’d so lost my senses as to reveal your present?”

The days inside had worn away Raymond’s patience also, and it was all he could do to say, “Not at all, Eleanor.”

Eleanor lifted her finger, and a lady-in-waiting came running with her cape. “You must give her the gift before I leave. I wish to observe her reaction.”

“As you wish, Eleanor.”

“I should order your head removed for your excessively polite insolence”—she leaned closer and examined his face—“but you look so thin and worn I’ll attribute it to lack of sleep and excuse you.”

“I thank you, Eleanor.”

As she swirled the cape around her shoulders, she lifted one inquiring brow. “But if you can’t sleep when half the hall separates you and your wife, how will you sleep when you share the same bed?”

His teeth clicked together for a wide, false smile. “Sometimes, Eleanor, you’re a damned annoying woman.”

She returned the smile with equal vehemence. “So Henry says.” Lifting her hands, she called, “Attention!
We are going outside to christen the curtain wall of Lofts Castle.”

From the corner of his eye, Raymond saw Juliana step out of the stairwell. She paused as if amazed, and he had the chance to feast his eyes.

She, too, looked thin and tired, worn by the demands of a royal household on the lady of the castle. When she hadn’t been on her knees, doing penance for some sin, she’d been running from the kitchen to the larder to the wine cellar, ordering the entertainment—she depended heavily on Valeska and Dagna and their acrobatic skills—and organizing games. On their first night home, the queen’s minstrel sang an epic ballad about a Crusader hero. As he sang, it became clear the hero was Raymond, and Raymond had cringed beneath the approbation of the court.

Juliana had stood to applaud the song, presented the minstrel with a fine woolen cape, and now, every night, the minstrel sang that damned song.

Raymond had seen Juliana consulting with the minstrel, and he suspected her interference, but what could he do? The court seemed to adore having a hero in their midst. The ladies-in-waiting hung on him, and one, bolder than the rest, had offered her services.

That was when he’d discovered Juliana had gelded him.

He didn’t want just anyone. He wanted Juliana.

Now, unaware of her crime, she pushed the wisps of hair off her forehead slowly and listened to Eleanor.

“Keir, would you arrange seating for me and the other noble ladies?”

Keir bowed. “With pleasure, Madame.” He snapped his fingers at Margery and Ella. “Do you want to come with me?”

They jumped at him, and he slung Ella on his back. “Hugh, you take Margery,” Keir commanded, and grumbling good-naturedly, Hugh did.

“We’ll bring down a cask of…what do you think, Raymond, wine or ale?”

Eleanor made the decision herself. “A cask of both. We’ll have a party.” Catching sight of her confused hostess, she said, “Eh, Juliana? A party to celebrate your wall. Do you have a gold cup we can use for the ceremony?”

“Nay, Madame, but there is the ceremonial cup we use at Christmastide to wish Apple Tree Man
wes-hâl
.”

Eleanor looked delighted. “That will do nicely.”

Juliana nodded to Fayette. “Please fetch it.”

“Aye, m’lady, but”—Fayette hesitated—“do ye think Apple Tree Man’ll like us usin’ his cup this way?”

Eleanor blinked. “We won’t tell him.”

Juliana agreed, adding, “’Twill be good to get away from”—she glanced at Raymond—“the great hall.”

Irritated by lack of sleep, by constant arousal, he drew himself up and snarled, “I’ll go pick out the wine.”

“Fine,” she said.

“Fine,” he said.

Lord Peter hastened up and stepped between them. “I’ll go with you, Raymond, to help you carry the casks.”

“Fine,” Raymond repeated, and grabbed a torch from the wall.

They trod the steps to the wine cellar, and Lord Peter said, “It’s dark down here. Almost as dark as the inside of a woman’s mind. They’re strange creatures, aren’t they?”

“Women are foolish creatures.” Raymond unlocked
the door and slammed it against the wall. “Is Maud ever foolish?”

“Frequently, especially when she claims I’m foolish. What kind of wine do you wish?”

“The kind that mixes best with mud.” Raymond placed the torch into a sconce and squinted, sightless, at the markings on the casks. “Doesn’t she understand we have to remain wed? The queen has insisted. Our children expect it.”

“So you will stay.”

“Nay! I mean, aye. But even if I want her, dream of her…” He opened a tap and splashed ale in his face trying to dissipate the effects of his dreams. “…brood over her, I can’t force myself on her. She saw me chained and humiliated. She despises me. She saw me mad with the fighting frenzy not once, but twice. She fears me.”

From the doorway came Juliana’s indignant voice. “You dolt.” She advanced into the room. “You idiotic gazob. How dare you think I despise you because you were chained?”

Raymond found himself unsurprised. Something in the ether—a sudden warmth, a tingling—had warned him of her presence. Leaning back against the cool stones, he put his head back and visualized, once more, the scene in the moonlit meadow. “I saw the look on your face when Keir freed me. I thought you were going to vomit.”

Lord Peter interjected, “I would vomit myself, to see you so abused.”

“I wasn’t repulsed that you were chained,” she denied. “I was frightened that Keir would kill you with that ax. Tosti had been tortured to death. Denys had died as I watched over him. There were dead
mercenaries by the fire. Death was all around me. But once I realized who was chained to the tree, I wasn’t afraid. Finding you was the only luck I’d had that day.”

“You were afraid.”

“Not for
me
. I knew you’d never hurt me. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to help you.” She sniffled, and her voice choked. “I didn’t know how to help you. But I came to you, petted you, talked to you”—sobs began to punctuate her words, and she shook with each one—“and I only despised…the man who had abused you. I was…so afraid I’d lose you…I only tried to help…and you’ve hated me for it ever since.”

She whirled and ran, leaving an uncomfortable silence, a silence that was finally broken by Raymond. “She thinks I hate her because she helped me?” he said incredulously. He cleared his throat. “As I said, women are foolish.” But his voice lacked conviction.

Perched on an upturned cask, Lord Peter suggested, “Why don’t you tell her you don’t hate her?”

Juliana dragged her toe on each tread as she climbed the stairs. She didn’t want to go christen the wall. She didn’t want to feign laughter, make conversation, or be pleasant to that woman who wanted to take Raymond to her bed. She didn’t want to do anything but curl up in a corner and cry.

Valeska and Dagna thought that time was on her side. But it wasn’t. Every day, Raymond grew farther away from her. As she’d run to the larder, to the kitchen, to the cellars, she’d been able to think of naught save Raymond. The way he smiled, his easy banter with the queen, his way with her children. She
loved everything about him—and he thought she despised him? That she feared him?

“Juliana!”

The queen’s voice made her start guiltily.

“Come out of the stairwell and prepare yourself.”

“Aye, Madame.” Juliana scrubbed at her face, hoping to erase the signs of tears. When she stepped into the great hall, it was virtually empty. The queen stood by the fire, Valeska and Dagna were packing bread and cheese in several large baskets—but all the servants, the ladies, and the knights of the queen’s household had vanished.

The queen’s imperious voice tore Juliana from her reflections. “Are you ready to go outside? Come, come, you must not keep royalty waiting.”

Juliana could never tell whether Eleanor poked fun at herself or was in earnest, and she hurried to do as directed. As she sat to put on her overshoes, the queen asked, “Did you make Raymond realize what an ass he’s being?”

Relieved to find her feelings shared, Juliana asked, “Do you think he’s being an ass, too?”

“I do,” Valeska chimed, “He reminds me of…a knight I once knew. He always did what he thought was best for me and never asked me what I thought. Men are jackasses, one and all.”

“What happened to your knight?” Juliana asked.

“I left him. I’ll have no man telling me what to do.” Valeska covered the basket with a cloth and grinned. “The Saracens cured me of that.”

Eleanor, in her best royal voice, said, “Lady Juliana can’t leave Raymond. She has to remain wed.”

Juliana nodded. “Exactly. It’s for the good of the realm. He’s now wealthy, he could live at court
among royalty—among his relatives—and the reason he wanted my lands no longer exists—”

“How does that alter the matter?” Eleanor inquired. “Once he had the blessing of the Church on your union, he could do anything he wished with your possessions, and you would have had little recourse.”

Juliana tugged on her wooden overshoes. She knew that. Only…she’d come to depend on her wealth as a way to keep Raymond close. To find herself married to one of the greatest and wealthiest peers of the realm…well, it fed her insecurities. “Why did he stay, then? Why did he garner the affection of my daughters? Why did he make me love him?”

As Juliana fumbled with a cloth to wipe her nose, Dagna said, “I do not claim to understand the superior workings of a man’s mind—”

Eleanor snorted.

“—but perhaps he’s stayed for the pleasure of your company.”