by Maura Seger
Brenna watched him go with relief. Her own behavior was beginning to frighten her. The court lady's careless words had so enraged her that she had come close to slapping the spoiled harridan's lustful face. Yet at the same time she could not deny that some part of herself echoed the woman's sentiments. Guyon's body moved hers in ways she had never imagined possible. Some force long dormant within her was coming awake, and she was at once exalted and terrified by its first faint stirrings.
Far in the back of her mind, in a shadowy corner too filled with horrors to confront directly, the high-pitched voice of a child screamed a warning. The color drained from Brenna's face. Her hands trembled as the bitter taste of bile rose in her throat.
Edythe, busy talking with the Queen, did not at first realize her sister's discomfort. But when she turned to Brenna with some comment, and saw the dazed expression and trembling, bloodless lips, she reacted at once.
"I knew the sun was too bright to be seated here so long! And without even a headscarf. Come along at once. You're going to lie down and have a cool cloth on your forehead."
As the Queen clucked her sympathy, Edythe led her sister firmly away. Despite Brenna's shaky protestations, she insisted on getting her settled in bed. A serving woman was sent for a basin of cool water with which Edythe bathed the younger girl's face and hands.
Edythe's eyes were dark with worry as she studied her sister. Silently, she prayed that she was right and that her condition was due to no more than the sun. Brenna was normally so self-contained that it was almost impossible to guess her thoughts. It was not in her nature to confide easily in others, but now Edythe tried to persuade her to do so.
"Was it the sun," she asked gently, "or did something else disturb you?"
For a moment Brenna was tempted to try to explain what had happened to her in the stands. But how could she explain what she herself did not understand? Her nebulous fears so bewildered her that she felt she had no choice but to deny them.
"It was the heat," she insisted hastily. "You were right, I should have worn a scarf."
Edythe frowned down at the delicate face so pale against the midnight darkness of her hair cascading across the pillow. She strongly suspected that her sister was not speaking the truth, but she hesitated to challenge her. What if she was wrong? Her questions might trigger memories most certainly better left forgotten.
Sighing, she rose from the bed. "I'll leave you to rest for a while. Try to sleep."
Brenna nodded gratefully. She knew she wouldn't be able to close her eyes, but a few hours alone in her room might at least calm her spirits and prepare her better to face the evening ahead.
Despite her expectations, Brenna did doze briefly before the maid returned to help her dress. She stood quietly as a pure white tunic was slipped over her head, then covered by a scarlet mantle whose silver-embroidered hem matched the beaten silver of her brooches. From the jewelry chest the maid brought with her, Brenna selected wide silver bracelets intricately carved with serpentine beasts of Celtic lore. Through earlobes pierced in childhood, she carefully threaded silver hoops. Deciding to leave her milk-white throat bare, she allowed the maid to weave scarlet ribbons stitched with seed pearls through her hair.
When she was at last satisfied with her appearance, Brenna thanked the woman and turned to leave, missing the maid's amused grin. What a change barely a week had brought about in the young lady. Whereas before she had seemed bored with the whole matter of dress, now she carefully selected colors and ornaments. When she first waited on her, the maid had thought Brenna beautiful despite herself. With the girl finally paying some attention to her appearance, that beauty was magnified ten-fold.
It was no wonder that wherever she went noble lords paused to gaze in lustful admiration and noble ladies ground their teeth in jealous rage. Fortunately for the young girl's peace of mind, she seemed oblivious to the stir she caused. All her attention was focused on the Norman, who was said to return it in ample measure. The maid smothered a sigh of envy. To go a virgin to the bed of one such as Guyon D'Arcy was a delight few women would ever know. What an awakening the girl would have and quite soon, if the serving woman was any judge of such matters!
The evening passed quickly for Brenna. She and Guyon found a moment for private conversation after he entered the Hall with the Earl Harold. She shyly congratulated him on the day's victories. He graciously insisted the credit went to her favor, without which he could not have won.
Several times during supper Brenna glanced up to find Guyon's eyes on her. Each time he smiled gently and she responded. Her discomfort of the afternoon did not return as she thoroughly enjoyed both the supper and Guyon's company. When the last dishes were cleared away, Brenna sang for the lords and ladies while Guyon accompanied her on the lute. Their efforts were well received with much applause and calls for favorite melodies.
By the time the torches set in brackets throughout the Great Hall began to sputter, Brenna was happily tired. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone over brightly. For all the elegance of her garb, she looked rather like a worn-out child who had played too hard. When Guyon suggested he escort her back to her quarters, she agreed at once. Bidding Edythe and the Earl good night, she was too weary even to notice the look that passed between them and Guyon.
A servant holding a beeswax candle stood ready to accompany them, but saying that it was still light enough to see without aid, Guyon dismissed him. He and Brenna made their way through Thorney's twisting corridors in companionable silence. Guyon held her elbow to keep her from stumbling in the dim twilight, and Brenna did not rebuke his touch. It was only when they came at last to her door and he took hold of both her arms that Brenna gazed up at the Norman in surprise.
Before she could guess his intention, Guyon drew her firmly but gently to him. His blond head bent as lips, warm and hard, brushed Brenna's. She gasped, and Guyon drew back a fraction, hesitating. But then as though he had reached some decision, his mouth moved on hers again, this time insistently enough to part her lips.
Swept by astounding sensations she had never before even imagined, Brenna was too stunned to offer any but the most token resistance. His arms were iron bands holding her to his lithe hardness. His powerful head and massive shoulders blocked out all the world. There was only Guyon and the incredible things he was making her feel.
The sun-warmed scent of him filled Brenna's breath. Blood pounded in her ears. Her heart drummed painfully against confining ribs as her knees threatened to give way. Without her being aware of it, her hands unclenched and moved to his back. A soft moan caught in her throat.
Relishing her acquiescence, Guyon deepened the kiss. Parting her lips, his tongue probed gently inward, tasting hidden sweetness. Callused hands moved tenderly down the supple line of her back, caressing the indentation of her waist before moving along the rounded curve of very womanly hips.
Overwhelmed by the sudden release of hitherto unknown passions, Brenna trembled helplessly. A low growl of victory rumbled in Guyon's massive chest as he pressed her even closer to him.
"Your clothing," he murmured into her mouth, "is very deceptive. You have a beautiful body hidden under there."
Pressing her against the wall, his lips trailed fiery kisses down the silken column of her throat. Sharp teeth nipped at her earlobe before his tongue darted out to soothe the minute hurt. Impatient with the barriers of clothing, his hand slipped into her wide sleeve, finding its way beneath the loose pleats of her tunic. A spasm of pure longing shot through Brenna as lean fingers caressed her bare breast, toying with the ultra-sensitive nipple that thrust urgently into his palm.
"You were made for this," Guyon muttered exultantly. "By God, I could take you now!"
His words penetrated the fog of delight engulfing Brenna. Reality pierced like a sword stab, shocking her into full awareness of her vulnerability. Horrified, she struggled against him.
"Let me go!"
Guyon, lost in his own pleasure, mistook her fear for
simple reluctance. "Don't worry. I know perfectly well your sister will come looking for you in a few minutes." He laughed ruefully. "At least, my brain knows it. Too bad the message didn't get through to all parts of me." Momentarily forgetting Brenna's extreme innocence, he pressed her to him intimately, making her acutely aware of his state of arousal.
A wave of smothering darkness swept over her. Her throat constricted, stifling a scream of pure terror. Nightmare visions darted through her mind. Swept by terror more profound than she had ever known, Brenna stood paralyzed in his arms. She could not even struggle against his implacable strength. Every part of her being shrieked that he was going to hurt her, hurt her badly. But she was powerless to make a single sound.
Utterly unaware of the hideous memories stirring within her, Guyon stroked her hair gently. "Soon, my love, soon... I can't possibly let you sleep alone much longer."
Brenna was beyond understanding his words or the caring tone in which they were whispered. Lost in a world of stark horror, she couldn't even feel the tenderness of his touch as he reluctantly put her from him.
In the rapidly darkening corridor, Guyon could not see the unnatural hugeness of Brenna's eyes or her ashen face. He knew only that the incredibly lovely girl trembled in his arms and that her breath came unusually fast. Considering his own near-painful arousal, which he already suspected he would be unable to satisfy with any other woman, Guyon thought what appeared to be her own slight discomfort was only just. Soon, he promised himself, I will teach her to need me as much as I need her. Then we will both find the sweetest release in each other's arms.
Had she been anyone other than the highborn kinswoman of an earl, he would never have let her go. It would have been only too easy to sweep her into the privacy of that small, quiet room, there to strip away her clothes as well as her inhibitions, and bury himself deep within the moist warmth of her body. Justly confident of his skill as a lover, Guyon never considered for a moment that he would have any difficulty awakening Brenna to passion. He knew only that her delectable initiation had to wait.
Sighing, he opened the door to her room and gently pushed her inside. He allowed himself only the briefest of kisses against lips he distantly noted seemed chilled, before Guyon shut the door behind her and walked hurriedly away.
Chapter Four
"I-I don't understand what you're saying..." Brenna murmured tensely. Perched on a bench in the ladies' solar, she stared at her sister in baffled dismay.
Edythe took a deep breath. She had deliberately drawn the younger girl off into this quiet corner of the solar so that they could have a few minutes alone. The Queen and her ladies, busy with their needlework, were far enough away to allow for private conversation. More firmly, Edythe repeated, "The Seigneur Guyon D'Arcy has asked that you be given to him in marriage. He spoke with the Earl Harold who approves, as does the King. The betrothal documents were signed last night."
She paused, thinking that Brenna must surely understand now. But the luminous gray-green eyes only continued to gaze at her in bewilderment.
Patiently, Edythe continued. "It is a great honor. Guyon D'Arcy is extremely wealthy and powerful. He could have married almost any lady, perhaps even one of royal birth. But he chose you. Moreover, though he listened politely to the details of your dowry, it was clear that was not what interests him." She smiled reassuringly. "Few women can go to marriage as certain that they are truly wanted by their husbands. You're very fortunate."
"Fortunate!" Brenna choked, comprehension at last burning through her. Outrage lent a strident note to her normally soft voice. "To be sold off to a man I barely know! Without anyone bothering to ask what I think of the arrangement! Fortunate!" Her slender shoulders shook as unshed tears made her throat ache. "How could you do this? I thought you cared for me, that I could trust you!"
"But you like Guyon!" Edythe sputtered in astonishment. Surely she could not have misread the signs of her sister's affection for the Norman. "You've been with him almost constantly this last week, and never with the slightest complaint. I've seen how your face lights up when you see him, how relaxed and happy you always are in his presence. When it was clear he returned your feelings, I was overjoyed!"
Struggling for some small measure of composure, Brenna clenched her small hands tightly. "I do like Guyon," she admitted tremulously. "But as a friend, not... not anything else. I didn't know he felt like that about me until last night.... Oh, God, last night!"
Tears coursed unheeded down her pale cheeks as she remembered how carefully she had hidden her dismay when Edythe came to check on her. Somehow she found the strength to keep her sister from seeing the terrible effect Guyon's kisses had on her. Only after Edythe left did she dissolve into terrified sobs, spending the night sitting bolt upright in bed, afraid to sleep lest the nightmares come to claim her mind entirely. Bitterly she cursed the stubborn pride that kept her from admitting the truth. Edythe had gone away believing everything was all right, with her betrothal the horrifying result.
Carefully blocking her sister's huddled body from the sight of the other ladies, Edythe tried frantically to soothe her. "Brenna, believe me, the Earl Harold and I want only what is best for you. Guyon D'Arcy is a good man who cares for you deeply. He'll make a wonderful husband. You'll see...."
"No! I don't want a husband! I've never made any secret of that. You always knew I would rather take religious vows than marry. Why, oh why, couldn't you have just asked me?"
"But you aren't suited to the religious life," Edythe protested. "You're a warm, loving girl. You're meant to have a home and family of your own... children..."
"No!" Brenna shook her head vehemently. "I can't... I just c-can't...." She choked on the words. Even in the midst of her shock and fear, she was all too well aware of how different things might have been. If only she was like other girls, secure in themselves and looking forward to marriage, then the news Edythe brought would have delighted her. To be Guyon D'Arcy's wife...
The thought alone was sheer torment. Forcing it from her mind, Brenna repeated, "I can't go through with this. The betrothal will have to be cancelled."
Edythe's deep blue eyes opened wide. So stunned was she that she barely managed to mouth the word. "Cancelled?"
"It's the only way," Brenna insisted firmly. "We'll just have to tell Guyon that we're sorry but there was a misunderstanding."
"You don't mean that!" Edythe exclaimed, acutely aware of the seriousness of what Brenna was suggesting. Contracts of any kind, but especially those involving marriage, were never lightly revoked. The mere hint of any such action would cause profound embarrassment and bad feelings on both sides. Moreover, the Earl Harold had given his word, a sacred bond never broken. The King himself had enthusiastically approved the marriage. There was no end to the horrors Edythe envisioned if she couldn't make her younger sister see reason.
"Of course I'm serious. There's no choice!"
"You don't realize what you're asking," Edythe began in a desperate effort to calm her. "This marriage has great diplomatic importance. The union of our house with Guyon D'Arcy's could mean a better chance for better relations between our two people. But if the contract is revoked, the opposite will happen. There will be great anger, quite justifiably. Perhaps," she added hesitantly, "Guyon could be persuaded to delay the marriage... to give you some time to adjust to the idea..."
"No! All the time in the world won't make the slightest difference. This marriage is a terrible mistake and it has to be stopped now!"
"Brenna, it's natural that you're a little fearful. All girls feel that way. But..."
The last thing Brenna wanted to discuss were her fears. They were far too close as it was. Flatly, she said, "You're not going to help me, are you?"
Sorrowfully, Edythe shook her head. "I can't. There's simply too much at stake, and anyway I think you're wrong. This marriage is right for you."
Brenna ignored that last statement. Gathering all her courage, she looked her sister straight in the
eye. "Then I must speak with the Earl myself."
"Y-you don't mean to..." Edythe spluttered.
"To tell him I will not go through with the marriage and that he must call it off."
No one, absolutely no one, ever told the proud Harold Godwinson what he must do. Occasionally, he bowed to expediency and did things he didn't particularly care for. But never would he tolerate such effrontery as Brenna was planning. Shocked by the mere thought, Edythe struggled fervently to dissuade her. "Be reasonable, Brenna... that isn't the way to handle this... let me get my thoughts together, see what might be done... perhaps in a few days..."
"When does Guyon expect the marriage to take place?" Brenna demanded.
"R-right away," Edythe admitted.
"Then I must see the Earl at once." Rising, she smoothed the skirt of her tunic with hands that trembled. "Where is he?"
"On the training field," Edythe muttered in despair. She jumped up as her sister moved away. "Wait! I'll go with you."
Together the two women left the solar, ignoring the startled looks of the Queen and her ladies. Brenna sped down the narrow staircase and through the Great Hall to the bailey. She wanted no time to think. Words, explanations, pleas tumbled through her mind. Surely the Earl could be made to understand that what he contemplated was impossible. In the little contact she had with him, he had always been gentle and kind. But Brenna did not lie to herself. Beneath his congenial manner, Harold Godwinson possessed an iron will and ruthless determination against which even the fiercest lords of England quailed. How could she, a mere girl, hope to sway him? Feeling very much as though she was going to her own execution, Brenna lifted her skirts clear of the mud and searched for her kinsman.