Page 43 of Never Love a Lord
“Don’t go, Sybilla,” he said, reaching out and grasping her elbow with one hand.
She looked down at her arm where he touched her, and quickly up into his eyes, as if he were some beggar grasping at her hem for a coin.
“There’s no need,” he continued, not caring at all about the icy look she gave him. “I’d like it very much if you’d stay and keep my company, talk with me.”
“So you can further interrogate me?” she accused him, and frost all but fell from her lips.
He shook his head with a smile, because he knew his mirth would goad her. “No. We can talk about anything you wish,” he said. Then he released her arm and walked to the cradle, carefully lowering Lucy into it and tucking the blankets around her. He gave the side a gentle push, and the little woven basket began to sway. When he turned back to the room, Sybilla had not moved, but her expression conveyed her suspicion.
“Anything I wish,” she stated flatly.
“Yes.” Julian gave her another smile as he passed her on his way toward the tray. He uncorked the decanter and picked up a chalice. Pouring a generous draught, he turned back to her and held the cup out. “Anything you wish.” She reached out a slender arm and took the wine hesitantly, prompting Julian to add, “As long as there will be no shouting involved.” He waggled his eyebrows toward the cradle.
“Well, knowing us, I can’t very well promise you that, can I?” she said, and then took a drink.
Julian chuckled. “Touché.”
The corners of her mouth twitched faintly, and she turned her back to him and walked toward the hearth. “Tell me how you came to be married to the king’s cousin.” She glanced back over her shoulder warningly. “The truth.”
“I would admit to nothing less,” Julian said easily and set about pouring a drink for himself.
“My family name is an old one, some saying it can be traced back to the time of Camelot,” he began as he made himself comfortable by leaning up against the post of the bed. “Old and noble, but for the last several generations, not very wealthy. By the time I was born, the family manor had long since been taken over by creditors, and my parents were renting a small house in London. I enlisted with the king’s men for the Eighth Crusade, hoping to earn enough spoils to afford my family a better life.”
“Did you?” she asked mildly.
“No. In fact, I returned poorer than when I left, if you consider the cost of outfitting and the injury I sustained.”
Her head turned quickly toward him and he saw her quick appraisal. “Not permanently, I gather.”
“No, all I bear now are scars,” he admitted. “But some of them are quite deep. Especially the mental ones I carry.”
Sybilla nodded as if she understood. Perhaps she did. “But what would then prompt Edward to promise his relation to such a penniless knight?”
“I made a good soldier,” he admitted without pride. “I fought well—as if I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. It served me well. Served the king even more, when I intervened in an attempt on his life.”
“So you saved him.”
“Him and a score of his men,” Julian clarified. “Divine providence, right place, right time.” He waved the chalice. “Whatever you wish to call it. From that day on, I traveled with him. When he was called back to England to take the crown, I led his company.”
“But could he not simply give you your home back?”
Julian shook his head. “No. The manor had been lawfully claimed, the debts too old at that point to be repaid. And both of my parents had died while I was on the Crusade. There was nothing left to return to, really.”
Sybilla’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged, liking the soft look of her in her robe before his fire.
“So then what happened?” she asked.
“He held a feast in my honor, detailing in the invitation my feats of daring and bravery.” Sybilla laughed softly, and Julian joined her. “It was rather embarrassing. I don’t think the king expected me to garner the interest of one of his unmarried cousins—it had never occurred to him. But he was agreeable to it.”
“As were you?”
Julian nodded. “Certainly. Cateline was comely, young, wealthy, well connected. It was a fortuitous match for me, and gave her somewhat of a reputation, marrying the king’s champion, a wild and ruthless knight.”
“Did you love her?”
Julian paused, looking down into his chalice as he swirled the wine in his cup. “I loved her for Lucy,” he said simply, looking up at her again. “I didn’t dislike her, if that’s what you mean. But was our marriage a raging love affair? No.”
