The Mercenary's Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Knowing she was ready, he removed his hand for a moment and loosened the ties of his braes, freeing himself. She mumbled some words at him, so as soon as he was ready he touched her again. Placing himself between her legs, he replaced his hand with his erection and stroked it along the cleft, watching now from above as she met his gaze and was unable to hide her body’s excitement from him.

  Her mouth lay open slightly, and her chest rose and fell quickly as she breathed in shallow gasps. Brice wished he had more time, wanted to have more time to see to her complete pleasure, but the demands of the day moved forwards, his men grew closer to the tent and he could delay no longer. Positioning his body, he guided his erection between her legs and pressed it into the tightness there.

  His body reacted as if he were a young, untried boy, and the feel of the grip of her core around him drew him in further and faster than he’d meant to go. As he settled into her body, he whispered to her. ‘Wife.’ Withdrawing and filling her again, he moaned, ‘Mine now.’

  All the melting, all the trembling and shivering she’d been feeling fled as he entered her. In that moment, her body stopped its progress along the path of pleasure he’d created and she felt only pressure and a stretching burn as he filled her with that part of him that stood ready.

  He thrust once, twice and a third time and then stopped. His expression changed quickly from the desire and passion that had tempted her to fall, to one of struggle and then a blankness she could not read. He breathed harshly over her, turning his face away and not meeting her eyes. Though his arms supported most of his weight, they shook in exertion and she waited for what was to come next.

  She waited for the pleasure to overtake her. She waited to make the noises that she’d overheard from other couples while they…did this. She waited to lose control and be overwhelmed by temptation and the sin of lust.

  She still waited.

  He eased his body from hers and then struggled against the blankets and cloak to free himself. Gillian simply watched, a strange detachment filling her as though she peered through another’s eyes at the scene. If she were being truthful with herself, she wanted to cry for something lost, for something that did not happen, for…something she could not identify.

  Once he’d loosened the blankets, she tugged her cloak from under her and pulled the edge of her gown and tunic down over her bare legs. Gillian could not make herself look at him as he stood and walked away from the pallet. She took advantage of the moment to scramble to her feet and stand, too.

  Tugging on the laces of her cloak, she released it and was able to untie the length of veil that lay tight around her neck. Gathering her hair in her hand, she combed through it with her fingers, trying to ease out the tangles from its length.

  And still she wanted to cry.

  It was all the more distressing because Gillian never cried. Ranted, screamed, argued or cursed, God forgive her, on some particularly aggravating occasions, but never did she cry. Yet as she stood in the middle of his tent, watching him out of the corner of her eye, the tightness in her throat grew stronger and the burning in her eyes threatened to release torrents. It could only be worse if he attempted to be kind now.

  ‘Lady,’ he said softly as he approached, holding out a cup to her, ‘This is a soldier’s tent, not set up for the comforts of a woman. I…’ He stumbled over whatever words he wanted to say, but she interrupted him, instead.

  ‘I require a few moments of privacy, my lord,’ she said in as demanding a voice as she could muster. The strange pain swirled inside her heart and soul as she struggled to keep the tears under control. ‘And I need to relieve myself.’

  Her brother always withered when confronted with her boldness and so this man seemed to also, for after handing her the cup filled with ale, he left the tent for a few moments. When he returned he carried a jug, a small bowl and some cloths.

  ‘If you would like to wash first, I will escort you to a place…’

  Without meeting his gaze, she watched the red blush creep up into his cheeks, surprised that a man such as this could be squeamish about the privy details of a woman. She reached out and took the jug and bowl from him and put them on the small table near the pallet. When she turned back to thank him, she saw only his back as he left the tent.

  She fought off the tears as she poured the hot water into the bowl and prepared to wash. She fought them off as she cleaned away the signs of her lost virtue. But when she finished her ablutions and gazed around the stark tent where such a life-changing yet somehow disappointing event had occurred, the tears won and she fought them no more. Sinking to her knees, Gillian allowed them to flow, hoping it would gain her some relief from the pain and disillusionment that filled her now. Some minutes later, she heard Brice’s deep voice from outside the tent.

  ‘Lady Gillian?’ he asked. ‘I will escort you now, if you are ready.’

  Sighing, she used the last clean cloth to wash her face. Gathering her hair into a rough braid, she tucked it inside the veil and placed it back over her head. Releasing another deep breath, Gillian moved to the entrance and lifted the flap aside as she placed her cloak around her shoulders.

  The cold air surrounded her as she stepped out into the bright daylight. Though she thought those nearby had stopped and stared the moment she left the tent, they all quickly returned to their tasks. She spotted the pile of bloodied rags on the ground and dropped the one she carried balled up in her fist with them, hoping no one would notice her do it. Taking a few steps more, she spied Brice with a small group of his men, conversing quietly as she approached.

  ‘Good morrow, my lady,’ a young man called out to her. Not raising her head enough for them to see that she’d been crying, she nodded at the man. Bowing slightly to her, he smiled. ‘I will have food ready for you to break your fast when you return.’

  ‘My thanks for your kindness, sir,’ she said softly, hoping that Brice would escort her away soon.

  ‘No “sir”, this one, lady,’ he said, cuffing the young man on the ear. ‘This is my worthless squire, Ernaut. He will see to your needs until we can secure a maid to serve you.’

  ‘My pleasure, Lady Gillian.’ She peeked to see if he mocked her with his words, but his expression was genuine and kind.

  ‘Come, lady. There is little time before we prepare for battle and I would see to your comfort first,’ Brice said, waving off the other men. He held out his hand to her.

  Gillian remembered being introduced to a number of them by name just after…just after she had spoken her vows, but they all blurred together. Now she tilted her head down and followed Brice away from the tent and into a small copse of trees that would shield her from the others as she sought privacy.

  She tried not to think about the feelings and pleasure that the hand she now held had stirred within her just a short time ago. A tremor passed through her then, a reminder of the excitement and passion. Then, remembering the dismal end to it all, she shook her head and cleared her thoughts as she walked with him into the forest.

  Considering her actions last night, she fully expected him to stay at her side, but thankfully he did not. He even managed to surprise her.

  ‘Do you give me your word that you will not try to escape?’ he asked.

  ‘Escape, my lord? Now?’

  ‘Oui, lady. Now,’ he nodded. ‘Do you give me your word you will not try to run…now?’

  She thought on his words and realised that she had no place to run to, not now that he had claimed her as his wife. With her virtue intact, Oremund would have something to bargain with, but not now that she was no longer a virgin. Glancing up at him for a moment, she recognised the fact that he asked for her word and seemed willing to accept it in good faith was both unexpected and impressive. Gillian nodded without meeting his gaze again.

  ‘Then you may enjoy a few minutes of privacy and I will wait for you at the tent, lady,’ he said quietly before she heard his footsteps leaving.

  Gillian nearly lost her balanc
e as she realised she was truly alone there. Listening to the surrounding area, she could hear only the noises of the camp in the distance and nothing and no one close enough to stop her from leaving. The strangest part of it was that she could not raise within her the urge to run.

  Rubbing her hands across her face, she knew that she was for ever different from the innocent girl who had sought refuge in the convent’s walls. And though she did not feel like a true wife, the events of earlier this morn had made her one in the eyes of the law and the church. In spite of any denials she could muster, her heart, soul and body knew he had taken her virtue.

  Sighing, Gillian finished seeing to her needs and began to walk back to his tent. She no longer had the opportunity of avoiding the coming battles or their outcomes. She could only pray that few lives would be lost in the struggle.

  Chapter Six

  His second-in-command and his squire, along with Stephen, stood blocking his path as he approached the tent. If their stances—arms crossed over the chests, legs spread wide in a fighting position—did not give him pause, their dark expressions did. Though Ernaut seemed nervous over such a confrontation, neither Stephen nor Lucais appeared to give it a second thought.

  ‘What is the problem?’ he asked, walking off the worn path and around them to reach the tent. ‘I have not killed her or even left her for dead, if that is what you suspect,’ he explained. Gillian might have knocked him unconscious and even escaped him last night, but this morn she was his wedded and bedded wife and more valuable in the upcoming battles than even his new destrier. They yet glared at him as he waited on an explanation for their mutinous behaviour.

  ‘Speak of your concerns now or get back to your duties.’ He owed them some measure of flexibility due to their shared past and friendships, but he was lord here and now would exercise that power even if they thought he would not.

  The three men exchanged glances and finally Lucais stepped closer. Nodding at the tent, he asked, ‘What happened between you and the lady, Brice?’

  ‘The usual things that happen between a man and his wife,’ he said through clenched teeth. His temper built—they had no right nor reason to question him on such personal matters. They knew, even as every man in the camp did, that he planned to make the marriage a true one last night. ‘Why do you question me when you have no right to do so?’ He crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring their stances.

  Ernaut’s colour ran high, his cheeks blushed and for a moment he appeared much younger than his four-and-ten years. He stuttered once, and then again, before motioning towards the tent with his hand. Brice turned to follow his gesture and spied the pile of bloodied rags on the ground there. Without thinking about the implications, he nodded and explained.

  ‘I did not realise I’d spilled so much blood.’

  The three men stared, their expressions now showing shock instead of understanding. Brice suddenly comprehended what they must think but had no chance to explain further for the woman in question walked towards them. He ordered them off with a jerk of his head, but they ignored him!

  ‘My lady,’ Ernaut began. ‘The day is warming. Would you prefer to break your fast out here rather than in the tent?’

  Watching the scene unfold, with all its misunderstandings, Brice fought the urge to laugh as he watched his men try to ease the lady’s discomfort. He would disabuse them of their mistaken idea soon enough, but he allowed them to see to Gillian’s comfort while he carried out other duties, all in preparation for their imminent assault on Thaxted Keep.

  Later, when his belly growled in hunger, he realised that his squire had never returned with the lady or without her. And Ernaut had failed to return with his food, as well.

  Brice walked towards the centre of the camp, to the place where several cooks oversaw the preparation of their food, such as it was while on military campaign, and soon heard her laughter echoing across to him. Following it, he found Gillian sitting on a stool, cushioned by several thick blankets, and surrounded by his men.

  Being entertained by his men was a more apt description, for they stood around her, offering their names and their origins as well as the choicest bits of meat and cheese and even some fresh bread. For the first time, he had the chance to observe her from afar and to witness the way her eyes lit up as she smiled and enjoyed the simple pleasures of food and companionship.

  He watched her lips curve enticingly as she spoke and teased Ernaut and his body responded once more to the mere thought of tasting her mouth and kissing her until she was breathless and moaning. And he wanted to thrash the young man for gaining her attention so.

  And he noticed that she did understand their Breton tongue, for she laughed at some of the comments and questions from Ansel or Ernaut, and she stammered out a word or two in reply, as well. More surprises from the woman to whom he was now married!

  But as he approached, he was noticed firstly by some of the men and then by the lady. They grew silent and wariness filled their gazes. Stephen, Ansel and Lucais lined up behind Gillian with Ernaut by her side, arms crossed and stances wide once more as Brice walked up to them. Rather than being threatened by such an action, he felt some relief at the sight of it.

  If today, or in one of the other battles he yet faced, he fell, at least he now knew they would support her in her claim as his widow. Did Gillian know that she’d gained supporters, even against her rightful lord and husband? For now he would let this bond between them stand, even at the expense of his reputation as a man who had a care for women.

  ‘If you have all broken your fast, there is much to be done and done quickly,’ he called out. No matter what happened they would not sleep here this night.

  The moment of silent challenge ended as the men strode away to finish loading their weapons on the wagons and closing down the camp, but not before offering a soft word or bow to his wife.

  Lady Gillian stood after being abandoned by her protectors and, without saying a word as he watched, she found a bowl and filled it with the thick porridge that simmered in the cauldron near the fire. Walking up to him, she held it out.

  ‘I do not think you have eaten yet, my lord,’ she said as he took it. ‘Ernaut has been busy seeing to my comfort when he should have seen to yours.’

  She did not raise her eyes to meet his, but at least she’d stopped crying. Oh, he’d witnessed the tracks of tears on her cheeks as she walked into the forest earlier, in spite of her efforts to keep her face hidden. And the pit of his stomach had filled with bile because he knew he had caused them.

  ‘My thanks, lady.’ He nodded to her as he accepted the wooden bowl and spoon.

  ‘A man must fill his belly before he goes into battle.’

  Her tone was even, but he thought he detected something else there—anger, possibly, or even fear? Brice wondered what his men had revealed to her about his plans to take Thaxted from her brother.

  ‘Just so, my lady,’ he replied as he spooned some of the hot, though bland, porridge into his mouth.

  He ate it all and ate it quickly, a habit of any man who’d travelled in a fighting force, for you never knew when or where or how the next meal might come. Though the king and his friend Giles had provided him with much support, including foodstuffs to last for a month-long siege if necessary, Brice could never break himself of the acquired practice.

  She stood in front of him while he ate, watching everything his men did—taking down tents, packing up supplies, preparing weapons and horses without saying another word. Did she worry over her brother’s fate? Or her own?

  ‘Things have moved quickly over this last day and there is much we need to discuss,’ he said, handing the empty bowl to one of the lads who helped the cooks. ‘And we have not the time or proper place to hold those discussions,’ he said, watching her face for some sign of…anything. ‘I would like to leave you here, for your safety, but I need your presence to convince your brother to surrender.’

  She laughed then, loudly and with a measure of some ir
ony—an outburst he thought inappropriate—until she stopped abruptly. The lady met his gaze with an even expression, one that gave him no indication of her true feelings.

  ‘My brother will not surrender because you hold me hostage, my lord. Indeed, he might even suggest ways of killing me.’

  Brice could not be certain which shocked him more—the information she’d just shared or her nonchalant attitude about her brother’s hatred towards her. ‘Why would he act so dishonourably?’

  The lady glanced away again, as she did each time her brother became their topic. There was so much more going on than he had time to discover.

  ‘As you said, my lord. That discussion is best saved for another time and place.’ She moved aside when two of his men took the cauldron down from its hook and frame. ‘I would be willing to wait at the convent for you, my lord.’

  Brice laughed then. ‘You are persistent, lady,’ he said with a bow of his head. ‘But, nay, your place is at my side now.’ He thought for a moment and asked her another question, one that had confused him after hearing of her brother’s resistance and his hostility towards her.

  ‘Your father’s will named you to inherit this place. If you are your father’s heiress, and the king has given you in marriage to me, how can your brother justify his fight?’ Even a stubborn, stupid man would see that Brice had superior forces and the legal right to the place now that Gillian was his wife.

  ‘Regardless of the truth, my brother has always believed that my mother bewitched my father into naming me as his heiress. And since my brother is the only legitimate child born to my father and his wife, many have agreed with him about Thaxted and fight for his honour in this matter.’

  Brice felt his mouth drop open and quickly closed it. Apparently the bishop had not disclosed everything about the lady to him after all. He could not think of a question or a comment to make even while he comprehended the many, many possible problems in his plans and strategies to take Thaxted that this revelation exposed.