Maiden Bride

by Deborah Simmons

  “I wish so, too,” Aisley said with a soft sigh, “but Piers can be very stubborn at times. He is a wonderful man who feels strongly in all things, including his temper, which is legendary.” She smiled, as if at a fond memory, but Gillian could not join her.

  “I can find nothing pleasing in Nicholas’s terrible temper,” she muttered.

  Aisley looked at her in puzzlement. “Nicholas? Why, I never even heard him raise his voice until yesterday.”

  Gillian made a low sound of disbelief. “‘Tis his way to fly into fits, raging like a madman.”

  “Nicholas?” Aisley asked again. She shook her head. “If you say so, it must be thus, but I can barely conceive of it. Then again, I would never have imagined him brawling like a peasant boy! He is much changed.” Aisley paused, as if trying to decide what to say. “But ‘tis not all to his detriment.”

  Taking a deep breath, like one who has made a momentous decision, she closed the chest and walked over to the settle by the fire. There she took a seat and motioned for Gillian to join her. “I had hoped that we would have many opportunities to talk during my stay, but since that is not to be, I would share with you a little that might help explain Nicholas to you, his wife.”

  Curious, Gillian carried Sybil, who was busily tugging at her caul, with her to a nearby coffer. There she sank down and listened attentively.

  “Although my brother was never affectionate, like Piers, he was a good man,” Aisley began. “He left to fight in the Holy Land a strong, handsome youth filled with promise. When we heard of his death, we grieved greatly, especially my father, who had lost other sons to illness.” A shadow passed across the lovely lady’s face, but she continued.

  “We found out later that Nicholas was injured in battle. Unable to help himself, he waited for aid, and when his neighbor, Baron Hexham, arrived, he thought that his suffering was over.” Aisley’s small hands closed into fists. “But it had just begun. Instead of taking him to safety, Hexham dragged him behind some brush and left him for dead. I do not know how long Nicholas lay there, slowly bleeding, beneath the Syrian sun,” Aisley said.

  Despair, so heavy it nearly suffocated her, settled over Gillian. Although Edith had told her the tale, she had been spared such details, and the aching sound of Aisley’s delivery. No wonder he despises me! Gillian felt as if every last drop of hope had been squeezed from her body.

  “I only know, through what he told Piers, that a peasant woman finally found him and nursed him back to health,” Aisley said, and the weight of Gillian’s torpid anguish was broken by a fierce stab of jealousy. Whether she willed it or no, Gillian envied the woman who had comforted a weak and sick Nicholas, who had nursed him back to health, touching his body, and mayhap his heart, as well. Lowering her lashes, Gillian glanced down at Sybil, refusing to let Aisley see the course of her thoughts.

  “Apparently he made some sort of life over there, raising money and gathering men for his return, but he did not come back until the news of our father’s death reached him. By that time, Hexham was harrying Belvry, and Nicholas barely saved his heritage from his old enemy. Hexham escaped, but Nicholas gave chase, driving him to madness, finally, with unflagging pursuit. Hexham came to Dunmurrow and forced Piers to kill him, rather than face Nicholas.”

  Gillian shivered. All this talk of battles and murders was beyond anything in her experience, and she began to sense that Nicholas was beyond her, too. “The point is that from the moment Hexham betrayed him, my brother has lived for naught but revenge. When he was deprived of that, it was as if he had lost all purpose. Only when he heard of you did he regain any of his spirit, but, again, it was hatred that drove him.”

  Gillian felt her breath catch once, twice, and then Aisley reached out to take her hand. The delicate fingers closed around her own gently. “I did not tell you all this to discourage you, but to encourage you, Gillian. When I first heard of your marriage, I feared the worst, yet what I have seen here is far from what I expected. My brother is much changed. You have changed him.”

  Gillian opened her mouth to argue, but Aisley stopped her with a raised hand. “What is your plan?” she asked abruptly, leaning forward eagerly.

  “Plan?” Gillian asked in puzzlement.

  Aisley smiled. “When I first married Piers, I schemed to have it dissolved by saying that we were related,” she said, with a soft laugh that stunned Gillian. “Surely you must have something up your sleeve.”

  Gillian eyed her blankly, for she had not really plotted anything. She had considered and discarded the idea of asking the Syrian for help, and had failed in her attempt to seduce her husband into compliance. In truth, she had vowed nothing except that she would survive whatever Nicholas had in store for her.

  “Well, whatever you are doing, it is obviously working,” Aisley said. “If anyone can bring Nicholas around, ‘tis you, Gillian. You can do it. Help him, will you?”

  Gillian was dumbstruck by the request. Help Nicholas? The idea was laughable. Although sometimes she found herself weakening toward him, she would never surrender herself into his keeping. And the one time she tried to assist him, he had thrown her gesture back in her face, along with the accusation that she would poison him! Unable to give Aisley the assurance she wanted, Gillian rose to her feet, thankful that Edith’s knock gave her an excuse not to answer.

  Aisley was not to be put off, however. “Please?” she asked, in a tone so sincere that Gillian felt herself wavering.

  Then Gillian remembered that she would not be bidding this fine lady goodbye if it were not for Nicholas, and she found the strength to reply, “I do not think I can.”

  Gillian stared out the window, watching the ribbon of road long after Aisley and Piers had disappeared from view. She did not even stir when Edith came in quietly and set a cup of spiced wine down beside her.

  “Come now, my lady. ‘Tis not like you to mope,” the old servant said, but Gillian did not respond to the gentle scolding.

  “At least come down and have a look at the lord. He is a bit battered and bruised, and wants seeing after. His head took a knocking about on the tiles and no doubt pains him. He needs you, my lady. Perhaps you can make up something for him?”

  Privately Gillian was surprised that her husband’s head had not cracked the floor; it was certainly harder than stone. And even if she had not been forbidden to treat the sick, she knew, he would take nothing from her hand. She remained silent, gazing out over the rich demesne, which was like a shiny apple, bright and appealing, but home to the meanest of worms.

  “As much as I hated to see my Aisley go, lady, it was not our lord who sent them away,” Edith said, in a pleading tone. “That red devil she married is known for his frightful tempers, and he was the one who took her off, not our own lord.” Gillian practically had to bite her tongue to keep from arguing over the blamelessness of Nicholas de Laci. No doubt Edith would excuse him anything short of murder.

  The old servant sighed. “Well, you must at least come down to supper, or His Lordship will not be pleased.” Gillian felt herself stir at that, but she kept her mouth shut. “Make no mistake, he is in a foul mood already, and if you do not do as he bids—”

  Gillian whirled around, only to catch a gleam in the old servant’s eye that startled her. “You are trying to goad me, Edith!” she cried. “Well, it will not work. I am not going down.”

  The servant put her hands upon her hips. “And just what shall I tell him? You know what a sour humor he has been in lately.”

  “Ha! You’d think he was a paragon, to hear you talk of him!” Gillian said, but she regretted the words instantly. Edith was grieving over Aisley’s departure, too, and she was just trying to do her best. Gillian felt a flicker of anger in the breast that had known little besides heaviness today. Did her husband never think of anyone but himself? He made everyone around him unhappy, from his sister to the lowliest peasant. And might he be damned for it!

  “I want no supper. Tell him that I am unwell. I will atte
nd to myself and retire to my pallet,” Gillian said. And tonight sleep might come to her early, she realized, for she knew no fear.

  After last night, Gillian was assured that her husband would never come to her bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Too bad he was not a drinking man, Nicholas thought, gazing speculatively at the wine. Although he knew it would wreak havoc on his stomach, he motioned for the servant to pour. Just a little, he thought, enough to ease the raw feeling that had come over him since his unwelcome guests had fled.

  It was not guilt that gnawed at him, for Piers had started the fight, only to take off in a huff, with no more than a bloody lip and a few bruises. So much for the Red Knight! Nicholas would, at least, be spared any more of that one’s preaching. And what need had he of his sister, or her mewling babe? He was well rid of them all!

  Gingerly Nicholas touched his nose, glad to find that it was not swollen, then rubbed his sore knuckles. Although he had thought to feel better after besting his brother-in-law, the victory, like most of late, had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Or maybe it was just a trace of blood.

  Taking a swallow of wine, Nicholas hoped its fine flavor would remove the sour tang that lingered, yet he felt no ease. Angrily he tried to summon up the hatred that had driven him for so long, but it had deserted him, pushed aside by too many new sensations struggling for supremacy. Even the old emptiness that he had once despised seemed preferable to the tumult that assailed him now. He felt as if he had swallowed a swarm of bees, and since the wine dulled their sting, he drank more.

  He was halfway through the meal when he realized she was not coming down. Distracted by the fine drink, he had not noticed the furtive glances of his household toward his lady’s empty place. Damn the wench! He had made her duties clear, and she was to attend him! Did she believe that Aisley’s comings and goings changed anything, or did she think to defy him?

  Nicholas felt his temper roar to life, along with a shadow of disappointment at her absence Why could she not give him ease from his troubles, instead of adding to them? Would she ever greet him as Aisley did Piers, with warmth and pleasure in her eyes? For a moment, he wanted everything his sister possessed, but then he cursed himself silently. His wits must be addled! Too much wine, he decided, and put the cup aside. The trencher soon joined it, for his taste for food had vanished.

  He had been too lenient with his wife, but he was done with his coddling. If he had to take the lash to her, by the faith, he would! Surging to his feet, Nicholas ignored the wary looks that followed him and strode to the stairs, determined to bring Gillian to her knees at last.

  The passageway was empty and his chamber silent when he threw open the door. If Gillian was gone… A vile oath sprang to his lips, but died unuttered when he saw her. She was standing by the fire, combing out her hair, in nothing except her shift, and the play of the light behind her revealed each curve of her woman’s form.

  Her hair was down at last, and the fiery waves cascaded over one breast, to the curve of her waist, bright and thick and beckoning. Nicholas’s breath caught, and he stared like a man dazed—or drunk. Cursing his weakness, he sought the temper that had fled, and held on to it as if it were a shield protecting him against the temptation that was his wife. He groped for words, his mouth suddenly dry, while she tossed those beautiful locks behind, her and regarded him with eyes that flashed defiance.

  “How could you?”

  Her heated question threw him off balance, as did the sway of her body beneath the shift when she moved. Nicholas swallowed hard and remembered his rage. “Where have you been? You were to attend me at supper!”

  “I was grieving the loss of your family, tossed out onto the road like the meanest of vagabonds! How could you, Nicholas?” The accusation struck too close to the truth for consideration, so he lashed out at her instead, angry that she would dare question him. Perhaps he no longer could control his life as he once had, but he could control her, and by his faith, he would!

  “‘Tis not your business, wife. You need concern yourself with nothing but your own obedience, which has been sorely lacking. You were to attend me, and you did not!”

  As he stood there, all of Nicholas’s frustration focused on this one woman, who was so different from what he had expected.. .and so much more than he had ever wanted. His eyes narrowed, and he strode forward menacingly, stopping bare inches from her before whispering his threat. “I ought to thrash you within an inch of your life.”

  As usual, Gillian did not cower or flee, but met him faceto-face. Although her cheeks were flushed, she raised her chin. “Go ahead! I am tired of living under your constant threats. Do your worst, Nicholas de Laci, but heed this—I will never give way. You can take away my freedom, my friends, my privileges, and you can bully and beat me, but I will not surrender to you!”

  Nicholas felt as if something inside him had exploded, and it must have shown on his face, for despite her brave words, Gillian took a step back. He reached for her, but instead of running away, she swung at him, and, caught off guard by the attack, Nicholas felt the blow hit its mark.

  Although her spirit no longer surprised him, her abilities did. Somewhere along the line, she had learned to fight, because her fist slammed into his jaw with surprising force. Blinking in astonishment, he paused to move it experimentally. When he realized that she had done no real damage, he pinned her with a glare that promised retribution tenfold and lunged for her, but she was too quick, faster even than Piers had been, though she had none of the knight’s discipline.

  And the fight was not the same, for this was no petty feud, but a struggle for supremacy that he would ultimately win. He was not seeking an outlet for his frustrations; she was his frustrations, and his blood roared her name. He caught hold of her arms, pinning her against the bed until her knee slammed upward, nearly catching him in the groin. It was an act of violence, meant to do him injury, and Nicholas realized that.

  His body did not.

  When her leg brushed his thigh, Nicholas felt himself spring to life, heedless of Gillian’s intentions. And the swiftness of his own response made him drop her on the bed as if she had burned him.

  Stunned, Nicholas looked down at her. Although they were both panting, Gillian was not gasping in fear, and her eyes no longer flashed with defiance. Indeed, she made no move to escape him, but lay on his covers as if meant to be there, staring up at him. She was sprawled out in a pose he had seen before, but this time her shift rode up around her thighs, exposing incredibly long, creamy limbs. Her hair was spread wildly about her, and her breasts were rising and falling rapidly, as if straining to be free of the linen that covered them.

  Desire surged through him, and Nicholas felt as though he had wanted her forever… Without stopping to think, he reacted instinctively, as he so often did in her presence. Pressing one knee down on the mattress, he rose up over her, took the front of her shift in his hands and ripped it asunder. Then he pulled the edges aside, baring her body to his gaze, and drew in a ragged breath.

  Heat washed over him, making him shudder as if fever raged through his body. By all the saints, she was beautiful, especially her creamy breasts, ripe and luscious, the nipples like berries, small and… hard.

  “I thought you did not want me.” The sound of her voice, a rough whisper, only inflamed him further, and Nicholas heard a noise rise up out of his chest in reply.

  “I lied,” he admitted, and, putting his hands on her outstretched wrists to hold her in place, he leaned forward and took one bright berry into his mouth. She moaned, and the low, husky sound urged him on. He suckled, and it was more intoxicating than anything he had ever done.

  Nicholas had never been one to waste time pleasuring women, and to suck at their breasts like a babe had not been his sport, but now it became his life’s blood. He licked and nibbled at the firm mounds, burying his face between them and groaning in ecstasy as his tarse hardened painfully.

  He raised his other kne
e to the bed, so that he knelt between Gillian’s spread legs, and released her wrists, running his hands down the length of her smooth arms and side to the curve of her waist. She arched toward his seeking mouth, gasping in pleasure, but then she erupted beneath him, rolling over so that he was thrown onto his back and she sat atop him.

  Dazed, Nicholas watched as Gillian’s hands came down upon his wrists in perfect mimicry of his own actions. He would have laughed at her puny attempts to hold him down, had he not been so aroused. This was no ordinary maid, but his spirited wife, and her antics made his heart pound and his member reach for her stiffly. He lifted his gaze to hers, where it was caught and held in silent challenge, and her words came back to him: I will never surrender to you.

  Was she toying with him? Although she no longer feared his touch, Gillian’s eyes clearly proclaimed that she would not yield her body to him. Nicholas’s blood roared a protest, but before he could act, she released his wrists and pushed up his tunic. Her hands, soft yet strong, glided over his skin, and Nicholas swallowed hard. As he stared in astonishment, she lowered her head, sending ripples of bright locks over him, and put her mouth to his nipple.

  Pleasure, piercing and fantastic, shot through him, and Nicholas realized that she was not refusing him. She might deny him conquest, but she would meet hun as his equal, and Nicholas felt dizzy at the discovery. Another sound erupted from deep in his chest, and Gillian lifted her head. Green eyes fastened on his again, glimmering with shared desire, and he nodded his agreement.

  As if his assent fueled her passion, Gillian tugged at his tunic, and Nicholas sat up, yanking it off with swift impatience. Although he usually folded his clothes neatly, this night they dropped, forgotten, from his fingers when Gillian shrugged out of her torn shift. Tossing it aside, she sat perched over his thighs, completely naked, her breasts swaying gently over her slender waist, and a bright thatch of red hair shining like a beacon at the juncture of her thighs.