Leigh, Tamara Read Online Free PDF Page A

beside him, in one hand a wine goblet, in the other a spoon, but not once had she drunk from the vessel, nor eaten from the trencher between them. The only movement about her the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, she stared across the hall.
    Although it was two months since Bernart had forced her to his plan, and nothing more had been spoken of it, she assuredly knew the time had come. And she waited to be led to bed like a lamb to gutting.
    What was he to do? All was in place, from Juliana's time of breeding, to the chamber in which the deed would be done, to the rumor he had imparted that if she did not soon ripen with child he would rid himself of her and take another wife. So should he choose another to lie with her? Could he?
    As with every time he imagined any man enjoying what should have been his, self-loathing filled him. In spite of the resentment Juliana exuded, regardless of her unsmiling face, there was no woman more beautiful. And every man in the hall agreed. They struggled to keep their eyes from her, quickly looked elsewhere when they found Bernart watching them, but ever their gaze returned to her.
    Perhaps he ought abandon the idea, Bernart considered. At least then he might regain what little he'd had of Juliana before he'd demanded a son from her. Perhaps the hatred would disappear from her eyes.
    Nay, though he was not to have the satisfaction of taking a child from one whose betrayal had cost him the ability to father children, he needed a son to silence the speculation about his manhood. So who was it to be? He studied the knights seated around him. Sir Kenelm, too old. Sir Arnold, a lecher. Sir Morris, too handsome. Sir Simon, a cruel man. He was about to dismiss Sir Henry when the great doors across the hall swung open.
    The eyes of the man who strode within were colder than the night air he brought with him. They pinned Bernart where he sat in the lord's high seat and calmed the din to a murmur. He had come.
    Relief, darkened by disquiet, rippled through Bernart. Gabriel De Vere was nearly as he remembered him. Tall, broad, unkempt from his long brown hair down to his well-worn boots. In all, he presented little for a woman to gaze upon, but as Bernart knew, it would take no more than a flash of pale eyes to draw women to him like birds to flight.
    Bernart glanced at Juliana.
    Her face reflected disbelief, then anger. Though it was no secret that Bernart and Gabriel's friendship had been severed years ago, only she knew the true depth of her husband's feelings—and shared his enmity. So how long until she realized the reason for Gabriel's attendance? How long until the hatred she bore Bernart trebled?
    Bernart rose from his chair. "Lord De Vere," he called.
    Gabriel, followed by another knight whose exemplary grooming differed considerably from his own, traversed the remainder of the hall. He halted before the dais. "Lord Kinthorpe."
    His hair had begun to silver at the temples, and there were fine lines around his eyes, nose, and mouth that had not been there when he'd come before Bernart in the dungeon at Acre.
    With so many watching, Bernart summoned a smile that could not have been falser had it been cut from the devil's mouth. "You come to tourney?"
    Gabriel inclined his head. "By invitation."
    Bernart heard Juliana's sharply indrawn breath. She knew. Avoiding her gaze, he said, "You are late."
    "We are," Gabriel said without apology.
    The knight beside him stepped forward. "Sir Erec Sin-ward, my lord. Regretfully, during the crossing from France our ship was blown off course. We have ridden hard these past days to make your tournament."
    Considering their renown on the battlefield, Bernart knew there would be protests against their late entry.
    "You are welcome at Tremoral, Lord De Vere and Sir Erec." He swept a hand before him. "Join us. There is food and drink aplenty, entertainment, and willing wenches."
    Sir Erec bowed curtly. "You are gracious, my lord." He turned away.
    Gabriel