Sin and Surrender Read Online Free PDF Page A

his disparagement of her sex just yesterday? had he changed, or simply hidden his true self from her?
    At last she gave a mighty heave to his chest, and as he stepped backward, his boot caught on a rock, and he tumbled onto his backside. She well knew if they’d been fighting for real, he would have defeated her within the first minute, such was his knowledge and skill. Skill granted him by the League, though he disdained them.
    As the ladies applauded wildly and the men cheered, Juliana sheathed her sword and reached down a hand to Paul. He took it, sprang to his feet, but didn’t release herimmediately. His hand felt warm, rough with calluses, so large compared to her own. The touch of him reminded her of their playacting yesterday, when she’d been the concubine, and he’d been her very interested lover.
    She pulled her hand away, not wanting to think about that.
    Paul grinned, his gaze intent on her face, as if trying to read everything about her. And although Bladesmen were taught to read expressions, they were also well trained to conceal what they wished. So he was deliberately trying to tease her, to throw
her
off-balance.
    “What skill you have, Juliana!” Lady Keswick cried.
    “And next she’ll wear a disguise,” Mistress Hilliard added. “It seems so exciting.”
    “‘Twill not be exciting,” Juliana said, sobering. “Living every moment of the day pretending to be someone else is exacting work.”
    “And I will be a difficult commander,” Paul said.
    “Then ‘tis good that I will not see that side of you, for Sir Timothy is our commander.”
    She thought the jibe an apt one, but he didn’t seem to see the amusement, for his smile faded. Adam and Robert glanced at each other, but revealed nothing else.
    Late that morning, after their return to the League house, Paul removed a bound book from his saddlebag before a guard led his horse away.
    Juliana eyed it with open speculation. “Did you have a chance to read much?”
    “I read it all, even managing to stay awake, too.”
    The League had asked him to familiarize himself with Edward IV, late father of the queen and the little princes, one of whom Paul would impersonate. Paul had been surprised at the details the League had discovered about the last days of the boys, locked in the Tower of London, unable to see their mother or sisters, who were closeted at Westminster Abbey.
    Once he was with Timothy and the rest of the Bladesmen in the house, he patiently let himself be quizzed on his knowledge.
    When it seemed to go on too long, Paul said, “Surely you can see that my skills at memorization are functioning. I’m prepared.”
    Michael gave him an arch look. “Are we not right to be concerned? Should things go wrong, our heads would end up beside yours on pikes on London Bridge. The king would not claim us if it would reflect badly on him.”
    With a heavy sigh, Paul launched into a sad narrative of Prince Richard’s time in the tower, as if it were his own story, his confusion over why his uncle had taken the throne, his longing for his mother, his grief over his father’s death. Soldiers had later spoken in whispers of how the boy expected death, and knelt day and nightpraying for his soul. It was a sad ending for a child, although there was no proof
what
had happened. But the boys were gone, and King Henry, their brother by marriage, wouldn’t want them to return. Throughout his speech, Paul saw Juliana watching him, her expression impassive, her dark eyes alive with cool intelligence.
    “Enough,” Timothy said at last. “I am impressed, Paul, for you had little time to study the material.”
    Paul found himself ready to answer with sarcasm, to say such was the training of the League. But he didn’t need to remind his foster father of his bitterness and disappointment. “What next do you wish of me?” he asked.
    Timothy sent the two of them up to the first-floor bedchambers, where their new wardrobes awaited them. Paul was