the League discuss, just months after she arrived. That was why the League had taken her in—they’d ruined her father’s life with a false accusation of treason, all to further another Bladesman’s mission.
Chapter 5
V iscount Gresham, Paul remembered. The name of Juliana’s father had been burned into his brain after he’d overheard the Council of Elders—and Timothy—discussing their regret that the man had suffered, that he’d died under a traitor’s disgrace. Paul hadn’t been able to remain with a League that used whatever methods necessary to further their cause. Aye, the king was saved, but the cost had been great—too great, he knew, looking into Juliana’s cool eyes.
Timothy had been involved in the Gresham case, just as he’d handed over three orphaned brothers. Paul felt sick with anger and frustration. The king had taken everything away from Juliana’s family—land, money, reputation—and the League had welcomed her to the fortress to hide their part in it. Now they were using her just as they’d used Paul and his brothers.
The League was all she had, and she was happy with them and proud of her accomplishments. She fully believed they’d given her purpose. It would destroy herto know what her supposed benefactors had done, how they’d assuaged their own guilt by housing her.
How could he tell her the truth? Or should it remain a secret, as the League obviously preferred? He would eventually have to make a decision. There was no one else who cared as much as he did—as Juliana did. King Edward was dead; there would be no repercussions if the truth came out about treason against him.
“I am not convincing you, am I?” she said with obvious regret.
“Convincing me of what?” He’d lost all track of their conversation.
“That I want to be here, that I see the goodness of the League. Why do you not? They took you in, the same as they did me. I always felt we had a bond because of that. They protected you.”
He stalked away from her and pulled his damp tunic off over his head. “We were three small boys given no choice in the matter.”
“But your parents had been murdered—you told me the murderer hadn’t been caught. Who else could protect you so well?”
He thought of Timothy, and the foolish ache he used to feel when his foster father had to return to his real life, leaving them behind with the League.
“If it had simply been protection, I would have understood it better, but it wasn’t.”
“Then what was it, Paul?” she demanded. “Tell me.”
He looked at her, at her damp, straggling hair, at the earnestness in her face, at her belief in the League’s very goodness.
And he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t burden her with the truth, didn’t want to see her dawning understanding, her pity. He hated pity.
He began to take his shirt off instead of answering. The linen stuck to his cold, damp flesh, and by the time he’d drawn it over his head, he caught her staring at his bare chest. Again, he waited for her blush, for a maidenly protest, but none were forthcoming.
Roughly, he said, “Turn your back, and I will change.”
She did so, but said over her shoulder, “This is not finished, Paul. We will be together many weeks. You should talk to me.”
“And speak of things that have nothing to do with our mission? I’m surprised at you, Juliana.”
He stripped down to his braies, the thin, short undergarment about his hips. It felt very arousing to disrobe behind a woman he didn’t plan to sleep with the same night. He was more and more convinced she wasn’t an innocent, and that was another sin to lay at the League’s door.
Yet, he could not regret her knowledge, the choices she’d made as an adult.
She stood near the table, where fresh linens had beenpiled. He walked up behind her and reached past her shoulder, just brushing her with his arm. She didn’t flinch, only glanced up at his face.
“I need a towel,” he said softly.
“You are taking
Chapter 5
V iscount Gresham, Paul remembered. The name of Juliana’s father had been burned into his brain after he’d overheard the Council of Elders—and Timothy—discussing their regret that the man had suffered, that he’d died under a traitor’s disgrace. Paul hadn’t been able to remain with a League that used whatever methods necessary to further their cause. Aye, the king was saved, but the cost had been great—too great, he knew, looking into Juliana’s cool eyes.
Timothy had been involved in the Gresham case, just as he’d handed over three orphaned brothers. Paul felt sick with anger and frustration. The king had taken everything away from Juliana’s family—land, money, reputation—and the League had welcomed her to the fortress to hide their part in it. Now they were using her just as they’d used Paul and his brothers.
The League was all she had, and she was happy with them and proud of her accomplishments. She fully believed they’d given her purpose. It would destroy herto know what her supposed benefactors had done, how they’d assuaged their own guilt by housing her.
How could he tell her the truth? Or should it remain a secret, as the League obviously preferred? He would eventually have to make a decision. There was no one else who cared as much as he did—as Juliana did. King Edward was dead; there would be no repercussions if the truth came out about treason against him.
“I am not convincing you, am I?” she said with obvious regret.
“Convincing me of what?” He’d lost all track of their conversation.
“That I want to be here, that I see the goodness of the League. Why do you not? They took you in, the same as they did me. I always felt we had a bond because of that. They protected you.”
He stalked away from her and pulled his damp tunic off over his head. “We were three small boys given no choice in the matter.”
“But your parents had been murdered—you told me the murderer hadn’t been caught. Who else could protect you so well?”
He thought of Timothy, and the foolish ache he used to feel when his foster father had to return to his real life, leaving them behind with the League.
“If it had simply been protection, I would have understood it better, but it wasn’t.”
“Then what was it, Paul?” she demanded. “Tell me.”
He looked at her, at her damp, straggling hair, at the earnestness in her face, at her belief in the League’s very goodness.
And he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t burden her with the truth, didn’t want to see her dawning understanding, her pity. He hated pity.
He began to take his shirt off instead of answering. The linen stuck to his cold, damp flesh, and by the time he’d drawn it over his head, he caught her staring at his bare chest. Again, he waited for her blush, for a maidenly protest, but none were forthcoming.
Roughly, he said, “Turn your back, and I will change.”
She did so, but said over her shoulder, “This is not finished, Paul. We will be together many weeks. You should talk to me.”
“And speak of things that have nothing to do with our mission? I’m surprised at you, Juliana.”
He stripped down to his braies, the thin, short undergarment about his hips. It felt very arousing to disrobe behind a woman he didn’t plan to sleep with the same night. He was more and more convinced she wasn’t an innocent, and that was another sin to lay at the League’s door.
Yet, he could not regret her knowledge, the choices she’d made as an adult.
She stood near the table, where fresh linens had beenpiled. He walked up behind her and reached past her shoulder, just brushing her with his arm. She didn’t flinch, only glanced up at his face.
“I need a towel,” he said softly.
“You are taking
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