The Devil's Bargain

by Allegra Gray

  It was undoubtedly lucky for the shepherd’s health that Nicolas was still reeling with relief at having found Celia sound, so that he barely heard the rest of the man’s blithering. When the words finally sunk in, he found himself nearly shaking with wrath.

  “I suggest,” he said in an ominously calm tone, “that you do not say one more word to besmirch that lady’s character. No, better yet. Do not say one more word at all. It will go better for you if you leave my sight immediately and do not venture forth again until you are quite certain I am gone.”

  The man blinked several times in apparent confusion over Nicolas’s fury, but to his credit, he said nothing more. He slowly backed away and through the open door, the shearing knife forgotten in his hand.

  The room fell oddly silent and Nicolas stared at the woman who had filled his dreams for so many weeks. She looked thinner, and worn about the edges from hard work. Her luxurious dark hair was covered by a veil and wimple of simple brown wool. She wore the same homespun kirtle she’d had when she first arrived at Chillon. A stark contrast to the fine garments he’d grown accustomed to seeing her in—and stripping her out of.

  Despite her downtrodden appearance, Nicolas’s chest constricted, his body tightened with longing. There would never be another for him. He knew that now. Education and breeding mattered not. No one else had the compassion and courage to love him, to stand by his side.

  She’d given him her love, and when that wasn’t enough, she’d risked her very life for him—and accomplished what a whole army of men had not. Celia Lyndon might have been born a poor merchant’s daughter, but she was in every way worthy of nobility.

  “Come here.”

  It was a gentle command. Unfortunately, Celia did not come rushing to him. She did not, in fact, even turn around—leaving him to judge her disposition by what he could see of her profile.

  She looked mad as hell.

  “I’m not yours to order around,” Celia said when the shepherd was out of earshot.

  She still had her back turned, but at least she was talking to him.

  “I know that, my love,” he tenderly replied. “Please, come here. And then come home.”

  “‘Tis not my home, ‘tis yours. This is my home now. Has it occurred to you that I may not wish to go back?”

  She’d said “may not,” not “do not,” he told himself. “Celia, my sweet. I have wanted you from the very moment I saw you. With every day that passes, my desire grows deeper, brighter. It does not fade. Come home, and I will give you whatever it is you wish for. Would you really rather,” he glanced around the shepherd’s hut with disdain, “stay here?”

  She whirled around and glared at him. “You think only of yourself! I know this is but a poor shepherd’s hut. I know I will never have fine things, and in bad years I will go hungry. I know that. But I am also safe. I need not fear for my life—nor rob anyone else of theirs.”

  He bent his head, feeling the truth of her words hammering him like physical blows. “But does he love you?” he asked hoarsely.

  It was her turn to look away. “No. And perhaps it is better that way. What good did falling in love with you ever do me?”

  She’d been in love with him. He hadn’t believed her when she’d said it so many weeks ago, but if she could still say it now, it must have been true. She had killed a man—for him. If that wasn’t the utmost loyalty, what better sign could he hope for?

  She hadn’t said she was still in love with him, but if she would just give him a chance, he could rekindle those fires. He knew he could.

  Unfortunately, Celia turned her back on him again, making a poor pretense of going back to her work. “I did not offer him my love, and he did not offer me his. But he has offered me marriage, which is more than a woman of my circumstances might expect. My father has already concluded the negotiations. I am a good daughter. I do not wish to dishonor him again.”

  He was struck dumb by that retort. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

  Celia turned and stared at him with something like satisfaction, her chest still heaving. He could feel the waves of frustration rolling off her.

  “You think you can just barge into my life again, and I will leap up to come with you? Well, you’re wrong. You used me, Nicolas. The baubles and garments you gave me were all very fine, but the fact is, they were as nothing to you. They did not matter, just as I did not matter. Else you would have seen to my safety while you were away.”

  “I know. I owe you my deepest apology. And if you’ll let me, I will make it up to you every day the God sees fit to continue granting me life.”

  She met his eye. Her anger had dimmed, and her eyes shone. “You once accused me of having too much compassion. Were it not for that compassion, Helena would never have been set free—which would mean there was no one to save me when your man Hans decided to teach me a lesson. He cut me, Nicolas.” Her voice shook, but she kept going. “That same compassion let me recognize that even if you could never love me, you are still a good ruler. The trickery exhibited by the Genevans would bring harm to more than just you. Compassion made me come to your rescue…but it does not make me foolish enough to follow you now.”

  “You’re right. About everything—except the point where I can never love you. Because I do.”

  “You really are a fool,” she railed at him. “Ever since I got to Chillon things have been just…utter madness. I love you, but it’s not enough. It’s too late. All my life I dreamed of adventure. Well, our fine adventure at Chillon has near ruined my father’s trade, and if we ever show our faces near Geneva again we will be hanged without trial.

  “Our only hope is for me to stay here and marry Bernard. I don’t want to live a life anymore where I’m always at the mercy of my circumstances, or of someone more powerful than me.”

  He was about to protest, but she didn’t give him the chance.

  “Oh, I know there will always be people with far more power than I, but I don’t have to place myself at their doorstep. I can’t keep sacrificing myself, or my family, to please you.”

  “All right.”

  She stopped suddenly, as though it was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Pardon?”

  “All right. You win. You’re right, it isn’t fair of me to expect you to give up everything. You did, and I took it for granted without repaying you. But, Celia, whatever it is you want, can I not give it to you? Pray tell me you will not settle for a marriage to a man who cares nothing for you—nor does he respect you. He only weds to gain a servant. Truly, Celia, is this what you want?”

  It was the wrong question to ask. “I’m not helpless, curse you. I know this isn’t the life I dreamed of, obviously. But if I please Bernard, and his flock does well, his wealth will be enough that my father’s trade may be reborn. And then,” she declared, her voice breaking slightly, “I will bring wealth and honor to my family. And perhaps my father will respect me again. But, Nicolas, that plan doesn’t have you in it. Loving you costs too much.”

  “Sweeting, I want to see you, and your father, as successful merchants. I do, honestly. But if you do this your way, what will you have then?”

  “I will have respect. And my father and brothers need never go hungry again.”

  “You will be lonely, for you will be married to a man who knows the faces of his sheep better than your own,” he countered.

  She looked at him steadily. “Aye. Life is not perfect. We all must make our choices.”

  “You do not have to make that choice, my love. Already you and your father produce the best cheese in the region.”

  “Oui, but we’ve no means to sell them anymore.”

  “I see. Would not the backing of the Count of Savoy allow you to do so?”

  She looked away. “You’re not playing fair.”

  “I don’t want to play anymore. I only want to make you happy. If becoming a merchant makes you happy, then that is what I want. Your goods are the best. But more, you are clever and honest a
nd caring. You have earned my love and respect. Now let me give you something in return. Do not allow pride to turn you from me.”

  She bit her lip, and Nicolas sensed she was about to cave. Her color was up and desire shot through him, but instead of touching, he gave her the words he’d so long withheld.

  “I can give you all those dreams. Your safety, first. If Chillon holds evil memories for you, or you fear it too close to Geneva, we will reside at Chambéry, or Turin…or any of my homes to which you take a liking. Your father may not safely trade at Geneva again, it is true, but he will have no need. We will open new markets for him. We can connect him with those who trade largely abroad, and who can take the burden of travel from his shoulders, so that he may spend his twilight years doing what he does best—tending his vineyard and making wine.”

  “And what will I do, if all of this is done for him?”

  “You will travel as you have always dreamed. You will explore these foreign markets, and decide where your family’s goods will be most valued. I would not deprive you of the pride and joy you take in this.

  “But there will be more,” he continued. “When we are married, you will be a countess, and stand by my side at many an event. And I shall be the only lord in the room with a wife so brave and true that she once risked her own neck for mine. And, dearest, when you come home at night, ‘twill not be to the lonely cot of a poor shepherd who does not love you, but to a castle where you are welcomed, loved, and admired, and to a bedchamber where you need never be lonely,” he told her, urgent now. “You do not have to give up on your other dreams to be with me. I will help you make them come true. Please, Celia.”

  She said nothing, but sat down heavily on a rough wooden stool as though too exhausted to argue any more.

  He knelt before her, not caring if the shepherd, or anyone, for that matter, returned to see a great lord kneeling before a commoner. He continued his plea, the words spilling forth easily now that he had finally given voice to them.

  “I am a fool. My head chambermaid knew the moment she laid eyes on you that you were perfect for me, but it took me until two days ago to really understand it. I want you, Celia. Not just your body and a few stolen moments’ pleasure, but all of you. I was just too hardheaded to see what we had. I thought because one attempt at marriage had made me miserable, any marriage would make me miserable. But it won’t. Not if it’s you. You make me a better man, a better ruler…better everything.”

  Celia worried her lip between her teeth. “There is the matter of my betrothal. I do not take my promises lightly.”

  “Nay. You do not. That is why I would be a fortunate man, indeed, if you promised yourself to me.” Nicolas waived a hand. “I would see Bernard well compensated for his inconvenience. You’ve already said he marries not for love, so he will lose nothing.”

  “But men like you do not marry women like me.”

  “Men like me marry whomever we damn well please. Listen to me, Celia. Every day we were together I felt I had something to look forward to, and I want that again. I love the way you challenge me when you think something I’ve done isn’t right or good. I love your quick mind and how you see things others don’t. I love your compassion for those suffering misfortune, and most especially I love the deep sparkle in your eyes and the way just thinking of you makes me smile.”

  Nicolas couldn’t wait any longer to touch her. She was looking at him now, lips slightly parted, but she hadn’t moved any closer. He closed the distance between them swiftly, muttering, “If your mind doesn’t remember your love for me, perhaps your body will.” His lips crushed hers, offering and seeking all at the same time. He clasped her to him, discarding her simple veil as he plunged his fingers into the thick hair at the nape of her neck.

  Her head fell back and he sensed his victory. He gentled the kiss, taking little sips at her bottom lip, and when her lips parted to release a shuddering breath, he dipped his tongue in gently. He took her mouth with long, lingering strokes designed to kindle flames of longing.

  She let out a little moan of desire, and Nicolas triumphed inwardly as her body pressed to his and she matched his kiss.

  His body was on fire, and he knew that if he carried her to the bed now, she would voice no objection. He wanted to—badly. But that would not prove he was sincere in the words he’d just spoken. This woman, his love, was to be his wife, and from now on, he would treat her as such.

  When they made love again, it would be within the sanctity of marriage, in a bed befitting a countess, and he would linger over every inch of her. He would not take her in the dirty room of a country sheepherder, even if the wait killed him.

  Reluctantly, Nicolas broke the kiss. When Celia looked at him, confusion mixing with the desire that darkened her eyes, he sighed and went back to plying her with words. He held her close, tucking her head under his chin as he spoke.

  “You have so much caring to give, Celia. Give it to me. Be my wife. I don’t care a whit if you weren’t born into nobility. I respect you, and I know the rest of my family will gladly welcome you and yours. And when they do, everyone else under Savoy rule will do the same. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side, knowing you will help and share in everything I do, everything I am. And I will do the same for you, and for the trade you are determined to grow. I love you, and I want to make you happy. And you love me too—or did. I know you will again. I can earn that love. Marry me, Celia.”

  Celia longed to give in, but one niggling doubt was still holding her back. “How?”

  He looked surprised. “How? Well, any one of the castle priests could perform the ceremony, and I imagine they’ll wave the formalities of waiting in our case. Aside from that, it can be done any way you wish.”“Nay,” she shook her head and swallowed. “How do you plan to earn it—me—in the future?”

  He looked at a loss.

  “What I mean is, I won’t become your wife only to gain your support in becoming a merchant. And I don’t need any more clothes, or jewels, or—”

  “Oh, my love.” He held her more tightly. “That isn’t what I meant at all. Even when I gave you things before, it was always because I wanted you to have them, never as payment or to earn your favor. I love you, and I will prove it to you any way I can. You will have jewels as my wife—many more, actually, than before—but you will also have my love and respect. You always have. I just didn’t know enough to tell you. We’ll share long talks by the fire, planning the future of our lands, or just playing silly games, or dreaming up names for our children—” His voice broke.

  A pang of longing shot through her at the mention of children. She absorbed the love, the need in his tone, and the last shreds of her resistance crumbled and melted away.

  “Yes,” she whispered against his chest as hot tears of relief and joy soaked through the fine silk of his tunic. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she mumbled as her lips sought his again.

  It did not take long to pack her things, few as they were. Nor did it take long for Nicolas to talk Bernard into breaking their betrothal. She could only imagine that the compensation the count offered would ensure Bernard’s hand in marriage would now be the most sought-after in the village. Perhaps even the next two or three villages over. Well, they could have him.

  She turned her back on the hut, crossing the small yard. The morning was gray and misty, obscuring the usual view of the mountains. Two horses, the count’s fine mount and a lady’s palfrey, stood ready on the dirt path leading through the hills and back to the main road. Nicolas waited beside them, looking every inch the proud nobleman despite his traveling clothes and half-grown beard.

  Her step faltered as worry crept back to niggle the edges of her mind. Was she once more overstepping her place?

  She loved him. There was no question of that.

  But could she ever fit into his world?

  Celia hesitated to mount.

  “What is wrong, darling? Have you forgotten something?”

  “Aye, my lord. I
wonder if I have forgotten myself.”

  “What do you mean?” He looked utterly confused.

  “You may accept me, my lord, but the others will not.”

  “They will have no choice.”

  “Perhaps not, but they will speak of it behind your back. Those who are spiteful will not like to see someone like me go from so low to so high, and their words will be like poison in the ears of others. They will breed jealousy and unrest in your castle.”

  “I doubt, my lady, that it will be as you fear,” he said gently, leaving the horses to come stand beside her. “Those who caused you trouble in the past have already been made an example of, and I do not think there are many who wish to follow in their footsteps. If anything, I believe there are many in the castle, myself included, who would thank you for helping to rid Chillon of a tyrant.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Hans is gone. You pointed out to me that he was overzealous in his treatment of the prisoners, but I dismissed that as a necessary evil, part of keeping good order. I did not fully realize his love for punishment extended to those who were innocent, or that he would go intentionally against my own wishes in order to revenge his petty, personal grievances. I am so sorry for the maltreatment you received at his hands, Celia, but had it not been for you, I may not have seen through him—leading even more people to suffer. You have, in a way, rescued more people than you may ever know, my brave maiden.” His tone was low and full of regret. He reached out, then stopped just short of touching her.

  “You dismissed him?” She drew an unsteady breath.

  “No. I threw him in his own dungeon. But the coward hung himself before I had the opportunity to mete out further punishment.”

  She could hear the frustration, the low hum of hatred, in his tone.

  “His appallingly shrewish wife has been exiled,” Nicolas continued. “She forsook her allegiance with him, swearing her loyalty to Chillon, but others came forward to tell me of her over-ambition and nasty deceits. I gave her the option of staying at the castle and working in the laundry, or of leaving. She chose to seek her fortunes elsewhere. I do not think there is anyone left at Chillon who will resist your return. Indeed, I cannot tell you how many of the servants wished me luck in finding you.”