TWENTY-SIX

 

His arms wanted to pull her closer, but when she resisted, he knew he had to let her go. And she flew into the night, as if borne by angels' wings. Angels saving her from him, for nothing good could come of Romein, son of Montague, kissing Julia Capet. For to ask for her hand would be to hand his own life over, in his foe's debt.

But for her, perhaps it would be worth the cost...

He longed to chase after her, to beg her forgiveness once more, but he dare not. His mother would come looking for him, and there were the damned cakes to break in the new year. Romein closed his eyes.

He would find Julia later, when his ardour had cooled, and apologise. He might blame the cider for heating his blood, but he knew it had nothing to do with the cider, and everything to do with her.

The rest of the night passed in a blur, until he could excuse himself to retire. It was noon before he rose, only to find no sign of Julia. Even her clothes were gone.

Evening was falling by the time he recovered his wits enough to head down to the dock, where he found Balthasar, tying up his boat.

"Have you seen her?" Romein begged.

"Your bird has flown home. The last I saw of her, she was crossing the bridge to Elst, headed for Veluwe," Balthasar said. "But I fear you will not catch her before she reaches the Bishop's lands."

No, but he must follow her anyway. "Send word when you are ready to sail again, and take me with you," Romein said.

Balthasar laughed. "My men have sailed all night, and most of the day, too. We must rest, and eat, but when we sail, we shall not leave without you, for if I am not mistaken, she is still your lady love."

Romein prayed the captain was right.