‘Think of what?’ Juliana exchanged confused glances with Alys as Maud charged out of the room suddenly, returning a few minutes later half-hidden behind a vast pile of silk.
‘You see!’ Maud shook out the material triumphantly, revealing a gorgeous, midnight-blue gown embroidered around the neck and hems with silver thread. ‘You do have something blue. Your father kept all your mother’s old gowns for you to have some day. I air them out every few months.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Juliana gasped in amazement, ‘but I can’t wear that.’
‘Why not?’ Alys stroked the fabric admiringly. ‘Somebody should. The colour’s perfect for you.’
‘I’m sure your mother would have wanted you to have it,’ Maud smiled encouragingly, ‘especially on your wedding day.’
Juliana reached for the gown slowly, half-afraid to touch something so beautiful. Maud was right. Surely her mother would have wanted her to wear it, though she’d never worn anything of hers before. She’d spent her life hearing about how elegant and ladylike her mother had been. How could she possibly hope to live up to such an ideal? Still, it was worth a try...
‘You don’t think I’ll look ridiculous?’
‘Trust us.’ Maud’s smile spread from ear to ear. ‘You’re going to look stunning.’
* * *
Where was she? Lothar marched up and down the hall impatiently, stopping every few minutes to glare in the direction of the stairwell. She’d said she needed an hour, but surely it must have been twice as long already. He’d had time to bathe and shave, for the second time in one day, get dressed and make a tour of the bailey in the time it had taken her to...do what exactly? It wasn’t as if she ever paid any attention to her appearance! She probably wouldn’t even bother to change her gown. In which case, what was she doing? If she’d changed her mind, she could at least send somebody to tell him, not leave him waiting like a fool at his own wedding.
‘Sergeant?’ Ulf waylaid him as he began another lap of the room.
‘Yes, Constable?’ He tried not to snap.
‘There’s no need to worry, sir. She never goes back on her word.’
He gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Reassuring as the words were, they also meant he wasn’t imagining things. She really was taking a long time. Fuming, he looked down at the plain gold band he’d found in a stall in Devizes, a replacement for Matilda’s ring, though why he’d needed to find a replacement was still beyond him. He’d intended to give it to Juliana during the ceremony, though now he was starting to wonder if that was ever going to happen.
Not that it mattered whether she made an appearance, he reminded himself. They were already legally married. Whether she agreed to another ceremony or not really meant nothing at all. He was doing it simply as a further means of protecting her, in case anyone challenged her right to hold the castle in the future. It didn’t mean anything to him personally and it wouldn’t change anything between them privately either. Even if he felt more nervous than he ever had in his life.
He was scowling in the direction of the stairwell when she finally appeared, clenching his jaw so fiercely that for a moment he found it difficult to breathe. The woman in front of him had the same face and build as Juliana, the same vivid shade of burgundy-coloured hair coiled in a long plait over one shoulder, but everything else about her seemed completely different. She was dressed in a trailing blue gown with a low, square neckline that emphasised the mounds of her breasts to tantalising perfection, not to mention every other curve where the silken fabric clung to her body. Was it really her? He felt as if his senses were reeling, as if he’d drunk some of her poppy-milk medicine again. Surely only that could explain this astounded sensation, as if he were looking at a familiar and yet completely different woman.
‘Lothar?’ She approached with a nervous expression, peering up through her eyelashes as if she were afraid of what he might be thinking. The gesture reminded him of the first time they’d met, when she’d been trying to lure him inside the castle. She’d looked at him in the same way then, but the difference had been that he’d known it was a pretence. Now he didn’t know anything except that this time, if she were trying to seduce him, then she was very definitely succeeding.
Not that he could let himself be tempted. She looked even more like a queen—one who deserved better than him. Never mind the fact that he was leaving. In a couple of months at the most, he’d be crossing the Channel for Normandy, possibly never to return. Even if he cared for her, which he wasn’t capable of, even if he was worthy, which he wasn’t, even if he wanted to, which he definitely did, he couldn’t lie with her and then simply leave. It had been hard enough leaving Haword the first time.
‘Are you ready?’
His voice sounded harsh even to him and her expression wavered slightly.
‘Yes, but I have something for you first.’ She held out a blue ribbon. ‘It’s for luck. May I?’
He nodded silently and she reached up, wrapping the ribbon around his bicep so gently that he found himself wanting to bend down and kiss her right there and then. He turned his face away instead, stamping down a fierce rush of desire as her fingers skimmed over his forearm. For luck, she’d said. Considering every other obstacle between them, he had a feeling they might need as much of that as they could get. He might need it to help keep his hands off her, for a start. He’d definitely need it to keep his body under control for the next few months.
If this was what being married to her was going to feel like, then the sooner he left, the better.
‘Let’s hope it works.’ He offered an arm gruffly and steeled himself for her touch. ‘Shall we?’
* * *
Juliana looked down at the gold band on her finger, then back at the hall, dazzled by the sight and scale of the decorations. Yule was almost upon them and the room had been decked out early with garlands of holly and ivy, laurel, mistletoe, rosemary and bay, as if everything green outside had been transplanted indoors. There were even evergreen boughs, decorated with brightly coloured ribbons and beads, so that it looked less like a hall than a forest lit up with a hundred glittering candles. The bailey had been decorated, too, filled with row upon row of makeshift tables, all illuminated by torches, so that everyone in the area could be accommodated for the wedding feast. Everyone seemed to have come, too, filling the castle with noise and excitement, colour and laughter, all the things that had been absent for so long. Even in her father’s day, she’d never seen the place look quite so magnificent. The whole effect was breathtaking.
The feast itself had come as an even bigger surprise. She’d expected chicken stew at the most, but instead she’d been presented with a trencher of goose and partridge. To top that off, she’d discovered a bowl of candied fruits set on the table in front of her, delicacies which must surely have come from Devizes, though her new husband hadn’t touched any of them, as if he’d bought them especially for her.
She sipped nervously at the cup of wine that he’d poured her. He was drinking ale, as usual, but tonight she’d wanted something stronger. The ceremony had gone well, the feast even better, and if she drank, she could almost believe it was all real and not just a marriage forced on them by circumstance. Besides, she needed courage for the bedding ceremony ahead. It was getting late and surely they’d be retiring soon...
The knot of anxiety in her stomach twisted at the thought, accompanied by the first stirrings of a headache. The gentle harp and flute music that had started the evening had been replaced first by fiddles and then increasingly raucous singing. Now their soldiers seemed to be comparing English and Angevin drinking songs, competing as to who could sing the loudest. Her ears were ringing, but at least they were in a celebratory mood, which was more than she could say for her husband. He’d looked at her so strangely when she’d first come down to the hall that she’d felt all her newfound confidence evaporate. Then he’d seemed almost determined not to look at her since. He’d been severe and stern and as much like a statue as she’d ever seen him, as if the ceremony were just a chore he wanted to get over with. When he’d asked her to marry him in the bailey, he’d seemed to genuinely care about her answer, but now he seemed to have no feelings at all. They appeared to be right back where they’d started.
Well, she hadn’t tolerated it then and she wasn’t going to tolerate it now.