The Mercenary's Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  She thought to protest or point out her injured shoulder, but the shock of his skin, his naked skin, against her emptied her head of coherent arguments. When had he undressed? And, with a few quick and efficient movements, Gillian found herself stripped of her shift, lying on her good side, with a large, and enlarged, man at her back. She gasped at the sensuous pleasure of being surrounded by his strong muscles, for he slipped one arm under her head and around her body and the other carefully shielded her bad arm.

  Her traitorous body reacted immediately, preparing itself for pleasures as it had learned under his touch the last time they’d shared a bed. Her injured shoulder was quickly forgotten as her body softened and opened for him. She did not know how they could accomplish joining without the use of her arm and without a good deal of pain, but her skin and breasts and legs and even inside of her, deep in her belly, ached for him now.

  And she waited.

  As soon as he settled behind her, he did not move. Oh, that part of him moved, she could feel the heat and strength of it rubbing near the bottom of her back, as though seeking that place between her legs. But he did not press it between their bodies and enter her as he could have. He did not slide his hand to the junction of her thighs and touch the wetness her body, even now, wept at his nearness. And he did not tease and caress her breasts, holding the weight of each in his hand and rubbing the tips until she begged for his mouth there.

  The chamber grew silent and, in spite of the heat of his breathing in her ear, he seemed uninterested in the sexual comfort he’d sought the last time. After a few minutes, the warmth and security of his body around hers and the strenuous challenges of the day began to pull her towards sleep. Though convinced she could never fall asleep when such temptation lay so close, her body did eventually succumb. Or it began to until his words prodded her back to wakefulness and anticipation.

  ‘Worry not, Gillian. I plan to seek the comforts of your bed often once your shoulder has healed.’

  His voice teased the edge of her ear and he followed it with a kiss on the sensitive skin of her neck, making her shiver. His laughter then, deep and filled with sexual promises, teased her even more, making her want to turn in his embrace and ask him to seek the pleasures of the flesh with her.

  ‘Shhhh…’ he soothed then. ‘You need your sleep and I need my rest. There will be plenty of time for us,’ he whispered.

  Gillian felt the exhaustion spreading through her and gave in to it. But the promise of his words and his heat caused the most scandalous of dreams throughout the night. And, in the morning when she woke to an empty bed, she wondered if it had all been a dream.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘My lady?’

  Gillian lay cocooned inside the blankets of her bed alone, though if she let it happen, she could still feel the strength of Brice’s arms around her. Ignoring Leoma’s voice, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent he’d left behind.

  Masculine.

  Leather.

  ‘My lady?’ Leoma said again. ‘Are you awake?’

  Gillian pushed the coverings back and sighed. ‘Aye, Leoma, I am awake.’

  She was now in spite of her best efforts to remain in that land of sleep and dreams. And, oh, aye, what dreams they’d been! But the brightness that filled her chamber spoke of a delicious spring day outside and it called to her when dreams tempted her back.

  ‘Lord Brice asked if you would join him to break your fast.’

  Gillian tried to sit up too quickly and winced at the pain in her shoulder. With some help from Leoma, she managed to slide her legs off the side of the bed and sit up. Balancing was difficult without the use of both her arms. This morn though, the injured shoulder felt better than it had the day before—a good sign for certain.

  ‘Is he waiting now?’ she asked, accepting the washing cloth from the woman and wiping her face with it. At Leoma’s nod, Gillian smiled. ‘Can you help me dress quickly?’

  Leoma gifted her with an enigmatic smile, as though she knew something secret, and then assisted Gillian in applying the ointment, placing the bandages and getting dressed. Surprised yet relieved to find her clothing still in her trunk, Gillian selected her favourite cyrtel and veil and soon was on her way down to the hall to greet Brice.

  With Ernaut at her side and Leoma trailing behind her, Gillian made her way with care down the stairs, once more feeling less taxed than with her difficult descent yesterday. It was only as she entered the hall that the memories of the last time she’d been here assaulted her and she stopped, certain she would hear Oremund’s voice ordering her to Lord Raedan’s side.

  When she finally looked around the large chamber, she did not recognise it with the changes wrought to it by Brice’s arrival. The filthy rushes swept away, the dogs chased and kept out, the tables, benches and floor scrubbed clean—it could have been a different place than Thaxted Keep!

  The best part of all was that, for the first time in many, many months, she felt safe as she walked the length of it to reach Lord Brice’s side. Gillian did not remember telling him of Oremund’s treatment of not only herself, but also their people. However, she’d clearly told him enough that he understood the true nature of her half-brother.

  The only thing that marred her return to the hall was the reaction of the servants who worked both in the hall and kitchen. Though Brice could not see them, they glared at her in open disrespect as she walked towards the Norman and Breton knights near the front of the hall. Some even whispered insults and called her a traitor under their breath as she passed them.

  It should not bother her, they were more on Oremund’s side than hers, but some of them were brazen enough to make her flinch. Shaken by such hateful words and gestures, she decided to seek her chambers rather than face more insult.

  Gillian tugged her hand from Ernaut’s grasp and turned, running into Leoma, who was busy flirting with her husband and not watching her step. Despite the pain in her arm from the impact of Leoma’s body against hers, she stumbled past and almost ran to the stairway. Without pausing, she climbed the steps and then ran to her chambers. She’d climbed back up on the bed when Leoma tried to enter.

  ‘Go away, Leoma,’ she said, loud enough that her words would carry through the door.

  ‘You need to eat, my lady.’

  ‘I am not hungry.’ She knew she sounded like a misbehaving child, but the insults had soured her stomach.

  ‘You need to eat, Gillian.’

  She closed her eyes against the pull of Brice’s voice. Gillian had not seen him as she walked in the hall, for he chose to sit at a lower table and not the one on the dais her brother had constructed for his use, and display. ‘Go away. Please.’

  ‘No.’

  He did not plead or ask, nor did he order. He simply stated the word with all the inevitability it carried. Gillian slid off the bed and walked to the door, lifting the latch and stepped aside so he could enter. He waved off Leoma’s attempts to follow him in and leaned against the door, closing it. She waited for him to do something or say something, but he only watched her.

  Then he moved, but it was just his hand reaching for her cheeks and rubbing away tears she did not know she’d been crying. His touch was gentle, and if every thing ended tomorrow, she would recall caresses such as these.

  ‘Twice now I have caused you harm, Gillian. Twice when I should have known better or when I ignored words of wisdom from others.’

  She glanced down at her arm, thinking he meant that. It ached now from colliding with Leoma, but it was not his fault.

  ‘Not just now, Gillian,’ he said softly, his accent more noticeable when he spoke in a low voice. ‘Here, sit.’ He turned the chair and pointed to it. ‘May we speak of important things between us now?’

  Just as he waited on her to be ready for seeking pleasure, he’d also waited for her to be ready to face the difficult situations between and around them. But too much time had passed and the dangers grew and he still knew nothing more than he had
when he’d taken Thaxted. Looking at the frown that drew her delicate brows into a furrow and the pained expression in her eyes, he realised that even if there was not trust between them, there must be frankness.

  ‘I allowed your brother to dictate the terms and it ended with you being attacked. I thought to learn more of him and his aims and instead learned only more about his viciousness and dishonour.’ He paced a few steps away and then back. ‘I thought that by removing your brother and demonstrating a different kind of rule, more like I have heard your father’s to be, I would be accepted by them. Nay, I could gain their trust and support as I would gain yours.’ He raked his hands through his hair and looked at her. ‘Instead, I failed to realise that it will take more than a fortnight to build something that your brother demonstrated could be destroyed in a moment.’

  Watching her expression change as she’d walked through the hall just now and seeing the pain, he’d realised the servants were whispering insults to her. Some of them had not been subtle; his men overheard too many of them. And all of them indicated seeds of malice sown by Oremund. To get to the truth, he needed Gillian to explain more about her family ties and the stakes involved, for there was no one else more deeply in the middle of it all than her. He crouched down in front of her, meeting her face to face.

  ‘But to do that and to establish my rule here, I need your help, Gillian. Will you tell me the truth about your father and mother and Oremund’s claim to Thaxted?’

  He watched as a series of emotions crossed her face in only a few moments, but then she nodded. He moved away then to give her space and so that he could concentrate on her words instead of her scent or the way her skin invited his touch. His body had understood what had happened between them and the message hers had given as he felt her soften and lean against him last night. It had been the most difficult exercise in self-control he’d ever faced. Her willingness and her nearness drove him nearly insane with the need to claim her. And as a man who never denied himself a willing woman in his bed, this last sennight had been torture, plain and simple.

  ‘My father took my mother as his leman two years after Oremund was born. I do not know what happened between my father and his wife, but ’twas said he never shared her bed again after Oremund’s birth. When I was born, things became very difficult between Father and his wife, so he began to spend more time here in Thaxted. Lady Claennis was sent off to one of Father’s northern properties along with Oremund. The day after Father received news of her death, he married my mother.’

  Brice could think of one good reason for such a visible and public separation, but hesitated to voice it without any other proof than his own suspicions. ‘And he continued to live here and Oremund in the north?’ Close to both Mercia and Northumbria and the constant mischief of Edwin and Morcar, sons of Aelfgar.

  ‘Aye, and the hard feelings grew. When he came of age, my brother questioned everything my father did, even arguing with him about who were allies and who were enemies. When King Edward died and Harold was declared king, matters got even worse, for when the call came from the king, Oremund refused it. My father had to fight, instead.’

  The strands of the web became clearer just then and the growing connections between Oremund and the northern earls spoke of a larger conspiracy than he’d first thought. Had King William thought that by taking Morcar, Edwin and Edgar out of England he would stop their plans? And with Edmund Haroldson still alive and drawing more and more rebels to his ghost army, things could take a bad turn even yet. And his own arse hung out in the open as he tried to gain control over one of the hotbeds of sedition.

  He nodded at Gillian. ‘And your mother?’

  She sighed then and sadness crept into her voice. ‘She became ill at the worst of it between my father and Oremund, almost as though she thought she was the cause of their dispute. When she grew ill, my father took her to the good sisters at the convent who were known for their healing skills.’

  Brice felt a chill race down his spine and waited for more from her. ‘And?’

  ‘She passed away without ever returning to Thaxted. One day, my father received word of her death and by the time we arrived, they had buried her. Since he had given her Thaxted as her dower property, he then named me heiress to it, with Oremund receiving every other property and title on my father’s death.’

  That niggling chill returned, promising and threatening that there was more, so much more to this, and to Oremund’s obsession with keeping Gillian close despite hating her. Before he could ask his next question, the sound of her stomach rumbling broke into the quiet.

  She blushed then as he realised that she’d come to the hall to break her fast and had not yet eaten. He held out his hand to her.

  ‘My apologies, lady, for having allowed you to go hungry. Come, food awaits us in the hall below.’

  Clearly, she was torn between accepting his hand to return to the place where she’d been unwelcome and staying here in relative safety. Isolated, but safer and less painful.

  ‘Join me,’ he said, making it a request rather than an order. This time she took his hand and stood.

  As he walked to the hall, he knew what he must do. He’d disdained it when Giles had done something similar, but now understood the need for a public display. Brice guided Gillian down the steps, tempted several times to carry her down, and then inside the hall. Once they arrived there he found that his men, at least, had carried out his orders.

  All the servants assigned to work inside the keep stood gathered there waiting for his return. He did not need to make a large demonstration; a small one could be effective and spread the word. When Gillian tried to disappear from his side, he held on to her hand and waited as Ansel called out his name and title.

  ‘Lord Eoforwic, God rest his soul, married Aeldra of Thaxted in the Danish manner and named Thaxted as her morgengabe,’ he began, filling in a few details he’d learned from others. ‘He decreed in his will that Gillian, Lady of Thaxted, was her mother’s heiress and would own Thaxted Keep and lands on his death and have no claim on his other estates or titles.’

  Holding their entwined hands high enough to be seen by all, he continued.

  ‘By rights of kingship, William of Normandy has named me, Brice Fitzwilliam, Baron of Thaxted, and given me the Lady Gillian in marriage. By the rites of the Catholic Church and before witnesses, she is now my legal wife, confirming her place here…’ He paused then, meeting the bold gazes of a few of them. ‘Disrespect shown to her is shown to me. Disobedience to her words is disobedience to mine. Discord sown against her will be against me.’

  He let her hand go and took a step forwards then, giving a clear message to those assembled and the freemen who’d just entered as well and heard him.

  ‘The punishment is a simple one—I will put you out.’

  They gasped then, for the only thing that protected them from the outlaws and villains and criminals was their lord. The only one who supported them and provided for them was their lord. For a serf attached to the land, being turned out was tantamount to a death sentence.

  ‘Though he is gone from here, those of you who work for Oremund’s aim and purposes be warned—I will show no mercy to traitors who follow his real cause. I am William of Normandy, now King of England’s man and will uphold his reign and rule.’

  Brice stepped back to Gillian’s side and finished.

  ‘There is much hard work ahead here and much success to be had, if there is no discord, disobedience or disloyalty. I do not look for trouble, but I will not turn away from it. Now go about your duties and remember my words.’

  He watched as the servants moved away and as the freemen approached. But Brice wanted to know Gillian’s reaction and turned to face her.

  ‘They fear his return, my lord,’ she said softly. ‘He made it clear he will do so and hold each of them accountable, much as you have.’

  ‘He will not regain Thaxted, or you, lady,’ he said. ‘No matter what he has told them or what he plans.
It, and you, are mine and I will not give either up.’

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. A faint pink blush began to fill her cheeks and she nodded, accepting his words. The noises emanating from her stomach ruined the poignant moment and reminded him of his atrocious lack of manners. Leading her to the table where he’d eaten, he called out for food to be brought for her. This time the servants followed his orders quickly.

  Lucais had said that he needed to make his place and hers clear to everyone, and this seemed the easiest way to do that. Brice was not fool enough to think this would turn their loyalty to him, but he had to intervene in some way or Gillian would never be able to live safely in her own home.

  When the freemen, including her uncle, approached, he motioned for them to join him at the table and began to negotiate their terms for service in his demesne. Though Gillian said nothing, he only had to watch her face and eyes to see if he was offering too much or not enough. Following her subtle guidance, he concluded his talks most favourable for his purse and his people. He dismissed them with the same warning, though a different, more suitable punishment in place if they betrayed him to Oremund.

  Though time would tell, Brice wondered how he could make his wife trust him enough to tell him the rest of the truth. And would it be in time to save them all?

  Gillian tried not to smile as she observed Lord Brice bargain with the miller, the brewer, the chandler, her uncle and a few other freemen who’d worked for her father. Though her brother had taken over and set his own wages to pay them, a pittance of their true value, this new lord seemed to enjoy the back and forth of offer and counter-offer. He even lapsed into cursing, good-heartedly it seemed, when he did it.

  When her uncle had asked her to visit him later, she looked to her husband first. Although he’d said she was no prisoner, saying it and allowing her freedom were different matters. When he offered only a warning not to try to do too much on her first day out of bed, with his eyes darkening at the mention of ‘bed’, she felt a different kind of warmth spread through her.