Juliana stared at Lothar’s elbow, taken aback by such an incongruous gesture. He seemed too big, too austere, too much the soldier to behave in such a courtly fashion. Especially considering the first time they’d met. There hadn’t been anything gallant about that! She wasn’t accustomed to acting the lady either—couldn’t even remember the last time a man had offered her his arm—and yet somehow she couldn’t resist the temptation.
‘Very well.’
She placed a hand on his bicep, twisting her face away as a thrill of excitement raced through her body, building in strength as it went. She had to place her spare hand on her stomach to try to calm it.
‘This way, Lady Juliana.’
They crossed the bailey in silence, following the same path they’d walked the day before, though she could hardly believe it had only been that long. She felt as if she’d known him for longer. So much between them had changed. When they’d first entered the castle she’d been afraid of what he might do to her, but all of her fears had turned out to be completely unfounded. Now she was scared in a whole different way, of herself as much as of him. She didn’t understand why she responded to him so acutely, but she couldn’t seem to help it either. Not that it meant anything on his part, she was certain. She was deluding herself to think that a man like him would ever look twice at a woman like her. Even if it seemed as though he already had.
‘There they are.’
She jumped as they rounded the corner of the smithy, so deep in thought that the sound of his voice, not to mention its close proximity to her ear, actually startled her. She turned to find his face leaning in towards hers, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath against her cheek.
He gestured ahead and she looked, excitement turning to horror as she saw a group of his black-clad soldiers bearing down on her thin, emaciated-looking ones. No! She took half a step forward, seized with a rush of panic. Her men were weak and tired, no match for his warriors. They weren’t evenly matched!
She opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again, her panic gradually ebbing away as she started to make sense of the scene before her. There was no antagonism or aggression about it. On the contrary, there was an air of camaraderie, as if the soldiers were sharing advice rather than blows. A stranger would never have guessed that they’d been facing each other as enemies just two days before.
‘Sparring, not fighting.’ Lothar’s tone was reassuring.
‘Yes.’ She let out a sigh. ‘That’s a relief. It would hardly have been fair.’
‘No, but your men are well trained. I’m sure they’d make worthy adversaries.’
‘I wasn’t talking about them. Though yours aren’t bad either.’
‘Not bad? They’re some of the finest soldiers in the Empress’s army.’
‘As I said, not bad.’ She bit her lip, struggling to keep a straight face. ‘But you know my father raised me to have high standards.’
‘So it seems.’ The coals behind his eyes seemed to spark with amusement briefly. ‘He was a fine soldier. One of the best tacticians I ever met.’
‘A good teacher, too. He was always patient with me.’
The muscles in his arm seemed to flex slightly beneath her fingertips. ‘He taught you to fight?’
‘Of course. He believed that a woman ought to be able to defend herself.’
‘Did he think that you’d need to?’
‘I don’t know, but I suppose he thought that I should be prepared just in case. He taught me to use a sword and a bow like the rest of his men.’
‘I thought ladies were taught poetry and sewing.’
‘Most are, but there was no one here to teach me. My mother died from the sweating fever when I was three.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The muscles in his arm twitched again. ‘I lost my own mother when I was a child. I know how painful the loss is.’
‘To be honest, I don’t remember much about her. I wish I did, but at least I had my father.’
He made a strange sound, something between a grunt and a protest, the muscles in his arm flexing so violently this time that she thought he was about to pull away.
‘Do you remember your mother?’ She asked the question warily.
‘I remember everything about her.’ His voice sounded different suddenly, rougher and more guttural, as if he were struggling to speak at all. ‘She was the whole world to me.’
‘Oh.’ She squeezed his arm, touched by the note of anguish in his voice. His face looked less like something carved out of granite now, more like flesh and blood. Like that of a man in pain. ‘Was it a sickness as well?’
‘No.’
‘An accident?’
‘No!’
She leapt backwards instinctively, recoiling from the anger in his voice.
‘Forgive me.’ He rubbed a hand over his face, as if he were forcing the emotion back down again. ‘I don’t like to think of it. What happened to my mother... They called it an accident, but it wasn’t.’
‘Oh.’ She bit her tongue, fighting the urge to ask what it was.
‘But I know what it’s like to grow up without one.’ He lowered his hand and his face was like granite again. ‘Weren’t there any other ladies in your father’s household?’
‘No.’ She shook her head, relieved that the moment of crisis seemed to have passed. ‘One of my aunts came to live with us for a while, the one my father had originally been supposed to marry, but she hated it here. She said that we were in the middle of nowhere and I was too unruly.’
‘You?’
She couldn’t repress a smile. ‘Actually, I think he might have asked her to leave. After that it was just father and me so I learned what he taught me. Do you want to see?’
His expression clouded over again. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not? Haven’t you ever seen a woman wield a sword before?’ She pulled her arm away from his, scooping a leather gambeson off the floor. ‘Or are you afraid that I’m better than you?’
‘Lady Juliana...’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’d prefer if you didn’t.’
There was a note of warning in his voice, but she felt too exhilarated to pay any heed. At least this was one way to prove that she was an independent woman—fit to be chatelaine, even if she wasn’t any more. For some reason, his opinion on that score seemed to matter to her.
She borrowed a weapon from one of her soldiers and issued a challenge to one of his, tapping her foot impatiently until, after a moment’s hesitation, the man lifted his own sword in response. Then she didn’t hesitate, springing forward at once, catching the man by surprise as she thrust her sword up towards his shoulder. He dodged backwards, veering to one side, but she was faster, anticipating the move and swinging her blade around in an arc to catch him on the other arm before flicking it up towards his face, stopping barely an inch from his cheek.
‘I yield.’
The soldier looked impressed and she grinned triumphantly, twirling around on the spot to face Lothar.
‘You next?’ She pointed her sword at his heart.
‘Put. It. Down.’
She tensed, her hand wavering in mid-air, though she refused to lower anything. Lothar’s expression was almost as animated as it had been when he’d confronted Sir Guian, though this time he didn’t look so much angry as pained. Why? Surely he wasn’t upset with her just for fighting when he’d asked her not to? Why couldn’t she fight if she wanted to? How dare he give her an order!
‘Afraid I might beat you?’ She tightened her grip on the sword hilt.
‘No.’
‘Then why won’t you fight me? Because I’m a woman? Aren’t I worthy?’
‘Worth has nothing to do with it. I don’t fight women.’
‘But you’ll fight for one?’
‘There’s a difference.’
She took a step closer, pushing the tip of her sword against his chest, though he didn’t so much as blink. She felt a wave of resentment, building to fury. If she were a man, he might have accepted her as an equal and acknowledged the challenge. As a woman, he deemed her of so little importance that he could simply refuse to fight her without any dent to his honour. Was he determined to humiliate her in front of her men, to show them how little authority she now had? Or was he just trying to make her feel as powerless as possible? Worst of all was the fact that, short of impaling him on her sword, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
She dropped her weapon at last, passing it back to its owner with as much dignity as she could muster. The intractable expression on Lothar’s face was the final straw. She’d hoped that he might be impressed by her sword skills, but he was just as disapproving as every other man she’d ever met outside Haword. Somehow, she’d thought that he might be different—she’d wanted him to be different—but clearly he thought her father had been wrong in the way he’d raised her, too. That was why he’d mentioned sewing and poetry. Those were the skills he thought she ought to be practising, the ones Matilda had probably mastered! That was the kind of woman he’d be attracted to, the kind he was prepared to serve, not an unnatural woman like her.
‘Go back to your Empress, then.’ She jutted her chin out, refusing to show how much the realisation hurt. ‘Go back and serve a real lady. You’ve wasted enough time here.’
‘Lady Juliana...’
‘Goodbye!’
She didn’t wait to hear what he was going to say, swallowing her tears as she fled across the bailey. This was the second time he’d humiliated her in front of her men, but she wasn’t going to cry, no matter how great the indignity. She wouldn’t give any man that satisfaction. Bad enough that he’d taken her castle and her position, but now he was trying to take away the only skill she had any pride in! If he didn’t leave soon, she’d have nothing left, nothing except her secret—and she’d be damned if she was going to give him that, too! After what had just happened she’d rather take her chances with Sir Guian. With any luck, she’d never see Lothar the Frank ever again!