This Is All I Ask

by Lynn Kurland

  Christopher stopped once he heard Colin making his way up the steps, then waited again while his brother-in-law settled himself with a grunt.

  “Shall I tell you what I was doing in your chamber today?” Colin asked.

  Christopher lunged with his thrust, then pulled back. “Suit yourself.” He gathered himself for another thrust.

  “Your wife went to see a witch named Berengaria this morn.”

  Christopher was caught in midlunge, and he almost went sprawling. “She what?”

  “I followed her down to the village, then back again. I feared she had your death on her mind.”

  Christopher could only stand with his hands hanging down by his sides and gape. Berengaria? The same woman Gillian had called for in her fevered dreams?

  “You jest,” he managed.

  “I do nothing of the sort. She was in their hut for a goodly while; then she returned home. And then I, fearing for your precious life, followed her into your chamber and accused her of being a murderess.”

  “And is she?”

  Colin snorted. “You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you.”

  “Tell me just the same.”

  “She has procured herbs to make her beautiful and give her courage. So she can win you—if you can fathom that.”

  Christopher felt for the wall behind him, then slid down to the floor. He stretched his legs out and merely sat, trying to take the tidings in.

  “She wants to win me.” He was stunned.

  “Aye. And she thinks she cannot unless she is beautiful. Why that should matter to her, I don’t know.”

  “She must have heard a tale about Lina.”

  “Not from me.”

  “Likely from my babbling squire,” Christopher grumbled. “He was singing to himself in my solar when I found him this afternoon. Gillian had left him with four bottles of wine. I’ve no doubt he told her several things he shouldn’t have. Now, tell me more of what my lady is about.”

  “She’s putting these witchly herbs into wine and drinking the bloody concoction. I don’t think they will harm her,” Colin added, “for I tested them on myself.” He paused. “I daresay your lady wasn’t too pleased not to see immediate results on my poor visage.”

  “It would take more than herbs, my friend.”

  “Well,” Colin said stiffly, “you might have come away with all the beauty, but you’ll notice I have all the brawn and intelligence. Keep your pretty face.”

  “And you keep your head atop your shoulders,” Christopher suggested, “and do it by leaving me in peace. I’ve much to think on.”

  He heard Colin mutter under his breath, pick up the candle and leave the chamber. Christopher sat and thought. So Gillian wanted to win him. Why, by all the blessed saints above, would she want a blind husband? Because she could have no other? Or was it because she hadn’t been given a choice?

  Nay, if she didn’t care for him, it would be a simple enough thing to endure his attentions and then take a lover. That was something that happened with regularity in the whole of England.

  She wanted to win him. Why?

  Not for his gold. She had that already. And surely not to use that gold against him. Through sad experience, he had learned that Gillian wasn’t capable of betrayal. And it couldn’t be because she wanted to hurt him. Hadn’t she said while in her delirium that she loved him? It was entirely possible that such a thing were true, wasn’t it?

  To think she had sought out a simple village witch for herbs to make her beautiful so she could please him.

  He rose and left the tower chamber, descending the steps without thinking and continuing on to his chamber. He entered it and bolted the door behind him. He walked silently to the bed and undressed. Gillian didn’t stir until he slid under the blankets next to her.

  “Christopher?”

  “Aye,” he said, reaching out and drawing her close. “Come, let me keep you warm.”

  “Where have you been? I thought you’d fallen out of bed.”

  Christopher smiled. Gillian was never too aware of what she said when she was sleepy.

  “Nay, girl, I was just out taking a walk.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured. “You’ll stay now, won’t you?”

  He bent his head and pressed his lips against her forehead. “Aye, I’ll stay now.”

  “I feel so safe,” she mumbled; then she fell asleep.

  Well, there was simply no higher compliment than that. Christopher wrapped his arms around her shift-covered form and closed his eyes. Sweet, modest, gentle Gillian felt safe with him. Who would have thought it? Only Gillian could have walked straight into the dragon’s lair and tamed the beast so thoroughly, something no other maid in England had ever been able to do.

  Not even Lina. Oh, she’d hurt him deeply enough with her words after his wounding, but there were places in him she’d never come close to touching.

  Places Gillian had already claimed as her own.

  Christopher felt the walls around his heart come tumbling completely down and he felt panic well up in his breast. Oh, how easily she could destroy him if she turned her back on him now!

  Gillian stirred. Christopher remained perfectly still as she smoothed her hand over his chest, petting him as she was wont to pet Wolf when he was restless.

  “Sshh,” she whispered soothingly. “Christopher, you’re dreaming. ’Tis naught but a foul dream. Be at peace.”

  For a moment Christopher couldn’t quite tell who was dreaming and who was awake. Then Gillian’s motions slowed and finally ceased. Christopher let out his breath slowly and felt the tension drain from him. Gillian wouldn’t leave him. She needed him.

  And, God help him, he needed her. He needed her gentleness, her sweetness of spirit. Her heart was pure and innocent, such a contrast to his. Odd, but for the first time he realized that he needed to learn to trust just as badly as she did. He pressed a kiss against the top of her head.

  “Don’t leave me,” he murmured, not at all surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

  And, as if she’d heard, Gillian tightened her arms around him.

  Christopher wanted to weep.

  eighteen

  GILLIAN DRAINED THE GOBLET OF WINE, THEN SET IT carefully on the table in Christopher’s bedchamber.

  “I have courage,” she repeated to herself. “Vast amounts of courage. Serving wenches do not frighten me. Why, if any of them so much as crosses me, I’ll take my blade to them.”

  That said, Gillian put her shoulders back and left the chamber. The herbs were working. Indeed, she felt almost bold, if such a thing were possible after only a few days. She walked down the passageway with a confident air, feeling altogether pleased with herself and her life.

  And altogether displeased with the condition of the rushes in the great hall. It was a marshy mess and she had every intention of seeing the floor covering changed that day and frequently thereafter. She marched straight into the kitchen and surveyed with a critical eye the servants lounging about. In the past she’d felt little more than a servant, so she could well sympathize with their plight; but each member of the household had tasks to see to, herself included. Christopher didn’t shirk his duty to see his folk kept safe. She didn’t shirk her duty to try to see Christopher appeased at all times. Christopher’s servants were gowere going to stop hiding from their chores. That was all that needed to be said.

  She cleared her throat. All but Cook turned to look at her. Cook still intimidated her, but after a few more herbs, even he would find himself coming to heel when she called. She swept the remaining servants with a firm look.

  “The rushes will be changed today.”

  Not a soul moved a muscle. One woman yawned, then gulped suddenly. Gillian caught sight of a movement next to her and looked to see Colin there at the doorway, a fierce frown of displeasure on his face. She tilted her chin up.

  “I need no aid.”

  Colin grunted, then turned and walked from the kitchens. Gillian turn
ed back to her staff.

  “Fresh rushes await in the hall. Let us begin now.”

  A few more enthusiastic yawns greeted her. Gillian very carefully folded her arms over her chest. It was something Christopher did when he prepared to intimidate whomever had displeased him.

  “Whoever would prefer to empty the cesspit is more than welcome to volunteer,” Gillian added, keeping her voice level.

  “I’ll do neither,” a dark-haired, heavyset woman drawled.

  Gillian fixed the woman with her best frown. “My first worker. Anyone care to join her?”

  “Who’s going to make us?” another woman scoffed.

  Gillian felt her palms grow damp. Saints, how was she to enforce her commands how? By fetching her blade and drawing it on the servants? Her knees began to tremble beneath her gown.

  “Any number of her husband’s guardsmen,” Colin said curtly, suddenly appearing again at the doorway.

  Gillian looked to her right and watched as six grim-faced warriors trooped past Colin and bowed to her. They waited, silent, for orders. Gillian put her shoulders back and gestured to the two women.

  “Show these two the way to the cesspit. The others will be pleased to attend to the task I’ve set for them.”

  The two women were helped out of the kitchens and the rest of the servants jumped to do Gillian’s bidding. She appointed a trustworthy-looking soul to be in charge of seeing the hall cleaned, followed them out into the great hall, then stood on the dais and watched to make sure the task was begun as she’d ordered it. Colin came to stand next to her, watching silently with her. Finally he cleared his throat.

  “A fine showing,” he said gruffly.

  Gillian looked at him, feeling vastly relieved. “I’m grateful for the aid.”

  “Aid? You needed no aid from me. Besides, I had nothing to do with it. Christopher sent the lads, fearing your display of temper might reduce his hall to rubble.”

  “Nay,” Gillian breathed. “Surely you jest.”

  Colin shook his head. “I don’t. He was eavesdropping. A terrible habit of his, I might add. And he said to me, ‘Colin, I vow that wife of mine has turned into a most ferocious wench. I’m beginning to fear her temper.’”

  “He did not,” Gillian said, feeling a blush steal up her cheeks.

  “I never lie.”

  The front door opened and shut with a bang. Christopher himself plowed into a servant and almost went sprawling.

  “By St. George’s throat, what is going on here?” he bellowed.

  Colin squirmed. “Well, I almost never lie,” he muttered.

  Gillian was torn between gratitude for Colin’s thoughtfulness—crafty though it had been—and trepidation over Christopher’s reaction. She waited for her husband to cross the hall, praying she could keep up her show of spine. Christopher stopped across the table from her and scowled. “Tearing my hall to bits already?” he barked.

  “I’m changing the rushes,” Gillian offered. Christopher continued to scowl and her courage faltered. “If it would please you,” she added.

  “Who put the whip to the servants, Colin?” Christopher asked.

  “Lady Gillian,” Colin said, without a flinch. “She had even me trembling from head to toe. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her shouting from where you were.”

  Christopher paused and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “So she yelled.”

  “Most ferociously,” Colin confirmed.

  “Then she has more courage than I. Come with me, Colin, and let us leave the fearsome dragonness to her work. I’ve no mind to feel the bite of her blade for interrupting her cleaning.” Christopher inclined his head to her. “My lady.”

  “My lord,” she murmured, her cheeks flaming.

  Christopher leaned over the table, put his hand to her cheek and smiled. “I daresay she blushes very becomingly, don’t you think?” he asked Colin.

  “Very,” Colin agreed. “A man with a tongue more skilled than mine would likely call it beautiful.”

  “Indeed. Then I will give her blushes a closer look later. Come away from my lady, Colin, lest you irritate her with your ugliness. A good morrow to you, wife.”

  Gillian watched, openmouthed, as her husband and his brother-in-law walked across the rushes and out the door. Then she had to sit down to regain her wits. Becoming? Beautiful? Nay, ’twas impossible. She’d have a sniff of Christopher’s breath later on and see just what he’d been imbibing.

  Though she had to admit Colin’s looks had surely improved. He might never be handsome, but he was looking more tolerable by the day. Gillian took another look about the hall to assure herself that everything was proceeding according to plan, then she ascended the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster. Then she ran all the way to Christopher’s chamber and shut herself inside where she could look at herself in peace.

  She pulled out Christopher’s polished mirror and walked over to the window slowly. She threw open the shutters and took a deep breath or two to give herself more courage. It worked well enough, for her hand hardly trembled as she held the mirror up and looked at herself.

  Beautiful she would never be, but comely? It was hard to be impartial when so very much rode on how fair of face she was, but, well, that wasn’t such a bad face, was it? She ran her fingers over her brows. They were curved, aye, almost pleasingly so. Her eyes were bright and greener than usual. Not a bad color, as far as eyes went. The freckles which had plagued her for so long had faded, likely from the lack of sun. Indeed, her skin seemed fair, and smooth as a babe’s.

  Feeling encouraged, she looked at her hair, her most glorious failing. To her surprise, it was no longer the texture of straw. It fell in soft curls around her face and over her shoulders. Gillian fingered a lock and marveled. Was it the food? Or perhaps the sea air? Nay, it had to have been the herbs. All the features she had looked at with such a critical eye over the years had softened somehow. Of course, she would never lose the crooked place in her nose, or the scars here and there, but they seemed less important now. She had a few redeeming features. That was more than enough for her.

  She put away her mirror and smiled, feeling it come easily to her. It was happening. Soon she would be beautiful and Christopher would want her. He would get her with child, then at least care for her because she was the mother of his babe.

  For the first time in her life, she looked forward to the future.

  • • •

  CHRISTOPHER DISMOUNTED AND HELD ONTO THE SADDLE until he found his bearings. What in the world had driven him to think breaking a new mount would be fine sport? The horse had bucked like a beast possessed and it was only by sheer luck and stubbornness that he had remained atop its back. Now he was so dizzy that he thought he just might lose his supper.

  “My lord,” Jason said quietly, “hand me the reins.”

  “The saints be praised,” Christopher said weakly. “Help has arrived. Point me in the direction of something that doesn’t move, lad.”

  Jason’s hand on his back was unobtrusive but sure.

  “Ten paces to the bench against the wall,” Jason murmured under his breath.

  Christopher counted, bumped the bench gently with his shins, turned and collapsed. He accepted hearty congratulations from his men, then readily recognized the disgusted snort of the soul who sat down next to him.

  “You fool,” the body said with another snort.

  “Shut up, Colin.”

  “You’re green as your bride’s eyes, Chris. What in heaven’s name moved you—”

  “A contrary spirit named Gillian. I had to do something to distract myself.”

  “I would have rather chosen a wench than that devil horse you rode, but you broke him well. A gift for me, I presume? Or perhaps you should give him to Gillian. She’ll likely tame him as well as she’s tamed the servants. And you, of course.”

  “You’ll not provoke me, try as you might,” Christopher said. “I’m too befuddled to spar with you at present.”


  “Then prepare to fight with your lady, for here she comes and she’s frowning already. Saints, Chris, those herbs are working for her. Why haven’t I seen any change on my sweet visage?”

  “Gillian had much to work with from the start. You, however, are completely past hope.”

  Colin elbowed him sharply in the ribs, then got to his feet. “Lady, your lord makes me ill just by looking at him. I leave you with the unenviable task of seeing to him. The saints be with you.”

  Christopher smelled Gillian’s sweet scent as she sat next to him. Her cold fingers came to rest against his brow.

  “Are you ill?” she asked.

  “I broke a stallion this morn,” Christopher said with a smile, feeling smug at the accomplishment. It was a feat worthy of any sighted man. “He left me without any sense of direction.”

  “Christopher!” Gillian made disapproving noises. “You come along now with me to the garden. You’ll lie with your head in my lap and rest for a time. I’ll not hear a word in protest.”

  Protest? Christopher had no intentions of doing the like. He allowed his wife to take his hand and pull him to his feet; then he followed meekly behind her as she marched purposefully in what he sincerely hoped was the right direction. He surprised himself by being so docile. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he’d never before seen Gillian be so bold and he wasn’t about to discourage her.

  He lay down obediently and let the touch of her hand on his hair relax him completely. And then he did something he hadn’t done in three years.

  He fell asleep out in his garden.

  Christopher woke to the feel of lips pressing awkwardly against his. It took all his willpower not to stiffen in surprise—delighted surprise. Soft lips left his and he listened to his lady hum a lullaby. He might have thought she was singing it for him, but then a most astonishing notion occurred to him. A lullaby?

  She wanted a child.

  How convenient that he was right there to father one for her.