TWENTY-NINE

 

"Lady Julia, you have a visitor," Amma said as she set down a platter containing Julia's noon meal.

Her heart lifted at the thought that it must be Romein, for surely no one else could possibly be travelling on such a cold day. Then her heart plummeted just as rapidly as it had risen, as she realised Romein did not know she had returned to Veluwe, or that she lived here at all.

No one visited Veluwe, for fear of the Bishop's wrath.

So who, then, could her visitor be?

"Send the visitor in, then," Julia said.

"Are you sure?"

For Amma to question her was a strange enough occurrence to give Julia pause. Perhaps it was Romein, who had learned her whereabouts from Henk or one of the other men, who were even now digging the salt out of her orchards.

"Would you advise me to send him away, then?" Julia asked.

Amma wrinkled her nose. "It is not my place to advise you in such things. Nor do I think that you would be successful in sending him away. The man has arrived in full armour, with sword unsheathed, and none of my boys are much of a match for an armoured knight."

Not Romein, then, for he owned no such armour, and she had never seen him carry a sword, let alone wield one.

"Did he give his name?"

"Sir Paris, I think. It was difficult to be sure, as he has his visor down and his voice was much muffled by all that metal."

Julia sighed. A man who entered her home with his sword drawn did not mean to invoke the laws of hospitality. She'd be a fool to let him in at all. "So he is in the bailey now?"

"Yes, as all the doors are barred. He shouts your name, and demands to see you."

And likely had no intention of leaving until he had seen her. Very well, she would be seen. Julia rose from the table and headed up to the balcony. She glimpsed Henk and his brothers, hard at work, but didn't dare stop to watch them. Instead, she turned toward the bailey, and the noisy knight.

He strode about the bailey, muttering unintelligible things, and hammering on various doors that did not open. His nervous horse shied away from him, looking longingly out the gate, but the creature did not dare flee for freedom.

Julia allowed herself a small smile. Epona would not be so timid. The mare would have lost patience with the man long since, and tried to trample him. How her hooves would fare against armoured plate, Julia wasn't sure, but Epona would have at least put some dents in such shiny armour before retiring from the fight.

"Who are you?" Julia called.

The knight stopped and looked around. When he didn't see her, he shouted something unintelligible and hammered on the tower door again.

Julia leaned over the balcony. "Take your helmet off, so that I might actually hear you. I asked for your name, knight."

Finally, the knight looked up and saw her.

It took him a moment, and many muttered words that were very likely unfit for a lady's ears, before he managed to wrench the helmet off. "For God's sake, Julia, let me in. I bring news from your father."

The man only had one eye. She stared at the patch that covered his deformity, then at the rest of his scarred face, before she finally recognised him. "Thibault?" she asked.

"Of course it's me, silly girl. Who else would your father send?"

William or Aran, for her brothers were surely more trustworthy than her bastard cousin. And...was he missing an ear, too? Now he truly resembled the tom cat back home, with his battle scars. Prince of Cats, indeed.

"But that is not the name you gave to my housekeeper just now."

"We are family, so you may call me by name. But a mere servant..." Thibault curled his lip in disgust. "They must address me as Sir Thibault of Paris, renowned tourney champion."

Well, that explained where he'd been for the last seven years, and the scars. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father sent me. The Count of Gelderland has grown wealthy of late, with rumours of a new salt mine in the lowlands. Your father wishes a strong hand to hold Veluwe against whatever forces he might send against it. For there are plenty of knights for hire who would happily take his money, and more besides."

It took Julia a moment to work out how that involved Thibault. "So, you're here for my protection."

"Of course. As a renowned tourney champion, your father knew I was the best man for the job."

One knight against an army of mercenaries, or even a small company of knights with both their eyes...unless Thibault was a far better fighter than she remembered, he could not offer more protection than the walls of Veluwe. They had only to close the gates.

"Thibault..." She had to find the right words so that he would not see the facts as an insult.

"Sir Thibault. Though I suppose you may call me simply Thibault when we are alone together. We are to be married, after all."

"What?"

He puffed out his chest. "Your father will arrive in a week, with more men to defend you, but he expects us to be married by then. You must organise a feast, of course, for that is women's work, and I shall be too busy defending this place and taking stock of my new estate to bother with such unimportant things. I insist there must be suckling pig, and roast venison, and a fat goose, for it is hardly a wedding feast without them."

Julia's blood boiled. They did not have pigs or deer or geese anywhere in Veluwe, unless Thibault counted as a goose, for thinking she'd ever agree to marry him.

"What makes you think I would marry you?" she said.

"Your father, of course. He promised me your hand in marriage when you are old enough. Why else would I have escorted you all the way out here when you were a girl? You were too young for marriage then, your father said, and he said I must wait. But now...now he says you are ready, and you shall be mine, as you were always meant to be."

She hadn't eaten more than a bite of her midday meal, but now she wanted to vomit up everything in her belly at the prospect of allowing Thibault to touch her, let alone marry her. She swallowed back bile. This was no time to lose her head, or her breakfast, either. She had to think. "That is...glad tidings indeed. But surely my father would want to be present at the marriage of his only daughter, and feasts take time to prepare. I shall...send word to the priest at Saint Martin's church to await my father's arrival, for on that day, God willing, we shall be married."

She'd rather marry one of Romein's mill ponies than Thibault. This was madness. Her father could not possibly give his only daughter to a penniless bastard, with no honour to his name except a tourney title. Unless that was Father's intention – to buy Thibault's loyalty with her maidenhead, so the man would be more likely to do her father's bidding. Perhaps her father intended him to fight and die for Veluwe, while taking her home, far from the conflict, so that when she was widowed, he might marry to her to a more worthy man...

In a week, she would find out, for she could ask her father himself. In a week, she still might have to marry the man. Julia suppressed a shudder. She would have to formulate a plan to avoid such a fate, and she only had a few days to do so.

But in the meantime...

She sighed. "Fine. Take off your armour, and you can come inside. We can post guards at the gates, who will give us fair warning if any of the Count's men approach, so you have time to put it all on again."

Thibault beamed. "You shall make a fine wife, cousin. See that there is goose for dinner. If I am to be the lord of the manor, my table should reflect my station."

His table would be far more sparse than he expected, what with it being winter after a poor harvest and all. But there was some goose confit in the cellar, which might satisfy him for at least a little while. God forbid she have to feed him for more than a week.

Because if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that she would rather die than become Thibault's wife.