Maiden Bride

by Deborah Simmons

  Just as he had last night. The memory made Gillian stiffen and straighten, for there was proof enough of her husband’s perfidy. A man in love did not reject his wife’s… advances. Gillian lifted her chin. “Nonsense, Edith,” she said, rising from her seat.

  “But, my lady—”

  “I wish to hear no more of this!” Righteous anger made her answer more sharply than perhaps was warranted.

  “But, my lady—”

  She rounded on Edith. “And this man you say is swooning with love for me, just where did he spend the night, and with whom? He was not here. He will not… stay with me. He refuses me!” Gillian turned away, unwilling to let the servant see her distress.

  She soon felt the comforting pat of Edith’s hand, however. “My lady, he has been concerned about you. You know how he has striven to see you well. Give him time. He wants to be certain that you are fully recovered before having his way with you.”

  Gillian was torn. Although she did not want to listen, her heart bade her heed the servant’s words. And as much as she wanted to reject Edith’s explanation outright, something in it rang true. Oh, she did not for a moment believe that Nicholas had fallen in love with her, but he might have changed just a little. Her perpetual optimism reared its head, only to be warned away by her good sense. Perhaps all the attention he had paid her did spring from concern, although it would take her a while to adjust to that kind of thinking.

  “Give him time,” Edith repeated, as if reading her thoughts. “And if you are not willing, then there are ways to hurry him along,” she added with a chuckle. Then she leaned close to whisper in Gillian’s ear.

  Gillian drew in a sharp breath as she listened to some of the servant’s suggestions. They whirled in her head, conjuring up visions of herself and Nicholas together, making her heart beat apace, making her want. If only she could believe the old woman. If only she could believe in Nicholas! But what if she did try to… seduce her husband, only to be rejected again?

  Gillian did not think she could bear it.

  Nicholas waited until Gillian was busy sewing with the other women before he called for his bath. Although he felt like the basest coward, hiding away from his wife, he wanted no interruptions, and the river outside was turning too cold even for him. His steward had elevated another servant to take Osborn’s place, but the man was slow, and Nicholas snapped for him to hurry.

  Before the fellow finished filling the tub, Nicholas had doffed his clothes and was ready to step in. He sank into the relaxing heat even as the door closed behind the new man, Rowland by name.

  Nicholas had just leaned back his head and closed his eyes, reveling in the nearly forgotten pleasure of his bath, when the door creaked open. “You may go. I will attend myself,” he muttered, realizing that he had taken Osborn for granted. And now that good servant was dead…

  “Will you?” That husky purr belonged to no man, and Nicholas shot straight up, sloshing water over the sides, to find his wife standing before him. He had avoided her since the previous night’s debacle, for he well remembered her ire. Had she come to drown him? Although Nicholas would not have put it past her, he knew better than to reveal his suspicions to his wife.

  “Aye, I need no assistance, as well you know, vixen. Now begone!”

  “Why?” she asked, stepping closer. “I have sworn to attend you, and I would but do my duty.”

  “Nay,” Nicholas said. He watched her warily as she knelt by the tub and rubbed the soap between her hands. Beneath those thick lashes, her green eyes sparked dangerously. “What ails you, Gillian? I warn you, if you are up to some mischief, you will know my wrath.”

  “Will I?” she asked, but her smile belied her seemingly meek answer. She rose to her feet, moving behind him, and Nicholas thought himself rid of her, but then her hands settled upon his shoulders, kneading and spreading the soap along them with her bare hands. Her touch held him paralyzed, unable to move or protest, as she washed his neck and then the length of one arm.

  Something tickled his skin, and he turned to see that her hair was down. Damn! Had she dropped it apurpose, to torment him? The wild red locks fell over her shoulders like fire, and he longed to reached out and grab them, to pull her down atop him, fully clothed. His tarse hardened painfully, and he shifted, remembering all too well the times they had spent together in this very tub.

  Temptation. It stood beside him in the form of his wife, slender and firm and close. It wove into his senses, stealing away his will, but he held firm. Although they had made no child before, he could not take the chance again. He would not lose her because of his own lack of discipline, he resolved, his eyes narrowing. Gilhan still had hold of his wrist and now was massaging each finger in a way that made him reconsider the merit of stimulating such extremities.

  He pulled his hand away. “I need no help,” he croaked. “Go fetch me some ale.”

  Although Nicholas was certain that she would not defy the order, she did, without blinking an eye. “In a moment,” she replied softly. Then she soaped her hands again and laid them on his chest. Her palms caressed him, her thumb flicking his nipples mto stiffness, and that was not all that was stiff. His groin was aching. “Gillian!” he growled.

  “Hmm?” Nicholas recognized the low hum of her desire, and the sound was enough to set him teetering on the brink, caught between need and duty. Without volition, his hips rose in the water, just as her hand drifted down his stomach.

  Nicholas snatched her wrist in a fierce grip as he drew in ragged breaths. “I know not what game you play, but cease!” The words came out harsh and rasping, as he struggled to maintain the last vestiges of his control.

  She stepped back from him, her eyes flashing too brightly. “How could you not know this game, for ‘tis one that you taught me?” she taunted. Flinging her wild mane over her shoulder, she lifted her chin. Angry. Defiant. His tarse grew until it pained him, for he wanted her just like this… “But if you no longer wish to play, then perhaps I shall have to find another partner.”

  “Gillian!” Nicholas surged upward, sending water flying in all directions as he stood upright in the tub, his hands fisted at his side, his wrath enough to frighten an army of men.

  Gillian did not blink. She lifted her delicately arched brows in challenge. “If you no longer want me—”

  “Want you?” The wave of powerful anger ebbed as he stepped from the water, his erection fully visible. “I want you well enough, as you can see, and if I could, in all good conscience, I would have you now. Right here. Right now.”

  She blinked then, her breath coming faster, and Nicholas struggled against the fire that would rage between them. Her emerald eyes grew dreamy with desire, and Nicholas had to stop himself from reaching for her. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed up a length of linen instead, wrapping it around the evidence of his lust.

  Gillian stiffened immediately, the longing gone from her gaze. “You have no conscience.”

  Nicholas could find nothing else to say. All his strength was required simply to stand there, frustrated and hard, staring at the woman he wanted but could not have. His wife.

  “Damn you for a coward!” She threw the curse at him, her voice breaking.

  For a long moment, they faced off, wills clashing as they so often did. Then Nicholas laughed harshly. “You are right. I am a coward. And damn you for making me one.”

  And this time it was not he, but Gillian, who fled, slamming the door behind her, leaving him alone in the vast chamber to ponder his loss.

  Gillian tossed and turned upon her pallet. She had dragged it out and placed it at the foot of the massive bed once more, determined never to sleep with Nicholas again. Perhaps she could not help loving him, but she need not torture herself by lying with him any longer. The more distance she put between herself and her husband, the better for her wounded pride—and her aching heart.

  Unfortunately, the nest that had once been so cozy now seemed cold and hard and… empty. After having shared Nicholas’s
bed, Gillian suspected that all others would fall short. It was not only the passion she missed, but also the feel of his strong arms around her, safe and secure, and the heat of him beside her in the night.

  Gillian blinked back the tears that had threatened all day, unwilling to give in to them. Tears and torment were what Nicholas craved. They fed his revenge, and she would not let him have them. He might have triumphed, but she did not intend to let him see it.

  As if he somehow knew of her defiance and had come to harry her for it, the chamber door opened to admit the fiend himself. Her husband. Gillian lay still, feigning sleep, while he stalked across the room. Soon the sound of him undressing made her breathe easier.

  His quiet actions surprised her. Considering his body’s response to hers, she knew Nicholas would be well rid of her presence in his bed. Yet Gillian had expected him to be annoyed by her return to the pallet, simply because it was her own idea and not one of his almighty orders. Although she told herself that she was glad he let her be, she could not help feeling a prick of pique at being so ignored.

  She was pondering his lack of reaction when he let out a string of low oaths that told her he had just noticed her absence. Although her nest was visible by the light of the nearby hearth, Nicholas had gone by without seeing her. Now his footsteps moved closer, stopping just short of where she lay.

  “Gillian!” He roared loud enough to wake her—or deafen her.

  Biting back a smile at his response, Gillian rolled over to eye him coolly. Unfortunately, the sight of his naked body, tinged golden by the glow of the fire, made her swallow hard. “What?”

  “Get back in my bed!”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so, that is why!”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I have no wish to sleep with you. Go away and leave me in peace.” Gillian started to turn away from him, but found herself being lifted off the floor instead. As if she weighed no more than a feather, her husband hefted her into his arms and tossed onto the bed. Shouting in fury, she scrambled to leave it.

  “Nay!” Nicholas commanded, and before Gillian realized what he was about, he had launched himself at her. He landed beside her, sparing her the weight of his fall, but one of his arms was snaked around her and one of his legs entangled with her own.

  Gillian was trapped. She drew in a sharp breath as he moved over her, pinning her inexorably upon the mattress. Although she was wearing her shift, it was a thin covering at best, and she was acutely aware of his nudity as the length of his body pressed against her.

  All else fled under the force of her desire, and Gillian was too dazed to do anything but stare as her husband raised his head over her own to look down at her. As she took in the harshness of his features and the angry glint in his eyes, his expression changed. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then it came down upon her own, hot, rough and frantic.

  Holding her wrists hostage, Nicholas thrust his tongue deep, and her senses soared. Under his fierce assault, Gillian felt alive for the first time since her illness. She wanted to wrap her arms and legs around him, but he kept her still beneath him while his kisses grew more wild and erotic.

  Frustrated, Gillian lifted her hips, and he groaned, pushing his hard member against her stomach. Gasping in heated anticipation, she shifted, trying to position herself to receive him, but in the next moment he was gone, releasing her hands and rolling away from her to spring from the bed.

  A low sigh of protest escaped her before Gillian could stop it. Damn him! Her body still burned, aching for him. Swallowing hard, she struggled to shake off the bonds of passion and think clearly. With some effort, she managed to push down the hem of her shift and turn toward him. Although his back was to her, Gillian suspected he was still ready for her. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing that he wanted her, too, small comfort that it was.

  “Mayhap your revenge is not so sweet,” she whispered bitterly.

  “What?” He turned toward her then, his body a study in masculine strength and grace, with its sleek muscles and dark hair—and full erection.

  “You punish yourself, as well as me, with your schemes of vengeance,” Gillian said, sitting up and sliding to the edge of the mattress. She had no intention of sleeping with him ever again, no matter how loud he bellowed.

  “Is that what you think I am doing? Punishing you?” he asked her, with a fine show of indignation.

  “Are you not?”

  “Nay! I am done with revenge.” He blew out a seemingly frustrated breath. “‘Tis the child I might give you that holds me back, as it should you, as well.”

  Although she was seated on the side of the bed and he was a few feet away, Gillian felt as if he had struck her. She knew the color drained from her face, even as all the hope drained from her heart. He had told her before that he wanted no heir of hers, and yet she had allowed herself to cling to a dream. Oh, what a fool she had been!

  Gillian rose slowly, as if her whole body were empty and lifeless. The rushes were cold against her bare feet, chilling her to the bone as she had not been since her homeless days, when she had been so very alone and frightened.

  Somehow, she managed to walk to the hearth and stretch out her hands. They felt numb, as did the rest of her. “So that is it. You have decided that you want no heir with my tainted blood.” When the heat did nothing for her, Gillian straightened her shoulders and turned to face him. “It is best, of course. I would have no innocent baby be tormented because you think your precious Hexham lives on in him.”

  “You believe I would torment an infant?” he asked, with an incredulous expression that soon hardened at the sight of her even stare. “You are wrong, Gillian. I would harm no baby. And I am done with my revenge. ‘Tis over.” He uttered the words with a conviction that gave Gillian pause. But she knew well his clever schemes. She could not trust him.

  “Why?”

  Nicholas stared at her a long moment, his gray eyes clouded, his jaw working as if he were the one who was distressed. “Because!” he snapped. “I am weary of it.”

  Then, to her astonishment, he sank down onto the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands, stifling a strange sound that rumbled from his chest. Gillian stared, stunned, at this pose she had never thought to see her warrior husband take.

  Nicholas, weak and vulnerable.

  Perhaps he was human, after all. Gillian closed her eyes against the sight that threatened to wrench her heart in two. She was the one who had been wronged time and time again. Why should she care if the man she thought incapable of feeling anything looked to be in pain? Why should she go to him with comfort?

  Because she loved him, despite all. And because she loved him, Gillian moved toward him, stopping only when she stood in front of his silent figure. “Nicholas…”

  At the sound of his name, he lifted his head, his eyes blazing with the fierceness of his conviction once more. “You are mine, Gillian, and I will not let you leave me, even in death!” he whispered fiercely.

  “I stood here and watched you try to get away, but I pulled you back,” he said, making a fist, as if to clutch her life in his hand. “And I will not let it happen again. I will protect you from all that may do you harm, and I will not get you with child.”

  Gillian reeled from the force of the revelation. He feared for her life? She released a long, low, shuddering breath of relief. Dared she believe him? She dropped to her knees before him and looked up into his face. “Is that what this all is about? You are anxious for my health?”

  “You belong to me, and I will not have you endangered.”

  “But, Nicholas, I do not understand.” Gillian’s mind was spinning in confusion. She reached out to touch him. “You say you are done with your revenge, yet you are determined to keep me alive and well.”

  Gillian sought his eyes, and the gray depths she had once thought as cold and sharp as blades seemed now more like smoke, warm and encompassing. “You are my wife. That is
reason enough,” he said before looking away.

  It was not exactly a confirmation of Edith’s suspicions, but neither was it a vow of hatred. And Gillian knew she could not allow herself to hope for his affection; that would surely lead her to madness. She rested her hands upon his knees, her heart twisting within her breast at the ingenuous declaration. She was his wife; it was better than being his enemy. Taking a deep breath, she raised her face to him once more.

  “I am very grateful for your concern, but, oh, Nicholas, only God has the power of life and death, and as much as you would like to believe otherwise, you are only a man. Perhaps the force of your will did give me the strength to get well again, but you cannot take God’s matters into your own hands and decide that we are to have no children.”

  “Perhaps there is a way, Gillian,” he said with sudden urgency. “Know you of herbs that can prevent a man’s seed from growing inside you?”

  Gillian dropped her head, shaking it sadly at his fierce stubbornness. She could argue until she was blue in the face and still not sway him. In truth, she could think of nothing to say but what was foremost in her heart. “Oh, Nicholas, I would so like to have a baby of my own, with beautiful dark hair and silver eyes like his father. Like you.”

  The admission, wrung from her very soul, made him groan, and suddenly Gillian was aware of her position, kneeling on the floor before him, her hands upon his knees. He was still naked, his legs parted before her, and straight ahead was the instrument of her desire that could so readily give her what she wanted. While she watched, it grew and rose before her, as if in agreement.

  Nicholas mumbled a protest, but Gillian ignored it, sliding her palms along his inner thighs as she leaned forward, pressing kisses along his hair-roughened skin. When she put her mouth on him, his denial dissolved into a growl of hunger that sounded as if it were torn from his chest. He fell back upon the bed, pulling her with him, but Gillian kept to her task, fascinated by it. And then his hands tangled in her hair, holding her head in place as he groaned and thrust himself into her mouth.