Page 76 of Never Love a Lord
“She’s under lock and key, of course,” the blond man said, as if shocked that Julian would think otherwise. “The king was engaged when the traitor arrived.”
“I would think there would be naught more important to him at this point,” Julian muttered, and then flashed Erik a warning look. “Don’t call her that.”
Erik suddenly seized Julian’s bicep with strong fingers, drawing the party of men to an unwilling halt around them both. “Julian, again I ask you: Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Julian demanded, shaking his arm free of the younger man’s grip.
“That you’ve fallen in league with a traitor,” Erik said. “That you are now against the king.”
Julian paused. Yes, no—he was unsure of the answer himself. “It’s complicated,” was all he could say.
From ahead, a soldier called back, “Move it along—the king awaits.”
Erik shook his head slowly as a look of disgust came over his face, hardening it. He began backing out of the midst of the men surrounding Julian.
Julian was forced to once more begin walking forward, away from his friend, who stood in the empty stone hall, alone.
“I thought better of you, Julian,” Erik called to him a moment later, his words echoing off the walls and floor.
Julian tried to look back over his shoulder at the young man, but his view was blocked as the group funneled around a wide cylindrical column and into a different, narrower corridor. In another moment, the king’s soldiers divided to either side of a plain door, and Julian realized that they had arrived at the private entrance to the king’s court.
Julian took it as a positive sign that he wasn’t led straight to the gallows.
The king’s odious man opened the door for Julian and motioned him inside. Julian wanted to take hold of the edge of the wooden slab and slam it back into the man’s face as he entered the king’s private chamber, but he restrained himself, his eyes taking in the scene before him.
The king was standing at the side of his table, his profile outlined by the bright sunlight pouring in from the high-set windows on the far side of the chamber. His long, lean frame was bent over sheaves of parchment, snippets of notes—the contents of Julian’s leather portfolio, which now lay limp and emaciated on the corner of the table.
A woman joined him, seated at the narrow end of the table closest to Julian’s entrance, her back to him. He could see nothing of her save for the sleeve of her right arm, the swell of her skirts around the chair legs, and the veil covering her head, but he knew at once that it was not Sybilla.
Edward turned his head and his narrow face regarded Julian with expected disappointment.
Julian folded himself into a deep bow. “My liege. You sent for me?”
Edward gave a humorless snort. The long fingers of his right hand drummed for a moment on a stack of papers upon which his arm was braced, then he straightened somewhat.
“What in the bloody hell has been going on at Fallstowe, Julian?” he asked in an almost pensive manner.
“My liege, I—”
“I sent you,” Edward interrupted firmly, yet still reserved in tone, “to finish gathering the information I sought, and then to bring Sybilla Foxe to me. Imagine my surprise—nay, my shock—when none other than your nurse flies back to me reporting your defection.”
“There were facts that—”
“Here! Are! The facts!” Edward shouted, and slammed his right fist atop the stack of papers. “I told you—I warned you—that she was cunning, did I not? I wanted you to succeed. Was prepared to reward you outrageously—unlike any other under my command. As my cousin. As my friend.” Edward straightened and swept his hand over the table, laden like a damning buffet.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” Julian dared, and regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth.
“By my own warrant!” Edward roared, and the woman still seated at the table jumped at the ferocity of his tone. He calmed somewhat and then pointed a long finger at Julian. “I trusted you.”
“I was preparing to send you the very information you sought when your men arrived at Fallstowe,” Julian offered. “All of it there before you. You would have had it in hand by nightfall tonight, any matter.”
“But not you, eh?” the king asked, his eyes sharp. “And not Sybilla Foxe.”
Julian could not have imagined the pain the look of betrayal in his king’s eyes would have caused him. “I cannot say at this point, my liege.”
“You cannot say.” Edward sounded unimpressed. “Did she bewitch you? Blackmail you? Threaten Lucy? I beg you, save yourself, Julian. If not for you, then for me.”
“She did not blackmail me. And she would never do anything to harm Lucy,” Julian said. “As for bewitching me—perhaps. It certainly feels as though I’ve had a charm plied against me. But I can assure you, my liege, that nothing I have done was forced upon me against my will. I take full responsibility for my actions.”
