Hellion (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 7)

by Jayne Fresina

  Angry, he straightened up, folded his arms and scowled. Bloody nuns. What did they know? They shut themselves away from life, hid in their prayers and their long thick robes.

  To his surprise she suddenly spoke. "Perhaps you have not found a wife because you are not looking. You don't need to, because you know where she is, where your heart is. You've known it for a few years now, since you first saw her."

  He swore under his breath, glowering fiercely at her, but she kept her calm smile, unmoved.

  "I know my own grandson's heart, don't I?" she said.

  He stared.

  "Silence, old hag," his father shouted from the bed. "No one wants your opinion."

  She rolled her eyes and then closed them again.

  The candle flames puttered softly in the gathering draft, and Sal felt his heart performing the same action, wavering, trembling, struggling against the breeze.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Helene was woken in the very early hours by unwelcome news. Gilbert de Vernon had arrived at her gates.

  At this unearthly hour she was roused, dressed and readied to greet her unwanted husband. She looked around her at the home she had made and felt sadness rip into her heart, knowing now that it would all be claimed by another man. From this moment on she would be subjugated to his will. He would not be like Robert; that much she guessed even from the way he rode into her courtyard and began ordering the grooms about. Her grooms.

  He dismounted and surveyed the place with haughty disdain. Then his gaze dripped upon Helene.

  "Lady Calledaux. I am sorry to arrive at such an hour. I hope I did not disturb you from your prayers."

  The way he said it was not in the least apologetic. It occurred to Helene that he was almost hoping he would catch her unprepared. She gave a wary curtsey.

  "My Lord de Vernon. I trust you will find everything here to your satisfaction."

  "We'll see about that, won't we?"

  He dismounted, handed his horse off to a groom and motioned for her to show him inside. His manner was cold, harsh, much as she remembered it from their one encounter as children, when she beat him in a horse race. She supposed the event had stuck in her mind especially because it was the one time she could remember her father laughing. For once he had been proud of her. Helene was sorry it had to come at the expense of another child's pride, but she took what she could get. She was a survivor.

  Showing him around the manor, Helene kept as lively and pleasant a countenance as she could manage. But Gilbert was not one to let anything show on his face, she soon discovered. He was nonchalant, even slightly bored. His every gesture was precise, his voice crisp, certain.

  "I have ordered a monk from York," he said coolly. "He will officiate our marriage."

  She bowed her head. "As you wish."

  Gilbert looked out over the horizon to where the torch light of d'Anzeray's manor flickered and danced against the darkness. "And you will confess to him all your sins before the wedding."

  "All my sins?"

  He turned his head to stare at her, unblinking. "All your sins."

  Helene felt an icy spear of panic thrust into her heart. Did Gilbert somehow know about her dalliance with Salvador? She knew none of her people would tell; she trusted them implicitly and she'd never realized how much until that moment. So she said brightly, "And you will confess yours sins likewise, my lord?"

  His blue eyes darkened. "I have no sins."

  She tried her best, but Helene could not resist a wry chuckle. "All men have some sin."

  "Not I," he snapped. "I am without sin of any kind. I have lived a life of servitude to my God. No fault can be found in me."

  There was not the slightest humor in his voice. He was deadly serious. She did not know what to say to that, so she stayed quiet. Her mind wandered to thoughts of a man who did have sin and freely admitted it. Salvador.

  She missed him already. Every part of her missed him.

  Oh, how she had loved having him as her neighbor to fight and challenge.

  But this was her fate was it not? She was born female and therefore this was her lot in life. God— and King William— had willed that she be married again. Both God and the King were unseen deities who ruled over her fate as if she was a piece on a chessboard. They pushed her about with their own scheme for winning and she was not meant to have any concerns other than what they told her she should have.

  "I was assured, Lady Calledaux, of your own piety. It is why I thought we were well suited."

  She looked at the ground, afraid of what he might read in her face.

  "But now I see you before me," he added, "and I feel doubt. It will put my mind at ease to have you confess."

  There was, it seemed, no room for her to doubt him.

  As Helene watched Gilbert de Vernon ordering her beloved people about, she began to wonder about her place in God's scheme. It was impertinent to question the almighty, but she couldn't help herself. How did they all know what God wanted? Who said?

  She began to wonder whether God's scheme might have been misinterpreted by those who had the skill of penmanship and the will to put ink to parchment.

  Do not believe all that you read and hear, Salvador had warned her. There was no reason to believe that scribes of the past would have any more innocent purpose than scriveners of the future. Every man had his motive. Every man had his sin.

  With terrible finality she knew she loved him, despite his sins. He was lonely, even in his crowd of brothers. He was special. He was her Demon just as she was his Hellion. But it was all too late; they were both caught up in other lives. She had Gilbert de Vernon, and he had six women that he shared with his brothers. What would he want with one more?

  * * * *

  He urged his horse faster, the fresh, sweet morning air whipping by his face as he bent his head, eyes narrowed, gaze fixed on the manor of Helene de Leon. The ground rumbled by beneath the stallion's hooves, and Sal felt his pulse racing to the same rhythm, even out-pacing it.

  He had to see her now, as dawn broke over the horizon and the far trees. The wives had insisted he stay the night, but he hadn't been able to sleep. There was a sense of urgency in his heart, as if, now he knew what he wanted, he couldn't wait another moment to tell her. It was all clear in his mind. She was the one thing missing, the woman he wanted. So he'd said his goodbyes and set off the moment first light streaked grey and mauve across the sky— reminding him of her eyes.

  But as he neared the gate he realized something had changed. The guards looked pale, fraught. Even the dogs that usually dashed out to bark and chase back and forth, slunk away, cowed, ears flat.

  "Where is the Lady de Leon," he called out, breathless. "Where is your mistress?"

  Before they could answer, a tall slender figure appeared from the shadow of the guard's shack. He wore a long cloak of amber wool, tied at the shoulder with a large copper broach. His eyes, cold as ice, raked over Sal and his horse.

  "Who are you?" Sal demanded.

  "Who am I? Who am I?" the other man exclaimed, terse. "I am Gilbert de Vernon. And I assume you are the bastard d'Anzeray."

  Helene had just exited the main hall. She looked harried, confused. And then her gaze found Sal on the other side of the gate. Hastily her steps changed course and she headed toward him, but de Vernon, turned to stop her, one arm out, hand up.

  "There is no occasion for you to rush out here and greet anyone at the gate. Go back inside. You are not a servant."

  She halted. "But I have—"

  "You can have nothing to talk to this man about. From now on I shall deal with him. I shall deal with anyone who comes to this gate."

  Sal took immediate dislike to the way de Vernon spoke to her. "My business is with Lady de Leon," he growled, the horse beneath him skipping sideways as it felt his agitation. "Not you."

  "On the contrary, you can have no business with my wife."

  He looked over de Vernon's sandy head. "She is not your wife yet. As far as I kno
w." It couldn't have happened yet, surely.

  "I wait for the arrival of a monk to complete the ceremony and then all this will be mine, as the king decreed it."

  Helene shook her head at Sal, a fraught warning look on her small face. De Vernon spun around and dismissed her again with a brusque, impatient gesture. She complied.

  He would have called her back, but she walked quickly, her head down, and Sal sensed she didn't want trouble. Today there was a gate between them again.

  Very well. He would bide his time. But not for long.

  "What do you want, d'Anzeray? What causes you to ride at this gate so early in the morning, yelling for my betrothed as if she is a peasant?"

  "I came to ask how my laborers are working on her land. If they are adequate."

  "Your laborers?"

  "Yes. I offered to help her with the haymaking."

  "How..." de Vernon sneered, "neighborly."

  Sal felt his anger rising to new heights.

  "But you can have your workers back, d'Anzeray. I will have no further use for your help. On my land." With that de Vernon swung around and marched after Helene.

  Sal watched for a moment and then turned his horse. He had never walked away from confrontation in his life. In battle there was no man braver, but when it came to love he was a novice, unsure.

  And she had walked away as if in defeat.

  He needed a sign from her to show she did not want this man. Perhaps she did. She was, after all nobly born, a pedigree Norman lady. Even if he knew that he loved her, there was no guarantee his feelings were returned.

  Salvador had never known a lack of self-assurance. Until now.

  * * * *

  She waited until Gilbert was busy going over the ledgers, talking to her steward and then she took her chance. He did not want her in the room; told her she was not needed there— of course, he thought she could contribute nothing to these important matters. So, with time scarce, she slipped away through the gate to see Salvador and say goodbye. She couldn't bear for their time to be over like this, without even a word exchanged.

  He was in his fields, haymaking. When he saw her, he sent his workers off for a break. Bare-chested, he greeted her, much as he had done several days ago when she came out to negotiate for two extra feet of field. It felt like a lifetime ago, she thought, gazing up at him as he set his scythe down and reached for her hand.

  "I didn't know he would come so soon," she murmured as his warm fingers closed around her hand and he tugged her down with him until they were hidden in the tall, waving grasses. "But I did know he was coming."

  "Why did you not tell me?"

  She shook her head. "I preferred not to speak or think of it, that way I could pretend it wasn't happening." Her words came out in a rush, tumbling over one another, for she knew they didn't have long.

  He drew her to him and kissed her. It was long, lingering, hungry. Oh, no, he was going to delay her. She might have known he would be difficult and not content with a brief meeting today. There was a very determined set to his jaw. "Well, I knew about him," he whispered.

  Helene frowned. "Then why did you not say?"

  "Like you," he smiled guiltily, "I preferred to pretend it wouldn't happen." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Where is he now?"

  "Counting my coin."

  Sal shook his head and grunted, "Idiot. While he counts your coin, I will make love to you."

  "We can't. There isn't enough time. I only came to say thank you and goodbye."

  He squinted, his eyes gleaming.

  "I can't," she muttered. "Salvador—"

  He reached for her wimple and tugged it from her head. Then before she could read what he was thinking, the man took off, running through the field, her wimple clutched in his hand. She had to run after him to get it back.

  What choice did she have?

  Breathless she chased him through the tall, swaying grasses. At first she was angry, but it felt good to run and stretch her legs. It must be years since she ran like this, for no purpose but a foolish game. Finally he stopped so suddenly that she fell into him and they went down together, rolling over, lost in the sunny field, surrounded by the warm scent of hay.

  Salvador slid his hands up her legs and touched her between them while he kissed her again and she groaned, helpless to resist. His hand was hot, his fingers masterful in the skill with which they caressed and teased.

  "We can't, Salvador—"

  His lips moved down her neck, kissing and nibbling, all the way to her breast, where he licked her pricking nipple through her gown. "This is mine," he growled. "Not his." He slid his finger into her pussy. "And this is mine. Not his."

  "Yes," she sighed, arching as he settled between her thighs. "Yes, Salvador."

  "Say you are mine, Hellion. Say you are mine." He sucked her nipple through the cloth.

  "I am yours, Salvador. You know I am."

  Quickly he moved forward and she felt his cock, already freed of his chausses, entering her abruptly, filling her in one powerful thrust. Helene gasped at the exquisite sensation of fullness as he claimed her. She closed her eyes against the bright sun and gave herself up to the blissful rhythm, the grunts and sighs. The hay rustled beneath her and pricked into the flesh of her bottom. His groans dampened her gown as he pressed his mouth to her breast, and she felt his warm sac pushing against her with every forward thrust. His cock was slick, fast, full of urgency today.

  "I love you, Hellion."

  She was shocked. "Oh."

  He stilled and lifted his head. "That's all you have to say?"

  Helene gazed up at him, at this incredibly handsome man who was fucking her in his hay field, his thick cock impaling her at that moment, joining them in a fierce, savage coupling. And she whispered with unusual shyness, "I love you." In truth she had not thought she could ever say those words to another human, until that moment. He closed his eyes, slapped his lips together and came, spending inside her again, his hips pressing in a circular motion.

  She felt him shudder and then he opened his eyes and looked down at her. Framed by the sun, he looked like a god painted on a fresco, his head edged by a halo of gold. Unlikely, she mused, but beautiful. Breathtaking.

  "Come live with me," he said.

  "Live with you?"

  He took a deep breath. "Marry me."

  But the king had decreed she must marry de Vernon. Had he forgotten already, or was he still pretending the other man didn't exist? Oh, she wished she could do the same.

  "De Vernon has sent for a monk from York," she murmured. "I am to confess all my sins before the wedding." She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Now, thanks to you, I have another to confess, don't I?"

  "And does he plan to confess his sins too?" Salvador snapped, sitting up.

  "No. He says he has none to confess."

  Sal looked askance.

  "Truly. He says he is a man without sin. And I have to say I believe him." She'd never met a man so cold and controlled. That day she'd watched him cut a plum into four equal, perfect slices before he ate it, sampling the fruit of her orchard. He chewed barely moving his mouth and swallowed thoroughly before he took the next piece. He had inspected all the fruit on the tree before he selected one devoid of any marks on the skin. "He prays every morning and every night for four hours."

  Sal plucked a piece of hay and chewed on it thoughtfully. "Without sin, eh? We'll have to do something about that then."

  * * * *

  "You have not answered me, woman," he said, watching her as he chewed on the hay stalk. "I just asked you an important question and yet you avoided giving me an answer."

  She blushed slightly. "I cannot marry you and of this you are well aware."

  "Why not?" he demanded, sticking out his jaw.

  "You are a man with six wives already." She snatched her wimple out of his lap. "And I will not join a harem. To be shared by you and all your brothers. I know what goes on in that fortress of your father's. Branding, public exhibition
. Orgies!"

  "You might like it." He grinned slowly.

  "No. I will not. Would not." She shook her head, growing more flustered and blaming it on the heat of the sun, fanning herself with the wimple. "I must go back before I am missed."

  He grabbed her hand. "Stay."

  "I cannot. I will not be one of your hussies." She pulled away and got to her feet. "We had our time, Salvador, and it must be enough. It must."

  On his knees he watched her march away through the field, pulling her wimple back over her hair. The woman he loved. The woman who claimed to love him, but would marry another out of some foolish sense of noble duty.

  Over his dead body.

  * * * *

  Gilbert was waiting for her as she entered the hall.

  "Where have you been, Lady Helene?"

  "I went for a walk in the field, to observe the haymaking."

  He stared at her with those empty eyes, and she thought she'd got away with it. Throughout supper he barely spoke. She asked him if the food pleased him and received only stark, one-syllable responses. Had she not been so filled with Salvador's warmth and her secret love, she might have felt the storm brewing, but her mind was not as sharp as usual. Busy trying to work out a chance to see Salvador again, she was distracted from the reality around her.

  Only later that evening, as she stepped out of her bath and prepared to put on her nightshift, did she discover that Gilbert's worst fault was a temper. And that it came quickly to the fore after he'd drunk too much wine.

  He came to her chamber door and rapped upon it hard with his knuckles.

  Elyce looked terrified when she opened the door and found him there, but he shoved her aside with one hand and walked into Helene's private chamber with his belt already wound around his fist.

  "You lied to me, bitch. Now you will pay."

  She had the nightshift only half way up her body and his belt cut across her arms as she tried to protect her bare breasts. It had come without warning. His temper burst over her like a thunderstorm, cruel jagged lightning cutting through an otherwise calm sky.