Page 89 of Never Love a Lord
“Court is adjourned,” he called out solemnly, to no one but Julian, Sybilla, and the soldiers still ringing the room.
Julian looked down at Sybilla where she still stood, her arms hanging at her sides, and smiled. Then, too late, he remembered the protocol after a private court was held, as the soldiers threw open the double public doors, and the droves of nobles and commoners ejected from the room earlier flooded the chamber like a tempest at sea. In moments, Sybilla was surrounded by the angry whirlpool, Julian stranded helplessly on the island of the dais.
Sybilla spun on her heel to face the crush of people who were roaring toward her like a rogue wave. The soldiers had obviously not expected such a response in a usually civilized venue, and so their shouts of restraint toward the bloodthirsty crowd were late, and nearly lost beneath the thunderous footfalls and voices.
But Sybilla was not afraid. She lifted her chin and stared boldly at the first wave of common and noble gawkers. And as they drew impossibly nearer, when from the outside it would seem that they would overtake her with her next breath, trample the life from her, Sybilla held up her right hand.
As if a wall had been thrown up, the crowd stopped short, the sudden cessation of motion causing a silvery ripple to race back through the crowd still pushing their way forward, even as a musical sound, like the tinkling of small, crystal bells fell upon the hall from the rafters.
And then the crowd was completely, utterly silent, staring at her wide-eyed, some with a furious look of impotence and others with a sort of confusion. The footfalls of the soldiers increased in volume as they at last reached her, and as they placed themselves between Sybilla and the would-be vigilantes, she lowered her hand.
No sooner had her arm reached her side than it was seized from behind, and Sybilla found herself turned round in a sudden, forceful fashion, to face the intense expression on Julian Griffin’s face.
“Sybilla,” he whispered. “We’ve won.”
She felt a smile trying to come to her mouth, the muscles creaking, the expression hesitant to show itself. “Have we?”
“Have we?” he repeated incredulously. “You can’t be serious!”
“It only seems so . . . unfinished. Incomplete,” she said with a slight frown.
“You have retained Fallstowe,” Julian insisted.
Sybilla quirked an eyebrow at him. “If I agree to become your wife.”
Julian Griffin took on a pained expression of forced patience. “Do you wish to become my wife?”
Sybilla blinked coolly.
Julian sighed, rolled his eyes, and tried again. “Sybilla Foxe, will you marry me?”
And then the smile did come to her mouth, and although slight, Sybilla felt the sincerity of her happiness all the way to the core of her soul.
“Yes,” she said quietly, simply.
His smile matched hers, and he began to draw her closer to him.
“Sybilla!” a woman shouted. “Sybilla!”
Sybilla turned from Julian’s arms to try to locate Alys’s form in the pressing crush still being held off by the king’s soldiers. She spotted her youngest sister’s blond hair and round form on the fringe of the crowd near the wall, being blocked by a guard. Piers was beside her, and behind them both, Sybilla saw Cee and Oliver. She held up a hand toward them, signaling that she had seen them.
She turned back to Julian. “I have to go to my sisters,” she explained. “I need them to meet Lady de Lairne. Right away, I feel.”
Julian stared at her for a moment. “I understand,” he said. “But Sybilla, I must—”
“Lucy. I know,” she interrupted. “I don’t know when I will get away. Not tonight, at any rate. I would try to convince Lady de—my aunt,” she corrected herself, “to come back to Fallstowe with me. To see the place where her sister lived, the home where we grew up. Perhaps . . . perhaps she would even stay.”
Julian smiled down at her. “I think that is a most wonderful idea. I will have Erik accompany you back when you are ready to depart.”
Sybilla looked askance at him. “He’ll not try to murder me for corrupting you?”
Julian laughed and shook his head. “He is the only one I would trust with your life, save me.”
“Very well,” Sybilla said, anxious suddenly to be away, not from Julian but . . . away to somewhere very important.
He saw her impatience, and Sybilla could not help but notice the way his eyes lingered on her mouth, as if he wanted to kiss her but was hesitant.
“Yes, well . . . we shall be waiting for you at Fallstowe.” He touched her face gently. “Safe journey.”
