Maiden Bride

by Deborah Simmons

  Convinced that the force of his own will had saved her from death, Nicholas was determined that only he could keep her alive. He eyed her warily at every turn, and if she coughed, he glared. If she closed her eyes, he panicked. When she wanted to get out of bed, he forbade it. He gritted his teeth. “You must take this slowly, so as not to task yourself,” he explained.

  “Nicholas, it has been weeks!” she said, throwing up her hands in disgust. “If I do not get up soon, I shall grow sores and become crippled!”

  His lips twitched at that, but he kept control of himself. “I am willing to… compromise,” he said slowly.

  Immediately her chin lifted. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  Your health. “Nothing,” Nicholas answered innocently. “I will allow you to rise, if you remain in this chamber.” He held up a hand to forestall her argument. “If your condition continues to improve, then we shall see.”

  “So you do mean to imprison me!” she cried accusingly.

  “Nay. I will not hold you here when you are well.” He did not mention that for her freedom, she must promise him never to treat the sick again. That discussion could wait for another day. The illness that had struck the castle had finally ended, but there would be other diseases, and Nicholas vowed that she would not suffer them.

  She gave him a sulky look that told him she was mollified for now, and he relaxed his stance. She lived, and he would make sure that she continued to do so. Unfortunately, he suspected that he was going to have his hands full with the task.

  Gillian lay awake, silently counting the golden stitches that edged the elaborate bed hangings. Fully recovered from her illness, she had been up and around for weeks and had resumed all her previous activities, with the notable exception of one.

  She had not made love to her husband.

  Nicholas had not sent her back to her pallet. He slept with her, as before, but he did not touch her. They neither coupled passionately nor curled up together in the aftermath, for he stayed firmly entrenched on one side of the huge bed.

  At first, Gillian had been too tired to care, but when she grew better, she had reached out to him, only to be rebuffed. Her husband had insisted she rest, and then he had started coming to bed later and later, until she could not stay awake for him. In the morning he was gone, and the sheets were cold and empty.

  Gillian sighed. She would have thought him weary of her charms, but during the day he did not avoid her. In fact, he spent more time with her than ever. Just yesterday, he had taken her hawking, patiently explaining the finer points of the sport to her, for no reason other than her expressed interest. She had been so stunned that she could barely listen.

  And the outings were not all of it. No matter where she was, he would appear throughout the hours, popping his head into the room as if to check up on her. Often Gillian caught his eyes upon her, so intense that she felt seared through to the heart.

  It was not hate, or the desire she had glimpsed many times, but something else entirely, that burned in those gray depths. Yet, just when she felt as if a momentous discovery were imminent, it would be gone, his gaze shuttered again and whatever feelings he might harbor locked away from her.

  Gillian was not sure how to deal with this new Nicholas. Oh, they argued still, and especially long and hard over her treatment of the sick, but there was some underlying change in him that she could not quite understand. If he was a little less fierce, he was moodier, more prone to sudden sullen spells and to silence rather than shouting…to sleeping rather than loving.

  The absence of his rather demanding passion had left Gillian floundering. She was not quite sure how to initiate either a discussion of the problem or a resolution of it. She had sent Nicholas plenty of hot looks, and brushed against him countless times, all to no avail. She had even considered giving him the tonic that she had once concocted at Edith’s insistence, but she was getting too desperate to waste time with subtlety.

  Alive and healthy, Gillian missed what they had made between them. During the day Nicholas had held himself apart from her, but at night he had always shared himself with her. Gillian drew in a sharp breath at the memories. She wanted him. She wanted that peek into his soul that she took when they came together. She wanted the pure physical pleasure that he gave her with his hands, his mouth and his beautiful body.

  And she refused to wait any longer. Just this afternoon, she had snuck a nap while he was out riding, so that she would be wide awake when he finally came to bed. Tonight was the night, and she was determined.

  The slow creak of the door was her reward, and Gillian smiled in the darkness before closing her eyes. Nicholas undressed in silence, as if he did not want to disturb her, and Gillian felt a precarious twisting of her heart that had become all too familiar. Nicholas, thoughtful? She must be dreaming!

  But the gentle dip of the bed told her she was not, and the rustling of covers signaled his presence. Gillian was sprawled in the middle of the mattress, and he hugged the edge of it, as if he dared not come closer. Perhaps he did not want to wake her, she thought, with no little wonder. When at last he had settled down and his breathing had became slow and easy, Gillian made her move.

  Still feigning sleep, she turned onto her side and snuggled against him. She was not wearing her shift, and the slow glide of her naked skin against his sent heat shooting through her. Ah, how she had missed this! Running her fingers lightly across the thick mat of hair on his chest, she sighed softly, only to feel him stiffen beside her. To her astonishment, he jerked away as if she had burned him, and rolled onto the floor.

  Gillian sat up and stared at him, crouched by the bed, his face hidden from her in the darkness. “Nicholas?”

  “Gillian! I thought you were asleep,” he muttered. But still he made no move to join her.

  “Come back to bed,” she whispered, her voice husky with need. The night made her bold, and she stretched out her arms, wrapped them around his neck and tugged him down on top of her.

  The kiss was just as she remembered, hot and fierce and soul-searing. Without preamble, his tongue thrust into her mouth, claiming her fiercely. Their naked bodies fit together, hers soft, his hard. It had been so long… “Nick,” she said with a sigh.

  He broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. Gillian could hear his swift breathing, could feel his arousal pressing against her. He stayed still for a moment, and she ran her hands along the smooth sides of his muscled body, urging it against hers.

  “Gillian!” His voice was sharp, and he eased away from her, disengaging her arms from around him.

  “What is it?” she asked, bereft, as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

  “You have been ill.”

  “I am well now, Nicholas, as I would show you.”

  “Nay!” His denial sounded harsh and final.

  Gillian fell back against the pillows, stunned. Whatever else was between them, they had always had the passion. Or had he just played with her, making her want something only to take it from her? Was this all part of his revenge?

  She was glad he could not see her face well in the firelight and revel in his triumph. Damn him for a fiend! Gathering all her resources, she turned on him, taunting him as he would her. “Why not? Are you afraid you might act human for a change?”

  “Gillian!” He shouted her name in outrage, and she thought he might lunge for her. She hoped he would, for if they grappled together naked, she might get what she wanted, if only for this night. But he suddenly halted, regaining control of himself once more, and, muttering foul oaths, he surged from the bed. She could hear him dressing, and she rolled onto her side, pulling the covers over her head.

  This time, he did not slam the door, but Gillian still heard it shut behind him. Only then did she bury her face in the pillows and weep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nicholas strode through the bailey, ignoring the low, surprised greetings of the sentinels. He did not stop walking until he was far from
any activity, alone in the darkness. Then he bent over, blew out a ragged breath and willed his painfully hard body to dormancy.

  Damn! When forced to marry Hexham’s heir, he had abstained from any physical relationship, and he had thought to do so again. Unfortunately, it was not so easy the second time around, for now he was familiar with each creamy inch of Gillian’s skin, each tantalizing freckle, each gentle sigh and pulse of her body. He knew just what awaited him, if he would only relax his guard. Even so, he had been doing well enough avoiding temptation until tonight, when he realized that there was something else he had not taken into consideration.

  Gillian. Nicholas had never thought that she would try to seduce him, but he should have guessed. His wife was no shy little nun. She was bold and brave and accustomed to fighting for what she wanted. And, apparently, she wanted him. He should not have been so surprised. After all, she loved him, and to her their lovemaking would mean only pleasure.

  To him it was a frightful proposition.

  Aye, he admitted for the first time in his life, he was afraid. Oh, he had suffered aplenty in those long days and nights after Hexham abandoned him, but revenge had consumed him, fueled him, and in truth he had not feared his own death.

  He feared Gillian’s. Those helpless, hopeless hours at her bedside had proved one thing to him. He did not want to face a life without her. He was determined to keep her well and with him forever, unharmed, unhurt, and content in her devotion to him.

  To that end, Nicholas had already increased the number of guards and outriders who protected his demesne, just in case the stranger who had asked after her turned out to be a threat. And he had secured her promise that she would not tend the sick. Indeed, he had ordered the stiffest penalties for anyone who came near her with the slightest cold or the simplest wart.

  The Syrian had eyed him askance and told him he could not control the Fates, but Nicholas would not listen. He had yanked his wife back from the arms of death, and he would see that no harm or disease came to her ever again. But there were other killers that stole the lives of women in their beds, and Nicholas was well aware of them. Had not his own mother died giving birth? The risk was too great for him to ignore, and so he would not allow it.

  Gillian would never carry his child.

  The decision, made when she lay pale and prone, had seemed reasonable at the time. Then his need had not been for her body, but for her soul. Now, however, she was up and about, her lovely form weaving in and out of his vision, her scent, fresh and beguiling, wafting through the air, and her voice, low and sultry, working upon his humors more strongly than any tonic.

  He thought he would burst.

  Leaning his head against the wall in frustration, Nicholas envisioned a lifetime of this torment and did not think he could endure it. What if she tested him again? He knew very well that his wife was more stubborn than an ox. If she was determined to bed him, she would, and only the strength of his own will could save her.

  That will was already stretched to the breaking point.

  There had to be another way, Nicholas thought, banging the stone angrily. He had heard of men who withdrew at the last moment to spill their seed outside the woman’s body, but he did not know how well it might work. Nor did he trust himself, lost in the throes of passion, to act at the appropriate time. In the East, there had been whispers of certain herbs that could prevent conception, but he knew not the truth of the tales. If such a potion existed, women kept the knowledge to themselves, and rightly so, for most men wanted heirs.

  Nicholas snorted. Not he! Here was one man who would pay dearly for such a recipe, if only he could find it. He thought of the women he might turn to for the information. Edith, for all her flighty ways, was wise in some things. She would certainly not approve of his request, however, and so would deny him the knowledge, if she possessed it. And the old healer in the village was long dead.

  Indeed, the only woman at Belvry who was steeped in herb lore was Gillian, and he could hardly ask her for it. She wanted a child. Had she not told him so? Nicholas flinched at the thought of denying her, but she was not the best judge of her own well-being. She had proved that already. He was her husband, and it was his job to keep her safe.

  Setting his jaw tightly, Nicholas pushed aside any doubt, and resolved to find a way to both have his wife and keep her. If no one here possessed the proper knowledge, he would venture forth for it, or send Darius looking, by God. Maybe even to Dunmurrow. Although he had heard no word from Aisley since her abrupt departure, he knew that his sister had a canny way with plants.

  Nicholas straightened abruptly. He would write to Aisley first, for she would surely know what he needed. He did not like asking her for anything, especially in light of their quarrel, but they were tied by blood. And, once upon a time, he had saved the life of the pompous husband she so doted upon. She owed him.

  Smiling grimly, Nicholas began the long walk back to his hall. Aye, Aisley would do her duty by him, and when he discovered the secret, he would slip it into his wife’s wine. And she would never be the wiser.

  It seemed to Gillian that she had just drifted off to sleep at last when Edith was at the door, waking her again. She jerked upright, opened bleary eyes, looked around the empty room and wondered where her husband had spent the night. It had better not have been in the arms of some other willing wench, or she would kill them both!

  “My lady?”

  Gillian snapped at Edith to enter as she dragged herself from the bed. Anger and humiliation heightened the effects of her lack of sleep so that she could not even summon up a smile for the hapless Edith as she reached for a shift.

  “What is it, my lady?”

  “What is it always?” Gillian retorted, yanking the garment over her head so that she nearly rent the fabric. She poked her head out. “Nothing but him!” She thrust one arm through, and then the other. “I thought he had changed, just a little bit, but he is up to his old tricks, tormenting me for his amusement, the fiend!”

  Edith’s mouth gaped open for a moment before she shut it firmly and frowned at her charge. “My lady, how can you say that, after what he did for you?”

  “And what exactly did he do?” Gillian asked impatiently as she chose a gown for the day. “He snatched me from my home, vilified and frightened me, and ordered me about as his slave!” And, worst of all, he made me fall in love with him…

  “Surely you remember, my lady!” Edith chided, pushing away Gillian’s clumsy hands to take the dress herself. “Why, everyone knows that he was at your side all through your illness, day and night, from the very first. I was still abed myself, so he took care of your needs, washed you down when you were feverish and changed the linens. When I finally saw him, the poor man looked as if he had not slept for weeks. He sat right there and held your hand,” she noted, pointing to a chair that stood near the massive bed.

  Gillian grew pensive as she let the servant help her into her clothes. Her illness was little more than a blur, with snatches of visions that she had thought brought on by fever. Now she studied them more closely. She recalled her husband shouting at her so loudly that he made her head hurt, but she also remembered him pressing a cool cloth to her face and murmuring softly to her. In fact, when she looked back at her care, she saw only Nicholas at her side, tender and gentle and wholly unlike himself. Once, she would have sworn he was crying. She truly must have been dreaming!

  But she could not put down all of it to her fancy. Nicholas must have tended her, at least part of the time. But why? Why go to such lengths for someone he claimed to despise? With a chill, Gillian remembered other times when he had comforted her for base reasons of his own. “He just wanted to keep his vengeance alive,” she said bitterly.

  “Oh, no, my lady,” Edith said, looking so disappointed in her that Gillian actually felt guilty. For what? For assuming the worst about her husband? Just when had he proved her wrong? Even his attention of late, the hawking, the riding, the looking in on her, seemed part
of some insidious plan now. Whatever he gave her, he meant to take away sooner or later.

  Edith gently urged Gillian onto the settle and faced her, hands on ample hips. “My lady, ‘tis time you heard the truth about your lord. I have never seen a man suffering so in my life, and I hope never to again. When you were ill, no one could get him to eat or sleep or even to leave your bedside. When a servant dared speak of your death, he banished the man from Belvry. And I was not the only one to hear him howling like a beast who has lost his mate.”

  Gillian dropped her eyes, uncomfortable with the stark truth to be found in Edith’s. It was too much for her to grasp. “But why?” she whispered.

  “Why?” Edith laughed gently. “For such a clever woman, you seem to be fair dense where His Lordship is concerned. My lady, Nicholas has changed, make no mistake about it, and it is you who has changed him. Our lord is in love.”

  It was Gillian’s turn to gape, for the servant’s words made her mouth fall open in stunned surprise. “Do not look so shocked, my lady. Surely you have seen the difference in him!” Edith insisted. Gillian closed her lips, but she was still too stunned to answer.

  “Why, everyone at Belvry knows it. In fact,” Edith said, leaning closer, “I have collected quite a nice little bag of coins from our more skeptical residents.”

  “Coins…” Gillian echoed dully.

  “Yes, my lady. I knew from the very beginning that you would turn our Nicholas around, and I was not afraid to put my money on it. At first, I wagered only with Willie, but as word got around, well… And after your illness, everyone was forced to pay up, of course, for even a blind man could see that our lord is in love with his wife.”

  Gillian sat slumped on the settle, staring at the far wall, while she tried to make sense of Edith’s rambling. Nicholas in love? With her? Even though her heart desperately wanted to believe it, her mind warned her to beware. He had toyed with her before, deliberately, and with evil intent. Perhaps this was all an elaborate ruse to gain her trust. But why? To destroy her, Gillian answered, shaking herself dazedly.