Commanded by the French Duke (Harlequin Historical)

by Meriel Fuller

  With her eyes, she traced the sculptured hollow of his neck, the dusting of bronze hairs exposed by the unlaced collar of his shirt. What would it be like to run her hands across his skin? To touch, to explore? Would his skin feel warm, velvety, or cold and smooth, like marble? Her fingers tingled treacherously.

  ‘I need to get out of here,’ Alinor gasped, appalled at the wayward direction of her thoughts, and she hopped down, swaying a little as she slid haphazardly into the miniscule gap between Guilhem and the table. Pulling her hands from his loose hold, she bunched small fists by her side. ‘Guilhem, I need to go. Before he wakes up.’

  He grasped her arm. ‘You shouldn’t have to run away, Alinor,’ he said softly.

  She scowled at him, at the rugged column of his neck, the muscled sling of collarbone beneath his shirt. ‘What would you have me do?’ she hissed. ‘Wait around here until he tries that again? I’m not safe here!’

  ‘But this is your home, Alinor,’ he replied, calmly. ‘He should be brought to account for what he has tried to do. Surely there is someone who can help you, some relation? Maybe your father can be persuaded...?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was ragged. ‘Father blames me for not being the boy I should have been, because then the bloodline of inheritance would have been easy. He has always said that Eustace and I should marry.’ She laughed hollowly. ‘And then the Queen came along and scuppered all their plans.’

  She had no one. Not one person to look after her, or look out for her. Guilhem’s mouth tightened. ‘He should be brought to account for his actions.’

  ‘Don’t you think I haven’t tried? she replied bitterly. ‘My father, my stepmother—they laugh in my face when I protest. But I will never marry that man.’ She tipped her chin up, her mouth a stubborn line. ‘Or any man for that matter.’

  In the flickering half-light of the great hall, her skin took on a pearly sheen; her mouth, tipping up at the corners, was plush, full. If he bent his head now, he could kiss her, Guilhem thought, just brush his mouth against hers: a fragile, sensual touch.

  ‘That would be a shame,’ he murmured.

  Her green eyes widened. ‘Do you think I want to be locked into a loveless marriage where I have to do as I’m told by a man, day after day? As opposed to now, where I can make my own choices, where I can be free?’

  ‘Are you free, Alinor? Are you really?’

  She tracked the shadowed line of his cheekbone, the burnished skin pulled taut across the bone. A hollowness punched into her stomach, a horrible realisation at his words. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘A loving husband at your side would give you far more power, far more freedom than you have now, Alinor, for all your hiding behind your nun’s disguise, or your prowess with a knife.’ He glanced pointedly at the blade hanging from her girdle.

  ‘Loving husband?’ she hurled back at him. ‘Where do you suggest I find one of those? Marriages are forged as contracts, tying up land and money, especially for women like me. We are like cattle, common goods, traded at the market. Love never comes into it.’ She flushed suddenly, biting down hard on her lip; she had never, ever spoken like this to anyone about her situation, so why now, to this man? ‘Anyway—’ she forged onwards, pushing back a glossy tendril of hair that had fallen across her forehead ‘—these are family matters, of no interest to you. Eustace, my stepmother, they’re my problems to sort out, not yours.’ She threw him a bright, false smile, signalling an end to their conversation. ‘Now, will you let me pass?’

  She was fighting the system, he thought suddenly. So stubborn, digging in her heels to retain her dignity. Her fortitude was admirable, if misguided, he thought grudgingly. Lesser women would have given into the inevitable situation months ago, but Alinor? Nay, she was cut of a better, more determined cloth than that.

  She took a step to the right, intending to go around him, but he moved to stand in front of her, blocking her path.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To friends in the village.’ Ralph, she thought. If she kept her wits about her she would still be able to carry out her plan with Bianca.

  ‘Then I’ll come with you.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ she cut in sharply. ‘I am perfectly familiar with the route.’

  Guilhem crossed his arms over his chest, as if challenging her to continue with her line of argument. ‘And what do you think the first thing your stepbrother will do when he realises you have gone?’

  A feeling of despair washed over Alinor; biting her lip, she toed the uneven flagstones. ‘He’ll come after me,’ she replied woodenly.

  ‘Aye, he will. And try the same thing again, Alinor. And again and again, until...’

  She screwed up her eyes in horror, placing her hands over her ears. ‘Guilhem, stop it, please! Stop saying such awful things.’

  ‘You are vulnerable, Alinor,’ he announced bluntly. ‘Who do you have to protect you?’

  Despair washed over her. She stared at the stone floor, tears pricking at the side of her eyes.

  ‘There’s no one, is there?’ he rapped out at her. ‘You’re on your own.’

  Her head jerked back at his harsh words; she wound her arms across her stomach. ‘Thank you for pointing that out to me,’ she responded grimly. ‘Now, will you let me pass?’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  ‘Why would you want to do that? Why are you even remotely interested?’

  His gaze flicked down over her, over her trim, fragile figure, across huge eyes sparkling with tears. Because I don’t want to let you go just yet, he thought with surprise. And I want to protect you.

  ‘Because you know something about my sister Bianca. You are wearing your cloak already—were you planning to give me the slip?

  Alinor’s heart sank.

  Striding to the main entrance, Guilhem grabbed the flaring, spitting brand out of the iron holder, the only light in the hall. ‘I need to fetch my tunic,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’ Alinor dropped her gaze, toeing the uneven flagstones uncomfortably. ‘Or you can wait here,’ he suggested, a mocking light entering his eyes as he glanced at Eustace’s prone figure, ‘but I can’t guarantee that he won’t wake up.’

  ‘I’ll come,’ she mumbled, following him to the stairwell, annoyed with her own acquiescence. She should have stayed in the great hall, to demonstrate to Guilhem that she wasn’t frightened of Eustace and what he could do. But that would be a lie. She was scared of Eustace; she had seen a side to him this evening that had terrified her and made her realise the danger she was in.

  Lifting her skirts so she wouldn’t trip on the narrow steps, she trailed after Guilhem as he climbed the stairs. ‘Here, hold this,’ he said, placing the brand in her hand. She stood in the doorway of his chamber, her weak arm braced against the thick oak frame, her other arm holding on to the light, shining the spitting torch into Guilhem’s chamber. He yanked his blue tunic over his head, down over his lean hips, moulded thighs snug in woollen braies. A traitorous heat coiled in her belly, gathering slowly.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, strapping on his sword belt around his tunic, and fastening his cloak around his shoulders. ‘You lead the way.’

  ‘The only way out is through the great hall.’ She fought hard to keep the fear from her voice.

  ‘I doubt he’ll mess with you if I’m at your side.’

  Glancing at the strapping man in the doorway, his gathered cloak swinging from his broad shoulders, Alinor doubted it, too, and for a single moment she luxuriated in the feeling of having someone who would stand up for her, who would fight her corner. Was this what it was like? To be with someone who truly loved you? She grimaced, the corners of her mouth turning down. Take a hold of yourself, Alinor, she told herself sternly. He’s only doing this because he wants information about Bianca, not because he feels any sense of du
ty, or loyalty towards you.

  She stopped, the flaming brand shedding sparks into the confined space. The jewelled brooch holding the sides of her cloak together winked and sparkled in the light. ‘I’m not scared of Eustace.’

  He raised his eyebrows, recalling her trembling body against his chest in the aftermath of Eustace’s attack. ‘After what he just tried to do? You should be.’ He paused. ‘It’s not a crime to admit you’re frightened of something, Alinor. In fact, in your case, I think you should admit it more often. It might make you less foolhardy, rushing into situations...

  ‘I didn’t rush into this one, did I?’ she whispered sadly. The brand drooped in her hands and he reached for it.

  Remorse pushed through him at the defeated sag of her shoulders. He was being cruel, goading her to admit her fear. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, you didn’t.’

  Chapter Ten

  Outside, ominous grey clouds billowed across the moon, a smoky haze obscuring the silvery light. A spatter of raindrops hit the cobbles, pushed by a fierce little breeze. The guard at the gatehouse lifted his head, regarding the couple dully as they emerged from the castle, then dropped his chin to his chest once more. Alinor shivered as she followed Guilhem down the steps and into the courtyard, the stone cobbles unexpectedly chill against the soles of her feet.

  ‘My slippers!’ she gasped, remembering.

  Guilhem turned. ‘Where are they?’

  Alinor squirmed uncomfortably. ‘They’re...they’re...in there.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the great hall. ‘They fell off when...when...’ Her speech faded; she stared hopelessly at the ground.

  He saw the panic sift across her face. ‘I will fetch them.’

  He loped back across the courtyard. Alinor grimaced. Why had she not fetched the shoes herself? She should have scooped them up as they had passed through the great hall, not stood here quavering like a candle flame, pathetic and weak, too ashamed of what had happened with Eustace to go back in. Too frightened of him. A sense of entrapment surged over her; she felt caught, hobbled, too weak to run away from Guilhem, too scared to go back into the castle and face the wrath of Eustace. Her whole frame drooped with fatigue; the urge to sink down and lay her forehead on the cool, damp cobbles flooded over her. But she couldn’t do that. She had never done such a thing in her life; she would not give in.

  Guihem came towards her, red leather slippers crushed within his tanned fingers. They looked incongruous, clasped in his sinewy grip, and she held out her hands for them. He thrust them into her outstretched hands. Bending over, she stuck her toes quickly into the pliable leather.

  She straightened up. ‘Is he dead?’ she whispered. ‘Did you see him move at all?’

  Guilhem smiled grimly. ‘Still unconscious, but very much alive, unfortunately. He won’t wake up for a long time, though.’ He rubbed his thumb across the knuckles of his hand. ‘There’s a lump the size of an egg on his head.’

  ‘My God, he’ll be so angry,’ Alinor said, turning away and stepping through the wide open arch in the centre of the stables, breathing in the scent of hay, and leather. She increased her pace; it was imperative that she left Claverstock before he woke up.

  ‘Nothing more than he deserved,’ Guilhem ground out. A rivulet of pure fury coursed through him at the memory of Alinor pinned beneath that man. ‘In fact, I probably should have killed him.’

  She paused, stunned by the stab of sudden anger in Guilhem’s tone. Did he really care about Eustace’s behaviour towards her that much? ‘Guilhem...I...er...’ she murmured, her voice hesitant, ‘thank you for what you did.’

  He cocked his head to one side, forcing his breathing to slow, to calm down. The light from the gatehouse torch glittered over the embroidery on his tunic front. ‘It was nothing, Alinor. I would have done the same for anyone.’

  Self-pity wormed its way into her heart, a tiny kernel of misery. Of course. He would have done the same for anyone. Why would she think anything different? Had she believed that, in some way, she was special to him? His kiss had sent her senses awry, a kiss that held little substance for him, yet had made a powerful impact on her. She peeked up at his stern face from the shadows. Guilhem was a soldier, a battle-hardened knight, familiar with fists and sword alike. Knocking Eustace to the ground meant nothing to him. Just like she was nothing to him. She would do well to remember that and preserve her own sanity.

  Alinor walked through the stables, searching for the small, dove-grey palfrey. At her approach, her horse nickered gently, recognising her mistress. She leaned into the soft velvety nose. Warm air gusted from the horse’s nostrils; the animal swung its great head from side to side in pleasure.

  Guilhem approached, ran one hand over the palfrey’s grey head. ‘Is she yours?’ he asked.

  ‘She was. I rode her before my accident.’

  ‘Will you ride her again?’

  She remembered the rush of air, the sickening crunch in her arm as she hit the hard ground falling from her father’s horse. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why not now?’

  ‘I...I’m not sure.’ Uncertainty clouded her face.

  ‘You can ride with me, or ride on your own. Either way, we need to leave now.’ He tilted his head to one side, brilliant eyes gently assessing her.

  Alinor paddled her fingertips into the close-cropped pelt; the horse nudged her shoulder.

  ‘You can do this, Alinor. I know you can. You weren’t frightened when you rode with me, were you? Not after the first few minutes.’

  No, she hadn’t been. A sense of confidence, of a growing belief in her own ability rippled through her; she drew strength from his words. Strange to think that a man who exerted such a physical effect on her could also imbue her with such a feeling of self-confidence. After her accident, in those long, painful days of recovery, she had truly believed she would never have the courage to ride again, and yet, here she was, actively considering it.

  He opened the door to the stall, leading out her palfrey. ‘Where’s the saddle?’ The animal’s hooves slipped and scraped on the cobbles.

  Wordlessly, she pointed to the far wall, the saddle slung over a low wooden bar, the bridles hanging from wooden pegs. He settled the heavy leather on her horse, tightening the girth straps, adjusting the stirrups. A nub of excitement burned low in her belly, excitement coupled with a thread of fear—could she really do this? Unconsciously, her fingers dug into the weakened ligaments of her arm, willing it to work properly for her, to be strong.

  Her knees shook.

  Guilhem laced his fingers together, stooping slightly beside her horse. ‘Hands on my shoulders, foot in my hands,’ he instructed her. ‘You remember how to do this, don’t you?’ His eyes were bright, encouraging, long eyelashes shadowing the hollows in his cheeks.

  ‘I do. I learned when I was small.’ Her hands rested against his neck and she lifted her foot, slipping it across his interlinked fingers. In a trice, he had thrown her slight weight up into the saddle and she turned in the air, settling herself expertly, as if she had ridden only yesterday, one leg dangling down on each side. Her skirts bunched around her knees. Pure joy leaped through her body and she laughed, gathering up the reins.

  Guilhem watched the smile tipping up the corners of her beautiful mouth, desire looping through him. He strode away, seeing to his own horse, sticking one booted foot into the shining stirrup, and mounted up.

  ‘Move towards me,’ he said, hitching around to look at Alinor. She was still smiling. Despite all that had happened to her, she was smiling. His heart jumped with gladness, with the fact that he had been able to help her. He had known she could do it; he had seen as much determination and fortitude in this one diminutive bundle of femininity as he had seen in a whole army. Alinor touched her heels to her palfrey, her grin widening as the horse moved, edging the animal
alongside Guilhem.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked, noting the way she held her reins with her good arm, whilst her weak arm rested at the front of the saddle. He frowned. ‘Will you be able to hold on all right?’

  ‘Of course I can hold on!’ she said. ‘Guilhem, this is amazing, I never thought I would ride again, and yet now...I can’t believe it!’

  He grinned back at her, at the sheer pleasure flooding her delicate features. ‘Then let’s get a move on, Alinor, before your stepbrother comes to his senses!’

  * * *

  As they clattered out through the gatehouse, a squall of rain hit them, large, freezing drops spattering their cloaks with dark patches. Alinor screwed up her eyes, trying to discern the track through the relentless drizzle.

  ‘How far is the village where your friends live?’ asked Guilhem, slowing his horse so she could move alongside him.

  ‘Coombe Bissett? Not above five miles.’ She waved airily up into the darkness, indicating a vague direction. The wind was rising, sighing through the trees that circled Claverstock, jostling branches, spinning leaves furiously to the ground.

  ‘Good, because this weather is not going to improve,’ he said. ‘You lead.’ Alinor pulled up the wide hood of her cloak against the rain, obscuring her veil, the silver circlet on her head, a row of pleats gathering the back of her cloak. She squeezed her knees gently into the palfrey’s flanks, her heart surging with happiness as the animal responded immediately to her slight touch. Why had she never possessed the courage to ride earlier, to climb back into the saddle after her accident? She knew why. Guilhem had spurred her on, almost as if he had handed her a piece of his own fearlessness, his courage. She had to thank him for that, at least. If he hadn’t been there, in the stables with her, talking to her in his calm, low tone, inspiring her, she would never have done such a thing.