Free Knight Errant by Rue Allyn Page A

dropped her head into her hands. This was horrible. She liked Robert Clarwyn . . . truly liked him . . . a lot. The kiss they shared in Genoa was never far from her thoughts.
    “Hmpf,” Berthild grumbled as she entered the room. The older Beguine sat beside Juliana and studied her. “Why, child, did you say you were tired when you clearly are not? Overwrought perhaps, but not tired.”
    “Oh, Berthild, I am cursed. God has not forgiven me for my sins.”
    “Child, you are so young, what could you have done that is so unforgivable?”
    “What haven’t I done? ’Tis my fault that Basti rampages against the Beguines. Had I not beaten the man with his own crook, chased him from his own chapel, then told the bishop of Basti’s abuses, he would not have been sent away to Rome. He would never have drawn the pope’s attention or become so powerful that simply by wishing it aloud he could decimate an entire beguinage. He would not hate us so, nor would he stir his agents and others against us.”
    “Tut, you blame yourself needlessly. Giorgio Basti terrorized many of our community. You simply did what others before you should have done. You were right to stop Basti’s attacks on young girls. Accusing him to the bishop was the only means you had to be heard. What happened to the priest afterward is on the shoulders of those who sent him to Rome and those who gave power to such a monster.”
    “What of the trouble I’ve caused you and Gretle? Because of me, you were forced to endure a dangerous delay in Genoa, travel separately from the safety of the caravan, and take passage on a Saracen ship.”
    “True, true.” Berthild patted her hand. “Yet without you, most likely we would lie smashed to bits at the bottom of that bridge you had the good sense not to cross.”
    “And look where that has brought us. At any moment, I am like to be snatched back to England against my will. I swear I know not why Sir Robert has yet to haul me bodily across his saddle and ride off to fulfill his precious promise to Edward Plantagenet.”
    Berthild placed a hand under Juliana’s chin and lifted her face upward. “Come now, dearest sister. You must know that Sir Robert has not taken you away because God needs you in Palermo. If you have confessed your sins to God and made amends for them, you must also know you are forgiven.”
    “Then why am I cursed with these feelings for Sir Robert? I do not want to end up like my sister and my aunt. I will not!” She beat a fist against the thin mattress.
    “My dear girl. ’Tis not such a curse. I have a few feelings about Sir Robert myself.”
    “Berthild!”
    “Do not be so surprised, child. I may be older than you, but I am not dead, and Sir Robert is a very handsome man. Well-mannered, too, if a bit somber. I wonder what troubles he bears?”
    “His troubles are of no moment. All I know is that I cannot have feelings for him. I will not!” Juliana thumped her fist upon the mattress once more, as much to convince herself she believed what she said as to emphasize the point.
    “’Tis not always for us to decide where our affections will lie.”
    “You do not understand.” She stood and paced the small chamber. “A woman’s love for a man is a terrible thing for the woman. He becomes her entire world, her sole reason for being. And the man . . . such love is less than nothing to him.” She halted before her friend and struck the air with both fists. “Dogs receive more attention from men than the women who love them.”
    “I have not found that true. Look at our groom, Henry. He is most tender in caring for our needs. My own father was generous and kind, as was the priest in the village where I grew up. The lord of our county was also a good man. Stern but fair. Only when I married against my father’s advice did I meet men of a different stamp.”
    “You were fortunate, for I cannot believe that most men are as gentle as you claim. Considering what men did to your daughter,