“Gallien,” she whispered. “You’re alive.”
He came to his feet quickly and touched the backs of his fingers to her forehead. The fever was gone. He silently thanked God for her deliverance, his heart swelling with relief. “Peri,” he rasped, “I am here thanks to you. You saved my life.”
He should call his mother to her bedside, but he had to be the one to speak of the child they had lost.
She must have seen the sorrow in his eyes. “The babe?”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Our child is gone, my love.”
She let out a long mournful wail.
He lifted her to his embrace, careful not to touch the blistered arm. “It’s not your fault. We grieve now, but there will be more brothers and sisters for Rodrick and Grace.”
She smiled wearily, then drifted back into sleep, intermittent sobs shuddering through her body. He stayed by her side for long hours. Each time she wakened, she wept, her tears subsiding after he soothed her with kisses and caresses.
* * *
A fortnight after the terrible events at de Villiers Hall, Gallien carefully gathered his wife into his arms, and carried her to the carriage waiting to bear them home. His father and Étienne had returned to Ellesmere earlier with Tandine and her brood of stepchildren.
The horrendous blisters that had sprouted like pigeon eggs the length of Peri’s arm had healed well, thanks to his mother’s ministrations. But she had warned that Peri would bear scars. It was a blessing her hand had not been scalded.
It grieved him that his beautiful wife believed she was ugly because of the red, puckered skin. She insisted on wearing a gown with sleeves for the journey, though it was evident it caused her discomfort. She did not want the servants at Ellesmere to see what she called her deformity.
Once Peri was nestled comfortably in the cushioned cocoon he had made for her in the carriage, he helped his mother settle in beside her.
The fresh air had brought color back to his wife’s pale face, and she smiled, sending blood rushing to his groin.
“This is more comfortable than the cart that carried me to the coast,” she said with a sigh.
Gallien wanted to climb into the carriage and cuddle up beside her, but it was not a long journey. Soon, they would be home. Resigned to an uncomfortable ride with an insistent erection, he mounted his horse, and motioned the captain of the men-at-arms to lead them out of the courtyard.
He looked back at the house. A cold shiver snaked across his nape at the memory of what had happened within those walls. De Villiers had intended that Peri never leave the house alive. Hatred was a destructive force. Gallien marveled that despite his best efforts to alienate Peri, she loved him and had risked her life to save him. She was a miracle that he would spend his life giving thanks for.
De Villiers Hall was a fine, well-built house. Perhaps in time Tandine would transform it into a place where love ruled. But that would take another miracle.
Scars
The sun was high in the sky when they arrived at Ellesmere. Gallien had set a slow pace, concerned for Peri’s well-being. A loud cheer went up from the castle folk gathered in the bailey.
Gallien dismounted and came to lift her from the carriage.
“They are glad to see their master’s son returned,” she whispered to him.
He shook his head. “It’s you they are cheering for. They love you,” he assured her.
He said naught of his own feelings. Much of her time at de Villiers Hall had passed in a haze of sleep and delirium, but she had an abiding memory of Gallien’s presence through it all.
Was it guilt he felt for her injury, or did he love her?
How could a man love a hideously scarred woman? She was revolted by the sight of her arm.
Gallien lifted her from the carriage.
“I am well enough to walk,” she assured him.
“Non, I want to carry you into the Keep. I never carried you over a threshold when we were wed.”
She did not argue. She loved being cradled in his arms, held tightly against the solid muscles of his broad chest, though she suspected the injuries inflicted by de Villiers still pained him. Whenever she mentioned it, he quickly changed the subject. She put her good arm around his neck, resisting the temptation to twirl her fingers in his silver hair.
He took her directly to the nursery where she was reunited with her children. It broke her heart that they seemed to barely know her.
As if sensing her distress, Gallien reassured her. “They are babies. You are still their mother. Nothing can break that bond.”
He took her then to their chamber, placing her carefully on the bed.
She protested. “I cannot remain abed. I don’t want to be an invalid.”
“Just for this day,” he insisted. “It has been a long journey for you. On the morrow, you can rise.”
He stood beside the bed, gazing down at her. He looked uncertain, confirming her fears he would find her body repulsive.
She blinked away a tear. “I will sleep for a while, but I would like to join everyone for the evening meal.”
He was a beautifully made man and she longed to put her hands on his strong thighs. If only she had the courage to reach out and draw him to her side. Her most intimate part craved the feel of his hard manhood pressed against it. The muscles of her sheath pulsed.
“Shall I help you disrobe?” he rasped.
Dread reared its ugly head. She turned away from his gaze. “Non, merci. Send Alys, s’il te plaît.”
He hesitated, but then knelt on the bed and kissed her forehead. “As you wish, my lady.”
As he left, she fisted her hands at her sides, digging her nails into the palms. She had not been capable of capturing her husband’s heart when she was whole. Why would he love her now?
* * *
Gallien watched his wife lick the juices of the succulent roast chicken from her fingers. He groaned inwardly, longing to reach out and press those greasy fingers to his throbbing shaft. He ached to join his body to hers again. Buried deep inside her, he intended to profess his love and beg her forgiveness.
A sennight had passed since he had brought her home. Outwardly, she seemed recovered, but he knew she still grieved the child she had lost, not with wailing and tears as before, but silently. She often stared into emptiness, seemingly lost in thought. His mother advised it would take time. He acknowledged he had to be patient. He had deprived his wife of too much of his affection since their marriage.
Whenever he touched her, she stiffened and withdrew. Had she grown to loathe him, or was she afraid?
He knew what fear could do to a person’s heart.
They had not shared a bed since her homecoming. His body was bursting with need. He leaned towards her, pressing his thigh against hers. He whirled his tongue in her ear. Her face reddened, and the blush spread across her neck, and lower. He itched to tear away the gown and expose her breasts to see if the flush covered them. Her nipples pouted against the fabric. “I want to lick you, Peri. Tonight.”
She turned her gaze to him. Her green eyes were like a window to her soul, filled with fear, uncertainty—but something else too—lust.
She smiled.
His shaft responded. “Tonight,” he repeated. “Trust me.”
* * *
Peri had trusted Gallien before, only to have her heart broken into a thousand pieces. Yet, she still loved him, craved him. It would be impossible to live with him and not share his bed, any more than the crops in the fields could live without rain. She would wither and die without his touch.
The bulge in his leggings and the longing in his eyes betrayed his need as he escorted her from the hall to their chamber, but men were driven by lust, not love.
She trembled when he closed the door of their chamber. She stood transfixed, not sure what to do. Smiling, he shrugged off his doublet and came to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “May I undress you, my lady?”
She leane
d back against his chest, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt. Desire spiralled low in her belly and wet warmth flooded her sheath. She could only nod. Her throat felt like she had eaten sand.
He coaxed her to the bed, and put his hands on her waist. She grasped his shoulders as he lifted her to sit on the edge, fighting the urge to knead her fingers into the solid muscle.
He knelt to remove the shoes from her dangling feet. Heat rushed up the back of her thighs. She put her hands on the top of his head, gasping as he danced his fingertips up her legs, untied her garters, and peeled off her stockings.
Peri had heard her father-by-marriage tell of the volcano they called Vesuvius that he had seen on his return journey from Constantinople. As Gallien licked and kissed her toes, one by one, she felt the molten lava of desire surge through her body. She was ready to erupt.
His tongue traced the sole of each foot, from heel to toe, then twirled around her ankles. His hands replaced his tongue. Gently, he eased her legs open and leaned forward, exposing her to his view as her gown bunched around her hips.
She welcomed his gaze there, but wanted her arm to remain covered.
“You are already wet for me, my precious jewel,” he rasped. The huskiness in his voice betrayed his need. She felt light-headed as heat flushed her body. The scarred skin of her wounded arm prickled. She should stop him now, before he went further. Surely he would not want to kiss her scars?
But he was kissing and suckling and licking her most intimate place, and her need to be filled was building inside. She raked her fingers through his hair. “Gallien,” she murmured.
He looked up at her, his blue eyes lit with lust. Could he see her fear?
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.
He came to his feet, took her hands, and pulled her body to his. She fisted her hands in the fabric of his shirt, her mons grinding against his erection of its own volition.
He trailed kisses over her throat, deftly untying the laces of her bodice. He covered her mouth with his as he eased the gown from her shoulders, and over her hips. His tongue demanded entry. The protest died in her throat as she opened for him and their tongues mated. She tasted the spiced wine they had shared at table.
A groan emerged from deep in his chest. The sound travelled to her toes and thence up her spine.
Now clad only in her thin chemise, she instantly missed the heat of his body as he stepped back. The garment’s sleeve covered only her shoulder and upper arm. The rest of the hideous limb was revealed to his gaze. She bit her lower lip, willing the tears not to fall. “Please. I do not wish you to look upon my deformity, Gallien.”
“You are not deformed,” he assured her. “A warrior bears his scars proudly. They are proof of his bravery. You are still the most beautiful woman I know, and I intend to remove that flimsy garment and kiss every bit of your luscious body.”
She swayed, torn between the lust that wanted his kisses and her fear of his reaction. He smiled, then quickly tore off his shirt, baring his magnificent chest to her view. She itched to brush her thumbs over his male nipples.
The blue of his eyes darkened. Slowly, he turned his body so his back was to her.
She gasped, feeling faint as blood rushed to her head. “You’ve been flogged.”
He remained silent, head bent.
While she had wallowed in her own misery, her husband had been dealing with the shame, humiliation, and pain of being whipped like a common criminal. She traced a finger from his shoulder to his waist, following the line of a recently healed scar, still bright pink. “De Villiers?” she asked.
“Aye.”
She lay her cheek against his back, entwining her arms around his waist. “You can kiss my scars if you let me kiss yours.”
He thrust back his head, inhaling deeply.
* * *
Gallien did not know how many scars striped his back, but as Peri licked and kissed each one from shoulder to waist, he wished de Villiers’ henchman had meted out a hundred lashes. Her fingers burned into his flesh, though she barely touched him. He had to get out of his leggings before his erection burst the seams apart. Peri seemed to sense his need and untied the laces at his waist. He came to his feet, and she pushed the garment down over his hips. He used his feet to slough them off, then stepped out of them. He cupped his hand to ease the weight in his sac. Peri pressed her breasts against his back as she reached to spread her hands over his.
“I need you,” he said hoarsely, turning to face her. He lifted the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head. She raised her arms to help him, hesitating after a hasty glance at her scars.
“I meant what I said, Peri.”
She shivered as he bent his head to trail kisses along the withered skin of her arm. If it were possible, he would lick away the pain she had suffered. His lips travelled to a taut nipple. She moaned and pressed his head to her breast as he suckled. He gathered her up and carried her to the bed, turning his attention to the other nipple. She writhed with pleasure as he slid a finger between her nether lips. It took only one brush of his thumb against the diamond of her desire and she fell over the edge, screaming his name, begging him to enter her.
Kneeling between her legs, he guided his needy shaft into her opening. The warm heat had him gasping for breath. She wrapped her legs around his hips and he pounded into her, feeling his couilles draw up. By sheer force of will, he withdrew until he was almost out of her body. She looked up at him and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He smiled, though his heart was pumping erratically. “Nothing. I want to tell you how much I love you.”
Her mouth fell open, her eyes filled with doubt.
He entered her again, slowly. “I love you, Peri. I beg your forgiveness for the hurts I’ve inflicted on you.”
She reached up to comb her fingers through his hair, closing her eyes when he withdrew and thrust in again. “I love you, Gallien.”
He gritted his teeth. He could not hold on much longer. “Say you forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
Elated and humbled at the depth of her love, he thrust again, crying out a guttural release as euphoria overtook him, and his seed erupted into her body.
Epilogue
Montbryce Castle, Normandie. 6 Years Later.
Sitting beside his Oncle Robert in the gallery of Montbryce Castle, Gallien stared blindly into the flames of the roaring fire. Robert had inherited Ram de Montbryce’s rheumatic knees and rarely left his chair by the fire.
Death had brought Gallien to Normandie. Baudoin de Montbryce, Second Earl of Ellesmere, had died peacefully in his sleep and been interred in the family crypt a fortnight earlier.
“I still cannot believe my father is dead,” Gallien rasped.
Robert rubbed his knees. “Bien, he was three score and two years old, a year younger than I. My time is at hand. I’ll be content to join my darling Dorianne and leave the never-ending intrigues of Norman politics to Alexandre.”
Gallien gazed up into the rafters of the castle that had been the seat of the Comtes de Montbryce for generations. His father had been born in England and lived his life there, but it had always been understood he would be interred with his ancestors in Normandie. Gallien and Étienne had brought their father’s body home to its final resting place.
The two men sat in silence for a long while. Robert had shared with Gallien and his brother many memories of growing up in England with Baudoin, some of them good, some bad. He told of the kidnapping they had endured, of happy visits to Normandie, and of being married in a double ceremony in their father’s church, Baudoin to Carys, Robert to Dorianne.
Robert’s raspy voice interrupted his reverie. “Now the awesome responsibility of the Earldom of Ellesmere falls on your shoulders. You as an English earl and my son as the Norman comte face stormy weather ahead. There will be conflict over the succession when Henry finally dies.”
Gallien shrugged. “We’ve been saying that for nigh on t
en years. However, with my wife’s help, and the example of you and my parents to guide me, I’m hopeful the Montbryces can weather the storm. Alexandre and I will work together for the good of the family.”
He prayed he was right. Though they had become closer since Flandres, there was still a lot about Alexandre he wasn’t sure of.
Robert remained silent for a while, seemingly lost in thought. “King Henry afforded us a great honor by being present for my brother’s burial. He travelled from Lyons-la-Forêt, ostensibly to visit his daughter, who is expecting their third child, but apparently Geoffrey has whisked her off to Anjou.”
Gallien did not remind his uncle that he already knew all this.
Robert coughed, a hacking cough that seemed to have worsened since their arrival. “Many remarked privately how frail and weak Henry seems. Maud plans to declare herself queen once Henry dies.”
Gallien shrugged. “She’s at a disadvantage if she’s in Anjou. Stephen is ready to travel to England at a moment’s notice to secure the throne.”
Robert steepled his hands. “Many will censure him for breaking his oath to support Maud.”
Gallien copied his uncle’s pose. “It cannot be helped. I will break Ellesmere’s oath. Stephen must be king.”
Robert seemed to doze for a while, then stirred. “You’re fortunate to have Peridotte as your wife, my boy. Dorianne brought me back from hell, as you know. I wish Alexandre could find a good woman.”
Gallien supposed that if an angry, embittered man like himself had found love, there was a chance for the painfully shy Alexandre. He chuckled inwardly as it dawned on him he was indeed afflicted with the curse of the Montbryces. He loved his wife to distraction.
He thanked God for Peri. What a countess she would be. The people of Ellesmere Castle and its environs loved her. She had not accompanied him to Normandie, being again with child—their fifth. If she brought forth a son, Gallien intended to name him Stephen. Seven year old Grace had remained behind with the little ones, Aurore and William, but her twin brother had come to Normandie for his grandfather’s burial.
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