For a moment, Gillian could only lie there, gaping at him, so stunned was she by his words. Nicholas de Laci showed mercy? Truly, the world was full of strange wonders! So amazed was she that it took her a while to find her tongue, but when she did, the words came easily. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He stared at her long and hard, as if her speech had startled him, as well. Then he whirled away from her. “Now that we have finished with that business, I would remind you that a lady does not throw objects at her lord, or climb upon tables set for a meal, or attempt to scratch his eyes out!”
Gillian blew out a harsh breath. “Maybe if I were the lady of the castle, I would remember these strictures, but since I am not…”
“Neither does a slave attack her owner, vixen!”
“I will not be your slave!”
“Aye, you are, and you shall do your duties now! You are mine, and you shall do as I bid! Let down your hair!”
Gillian gulped, but her anger had been building for too long, disgrace upon disgrace, until it was too strong to give way to fear. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “You will not terrorize me again. I am sick to death of your taunts!”
She remembered a long-ago lesson her brother had taught her: The only way to handle a bully was to face up to him. And, taking a deep breath, Gillian did. She pushed off the mattress to rise straight and tall, and threw his taunt back at him.
“You want me? Then come and get me!” she said, lifting her chin in challenge. Once spoken aloud, the words were not so frightening, and Nicholas’s stunned expression only made Gillian stronger. With determined fingers, she reached behind her and undid her gown, watching both the bodice and her husband’s mouth gape open. Nicholas looked thunderstruck, for once seemingly speechless, and Gillian knew her own power.
“If you think that molesting me will bring you the triumph you seek, then go ahead, have at me!” she said, yanking off her gown and tossing it onto the floor. “But be warned that no matter what you do to me, I will never surrender to you.”
Gillian stood before him in her shift, unashamed and unafraid, and glowing with a heady sense of freedom. While her husband stared, she lay back on the bed, her calves barred to his view. He remained motionless, but his eyes were burning into her now, and she could have sworn his hands were trembling. Or perhaps it was her own, as they touched the hem of her shift.
For a moment, time seemed suspended, as she reached for it, ready to draw it up, to take the final step. Then there would be no going back, no time to worry about her choice, only a headlong rush into the unknown. Yet Gillian already felt triumphant. She was no gasping wreck tonight. She was facing her own demon, and she could see moisture beading on his handsome brow. His fists were clenched at his side, as if only the force of his will restrained his body, and his gaze held no hatred, only a wild heat that set her heart racing and her body throbbing as it locked with hers.
And then he stepped back, away from her, shaking his head so that one thick lock of hair fell forward. “I would not have you if you were the only woman on earth,” he whispered, his voice raw and hoarse. “I would rather get myself upon the lowest pox-ridden whore.”
He turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him, and Gillian dropped back against the furs, feeling oddly as if he had kicked her in the chest.
Chapter Ten
Nicholas brooded into his cup, annoyed at having to play the host. Although his father would not have approved, he had drifted away from such niceties long ago. Sometimes he wondered if all the civilization had been leeched from him in the blazing desert, never to return in full, for he did not welcome his visitors. He resented them.
This morning, he had risen early, in hopes of avoiding his sister and her husband, but Piers had caught him, coaxing him into riding his lands. Nicholas had grudgingly agreed, even as he wondered about the kind of man who could give up all that was Belvry without a protest—for that was just what Piers had done.
The Red Knight had held this demesne for a time after his marriage to Aisley, yet when Nicholas returned, he had ceded it back without argument. He claimed to prefer his old keep to the newer, more luxurious castle at Belvry! What was wrong with the man, and with Aisley, too?
Both of them were mad! Or so Nicholas had always thought. Now he began to wonder if something was wrong with himself. Although he appreciated the beauty and wealth of his holdings, he had never felt as strongly as Piers and Aisley did about their home, Dunmurrow. He had never felt strongly about anything, except his vengeance. And even that was wearing thin, although he clung to it as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.
Nicholas’s belly burned, and he shifted in his chair, his irritation growing. If not for the man beside him, he could be attending to his business. What was the meaning of this sudden visit? Although Nicholas had arrived without notice at Dunmurrow more than once, he had never expected to receive the same treatment from his sister and her husband. That was another situation entirely, he reasoned, for they must tote around that infant. The one Gillian had taken to so quickly.
The thought of his wife made Nicholas’s body ache even more fiercely, although he had thought himself accustomed to the torment. His old stomach ailment attacked with renewed vigor, while the more recent affliction in his groin grew…worse. He felt as if he had been hard ever since Gillian had offered her body up to him last night.
When she lay back upon his bed in nothing but her shift, the creamy skin of her parted legs revealed to him and her hand poised at the edge of the material, time had stopped. Nicholas knew his own limits, and he had realized that if she managed to pull up the thin fabric that covered her, he was doomed. So he had spewed some lies at her and fled. Run, from his wife. The knowledge did not improve his mood.
“A bath might be in order for me this afternoon,” his companion said, and Nicholas lifted his head to glare at the speaker. His evil look bounced off Piers, as seemingly did all else, and Nicholas spared a moment to despise the composure that he had possessed, too, until recently. The Red Knight was said to have a fearsome temper, but Nicholas had never seen it. Oh, the man was fiercely protective of Aisley, but rarely did he rouse himself to action. Fanciful tales, Nicholas thought sourly, as unfounded as the other gossip about the Red Knight.
While Nicholas watched him grimly, Piers leaned back and lifted his cup. “Perhaps your new bride—”
“My wife attends no one but me!” Nicholas caught himself shouting and lowered his voice. “Get Aisley to bathe you,” he said, with hushed vehemence. His threatening manner did little to offend his guest, who had the audacity to grin at him.
“Something amuses you?” Nicholas demanded, suddenly eager for a fight. The gnawing ache in his groin had made him testy, and the unsettling encounter with Gillian had left him feeling oddly unmanned. Essentially, the vixen had challenged him, and he had backed away like a coward. Nicholas knew an urge to prove himself as his own master, and what better way than with his fists?
“Hell, yes,” Piers said. “‘Tis good to see you alive at last, Nicholas, and with something besides hatred.”
“You speak nonsense.”
“As you say. Yet I have noticed that your bride is no aged hag, nor is she even a pallid nun. Gillian is a vibrant woman, young and beautiful. ‘Tis enough to turn any man’s thoughts away from revenge,” Piers said, not even bothering to hide that msufferable smile.
“Think you, that I do not hate her?” Nicholas demanded, for the barb came too close to the truth for comfort.
The genial look faded from Pier’s face. “You would be a fool to do so.”
“How easily you slander me, brother!”
Piers’s expression darkened. “Wake up before it is too late, Nicholas. ‘Tis time to quit clinging to a long-dead feud. Make a family and a life for yourself, man! ‘Tis a prize you have—a lovely wife to give you many sons.”
“Ha! I would get nothing on the wench but vengeance!” Nicholas snarled, though his threat
s had begun to sound idle, even to his own ears.
Piers did not see through them, however, for he slammed down his cup in righteous indignation. “If you were not Aisley’s brother, I would be tempted to knock some sense into you.”
“Why let that stop you?” Nicholas rose to his feet in challenge. He was sick of the big knight’s advice and superior attitude. Faith, he would not be lectured to in his own hall by an uninvited guest!
“I believe a man should stand by his family, not seek to divide it with petty squabbles, like some foolish and reckless young cub.”
It had been a long time since anyone had called him a child, and Nicholas’s temper snapped at the implied insult. With a shout of anger, he lunged across the table at Piers. Wooden cups clattered against the wall and benches crashed to the floor as he dived into his brother-in-law. Servants who had returned to the hall after the visitors’ arrival scattered, fleeing to safety like mice.
Although Piers was bigger and taller, he was the elder by a few years, and Nicholas had acquired a few tricks living in the East that made him an even match for the Red Knight. Grunting in triumph, Nicholas swung a fist at a nose that had obviously been broken before, but Piers was too quick, ducking away, swifter than most men his size. With a thunderous bellow that fairly shook the roof, he threw Nicholas off.
Rolling amid the rushes, Nicholas barely had time to take a breath before the huge knight was on him, trying to gain a hold. Ignoring the screams from the archways, Nicholas fought back with the fierceness of his own frustration—with Piers, with Gillian, and with the revenge he had yet to savor. He heard a groan and knew the deep satisfaction of drawing blood before his own jaw connected with the tiles.
Aisley watched the old servant who had come to her chamber closely. If anyone knew the state of affairs between Nicholas and his wife, it would be Edith. Although it had been difficult to pry the older woman away from the nursery, Aisley had done so, in order to speak privately with her, and Sybil had been left in the care of her nurse and a sad-eyed Gillian.
Even Aisley had noticed the change in Nicholas’s bride this morning. The woman she had thought so vibrantly alive was quiet and subdued now, the fight that had blazed so fiercely in her when they arrived seemingly gone. Aisley had no idea what had happened after Nicholas dragged his bride from the table last night, but obviously something had occurred to rob her of her spirit. She was afraid to imagine what, and worried that Gillian might end up as empty as Nicholas himself.
After listening to Edith carry on about Sybil for ages, Aisley could bear the suspense no longer. “What of Nicholas and his new wife?” she asked. She was not encouraged when Edith sighed heavily in answer.
“‘Tis an odd arrangement, make no mistake. She sleeps at the foot of the bed on a pallet, and it seems that Nicholas has made no move to consummate his vows.” Edith clucked her tongue in dismay. “The boy has not been the same since his return from the Holy Land, but this… Why, ‘tis unnatural!”
Aisley smiled at the words, for not too long ago Edith had sworn the marriage bed was a frightful place. That had, of course, been before she wedded an old soldier and changed her tune. Now she was happily ensconced with him at Belvry, but she obviously longed for babies to spoil, and it looked as if she would get none from Nicholas.
Privately Aisley suspected that her brother kept away from Gillian for his own peace of mind. After all, how long could a man exact revenge from a woman with whom he was intimate? Even Nicholas could not be so hard-hearted. Indeed, in his erratic behavior yesterday Aisley had seen a tenderness she would never have thought possible. But last night… “Has he hurt her?”
“Well, of course not!” Edith said, indignant. “I have never known a de Laci to raise a hand to a woman—or, outside of battle, anyone else, for that matter.”
As if summoned by their words, the object of their concern suddenly burst into the room. Her face was flushed and her chest rising and falling rapidly, and Aisley rose abruptly, fearful for Sybil. “What is it?”
“They are brawling below!” Gillian announced breathlessly.
“Who?”
“Nicholas and your husband, Piers!”
Snorting in disbelief, Edith charged off, with Aisley and Gillian behind her. Although there was no love lost between Piers and her brother, Aisley could not imagine the two actually coming to blows. Piers had a deep respect for family, which made the very idea absurd, and yet, even before they reached the hall, Aisley heard a familiar bellow.
“What is that?” Gillian asked, turning wide green eyes toward her.
Aisley sighed ruefully. “‘Tis Piers. He has lost his temper. What could Nicholas have done to provoke him?”
Frowning grimly, Gillian rushed on. “It is hard to tell, but if there is one thing at which your brother excels, it is… provocation.”
At the bottom of the steps, Aisley stopped still, unable to believe her eyes, for Piers and Nicholas were rolling about on the floor like a couple of wayward peasant boys. Appalled, she would have left them to their foolishness, if not for telltale signs of blood that told her that someone was already hurt.
“Piers! Nicholas!” she chided, stepping forward, but they ignored her.
“The red devil will surely kill Lord Nicholas!” Edith wailed, backing away from the melee.
“Piers! Nicholas!” Aisley raised her voice, but it was drowned out by her husband’s roars and the crashing of benches that the two left in their wake.
While Edith shrieked and Aisley watched helplessly, Gillian ran forward, a bucket of water from the kitchens in each hand. Apparently oblivious of her own danger, she approached the thrashing duo, lifted an arm and tossed the contents of one and then the other over the two men, just as if they were a pair of wild dogs.
The fighting stopped immediately, the outraged combatants protesting their ill-treatment loudly before rising to their feet, coughing and spitting, both covered with water, dirt and bits of rushes from their roll upon the tiles. Piers shook his head, his long, golden mane sending droplets flying into the air, and Aisley could see a smear of blood along his mouth. Her brother looked no better. Nicholas swiped at his face with both hands, but a thin line of blood trickled from his nose.
“You both are a disgrace,” Aisley declared in disgust. For the first time in her life, she was prepared to scold her brother, but he would not meet her eyes. Turning to Piers for an explanation, she saw only anger, barely suppressed, and her heart sank. Obviously, her husband’s temper had not been assuaged in the battle.
“We leave within the hour,” Piers said, daring her to dispute him. Aisley bit her lip. She knew his rage as well as she knew his passion, and in the face of it, she could do nothing but nod her agreement. Her hopes of intervening here were for naught. Slanting a glance at the tall, red-haired woman who stood defiantly over a pile of water-soaked rushes, Aisley sighed.
Nicholas’s wife was on her own once more.
Edith had been sent to fetch some clothes she had made for the baby, and Gillian was relieved at the peace and quiet that descended over Aisley’s chamber in the absence of the wailing woman. As much as Gillian liked the old servant, her loud crying had begun to irritate.
Tears had never changed a thing, as Gillian well knew, and they could certainly not undo Nicholas’s latest folly, quarreling with his kinsman. Already the tale had spread throughout the castle, and the servants darted dark looks at their master. Although he had held Belvry but briefly, Piers had been well liked, and none cared to see him or their own Aisley depart so quickly.
Gillian, too, felt the loss, for she had immediately been comfortable with the light-haired lady, who appeared unreachable, but was not. Gillian had looked forward to befriending Aisley and her warrior husband during their stay. Now that they were leaving, she would never have that chance, and, worst of all, she would miss the babe who rested in her arms.
The knowledge added a new ache to the heaviness in her chest she had suffered since last night, a dull pressu
re that would not leave her. Holding the infant close, Gillian realized that Sybil was the first being she had hugged to her since her childhood, and the discovery was not comforting. When would she ever do it again?
Never. For she would have no children of her own. He had made that clear enough. Gillian could not even think his name, and had fled to the nursery rather than face him. She had no stomach for whatever demands he might make upon her now, with his bizarre plans for slavery and such.
She told herself that her sadness sprang from the loss of her dream, the hope for a family of her own. Like a shooting star, it had come upon her yesterday, bright and hopeful and stronger than anything she had known, only to disappear, destroyed by a force more powerful. Her husband.
He had been tormenting her, of course. The Hoodman Blind kiss, and that other kiss against the wall, and all those smoldering looks of barely controlled passion, were but a game, a taunt, another sharp facet of his revenge.
Gillian told herself that she was relieved to have found him out. No more would she have to suffer his sly insinuations and bold claims about bedding her. She should be celebrating the news. Instead, she felt insulted, demeaned somehow, and that unnamed, unnatural heaviness grew in her chest.
“I wish you could come visit us at Dunmurrow,” Aisley said, drawing Gillian’s attention to the fair-haired woman, who was packing a trunk that rested on the bed. “‘Tis not as fine as Belvry, but I have come to love it more dearly.”
Courtesy prevented Gillian snorting at the suggestion that Nicholas would ever allow her make a pleasure trip. Instead, she expressed her own regrets. “I wish you could stay.”
Aisley glanced up at her with eyes so much like Nicholas’s that Gillian paused in startlement. The same, and yet not so, she thought, for Aisley’s were soft as a silvery moonbeam, not sharp and painfully bright as a dagger’s blade.
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