glanced sideways at him. "I do not." Whatever the truth of Bernart and Juliana's relationship, it was of no concern to him.
Ahead, the castle stood against a cloudless sky. It was white, from the donjon rising at its center to the outer wall and towers. Painted against this stark backdrop were the many-colored tents of those knights who did not avail themselves of the donjon's accommodations. Even from a distance, the bustle of activity was visible—servants hurrying about, squires cleaning and polishing their lord's armor, knights reliving the day's battles, merchants calling tourneyers to sample their offerings, women enticing men to sample their wares....
An hour until eating, Gabriel reflected. Enough time to cool the fires of his loins? With a nudge of his spurs, he set his destrier to a gallop.
Chapter Four
"You think I have not prayed?"
Juliana lifted her bowed head, but did not look at the one who trespassed upon her sanctuary. She knew why Bernart came to the chapel. What she must now do.
"When my manhood was stolen," he said as he advanced, "I prayed it all a terrible dream, pleaded with God to deliver me from the infidels, but He was not listening, Juliana. He did not care."
She didn't wish to feel for him or his pain, but his words wounded her as they had the night he had told her of the atrocity done him.
"Afterward, as I lay bleeding, I prayed for death, but again I was denied. Do you know the tears I shed? Tears that I could never hold you in my arms and love you as you ought be loved?"
Emotion clawed at her, made it difficult to breathe.
Bernart lowered himself beside her where she knelt before the altar. 'Ours is a cruel God, Juliana." He unclasped her prayerful hands. "He does not hear you, just as He did not hear me."
She stared at the altar with its gold cross and candles on either side. " 'Tis men who are cruel," she said. "Men who make themselves God."
Bernart's hands tightened on hers. "You think that is what I do?"
"Do you not?"
He expelled a harsh sigh. "I know what I ask of you—"
"Ask?" She wrenched her hands free. "Surely you mean what you demand of me?"
"I do not wish to do it, Juliana."
"Then do not!"
"I must. Though I did not die at Acre, 'tis as if I am dead. A son would give me something to live for. To love."
As he could never love her. "Then I should not keep Gabriel waiting." She stood and turned toward the door.
Bernart caught her back against him. "He will not hurt you."
There were many ways to hurt a person. Though Juliana did not think Gabriel would abuse her, she knew she would be wounded. Deeply. She tried to turn to Bernart, but he held her fast, as if he could not endure her gaze.
"The wine dispensed this eve was not watered," he said.
She had not known. Tempted as she'd been to seek strength in drink, she had not taken a sip, certain she would need her full reserve of wits if she was to keep her identity hidden from the man who would this night claim her virtue.
"Gabriel drank his fill and is well sated," Bernart said. "I assure you he will not remember much on the morrow."
That was of small comfort. "You are certain he is alone?"
"Aye, his squire keeps his tent outside the walls."
"Does he expect a woman this eve?" It would not do for her to surprise him and end up with a knife to her throat.
" 'Tis Nesta he believes will come to him, but she is otherwise occupied."
Juliana pulled out of Bernart's hold, drew the hood of her mantle over her head, and walked to the door.
"Three nights and—" His voice cracked. "And 'twill be over."
Providing that a babe took. Juliana opened the door and walked from the chapel. Any hope Bernart might call her back died when he closed the door behind her. He could not bear to watch her go to his enemy.
Feeling as if it were the executioner's block she was about to lay her head upon, she traversed the corridor. It was normally lit by four torches, but this night there was only one. Enough light to guide her, but too
Ahead, the castle stood against a cloudless sky. It was white, from the donjon rising at its center to the outer wall and towers. Painted against this stark backdrop were the many-colored tents of those knights who did not avail themselves of the donjon's accommodations. Even from a distance, the bustle of activity was visible—servants hurrying about, squires cleaning and polishing their lord's armor, knights reliving the day's battles, merchants calling tourneyers to sample their offerings, women enticing men to sample their wares....
An hour until eating, Gabriel reflected. Enough time to cool the fires of his loins? With a nudge of his spurs, he set his destrier to a gallop.
Chapter Four
"You think I have not prayed?"
Juliana lifted her bowed head, but did not look at the one who trespassed upon her sanctuary. She knew why Bernart came to the chapel. What she must now do.
"When my manhood was stolen," he said as he advanced, "I prayed it all a terrible dream, pleaded with God to deliver me from the infidels, but He was not listening, Juliana. He did not care."
She didn't wish to feel for him or his pain, but his words wounded her as they had the night he had told her of the atrocity done him.
"Afterward, as I lay bleeding, I prayed for death, but again I was denied. Do you know the tears I shed? Tears that I could never hold you in my arms and love you as you ought be loved?"
Emotion clawed at her, made it difficult to breathe.
Bernart lowered himself beside her where she knelt before the altar. 'Ours is a cruel God, Juliana." He unclasped her prayerful hands. "He does not hear you, just as He did not hear me."
She stared at the altar with its gold cross and candles on either side. " 'Tis men who are cruel," she said. "Men who make themselves God."
Bernart's hands tightened on hers. "You think that is what I do?"
"Do you not?"
He expelled a harsh sigh. "I know what I ask of you—"
"Ask?" She wrenched her hands free. "Surely you mean what you demand of me?"
"I do not wish to do it, Juliana."
"Then do not!"
"I must. Though I did not die at Acre, 'tis as if I am dead. A son would give me something to live for. To love."
As he could never love her. "Then I should not keep Gabriel waiting." She stood and turned toward the door.
Bernart caught her back against him. "He will not hurt you."
There were many ways to hurt a person. Though Juliana did not think Gabriel would abuse her, she knew she would be wounded. Deeply. She tried to turn to Bernart, but he held her fast, as if he could not endure her gaze.
"The wine dispensed this eve was not watered," he said.
She had not known. Tempted as she'd been to seek strength in drink, she had not taken a sip, certain she would need her full reserve of wits if she was to keep her identity hidden from the man who would this night claim her virtue.
"Gabriel drank his fill and is well sated," Bernart said. "I assure you he will not remember much on the morrow."
That was of small comfort. "You are certain he is alone?"
"Aye, his squire keeps his tent outside the walls."
"Does he expect a woman this eve?" It would not do for her to surprise him and end up with a knife to her throat.
" 'Tis Nesta he believes will come to him, but she is otherwise occupied."
Juliana pulled out of Bernart's hold, drew the hood of her mantle over her head, and walked to the door.
"Three nights and—" His voice cracked. "And 'twill be over."
Providing that a babe took. Juliana opened the door and walked from the chapel. Any hope Bernart might call her back died when he closed the door behind her. He could not bear to watch her go to his enemy.
Feeling as if it were the executioner's block she was about to lay her head upon, she traversed the corridor. It was normally lit by four torches, but this night there was only one. Enough light to guide her, but too
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