by Amy Tolnitch
Not one hint of expression crossed the man’s face. “I know naught of that, my lord. My master simply charged me with a task.”
There was something furtive about the man, but Cain couldn’t quite determine what it was. Perhaps it was as he claimed and he was simply a messenger. “You are welcome to Falcon’s Craig. If you are hungry, you shall no doubt find something in the kitchen.”
Joseph bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Alfred shall show you the direction.”
After the men left, Amice ran her hand over the cross. “Giselle will be pleased with this.”
“Aye.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I am surprised the Bishop would send such a gift.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps he feels some measure of remorse over his actions toward Giselle.”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, it is a fine gift.”
“Giselle will probably hang it on the wall over their bed, so she can continue to pray while Piers attempts to persuade her to consummate the marriage,” Cain said with a wry chuckle.
Amice giggled. “Perhaps I should talk to her again.”
Cain rested his chin on her head. “I think we should let the two of them try to work things out. Piers surely has never had any trouble luring women into his bed before.”
“But none of them wanted to be a nun.”
“Nay.” Cain sighed. “I wish there was something I could do to aid Piers in this.”
Amice patted his arm. “ ’Tis early in the marriage. The girl has had her life turned upside down.”
“Aye.” He sighed again. “And continues to spend nearly all of her time in the chapel.” “Why not have Father Michael talk to her? He is a reasonable man.”
“Good idea.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I believe I shall do that.”
Amice yawned. “And I am going to take a nap.”
With a last kiss, Cain went off to find Father Michael.
Comforted by her morning prayers, Giselle emerged into the morning sunshine loath to head back indoors. She heard the neigh of a horse and followed the sound to the stable area. After her ride back to Falcon’s Craig, she realized she needed to find a way to improve her riding skills.
As she drew closer, she heard men shouting and high-pitched neighs. Curious, she walked further and entered the stable. The interior was dim, the air scented with hay and horse. A big, gray beast stuck its head out, its liquid gaze studying Giselle. She smoothed a hand over its velvety neck.
“Be ye looking for Piers, my lady?” a voice asked.
She started and looked around. A man came out of one of the stalls, his pitchfork full of straw and dung. He gestured over his shoulder. “He be out back.”
“Oh. Uh, thank you.” She bit her lip, uncertain what to do. Most assuredly, she was not seeking Piers, but she imagined he would be the person to talk to about which horse would be best to practice her riding on. The man shot her a gap-toothed grin. “Miss your new husband already, do ye?”
Giselle flushed, which only made the man chuckle.
“I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see his comely new wife, my lady.”
Now, that she very much doubted, but she didn’t correct the man. “Ah, well, then pray excuse me.” She continued through the stable, nodding to other men who labored on cleaning stalls. When she left the stable, for a moment she shielded her eyes from the bright sun.
“She’s ready,” a male voice announced.
As her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she saw the speaker was Madoch. He stood next to Piers and another man. Within the paddock in front of them, a beautiful bay-colored horse trotted back and forth, her tail high in the air.
“Aye,” she heard Piers say. “I would say Skye is more than ready.”
What are they talking about? Giselle wondered as she walked closer. Ready for what? She paused behind the men, feeling as if she were intruding. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a groom lead a big black horse toward the paddock. His coat shone in the sun as he pranced along, his big feet striking the earth with soft thuds.
The closer the black horse got to the paddock, the more agitated the horse already inside became, running in circles and tossing its head. “Easy, Skye,” Piers called.
The groom led the black horse inside the paddock and set him free.
And Giselle gasped, her gaze caught on an enormous protrusion from the black horse’s lower body. Oh, my God, she thought, her face heating. She looked away, and found herself gazing into the mocking eyes of her husband.
“Lady Giselle,” he said.
While every inch of her wanted to flee, somehow she managed to stifle the urge and calmly walk up next to Piers.
“What brings you to the stable?” he asked, his gaze once more focused on the two horses circling each other in the paddock.
“I … I thought I should try to improve my riding.”
He glanced at her. “I will be happy to teach you.”
“Oh. You need not bother yourself. If you will show me which horse would be suitable for me, I can practice on my own.”
“ ‘Twould be safer to take lessons. I will take care of it.”
Well, there was no way to politely refuse, she thought. “Thank you.”
“She is close,” Madoch said.
“Close to what?” Giselle asked, eyeing the two horses.
Piers slid her an intense look. “Breeding.”
Heat washed up over her face again, and Giselle found her gaze fastened on the black horse, gradually realizing just what hung from his body. “Dear Lord, the poor mare,” she murmured.
Piers looked at the mare and then back at Giselle. His eyes gleamed and he barked a laugh. “Poor mare? Look at her, Giselle.”
Giselle looked, then immediately wished she had not. The mare had turned so her rump faced the stallion. Her tail was lifted to the side, and, oh my God, Giselle thought. The mare stood planted on her back feet, and a slit in her body under her tail opened and closed, with a whitish liquid dripping from it.
“Go on, Tyjs,” one of the men called out. “Enjoy yourself.”
“She is not running away, Giselle,” Piers said softly. “She wants this too. Skye knows this is what she is made to do.”
Giselle looked up to find Piers far too close, his gaze passing over her in a way that brought a tingling heat to her skin. Her mouth went dry, and she felt lightheaded. “She is an animal.”
Piers slowly smiled at her and her legs turned to pottage. “So are we.”
“There he goes,” Madoch said.
As much as Giselle desperately wished she were anywhere but standing next to Piers while two horses mated, she couldn’t help but watch. The stallion let out a loud neigh and reared up, covering the mare and plunging that huge appendage into her body.
“Look at her eyes, Giselle. She is enjoying having him take her,” Piers said, his tone challenging.
God in heaven, she could not bear it another moment. Giselle turned and ran back through the stable, her heart pounding, her body awash with embarrassment and something else she refused to name.
“She lasted longer than I thought she would,” Madoch commented.
“Aye,” Piers agreed as he watched Tyjs finish covering Skye. Damned if the big black beast didn’t look like he was smiling, Piers thought.
“Maybe this will give the girl an idea or two.”
Piers grunted, but couldn’t dispel the images that leapt into his mind. By St. George’s sword, he could clearly envision it in his mind—Giselle on her knees, her soft, round bottom in the air, her legs spread, poised for him just as Skye had poised for Tyjs. His rod hardened at the picture his mind drew, and he silently cursed his ill fortune. The only thing that would bring his wife to her knees was prayer.
“Piers?”
“Just thinking.”
Madoch grinned. “I can guess your thoughts, I imagine.”
“Would that women were as easily managed as horses.”
“Aye. ’Tis but one of the reasons I remain unwed.”
“But not idle,” Rauf commented. “You seemed quite … interested in the new girl from the village last eve.”
“Ah.” Madoch braced his hands on the fence. “The fair Caterin. There are few events like a wedding to bring a woman to thoughts of having a man.”
“Caterin?” Piers asked.
“She is newly arrived at Falcon’s Craig,” Madoch told him. “I am surprised you did not notice her. A comely wench, with tits the size of ripe melons,” he said, gesturing with his hands.
Piers groaned. “I have been busy.”
Madoch slapped him on the back. “You are newly wed, man. You should be busy with your new bride.”
“Who is no doubt fleeing into the chapel as we speak,” Piers muttered.
Madoch chuckled. “Perhaps you should join her.”
Piers frowned. “See to Skye and Tyjs.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find my bride,” Piers snarled and stalked off.
Giselle knew she was being cowardly, but she was so overcome by what she’d just witnessed that her feet instinctively sped toward the chapel. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was empty.
The very last thing she needed at the moment was another talk with Father Michael about what he thought she should be doing with her husband in the marriage bed.
She shuddered as she dropped to her knees in front of the altar. The image of Skye, positioned and obviously ready for Tyjs was absolutely the most raw and elemental thing she’d ever seen. And the most arousing, she thought in shame.
She clasped her hands and began to pray. “Dear Lord, forgive me for I have sinned. Again. I pray to you to guide me back into Your grace. Help me to be strong against temptation. Help me to rise above the stain of my origins to live in the light of Your path.”
The sunlight streaming in through the stained glass window overhead cast ribbons of blue, red, and gold light onto the stone floor where she knelt. She gazed up at the depiction of Mary with the baby Jesus, and desperately sought the calm peace she always found in prayer.
Today, it eluded her.
A shuffle of feet against the stone reached her ears, and she peered around a massive wooden bench, then immediately shrank back again. Piers stood in the entrance to the chapel, a grim expression on his face, his arms crossed.
“Giselle?” he called.
She tucked her body under the bench and didn’t answer. Dear Lord, she was a coward, but she couldn’t possibly face him after watching the horses mate. Calm, she told herself. Serene. Her heart pounded and her hands were damp.
His footsteps approached her hiding place. “Giselle, are you in here?”
She held her breath.
Piers gazed around the chapel, but saw no one. Where had the girl gone? By Saint George’s sword, he felt in an ill temper. Watching Skye and Tyjs mate with Giselle standing next to him had been a severe blow to his self-control.
So, give it up, Eikki’s voice cajoled. Find the girl and claim your rights.
“Cease,” he muttered.
Eikki laughed. You want to. I can feel it.
“Aye, I do indeed, but I cannot stomach bedding a woman who all the while prays to God for deliverance.” He was going mad, Piers decided. Having a conversation with an invisible presence while bathed in the holy light of the chapel.
Just imagine all the soft skin, yours for the taking. Imagine how she will look on her knees for you, those full breasts in your hands. Imagine spreading her legs, stroking your hand over the quivering folds of her body, preparing her to take you inside.
The hell of it was Piers could vividly imagine just that. He threw back his head and groaned. “Get out of my head, you vile creature.” He turned and tromped back toward the chapel door. Damn, he thought. It was probably a good thing Giselle hadn’t been in the chapel. Between the horses and Eikki’s seductive urgings, he was holding onto what remained of his honor by a tight thread.
He left the chapel, slamming the door shut.
Giselle lay trembling under the bench. Dear Lord in heaven, what was all that about? Who had Piers been speaking to?
She drew a shaky breath, and stared at nothing. One thing was abundantly clear—whoever he was talking to the subject had been her. Slowly, she slid from her hiding place and stood, looking around the chapel.
It was as empty as when she’d arrived.
She sank down onto the bench and put her face in her hands. Had she married a madman who heard voices in his head? Dear God, how she longed for Sister Gertrude’s counsel. If only she could return to Kerwick.
But no, she realized with a lurch in her chest. The fact was that she would probably never see Sister Gertrude again.
“Lady Giselle?” a voice asked. “Is there something amiss?”
She lifted her head and stared into Father Michael’s kindly gaze. “Hello, Father. Nay, it is just that this is a … troubled time for me.”
“You should speak to your husband of your concerns, my child. Seek his advice and guidance.”
From which man? she wondered, her nerves on the edge of unraveling.
“Come, my lady. ’Tis time for dinner.”
Giselle’s stomach rumbled at his words, and she rose. She could not stay hidden away in the chapel all day. No, she would not. She straightened her shoulders. Though she had not wanted any of this, the truth was that Falcon’s Craig was now her home. It was time she faced it.
Father Michael took her arm and patted it. “All will be well in time, child.”
“Are you a seer also, Father?” she asked with a forced smile. Would that her affliction provided her with a vision of her future, she thought, shying away from the idea that perhaps it already had.
He returned her smile as they walked out of the chapel. “No seer, my lady, but a priest who has gained a certain measure of wisdom over my years here at Falcon’s Craig.”
As much as she wished Father Michael was right, she had her doubts, particularly after hearing Piers argue with an unseen person. One with whom he was obviously discussing bedding her, of all things. However, with the ease of long practice, she hid her emotions behind a mild look and strolled with Father Michael toward the great hall.
When they entered, Giselle was glad for his steady presence beside her. From the doorway, she sensed Piers’s gaze on her, and it was all she could do not to walk right back out again. No, Giselle, she told herself. You must begin to face your new circumstances. You must face the fact that, for good or ill, you are now wed.
She walked to the dais, taking a seat next to Piers, who sat next to Gifford and Saraid. Lady Amice and the earl were absent.
He studied her for a long moment. Somehow, Giselle made herself stare back at him.
“Where have you been?” he asked as a servant filled their cups.
“I … nowhere in particular,” she lied. “Simply exploring the castle.”
“Where?”
Giselle bit her lip and reached for her cup. It is a sin to lie, she thought, but then pushed the admonition away. Forgive me, Lord, but I cannot tell him the truth. “As I said, nowhere in particular. Why?”
“I thought to find you back in the chapel. You reacted most strongly to the sight of Skye and Tyjs.”
Was that a glimmer of humor she saw in his gaze? She sipped some wine. “I have never seen the like, my lord. You must forgive my reaction.”
“Did they teach you to speak like that in the nunnery?”
“My lord?”
“To speak without revealing anything about yourself?”
Giselle opened her mouth to protest his description, but found herself unable to do so. “Aye. I suppose they did.”
He winked at her. “I would like you to speak plainly.”
“Oh.”
“That shocked you this morning.”
Giselle tried to swallow, but failed. “Yes, of course.”
“ ’Tis a part of life
here at Falcon’s Craig. And a big part of what I do.” His eyes twinkled. “When I am not about ravishing the womenfolk, that is.”
Giselle felt her face flame. By the heavens, the man had beautiful eyes, wide and golden brown. “You … you breed horses?”
“Aye. You shall be surprised, no doubt, to learn I am quite good at it. Nobles from all across England purchase my foals.” His faintly mocking tone reminded Giselle that she had accused him of doing nothing but chasing women.
“I see there is more to you than first appears.”
“I am thinking I can say the same of you, my lady.”
Giselle reached for a piece of cheese to give herself something to do other than to continue gazing into his warm eyes. She jolted when he placed his hand atop hers.
“Perhaps we shall discover a common ground in time,” he murmured.
Giselle started to respond, but abruptly her vision blurred. No, she thought. Not now. But there was no controlling her “gift.”
The vision flashed across her mind, leaving only traces of images, feelings in its wake. Piers. A horse. A cry of alarm. A shout of pain.
“Giselle?”
She blinked at him.
“Are you well? You looked very pale a moment ago.”
“She needs to eat,” Gifford piped in from down the table. He turned and motioned to a servant. “Give her some of that fine roasted beef.”
As the servant hastened to do Gifford’s bidding, Giselle felt the curious eyes of the others at the dais upon her. “I am fine. Gifford is right—I am hungry.”
“You need to eat more. You are far too thin,” Piers said.
Thin? Giselle thought with an inner laugh. At Kerwick, the Abbess was forever chastising her for eating too much. Gluttony is a sin was a phrase she had heard many, many times.
Before she realized what was happening, Piers held a chunk of beef in his fingers.
“Girl don’t eat meat,” Gifford said. “Should, though.”
He wanted her to take the meat from his fingers? Giselle wondered. A mixture of panic and something she very much suspected was excitement spilled through her veins. “The girl does now,” she said, and plucked the meat from Piers’s fingers with her mouth.