Sinful

by Nathalie Gray

  “Have you received a letter yesterday?” Guilabert asked.

  Gautier wanted to punch the smug grin off the man’s face. He took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Good. So have I,” Guilabert went on. He nodded to an old man who walked up the road.

  When they were alone again, Lussier leaned in to him in a conspiratorial way. “So when are you going to act?”

  Gautier stopped dead in his tracks. Both men halted a pace too late and had to backtrack up to him. “What do you mean, ‘act’?”

  “He means the ceremony,” Guilabert said with a pointed look for his friend.

  Did they think him a fool? Did they think he could not see what was going on? These two may have had more schooling than he did, but he had what they lacked—experience. Especially in dealing with upstart fools the likes of them. He could not count the times his cardinal had sent him on some nighttime visit to slothful, depraved nobles to guide them back to the path of light, nor the instances he had been forced to use lethal force to make his point in the back alleys of Rome. Dispatching this pair of buffoons would have taken him but a moment had he been allowed to do so.

  “I was going to see her now,” Gautier replied then added through his teeth, “If you mean to marry that girl only to have her disappear to get at her fortune, I promise you a swift riposte.”

  Guilabert’s hazel eyes narrowed to slits. For the first time since meeting him, Gautier recognized more than burning ambition in the angular face. He could see greed. Jealousy. Yearning. It twisted his face in a grotesque fashion. The look was gone the next moment, leaving Gautier to wonder if he had seen it at all.

  “Why so protective, Brother?”

  Gautier refused to answer that question. Frankly, he wasn’t sure himself why he’d suddenly flown to the baroness’s defense and preferred not to dwell on the implications.

  Guilabert smirked. “I’ll go with you since I’m her future husband.”

  “I’ll go alone.”

  “Suit yourself. But she can be very willful.”

  “I have no problems with her.”

  Aside from trying to keep my hands to myself.

  With a gloved hand, the knight extended his index finger toward Gautier’s cross and let it run down the pendant’s length. Gautier thought he would explode from restrained rage. The last time someone had done this to him, months of torture had followed. He flinched when Guilabert flicked the cross aside and stabbed his finger in Gautier’s scarred chest.

  “I’ve seen what they do to the enemy back there. I can only imagine what it must have been like for you. Months in a hole, no light other than the candles with which they burn you. And the rats—are there any rats in the Holy Land, I wonder?”

  Guilabert brought his hand down, leaving behind a little poke of pain that made Gautier grit his teeth. The knight cocked his head to the side and smiled a sad smile. “We all left something behind during the crusade. What’s important here and now is that we don’t betray the one we swore to serve.”

  “Don’t lecture me on serving the Lord,” Gautier replied tersely.

  “I wouldn’t pretend to know what goes on in there,” Guilabert said, pointing at Gautier’s head. “But your cardinal—my very dear friend—told me you could be counted on to do God’s work, free of us laymen’s failings. Failings like pity. I have my doubts, to be frank. Do you pity her, the frigid maiden, lost and orphaned? You shouldn’t. She has no heart. If she could, she’d do away with you and me in a moment. But I’m sure she does have an itch that I was pleased to scratch once and will be pleased to scratch again.”

  The lewd remark grated on Gautier’s raw nerves. He shook his head. “Is there a point to this?”

  “I’ll take care of her when we’re husband and wife. She won’t be the frigid maiden for long. Just do what you were sent here to do. Before Sunday.”

  Or else. The rest was left unsaid.

  Gautier let the tip of his dagger show below his sleeve. “Don’t you threaten me.”

  As though he had been slapped in the face, Guilabert lowered his chin, licking his lips in a way that reminded Gautier of a predator. “I have friends, you bastard brother, friends in high places. You would do well to remember that.” The word “brother” sounded more like an insult in the knight’s mouth than “bastard”.

  “I have a friend in a high place as well.”

  Lussier looked heavenward, his expression worried. For this, he received a not too subtle elbow in the ribs from his companion.

  “Just remember who you’re dealing with,” Guilabert said.

  Gautier watched the pair swagger away, all the while killing both in his mind. The dagger’s handle dug so hard against his palm it had left an imprint. Looking about at the busy townsfolk, he slid it back in his sleeve. Doing the Lord’s work had never left such an ashy taste in his mouth.

  * * * * *

  By the time he had cooled off enough to be rational, evening had already started to settle in. The sun had dipped below the treetops. Gautier walked what seemed to be the opposite way of everybody else. Most of those he met looked friendly enough, though some of them gave him askance looks that made him stare at the ground.

  A large specimen of a man stared daggers when Gautier passed. He nodded but the giant did not reply. After a few steps, Gautier sensed someone behind him and realized the giant had turned and followed him up the road to the distillery. The baroness’ security?

  Gautier kept a good pace as he climbed up the steep hill leading to the large stone and timber building. Its shadow loomed large over its façade. Smells of caramel and smoke hung thick in the air. Not at all unpleasant. He peeked behind to make sure the giant merely followed.

  When he reached the front doors, his follower must have thought this was close enough for he cleared his throat. Gautier stopped with his hand on the thick iron handle then turning around asked, “Yes?”

  “Can I help you, Brother?” His neck dwarfed his head. No malice shone in the small eyes but a good amount of determination did.

  They really are fond of their baroness, Gautier thought. “I wish to speak with Lady Charlotte. Perhaps you could get her for me?”

  Trying to appease the giant did not seem to work. He crossed his massive arms and stared.

  “I need to speak with her. It’s important.” Gautier meant to slide the door in its cast iron slider.

  A small but ominous step brought the giant closer. “Sorry, Brother, but you can’t go there. It’s dangerous, you see.”

  Patience had never been a virtue with him but he did try his damnedest to recover a potentially volatile situation. The man had to weigh three times his own weight. “Look,” he offered, letting his hand fall from the handle, “I need to warn her about something…someone.”

  Without warning, the door slammed opened and there she stood, a look of shock on her face when she spotted him. She took a step back. “What are you doing here?”

  “I only want to speak with you.”

  Gautier checked behind him to make sure the giant had not moved. He had not, even if he looked as though he wanted to. Badly.

  “Then say it here.” Leaning against the door, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  He could not remember meeting anyone so passively hostile, so damned stubborn. A sigh heaved his chest. “I doubt you want anyone else to hear what I have to say. Not now anyway.”

  His remark brought on a nice assortment of reactions to her fair face. The eyebrows shot up like twitching caterpillars, her nose flared then her whole face tightened until he swore it would break in half. “It’s all right, Renaud,” she said at length, not looking at the giant. “Brother Gautier and I need to talk. But do stay close by in case I start screaming.”

  The giant nodded, turned about then marched back down twenty paces or so and sat on a large rock where he proceeded to dig in his tool belt and produced a knife along with a piece of wood. With a pointed look Gautier’s way, he sent a chip of wood flying. Gautier felt
as if a sliver of his own hide had just fallen to the ground.

  “Come in,” the baroness said.

  The sight of her drove all other thought away. His indiscreet fancy of earlier warmed his cheeks with uneasiness. All he could do was stare at the bouncing curls as she preceded him into the darkened distillery, those bouncing curls that had heralded a long moment of torturous fancying. He tore his gaze off her.

  A narrow aisle split the main floor in two large sections while even narrower alleys ran along the breadth of it. Much like in a church in fact. Here the smells of whiskey and wood were overwhelming. Gautier slid the door closed behind him. Light filtered through a narrow window high above them.

  The baroness spun on her heels then stood there. The way she looked at him expectantly reminded him of their encounter at the cascade. To make sure his gaze did not stray, he lowered it to the section of floor separating them, a symbol of their differences, of the things keeping them apart. As it should be. He had his speech all prepared, something he rarely did, preferring to just let his deeds speak for him, but tonight, faced with the tall and beautiful woman, words failed him. He could have cursed.

  “What does Guilabert want now? Some of my blood to make sure it’s blue? It isn’t.”

  She had no idea how true she had aimed. “I came here to warn you that I’ve received a new edict from the Vatican.”

  She snorted.

  Her bravado abraded his already raw nerves. When he took a step closer, she flinched as if he had struck her. The reaction sliced his heart. “Look, I’ve danced about the place long enough. I’m to marry you to Sir Guilabert before this coming Sunday. I thought you’d like to know in advance.”

  If eyes could kill a man, he would be dead right now. She stared daggers at him before she peeled her wiry frame from the beam against which she leaned.

  “How dare you come into my home and force this on me?” She took a step toward him. Her fists balled at her sides. “You think you can come here and force a man on me? I told you once that I don’t yield to anyone. Anyone.”

  “Everyone yields to an edict from the Vatican.”

  “Not me. I’ll write a letter to my cousin. He’s the Duke of Valois, paternal uncle to the king or didn’t you know? He’ll put a hold to this madness.”

  Gautier wanted to roll his eyes but stopped himself just in time. There was no telling what she might do. He was loath to engage her further. It was enough he could not tear his gaze away from her flushed face. Brown curls stuck to her temples while a sheen of sweat dampened her exquisite lips. And those long legs, wrapped so closely in men’s hose.

  Gautier looked away. “Even the king of France himself is subject to the Church’s law, just as anyone else. Do you think the Duke of Valois would counsel his sovereign to put his country in discredit with the Church for—”

  “What? A mere woman?” she demanded.

  This time, she stalked up to him and stopped a foot from his face. She had both fists on her hips. Her scent reached him. His breathing quickened. His mental hands reached out and stroked her cheek. His physical hands balled into shaking fists.

  “No. I meant to say ‘a distant cousin’. No king would…ah, why do I bother?” He ran a hand over his face and sighed deeply. “I’m trying to make this as simple as possible. For you and for me. But you seem bent on the contrary.”

  “I won’t marry Guilabert. He’s a swine who’s after my coins.” A look of deep disgust flashed in her eyes.

  “He’d make an adequate husband.”

  Lying? He’d never done that before. Jesus on a cross. I can’t even think straight.

  “You’re lying and you’re not very good at it either, which is a testament to your character, I guess,” she remarked acidly.

  She had just parroted him. He could not believe it. She had sent his lecture right back at him, the one he had served her at the confessional the other week. Disrespectful, stubborn…

  He took a threatening step forward but realized his mistake too late. Instead of backing away, she stood her ground and he collided against her, chest on chest. The resulting jolt of surprise and excitement nearly floored him. His legs threatened to buckle anytime now. A burning low in his groin made him blush. God.

  She must have sensed the difference in him for she gasped and retreated a step. A small step—much too small.

  With shock, he realized he was holding her wrist, not in a violent manner but a firm one nonetheless. Her reaction surprised him. Instead of pulling away as he wished she would, she tensed but did not move. Her lips parted. Gautier caught sight of her tongue glistening behind her teeth. As much as he tried to, he could not look away.

  Slowly, as if time fought an uphill battle, she reached up to touch his face. Heat of her outstretched fingers grazed him, sent shivers down his spine. Then contact.

  As if a dam had been breached, Gautier found that no amount of furious backpedaling would save him from the lustful slope onto which he’d just ventured. His body becoming a mass of quivering muscles, he froze and waited.

  Her gentle fingers traced his cheek then his jaw. She didn’t try to kiss him—for which he could have thanked the Lord on his knees for he knew, he knew, that he wouldn’t have been able to stop her. To his undying shame, Gautier didn’t want her to stop. While at the same time he wished to hell, he’d never been born at all. He felt he was being torn in half. How could something that felt so good be so wicked? Why had God created men so damned weak? Gautier wondered if he was only a weak man or if any other male would have found it impossible to resist the woman before him now.

  Her other hand joined the first and cupped his jaw on either side. She wasn’t going to kiss him, was she? Please don’t, he wanted to say. For us both, please don’t. And by God, if he wasn’t disappointed when she didn’t press those tempting lips to him and only studied his face. Some brother you make!

  The entire time, he was holding on to her wrist, but had by then begun to rub her warm skin with his thumb. Beneath the hose and habit, his manhood became alert.

  When she sighed, her chest strained the awful man’s tunic she wore. Nipples the size of baby olives strained under the fabric. Could he not even control his eyes? He made a quick prayer for inner strength.

  “I wish circumstances were different,” she began, stopped then tut-tutted. “I truly do. I think we could have been friends you and I.”

  Gautier tried not to agree openly but suspected his eyes had betrayed him. They usually did. He slowed his rubbing on her wrist, slowed down to languorous circles around the small bone there. Energy like the first few moments of a summer storm spiked through his entire body. Shamefully hard, his member pushed against his hose and he thanked God for the small solace of wearing many layers.

  Her gaze caressed his face before settling on his mouth. He thought he would collapse on his knees and cling to her waist as he buried his face in her fragrant clothes. They would smell of her, he knew they would. The sweetest perfume.

  She broke the spell first by offering a smile so cheerless it was heartbreaking. He released her wrist and backed away several paces. Fear of himself, of his vulnerable flesh and the power she had on him all meshed in him until he could not tell which frightened him the most.

  She looked as repentant as he felt, grimacing as if in pain. “Have you ever been at the mercy of someone, Brother Gautier?”

  His hand came up instinctively and pressed against his chest. The ache in his scars flared again, even now so long after he had escaped his tormentors and the land that had brought him so much grief. It had been so long since the sting of fire and memories had burned him. She could do this, could reawaken pain as well as pleasure. Gautier did not think he could speak so he nodded. He did know how it felt to be at the mercy of someone else, to have one’s power wrestled away, beaten out, until even one’s very soul felt besieged.

  “Then you know how I feel.”

  She turned away and disappeared between ricks of barrels.

 
Gautier stood frozen in place. After a while, he knew not how long, he gritted his teeth and whirled around. He needed to get away from this place before he did something he regretted. Before he began to feel again.

  Chapter Six

  As Brother Gautier stood there looking hurt and confused, Charlotte held her breath. She should not spy on him this way but she could not help it. The way the last rays of sun pierced the window and fell around his pale hair gave him the appearance of an angel. An angel with the hands of a carpenter.

  He pulled his hood over his face and about-turned. When he slammed the door, it thudded against its frame. She could imagine Renaud jumping up from his boulder.

  “Why did it have to be you?”

  Her breath stirred dust from the tops of barrels. She leaned against one and slid to the floor. There, alone with her thoughts, her heart pounding as though she had run all the way up from the town, Charlotte’s jaws locked together. He meant to marry her by Sunday. By God, it was three days away!

  She could not see herself as Guilabert’s wife. Not because he was revolting. But his time away had exacerbated all the dark streaks in him. He was more driven, more ambitious than ever before. His dark good looks had ever made him popular with the ladies and still did, except now with her. She could well imagine what the local noblewomen thought of her refusing the handsome knight. They must think her a fool, a frigid woman unable to love even such a gorgeous man. True, she was no firebrand.

  Still, she had feelings too. They just did not include Guilabert. A shiver ran up her spine when she imagined him touching her, loving her. Another pair of hands had stoked the fire burning deep in her. Although the man belonged to God, what he had awakened in her could never be repeated with another. She would rather go without than spoil such a precious moment.