Nineteen
"We will camp here for the night, lass."
Those soft words were enough to pull Gisele from her stupor. She looked around, but noticed very little until she saw the small brook. Without a word she slipped off her horse, unpacked her drying cloth and sliver of soap, and walked to the edge of the brook. Still silent, she shed her clothes, stepped into the shallow cold water, slowly sat down, and began to wash.
She could hear Nigel tending to the horses and setting up their camp, but she kept her back to him. Once they had started on their way, fleeing the wood and Vachel's lands as fast as they could, she had failed to stop herself from thinking about what had happened to her. From time to time Nigel had spoken to her and she had struggled to answer, his frowns telling her that she was doing a poor job of it. Nothing, not Nigel's concern or her own strong will, had stopped her from slipping into a dangerously dark mood.
From the moment Sir Vachel had touched her, she had ached to have a bath. It was the same sick, unclean feeling her husband had always left her with. During her brief marriage she had sometimes scrubbed her skin raw, stopped from doing herself real harm only by the watchful eyes of the maids. They had lived with Michael long enough to understand what she was suffering. Just as she had after Michael had used her, she now felt as if she needed to peel away every piece of skin Vachel had touched. Only once did she pause in her continuous washing, and that was to stare in surprise at the cuts on the palms of her hands. As she briefly soaked them in the cold water, she wondered how she could have buried her fingernails so deeply into her own flesh and not been aware of it. Then, almost blindly, she returned to scrubbing her skin.
Nigel leaned against a slender tree, took a slow drink from his wineskin, and watched Gisele carefully. She had said nothing since they had left the DeVeau keep. He had kept looking back at her, afraid she had fallen asleep and was at risk of slipping out of her saddle. Each time he had been made uneasy by the almost lifeless look upon her face, the strange distance in her eyes. The few times he had spoken to her, tried to pull her from her intense silence, her response had been spoken in a voice nearly as dead as her eyes.
When he had first rescued her she had seemed fine, no more than a little shaken. Now he was not so sure. He was also not so sure that he had been in time to save her from all Vachel had planned to do to her. Perhaps that was not the first time the man had been on that bed with her. She had been alone at the keep for several hours before he had found a way to reach her. More than enough time for the man to have already raped her once, mayhap more.
He cursed softly and ran a hand over his chin. It did not take a very clever man to see that something deeply troubled Gisele. What did require a great deal of cleverness was knowing exactly how to help her. This was the sort of thing a woman often did not wish to talk about, yet, how could he know how to help her if she did refuse to talk about it? There was also a reluctance lurking inside of him, a wish to not know anything about what had happened to her while she was trapped inside of Vachel's keep. If he did not wish to hear anything and she did not wish to say anything, they would certainly not get very far in solving her problem, he thought sourly.
There was one thing he could do, he decided as he tossed his wineskin aside and moved toward the brook. He could stop her incessant scrubbing. If she continued with it for very much longer she would be nothing more than a tiny lump of raw flesh. Nigel had the unsettling feeling that that was her intention, that she wanted to remove the flesh that had been defiled by Vachel. He was surprised that she could sit in the water for so long. Her shapely backside had to be nearly frozen to the rocky bottom of the brook. She was also frightening him a little, for she seemed to be caught up in some repetitive dream, so that she was not completely aware of what she was doing to herself. It was almost as if the insanity of the DeVeaux had finally infected her.
"Gisele,” he called, but she paid him no heed, so he reached out to gently touch her shoulder. “Gisele!"
"I heard you the first time,” she said quietly, staring at her empty hand as she slowly realized that she had no soap left. “My soap is all gone."
"Ye are clean enough."
"Am I?"
Even though she still felt an urge to keep washing herself, she allowed Nigel to pull her out of the water. She stood silently as he briskly rubbed her down with the drying cloth, obviously trying to warm her as much as he was drying her skin. When he reached for her clothes and saw the gown he hesitated, then frowned at her. Gisele finally roused herself enough to speak.
"I have no ill feeling about the clothes,” she said.
"I mean no offense, nor do I wish to stir up any ill memory, but I am surprised he found something to fit ye so quickly."
She gave him the sad ghost of a smile. “The cut of the clothes tells me they probably belonged to a young maid. The chemise will be good enough for now."
Nigel gently tugged the chemise over her head and laced it up, then led her over to their bed by the fire. For one brief moment he had thought about separating their beds, then decided that would not really help. It might even make her think that he was setting her aside because of what Vachel had done.
He quickly gathered up the things she had left by the brook and put them in her saddlepack. As he got some wine and food for their meal, he kept a close but subtle watch on her. The way she just sat there staring into the fire made him uneasy. He felt an urge to slap some life back into her. Nigel shook his head as he sat down beside her and gave her some food. Brutality had caused her troubles. He would be no better than DeVeau if he used brutality to try to pull her free of her dark mood.
"Did he rape ye, lass?” he asked, deciding the best way to try to solve her problem was to be direct.
"Non,” she replied as she slowly began to eat, her hunger beginning to revive as she tasted the food.
"Praise God,” he muttered, and briefly squeezed one of her hands. “I feared that ye had suffered while I sat in that wood trying to plan your rescue. That because I wasnae quick or clever enough, ye had endured some pain."
"Nigel, you were in time. Vachel but touched me a little. I let that trouble me far more than I should have. Even if you had not succeeded in saving me from that bastard's unwanted attentions, you would have still saved me from a hanging. That is no small thing. In truth, I was not expecting your help at all."
"Why? Because ye had crept away from me like a thief in the night?” He watched her closely, and felt relieved when she cast him a look that was an amusing mixture of embarrassment and irritation. She was beginning to recover.
"I had my reasons for leaving.” She hoped that would end the discussion, but a quick peek at Nigel's face told her that she was not going to be allowed to just dismiss the matter.
"And I should like to hear what those reasons were."
"It was suddenly clear to me that this hunt had grown much fiercer than it had ever been, and much more dangerous. I no longer felt able to put your life at risk, to use you to shelter me from my enemies."
"So, ye would have me believe that after we have spent weeks hacking our way through DeVeau's men ye suddenly woke up in the middle of the night and decided it was now becoming too dangerous? And that riding off alone, nay kenning where ye were going, leaving me alone in my weakened condition, was safer for both of us?"
It did sound remarkably witless the way he told it, but Gisele had no intention of letting him know that. She was also not going to let him try to stir her guilt by speaking of his ‘weakened condition'. Nigel had tossed Vachel DeVeau around as if he were no more than an empty sack. That was hardly the act of a sickly man. Gisele thought it a little harsh of Nigel to be questioning her and expecting sensible answers after all she had just endured.
"As you had just explained to me last eve, we were either near or even on DeVeau lands, and that ensured that the port you were taking us to would be swarming with the fools. I just felt that it had all become too complicated. There had always been a chance
that we could get to a port, onto a ship, and sail far away from my troubles. Suddenly, it did not look as if that were possible any longer.” Gisele softly cursed and glared at Nigel when he greeted her explanation with a mocking sound of disbelief. She thought that it was rather clever, and deserved better than his blatant derision.
"Ye may have thought that, lass, but I fear I dinnae believe that is the whole truth of it.” It took only one quick glance at the stubborn, cross look on her face for Nigel to realize that she was not going to tell him any more. “Ye stumbled right into your enemy's arms, loving,” he added quietly as he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close to his side, pleased when she revealed no fear or resistance.
"I know that,” she grumbled, then sighed and leaned against him. “I was traveling to my cousin Marie's. At least I thought I was. It is clear to me now that I really did not know the way to get there. Marie does not live anywhere near a DeVeau. I know that because I sought her aid once before."
He idly picked up her medallion from where it rested against her chest and studied it for a moment. “Ye are fortunate none of the men took this from you,” he said, as he released his hold on it “'Tis a fine piece that could have brought them a few coins."
"I am not sure any of them really saw it, praise God. It was hidden beneath my jupon, as it has been most times since you reminded me that lads do not wear such fine baubles. The ones who did see it, Vachel and his man Ansel, saw it as nothing remarkable. It is obviously still bringing me good fortune."
"Aye, it is. Gisele, I am nay calling ye a liar, but something does puzzle me."
"And what is that?"
"Ye said that Sir Vachel didnae rape ye, only touched ye a wee bit."
"That is correct."
"Then why would ye try to flay the flesh from your wee bones with unending scrubbing? It makes no sense to me."
Gisele smiled sadly and allowed him to gently push her down onto the bed. The weight of his body as he lightly sprawled on top of her felt comforting as well as exciting, and she was glad. The very last thing she wanted was for her stupidity and Vachel's unwavering, cruel arrogance to destroy what she felt for Nigel. It would have been easy for Vachel to make her the frightened woman she had been when she had first met Nigel. That would have been too high a price to pay for her cowardice.
And it was cowardice, she mused. She had run from what she felt for Nigel, tried to run as fast and as far away as she could. It was also foolish. There was no running away from it. The love she had for Nigel stayed with her. All she did was deprive herself of seeing him, of touching him, and of savoring his touch upon her skin. Gisele doubted she could completely flee all that, either, for the memory would stay with her always.
She met his gaze and sighed. He was waiting patiently for her to answer his question. Nigel could be annoyingly stubborn. Gisele suspected he could calmly wait for her answer far longer than she could calmly tolerate it.
"I am not sure what I was doing makes very much sense to me, either,” she finally replied. “Vachel looks very much like my husband Michael. So much so that, briefly, I feared I was seeing a ghost."
Nigel frowned. He found that news a little unsettling. Although he had only seen Vachel briefly through a fog of rage, he had recognized the man's beauty. Then he cursed himself for an idiot, and pushed aside his bout of jealousy. The DeVeau men might be beautiful to look upon, but they were black-hearted bastards who had caused Gisele only pain and humiliation. No one knew that better than she did. He doubted the beauty of the men affected her in any way.
"That must have made it all the more troublesome for you,” he said, slowly running his hand up and down her side.
"It did,” she whispered, then took a deep breath to steady herself. “It was worse than even I could have guessed it would be. Oui, Vachel looked like Michael, but, whereas Michael's cruelty revealed itself in rages and bouts of clear madness, Vachel's is the cold sort. Vachel does not blindly strike out. He is calm. He thinks carefully about what he is doing and, I think, enjoys it. He planned to keep me and use me until he wearied of me, and then he would hang me."
After cursing viciously for a moment, Nigel wished yet again that he had killed the man. “That is what George said, but I didnae really want to believe it. ‘Tis done, my bonny French rose. Ye must put it from your mind. That bastard isnae worth even one bad memory."
"I would like to forget it all, but Vachel DeVeau is not a man you forget easily. He is truly evil, Nigel. I think he may be mad, but it is a frightening madness, one that twists the soul yet leaves him appearing sane, and he is a very clever man."
"So, ye dinnae think that ye washed him away."
Gisele smiled in response to his insight and also in silent acquiescence, for he began to tentatively unlace her chemise. “Oui. I was trying to wash his touch away. I used to do the same when my husband touched me. In my poor, confused mind it was the same. A madness seizes me, and I have a wish to remove the skin from all the places I was touched. When I was in my husband's demanse, the maids would stop me before I did myself harm. This time, I fear I imposed that sad chore upon you. I humbly beg your pardon."
"There is naught ye have to apologize for."
"Oui, there is. What troubles me at such times is none of your doing. You should not have to contend with the results of other men's crimes against me."
Nigel knew there was nothing more he could say to assure her that he did not mind, so he kissed her, trying to imbue his kiss with all of the tenderness he felt toward her. He knew she did not need his strength. She had her own. Nor could he mend all of her hurts, only understand them. It was that willingness to understand that he tried to convey in his touch.
What he ached to do now was make love to her. Part of him desperately wanted to caress away all memory of Vachel's touch, to stroke away the man's mark upon her. It was an act of possession, and he knew it. Like some beast of the wood he wanted to put his scent back on her skin. What softened that feral attitude was that he also wished to remind her, through a sweet, gentle sharing of passion, that not all men were like the DeVeaux. She needed to know that if she were ever going to conquer her bad memories. Nigel was just not sure that she was in any mood to be reminded, however.
Cautiously, he slid his hand inside her chemise. When she did nothing to stop him, did not even tense beneath his caress, he breathed a silent sigh of relief. Vachel had not harmed her enough to kill her passion or make her want to shy away from any touch. It was mostly a selfish relief, he admitted to himself. He had feared losing all chance to savor Gisele's passion again. Hand in hand with that selfishness, however, was a deep gratitude that very few scars had been added to the ones Gisele already carried. She did not deserve such cruelty.
"I cannae understand how your parents could give ye to such a family,” he murmured as he slowly tugged off her chemise. “'Tis hard to believe that no one kenned that the DeVeaux are all mad."
"That it is,” she agreed, smiling at him as he shed his own clothes. “My parents are long dead, God rest their souls. It was my guardians, an aging uncle and a distant cousin, who made the marriage agreement.” She readily accepted him back into her arms. “My grandmére had much of the raising of me, but she, too, died ere this catastrophe befell me. I like to believe that my parents or Nana would have never made such a betrothal if they had survived. They would have at least helped me when Michael's true nature revealed itself.
"In truth, I begin to think this path I have been forced down was my fate from the day I came screaming out of my mother's womb.” She shrugged when Nigel looked at her doubtfully. “The youth I was first betrothed to died at a very young age, and my parents arranged nothing new before they, too, died. One other betrothal was made by my guardians, but that man got himself killed by a jealous husband. My guardians were having some difficulty in arranging yet another marriage for me when Michael saw me at the king's court and approached them. My guardians, indeed my whole family, could not believe their good
fortune. I was seen, bid upon, and sold before I barely realized what had happened."
"'Tis a wrong that can ne'er be righted, but now that your kinsmen see the error of their ways and intend to help you, mayhap the sting of it will ease some."
"I pray that it will.” She curled her body around his. “Now, my gallant Scottish knight, do you really wish to keep talking about my family and my troubles?"
Gisele was surprised at how eager she was to make love to Nigel. After all she had endured she ought to shy away from a man's touch, if only for a little while, just long enough for the fear Vachel had instilled in her to fade. As she rubbed her body against Nigel's, though, silently encouraging him, she realized that this time her passion was born of purely selfish reasons. Gisele felt confident that Nigel's touch could wipe away the memory of Vachel's cool, soft hands against her skin. Surrounding herself with Nigel's scent would take away the last vestiges of Vachel's perfume, and in a way both she and Nigel could enjoy. It would also strongly remind her that not all men were the heartless, soulless beasts the DeVeaux were, that passion did not have to be about power and pain.
Nigel made love to her slowly and thoroughly. Gisele eagerly returned his every kiss, his every touch, aching to soak herself in the feel of him. With a soft cry of greed and desperation, she accepted him into her body. She savored the way her body shook with the strength of her release, the way Nigel tensed and groaned her name as he shared in that deep pleasure. When he collapsed in her arms, she held him tightly against her, wrapping her body snugly around his. She mumbled a protest when he finally ended the intimacy of their embrace.
"Did that help?” he asked as he tugged the blanket around their chilling bodies.
She laughed slightly as he pulled her back into his arms and she snuggled against his warmth. It should probably alarm her that this man knew her so well, could seem to guess her every thought and mood with ease, but it did not. Gisele just felt closer to him, more comfortable in his presence. She knew she could tell him anything, and that he would still understand even if she could not find the words to correctly express what she felt. The only thing that troubled her about such a rich companionship was the fear that he could look deeper into her heart than she wanted him to, that somehow he could guess how much she loved him. She prayed that he would be kind enough to conceal his knowledge if he did discover that he held her heart in his big hands, especially if he could not return her feelings.
Highland Honor [Murray Brothers Book 2] Page 23