Her Battle-Scarred Knight

by Meriel Fuller

Chapter Fourteen

  Giseux groaned, a deep-throated, grumbling protest, then cracked open one eye. A lacerating pain seared from the base of his skull, flaring upwards towards his left ear. His vision blurring, he tried to make sense of his surroundings: rough, wooden walls, a square-cut hole for a window, the lintel buckled and warped, no glass, the uneven outline of a door. What in the devil’s name had happened to him? His back was pressed against an earthen floor, dank, musty; the sweetly rotten scent of cut wood filled the air. He could hear the sound of trees, branches jostling wildly in a rising wind; perhaps he was in some kind of forester’s hut, used for wood storage? Outside, thick sleety rain pattered on leaves, spurting into vicious squalls with each blast of wind.

  He made to lift his hand, to run his fingers along the back of his head, to check his injury, but his hands jerked uselessly, futile, tied fast with a thick, greasy rope across his stomach. His ankles had been bound as well. Rage flooded through him, a livid, incandescent anger that powered him upwards into a seated position, one shoulder buttressing the wall to support his body. He was dizzy with throbbing pain and his head swam; he hitched backwards until the breadth of his shoulders wedged into the corner of the hut. Hugh, he thought ruefully. Hugh had happened to him. After their unsuccessful conversation, Giseux had searched for Walter, who had conveniently disappeared. On his way from the great hall to the women’s solar, a groom, eyes nervous and flickering, had waylaid him, muttering something about an injury to Giseux’s horse. Like a fool, he had suspected nothing, following the boy to the stables. The lad had appeared genuinely concerned. It was only later, as he bent down to inspect his destrier’s foreleg, in that rushing instant of awareness before the heavy object smashed down on the back of his head, that he realised he had been duped.

  Lifting bound hands to his lips, he began to tear at the foul-tasting rope with his teeth. He had to escape, had to reach Brianna before the marriage took place! Hugh seemed to have taken leave of his senses, but he would still have the wits to hold the ceremony as soon as possible, aware that it would only be a matter of time before Giseux would return. No doubt Hugh aimed to keep him out of the way just long enough for a priest to rattle his way through the wedding vows, to destroy the lives of two beautiful women in a moment.

  Mouth smarting from the abrasive fibres in the rope, he rested the side of his head on the wall, long black lashes shuttering down over his eyes. Hopelessness washed over him. He had asked Brianna to trust him, believing he could help by persuading Hugh to change his plans, when, in truth, he had been no help at all. He hoped she wouldn’t judge him too harshly.

  His eyes snapped open, slivers of polished iron.

  Outside the hut, a noise—through the incessant background hiss of the rain, a rapid, methodical scurrying increasing in volume. Then an urgent whisper, a distinct command carrying through the dark. His ears burned, honing in on the sound. Propelling himself upright, wincing at the swirling pain in his head, he jumped, two great springing bounds to the entrance, positioning himself so that when the door opened, he would be hidden behind it. An odd panting, snuffling sound worked a path along the bottom of the door, followed by a furious barking. It was a dog, he thought, a dog had been set to find him! He hoped it was friend rather than foe.

  The door creaked back, hesitant on rusty hinges.

  She was there. Brianna.

  The lambent glow of her hair percolated through the darkness: a smooth, rippling braid snaking down her back as she edged into the hut. Did she even know that he was there, barely holding his tall frame upright, behind her? Too exhausted even to speak her name, he teetered on the edge of consciousness. Slipping down the wall, tunic catching on the splintered wood at his back, he sat, knees drawn up, on the damp earth.

  Brianna’s head whipped round, spangles of rain flying out from her hair, twinkling in the half-light from the open doorway. Shining eyes alighted on his crumpled figure, the sickly pallor of his face. ‘What have they done to you?’ She crouched down beside him, her hands cupping his cheeks, fingers tangled in his hair. She had found him! Relief shot through her, palpable, a cloak of comfort, falling heavily. Her arms came about him, furling around his shoulders, drawing him into her soft frame, the tantalising curve of her neck. Tears coursed down her limpid cheeks, dropping into the buff-coloured springiness of his hair.

  His head tipped forwards, forehead resting in the crook of her neck, warm, fragrant, her skin silky; her damp body emitted a faint lavender smell, reminding him of long, hot summers in Provence. Her slim arms held him tight, pressed against his back, and, despite his aching head, desire surged through him, desire coupled with an intense gratitude.

  ‘Giseux…what did they do to you?’ Brianna’s voice sounded muffled, somewhere above him.

  He concentrated on the steady beat of her heart, clung to it, shoved away the dark fingers of unconsciousness threatening to take him down. ‘It’s nothing,’ he croaked.

  ‘I thought…’ She managed to choke the words out. ‘I thought they had killed you.’

  A squall of rain flung angrily through the open doorway, spattering the dry earth floor with dark spots. Brianna drew away from him carefully, supporting him with one hand braced against a shoulder, drawing out her knife to cut the ties at his wrists, his ankles. The rope fell in bits, pale worms littering the wool of his braies, the ground. She watched the blood return to his white fingers, veins pulsing, sensation returning to his hands.

  ‘It’s not nothing,’ she chided him, biting her lip in concern as she studied his sagging form.

  He lifted his chin, eye sockets blotched with pain, flexing his fingers to relieve the stiffness in them. ‘They hit me on the back of my head,’ he explained. ‘It’s only a scratch. I should have known better.’ He smiled ruefully.

  Hitched around to the back of him, Brianna bade him shuffle forwards, so she could part his hair and gain a closer look at the damage inflicted on her brother’s orders. The gash in his white scalp was nasty, oozing, a dark, purplish bruise surrounding the impact site. Lines of concentration appeared on her forehead, she needed to clean the wound, somehow.

  ‘Will I live?’

  She smiled in the darkness at his half-hearted jest. ‘I need to clean it up…I’ll fetch my water bottle.’

  The horse stood by a small hawthorn tree, waiting patiently; Brianna hoped the animal would remain, having no means to secure it. The dog, lying exactly where she had commanded it to stay, lifted its sleek brown head from its paws and whined when she emerged from the cottage.

  ‘Good boy,’ she whispered, bending down to pat the animal’s head. The dog’s skin wrinkled in loose folds around his eyes, giving him a permanently sad appearance. ‘You found him for me, you found him.’

  * * *

  Happiness bubbled up in her heart; Giseux was alive—injured, but alive. Her instincts had been correct.

  ‘How on earth did you find me?’ Giseux’s silvered eyes snared hers as she walked back inside. She knelt behind him and began to separate his hair gently, revealing the injury. His big shoulders tensed as she began to clean the wound, using the edge of his cloak soaked in water. ‘I’m sorry, this might hurt,’ she said.

  ‘How did you find me?’ He repeated himself, ignoring her worried words.

  ‘The stable lad suggested I bring a dog, one of the hunting dogs. Their sense of smell is incredible. Your cloak was in the stables. The hound followed your scent easily.’ She tipped her leather bottle, drenching the blood-soaked cloth once more, dabbing carefully at the wound.

  He turned around so that her hand fell from his scalp, the wet cloth dropping into her lap. ‘They loaded me on to my horse and brought me out here, hoping to keep me out of the way until the marriages had taken place.’ His eyes sparkled over her. ‘And it might have worked. But Hugh hadn’t reckoned on you, had he? His reckless, unconventional sister.’

  Brianna blushed, unnerved by his close attention. ‘Hugh told me you had left, that you were fed up, bored with
the domestic shenanigans at Walter’s castle.’ In the curious, shadowy light, her delicate skin glowed like pale marble.

  ‘And you chose not to believe him.’

  Brianna chewed on her bottom lip, attempting to temper her concern. The square-necked tunic that she wore, a size too big for her, gaped dangerously to one side, disclosing the graceful line of her collar bone. Something deep in Giseux’s belly knotted, tense with anticipation.

  ‘I knew something wasn’t right,’ she whispered, her voice hesitant, unsure how much she could reveal of her concern for him. ‘You told me to trust you…and then you…’ her breath snagged, recalling the utter horror she had felt on seeing her brother’s blood splattered tunic ‘.and then you disappeared.’

  ‘You trusted me?’ He echoed her words with disbelief. He gave a short bark of laughter, then winced as pain lanced through his skull. ‘You, Brianna of Sefanoc, who dares to trust no one, not one living soul, placed her trust in me?’

  Brianna wriggled uncomfortably, her toes beginning to prickle in the awkward kneeling position. She threw him an awkward smile. ‘Don’t tease me.’

  ‘Nay, I’m flattered.’ His big hand curved around the side of her face and she resisted the urge to turn her cheek into his palm’s caress. ‘I thank you for it,’ he murmured. The low, velvet tones of his voice wrapped around her, tantalising, soporific. ‘Your courage never ceases to astound me. Who would have thought it, so much power, so much bravery in such a little thing as you?’

  She laughed softly, tucking a loose, curling strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It was more like desperation; the thought of being a virtual prisoner in marriage again, with that man, drove me on.’ As the words tripped from her tongue she knew she avoided the truth: she had made no attempt to escape before realising that Giseux had been in danger. It had been he, he who drove her on. Her sapphire gaze trawled the lean angles of his high cheekbones, the generous curve of his mouth.

  ‘So you dressed in boy’s clothes and made your escape.’ Giseux’s smiling glance absorbed the finer details of her attire: the tight-fitting braies enhancing her shapely calves, the vast folds of tunic that only served to make her appear more dainty, vulnerable.

  ‘Helped by one of the stable boys,’ she explained. ‘And an alert, keen dog. I couldn’t have done it alone.’

  ‘However you did it, Brianna, I am grateful. Thank you.’ The mesmerising fluidity of his voice sent shivers of exhilaration chasing up her spine. She fought to maintain reason—Giseux had been hurt, he needed to lie down, to rest. His chiselled features loomed close, so close that she could see the glint of bristly stubble on his square-cut jaw. His hand still cupped her cheek; her small fingers rose, as if of their own volition, skimming the ridged sinews on the back of his hand, the rounded outcrop of wrist bone. The touch of her cool fingers knocked at Giseux’s self-control, the slow burn of desire kindling in the pit of his stomach. His breath sucked in, sharp; he fought to concentrate on her words.

  ‘I was so worried for you,’ she admitted. Her speech emerged, a tremulous rush. ‘I thought they had killed you.’ She was shaking her head now, clinging on to his fingers, tears forming silvery trails down her cheeks.

  Giseux clasped her other cheek, heated fingers moving across the sensitive lobe of her ear. ‘You mustn’t cry over me,’ he murmured shakily. ‘I’m not worth it.’

  Her eyes blazed over him, over the steely flint of his eyes, the shock of tawny hair falling over his forehead. You are, she thought, you are worth it. You are worth every scrap of emotion that I have in my possession. I would give you it all, if you asked it of me. The beauty of her jewelled gaze told him everything he needed to know: she wanted him, she needed him. Restraint fractured, split the air, brimming with expectancy. Stark desire clamoured at him, forced out all reason, all sense of right or wrong.

  He was lost.

  Powerful fingers tangled in her hair, palms cupping her face, hard, pulling her nearer, nearer to his lean, chiselled features. He was out of control and he knew it; his mouth slewed down over hers, rough, unsparing, wild. She gasped out loud at the onslaught and his lips sank closer, cleaving, demanding entrance.

  Her insides melted, liquid desire. She knew what was about to happen and welcomed it.

  It would only take one kiss. One kiss to quash the infernal desire that ravaged his frame, that tore through his loins like wind-whipped fire. But even as the thought sprung into his mind, he knew he lied to himself. It would take much more than that. Much more. His hands dropped from her face, seizing her waist, clamping her fiercely in a tight embrace, questing fingers ripping at the leather lace securing her hair, releasing the magnificent burnished bundle. Lips raging against hers, he brought her in one swift movement on to his lap, one arm supporting her back, the other wrapped up in the scented mass of her hair, until his fingers trailed downwards.

  She mewled in delight as his hand touched the rounded push of her bosom, her mouth opening beneath his. His tongue plunged inwards, filling her mouth, sparking incandescent showers of exhilaration. Within the tight circle of his arms, she shook, her slight frame on the teetering verge of being unable to cope. Blood hurtled at breakneck speed through her veins, a delicious sensation building, building deep within the very core of her being. With every increasing beat of her heart, with every new surge of sensation, she felt her body fight, strive for something, she knew not what. A hot flush suffused her skin; she clung to his wide shoulders, a solid raft in a storm-tossed, turbulent sea. As his mouth tore into hers, her crushed breath emerged in short, rapid pants, a gigantic flood of need ravaging through her, unstoppable. Please, please don’t push me away now, she begged him silently. Let me have this one time with you. The past, the future, all vanished beneath her fierce desire, the need to be with this man, together.

  Breathing hard, Giseux wrenched his lips away, silver eyes cutting into her flushed face. ‘You have to stop me.’ Raw desire chipped at his voice. ‘For I cannot stop myself.’

  Her slender fingers grazed the stubby bristle on his chin. ‘I don’t want to.’ Her heart bumped recklessly.

  ‘Brianna, you know what will happen.’ His charcoal eyes searched hers.

  She nodded.

  A guttural moan sprang from his throat as his lips crushed against hers, seeking, finding. His hands moved into her tumbled hair, delighting in the soft silken tresses. She tore her lips from his, laughing, kissing his cheeks, kissing the soft fronds of hair that curled over his forehead, feeling the scrape of his beard against her skin. His hands moved downwards, lifting the hem of her tunic, tugging it over her head; the cool air from the doorway chased up her spine.

  ‘Mother of God,’ Giseux breathed, eyes darkening as he absorbed the alabaster perfection of her high-rounded bosom, the flatness of her stomach. She flushed, shy beneath his blatant perusal, and crossed her arms self-consciously across her chest. ‘Nay,’ he breathed, seizing her hands, pulling them down. ‘Don’t cover yourself. You are beautiful.’

  She lost all sense of time then, from the moment when he stood, sleek and muscular before her, to the moment when she lay naked alongside him, her creamy curves milk-pale against his strong, tanned limbs. Outside, the icy rain had turned to snow, white flurries spinning inwards, scurrying across the uneven floor.

  Her hand smoothed over the rounded gleam of his biceps and trailed forwards over his chest: a shelf of solid muscle. A deep groove ran down the centre of his chest, from the hollow of his throat to fade out in the flat, rippling muscles of his stomach. Her fingers moved down his sternum, across his stomach, curious, questing.

  His sharp intake of breath stilled her fingers.

  * * *

  ‘Giseux…?’ she murmured. Her heart fluttered, the barest hint of panic as his hot thigh nudged her hip. She swallowed hastily, mouth suddenly dry.

  ‘Hush, don’t be afeard. I will take care of you.’ He told himself to go slow, to take time to savour this beautiful maid. But at every hesitant touch of her fingers, every
press of her sweet body, her rosebud lips, his body danced, nerve endings sparking with anticipation, desire coiling tighter and tighter in his belly. He couldn’t hold out for much longer.

  He wrapped her in his arms, the hot crush of her slim frame against his own, dipping his head to scorch a fiery trail along the rigid line of her collarbone, to plunder the scented hollow of her throat. She gasped, and in the moment, at the sound of her escalating desire, he knew he would not, could not stop. His lips found her mouth as he gathered her into him, urging her back on to the earthen floor. Her diaphragm contracted, then flexed with a delicious awareness, exhilaration flooding within her. She thought she would explode beneath his touch, the accelerating whirlpool of need, amassing powerfully within her.

  ‘Giseux…I…’

  Twisting his hands into the coppery ropes of her hair, he lifted his mouth; his eyes glittered down over her, diamond chips of unquenched passion. ‘Hush now…trust me,’ he whispered, elongating his brawny strength beside her; her body flamed at the nearness of his naked flesh, the hard evidence of his desire scorching her thigh.

  And then he was moving over her; her body pulled taut, every muscle ending stretched, strained as he pushed carefully into her, easing his way through tender folds. She gripped the sides of his face, watching, trusting the dynamic brilliance of his eyes, as she relished the wild, churning maelstrom the invaded her heart, her blood, her belly. Her fingers clawed at his shoulders, urging him closer, nearer to her, before running up and down the rigid rope of his spine.

  He surged into her then, overtaken by a rush of desire. Brianna gasped, stunned, as the fragile membrane of her virginity tore away in an instant. The careful consideration, Giseux’s own admonitions to move slowly, all cleared from his brain in an instant, extinguished by the need to possess, to claim her for his own. He pushed into her, filling her completely, utterly.

  Muscles straining, he shifted within her, beginning to increase his pace, every movement suffusing her body, her mind, with the building promise of shuddering ecstasy. The mild pain she had experienced on losing her virginity was swiftly replaced by a swelling, churning fullness that slowly intensified; she rocked beneath him, skin, breath, body quivering with anticipation, keen to discover the unknown place to which he carried her. She opened herself to him, willing, unafraid, dancing to his rhythm, matching his escalating powerful thrusts with an excited eagerness of her own. The tightening, spiralling desire forming at the deepest nub of her womanhood skewed to a point where it could go no further; a chaotic darkness began to engulf her, shoving away all logical thought. Her eyes closed; her body went loose, breath punching out in short, laboured gasps as he drove her higher and higher, faster and faster until the last ramshackle barrier between them, the pulsating, gossamer skin, brimming with unspoken delight, burst open with a terrifying violence. She clung to his heaving shoulders as a thousand trembling stars of desire exploded, cascading through her, pulverising her; white-hot needles of light arched through her brain. She mewled out loud at the overpowering sensations bombarding her body, a shout of utter joy, of climax, and Giseux cried out simultaneously, throwing his head back as he shuddered within her.