Was this Odo working with the Church or was he merely a madman that the Jews were trying to control, as Middleton had said? He was admitted to Westminster. That’s where he had followed Crispin. It was not unlikely Crispin could encounter him again there, be the one spying instead of the one spied upon and find out what he was truly doing at court.
Who was he trying to fool? Crispin was at Westminster to see Julian. He could no longer deny it.
He passed through the Great Gate at Westminster Palace, determined to find the lad. He had much to say before he moved on with his investigation. Much indeed.
Passing through the Great Hall, he skirted trunks and furniture. Clearly court was ready to take its leave to the country for Christmas. All of the court would be going, except for Radulfus. That warmed Crispin’s heart. The man intended to admit himself to the king’s party. Good luck to him! Good luck to them both!
Down the corridors he went, barely mindful to keep his face down. He passed Bill Wodecock and he was damned if the man did not turn toward him with a disapproving scowl. Crispin did not acknowledge him. Better that way. Instead, he followed the winding passageway to the queen’s rooms and beyond to where the Jews resided. With any luck, the physician’s son would be alone.
The way was deserted. He reached the door at the end of the corridor and knocked. The boy answered it and fell back from the door, wide-eyed. Before he recovered and slammed the door in Crispin’s face, Crispin took a hold of it and forced it open. When he entered the room, he slammed it closed. Searching over the boy’s shoulder, he saw that they were, indeed, alone.
“Now then,” said Crispin.
Julian held his hands out, trying to fend him off. The bruise on his jaw was somewhat satisfying. “Forgive me! Forgive me! I did not mean—” But Crispin lunged forward and clasped Julian’s arms and practically picked him up. Crispin’s eyes raked over that face; prominent cheekbones, dark green eyes. His hair was a mousy brown and hung to below his bruised jaw line.
Crispin loosened his hold on one arm and clutched the boy’s chin, causing Julian to wince. His eyes slid over the abrupt planes and angles of cheek and jaw, sliding further to that long, smooth neck.
So it was true. The feelings that threatened before suddenly erupted within him. The confusion, the crossed emotions, the anger. It all made sense to him now. He felt his heart thrumming, his breath quickening, and a distinct tightening in his groin. How could such a thing excite him?
By all the saints. He hoped he wasn’t about to make an arse of himself.
Slowly, he lowered his face until he could feel Julian’s rasping breath against his chin. “Tell me something,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “The truth now.”
Julian opened his lips. “What?” It was not so much a word as a breath. His eyes locked on Crispin’s.
Crispin leaned further, his nose almost touching the other.
“Tell me . . . are you . . . a woman?”
Was it relief he saw in her eyes? She said nothing and the merest of smiles began at the edges of her swollen mouth. She nodded.
“God be praised,” he sighed. And then he leaned forward and closed his mouth hungrily over hers.
16
She tasted like exotic wine. His tongue traced her swollen, cracked lips and then he sucked, tasting a renewal of coppery blood. His hand left her arm and tucked beneath it, finding the swell of a bound breast. She was leaning her whole weight into him now, but when he cupped her breast, she sighed a soft moan.
He filled her mouth once more before he drew back a little, lips still teasing hers. “Tell me your name.”
“It is . . . Julianne.”
He smiled against her mouth, kissed her again, and nibbled his way across her cheek. He pulled her smaller body against his, feeling his stiffening groin come up against . . . nothing. He truly didn’t need further proof but it was nice to have it. “Ah,” he whispered to her soft skin. He ran his stubbled cheek against her smooth one before finding her mouth again. He lingered over hers before her tentative tongue slid past his lips. A rush of emotion stiffened his whole body and he let her explore for a moment while his hands found her backside. Strange how he had somehow known all along. Relief mingled freely with his awakening desire.
“Was this your father’s idea?” he asked breathlessly. She seemed a novice in the art of kissing, but she was a ready student. He wouldn’t mind spending time tutoring her.
“We . . . we came upon it together.” Crispin found her throat—that smooth, feminine throat—and licked and bit at it. She moaned for a moment before continuing in a staccato. “I wanted t-to learn the art of the physician. He w-wanted to protect me from Gentiles on our travels. It seemed to be—oh!—th-the perfect solution.”
His mouth found her ear and he sucked slowly on her lobe. Her knees seemed to give way and if he weren’t holding her with one arm wound about her waist, she would have slumped to the floor.
Still so wrong. Crispin chided himself for choosing so poorly when it came to women, but his tastes were never satisfied by those found on the Shambles.
“Are you . . .” He kissed her jaw and left a trail to her mouth with his tongue. “A maiden?” he said to her lips.
“Yes,” she gasped. “But I have wanted you. I have never met a man like you: intelligent, thoughtful. You are my . . . equal.”
He pulled back and looked at her. “Equal?”
“For a Gentile.” There was a sly smile on her lips as well as in her eyes.
“Indeed.” He studied her face again and gently touched the bruise on her jaw. “I’m sorry for this.”
“You were justified, I suppose. You thought I was a man.” She reached up and ran a finger down his nose. “You seem to have had your own encounter.”
He smiled. “Trouble manages to find me.” He swept the cap off her head, running his fingers unfettered through her stringy locks. “Your hair . . .” he said regretfully.
She ducked suddenly out of his reach. “It is only hair,” she muttered. “I am a woman in every other way.”
A bit of hysterical laughter tried to bubble up in his throat. The irony! She in her boy’s clothing and John Rykener in his woman’s garb. Was anything as it seemed?
His hands lighted gently on her shoulders. She leaned into it to chin his hand affectionately.
“Julianne,” he said, enjoying the slightly different accenting of the name. He kissed the top of her head, feeling a surge of need well in his chest. But just as these warm feelings crested, they were slashed with a rush of dejection. He saw their situation in one sweep, like figures on a tapestry. This was not just any woman. Not only was she masquerading as a boy—something that was enough to get her landed in Newgate—but she was a Jew! And Jews and Gentiles did not mingle. Was he to toy with her affections merely to satisfy an itch? He knew there was a fine line between the raw emotions of anger and lust. He had crossed over that line with her numerous times. But he couldn’t take what he wanted. He owed her father more respect, if not as a father at least as a client.
She seemed to draw the same conclusion. “What’s to be done?” she sighed.
Her hand covered his for a moment before she turned, looking up at him with sorrowful eyes. He wondered now how he could ever have been fooled.