The Hunted Bride

by Jaye Peaches

  The banquet was laid out across the tables, the wine poured generously, and the music splendidly performed on the gallery above the hall. He heard, from his position on the high table, laughter and singing, some drunkenness, and a few disagreements. By him, Matilda beamed, her lush ribbons of hair neatly arranged under her headdress, her dress golden with trimmings. The preparations had gone to plan, and she had helped, choosing dishes and music, things that mattered the least to Gervais. He focused his attention on talk, the banter of conversation that allowed him to gauge the mood of the people. The indications were good. They were happy with his oversight and he in turn believed there was no likelihood of trouble, especially with the serfs.

  Marcia kept Matilda occupied with trivial family gossip, which Matilda soaked up, and the two appeared a good match. It would be a pity to see Marcia return home, but he could not keep her at his castle when she was expected to wed.

  “Does no one court you?” Matilda asked unashamedly.

  Marcia blushed. “No, my lady, for I am just in my majority. I hope soon to be called upon.”

  “You are pretty,” Matilda said. “I’m sure you will attract a good host of young men to your door.”

  “None as fine as Gervais.”

  It was Matilda’s turn to blush. Gervais hid a smile and winked appreciatively at his mischievous cousin.

  The evening lengthened into night, and gradually the merriment dwindled. Some fell asleep in the hall, others left to retire. The musicians disappeared into the kitchens to mop up the leftovers, and outside in the courtyard, the fires were dampened down and the cheerful crowd dispersed to their beds.

  Marcia bid goodnight, and at last Gervais was able to take his bride’s hand and guide her to his chamber. There he locked the door for privacy and walked her backwards to the bed. She knew what to expect, for every night since he had introduced her to his Zalim, she had valiantly gone with him.

  He believed that he had merged his two aspects into one, and she had no fear of the beast. There was nothing in his repertoire that she had not experienced in the last few days, and what he planned for their future would be an exploration for them both. He had high hopes for her.

  The golden cloth slipped onto the floor by the foot of the bed and she stood, perfectly poised, smooth-skinned and glowing, her breasts rising and falling in tune with his heartbeats.

  A low growl was all that signalled the rise of the Zalim from backstage to front. She tipped her chin up, offered him her slavish, beautiful eyes, and sank to her knees.

  Later, in the night, he stirred and wriggled free of her sleeping body. Lying there, he sighed. In the morning, their guests would leave, and he and Matilda could make the final arrangements for their quiet wedding. With Marcia as a witness, the brief ceremony would draw to an end that part of his life that had both served him well and haunted him badly. A new adventure dawned, and he was ready to embrace it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  At dawn, she left him to bathe in the privacy of her chamber, and while she did, Gervais bid farewell to those departing early. He appraised the disarray of the Great Hall and chivvied his servants to make amendments. By midmorning, some semblance of order was returning to his keep.

  As for Matilda, she had obviously returned to bed and fallen asleep. He smiled to himself; he had kept her awake for many hours, and she lacked his beastly stamina.

  Sara walked into the hall with Marcia at her side. The maid was carrying a gown.

  “Don’t fret,” Sara said. “I shall repair the small tear. It will be done by evening.”

  Sara curtsied to Gervais. “Good morrow, my lord. Did my lady sleep well?”

  Gervais scratched the whiskers on his chin. “If not in my bed, then I assume she is slumbering in hers.”

  The colour left Sara’s face. Marcia touched her sleeve. “What is it?” Marcia asked.

  “But, my lord, she is not in her bed. I fell asleep in the kitchens, as did many of us who serve and wanted more of the musicians’ time. She remained with you, did she not?” Her lower lip trembled.

  Gervais stiffened so abruptly, his spine cracked. “No,” he growled. “She left me at dawn.”

  He hurried past the two women to Matilda’s chamber. Sure enough, her bed was cold and empty. He raced to his own private rooms, and there was no trace of her. Only a heap of clothes on the floor.

  He bellowed for Lionel, for Jacob. Soon the whole castle was roused and looking for her. The remaining guests assisted in the search, and the reports that came back were all the same. Nobody had seen Matilda that morning.

  “My lord,” a voice rose from the small gathering in the great hall, where Gervais paced up and down, his anguish clear for everyone to see. “Lord Gervais.”

  The youth stepped forward. “I am Philip, squire to Sir Ricard, who stands by you.”

  Sir Ricard waved his man forward. “What is it, boy?”

  Gervais ceased roving. Sir Ricard was a reliable man who was known throughout the region. A widowed old knight and a friend of the earl.

  Philip cleared his throat and shuffled forward. “I saw somebody last night who I believe I recognised, but I thought it foolish to say anything—”

  “Say what?” Gervais said impatiently, hands on hips.

  “Because it would not be appropriate for me to speak up.”

  “You’re not making sense, boy.”

  “I sat with the other squires and the young sons of the burghers over there,” Philip pointed to the back of the hall.

  Gervais scowled. “The rowdy table.”

  The boy blushed. “We made merry and drank. But one of our number was quieter and I thought, at first, that I did not know him. He stared most earnestly at your lady all night. And it was afterwards, when you called for help in finding her, that I realised I did see in him a reminder of another.”

  “Who?” What guest had sneaked in uninvited? It was possible. Gervais had opened his doors wide last night, and only the peasants were barred.

  Philip glanced at Sir Ricard. “I thought... I’ve only met him once at the earl’s castle. Taller than I. Gawky framed, and with lighter hair and no beard, he might resemble a knight. He walked with a stick, though—”

  The description needed no further details. “Sir Geoffrey,” Gervais snarled. “You’re telling me Sir Geoffrey Pole was here, in my castle, under my nose?” He leaned his knuckles on a table and bowed his head. “Leave me.”

  After a few minutes, only Sir Ricard with his loyal squire, two other knights, and Lionel remained. They waited, knowing that Gervais was calming his ferocious anger, and that he would soon command them to serve him.

  “He’s taken her.” It had to be true, because the alternative was that she had deceived him and gone voluntarily with Geoffrey. He could not believe she would, not after last night, when he coaxed her to so many climaxes and she had gifted him such joy. She whispered, “I love you, Gervais,” in his ear, and he had the courage to admit likewise that he loved her ‘deeply.’

  “When was he last seen?” he asked Philip.

  “At first breakfast, he snatched a loaf off the table, and a flask of mead. I thought it greedy, but if he—”

  “Needed food for a long journey, he needed it for two people.” Gervais thumped the table. “Lionel, saddle my horse, I shall hunt them down, do you understand?”

  The pale Lionel nodded and ran to do his master’s bidding.

  “What can we do?” Ricard gestured to his fellow knights.

  “Nothing. This is a private matter. I shall find them, don’t worry; Geoffrey leaves behind a trail of debris wherever he rides. He’s like a frisky fox in a hen house.”

  “But, my lord—”

  “You may be on your way, Sir Ricard. If Sir Geoffrey has eloped with my bride, then he will have to bargain hard to keep her, for I intend to win her back, and if necessary, force him to give her up.”

  Gervais hunted alone, it was always his way, and it didn’t matter that his hunt was not pl
anned, the skills he used were the same. The head start was likely to be curtailed by the pair of them on one horse, Matilda’s resistance, he hoped, and Geoffrey’s tendency to lose his way in a forest. For the shortest route back to Geoffrey’s castle was through the densest woods, and Gervais had the home advantage.

  He rode out, lightly armoured, carrying his bow, sword, dagger, and hunting horn. He instructed Lionel to listen for the blast when he would signal that he had found her. As he entered the forest, the darkness embraced him, and he felt the Zalim awaken. This was his domain, and Gervais relinquished control to him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Matilda nearly reached her room when a hood shrouded her head, smothering her. She cried out, but the thick fabric muffled her scream. Drawn tight around her neck, she had no means to see or hear, and only invisible air sifted through the weave to reach her drowning lungs. She struggled, kicking out from under the night robe, and hitting nothing. For her assailant kept behind her, dragging her along, keeping her pinned under his strong arm.

  He winced and staggered a few times, and yet still managed to propel her down some steps, and over hard flagstones toward an unknown destination somewhere without the castle walls.

  Abruptly, he stilled. “Quiet.”

  She thought she knew that voice well, but it couldn’t be his.

  Breathless, he pushed her down onto the ground—wet grass. They were beyond the keep and courtyards. Somehow, he had taken her through a postern gate. There was much drunkenness, and apparently little watch on the various gates, for he had achieved his aim—an abduction.

  Free of his grip, she reached up to loosen the strings of the hood. He grabbed her arm and yanked her up. “Wait. Just, let me,” he panted, fiddling with the knot.

  The voice was so familiar.

  He uncovered her head, and she shook her hair free, and under the dim light of the moon, she blinked at the unfamiliar beard, the dyed hair, the rough garb of a squire.

  “Geoffrey,” she gasped his name and stepped back, but he kept hold of her arm. The sleeve of her robe, which was fur-lined and generous, nearly slipped off her shoulder. Beneath the heavy velvet, she was naked, and wearing the marks of her lord’s beast upon her, his finger impressions on her breasts and palm prints on her backside, which she tolerated because of her love for him. But Geoffrey would never understand that those marks were worn with pride.

  The young knight pulled her along toward a low cottage, one of many dotted in the wide grounds of the castle. He limped heavily on one leg, and it accounted for the wincing. The break wasn’t fully healed, and he had come anyway, out of love for her.

  She attempted to extract herself, and although he was not moving fluidly, he was strong enough to keep her prisoner; the lock on her wrist was unbreakable.

  “Geoffrey, stop.”

  “We must go quickly. My horse is hidden behind here.” He ignored her thumping fist.

  “Stop. I can’t go. I can’t leave.” She had little choice. The tall knight, who once had her utmost admiration, was determined to whisk her away, and no amount of wriggling could free her from his grasp.

  “You have to. You can’t stay here.” He spoke without fear of danger.

  “Why?”

  The horse was a prize stallion, and many hands high. Geoffrey pressed her back against its belly, turned her around, and lifted her up. Flung over the shoulders of the horse with her legs one side and arms on the other, the lack of dignity appalled her. What had become of her gentlemanly knight with his charming ways?

  “Why? Because you are mine, not his.” He hopped on one leg and hauled himself over the saddle.

  “You fool, he’ll not let me go.” She twisted but failed to raise herself up. Geoffrey had the reins drawn across her.

  “He’ll have to, if we’re married.” He snickered childishly.

  “Did you not get my letter?” She’d written, withdrawing her interest in marriage, and generously offered him friendship, and equal respect in honour of her boyhood companion.

  “I read those sprawling letters, so obviously taken down in haste and forced out of your hand.” He kicked his heels and the stallion trotted forward, out of the shadow of the abandoned cottage and into the waking dawn.

  “I wrote that willingly,” she said indignantly. Admittedly, with a shaking hand for she felt a little grief for Geoffrey. However, once the letter was dispatched, she had forgotten all about it.

  “We must leave through the forest.” He hurtled down the steep path.

  “For God’s sake, let me sit before you.”

  He halted the steed. “You’ll not jump off?”

  She hesitated. She had all intention of escaping his jealous clutches, but since she was only wearing a night robe, and nothing beneath, she had little option to stay put until she judged it safe to dismount and find help.

  He helped her up, and she settled on the front of the saddle, with her legs on one side. Her slippers were soaked but had managed to stay on. Infuriated by Geoffrey’s silly plot to remove her from Gervais, she held her head high, and tried to persuade Geoffrey to release her.

  “This will end badly for you, Geoffrey. My lord is a great warrior, and he will not rest until he has me back.”

  Geoffrey directed the horse not toward the road that would take him home, but the forest path and the densely packed foliage. It was the slowest way, and the hardest to track especially away from the path. Geoffrey had chosen it for a purpose, or so he thought.

  “He’ll not find me in here. He is a terrible huntsman. He rides at the back, picking off the easy kills, bored and useless.” Geoffrey laughed heartedly.

  Gervais was not a typical hunter. Matilda smirked to herself finding humour in a private, unspoken joke. If only Geoffrey knew the truth, she thought, he might give up his foolhardy plan, but she stayed quiet. She must not hint at Gervais’s innate hunting skills and reveal his secret.

  “He rescued you when you fell, you stupid knave,” she retorted, and ducked her head under a low branch. “This forest is his; do you not think he knows his way through it?”

  “Maybe, but he’s asleep. So are all the castle folk. Drunk and sleeping. I shunned the beer and kept my wits, watching you with that other pretty woman, talking the night away. My head has been burning hot with an angry fire since he took you from me. How many times has he defiled you? He did last night, did he not, forced himself upon you, and I saw you emerge, ravaged and weak, ready for my protective embrace.”

  She clenched her hands into white-knuckled fists. Geoffrey’s fertile imagination had gone too far. The story he was concocting was so set in his mind, she doubted she could budge it.

  “And if he had, then by law I am his. My virginity I gave him, my soul and heart, too. You will suffer for this, Geoffrey. Please, let me go, and I shall say nothing. I shall say I went for an early morning walk, and that I got lost. He will not question that.”

  Geoffrey’s stiff body refused to yield, and she remained trapped between his straight arms, the horse beneath her trotting heavily in the ruts of the path, which rose into the highest parts of the forest, away from the gullies. It did not matter where they went because the trees shadowed everything, leaving the forest floor dark and the sky hidden. The early sunlight was lost, too low to penetrate. It would be an hour or so before the forest was comfortably bright. She had to slow him down so that she could run.

  “Please, Geoffrey. I am thirsty, can we not stop, and I need to... relieve myself.” She rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. The gesture caught his attention, and he relaxed a fraction, so she stroked his leg.

  “Very well.” He drew the horse up and swung out of the saddle, then he helped her down.

  She wrapped her robe tight around her body and surveyed the small grove. There was some light, enough for her to see that she was surrounded by thickets and impenetrable brambles. It was no use; she could not make her escape here.

  “There’s a stream nearby, I can hear it. I ca
n bathe and drink.” She pointed further up the path they were following.

  Geoffrey pursed his lips. “I hear nothing. I have a flask.” He fetched the sealed bottle and offered it to her.

  She swallowed greedily, for she was thirsty. “I’m hungry too.”

  He sighed and retrieved the loaf he had stolen. Tearing off a chunk, he handed it to her. “There, you see, I can provide for you.”

  “With my dowry,” she reminded him.

  He scowled. “It’s not the reason; I want you to be mine, and you know it.”

  She chewed a morsel; she wasn’t hungry, she felt sick at heart. The young knight deserved a loving wife. “I believe you, but hearts can change, and mine has. Gervais is the man to match my passions. I fear yours, although strong and true, are not beating to the same rhythm as mine.”

  He shook his head. “He’s corrupted you. That’s your problem, Tilda, men corrupt you. First that priest, now Baliol. He’s spent too long in bad company. I, you know, am an educated man from good stock.”

  She smiled sweetly. “You are,” she agreed wholeheartedly. “But I am not. I am a wicked girl, who likes to be corrupted, and you will find me a handful. And it will make you mad trying to tame me. I fear you will end up shunning me rather than do battle with my wits. I can be quite cunning, facile, and devilish.”

  He ran his finger down her cheek. “Not you, Tilda. That is what others think of you, I don’t.”

  She crushed the soft flesh of the bread in her hand. It was no use trying to argue with him. However, he need not know he was defeated. “Let’s go, then. For it’s a long ride.”

  His gloomy face lit up and he helped her up into the saddle. For a second, she thought of taking the reins and charging off, but the horse was huge, and she’d never keep it under control. That gave her an idea—Geoffrey liked to ride unwieldy horses and had suffered as a consequence. Would he dare give chase again, and with a weak leg?