Chapter Twenty-Eight

Tears spilled from Juliana's eyes as she sat on the open plain. The clouds overhead were grey with the threat of rain, the overcast sky mirroring Juliana's pain.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't return to the convent.

Walking into the church had been a painful experience, knowing that all eyes were on her, judging her. The air had felt stifling, more so because of the whispers that she could hear as she made her way towards Mother Superior's rooms. The overbearing woman, whose ample size had once cut a motherly figure to Juliana, now looked like an overlord awaiting the chance to call judgment upon the head of an unruly servant. Her stern gaze had pierced straight through Juliana, unwilling to see the hurt inside the girl, only wanting to see the shame she had brought upon the church.

It had been nearly a year since Juliana had left the church, and she had not stepped inside its walls till then. Now, being back in the place where she had once felt so loved and at home, she felt as if she were walking into a prison. There was no light, no color, and no life inside those walls. Even if Mother Superior had welcomed Juliana back with open arms, the girl knew that she never would have been able to accept. She had made her choice, and now she must stick by her decision despite its consequences.

Despite knowing that she could never return to the convent, Mother Superior's words had cut through Juliana like a freshly sharpened blade. Each rebuke, each harsh reprimand had sliced through Juliana's heart and soul. She felt like a child again, being reprimanded for eating the leftover communion bread. But these reprimands, these scoldings, were so much harsher than any Juliana had received before. She had fled the church as quickly as her pride would allow her, head held high and tears fighting to break free. Once the heavy doors had closed behind her, Juliana had run as fast as she could to the one place where she felt totally and completely free.

The great open plains beckoned to her, calling her into their welcoming embrace. It was here that she allowed all the tears to fall. Tears for the future that she and Galahad would never have, tears for the loss of a home she had once loved. They fell freely, soaking into the earth. Juliana had no concept of time; she knew not how long she sat there, her body shaking with heavy sobs.

The skies opened up and released their downpour, and still Juliana sat there. She felt the cool rain on her skin, felt the water soaking through her clothes.

How could God do this to her? How could He lead her to believe that she and Galahad could have a future together and then take it away in one instant? Why was He being so cruel to her when all she ever wanted was to please Him? Juliana had spent her entire life loving and serving God and never asking anything in return. Why did God deny her the one thing she ever wanted?

Rain continued to pour down from the heavens. Juliana could feel her body growing numb with the chill. But she refused to move. She had nothing now, no man to love her, no home, no family, no future. What use was there in remaining? If God wanted her so badly He could take her now. Why make her suffer out the rest of her years in a place where she could have no hope?

Strong arms embraced Juliana, picking her up as gently as if she were a newborn babe. They cradled her softly against a broad chest. Juliana nestled her face into the wet shirt, her tears making no difference to the already soaked fabric. Her arms snaked around the strong neck as the body carried her back towards the town. She allowed the person to carry her, making no fuss, not fighting against them. All the fight was gone from her now. What was there to fight for anyway?

The rain stopped pelting her, and she felt herself being placed on a soft surface.

"Let's get her out of these clothes." The voice floated above her, detached and distant.

"She's going to catch a chill." Another voice joined the first.

"You're going to have to leave."

She could hear a deep voice complaining as a door was closed. But Juliana didn't care; let them have their trivial arguments. She had more important things to think about, like settling into the deep darkness that was quickly surrounding her.

~*~*~

It was like a dream. The soft darkness, the gentle lull of voices just out of reach. Just like a dream, though, the softness changed all too quickly. Fire consumed her. Burning through her body unchecked. She wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but her throat would not work, her voice had disappeared.

Time passed. The fire burned and cooled, a cruel cycle that she wished would cease. Her world remained dark, the voices came and went. With each return the voices grew more concerned, they tried to coax her from her cocoon. But here, within the darkness, she could hide away from the pain of life. Despite the fire, she was in no hurry to return to the light.

~*~*~

Cool skin touched her fevered brow, caressed her sweat soaked arm quenching the fire that burned inside her. Juliana wanted – no, needed – more. She turned her aching head to capture more of the tender touch.

"How is she?" A rough voice, so familiar yet unrecognizable. The sound of it caused her heart to speed up. Why was it so far away?

"Her fever broke last night." Another voice, right above her, harsh and unyielding.

The other voice did not answer. Where was it? Where had they gone? The hand caressing her arm wrapped around her own hand, calloused fingers brushing against hers.

Juliana forced in a shaky breath, trying to open her eyes, wanting to see who sat with her. Her body protested, craving sleep instead of wakefulness. She slowly sank back into the happy oblivion.

~*~*~

Galahad was almost certain he could see a path down the corridor from where he had spent every free moment the past week pacing. Pacing and waiting for any news of Juliana's condition. He had been forbidden to enter her room, why he did not know, so he had been forced to rely on the good graces of the nurses who tended to Juliana.

The first few days had been the worst. Not knowing whether or not she would live or die. The nurses and maids had been running frantically in and out of Juliana's bed chamber, bringing in buckets of water, arm loads of fire wood, and herbs to sweat out the fever that raged within her.

He tried to question the midwife tending to Juliana, but the old crone would say nothing to him, only glare at him and harrumph before slamming the thick wooden door in his face. Galahad was at his wits end.

When he had first heard the news of her illness he had been taking care of his horse. The rain had been falling steadily for over three hours and the ground was a muddy bog. Over the dull thudding of the rain on the thatched roof, Galahad had heard the harried footsteps that raced as quickly as they could through the mire. Squelching and squishing their way, the footsteps made it past the door of the stable and Galahad caught sight of Gawain carrying a limp figure in his arms. His curiosity was strong, and Galahad followed Gawain as he raced into Arthur's court. It was in the dim light of the torches that he saw her face, pale and sickly in the dancing flames. Galahad felt his heart crash into his stomach.

Juliana's body was pale as a corpse. Perhaps she was already dead. Galahad raced to hold her in his arms. He needed to know, needed to feel her. Gawain had tried to keep his hold on Juliana, but Galahad fought to get her into his arms.

"Give her to me!" He had cried, his arms shaking as fear took hold. With a look of pity, Gawain placed Juliana in his arms. Her breathing was shallow, forced, and Galahad clutched her close to his body as her frigid skin chilled him.

"Juliana," he whispered in her ear, "come back to me, please come back to me." One tear fell from his eye, falling onto her hair to rest with the rain drops.

He had been allowed to carry her to her room and set her on the bed. After that, he had been pushed from the room and the door firmly closed behind him. Nine days had passed since then.

"Galahad," Arthur's voice pulled him from his reminiscence. Turning to look at his friend and king, Galahad could hardly muster a smile at his presence.

"No change?" Arthur asked, glancing at the door to Juliana's chambers. Galahad shook his head, his own gaze not moving from the door.

"Everything will be alright." His friend reassured him, placing a hand on Galahad's shoulder.

"I hope so." Muttered Galahad, a lump forming in his throat. With one last reassuring smile, Arthur left Galahad to continue his worrying.