by Amy Tolnitch
“I am sorry to be a burden to you, my lord.”
Well, hell. He felt as if anything he could say would be like striking an already whipped dog. “Perhaps we can find another nunnery for you.”
The hope that bloomed on her face made him silently curse.
“I am sorry, Giselle. I do not know where. I fear the Bishop would interfere. He is a powerful man.”
“Aye, I know.” Her face crumpled and her eyes gleamed with tears. “Then, what am I to do?” She asked the question so softly he realized it was as much to herself as to him.
And he had no earthly idea what to answer.
Piers peeked around the door to Gifford’s workroom, making sure there was no suspicious smoke before entering. When his enthusiastic quest to find the answer to life’s mysteries took his fancy, Gifford frequently ended up combining just the right ingredients to create havoc.
Piers walked in to find his uncle industriously mixing something in a stone bowl. “What are you doing?”
Gifford paused and took a swig from his ever-present jug. “I am making a potion,” he announced.
“A potion? Does Saraid not satisfy your needs?”
“Not that kind of potion. Asides, Saraid is perfect in every way. I’m a lucky bastard to have found her and lured her away from Parraba.”
Piers grinned. “I am glad for you, Gifford.”
His uncle snorted. “Now, we need to see to you.”
Oh no, Piers thought. “Can you can concoct a potion to make the Bishop of Ravenswood change his mind?” He settled on a stool and reached for Gifford’s jug.
“Won’t take her back, eh?”
“Nay. Nor will he allow her to enter another nunnery.”
“Just as well.” Gifford wrinkled his nose. “No place for a beautiful young woman.”
“Gifford, you do not understand. Living the life of a nun is all Giselle knows. ’Tis what she wants.”
His uncle peered at him over the bowl. “How is she to know what she wants? She has only been away from the abbey for a few weeks.”
“She appears quite certain.”
“Hmph.” Gifford shook some kind of pink powder into the bowl. “Saraid does not appear to approve of Giselle.”
“ ’Course not. Saraid, bless her sweet soul, has no use for the church, though she worships God in her own way. The priest at Sturbridge, damn him three ways to hell, put the blame of her mistreatment squarely on Saraid’s shoulders. He would do nothing to aid her.” Gifford scowled. “Always told her God intended her to submit to her husband, no matter how cruelly he treated her.” He took a mallet and pounded on a pink stone.
“I need to find a way to get rid of her, Gifford.” Piers took a long drink of ale.
“It does not sound as if that is going to happen, boy. Give the girl a chance. Perhaps she shall surprise you.” Gifford beamed at him. “With the help of my special potion.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“Why, a love potion, of course.”
Piers rolled his eyes. “Gifford, really.”
“You are going to have to marry her, Piers. There’s nothing for it. ’Tis what William agreed, and the girl has nowhere else to go.”
“Damn.” The ale tasted sour in his mouth. Marry her and put her away, Eikki whispered. Take your pleasure of her when you wish. Shut up, Piers told him.
“Try a taste of this,” Gifford said, holding out a spoonful of liquid.
“You first.”
Gifford chuckled and slurped down the liquid. He tilted his head to the side. “Needs a bit more honey.” “What have you put in that?”
“Oh, this and that. Do not worry.” Gifford gave him a sideways look. “I helped Cain.”
“I am not sure that your ‘elixir’ had much to do with it. He was already in love with Amice.”
“Well, there is no harm in it.”
“Are you sure?”
Gifford drew himself up straight. “Aye.”
“I cannot imagine falling in love with Giselle, Gifford. And I am sure she has no interest in loving any man, particularly me.”
“Poor first impression you made, coming straight from Clarise.”
Piers sighed. “I make no excuses. ’Tis my life, and I happen to enjoy two things—horses and women.”
“Do you not remember Laila’s prediction?”
Piers inwardly groaned. “I do not believe anyone can see into the future.”
“She said you shall discover a great love. And,” Gifford paused and gave him a sharp look, “that she will not be at all what you expected.”
“Aye, and something about uncovering what lies deepest in my heart.” Piers waved a hand. “Gypsy fortune telling.”
“You would never have expected a woman like Lady Giselle.”
Piers barked out a laugh. “Nay, that much is true. For the rest …” He shrugged, but he wondered. Had Laila seen a window into his future? A great love? With Lady Giselle? He could not fathom it. “Perhaps I could just install her at Styrling. She would have a place to live and as much time as she wished to spend on her knees in the chapel.”
“You cannot simply ignore the betrothal.”
Piers groaned and took another drink. “Then you’d best finish that potion, Gifford. It looks as if I am going to need it.”
After Piers left, Giselle was too distraught to do anything but sink down into the grass and stare at nothing. Eventually, Guinevere found her and settled in next to her. Giselle put her hand on the dog’s head and fought the impulse to sob into her fur.
Forgive me Lord, but how I hate the Bishop of Ravenswood, she thought. She had never understood why her beautiful mother would have ever considered such a man. Glutted with power, bloated with too much food and drink, he had always reminded Giselle of a fat snake, his beady brown eyes ever watchful and conniving.
Over the years at Kerwick, Giselle had seen him many times. More often than she could count, he had looked at her with revulsion in his narrow gaze, letting her know without words he considered her tainted.
And typically, after each of his visits, the Abbess decided Giselle had committed some unnamed offense, requiring her to fast and scrub the floors until her hands bled.
She had never understood why he had persuaded the Abbess to change her status from unpaid servant to novice, but thanks to the Abbess’s contemptuous explanation, Giselle knew he had.
You are the spawn of a conniving whore, he had told her. The only way to save your soul is to devote yourself to God’s service.
But now he denied her even that. Dear Lord, how she wished she could seek Sister Gertrude’s counsel, but she had no way to reach her friend.
Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she bent her head to press against Guinevere.
Dear God, please aid me, she silently prayed. Deliver me from this place.
At the sound of a cough, she looked up. Piers stood there, arms crossed, his mouth set in grim purpose.
Giselle wiped her face and stood. “My lord?” Her legs trembled and she sought Guinevere with one hand, the other clutching her skirt.
For a moment, he said nothing.
He has come to a decision, Giselle thought. She felt as if she waited on the edge of a precipice, mere steps from plunging into a vast abyss.
“I will honor my father’s wishes,” he finally said, speaking the words as if they were torn from his throat.
No, Giselle wanted to scream. I do not want to marry. She swallowed and tried to harness her whirling thoughts into calm. Think, she told herself. “You … wish to marry me?”
He scowled. “Nay. I will not lie to you. Though I do not know you well, what I do know does not bode well for us.”
“Surely, you can find a nunnery somewhere to take me. Anywhere.”
His scowl deepened. “I know of no place. And I cannot in good conscience just send you off somewhere that may be harsher than Kerwick.”
“I was content at Kerwick,” she protested, stamping down the memories of
being cold and hungry. “The Abbess could be very strict, but others were kind to me. I loved Sister Gertrude. She was like—”
“And though we both may wish otherwise, the fact remains that your mother sought out a betrothal and my father agreed.”
“But—” Her mind cast about wildly for another solution. Marry him? Her legs shook so much they could barely hold her upright. “There must be some place I can go.”
A glimmer of sympathy lit his gaze. “Where?”
Giselle opened her mouth but she couldn’t find any words. He was right. She was alone, her only family the nuns who had shunned her. Even if Sister Gertrude wanted to aid Giselle, the nun had no way to do so. Her thoughts turned to marriage and she dropped her gaze, feeling sick to her stomach. She could not help but pick up from the servants that Piers devoted a considerable amount of his time lying with different women, all of whom seemed eager to oblige him. He would expect her to do the same. She cringed inside. She could not do it.
“There is no other option. We shall marry.”
It struck her, really struck her that he spoke true. The prospect of it made fear spiral through her veins. Someplace deep inside her she grabbed onto a scrap of courage, and slowly lifted her head. “I never thought to marry.”
“Aye, I realize that.”
Giselle sucked in a breath. “I am not prepared to be a wife in all ways.”
His gaze turned wary. “What are you saying?”
She held on to the scrap of courage with everything she had. “I shall … submit to you once to seal the marriage. Once only.”
An odd light came into his gaze that sent a shiver down Giselle’s spine. “You would deny your husband?”
Giselle gripped her skirt. “You must understand—”
He barked out a laugh. “That you expect me to marry you, see to your welfare, but bar me from your bed?”
Put that way, it did sound terribly selfish, Giselle thought. But then her mind turned to the alternative and she inwardly cringed.
“Then I shall take my pleasure elsewhere.”
Continue his wenching in front of her while she resided at Falcon’s Craig as his wife? Dear Lord, what kind of man was she to be bound to? “You—”
He stepped closer and raked his gaze down her body. “I am a man, with a man’s needs. If you refuse to oblige me, I shall find others who will.” He gave her a slight smile. “I can assure you it will not be a problem.”
“You would make a fool of me that way? No honorable man would do such a thing.”
“Oh? And would an honorable woman refuse her husband? Does your God not command you to be fruitful and multiply?”
Giselle gulped. She knew he had a point, but she just couldn’t envision lying with him at all, let alone on a regular basis. Her rules spilled through her mind. Your body must be a pure reflection of God’s grace. The only purpose of fornication is to bear children. You must resist temptation, for it is the work of the devil. “I cannot change who I am,” she finally said, lifting her chin.
“Your duty as my wife shall be to obey me in all things.”
Obey. How she’d grown to hate that word. Obey your superiors. Obey when the Abbess locks you in a bare cell for days with only a few pieces of stale bread and water. Obey by never speaking what is on your mind, never showing how you feel. “I am not a dog you can command to heel,” she snapped.
His gaze darkened and his lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “My wife shall be under my command. If I wish, I can send you to another estate and do whatever I please. The truth is, my lady,” he said taking her arm in a solid grip, “you have no rights other than those I deign to grant you.”
“You cannot expect me to abandon the teachings of a lifetime simply because you decree it,” she cried.
His hold on her arm tightened, and he bent close enough she saw his brown eyes darken with shadows that deepened her fears. “I expect you to do as I bid,” he said coldly. “ ’Tis the way of the world.”
Giselle tried to pull free, but his strength far exceeded hers. “A world I want no part of.”
His smile deepened into a strange and chilling expression rife with the certainty of his power and position. “Unfortunately for both of us, it appears you have no choice.” He stroked a finger over her cheek. It was not a caress, but a mark of possession. “Are you not curious about what can happen between a man and a woman, Giselle?”
“Leave me be,” she whispered.
“It seems I cannot. We will marry.”
No. The thought rang through her mind, and filled her with anger. “I release you from the betrothal.”
“ ‘Twas your mother’s wish we marry. Do you grant no importance to that?”
“My mother did not know what I …” Giselle gulped, “have learned of you.”
His gaze stabbed into her in accusation. “Oh? And what is that?” His hold on her arm tightened. “What is it you believe you have learned?”
Giselle’s cheeks flamed. “That you devote your life to … pleasures of the flesh, and little else,” she whispered.
“I see. The little nun does not deem me worthy of her.” His voice was so filled with mockery Giselle’s temper snapped.
“Nay.” She managed to draw in a breath, at the same time appalled by her speech and relieved to be finally speaking the truth. “As I said, I release you.”
He dropped her arm, his expression shuttered. “And what shall you do, little nun?” he asked smoothly. “Subsist on prayer?”
“I … I shall find my own way.” Giselle whirled and stomped away. Such rage consumed her that she felt as if she would erupt with it. Thank the Lord Piers had shown the kind of man he really was before she found herself bound and enslaved to him. She could only imagine what their marriage would be like. He would no doubt find it perfectly within his rights to tie her to his bed to await his pleasure. God will show me the way, she told herself. With faith, all things are possible, even as impossible as they may seem.
Piers stared at Giselle’s retreating form and cursed inside. Damn you, Eikki.
The presence chuckled. You merely told her the truth. We cannot accept such defiance.
There is no “we”, Piers told him.
There is now.
Piers imagined a small room and slammed the door shut. Eikki’s voice ceased for the moment, thank God. Piers had not intended to sound so harsh, but with his shock and disappointment at Giselle’s condition to their marriage, Eikki had crept in.
She had deemed him unworthy, idle but for indulging himself in activities she clearly disapproved of. He grimaced. No, he was not responsible for Falcon’s Craig, though he had been for a long time during Cain’s absence. And he was not a powerful earl, but only the younger brother of one.
Damn her, he thought, glaring at her back. Without giving herself a chance to know anything about him, she had judged him and found him wanting.
Still … she had released him.
He forced a grin onto his face and took a deep breath. I am free, he told himself, as relief spilled through him. I am free.
Giselle gathered up her few possessions and stuffed them into a leather bag, so angry she could barely see. She looked around to make sure she’d packed everything, and hoisted the bag. The sooner she was on her way the better, she thought. She could not bear to stay another moment. The door swung open and Nona entered. She halted at the sight of Giselle’s bag. “My lady?”
“I am leaving. Thank you for your assistance to me.”
Nona’s face paled. “But, why? To where do you go?”
Giselle walked forward, carrying the bag. “I am not sure.” Some place where I shall be valued for myself, she thought. “I cannot marry Piers Veuxfort,” she told Nona, her mouth turning down. “ ’Tis clear to me now.”
“But, but, my lady, you cannot just go off by yourself.”
“Aye, I can.” Resolve filled Giselle’s veins, almost enough to overcome the terror she felt at what she was about to do. She glanced d
own at Guinevere, who stared up at her as if she understood. Tears stung her eyes when she realized how much she would miss her furry friend.
“Please, Lady Giselle, let me find Lady Amice.”
“There is no need to trouble her.” Giselle bent down and hugged Guinevere, forcing her tears back. “Stay,” she said softly.
“My lady, please,” Nona said. “It cannot be as bad as that.”
“Oh, but it is,” Giselle said. “Farewell, Nona.” The maid opened her mouth to protest, but Giselle ignored her. She made her way down the steps and entered the bailey, glancing around her, hoping she did not come across the earl or his lady. Determinedly, she put one foot in front of the other, refusing to think of anything but the cold expression in Piers’s eyes when he announced he intended to treat her no differently than a well-kept hound.
He was mad, or playing a cruel game with her. Either way, she knew there was no one to turn to in this place.
She was nearly to the gatehouse when she spotted Olive from the corner of her eye. The child ran over to her, with her awkward hopping gait.
“Lady Giselle!” she called out.
Giselle paused and waited for her.
Olive pointed to the bag. “What is that?”
“All I own.”
The child’s eyes widened. “You are … leaving?”
“Aye.” Giselle managed to give the child a smile. “I have enjoyed meeting you.”
“No, my lady. You cannot leave Falcon’s Craig.” Olive’s face darkened. “You have no idea of what may await you outside.”
“You are right, Olive. And I have decided it’s time for me to learn about those things.” She reached out and squeezed the child’s thin shoulder. “Farewell.”
Before Olive could protest further, Giselle gathered her courage and walked out of the gatehouse.
Chapter
V
Cain sat in his chamber, Amice propped between his outstretched legs on a window seat, filled with a sense of peaceful joy he’d never thought to find. As he kneaded Amice’s shoulders, she let out soft sighs of contentment.