Page 18 of Never Love a Lord
It was as Amicia had warned her. This was the end game, and Sybilla would need all her wits and cunning about her in order to attempt to save Fallstowe. It was her only hope.
Shemustkeep hold of Fallstowe.
After locking his portfolio away safely in the trunk in his own room, Julian went to the guest chambers afforded to Lucy and Murrin. He arrived just in time to take up his daughter from her crib. As usual, she woke gently, smiling, and making her little dove noises she had so recently mastered. He waved Murrin away when she approached.
“She must be a soaking mess, milord,” Murrin argued. “At least let me change her before she soils your sleeve.”
“She’s not that wet,” Julian argued mildly. “It can wait.” He took Lucy to a low-backed rocking chair and sat down, perhaps needing to absorb a little of the baby’s sweetness to chase away the sour mood his first official meeting with Sybilla Foxe had induced.
“It would be pert of me to ask how it went,” Murrin said in an airy manner as she took to sorting through stacks of Lucy’s clothes in a trunk. She paused and glanced at him over her shoulder.
Julian sighed. “Since your future depends on it as well as ours, it went better than I expected.” He sat Lucy up on his knee, smoothed a hand over her impossibly silky, fine hair. The top of her head was so soft, so delicate. It never failed to humble him that this precious, tiny creature had come from him.
Murrin had given up all pretense of sorting nappies and now regarded him with an armful of forgotten clothes, her eyebrows disappearing into her head covering. “Will you arrest her today, then?”
“No, no.” Julian frowned and shook his head. “I’ve not proven the king’s suspicions thoroughly enough for just cause. I must go about this slowly, so as not to arouse Lady Foxe’s ire any sooner than I must. Although we have been treated . . . cordially thus far.” Julian tried not to recall the first night of his arrival at Fallstowe. “I daresay we are entirely at her mercy.”
“Hmm,” Murrin said noncommittally as she began to once more sort through Lucy’s clothing.
Julian turned his daughter around so that she reclined against his chest, and Lucy began to pull up her legs to grab at her feet. He looked around the chamber, admiring the fine architecture, and the craftsmanship of the furnishings of even a guest room at Fallstowe.
“It’s a fine chamber, isn’t it?” he remarked, not really expecting much of an answer from the nurse. After all, she was used to more lowly quarters than this.
But Murrin stopped what she was doing once more and took a moment to appraise the room. She wrinkled her nose. “It’s quite small though, isn’t it? Lady Lucy would be much more comfortable in the family wing, I reckon.” She looked back at Julian. “Do you think they’ve a nursery outfitted, milord?”
Julian shrugged. “It’s unlikely. There’s not been an infant in residence at Fallstowe Castle for many years, that I know of.”
Murrin sniffed and then turned back to her chore, pulling out a fresh gown and length of cotton nappy before replacing the stack in the trunk and turning to walk toward where Julian sat with Lucy.
“No matter, that. It shouldn’t take any time to choose a chamber and have it made over.” She reached her arms out for Lucy and this time Julian relented, having at last felt dampness on his leg. Murrin nestled the baby against her and touched a forefinger lightly to the baby’s nose. “Perhaps His Lordship will have the stones whitewashed for us, eh, milady? Then you shall be the princess of Fallstowe Castle!” Murrin giggled softly and then turned away to cross the floor.
Julian felt a slight frown crease his brow at the idea that Murrin was already choosing living quarters for themselves, but he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if he felt guilty about what the king had sent him here to do. If Julian was correct in his theories, formed from his exhaustive investigation into Amicia Foxe and her family, then he was nothing more than a champion for justice. Righting a wrong. Revealing a lie and a treason.
Evicting a woman from her family home for a wrong done through no fault of her own. A woman who has ruled Fallstowe with cunning and bravery greater than most men’s. Whose reputation even now heralds her as a warrior, a sorceress, a protector, and monarch in her own right.
But Julian knew better than most that in every war there were bound to be casualties. Innocent lives destroyed for the greater good. The law was the law. And Julian owed Edward a debt that he was determined to pay.
Lucydiddeserve a home such as Fallstowe. The best Julian could give her. Julian may not have been in passionate, romantic love with Cateline, but surely the love that was absent from his marriage had bloomed a hundredfold and in pure, riotous color for little Lucy Griffin, his world. His reason for living.
He rose from the chair to precede Murrin, who carried Lucy from the chamber, and headed in the direction of the great hall for the noon meal. Julian doubted very much that he would even catch a glimpse of Sybilla Foxe the remainder of the day, and that suited him quite well, he found.
He had a priest to speak to this afternoon, and a message to send north.
Chapter 8
Sybilla was rather surprised and a little unsettled when Julian Griffin was late meeting her in the stables that evening. She had sent him an invitation to go riding with her shortly after the noon meal, and she had definitely expected him to be seated upon his mount and waiting for her in the yard when she arrived, but it had been a full quarter hour before he deigned to make his appearance, strolling into the stables with Fallstowe’s priest, Father Perry, at his elbow, smiling and conversing easily with the holy man.
“You’ve already arrived,” Julian said with a lift of his tawny eyebrows. “I’m not late, am I?”
“Quite,” Sybilla replied. “If you are too engaged in other business atmy home, Lord Griffin, I shan’t trouble you with an activity as mundane as touring Fallstowe’s lands.”
“No, no. Forgive me,” Julian said, and his face conveyed sincere regret. “I fear that I was so immersed in conversation with your good priest that I simply became unaware of the passing of time. Certainly, I am looking forward to riding out with you.”
Sybilla very much wanted to beg off their excursion now. She was nervous, a condition as foreign to her as timidity, but there was no other option.
“Your horse is saddled and waiting. Although we shan’t see the entirety of the grounds, we will still miss the evening meal. I’ve had Cook prepare a satchel for us.”
An easy, surprised smile came over Julian Griffin’s face, and it caused Sybilla’s stomach to do a neat turn.
