Page 81 of Never Love a Lord
“Julian, I can’t support you if you insist on witnessing for a known traitor against our king.”
“I understand,” Julian said, standing and untying his breeches.
“For one,” Erik continued as if Julian had not spoken, “my first loyalty must be to Edward and England. I was to take your place here after you were rewarded with Fallstowe.”
“I remember well,” Julian said, sitting once more to don his hose. “Alliance with me could damage your future in the king’s employ.”
“Yes. But more than that, I cannot support your defection. It’s not in your nature, Julian, for as long and as well as we have known each other. Or, as well as I thought I knew you, I suppose.”
Julian stood, picked up his tunic and shrugged into it, fastening the ornate closures which began below his hips. It took him several minutes before the chore was complete, and then he raised his eyes to Erik and sighed.
“You may choose to believe what I am about to say or not, but I swear to you, it is the truth. I believe everything Sybilla Foxe has told me. Not because I am a fool, or because she has cast some sort of spell on me, or promised me all the riches of Fallstowe. I believe her because what she has told me fits, in light of the information I have gathered myself. It’s the truth. She has been wronged.”
Julian retrieved the cloth from the bowl and walked back to the cot to sit on the side and wipe at his boots. “It was never my intention to lie to the king, or even to withhold information from him. Yes, I was going to see Sybilla Foxe away from England without trial. Yes, Lucy and I were going with her.” Julian held one boot before him, inspecting his handiwork. It would have to do.
“But in lieu of that part of my duty, I was willingly giving up my employ with the king, willingly giving up the prize of Fallstowe that he had so generously offered me. And I had already made arrangements to have the results of my full investigation—as well as my honest conclusions—sent to him. The king was to know the truth—all of it.” He paused to look up at Erik. “It was the best I could think of, to assuage my sense of duty as well as my conscience. I could not let her be unfairly damned, Erik. I will not.”
“What will you say at the trial, though?” Erik pressed.
“The truth,” Julian said, and began to once more don his boots. “I will not lie to the king.”
“She’ll sacrifice you if she can,” Erik warned him.
Julian shook his head. “No. You’re wrong.”
“She was prepared to fight me and the other guards to get to the king before you.”
Julian felt a melancholy smile at his mouth. “Of course she was. You’re very lucky she was so fatigued.” He looked up at his young friend, but Erik did not seem amused. “You will see at the trial that what I say is true.”
“How can you trust her so?” Erik demanded.
Julian stood and faced his friend, looking at him levelly. “She loves me.”
“Of course she would tell you she loves you,” Erik began.
Julian shook his head. “I know that she loves me. I know that she loves Lucy. And I know that Sybilla Foxe protects those she loves. I can only hope that she knows how very much I love her.”
Erik’s brows drew together as if Julian had just spoken in some strange, foreign language. “It’sSybilla Foxe, Julian.”
Julian felt another smile come to his mouth, but this time it was warm. “Yes. I’m very lucky, am I not?”
“You’re mad.” Erik shook his head and then looked down at the sword still in his hands. After a moment, he thrust it and the belt toward Julian. “Here. If you draw it at any time, they will cut you down. I will cut you down myself,” he clarified.
Julian stepped forward to take his weapon and strap it on. “I understand. Thank you.” When he was properly dressed, he looked up at Erik again. “You will be at the trial, then?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Erik answered solemnly. “It’s my duty to bring in the prisoner.”
Julian paused. “Be kind to her if you can,” he requested quietly.
“I shall do my duty,” was all Erik would promise. “If she wishes for a theatrical display, she shall have it and I shall oblige her—the trial is to be public.”
Julian frowned, feeling a bitterness in his heart. “He wants to humiliate her,” he murmured to himself. Then he looked once more at Erik. “Thank you. For the clothes and for your ear.” He held out his hand.
Erik stared at it for a long moment and then seized Julian’s forearm. “I certainly hope you are right,” he said. “But if you are wrong, may God have mercy on you, because the king will not.”
It was only perhaps a half hour after Erik departed Julian’s chamber that he was summoned forth by the king’s man. The man said not a word and Julian had no comment to offer, as he was once more enveloped by a rank of soldiers and escorted to the large and lavish hall that held the king’s court. They brought him to the wide, public doors where Julian had first come into direct contact with the Foxe sisters, through Piers Mallory, so many months ago. Julian heard the muffled murmurings of the crowd gathered beyond. He steeled himself for the scrutiny of the people, as a pair of guards swung open the ornate closures.
He could not have prepared himself for the sight that greeted him, nor the intensified roar of the hushed and not-so-hushed conversations. The court was a sea of heads, a wall of skirts and gilded hilts, as Julian was led down the unusually narrowed center aisle to the dais, which seemed a mile away. He had never seen such a crowd gathered for a weekday court, not even by half. The air was already warm and humid, reeking of cologne and sour curiosity. Julian kept his eyes straight ahead, on the monarch who was already seated in his royal throne, watching Julian’s entrance as he would the entertainment at a feast. Lady Sybil de Lairne was seated on the dais as well, ten feet from the king’s left side. She smiled at him, and although she looked old and tired, hers was the only kind face in the room.
