This Is All I Ask

by Lynn Kurland

  “We have privacy. What in hell’s name do you want?”

  Colin cleared his throat. “I want to know what you’re doing.”

  “What do you mean, what am I doing?” Christopher replied, exasperated. “I’m bloody living. What else would I be doing?”

  “Don’t be dense, Chris. What are you going to do with Gillian? I walked past your chamber an hour ago and heard her sobbing. Did you bed her again?”

  “Of course not! She is overtired. The fever was hard on her and I was foolish enough to allow her out of bed.”

  Colin began to pace. He sighed several times—sure signs his poor taxed brain was working harder than was good for it. Then his footsteps stopped.

  “You could have it annulled, you know,” he said.

  “I don’t want an annulment. Gillian has a wonderfully sharp tongue when she’s out of her head with fever and I daresay she’ll eventually learn to use it on me while she is herself.”

  Colin grunted. “You could teach her obedience, I suppose. Even the threat of a beating would be sufficient.”

  With a curse, Christopher flung himself in Colin’s direction. Whether it was fate or skill he wasn’t sure, but he managed to find Colin’s throat conveniently under his fingers as they fell. He landed a very satisfying blow to Colin’s face before Colin’s returning fist caught him under the chin and sent him sprawling. Christopher groped for his brother-in-law’s tunic, then jerked him close, hoping his expression was as formidable as it felt.

  “Never, never say the like again, or I vow by the rood that I’ll flog you myself,” he said coldly. “Gillian is never to be threatened with that, not even in jest.”

  Colin pried Christopher’s fingers from the front of his tunic, then pushed him away. “Saints, Chris, you know I wasn’t in earnest. I’m powerful fond of the girl.”

  “Then do not even jest about such a thing. I’ve spent four nights in the same bed with her and heard her cry out as she dreamed of her father. You know the man and you can easily imagine how he terrified her. I’ll not have her terrified again.”

  Colin sighed. “She’ll not hear the like from me.”

  “Good.” Christopher rose and walked over to the alcove. The curtain was drawn and he puzzled over it until he caught the faint whiff of roses. He immediately realized just who was hiding in his solar. He’d left his wife with specific instructions to stay in bed, but she was obviously incapable of following his simplest order.

  “Chris, you’d think you were in love with Gillian the way you carry on.”

  Christopher whirled around, wondering how he could make Colin be silent without saying as much. His friend was powerfully clever on the battlefield but hopelessly inept when it came to understanding subtle gestures.

  “My duty is to defend her,” Christopher managed, putting his finger to his lips.

  “Should I speak more softly?” Colin whispered. “Why? Has Gillian been screeching her demands at you?”

  “Colin, damn you!”

  “You know, she isn’t as homely as the gossips say,” Colin continued. “She may not be as beautiful as Lina was, but she’s a good deal kinder.”

  “I’ve no mind to hear aught of Lina,” Christopher said, groaning silently. All Gillian needed to hear was a long list of his first wife’s attributes and find herself compared to them.

  Colin laughed suddenly. “I remember when you came back from Warewick that summer. You said Gillian was all eyes and limbs.”

  “Your memory fails you. I said she was charming.”

  “Nay, my friend, you said she was coltish.”

  “Saints, Colin, she was a child of ten-and-five! What was I supposed to say?”

  “’Tis a pity she can’t hear you defend her so sweetly. I daresay she’d be pleased.”

  Christopher groaned out loud.

  “Do you ever plan to tell her about the vow you swore to William, to care for her after he died? Perhaps she’d find it chivalrous. I think she has taken a bit of a liking to you. She watches you all the time.”

  “Colin, you horse’s arse, be you silent!”

  And Colin, like the fool Christopher knew him to be, laughed again heartily.

  “By the saints, Chris, I can’t remember the last time you blushed. I think Gillian is good for you. You are going to keep her, aren’t you?”

  “I said I was,” Christopher said through gritted teeth.

  “When are you going to get her with child? I think it well past time you had a babe or two to torment you.”

  “Out,” Christopher said, pointing to the door.

  “But I’m not finished talking—”

  “Aye, you are.”

  “Won’t you walk me to the door, then?”

  Christopher didn’t have a choice. Colin took him by the arm and dragged him across the chamber.

  “I knew she was in here,” Colin whispered with a chuckle. “Want her to hear anything else before I go?”

  “You blighted whoreson.”

  Colin guffawed and pulled the door shut behind him. Christopher turned away from the door and leaned back against it, wiping his hands on his thighs. Now what was he to do? Leave and pretend he hadn’t known she was there? Or should he begin his lessons in trust now?

  He walked over to the alcove, drew back the curtains and heard an almost silent intake of breath. Almost silent. He put one hand on the wall and leaned against it, effectively cutting off whatever escape she might have had planned. He shook his head and clucked his tongue.

  “That wife of mine,” he said with a sigh. “So obedient, remaining abed when I instruct her to do so, never doing aught but what I have given her leave to do. Aye, I am fortunate indeed. I could have had a wife who wept buckets of tears the moment I turned my back, then hied herself off to my private solar, hid herself in this very alcove and eavesdropped on a conversation that wasn’t fit for her ears.”

  There was a soft gasp, and a rustle of skirts. Christopher caught Gillian about the waist and pulled her back into his arms.

  “And just where are you going, lady?”

  “I didn’t know you’d come here, my lord.”

  Christopher frowned. “Who?”

  “My lord . . . Christopher.”

  He kept his arm around her shoulders and pulled her over to the bench, leaving her no choice but to sit with him.

  “I built you a fine fire. Why did you leave it?”

  She said nothing, but he felt her shoulders slump.

  “Gillian?” He slid his hand up her arm until he could put his thumb under her chin. He lifted her face, then trailed his fingers lightly over her cheek. His fingers came away damp. He brushed the moisture away. It was replaced instantly by more. He groaned inwardly and lifted his lady onto his lap. He took her hands and slid them up around his neck, then put his arms around her. It took nothing more than a gentle pat on the back to leave her sobbing in his arms.

  “Gillian,” he murmured, at a loss. Lina had never wept, unless she’d been trying to coerce him into giving her some trinket she wanted. Her tears had been false, nothing but a tool to soften his heart. Gillian’s tears came straight from her soul. He had the distinct feeling she was weeping for not only the past fortnight’s events, but the whole of her life.

  And so he let her weep. He held her shuddering body close and rocked her, not even thinking to complain about the dampness of his neck and tunic. Her tears broke his heart, for he could well imagine the hurt that forced them from her. God’s truth, he wished he could shed like tears and rid himself of the pain still lodged deep in his heart.

  Her tears finally turned to hiccups, then mere sniffles. Christopher continued to rock her, stroking her back soothingly.

  “There, now,” he whispered. “Nothing will ever hurt you again, you’ll see. Now, tell me why you left that wonderful fire I burned my hands preparing for you. Did it not please you?”

  “I couldn’t enjoy it.”

  “And why ever not?”

  She pushed away f
rom him so quickly, she almost fell off his legs.

  “You do not want this marriage! You made some sort of vow to my brother.”

  He clasped his hands firmly behind her back, keeping her on his lap.

  “Did you want to wed me?” he asked bluntly. “When you heard who had offered for you, did you not throw yourself at your sire’s feet and beg to be released?”

  She paused. It was a very long pause.

  “That was before.”

  “Before you noted that I had no horns,” he asked dryly, “or before you saw for yourself that my eyes were not red?”

  “I never truly believed that. About the horns, that is.”

  “I’ve no doubt you did.” He reached up and smoothed her heavy curls back from her face. “Gillian, had I not made my vow to William, I wouldn’t have offered for you, but my reasons are not the ones you think.”

  She was silent for several moments.

  “No doubt, my lord,” she said, finally.

  Christopher sighed. “It wasn’t because of you, Gillian.”

  “As you say, my lord,” Gillian said, very softly.

  “I wouldn’t have offered for anyone,” he said unwillingly. By the saints, he had no desire to speak of this!

  And so he didn’t. Let her think it was because he loved his first wife. Let her think anything but the real reason, the gaping wound in his pride Lina’s last words had left on him. Aye, Gillian would never know what his first wife had reduced him to.

  “Should I go?”

  Christopher realized how fierce his expression was. “Nay, girl,” he said gruffly, drawing her to him. He forced himself to ignore the anger just thinking on Lina set to boiling inside him. “Just idle thoughts. Put your arms around me and remind me what my name is, and I’ll be content.”

  Only one of her arms ventured to touch his waist, a far cry from the way she had slept slung over him during her fever, but it was a beginning. Christopher was very still, unwilling to frighten her.

  “And my name?”

  She paused. “Christopher,” she said.

  “Ah, that was the name my mother gave me. Should I do my best to embroider it on your sleeve, or will you remember it on your own?”

  “I’ll remember it, my lord.”

  “Who?”

  “Christopher.”

  He smiled and leaned his head back against the wall. “Comfortable, my lady?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Who?”

  She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a small laugh. Christopher brushed his hand up her arm and over to her mouth on the pretense of arranging her hair, when in reality he wanted to see if she was smiling or not. She was. Satisfied, he snuggled her closer and closed his eyes.

  “You are a rather exasperating man,” she ventured.

  “My fondest wish is to bring out the shrew in you,” he said cheerfully.

  “Are you going daft, my lord?”

  “Who—”

  “Christopher,” she amended quickly.

  “If I am, Gillian, I lay the blame at your feet alone.”

  But if going daft could possibly be a good thing, he couldn’t have been happier about his poor brain turning to mush. Who would have guessed that marriage would have ever given him such quiet pleasure? Or that it would have given him back purpose? No longer would his days be filled with waiting for Jason to aid him or Colin to come amuse him with tales of the garrisons. Nay, someone needed him. For the first time in months, he had a reason to rise each day.

  And that reason was currently making little snorting noises as she slept peacefully in his arms.

  fifteen

  “BY THE SAINTS,” GILLIAN EXCLAIMED, JERKING HER thumb away from the needle. She put the offended appendage into her mouth to soothe it. Either she was growing more clumsy by the hour, or she had passed far too much of the past se’nnight sewing.

  To be sure, it wasn’t as if she wanted to be sewing. She wanted to be out in the garden, looking at herbs or snatching the odd moment to train. Unfortunately, Christopher was convinced she was still far from recovered from her fever and had decreed she do nothing more taxing than sew until he thought her fully restored. She had stolen up to the battlements a time or two to escape the confinement of Christopher’s bedchamber, but only when she’d been certain he was occupied in the lists. She hadn’t had the courage to do more than that.

  Or the will, if the truth were to be known. The last se’nnight had been the most peaceful she could remember passing. No one disturbed her, no one demanded that she do aught. Jason came often to bring her meals and give her tidings of the goings-on in the keep. Christopher had come by as often as Jason merely to see how she fared and if she had been resting. At first, his unannounced visits had left her heart pounding in her throat so forcefully that she’d been incapable of speech. As time had passed, she’d found herself almost waiting for him to come. Indeed, it was a fragile peace between them, but one she was loath to have end.

  “Gillian?”

  Gillian looked up from her sewing, startled. Christopher stood at the threshold of the chamber. Gillian searched his features quickly, trying to determine his mood.

  “Gillian, are you here?”

  “Aye, my lord,” she said, setting aside her mending.

  He paused, then frowned. “You sound feverish.”

  She jumped up out of the chair. “Nay, my lord,” she said, doing her best to sound as unfeverish as possible. “I feel perfectly well.”

  He grunted softly in answer. “I thought perhaps you might wish to go outside for a short time. I daresay you haven’t seen much of the keep yet.”

  “Gladly,” she said, hastening to fetch her cloak. She fetched it from off its peg, threw it around her shoulders and ran for the doorway.

  And the next thing she knew, she had tripped over her hem and was falling against her husband. How it happened, she couldn’t have said, but one moment she was falling and the next she was being held securely against Christopher’s broad chest. He patted her back gently, then set her upright.

  “I take it this means the idea suits you,” he said, his expression lightening.

  “Oh, aye,” she said, as overcome by the idea of freedom as she was by the sight of his expression. It was but a small smile he wore, but it cheered her just the same.

  “Then we’re off,” he said, trailing his hand down her arm until he’d captured her fingers with his. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and pulled her along down the passageway with him.

  Gillian followed, surprised. He was doing something to please her. Surely this was an auspicious sign. And hadn’t he told Colin he intended to keep her? She had very good ears and was certain that was what she’d overheard.

  But for how long?

  And as what?

  Those two thoughts had fair consumed her over the past se’nnight. The conversation of the kitchen wenches she’d overheard had haunted her. Christopher still could put her away. She was fairly certain her marriage hadn’t been consummated. Though she slept each night in the same bed with her husband, he made no move other than to warm her hands and her feet. And she had her doubts that would result in any heirs any time soon.

  “Good morrow to ye, milord,” a knight said to Christopher as they stepped out into the great hall.

  Gillian looked up at the man in passing, then felt her face flame. She didn’t know his name, but she’d seen him the day before as she’d made her way furtively up to the battlements. The knight had been pressing a serving wench up against the wall, in full view of anyone walking down the passageway. Gillian had ducked into an alcove, torn between revulsion and fascination. The wench had been moaning for all she was worth and this man had been matching her, moan for moan. Gillian had hidden in the shadows and watched as, a few moments later, the knight had come swaggering by. The wench had trailed after him, complimenting him on his skill and bidding him seek her out whenever he pleased. Gillian hadn’t understood it. Surely the wench hadn’t en
joyed it, had she?

  Gillian suspected it was that moaning that resulted in children, but she wasn’t at all certain she wanted to indulge in it with Christopher. It would probably be excruciatingly painful and Christopher would crush her without realizing it.

  But if he didn’t have a son, he could send her back to her father at any moment. That was the thought that terrifled her. It was almost enough to make her want to suggest he be a bit more bold.

  Almost.

  Short of an heir, the simple words “aye, Gillian, I’m keeping you forever, for I simply cannot live without you” certain would have sufficed. But Christopher would never say the like; she was fast learning that Christopher never said anything he didn’t mean. If he promised her he would scold her if she didn’t nap as long as he thought meet, then scold he did. Though he had only done it once and apologized sincerely afterward.

  “You’ll stay close by,” Christopher announced suddenly, as he opened the hall door. “Blackmour is large, much larger than Warewick, and I’ll not have you wandering off and losing yourself.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Then she jerked on his shoulder. “My lord, mind your step!”

  He came close to slipping off the first step outside the great hall, but he checked himself immediately. He frowned at her.

  “I knew that.”

  “Of course, my lord,” she said meekly.

  “Saints, child, you are becoming as irritating as Jason. Do not humor me.”

  “But, I wasn’t humoring you . . .”

  He folded his arms over his chest and frowned down at her. “Aye, you were. And in payment for your sport, I require two things from you.”

  Gillian stiffened in dread. “But I have nothing to give you,” she whispered.

  “Ah, but you do. The first thing I require is a saucier retort than merely ‘I wasn’t humoring you.’ You can do better, can you not?”

  Gillian sighed in relief that he demanded no more than that. Then she realized what he had asked. Being saucy with her brother had been one thing; allowing her tongue to run free at the Dragon of Blackmour’s expense was another thing entirely.

  “I wouldn’t dare,” she murmured.

  “Dare, lady.”