Tell me, Ulrich, what wager have you made concerning Juliane?"
Ulrich lifted his head, his smile flown. 'Twas one thing to make a wager, 'twas another to tell the lady's father of it.
"I spoke of the wager in the hall, my lord." At Philip's lifted brow of diminishing patience, Ulrich elaborated, "'Twas wagered that I could... stand," he said, choosing that particular word with care, "in the face of Juliane's legendary frost. That is all, my lord. By no touch and no word will I compromise her virtue. She will be as chaste when I ride from here as she was when I arrived. 'Tis only that I will—"
"Stand," Philip interrupted. "Yea, I take your meaning. Yet I think there must be more to this wager than that. Is there nothing in it of the melting of the frost? Is there no... response required of Juliane?"
Ulrich swallowed and kept his silence. This part of the wager could see him killed, and none would question the justice of it.
"Tell me," Philip commanded. "If you be man enough to make the wager, be man enough to stand by it, in all the ways that word implies."
Ulrich stood, his hand upon his sword hilt, and faced Juliane's father. He might just slit Roger's throat when he saw him again. If he saw him again.
"I will stand, that is half the wager. The other half," he said, looking into Philip's unflinching gaze, "is that I will make Juliane le Gel melt for me, her legend running from her like snow on sea sand."
"And leave her chaste?" Philip asked.
"And leave her chaste," Ulrich stated.
"And can you do this thing?"
Ulrich was caught unprepared by that question, and he tilted his head in surprise, blinking hard.
"Well," Philip said, crossing his arms over his chest, "can you?"
"Yea," Ulrich said with a wry smile, "I can."
"There is no doubt?"
"Nay," Ulrich said, shaking his head, "no doubt at all."
Philip made a noise of approval mixed with skepticism and then turned to the wind hole that faced the distant woods to the south. The first stars were out, large and bright in their dominance of the sky, a summer sky, warm and mild and clear. A quiet sky.
"Then you are alone in that, for I have grave doubts. What of that kiss?" Philip asked. "Was there not a falling there, Ulrich of Caen? Did not your standard flag and fall with my daughter under your hand and mouth?"
"Nay, there was no falling," Ulrich said, "and she was unharmed. Never would I use my power against a woman. Never would I tease from her what she has no will to give."
"Yet if you tease her will to give you what you want— how then, Ulrich? How will my daughter fare against such wagering as that? I am a man as well as you; I know the course a man will travel to achieve his ends with a woman."
"I will not lie," Ulrich said. "I have done so in my life, yet I have sworn to scorn that path. Your daughter is safe with me. Though I may say that she is safe enough in her own care. A stalwart and fierce maid you have in her, my lord. She can well see to her own defense."
"Do you think so?" Philip asked, stroking his missing ear. "She will be glad to know it, for Juliane prizes fierceness as tenderly as any knight. Yet to me, she is a daughter, and her protection is all my concern."
"Have I your pardon, my lord, for that display against your authority over the daughter of your loins and of your house?"
"A moment and one question more," Philip said, avoiding a direct answer. "You did not fall, and, one man to another, I will believe it. But what of her? Was there a softening? Did she begin to melt, Ulrich?"
How to answer this? Aye, as man to man, 'twas one thing, but this man was a father, and fathers did not speak of their daughters' melting. Unless the man was Philip, in charge of a daughter who would not melt for any man. Philip must take a different course with a daughter who would not and could not be wed.
There was Ulrich's answer.
"My lord," he said, blue eyes meeting blue in that bright-lit chamber, "she did."
"Did she?" Philip asked, measuring
Ulrich lifted his head, his smile flown. 'Twas one thing to make a wager, 'twas another to tell the lady's father of it.
"I spoke of the wager in the hall, my lord." At Philip's lifted brow of diminishing patience, Ulrich elaborated, "'Twas wagered that I could... stand," he said, choosing that particular word with care, "in the face of Juliane's legendary frost. That is all, my lord. By no touch and no word will I compromise her virtue. She will be as chaste when I ride from here as she was when I arrived. 'Tis only that I will—"
"Stand," Philip interrupted. "Yea, I take your meaning. Yet I think there must be more to this wager than that. Is there nothing in it of the melting of the frost? Is there no... response required of Juliane?"
Ulrich swallowed and kept his silence. This part of the wager could see him killed, and none would question the justice of it.
"Tell me," Philip commanded. "If you be man enough to make the wager, be man enough to stand by it, in all the ways that word implies."
Ulrich stood, his hand upon his sword hilt, and faced Juliane's father. He might just slit Roger's throat when he saw him again. If he saw him again.
"I will stand, that is half the wager. The other half," he said, looking into Philip's unflinching gaze, "is that I will make Juliane le Gel melt for me, her legend running from her like snow on sea sand."
"And leave her chaste?" Philip asked.
"And leave her chaste," Ulrich stated.
"And can you do this thing?"
Ulrich was caught unprepared by that question, and he tilted his head in surprise, blinking hard.
"Well," Philip said, crossing his arms over his chest, "can you?"
"Yea," Ulrich said with a wry smile, "I can."
"There is no doubt?"
"Nay," Ulrich said, shaking his head, "no doubt at all."
Philip made a noise of approval mixed with skepticism and then turned to the wind hole that faced the distant woods to the south. The first stars were out, large and bright in their dominance of the sky, a summer sky, warm and mild and clear. A quiet sky.
"Then you are alone in that, for I have grave doubts. What of that kiss?" Philip asked. "Was there not a falling there, Ulrich of Caen? Did not your standard flag and fall with my daughter under your hand and mouth?"
"Nay, there was no falling," Ulrich said, "and she was unharmed. Never would I use my power against a woman. Never would I tease from her what she has no will to give."
"Yet if you tease her will to give you what you want— how then, Ulrich? How will my daughter fare against such wagering as that? I am a man as well as you; I know the course a man will travel to achieve his ends with a woman."
"I will not lie," Ulrich said. "I have done so in my life, yet I have sworn to scorn that path. Your daughter is safe with me. Though I may say that she is safe enough in her own care. A stalwart and fierce maid you have in her, my lord. She can well see to her own defense."
"Do you think so?" Philip asked, stroking his missing ear. "She will be glad to know it, for Juliane prizes fierceness as tenderly as any knight. Yet to me, she is a daughter, and her protection is all my concern."
"Have I your pardon, my lord, for that display against your authority over the daughter of your loins and of your house?"
"A moment and one question more," Philip said, avoiding a direct answer. "You did not fall, and, one man to another, I will believe it. But what of her? Was there a softening? Did she begin to melt, Ulrich?"
How to answer this? Aye, as man to man, 'twas one thing, but this man was a father, and fathers did not speak of their daughters' melting. Unless the man was Philip, in charge of a daughter who would not melt for any man. Philip must take a different course with a daughter who would not and could not be wed.
There was Ulrich's answer.
"My lord," he said, blue eyes meeting blue in that bright-lit chamber, "she did."
"Did she?" Philip asked, measuring
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