by Lynn Kurland
A rough callused finger gently traced her cheek, then Christopher made a sound of distress.
“Saints,” he groaned, “I’ve made you weep again.”
“Nay,” she said, shaking her head. “’Twas not for the pain that I wept.”
“Pain? You said there was no pain!”
“I weep for the love I bear you, my lord, naught else.”
“Then you have given me more than the gift of your virtue this night, my lady, for never has another wept for the love of me, but you’ll not evade the other so neatly. Did I not ask you if it pained you?”
“Aye, you did. And I answered as I saw fit.”
He caught his breath, then chuckled. “Ah, sweet Gill, how cheeky you’ve become.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I promise it will be better the next time.”
Gillian snuggled closer. “As you say, my lord.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“It matters not.”
“It matters not?” he echoed. “By the saints, Gill, how can you say that?”
“I love you, Christopher. If it pleases you, I am content.”
“I want it to please you!” he exclaimed.
She blinked. “But it did.”
“All but the last,” he said grimly.
“Nay, even that wasn’t completely unpleasant.”
Christopher barked out a laugh. “Woman, you’ve no care at all for my ego, have you?”
“What would you have me say?” she asked, finding that blushes hadn’t deserted her completely. “That I trembled so violently from pleasure that I thought I would fall from the bed?”
“Aye, that might do for a start!”
Gillian laughed helplessly. “Christopher, you are the most impossible man.”
“Impossible, you say?” he demanded. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She felt his features and realized he was wearing a formidable frown. “For that disrespect, you’ll bed me the next time, then I’ll tell you I found it merely endurable. We’ll see how cheerful that makes you. Nay, don’t move, you heartless shrew. The least you can do is soothe me by sprawling over me and keeping me warm.”
Gillian gave up trying to squirm away from him. After a few moments of embarrassment, she found that using her husband for a bed wasn’t such a poor thing. She pulled up some of his pillow to make herself more comfortable, closed her eyes and tucked her head under his jaw. So he was worried that he hadn’t pleased her. Surely that said something about what he felt for her. She smiled as she closed her eyes and tried to relax. Unfortunately, Christopher was strung too tautly under her for that.
“Christopher?”
“Aye,” he said gruffly.
She propped her elbows up on his shoulders and rested her chin against his. “You’ll love me again after you’ve rested, won’t you?”
“Why should I?” he asked crossly.
Gillian suppressed her smile as she covered his mouth with hers. Imagine, Christopher of Blackmour wanting reassurance from her, Gillian of Warewick. It was a tale no one in England would believe.
She kissed her husband with all the passion she could find, trying to show him just how much she did love him. And how happy she was to be his. Perhaps he spoke truly, and it would become better with time. She wasn’t quite ready to credit the kitchen wenches with moans of pleasure and not pain, but perhaps she would learn the whole of the matter eventually.
Suddenly, Christopher rolled her off him. Gillian caught her breath as he leaned over her. The kiss she had begun had quite abruptly become something he seemed intent on finishing. His hands moved over her, lighting little fires that blazed into big ones. And when he moved over her and took her, she felt no pain.
And, in the end, the pleasure was so intensely sweet, it was all she could do to clutch at his shoulders and be grateful he was holding her down for otherwise she surely would have trembled right off the bed.
The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back with Christopher kissing her softly. She reached up and touched his mouth with a trembling finger.
“You kept hold of me,” she breathed.
“Of course,” he said gently.
Then he took her mouth again and she knew that he was fighting his smile. She shivered as she felt the aftereffects of pleasure leave her. Christopher kissed her a final time; then he pulled away. He brought her with him, draping her over him as he might have a blanket, then began to hum cheerfully, tapping his fingers against her back in time to his song. Gillian managed a weak laugh as she snuggled close to him.
“You’re pleased with yourself,” she noted.
“Aye, pleased enough.” He tapped some more. “You love me.”
“Aye, my lord, I do.”
His tapping turned to soft touches and his humming ceased altogether. After remaining silent for some time, he cleared his throat.
“Gill?”
“Aye, my lord?”
His hands twitched, as if he were uncomfortable. Then his hands stilled.
“I care too,” he said gruffly. “Very much.”
She had no idea why the words cost him so much, but they seemed to come dear. She closed her eyes and didn’t stop the tears of joy that leaked out. He cared, very much. What more could she have asked for? She carefully pressed her lips against his neck and tightened her arms around him.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “That means much to me.”
He released the breath he’d been holding, then patted her on the back, as if he were glad to have the sentiment over with.
“I pleased you.”
It hadn’t been a question.
“Very much, my lord.”
He grunted. “I knew it, of course.”
“Of course. You’re powerfully skilled, my lord.”
He grunted again and gave her a squeeze that fair robbed her of breath. “Go to sleep, Gillian. I need my sleep. For all the loving you’re sure to demand when you wake,” he added.
She smiled and fell asleep to the soft touch of her husband’s hands against her back.
twenty-three
“MY LORD, I BRING YOU GREETINGS FROM BERNARD OF Warewick. He wishes me to inform you he will arrive within the fortnight to visit his beloved daughter.”
Christopher reached for Jason’s arm and pulled him down to whisper in his ear.
“Find Gillian and keep her busy. I’ll not have her see that bastard.”
Jason departed immediately. Christopher leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers against the wood of the table.
“Tell Lord Warewick that his concern is most touching,” Christopher paused and smiled a half smile that contained no warmth whatsoever, “but I’ve no time to see him at present and neither does his child.”
“He bid me remind you he is your father-in-law.”
Christopher let his features harden into the cold look that was famous from London to Hadrian’s wall. Only a fool wouldn’t have backed up a pace and cowered. He wished he could have seen the effect on Warewick’s man.
“’Tis only because you are his messenger that you will leave here alive. If Warewick comes again, rest assured he won’t enjoy such luxury.”
“He’s heard rumors that you’ve tortured the girl!” the man blurted out.
Christopher laughed. The very thought was so ridiculous, he laughed again.
“Colin, are you listening to this drivel?”
“Listening and remembering,” Colin growled from where he stood behind Christopher’s chair. “And you know what a long memory I have.”
“Aye, as long as my patience is short.” Christopher stood. “Begone, you fool, and take this message back to your lord. He’ll not see his daughter again and if he wonders why, tell him I am well acquainted with the treatment she received at his hall. As far as I’m concerned, he’s no longer any kin of hers. And should he wish to see just how quickly and cleanly I can rid England of him, his vassals and everything he owns, I’ll be happy to oblige him. Guards, see this misbego
tten cur from my hall and allow no other bearing Warewick’s colors inside the gates.”
Christopher sat and assumed a very bored and arrogant pose until the hall door was closed.
“Arrogant whoreson,” Colin muttered.
Christopher banged his fist on the table and swore. “How dare he! I’ll not have him within my doors, terrorizing Gillian again. Nay, not even the sight of him will trouble her. Saints, Colin, I wish I could see. I’d slip into his house and murder him in his own bed, just to rid myself of the annoyance of having him alive.”
The chair next to him creaked under Colin’s weight. “What does he want, do you think?”
“Gold,” Christopher said flatly. “What else would he want? He certainly isn’t coming out of love for Gillian.”
“I’d be more suspicious of him than that.”
“What? Think you he’d steal her away from me?”
“Chris, he likely thinks you cannot bear the girl. How could he possibly know you’re in love with her?”
Christopher scowled furiously but couldn’t bring himself to deny the last. Colin never passed up an opportunity to tease him about it, but Christopher didn’t mind. Let the whole of England know he was blind with love for her. It would please her. And whatever pleased her, pleased him.
He smiled to himself, wondering how it was he’d done without her for so long. A pity they couldn’t have met in his youth. Aye, a pity he would have been too stupid to have looked at her in his youth. He could have wed her when she was twelve and carried her home, safe away from her sire. He would have bedded her the moment she was able and sired a score of lusty sons and sweet daughters on her. Aye, they had wasted these past ten years.
“Chris? Chris?”
Christopher blinked. “Aye?”
“Saints, lad, but you’re dozing again! You’ve been in bed for over a se’nnight.” Colin made a sound of mock surprise. “Nay, do not tell me you were doing aught besides sleeping!”
“Be silent, Colin,” Christopher muttered, feeling himself color.
Colin’s hearty laughter boomed out over the great hall. “By the saints, you are a besotted pup! I’ll never see a decent day’s labor out of you again, I’ll warrant. Though little Gill might disagree with me on that score—”
A tremendous crash interrupted Colin’s babbling. Christopher rose with a sigh and walked back to the doorway that led to the kitchens on the side of the hall.
“Merciful saints, ’tis Gillian,” Colin whispered next to him. “Nay,” he said, catching Christopher by the sleeve, “let her be. Jason has his hand on his sword. Saints, Chris, she looks powerfully angry.”
“At who?”
“Cook.”
Christopher paused and listened intently. There was a tremendous thwack and Colin chuckled.
“She just thumped Cook on the chest with his spoon. It would seem she grows weary of him never paying her heed.”
Indeed that seemed to be so, for Christopher immediately heard his wife begin to speak.
“I am not a spirit,” Gillian said curtly, “and you will cease treating me as if you saw me not. I am tired of listening to His Lordship crack his teeth on the rocks you cannot seem to sift from the bread and watching him choke on wine he must needs strain through his teeth to drink! Now, you will see that the fare is better, or you will be replaced!”
“By whose authority?” Cook grumbled.
“Mine. I am chatelaine here.”
“Aye, and you’re a hand shorter than me and thrice as skinny—”
The whisper of a sword coming from its sheath was accompanied by the gasps of the rest of the kitchen help. Christopher leaned close to Colin.
“Did Jason draw his blade?”
Colin choked. “Gillian drew Jason’s blade. She holds it to Cook’s throat—nay, Chris, leave her be. She handles it well enough.” He laughed softly. “Ah, that you could see this! Your shy, demure wife is bristling like an angry boar and poor Cook is sweating himself dry.”
Christopher leaned back slowly against the wall and smiled as Colin described with relish the goings-on.
“I think we might have something edible tonight,” Colin whispered with a half laugh. “That is, if Cook doesn’t cast himself into the pot merely to avoid another tongue-lashing from your lady.”
“Now,” Gillian said imperiously, “will I hear my lord curse about his bread again?”
“Nay, lady,” a deep, trembling voice answered quickly.
“Or his wine?”
“Nay. It will be seen to immediately.”
“Very well then. Here, Jason, take back your blade.” She clapped her hands. “Back to work, all of you.”
Colin sounded near tears from his suppressed laughter. “Chris, she is a wonder!”
“Aye, she is at that.” He folded his arms over his chest and listened to his wife come toward him.
“What are you smirking about, Blackmour?” she demanded.
“Me?” He wiped the smile from his face. “Why, nothing, lady. I was just admiring your mode of handling the servants.”
“Aye,” Colin added. “Mayhap you would care to see to the garrison this afternoon.”
“You are a pair of grinning fools and naught but,” Gillian said, sounding displeased. “Jason!”
“Aye, my lady,” Jason said breathlessly.
“See to your lord. Nay, on second thought, I will see to your lord. Take Colin away and see that none of the maids fight over him again. I vow he grows more handsome with each passing day.”
Colin made a strangled sound and Christopher laughed. The one surefire way to unnerve the man was to compliment him and Gillian had learned that well. Then he winced at the sharp poke in his belly.
“Do I amuse you, my lord?”
“Nay,” he said, trying to sober his expression. “Nay, lady. You frighten me. You intimidate me. I tremble in fear of your anger.”
“You mock me and I’ll not have it. Jason, did I not tell you to take Colin away? Make haste, boy. Christopher, come with me. I’ve a mind to speak with you alone.”
Colin burst out laughing. “Poor Chris. There’s never an end to your labors with this wench, is there?”
Christopher had the feeling Gillian’s frown had been immediate and formidable, for Colin gulped.
“Adieu, my lord. Come, Jason, let us beat a hasty retreat before she skewers both of us on that blade of yours.”
Christopher felt his hand taken and found himself being pulled from the kitchens. He laughed at Gillian’s tugging.
“Gill, I’ve things to see to this afternoon, truly.”
She stopped. “What sorts of things?”
“The men, the keep, my steward. Things that will keep food on your table and wood in your hearths.”
Slender arms went around him and he felt her lips kiss his neck under his chin.
“How long will it take?”
“Three hours.”
Her lips somehow found their way to his ear. He bent to make it easier for her, then wondered at his own stupidity. The reaction of his poor body to her gentle teasing was immediate.
“How long?” she breathed.
“Two hours.”
“Too long.”
He swallowed again. “An hour. No longer.”
“Don’t be late.” She brushed her lips across his. “I’ll have to come find you else, and you know how that will irritate me.”
“God forbid,” he said, with feeling. He listened to her go up the stairs, then leaned back against the table and tried to remember just what had been so bloody pressing a moment ago. His steward? Nay, the man could see to the hall well enough on his own for an afternoon. The men? Colin would manage them. The keep? It could fall down around his ears and it wouldn’t have made a wit of difference to him. He turned and strode toward the steps. If Gillian wanted him in their bedchamber in the middle of the day, far be it from him to deny her.
He walked down the passageway to his chamber, then knocked and entered.
“Christopher!” There was the sound of scurrying and he wondered what she was about. “That wasn’t an hour!”
“Wasn’t it? It seemed more like three.”
“Well, come back later. I’m occupied right now.”
He frowned. “With what?”
He felt her hands on his arm. “Come back in an hour.”
“What are you doing? Is there someone else here?”
“Of course not. Now, go.”
She pushed him out the door and shut it behind him. Christopher walked over to the opposite wall, turned and leaned back against it. He ignored the servants who passed him. He even ignored Wolf, who was ejected from the bedchamber after only a few moments. He ignored everything but his frown, which became more dark with time. What was she doing? If she had taken a lover . . .
Gillian? A lover? Nay, the thought was ridiculous. He’d bedded her himself barely a se’nnight ago. She couldn’t have tired of him so soon. Even if she had tired of his loving, she was still shy. It was only last night that she had relented and come to bed without hiding behind her dressing gown as if it were a shield.
He heard the door open, then heard Gillian gasp.
“Christopher, what are you doing?”
“Waiting,” he growled.
“By the saints, you startled me.”
He folded his arms over his chest and glared. “Is the hour passed yet, or must I wait longer?”
He heard soft footsteps, then felt her hands come to rest on his arms.
“You needn’t wait longer, my lord,” she said quietly. “Come into your chamber.”
He let her lead him inside, then listened to her slide the bolt home on the door. Soon he found himself in his great chair with a cup of warm wine in his hand. Gillian brought him water to wash his hands and face, then left him alone while she puttered about the chamber. Christopher listened to her hum a charmingly off-key melody and felt his heart catch at the tremor in her voice. Was she nervous then? What did she have planned?
As if he couldn’t answer that for himself. He had the feeling, smug and arrogant though it might have been, that his wife planned to seduce him.
Damn, but he was looking forward to it.