“My lord?” The sound of Osborn’s voice made Gillian realize she was standing there, transfixed. Yet she could no more break away than she could stop the fire that raged through her.
It was Nicholas who finally wrenched his attention from her to the servant. “Yes?”
“A messenger, my lord, to see Lady Gillian,” Osborn said, startling Gillian from her daze. Who would seek her out? She knew no one here, and even if she did, who would dare? Glancing behind the waiting servant, she was surprised and pleased to see young Will Bennett, who helped his father with the cows and sheep belonging to the abbey.
“Will!” she cried, stepping forward eagerly, only to be stopped in her tracks by her husband’s shout.
“Hold!” he boomed, and the hall became silent. The people who had been busily laying out food backed toward the archways, and those already seated at the trestle tables froze in their places, fearful of Belvry’s lord. Nicholas was obhvious of the reactions around him, however, his piercing gaze fixing upon poor Will.
“Who are you to beg audience with my wife?”
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” the youth answered, his face gone white. “I would not offend you. ‘Tis the abbess who sent me.”
Gillian watched her husband’s taut body lose some of its stiffness, and she relaxed slightly, too. Apparently he was not going to cut down the poor boy for running an errand, but neither did he looked pleased.
“State your message, then, and begone!” Nicholas snapped, and Gillian gasped at his discourtesy. Will had traveled a good distance in her service. He should be properly fed and rested before he was sent on his way. And besides, the message was for her, not her husband!
“Nonsense,” she protested, stepping forward. “You do not want the abbess to think us inhospitable, husband. Come,” she said, gesturing to Will, “and you may give me your tidings while we eat.”
Nicholas erupted. “Nay!” Leaning toward her, he gripped her arm and yanked her back to his side.
Whirling on him, Gillian threw off his hold. “The message is for me, and I shall hear it! Give me my due!”
“You are due nothing!” he shouted.
Angered beyond caution, Gillian met his glittering gaze with her own, and this time, the only fire she felt was the flames of hell that rightly should be licking at his heels.
“Get to your chamber, wife!”
“I am not leaving!” Out of the corner of her eye, Gillian could see poor Will glancing from one to the other of them helplessly. The servants gaped from the archways while the food cooled and the diners left their seats. She knew her husband intimidated them all, but she did not move, facing him down as she glared up at him.
“‘Tis only that a man has been to the abbey, asking questions about Gillian!” The words burst out of Will, suspending the battle that raged between the lord and lady, and they both turned to stare at him.
“Who?” Gillian asked in puzzlement.
Will shook his head. “He did not say, Gillian—I mean, my lady.” He shot a fearful look at Nicholas. “My lord. The fellow came after word spread of her marriage, but he was not known in the town. None of us had seen him before. He was most insistent in his questioning. Very peculiar, the abbess said, and she thought you should know of his visit.”
Nicholas’s eyes glinted with accusation as he swiveled toward Gillian, and she knew his thoughts ere he spoke them aloud. “I know no such man!” she protested.
Scowling as if he thought the fellow some dalliance of hers, Nicholas said nothing, but fixed Will with a glare that made him quiver anew. Then, finally, he swung toward one of his men, who had brought the messenger into the hall and now stood at the doors.
“Have Darius take this fellow back to the abbey. Let us see if the Syrian can find out more about our mysterious questioner!” Nicholas shot her a swift, triumphant glance that told her he was glad to rid himself of both the boy and the handsome foreigner who had been kind to her. The bastard! Gillian glared at him while Will hurried to make his exit, the guard following closely behind, as if both were eager to leave the lord’s presence.
Gillian could not blame them. She turned on her husband then, anger churning in her so forcefully that she wanted to knock him silly. Balling her fist, she raised it, but he was too quick this time. He snared her wrist in a fierce hold and glared at her.
“Remember where you are and who you are,” he warned.
Gillian looked up at him, stunned by the reminder of her place in his life. Was this the same man who had entered her body with such desperation? “Oh, I am aware of myself well enough,” she replied, pulling her hand from his. “But I know not what you are.”
Nicholas’s gaze swept over the faces in the hall, taking pleased note of his missing companion. Although he hardly thought it necessary to send someone to the abbey, Nicholas had learned to be wary. And if Darius was willing to go, so much the better. He would not have to worry about finding the Syrian holding his wife’s hands in a darkened passage.
The memory made Nicholas tighten his hold on the cup in his hand, and he forced himself to loosen his grip on the empty vessel. His people seemed to think there was something to celebrate, for they lingered after supper, dancing and making merry, but Nicholas refused the wine that Osborn offered him.
He did not want a repetition of last night.
It was ironic that he, who feared nothing, worried over bedding his wife! But Nicholas knew that what had taken place between them was no simple union. He and his vixen bride had merged more than their bodies, and the experience had shaken him. It had no place in his disciplined, ordered world, just as Gillian played no part but that of a tool for his vengeance.
Yet already she had become more.
Nicholas slammed the cup down in angry denial. Although a servant stepped forward to fill it with ale, he shook his head, turning instead toward his wife, who, after a moment’s hesitation, rose and filled it for him. She set the vessel before him neatly enough, but her eyes flashed fury.
Good! Nicholas had spent the better part of his day forcing her to wait upon him, if only to prove that he still had the upper hand and that she had not enslaved him with her body. Gillian had gritted her teeth and glared, but she had done his bidding, fetched his accounts and fed him morsels from their trencher… until he called a halt to that.
The intimacy of her fingers brushing against his lips had quickly become too much to bear, for Nicholas had wanted to take each digit into his mouth, instead of the food. Lustful fool! Surely he had lost his wits! Even when he looked at her, his palms grew damp, his tarse grew stiff and his reason fled.
So he refused to notice the way her new gown fell over curves he had molded with his hands. He denied his desire to tear the caul off her hair and let down each fiery strand, preferably over his naked body, and find his lost soul inside her.
For the first time in his life, Nicholas could not trust himself, and so he glared and made demands and argued with her, in the hope that her rage would protect him. And the hour grew later. If not for the knowing looks of his people, he would have gone to sleep with his horse. Or, mayhap, another trip. Coward, that he would flee her, yet again!
He could not, and so, when she stood up, Nicholas felt some measure of relief. He would let her go, and wait until she was asleep on her pallet before seeking his own bed. Perhaps, with temptation out of reach, he could regain control…
“Husband, I would retire for the night. Will you join me?” Nicholas felt his jaw drop open at the words, and he glanced up at his wife in startlement. She was standing beside his seat, completely composed, her eyes gleaming with bright challenge.
His body’s response was swift and irrevocable. He hardened painfully, and rose to his feet so quickly that he nearly knocked over his chair. “Aye. I will escort you,” he muttered and, taking her arm, he led her up the stairs to their chamber.
With each step, anticipation roared through his blood so forcefully that he had to clench his fists to stop himse
lf from throwing her over his shoulder like some primitive warrior with his prize. The short journey seemed to take forever, strangling his patience as he went up behind her, his eyes locked upon the curves of her bottom.
When they finally reached the room, Nicholas’s breath was coming fast and shallow. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, trying to regain mastery over himself, but Gillian was there before him, so close he could feel her heightened breath against his face. And before he could react, she pulled his head down for a passionate kiss, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth and pressing against him.
Groaning, Nicholas cupped her buttocks, bringing her up against his erection. He ground his hips against hers, wanting and needing her so violently that he could not think. When she wound her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing the heated core of her against his desire, Nicholas realized that she was as eager as he.
The revelation stunned him and set his roaring blood ablaze. Something rose in his chest, breaking free into a triumphant shout, and he carried her, stumbling, to the bed, falling upon it with her, tearing at her clothes, even as she pulled at his.
Revenge, arguments and all else that passed between them were forgotten in his desperate urge to claim her as his own. Finally, they were both naked, and the silken heat of her skin, the feel and the taste of it, was making him mad for her. He moved over her, but she pushed at him as if she would deny him. For a moment, Nicholas was livid, until he found himself on his back and his wife straddling his hips.
“‘Tis my turn to ride you, husband.”
“What?” The word was a croak, his mouth useless but to stroke her. His mind felt fogged, apart from the rest of him, which was driven only to possess her.
“You had your way this morning,” she whispered. Her voice was husky and exciting, making it hard for him to concentrate, but through the haze of desire it came back to him. Equal. Partners. By nature, Nicholas resisted, but then she lifted herself up and touched him, guiding him into her, and he knew no regrets. Hot. Tight. Ecstasy. The sight of her astride him, her long hair wild about her, made him buck against her, and she closed her eyes, leaned her head back and made a soft sound of delight.
God have mercy on him, for he would surely die from pleasure! The ends of her silky red mane stirred his thighs, and the creamy, milky globes of her breasts beckoned him. Groaning, Nicholas took them in his hands, and soon she was writhing over him, quickening her pace.
“Touch me, Nick,” she begged, and he did not consider refusal. Grasping her thighs, he stroked her with his thumbs until she convulsed around him, calling out his name in a throaty shout that made him surge upward to join her in oblivion.
Nicholas looked up as a cup was set in front of him, surprised to see it placed there by his wife’s hand. In the past few weeks, he had grown less demanding of her during the day. And why should he not? She more than made up for the slackening of her duties at night. In his bed. His groin tightened, and Nicholas forced his attention back to the vessel before him.
“What is it?”
“Something for your stomach,” she whispered, and before he could react, she put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently as she passed. His brief surge of anger faded as she took her seat beside him; he no longer felt threatened by her knowledge of his ailment.
Odd, how subtly things had changed. Nicholas no longer worried about her enslaving him with her body, either. Rather, he thought they had enslaved each other, for she was just as needy and eager as he, and the partnership thrived. If there was more to contemplate in that success, he did not want to pursue it.
“Are you sure it is not a spring tonic?” he asked teasingly.
She lifted her head, and her mouth curved into a wicked grin as she leaned close, her reply intended for his ears only. “I hardly think you are in need of such a drink. If your sap rises any higher, I will be unable to walk.”
Her husky answer roared through his blood. Snaring her green gaze with his own, Nicholas lifted the cup and downed the mixture in one long swallow. Deliberately, he licked his lips, and watched her shiver. ‘Twas a game they played between them, and oh, it was so enjoyable. “I would retire early tonight, wife,” he said, rising to his feet, and she followed, nodding in mute agreement.
When they reached the great chamber, however, Nicholas was dismayed to see the tub filled with hot water, as if awaiting him. “A bath, at this hour? What are you about?” He had washed earlier and now wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her as quickly as possible. Perhaps he would not even undress her, but lift her in his arms and take her up against the wall…
“I am bleeding,” she said softly. She lifted her head to meet his gaze fearlessly, and it took Nicholas a moment to understand what she was talking about. “If you would have your way, ‘tis best to do it there, unless you want to stain the bed linens.”
Nicholas stared at her, stunned, as ever, by her behavior. Of course, he was familiar with a woman’s monthly flow, but this was the first time one had offered herself to him in spite of it. “Well, what is it to be?” she asked, her green eyes gleaming in challenge. “Are you afraid of a little blood? It is not overmuch, warrior.”
Nicholas laughed aloud at her taunting. “Me? I have seen more blood than you ever will, vixen, and it bothers me not.” Indeed, he realized now that he was hard as a rock, and more eager for her than ever. Reaching down, he took his tunic by the hem and yanked it over his head, suddenly impatient, as she, too, removed her covering. Then they were both sinking down in the tub together, and Nicholas groaned at the sensation.
His bath had always been personal, private, but now he discovered it was an exotic, erotic place. He pulled her onto his lap, enjoying the slick wetness of her skin and the slide of her limbs. They joined, both seated, face-to-face, and the slightest rocking sent exquisite pleasure jolting through him. It built slowly, in a heated rhythm quite different from their usual frenzied mating, and for a moment, the change panicked him.
But she was bleeding, and he must be careful of her, Nicholas thought in some dim recess of his brain. How strange, for he, who had little use for women, had never thought to go to such lengths to have one. Yet he could not deny her, or go without the salvation of her body.
And as he watched her thick lashes drift down over dreamy eyes, Nicholas felt something heave in his chest, as if the heart he had thought long absent had begun to beat.
Chapter Thirteen
Lying in the huge bed, encased in soft blankets and cushioned on thick pillows, Gillian was miserable, even in the midst of luxury. And she felt guilty for it. There had been a time, after her mother died and before Master Abel took her on, when she was flung out onto the streets, and she remembered all too well the cold, the fear and the hunger. Back then, she would have given anything to be ensconced in such surroundings—even her heart.
She sighed, and that ragged release made her husband turn in the act of dressing to fix her with his gray gaze. Gillian met it, marveling absently at just how handsome he was, but taking no joy in the knowledge, for he was still… Nicholas.
Oh, he no longer deliberately tormented her or made her act his slave, but his feelings for her had not changed. He remained rigid and unyielding and closed off from her, except when their bodies joined together. Gillian took what she could from him in the night, but during the day she had only the memory to sustain her, for the Nicholas she knew in the darkness was gone. Or mayhap she imagined that he was anything else.
Turning onto her back, she stared sightlessly up at the bed hangings and told herself she was a fool to expect anything from him. He was what he was, a hard creature, so obsessed with vengeance there was little room for anything else. At least he gave her pleasure. Gillian knew she should be content with that, and yet she wished he would give her a child, too.
And therein lay the source of her discontent. Even though Edith had told her that sometimes a woman did not conceive right away, Gillian had hoped that
after so many passionate couplings she would be blessed with a baby. Her woman’s flow had always been a nuisance, but now it took on another, depressing aspect, as if her body were grieving for the child that was not there.
A knock came at the door, and at Nicholas’s shout, Edith entered, bustling in and clucking like a mother hen. “And how is it you are not yet up this morning, my lady?” she asked, giving Gillian a broad wink.
The sly insinuation brought down Nicholas’s wrath, and he turned to glare at the old servant. “She is having her courses. Let her he abed all day, if she will.”
“Oh.” Edith’s disappointment echoed her own so vividly that Gillian did not properly appreciate her husband’s indulgence. “Oh, well… Do not fret, my lady,” the servant said, reaching out to pat Gillian’s hand. “Sooner or later, we will see you round with child!”
Nicholas was poised at the entrance to the great chamber, but the servant’s words made him turn, and Gillian went rigid with wariness. Even now, she would not willingly divulge any of her weaknesses, for he still might use them against her. Love him though she did, she trusted him not.
Gillian’s fears were realized when she met his eyes. They glittered, painfully sharp, in a face set as cold and hard as stone. “If you think breeding will make me forget your tainted blood, think again, Hexham’s heir!” he warned. “You do yourself and the brat a disservice by such folly.”
He turned and slammed the door, and Gillian felt as if a part of her had been closed off, as well, never to open again. The hope she had nurtured died, slain by her husband’s hand, for how could she bring a baby into the world, knowing that he would hate it? How could she let an innocent child suffer his revenge?
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