Brianna relaxed, her spine slumping against the ridged trunk behind, the air in her lungs expelling in one long, tight breath. The muscles in her body ached, her head felt sore, braids pulling too tightly against her temples. She yearned to release them, to savour the cold pulse of air against her scalp. Her eyes popped open. She was alone, definitely; all she could hear was the incessant gurgling of shallow water looping, plashing over the stones in the river and the melodic, liquid trills of a solitary blackbird. Casting aside her circlet and veil, placing them on the moss-covered bench, she reached up the back of her head, releasing the pins that secured her hair. She caught the curling ends as they fell forwards over her shoulders, unwrapping the leather lace that tied each red-gold braid. Splaying her fingers through the dark amber tendrils, the soft air sifted against her head, touched her scalp with a sweet, blissful sensation. Again and again she raised the tresses upwards, savouring the wonderful free sensation of her hair released. The waterfall of bright copper fell forwards over her shoulders, tumbling into a chaotic puddle on her lap. Leaning back against the supporting trunk of the ash once more, she closed her eyes, the weight of her worries slipping away as she relished the sheer, intense pleasure of the moment.
At the entrance to the glade, Giseux stopped, senses knocked to heightened consciousness as he caught sight of her, sitting alone in the forest glade like an angel. Pale, exquisite face tipped up to the light. Eyes closed, the corners of her shell-pink lips pitched upwards, the briefest hint of a smile. And her hair! A magnificent river of liquid amber spilling forwards over her shoulders, loose and lush, shimmering down to her lap. Fire burst in his belly, an incessant, ravening need to touch, to plunge his calloused hands into that bundle of shining beauty, to hold that silken abundance against his skin. Fighting to damp down the slow, coiling build in his loins, he cursed his unwanted desire.
He had read the bleakness in her eyes, the hollowness of her soul. Like a fragile flower underfoot, her spirit had been crushed, her character altered in such a way as to make her fear all men. She had hinted that her marriage had not been a pleasant experience; no doubt the reason why she pushed him away at every single opportunity, spurned all his efforts to help, believing in her own independence, her own puny strength. An overriding sense of protection swept over him, forceful, clamorous, knocking beneath his ribs, but who was he to offer help, shield her from harm, when his own men had fallen under his command? And Nadia, the woman he had loved, had died in his arms.
He watched her for a long time, until the clouds shifted above, obscuring the sun, and he saw her shiver in the cooling breeze. Fallen leaves, brittle, scuttled along the ground in rustling flurries, obscuring the sound of his footsteps. His leather boots trampled over the nodding snowdrops as he made his way towards her. ‘My mother thought you might be cold,’ he announced, a hoarse edge to his voice.
Brianna jolted upright, eyes flying open, the cerulean blue of her eyes searching out the source of his voice in confusion. A look of sheer horror spread across her face as she clawed at her hair, trying to hide it with her hands, embarrassed by her unbound locks. A delicate flush spread across her cheeks.
‘Oh, I…’ Baffled by his appearance, she jumped up, agitated, struggling to find the words to explain her existence in the glade.
Up close, her small, tip-tilted nose, her cheeks, held a smattering of light brown freckles across the pearly sheen of her skin, evidence of much time spent outdoors. Giseux cleared his throat, the bright banner of her hair drawing his velvet gaze. ‘Here, my mother asked me to bring you this.’ He lifted the cloak by way of explanation.
‘How did she…you…know I was here?’ The breeze picked up the trailing ends of her hair, made them dance around her, bronze threads glittering in the drifting sunlight.
‘We watched you from my mother’s chambers.’ His straight hair kicked up at the front, feathery strands ruffled by the breeze, lending his face a less harsh, boyish air. Shafts of sunlight daubed the strands of light brown with patches of gold.
The red blotches deepened on her cheeks; she shifted uneasily. ‘I thought I was alone.’ She tugged down at the drifting locks of hair, trying to control its wanton mass.
‘I can see that.’ Fledgling desire pulsed through his heart.
She turned away from the jagged intensity of his eyes, confused by what she saw within those granite depths. ‘I…We can’t stay here. I want to go home, I want to take Hugh home. Today, if possible.’
Her hair fell past the gentle curve of her hips, he noted, tracing the curling ends. ‘It’s not possible.’ The flint edge of his voice cut into her.
Filling her lungs with the fresh morning air, she battled for composure, for balance. ‘Why ever not?’ she challenged. ‘Hugh seemed much better this morning, certainly recovered enough to travel in a litter back to Sefanoc.’ Off to her left, tips of willow fronds danced on the surface of the river, causing the water to eddy and swirl.
‘I’ve seen this illness before, many times. It’s quite common to experience periods of complete lucidity in between the fevers, the delirium.’
Her shoulders sagged. For one single, insane moment, Giseux wanted to wrap his arms about her, this wild, ferocious creature, and pull her into him, comfort her.
‘Why must you continually thwart me?’ Her voice rose in a half-sob.
‘Believe me, I don’t do it deliberately.’ He caught the glint of tears in her eyes and grimaced. ‘I’m telling you the truth, Brianna. Your brother is not well enough to travel anywhere, least of all Sefanoc.’
‘What do you mean, ‘least of all, Sefanoc’?
He raised brown eyebrows, a shade darker than his hair. ‘With the greatest respect, my lady, Sefanoc is hardly the place for an invalid to recover…’
‘For what reason?’ she demanded. Her hands balled into fists at her sides.
Giseux recalled the pitiful fire in the great hall at Sefanoc, the platter of stale bread, the rancid cheese. ‘Forgive me, but your home is damp and cold, you have hardly any food—how in Heaven’s name can you care for an invalid? How would you cope?’
Her eyes darkened, an intense, vivid blue. He thought he would drown in those fathomless pools of light. ‘I’ll cope as I’ve always done, my lord, even if I have to go without.’ Her voice rose, a treacherous wobble.
‘Seems as though you have gone without for a long time,’ he replied quietly.
Her eyes widened, startled by the tenderness of his speech. Tears threatened to bubble up; she blinked rapidly to clear her blurring vision.
‘I have to go,’ Brianna said, aghast at her reaction to him, to the kindness in his voice. Surging forwards, blinded by unshed tears, she knocked inadvertantly against Giseux’s side as she headed for the gap in the hedge. Tanned, square-cut fingers tangled in the flying ends of her hair, stopping her in her tracks, wrapping the wayward length around his hand, again and again, drawing her back slowly.
‘Stay,’ he murmured.
About to protest, her mouth snapped shut, bewildered, her whole body reverberating under the seductive note of his voice, the throaty tones pulsing shudders of delight down her spine. His breath fanned the top of her head; in a quicksilver shiver of shock, she realised she was very, very close to him. ‘Stay.’ Giseux’s voice was low, deep, laced with iron-clad arousal.
His fingers buried into the silky strands of her hair, cradling the back of her head as she tilted her face up to him, searching his expression for some meaning to his actions. The tips of his fingers were warm against her scalp, creating a heady, unstable feeling fluttering straight to her heart.
He dipped his head, the unworn cloak pooling at his feet.
She had a fleeting impression of silvery eyes, burning with dangerous passion, looming close. ‘I…?’ Brianna breathed, unsure, unknowing, her hands fluttering up, hesitantly, instinctively beginning the movement to push him away. The lean planes of his face angled near, his mouth seeking hers. As her tentative fingers sketched over his chest,
his shoulders, her own heart leapt in joy, bumping against her ribs in exhilaration, with the sudden realisation that within the circle of his arms, she was not afraid.
The cool, firm curve of his mouth brushed hers, lightly. At the butterfly touch, she wanted to scream with joy at the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of it. Hunger exploded within her, a relentless craving, insistent, relentless, a yearning she had never before experienced, an aching need…for what? She didn’t want to ask, to question these strange fires that consumed her body, the breath punching from her lungs in sharp little bursts, the fiery, melting chaos: all was so new to her. And then it was over.
Giseux broke away, expression glowering, eyes shimmering with unresolved desire. Breathing heavily, he raked one hand through his hair, sending the blond-tipped strands awry. Above them, a pair of buzzards began to circle upwards in the rising warm air; their plaintive calls rent the stiff breeze.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘That was unforgivable.’
No, she wanted to scream at him and shout, pound her fists against his chest and beg him to continue. Giseux had come closer to her than any man had ever done; how could she tell him that the feel of his lips against her own had been one of the most exquisite sensations her body had ever experienced?
Brianna threw him a tremulous smile, wrapping her arms self-consciously across her chest, trembling, burning from the fire of his kiss. She began to walk towards the castle, the overlong hem dragging through the snowdrops. Stepping up to the gap in the hedge, she paused. Giseux stood in the centre of the glade, the brooding haunt of his eyes tracking her movement, his face a dark scowl.
‘I forgive you,’ she said. But she wondered if he had heard her.
Chapter Six
‘Come, child, come and sit by me. I’m so sorry I haven’t had a chance to meet you yet.’ Lady Mary rose elegantly from the top table as Brianna stepped into the great hall. Giseux’s mother was a beauty: tall, willowy figure encased in a sumptuous gown of crushed pale pink velvet, extravagant sleeves almost sweeping the ground. Her white-blond hair was arranged into numerous plaits, pinned in an elaborate style beneath the shimmer of a cream silk veil, topped with a silver circlet. In the strong light of the sun pouring through the south-facing windows she seemed to glisten with celestial light.
‘You didn’t expect me to arrive in the middle of the night.’ Brianna smiled, the hem of her pale green gown dragging across the cold flagstones as she approached Lady Mary. After she had fled the wooded glade, lips burning with the imprint of Giseux’s kiss, she had bolted to the relative safety of Hugh’s chamber. Thankfully, he had been sleeping peacefully, and, perched on the low stool beside his bed, she had managed to bundle her hair into some semblance of order. She had sat beside him, unsure what to do. Her fingers fluttered to her bruised lips as her heart flipped in terror at the thought of meeting Walter again. When a servant appeared at the door carrying her circlet and veil, and informing her that Lady Mary wished Briannna to join her for the midday meal, she welcomed the distraction from her brooding, fearful thoughts.
‘I’m not sure where the men are,’ Lady Mary said brightly, the movement of her regal head poised and delicate, bird-like. ‘Jocelin will join us soon, and Giseux. He was with you, wasn’t he?’
Brianna blushed, chewing doubtfully on her bottom lip and reddening the tender skin as she took her place beside the older woman. ‘Aye, he brought me your cloak. Thank you.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’ Lady Mary dipped her head. ‘When I saw you dashing out into the cold…in only a gown!’ She gave her head a small shake in maternal concern. ‘I hope it kept you warm out there.’
Brianna’s flush deepened, her fingers worrying at the knot across her midriff that secured her girdle, as she recalled the cloak falling to the ground, her body bowed into Giseux’s muscular frame.
‘Aye, it did. Thank you,’ Brianna managed to croak back. ‘And thank you for your hospitality, everything you’ve done for Hugh.’
Lady Mary waved her hand in the air, the heavy rings on her long white fingers sparkling richly. ‘I’m pleased to see them both home, after what they’ve been through.’ She sighed. ‘Although if Jocelin is to have his way, Giseux is set to travel to Germany as soon as possible to secure Richard’s release.’
Brianna nodded, relieved to be away from the subject of the cloak and the morning’s activities. ‘I heard the King had been captured.’ It was one of the main reasons that Count John had made her life so difficult: Richard’s younger brother fully expected to be King if his brother never returned. The lack of sibling love between the two royal brothers was renowned.
‘Trust Queen Eleanor to pick her favourite nephew to perform the task!’ A note of complaint entered Lady Mary’s voice. ‘When she has so many knights to chose from, she chooses him.’
‘Nephew?’
Lady Mary smiled, indicating with a nod of her head that the servant, walking behind the row of high-backed chairs with a brimming jug of mead, should fill her pewter goblet. ‘That’s correct, my dear. Jocelin, my husband, is Eleanor’s younger brother. Out of wedlock, of course.’
‘Then Giseux is King Richard’s cousin?’ Brianna replied in a rush. ‘I almost shot him yesterday!’ The words blurted out; she clapped her hands over her mouth in consternation.
Lady Mary laughed out loud, her translucent features alive with merriment. ‘Aye, he told me! Don’t worry. I’m sure he deserved it.’ She picked up Brianna’s hands, her eyes sparkling with interest. ‘You strike me as a very independent young woman. I admire you.’
Tears prickled at the back of Brianna’s eyes as she caught the flare of admiration in Lady Mary’s voice. It was a long time since anyone had praised her actions, her hard-won self-reliance.
‘Look, here they are now.’ The older woman released Brianna’s fingers, signalling with practised efficiency to the waiting servants. Steaming platters of hot food appeared as Giseux and his father strode towards the high dais, deep in discussion. At a pause in the conversation, Jocelin glanced up, caught sight of Brianna and lifted one hand in greeting. His hair was a darker brown than his son’s and streaked with grey, but other than that, his likeness to Giseux was uncanny: the wintry grey eyes, a firm chiselled jaw. But whereas the carved angles of Giseux’s face were set in grim lines, Jocelin was smiling at her.
‘So glad you could join us!’ he boomed, throwing himself into the chair next to Brianna. ‘I trust your brother is on the mend?’
‘Aye, thank you, my lord. I must make some arrangements…to take him home.’ Giseux had no right to decide what happened with Hugh’s welfare; Alys and she could make Sefanoc comfortable for him, without a doubt. ‘We have taken too much of your hospitality.’ From the corner of her eye, she caught the flash of Giseux’s blue tunic as he sprawled on the other side of his father; she pursed her lips, fixing her gaze steadfastly on the food before her.
‘Nonsense.’ Jocelin lifted an earthenware jug, poured mead liberally into his goblet. ‘Hugh must stay here, until he is better. I insist.’
‘I told her the same thing.’ Giseux’s voice was harsh, disapproving.
Aware of the obvious annoyance in his voice, Brianna drew her spine up straight. ‘Then I must ask you, my lord, if I could send a message to Sefanoc. My maidservant will be worried, anxious for news.’
‘I can do better than that.’ Jocelin patted her hand, a fatherly gesture. ‘Giseux tells me that Sefanoc is vulnerable to Count John and his men. I have taken the liberty of dispatching soldiers to your home. They will protect it, and any servants you have, until you return.’
Brianna regarded him with relief. ‘I am grateful, my lord. My home is everything to me…and my brother.’ Her fingers shook as she selected a bread roll to put on her plate, mindful of the heat permeating her slender flank. Even with the muscled bulk of Jocelin between her and Giseux, her body tingled with jittery awareness, with hesitant anticipation. It was as if Jocelin had vanished and Giseux sat right next to her! Why had
n’t she slapped him across the face when he kissed her, or run away? Why had she stayed and openly revelled in his embrace?
‘Giseux was just asking me about one of Count John’s men,’ Jocelin addressed his wife as he loaded his plate with mounds of potato. Steam rose up from the heaped food. ‘Curious…a man with a sickle-shaped scar on his cheek…have you ever come across anyone like that? You visit the market every week in Merleberge; it’s possible you might have seen him.’
Brianna swallowed so fast that the lump of bread lodged in her throat, pappy and thick; she began to cough.
‘My dear, are you quite well? Here, take some mead.’ Concerned, Lady Mary pushed a pewter goblet into Brianna’s hands, urging her to drink. As the amber liquid poured down her throat, releasing the clot of bread, Brianna threw her a wan smile, indicating that the crisis had passed.
Giseux leaned forwards, elbows resting on the table, dark brooding eyes pinned on Brianna. She forced her expression to remain neutral, cradling her goblet to her chest.
‘Do you remember seeing such a person?’ Jocelin prompted his wife once more.
Lady Mary frowned, faint vertical lines appearing in the fine skin of her forehead. ‘No, I would have remembered. Is he a nobleman?’ ‘Aye, a knight, a Crusader.’
Giseux drained his goblet, stood up, abruptly, knocking his calves against the edge of the wooden chair. ‘I think we should ask Lady Brianna.’ Vivid blue eyes collided with silver. ‘Do you know him, Brianna? Have you seen such a man before?’ In one long stride Giseux stood behind her, hands clasped around her chair-back. He glared down at her neat head, the rough coils of her pinned hair beneath the gossamer veil. His knuckles grazed the flimsy material, almost, almost touching the exquisite silk of her hair. His gut wrenched at his lack of control. He had allowed himself to become distracted by this delicate, vulnerable maid, with her stubborn, obtuse behaviour and her soft, pliable lips. She tested his patience, yet intrigued him in the same moment. How could he have allowed his rigid self-restraint, his iron-clad guard around women, to slip? His mind still held the taste of her lips, the perfumed scent of her mouth; even now, as the tight pale green wool of her gown embraced her slim arm where it rested on the table, his loins contracted. She made him forget his true purpose, his final promise to Nadia, the promise that he would track down the man who had betrayed them. That he would kill him.
Her Battle-Scarred Knight Page 8