He did not look the slightest bit grateful, however. Concerned, yes, but about her, not about his own threatened existence. How could he be so calm, so oblivious of the danger that was Nicholas? “Are you well now?” Hawis asked solicitously. “Let me call Edith for you. She will know what to do.”
Although her husband was the only one who could help her, Gillian did not argue. She let him leave, eager to dissipate the tensions that still ran high in the room. When Edith came bustling in, Nicholas rose to his feet.
“Do you go after him?” she whispered, afraid again.
Nicholas sighed. “Nay, but he must decide, and I would have his answer… soon.”
Gillian nodded. Surely, after what happened today, Hawis would see the folly of pursuing their uncle’s lands. Perhaps, if she could talk to him alone, she could convince him, but when and how? Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed, and so very tired that when Nicholas left and Edith propped up her feet, she did not protest.
It seemed to Gillian that she closed her eyes for just a moment, yet she opened them to the sight of afternoon sun slanting through the windows, lighting an elegant thick tapestry that draped from a coffer onto the floor. Shaking her head groggily, she blinked at Edith, who was sitting on the settle, grinning from ear to ear.
“Congratulations, my lady,” she said. Although Gillian had become accustomed to Edith’s eccentricities, she could make no sense of the older woman’s words.
“What?”
Edith threw up her hands in glee. “My lady, you were sleeping during the day!”
Gillian nodded slowly, bewildered. Although normally she did not nap, she failed to see the significance of this instance. Nor could she fathom the servant’s odd behavior.
Edith continued grinning like the veriest fool and leaned forward expectantly. When Gillian did not speak, she chuckled giddily. “And you have not had your courses!”
Gillian blushed at the old woman’s plain speaking. And just how did Edith know that her monthly flow was past due? “Are you keeping track?” she asked, suspiciously.
The servant did not even bother to deny it. “Yes! Are you not?”
“No, I—” Gillian paused. Of course, she should have been more aware of her personal habits, since she so desperately wanted a child, but she had never thought to count the days. And with the arrival of her brother, her attention had been diverted. She lifted her head, hardly daring to believe what Edith was telling her. “Do you really think ‘tis possible?”
Edith nodded eagerly. “I do, my lady.”
Gillian looked down at herself in wonder. Did she carry Nicholas’s heir? Even as she smiled, her vision blurred with tears at the thought of all that this child might mean. Not only did this baby represent the future of Belvry and its people, but Gillian also had her own hopes for him, beyond those of any good mother.
Silently and fervently, she wished that this tiny life that flowed with the blood of the de Lacis and the Hexhams could bring an end to the feud between them.
Nicholas left the heaving horse with his groom and strode back toward the great hall. Keeping his distance, he had followed Gillian’s brother as far as the old border marking Hexham’s former demesne. Then he had turned away, riding hard and fast toward home, for he was afraid that if he got any closer, he would slit the bastard’s throat, whether Gillian liked it or not.
Treachery. Deceit. It was ever a Hexham trait, and it ran true in this Hawis, who had taken advantage of Nicholas’s hospitality while scheming to steal his lands. Damn the bastard’s black soul! Nicholas stormed through the hall and up to the solar, determined to tell Gillian that he had come to a decision.
Her brother must go, for he would nurture no viper in his own home. As soon as Hawis returned from his uncle’s former holdings, he could pack up his things and count himself lucky to leave with his life! And woe betide the man if Nicholas ever caught him on Belvry land again. Clenching his fists angrily, Nicholas stalked into the room, only to pause as his wife rose from her chair to greet him.
“Nicholas,” she whispered. She looked different from when he had left her, softer and less strained, somehow. Her mouth was curved into a gentle smile, and her eyes shone with a new light, bright and yearning.
Closing the door behind him, Nicholas stepped forward, puzzled by the change that had occurred in his absence. She had been gasping for air before, but now she was a glowing vision that nearly stole away his breath. “What is it? What has happened?” he asked.
She moved toward him gracefully, her hand drifting over her stomach in a gesture he had never seen before. “Edith thinks that… I might be… I do not know for certain, but I hope that…”
Her stammered words caught him by surprise. Was she with child already? Nicholas felt rather numb at the knowledge that it was done at last and out of his hands.
“A family, Nicholas,” Gillian said softly, drawing his attention back to her face. She watched him warily, as if uncertain of his reaction, and Nicholas put aside his doubts. Like so many of the gentler emotions, happiness was not something he had ever put much stock in, but now he could see it in his wife’s eyes. It reached out to touch something deep inside him, as if she would infuse him with the feeling, too.
And why not? Gillian had filled his empty soul with life and warmth and all sorts of elusive sentiments that he had never thought possible. Perhaps her dreams of a family were not so foolish. He would willingly indulge her, as long as she took no harm. “Are you well?” he asked gruffly.
She laughed—it was a low husky sound that made him think of the noises she made in his bed—and he shifted his body uncomfortably. “I am fine. Put aside your fears for me. In fact, I would celebrate this good fortune!”
Before Nicholas knew what she was about, Gillian was whirling around the room, arms outstretched, as if to encompass the world. Frowning at her giddiness, he reached out to stop her, but she danced out of his way, knocking some thick pillows onto a carpet that was draped upon the floor.
“Be careful,” he snapped, but as with all his orders, Gillian would have none of it. Instead, she dropped down onto the thick pelt, as if to inspect it.
“I have never seen something so beautiful tossed upon the tiles,” she murmured, running her hand across the thick pile in a way that made his thoughts turn, again, toward the night.
“‘Tis not uncommon in the East.”
“Ah, the East,” she whispered. Giving him a sultry look that quickened his blood, she leaned back against the fallen pillows. “Teach me some of the erotic arts that you learned there.”
Erotic arts? Nicholas laughed. Indeed, he knew none, for sex had always been a straightforward act of lust for him, and he had not been one to dally at pleasuring a woman. Until Gillian. “I believe that what you are referring to is the same the world over.”
His wife looked disappointed. “There must be something exotic and…wicked we can do,” she breathed, and there was no mistaking the light in her eyes. She had never looked less like an inmate of a convent.
Nicholas’s lips curved in amusement, but when Gillian did not return his smile, he realized that his fiery wife was serious. He had never dallied during the day! The afternoon’s light was filtering through the half-open shutters, beckoning him to much unfinished business, including the onerous problem of Hawis Hexham, yet one glance at Gillian sprawled before him wantonly made all else seem unimportant.
He wanted her, here and now. He wanted to claim her, and the child, as his own, to lift her hips and bury himself inside her welcoming heat until nothing existed but Gillian. He had only to think about it, and he was ready—aye, more than ready—for her, and he took a step forward, only to halt himself.
She wanted something exotic.
Nicholas wracked his desire-fogged brain for memories of eastern practices. His lips quirked. “We could shave off all your body hair.”
“Ugh!” She made a face, and he laughed, the once unusual reaction coming freely to him. How easy it was with her! Alt
hough he had rarely smiled before his marriage, Nicholas found himself often grinning at his wife’s antics. She was alternately infuriating, amusing and exhilarating, he decided.
Right now, she was eying him expectantly, and he realized he was going to have to come up with something. Darius was a self-proclaimed great lover, so he tried to recollect some of the Syrian’s lewd exploits.
“Honey,” he said, abruptly. “I could dribble it all over your body and lick it off.”
She frowned. “Too sticky.”
“Crushed fruit?”
“What a mess!”
“Wine?”
Gillian shook her brilliant curls. “I would smell like a winery.” Nicholas grinned, for they were much alike, he and his wife. None of those suggestions particularly appealed to him, either, for he was not one for exotic treats.
“‘Tis just as well. Your skin tastes fine as it is, and needs no additional flavoring.”
She blushed. “Do you think so?” she asked, rather breathlessly. “I like the feel of your tongue, without… all those extras.” Although her pale coloring flamed even brighter at this admission, his little nun did not look away.
Of course! Did she even know what she asked for? Nicholas doubted it, but he remembered his own fevered pleasure when she had taken him in her mouth. And he knew, with certainty, that she would gain the same delight from him.
Nicholas’s glance raked her slim form, coming to rest at the juncture of her thighs, and his breath came sharp and quick. He had never done it before, had never wanted to, but right now the prospect of kissing her heated center seemed infinitely appealing. He lifted his gaze to her face. Her green eyes were wide, and she shuddered. “What?” she whispered.
“This,” Nicholas answered, and he sank down on his knees before her. Closing his hands around her slender ankles, he heard the low hiss of air leaving her lungs. Then he slid his palms along her stockings and higher, to the skin above them—bare and smooth. Impatiently his arms pushed her gown and shift out of the way, bunching it up around her waist until he could see the thatch of red curls that marked her woman’s place.
Often had he played there, but never had he looked upon it in the light of day, and he found himself drawn there, fascinated. He parted her legs, dipping his head low to rub against the tender skin of her thighs, pale and soft.
“Nicholas…” She called to him, and he raised his head once more. Her breasts were rising and falling with the speed of her breath, her lips were parted, her eyes were luminous and wary. Although she looked unsure, Nicholas had never been more certain of anything. Suddenly, he had to do this, had to know the taste of her.
“Lie back,” he ordered roughly. Although she rarely did as he told her, after a long moment, Gillian sank shakily onto the pillows behind her. Nicholas arranged her skirts out of his way and turned his attention back to her fiery core. He stroked her sleek thighs, then spread them wide and kissed the curls that crowned her.
She gasped, but he ignored it, too intent now upon his goal. Her scent wafted up to him, giving him greeting, and he nuzzled the spot where her legs joined her body. Having no experience to guide him, Nicholas moved on instinct, pressing his lips against the delicate folds of her body, his heart pounding in a furious rhythm as he acquainted himself with the source of her delight.
He opened his mouth, kissing her fully, and she cried out, lifting her hips in agitation, so he slid his hands beneath her to cup the curves of her buttocks and raise her to him. He snaked out his tongue tentatively, then more boldly. She tasted musky and sweet. Hot. And wet.
Nicholas’s body tightened painfully, and soon he was licking her lustily and delving inside her, while Gillian writhed beneath the onslaught. Her hands twisted into his hair, holding his head to her, and she called his name, over and over, interspersed with pleas that made his blood roar its assent. When she cried out in fulfillment, it was all he could do not to spill his seed upon the carpet.
Her fingers pulled at his shoulders, dragging him up to her, but Nicholas required no urging. Still on his knees, he lowered her hips to his and, in a single thrust, buried himself deep. Gillian’s ankles dangled over his shoulders, and in the seconds before his violent climax began, he recalled his wife’s request.
This was, he decided, as exotic as he could take.
Chapter Nineteen
Nicholas strode into the great hall, calling impatiently for his wife. Why was she never here to greet him? His mood was poor, for he had been out scouting the damages from the late-autumn storm that had struck yesterday, toppling trees and destroying a villein’s hut. Although the rain had stopped for now, the river behind the castle was still rising, and he had sent some men to ride along its banks to assess the danger.
Now he was cold and hungry and his wife was nowhere to be seen. He had just opened his mouth to shout again when he saw Rowland approaching him, looking glum. “Where is she?” Nicholas snarled.
“My lord, your lady has gone out riding with her brother, I believe,” the servant replied.
“What? In this weather?” Nicholas clenched his fists in frustration. He did not like Gillian to ride in her condition, especially on a day like this. Damn that bastard brother of hers! He should have tossed Hawis Hexham out on his ear a week ago—after the villain asked after his uncle’s property.
But Gillian had made soothing noises, Hawis had backed down, and, feeling magnanimous because of his wife’s pregnancy, Nicholas had let her brother remain. He had regretted his decision ever since, but never more than at this moment. Not only was it too cold for Gillian to be outside, but the ground was still soft and treacherous in places, where the saturated grass had frosted over as temperatures dropped.
Nicholas whirled around, prepared to go after them, when Rowland cleared his throat. “There is something else, my lord.”
“What?” Nicholas snapped.
The servant, apparently inured to his foul tempers, did not quail, but pointed to the hearth. “You have a visitor,” he said. Then, without even waiting for a dismissal, he hurried away.
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed as he looked toward the fire, where a large bulk of a man was warming his hands, unattended by any guards. Damn! His pregnant wife was galloping the frozen countryside, and strangers were wandering in the hall. What next? Nicholas thought, his temper fraying.
With a low oath, he stepped forward, only to halt in his tracks when the fellow turned slowly to face him. As he recognized the tall, broad figure, Nicholas stiffened in astonishment. What was Piers Montmorency doing here?
Nicholas’s first thought was for Aisley and her child. Were they here? Or had his brother by marriage brought ill news? “My sister?” he asked harshly.
“She is well,” Piers answered, looking faintly surprised at the question. “She sent me to you.”
Silence descended at the Red Knight’s quiet explanation, and Nicholas was aware of the tension that stretched between them. They had not parted on good terms after brawling on these very tiles. What brought the Red Knight back to Belvry?
As if reading his thoughts, Piers fixed him with those clear blue eyes that always seemed to see too much. “Aisley was concerned about you and your wife after receiving your letter.”
Nicholas felt himself flush and glanced away, unable to hold Pier’s gaze. He had forgotten that missive and its contents. “All is well. The sickness has passed.”
“Good,” Piers said. “And your wife?”
“Is fine,” Nicholas muttered.
“I thought as much,” Piers said, turning to rub his hands near the fire. Nicholas realized that the Red Knight must have been caught in the storm yesterday, and he felt vaguely guilty for having caused the man discomfort, albeit inadvertently. “I saw her riding from the bailey, but did not hail her. I wanted to see you first.”
Nicholas nodded. Piers’s caution was understandable considering the conditions under which he had left de Laci land. Yet Nicholas could hardly even remember the argument that had precip
itated the violence between them. He suspected that he ought to apologize, but he was in no mood for it.
“She seemed happy and healthy,” Piers said, prompting him. He eyed Nicholas closely, as though searching for deeper truths, and Nicholas volunteered one.
“She is with child,” he said.
Piers’s surprise was evident, but it was followed swiftly by a wide grin. “Congratulations, Nicholas.”
Nicholas nodded, grudgingly. “‘Tis good news, as long as she remains well. I…I would not wish for anything to go wrong.”
Again Nicholas caught the flare of surprise in Piers’s eyes before the man smiled. “All will be well. But, if you are concerned, mayhap we should bring her back to the hall. The roads were foul and slippery as I journeyed here, and I saw some flooding.”
Nicholas released a sharp oath. “I would that she had not gone, but he would persuade her in my absence.”
“He? The man who was with her?” Piers paused to rub his chin thoughtfully. “I have seen him before, but I cannot think where or when.”
Nicholas turned, and was already heading for the doors when Piers’s words penetrated his brain. He stopped short. “What do you mean?”
“I remember! ‘Twas on the marches. He was squire to one of the knights, but was turned off in disgrace. What does he here?”
Nicholas felt his stomach seize up, and for a moment he thought he might vomit. He, who had not blinked an eye in the face of battle or its bloody aftermath, suddenly felt the kind of fear that made grown men sick. He forced his mouth to speech. “Are you certain? The man claims to be someone else.”
The flash of confusion and alarm that crossed the Red Knight’s face made bile rise in Nicholas’s throat. He swallowed hard, gritting his teeth against the panic that threatened to engulf him.
“I saw his face only from a distance, but I could swear it was the same man,” Piers said slowly. “Black of hair and eyes, he was, of medium height and build. Swithun was his name, I think. I remember well when he was turned off, because ‘twas due to his own negligence. He sent his master off to battle with a loose cinch that cost the man’s life, and he was lucky to escape with his own, for soldiers are not a forgiving lot.”
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