Free Sin and Surrender by Julia Latham Page B

played games to distract each other. But she wouldn’t forget, and would do all she could to discover the truth. She couldn’t explain why she felt this way, wouldn’t look at it too closely. But the need to uncover his secrets was like an itch she had to scratch.
    They stopped for the midday meal at a village crossroads. Still mounted, Paul watched cows graze the village green nearby, while he awaited Timothy’s preparations. Many men lingered outside the tavern on benches, eyeing them with unabashed interest.
    To Juliana, Paul said, idly, loudly, “Another village tavern. Rather small and plain, is it not, my little duckling?”
    She dismounted and went to him, leaning against his leg to look up at him. “It is, my love, but that cannot be helped. This is not Paris.”
    “Ah, Paris,” he murmured, staring off into the distance. He could see that he’d aroused some interest as well as disdain. “Do you remember that romantic boat ride we took down the Seine? I do believe you danced for me that night, a pale Aphrodite in the moonlight.”
    He saw the way the men now looked with lascivious interest at Juliana, but it couldn’t be helped. It had to be apparent what kind of woman she was from the beginning.
    Timothy ducked as he emerged from the tavern doorway, then led them inside, leaving Joseph to care for the horses. Theobald stayed near Juliana, hand on the sword hilt at his waist. Most of the Bladesmen had to duck to enter, and Paul saw that even Juliana almost grazed the door lintel. Vegetables hung on strings along various beams, as well as a ham. A large table had been cleared for them in the rear, and they had to pass down a narrow aisle between several crude tables.
    Paul tossed his cloak back from his shoulders, letting the villagers see his doublet embroidered with gold threads. He was bigger and broader than mostof the men, and he knew his fair coloring stood out.
    Soon they were seated, with the tavern’s specialty of mutton pie with chunks of meat and vegetables steaming before them.
    Paul didn’t find it too difficult to make a nuisance of himself. He asked for wine they couldn’t possibly have, patted the backside of every maidservant that went by, and laughed too loudly at Juliana’s display of cool anger. He chatted with farmers and peddlers and met with success when he learned that the local lord’s son was dining as well. The man had long since seen his first tournament, and he watched Paul with speculation.
    Paul made a point of asking about the countryside, and how far it was to York, where he had vague memories from his youth. Timothy and old Roger exchanged obvious looks of discomfort at his chattiness, but it was all part of the charade.
    Michael was overly obvious as he pushed Juliana against Paul’s side as if to distract him. She smiled up at Paul, leaning her breasts against his arm in a way that was a bit
too
distracting. Slipping an arm about her, he drew her even tighter against him until she was forced to brace her hand on his thigh or fall across his chest.
    He leaned down toward her face, and he saw the awareness in her eyes, the moment when she thought he would kiss her. Instead he nuzzled his face against her neck as she gave a belated giggle.
    “Next time,” he whispered.
    Her fingernails dug into his thigh.
    After pressing a kiss to her cheek, he brought her hand to his lips.
    “Seems as if you need to persuade the wench,” the lord’s son said, laughing.
    “She comes to my bed quite willingly.” Paul grinned down at her before returning his attention to the self-important man. “I found her in Paris, where her protector had left her when he tired of her.”
    “I tired of
him,”
Juliana corrected, her voice sweet with certainty.
    “And after our first night in bed, I even believed you, my little duckling,” Paul said, chuckling.
    Several of the other men joined him, openly admiring Juliana. Paul had been right about the gown—it did amazing things to her