Stunned silence met the man’s words, following by a buzzing of soft voices that swiftly rose to a cacophony within the hall. With growing alarm, Gillian listened to the speculation that a brother of hers was heir to the neighboring lands that had once belonged to Hexham, and, worse yet, heir to Hexham!
Stifling a gasp, Gillian sent a fearful glance toward her husband. Although outwardly Nicholas looked impassive, she could see the sharp glitter of his eyes that told her of his rage. She knew, just as surely as if he had spoken it, that he wanted to kill the man who stood before them.
Gillian watched him bring himself under control with massive effort, only to turn on her. Before he could even speak, she shook her head. “Nay, ‘tis not true. I have no brother!”
“Gillian,” the black-haired man said softly, “surely you have not forgotten me.”
Normally she would never have attacked a stranger, but the precarious peace of her marriage teetered in the balance. Rising to her feet, Gillian pointed a shaking finger at the man. “How dare you disturb my household?”
Instead of shouting back at her, the fellow looked oddly forlorn. “Aw, Gilly,” he said, and suddenly, Gillian felt as if the earth beneath her feet had shifted. She was seized by a memory of dark curls pressed close, smelling of grass and horse. Aw Gilly, a high voice whispered. Quit chasing afterme.Stay with Mum, now.
Gillian swayed upon her feet, then fell back into her chair, collapsing under the weight of her discovery. “Hawis,” she mumbled.
The silence that followed was deafening, as was the bellow that soon rent the air. “Do you know this man?” Nicholas demanded. “Is he your brother?”
Gillian’s head felt thick as she struggled to think. She pressed fingers to her temple, searching for images that were so deeply buried in the past that they seemed just out of reach.
“My lord, I have—” The man tried to speak, but Nicholas cut him off.
“Silence!” he shouted. “I would hear from my wife.”
Gillian lifted her pounding head to meet the gentle, beseeching gaze of the stranger. Then she turned to her husband, whose thunderous expression stood in stark contrast to that of the man who claimed to be her brother.
“Well?” Nicholas said, goading her.
Gillian swallowed hard. “I had a brother, but he died long ago.” She turned an apologetic glance toward the man who stood before them.
“Nay, sister. I died not, but was sent away by our father,” he protested. Gillian tried to warn the fellow with her eyes. Whoever he was, could he not see he was playing with fire? Kin or no, he would be wise to leave before Nicholas struck him down.
As if reading her thoughts, her husband pinned her with a cold gray gaze that twisted her heart. “When did he die?”
“I do not remember,” Gillian answered, helplessly. “I was very young!”
“Gilly—”
“What killed him? Did you see the body?”
Gillian put her hands over her ears. “Stop it! I cannot remember. I know only that he died, as did my younger sister… and my father… and my mother.” She was shaking now, with both grief and rage. How could the man she loved turn against her so easily?
“Gilly!” Ignoring Nicholas’s black expression, the stranger knelt down before her chair and took her hands in his own. “Gilly. I never meant to cause any harm, I swear it. I was very young when I was fostered out, and when the man who held me fell to his enemies, I lost all touch with my true family. It has taken me years to remember, and now, finally, to find you.”
This time the stillness that followed his words seemed unnatural, for even Nicholas held his tongue. Gillian felt as if everyone in the hall were holding their breath, awaiting her response. She knew she ought to say nothing, to show nothing, to feel nothing, but despite her best intention, a tear trickled down her face.
Silently she looked upon the sibling she had thought long dead, the last member of the family she had thought lost to her many years past, and she reached out to embrace him.
Chapter Seventeen
Nicholas paced. Back and forth, forward and again, seeking order amid his turbulent thoughts. For once in his life, he was in a quandary. The discipline and swift decisions that had marked his life before Gillian seemed a thing of the past, but never had he been so confused! And all because of one man’s arrival.
Gillian’s brother. Nicholas’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists in frustration. His first inclination had been to kill the bastard, and he had nearly leapt from his chair to do it. Only iron will had prevented the spilling of Hawis Hexham’s blood then and there.
Such an end would be too swift and clean for Hexham’s treacherous line, Nicholas had decided. He had leaned, instead, toward tossing the fellow into the dungeon to torture and torment him, to see Hexham’s heir suffer as he had, at last. Revenge, his old companion, called to him in a tempting refrain, rife with possibilities. Nicholas could strike Hawis down or string him up, and no one would say him nay.
No one except his wife.
Cursing softly, Nicholas turned to stalk the length of the room again, stopping only when a voice broke into his reverie. He looked up in surprise, for he had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had forgotten Darius’s presence.
“‘Tis a puzzle, is it not?” the Syrian said. “If you had discovered the brother first, you could have killed him and still taken the sister as spoils, but now…” Darius shrugged, as if distressed, yet he sounded more amused than dismayed.
Nicholas scowled. “If you have no counsel to offer, then begone with you.”
The Syrian ignored the harsh words, just as though Nicholas had not spoken. “Will you slay him?”
“Nay!” Nicholas answered abruptly. He remembered Gillian’s face, her tears at the reunion, and knew he could not destroy her brother. He wanted to do it. Indeed, every fiber of his being cried out for vengeance that could finally be his. But something else was stronger, a nameless something that had planted itself inside him when he first looked upon his red-haired bride. It had sprouted in the days and nights after his wedding until it had grown greater than his need for reprisals, greater then himself. And now it demanded that he protect Gillian at all costs, even at the price of his once treasured goal.
“You mean to let him go?” Darius asked, as if reading his thoughts. “What if he runs to Edward, demanding his inheritance?”
“The claim has been settled already,” Nicholas snapped.
“True,” Darius answered. “But, if I recall, you, too, rose from the dead to succeed your father.”
“That was different!”
“Was it?” Darius mused. “Still, even if he eventually gains those lands, ‘tis not as if they would be any great loss to you. Belvry is vast and prosperous without them. You have no need of them, do you?”
Yes! Nicholas wanted to answer. Belvry, his heritage, provided him with wealth and power, but even if he had no financial need for Hexham’s demesne, he would not part with it. He had a personal interest in every acre that had belonged to the scheming bastard who had once been his neighbor, and they were his—by right of suffering, battle and vengeance. Nicholas’s feelings were too strong to put into words, too gripping to shake off like a bad investment. Even as he tried to express them, Darius went on, seemingly oblivious of his struggle.
“It is not as though you would have to ally yourself with the nephew of your old nemesis. You could bar this Hawis from Belvry, keep him from his sister, make war upon him…”
Nicholas’s head jerked toward the Syrian. Although his stomach had healed, he felt his gut churn at the thought of depriving Gillian of her brother, through death or any other means. Did not the vixen rant daily about her need for a family? If he kept this newly discovered sibling from her, he would know her displeasure soon enough. Aye, would he not lose her love? Nicholas swore and whirled on his heel. Although it was not something he had ever sought, now that he possessed it, he found himself loath to destroy this affection she felt f
or him.
His mouth tightened, for he was unwilling to share such sentiments with the Syrian, who would, no doubt, laugh in delight at the prospect of Nicholas bowing to his wife’s wishes. Nicholas ground his teeth, unable to believe it himself, yet he could not bring himself to do anything else. Gillian came first.
As the realization sank in, a new thought struck him. “Where did Hawis say he served?”
“The marches, under a man named Mollison.”
“Where there has been so much upheaval?”
“Britain and Wales are at peace now, as I understand it,” Darius said, giving Nicholas a puzzled look.
“Still, they were at war but a few years ago, resulting in much destruction of those lands.”
“What? Do you suspect this Hawis of some nefarious deed, besides being born a Hexham?”
Nicholas scowled at the ill-advised jest. “Let us say that I would like to know a little about Hawis’s past. Yet it will be hard to trace a man along the marches.” He whirled toward his companion. “Why do you suppose it took so long for him to find his sister?”
Darius shrugged. “Perhaps he waited to see if you would kill her before daring to claim his own.” Nicholas stiffened, disliking the reminder of what he found so easy to forget. Yes, Gillian was of Hexham’s blood, but she was different—better and finer than anything that bastard could have produced. And Hawis? Nicholas did not like to think that perhaps he misjudged her brother, too, so he turned on the Syrian angrily.
“Just because he is Gillian’s brother, that does not mean he is a good man,” Nicholas argued. “Indeed, the opposite is more likely! You may scoff at his bad blood, but it is there, and it may run true. I would know what kind of man he is, lest he do my wife ill! Where was he when she was thrown into the streets, or when she was forced to be a servant, tormented by her master?”
Darius did not blink, his dark eyes fathomless. “He claims to have been bound to his lord on the marches, which made it impossible for him to come back earlier, but if you would know more of him, I shall seek it.”
Nicholas was surprised at the wave of feeling that swept over him at his companion’s offer. Although they had sworn no oaths between them, Darius gave him full measure, and more. “I would go myself, but I must protect my wife and my home,” Nicholas said gruffly.
“Your place is here,” Darius replied. “I will go, not only for you, but for your lady.”
Nicholas nodded his thanks before his thoughts returned, inexorably, to Hawis Hexham, and the problems his arrival had engendered. “I would know, too, how he found her after all these years,” Nicholas muttered.
“I suspect that he is the dark-haired man who asked after her so often and led me such a merry chase in search of him.”
“Aye,” Nicholas agreed. “But why so many questions? And why did he cover his trail so well that you could not find him? There are too many unusual circumstances that trouble me about our Hawis.”
Darius shrugged. “I will find out what I can, but you must realize that it may all be as he says. And then what? What if he is not the villain you would paint him?”
Nicholas paused, annoyed, as usual, by the Syrian’s insight, but he refused to be drawn into such speculation until he knew the facts. That much, at least, of his training remained with him, despite the effects of flashing emerald eyes and fiery hair.
“We shall see,” he said. “Until I hear from you or decide otherwise, I will let this Hawis stay here, where I can keep an eye on him.”
Darius lifted his dark brows slightly. “Do you think it wise to give him your hospitality? What if your lady wife grows more attached to him? It will make it harder for her to accept what may come.”
Attached. Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. He did not like the word, or the idea, as Darius well knew. The jealousy that had been gnawing at him ever since he saw his wife put her arms around another man, albeit her brother, burst fullblown into his chest. He whirled and paced again, going over the same limited choices.
If he sent Hawis Hexham away, he might lose Gillian’s love, and if he let the bastard stay, he might lose that love as it was divided, shared… She would have her precious family, and he would have what? Suddenly, Nicholas’s lips curled wickedly. He knew of a way to keep his wife’s attention focused solely on him and his, and give her what she most desired in the process.
He would get her with child.
It was what she wanted, after all, and she would be more concerned over the seed growing in her belly than about her adult sibling. Nicholas’s smile grew. It would not be such a bad thing to have an heir of his own, and Gillian was strong. She had told him often enough that his doubts about her safety were foolish. The threat from Hawis was real and here and now, while the problems of birthing were vague and in the future.
Grinning, Nicholas made his decision.
“And what has made you suddenly so cheerful?” the Syrian asked.
“Congratulate me, Darius, for I am going to sire an heir on my wife.”
Nicholas felt an unfamiliar twinge of anxiety as he entered the great chamber. He told himself that this night was no different from any other, and yet the knowledge of the resolution he had made weighed upon him. Tonight, he would not just let Gillian have her way, he was determined to give her what she wanted. His lips curled in anticipation of the task.
But he remembered Willie’s advice, and knew that if he was to be successful, he must be sure that events progressed at a quiet pace. Tender, gentle, slow. Those were words that did not describe his usual behavior. His smile turned into a frown as he realized that what he planned might not be that easy.
“Nicholas?” Gillian’s voice from the bed made him start.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for not killing him.”
So concerned was he with what lay ahead that it took Nicholas a moment to remember what she was talking about. “Your brother.”
“Yes,” she replied, as he began to remove his clothing. “‘Tis so strange to see him after all these years. I wonder how Aisley felt when you rose from the dead.” Nicholas halted, his tunic dangling from one hand. He had never stopped to consider his sister’s feelings when he stormed back into her life. Frowning, he dropped the garment and bent to remove his braies.
“I can barely remember him. A face, snatches of impressions. It is frustrating, but I am glad he is alive, and I… thank you for letting him stay.”
Grunting in acknowledgment, Nicholas slipped into bed beside his wife. Her brother was not what he wanted to discuss. Indeed, he did not wish to talk at all. He would rather spread her thighs and… Slowly, Nicholas told himself, swallowing an oath of frustration.
His hand snaked out to find her slender curves and glide over them in the darkness. Her skin was smooth and supple, and he threw off the covers to see it touched by the firelight. But the sight of her body fueled his passion, and Nicholas struggled to hold himself in check. Closing his eyes was little relief, for her scent wafted through his nostrils and into his blood, making it soar and thunder in his ears. Burying his face in her hair, he sought to slow the lust that threatened to run rampant. Easy, he told himself, but Gillian made it difficult.
“Nick,” she whispered, inflaming him with the sound of his name, eager and joyous, on her lips. Her fingers trailed down his torso, settling over his hard nipples, and he lifted his head to kiss her. She met him greedily, her tongue mating with his own, and soon his breath came quickly, and he wanted only to roll atop her, to feel her under him as he pounded into her.
Tearing his lips away, Nicholas gasped for breath. He needed a moment to gather his resources, but Gillian knew no such hesitation. She pressed her mobile mouth against his chin, his throat, his chest, and her hands moved down his back, clutching his buttocks.
Damn. Blowing out a harsh sigh, Nicholas decided that Gillian would soon have him mindless and frantic. Better to get on with it, before he became too feverish. Pulling her to him as gently as he could, Nicholas threw her le
g over his thigh and entered her warmth.
It was ecstasy. Nicholas bit his lip in an effort to be still. He might have succeeded, but for his wife, who was moving her hips and grabbing at him like the lusty wench that she was, and for once he did not welcome her wildness.
“Gillian,” he croaked.
“Hmm?”
“Gillian!”
“What?”
“Calm down.”
“What? Why? Are you hurt?” She drew back to study him, and Nicholas gritted his teeth at the exquisite sensation of her body sliding away from him.
“Nay,” he answered, and she took him back into her warmth, stealing his wits. “I would give you what you want, vixen, but I… Ah!” He had not realized that this would be torment akin to roasting. In about one more minute, he was going to abandon his scheme and sate himself.
“Nicholas.” Apparently he had got her attention, for she took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. Green eyes, dark with passion, met his own. “What is it?”
He could speak, if she just would not clench him so tightly. And she was not even moving. “Gillian!”
“What?”
Nicholas released a ragged sigh. “To make a child, we must go slowly.”
Of course, he should have known better than to expect his wife to acquiesce to anything. Instead of nodding in agreement, she burst out laughing, so forcefully that he nearly slipped from inside her. Nicholas might have taken offense, had the sound not been so welcome, the look on her face so lovely. His chest swelled with affection for her, his wife.
“Oh, Nicholas,” she said between gasps for breath. “You cannot believe those old wives’ tales.”
“‘Twas no old wife, but Willie, who told—”
His words were interrupted by Gillian’s fresh gale of laughter. Then she buried her face against his shoulder, giggling uncontrollably. Nicholas had never seen her this way. Perhaps the strain of her brother’s arrival had unnerved her.
“Gillian?”
“Oh, Nicholas, you cannot mean to believe Willie?”
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