Page 87 of Never Love a Lord
“That’s not all you’ve done, though, is it?” Julian challenged her. “If you’re going to confess, let’s have all of it, shall we?”
Her eyes flicked to his. “Julian, don’t.”
“Look at her, my liege,” Julian said, moving forward to the edge of his chair and turning toward Edward, holding out an upturned palm to indicate where Sybilla sat. “Only look at her! Why do you think she would not want to be recognized? No one in this room today was present at Lewes to have remembered her! Look at her!”
And Edward did look. And then he brought his hands to the arms of his own chair and pushed himself to stand. “You,” he said. His hand went to the long, ornate hilt of the sword at his side.
“You,” he repeated, then suddenly walked to the edge of the dais and, in a spry manner, hopped down from it, landing surely on both feet, his eyes never leaving Sybilla. He began to stride toward her purposefully.
“No,” Julian shouted, and shot from his own chair, but in an instant his pursuit was arrested by a trio of guards, one of them Erik. They held him, forcing him back into his chair while Julian struggled, shouting, “Edward, don’t!”
Edward was nearly upon her now, his hand still laid upon his sword.
One last fight then, she said to herself, and rose from the chair to stand defiantly before the tall, lean menace that was the king of England.
He towered over her, his eyes searching her face. “You,” he whispered now, and his brows lowered menacingly.
Then the king raised his hand.
Chapter 28
Julian let out a terrible roar from somewhere deep inside of him as he watched Edward’s hand rise and then disappear below him. The slap echoed in the chamber and was still chasing its own tail when he threw off the men who held him and leapt from the dais.
He ran at the pair, even amidst the sounds of guards converging on the aisle, their swords ringing as they cleared their scabbards. He didn’t care. His fingertips found his own hilt, his arm pulled as he ran, prepared to commit the greatest crime imaginable of a trusted soldier of the king.
No one would ever harm Sybilla again.
But as he came upon them, he saw not a broken woman, a furious man, but two people locked in a tight embrace. The king’s arms were around Sybilla’s back, the thin linen bunched against the lavish embroidery of the royal tunic, her dark hair cascading over golden thread like an ebony river.
Julian skidded to a halt as a score of soldiers ringed the three of them, their swords drawn, their intentions obvious. But Julian ignored them, his sword hanging from his arm, its point touching the grand floor. He didn’t think he would have the strength to lift it now, even to save his own life.
Sybilla’s pale, delicate hands pressed against Edward’s back, her forehead was laid against his chest, and even in the confusion that was so thick as to lend an audible buzz of nerves to the air, Julian could hear her plea.
“Forgive me, forgive me.”
Edward angled his chin toward Julian, although he did not look directly at him. “I’d put your weapon away now, Lord Griffin, were I you. I’d hate to have something unfortunate happen to you at this late date.”
Julian looked down at his sword as if just realizing he still held it, and then slid it back into its home slowly.
Edward took hold of Sybilla’s upper arms and held her away from him, but his first words were for his men. “Stand down. There is no danger to me here, from either of them.” As the men grudgingly backed away, he looked down into Sybilla’s face. “Indeed, perhaps I am in the presence of the greatest patriot England has ever known. It was you, wasn’t it? It was you who came into my tent and led me to de Montfort’s unready men. Urged me on to the surprise attack at Kenilworth Castle.”
Sybilla nodded. “Yes. It was I.”
Julian felt his legs go weak.
“Why did you not come to me? I would have protected you myself. Sybilla—you saved England, you saved my legacy.”
And then Sybilla Foxe said words that Julian would never have wagered in a hundred years would fall from her lips.
“I was so afraid.” And then she began to weep.
Edward drew her to him briefly once more, shaking his head. And then he released her, pushing her gently back into her chair and turning away from her.
Julian stepped toward her, fully intending to kneel at her side, but he was stopped short by Edward’s hand on his chest.
“No,” the king said, a disapproving frown on his long face. “This trial is still in order. I will have no more deviations. Go back to your seat, Lord Griffin.”
“But, my liege—”
