by Tessa Murran
‘Aw, lass, come on now. Don’t do that.’
‘I can’t help it,’ she said, in a great, gasping sob.
‘God’s bones, I hate it when women weep. Look, I was teasing that’s all. I didn’t mean anything by it, and you are in no danger from me, I swear.’
Giselle tried to control herself, but all she could do was let out a whimpering, spluttering sound as all the fear and violence of the last two days crashed in on her. When she squeezed her eyes tight to stem the tears, two strong arms came around her and pulled her in. Her cheek was pressed to a naked chest, fuzzy with hair and warm as an oven. He smelled better than Giselle would have expected for a dirty Scot.
‘I won’t make you wash me any more. I’ll have a proper wash when I get the chance, but I’m clean enough for now. It’s not like I care if I sully Lord Edric’s clean linen with my dirty Scottish body.’
He let go of her and started looking about the room, flinging open a chest at the foot of the bed.
‘What does Edric the toad have in here? Ah, a little large,’ he sniffed it, ‘but it doesn’t have his stench on it.’ He held up a linen shirt, smiling, all bare chest and pale skin.
‘Can you not put it on?’ Giselle sniffed.
‘I will, but only if you have had your fill of leering at me.’
‘You are disgusting, and I can’t bear the sight of you.’
‘When did you last eat, lass? You are dead on your feet.’
‘I can’t remember, and don’t call me lass?’
‘Very well, Lady de Villers, I will go to the kitchen in search of food. Stay here and bolt the door behind me and don’t open it until I come back. And don’t think of locking me out, or trying to flee. That wouldn’t end well for you.’
With that, he sped off, and Giselle rushed to the door and scraped the bolt across then backed away and got before the fire. She let out a sigh of relief. With any luck, Lyall Buchanan would fall down a dark stairway and break his arrogant neck.
The fire drove some of the ache from Giselle’s tense muscles, but her heart was still thumping against her ribs. She was so tired she had almost stopped caring what happened to her.
Chapter Seven
Lyall made his way to the kitchen, though he was sure his men would have been through its provisions like a hoard of rats and picked it clean. It was just as well he was away from that lass, as she had aroused him when she had put her hands on him. Even now, his cock stood stiff in his breeches, and his heart quickened its pace as he thought of Giselle under him.
What a face she had on her. Those blue eyes, with their hint of green, were like the ocean where it washes over sand. They were so innocent and yet, so seductive. That fiery hair, and that mouth, all pink plumpness, begging to be devoured, to be bruised with kisses. Did she know her own beauty? Did she realise that she stirred a powerful need in him, one that hadn’t been sated in quite some time? Probably not, she would have led a soft, sheltered life and would most definitely be a virgin. She would know nothing of men’s appetites.
Thank God he had freed her from Banan’s clutches or she would have gotten a rough awakening.
Down in the kitchen, he encountered Owen, standing over a terrified castle cook who was pulling fresh bread out of the oven.
‘Found this one cowering in the grain stores, so I put him to work,’ he shouted in greeting.
Owen grabbed a hot loaf, tossing it from one hand to another, and threw it at Lyall. He let the bread scorch his skin, the pain keeping him alert a little longer.
The cook scowled. ‘Thieving heathens,’ he muttered under his breath.
Owen cuffed him around the side of the head. ‘Get back to work or you’ll get more of that.’ He tore off a piece of loaf and stuffed it in his mouth and turned to Lyall. ‘Stay a while and take some wine with me. I found it in Sir Hugh’s cellars, costly I’ll wager.’
‘I thank you, but I must get back to Giselle.’
‘Giselle is it? So you have your own work to do, eh?’ said Owen, with a smirk.
‘I’ll not lay a hand on her. It’s not like that.’
‘Why not, you won her fair and square? Why get yourself beaten black and blue for nothing?’
‘I did it so that Banan would not get his hands on her. You know what he’s like when his blood is up.’
‘Aye, and he’s a brutal bastard when it isn’t. You know he’ll just find another to take out his ire on.’
There was no arguing with that. Banan would be enraged, and once he recovered from his beating, and they took the next town or village, he would find a new victim. Lyall could not protect them all. In truth, he did not know why he felt the need to protect Giselle. Maybe it was because she had smiled at him from the castle walls. Some small human feeling had passed between them, in that moment, and thawed a little of the ice which had formed around his heart.
‘Banan will not forget the beating, and nor will his father. Lyall, are you listening?’ Owen’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. ‘There will be a reckoning, not today, but one day and the MacGregor’s have the ear of King Robert.’
‘So do us Buchanans.’
‘Aye, and my Lord Douglas respects you, and he owes you his life, and that, my friend, is no small thing. But mark me, Lyall, for I speak as your friend. No matter how high his regard for you, he will always act in King Robert’s interests above all else, no matter how devious and dishonourable those interests may be. He didn’t get to be the most feared man in the Highlands by doing the right thing. If you get in their way, or in the way of allies, like the MacGregors, they will grind you to dust, without hesitation.’
‘Remind me again why you are my friend if you bring such gloomy thoughts to my head?’
‘’T’would make no difference what I say, for you are a miserable bastard most of the time. If I am such bad company, be off with you, back to the bonnie Giselle, perhaps she can put a smile on your face.’
‘She doesn’t want to, Owen,’ said Lyall, smiling.
‘Oh, I’m sure your powers of seduction are up to it. I’ve yet to come across a lass who doesn’t lift her skirts at the sight of you. It’s galling to me, as I have much more charm and finer manners than you. Go now, and be miserable with your English prize.’
As Lyall walked away, Owen called after him, ‘If you can’t bring yourself to bed that red-head, at least you can dream of that fat ransom she’ll bring. Cold comfort I call it. You are a fool Lyall Buchanan, an honourable fool.’
Lyall took his time making his way back through the castle, with Owen’s words hanging heavily on him. He came across a servant girl, small and blond, who shrank against the wall on his approach. He took hold of her in a firm grip. ‘Don’t run away just yet. There is something I want from you first, and then you may go and hide.’
***
‘Open up. It’s me, Lyall Buchanan,’ he said, pounding impatiently on the door.
There was a long pause, and then Giselle let him in. Seems she trusted him at least.
He breezed into the room, all energy and purpose. ‘Here, I have fresh bread and cheese, and a fine pitcher of wine from Lord Hugh’s personal stores.’ He placed some rolled-up blankets on the bed.
‘What happened to Sir Hugh?’ asked Giselle.
‘He died defending the castle.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘Oh,’ was all she said.
‘If he’d had any wits in his head, he would have surrendered and saved many lives on both sides. Now eat, fill your belly.’
Giselle took some bread from him and scurried over and sat before the fire. She was almost on top of it, but still, he could see her shivering. Lyall sat down beside her, wincing as he did so. How his muscles ached, and what a joy it would be to get her to rub them until the pain eased. That would probably terrify her to death and scandalise her beyond all measure.
He laughed aloud to himself, and she regarded him fearfully.
‘There is a chair for you to sit upon,’ she said resentfully.
‘Aye, but I prefer being roasted by the flames down here, where there is something bonnie to look at.’
‘Don’t linger on my account, for I have nothing to say to you until you agree to release me.’
‘I cannot, I will not, and I don’t want to,’ he replied, enjoying the feel of the warm bread in his belly. ‘You are my prize, remember, and I want to enjoy my victory.’
‘Prisoner, not prize.’
‘Aye, that as well.’ He quaffed some wine, straight out of the jug and offered it to her.
‘I should not.’
‘After surviving a siege, I think you deserve it. Fear not, I’ll not get you in your cups and take advantage of you. Truth be told, I don’t think I could, as I am too tired and can barely move.’ He circled his neck back to ease the tightening in his shoulders and hide his lie.
‘Are all Scots as disgusting as you?’
‘Aye, we are. Drink.’
She looked him defiantly in the eye and snatched the jug from him and put it to her lips. But she flung it back too quickly, and it was full and ended up spilling out all over her.
‘Damn!’ she shouted, as the wine made its way down her chin and onward, to her neck, trickling down into the cleft of her breasts.
Lyall laughed heartily. ‘What a waste of good wine, woman,’ he said, leaning forward to wipe it away. When his fingers met her skin, she jumped back as if he had struck her.
Lyall held up his hands. ‘Forgive me. I could not help myself.’
How she glowered at him as the wine spread in a dark stain down the front of her dress.
‘You need to take that off,’ he said lightly.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do, it is soaked and filthy.’ He got up and went over to the chest again. He pulled out another of Edric’s shirts. ‘This is big, but it will preserve your modesty, and the dress will dry by morning. Have a quick wash in that bowl over there, and then get into bed, for I am tired, and I need sleep.’
‘Wash, with you looking on! Get into bed, next to you! How dare you suggest such a thing.’
‘I said wash, Giselle. I’ll not share my bed with a filthy woman who stinks of wine.’
‘I am sure that’s just the kind of woman men like you, prefer.’
‘Well, I can’t argue with that. Look, I will turn my back while you wash, if that salves your virtue, and, as to sharing my bed, that is so I can feel safe and be assured you won’t creep up on me and try to murder me in the night.’
‘And why would I do that, seeing as you have treated me with such chivalry?’ she muttered, under her breath, but he heard her.
‘I’ve treated you far better than you deserve, lass,’ he said, dragging her over to the bowl and filling it for her.
‘Now wash, and I will turn my back, I swear.’
Lyall went over to the fireplace and put the wine jug out of reach so that the lass could not hit him over the head with it. He heard the sloshing of water in the bowl, and Giselle’s little gasps as the cold water hit her. He imagined her, naked and pale in the candlelight, and he could not help himself.
He turned his head slowly.
She was leaning over the bowl, naked from the waist up, and sideways to his gaze. She was backlit by the candle beside her, giving her skin a warm glow and turning her curtain of hair to fire, where it hung down. He took in a sharp breath.
Lyall watched as she cupped water in her hands and poured it down her chest and over her face. The silhouette of her breast, perfect and uptilted, like a flower seeking the sun, took his breath away. Water ran down and beaded at the end of one pale, tight nipple, hanging there, like a little pearl. He could reach out his hand now, and fill it with that ripe softness, or, even better, slide his mouth on it, feel it pucker under his tongue, he always loved that. His cock hardened, and he cursed himself for looking.
By God, he was irritated. He had to protect Giselle and yet he was in no fit state to be around a defenceless lass who stirred him, by being innocent, untouched and an eyeful to look at.
Hell’s teeth, she was English to boot. The old hatred for Scotland’s tormentor rose, like bile, in his stomach. She stood for everything he hated - tyranny, arrogance, a spoilt life in the south, loyalty to a weak fool of a King who was indifferent to his own country’s suffering.
Giselle de Villers was under his power, and after what the Scots had suffered at the hands of the English, she was a perfect means of taking something back. But he was not Banan, and he did not make war on helpless women and children.
It was all her fault, for looking at him with those huge eyes, for being soft, for having no idea of what she could do to a man with a look. Women never acknowledged their power, but it was there all the same. God knows, he had not felt the urge to lie with a woman for months, in fact, he was beginning to worry he had lost it altogether. The bitterness of a soldier’s life seemed to have withered his lust on the vine.
Until now.
Torn between desire and decency, Lyall was in a hell of his own making. Giselle de Villers had better stay quiet and out of his way if she knew what was good for her.
With an effort, he turned away. ‘Have you finished, for I am about to turn around.’
‘Almost,’ she squealed.
When Lyall turned, Giselle was standing before him, in the shirt which looked enormous on her, with her hands gripping the top of it, where it gaped. She appeared to have no idea that the candle behind her made the outline of her slim body perfectly visible to him.
He took a deep breath and grinned. ‘That’s better, Lady de Villers,’ he said, going over to the bundle of blankets and extracting a rope from it. ‘Now, let’s to bed.’
When she saw the rope, she backed away. ‘No, I won’t be tied up, you can’t.’
‘It’s for your own safety,’ he said, grabbing hold of her and tying her wrists, ‘in case you try and escape in the night.’
‘I promise I won’t, I swear, just please, don’t tie me up.’
‘Look, Giselle, I have spent weeks sleeping in the open, on hard ground, or damp grass, in the rain and muck. This is the first soft bed I will see for many weeks, most likely, and I want to enjoy it.’
‘Enjoy it?’ Alarm was written all over her face.
‘Aye, enjoy it, so you will be tied up, and we will keep each other warm, and I’ll have no argument.’
He dragged her over to the bed and flung back the blankets. Giselle gave him a look that could kill and before she could say anything else, Lyall pushed her backwards. He got a flash of pale, shapely legs as she fell against the bed and he imagined them wrapped around his back, pulling him close. Lyall cursed himself, and quickly tied her legs together with the other end of the rope. He pulled some blankets over her.
With a last look at his handiwork, Lyall flung himself across Giselle to the other side of the bed and wriggled under the blankets. He hesitated for a moment, and then pulled her against him and pressed his body against hers. Her hair smelled of smoke.
‘Let go of me,’ she shrieked. ‘How can I possibly sleep like this?’
‘We’ll be warmer if we snuggle up together,’ he said, spooning into her back.
‘It’s not right,’ she said, trying to pull free of him. ‘I don’t want you near me and…oh, oh what is that, stop it?’
‘I can’t help it. You are bonnie, and it has a mind of its own.’
‘You are disgusting, get away from me.’
‘If you stop wriggling your arse against it, maybe it will go away.’
She flung herself round to face him, pushing at him with her bound hands. ‘You promised you wouldn’t do anything.’
‘If I wanted to do anything, I wouldn’t have tied your legs together, would I?’
‘Oh, that is the most awful, disgusting thing to say.’
Lyall could not help but laugh. ‘God, you are so easily scandalised. Were you not about to be married? What would you have done on your wedding night?’
‘I would h
ave suffered it, as all brides must do.’
‘Suffered it? Is that how you think it is between a man and a woman.’
‘Yes, it is the man’s right to lie with his wife, and the woman’s duty to let him.’
Lyall raised himself up on his elbow and looked down into her frowning face. ‘Let him? You are so innocent, Giselle. You don’t know much about men do you, or what happens between a man and a woman abed?’
‘Nor do I want to.’
‘What about love? What do you know about that?’
‘I know that I don’t expect to find it in this life.’
‘But you are such a lovely thing to behold. Surely you have had many young bucks courting you, longing for you, offering you their hearts.’
She looked down at her hands, and he could almost feel her blushing.
‘Have you ever been kissed, Giselle?’
‘No, I have not.’ The silence between them hung heavy in the gloom, then she shocked him by saying, ‘What is it like?’
Maybe she wasn’t so proper after all. She was certainly curious.
‘It is pleasing if you do it right, and once you start doing it, you will yearn to do it. You will be kissed many times, Giselle. You should be, and often.’
She went very still and then she said, ‘Perhaps I won’t survive long enough to know.’
Pity surged through him, and his hand went to her cheek. ‘Of course, you will survive, Giselle. Do not be afraid.’
‘But I am afraid. What if I die before I’ve ever lived? What if I never know what it is to be loved or to be kissed, what if…?’
Lyall brought his mouth to hers, surprising them both. Slowly and gently, he slid against the softness of her lips. How sweet they tasted. A gasp of shock and a whimper, but she did not resist, as he claimed her. Lyall felt his cock press, hard and eager, against her hip. He was playing with fire. He had made a vow to this girl. He should stop.
When he pulled away, she just stared up at him, eyes enormous in alarm.
‘Forgive me, lass, it was the only way I could get you to shut up. Now be quiet for I need to sleep.’