Defiant Love

by Maura Seger

  Brenna caught her looking hungrily at Guyon. When Elene's eyes happened to meet hers, they narrowed dangerously. Brenna shivered as she felt the full magnitude of the other woman's hatred. She could not doubt that Elene was a dangerous enemy who would stop at nothing to destroy all her happiness.

  Chapter Nine

  Brenna tossed restlessly in the wide bed. She had sought sleep for hours, without success. Beyond the small room, the great keep was silent. Only the distant calls of the watch and the occasional fumbled step of some late reveler punctured the stillness. Silently, she counted off the rhythm of her own heartbeat. It seemed to her to have grown increasingly anxious with the passing of each solitary hour.

  She had no way to judge the time, but knew it was very late. Her eyes, long accustomed to the darkness, caught the first faint glimmer of light beyond the narrow slit window. Not yet dawn, but the slow melting of darkness that precedes it. Desperately, she told herself yet again that whatever had caused the Duke to call his lords to council after supper must have been very important indeed. Certainly important enough to keep them talking through the night.

  So much talking would undoubtedly have caused a thirst. With great quantities of wine and ale consumed, it was not surprising that the men would have fallen asleep at table, forgetting for the moment those who waited for them.

  If she were to don the robe laid out at the foot of the bed and slip downstairs, as she had been tempted to do so many times in the past hours, she would most likely find Guyon stretched out snoring near his Duke. But what if she did not? What if Guyon had found some other occupation that night?

  Biting her lip so painfully as to draw blood, Brenna leaped from the bed. The robe wrapped loosely around her, she was almost to the door when caution intervened. She could not do this. If some early rising servant happened to see her, word would be all over the keep by midmorning that Guyon's young wife had felt constrained to go in search of him. He would be rightly angered by her presumption and the resulting ridicule. Moreover, her presence in the corridors at such an early hour, especially dressed in no more than a robe, could easily be misconstrued. However Guyon had chosen to occupy himself, it would not do for her to be suspected of visiting another man's chamber.

  Frustrated, Brenna stalked to the window. The last stars were just twinkling out. Below in the bailey she could make out dim shapes and movement. A solitary rooster fluttered across the yard. Perched on the edge of a watering trough, it craned its long neck at the sky but did not yet crow. Scattered snorts and whinnies drifted up from the stables as the horses began to rouse. From one of the huts huddled against the high stone walls, smoke began to rise. As she watched, a peasant emerged, yawning and scratching, to relieve himself.

  Soon the whole keep would be stirring. Servants would hurry to light the kitchen fires and prepare food. Water would be heated and hauled upstairs for pampered guests who liked to bath and shave in privacy. Livestock would be fed and the constant, laborious process of preserving the recent harvest would continue under the Lady Matilda's watchful eye.

  Breathing deeply, Brenna inhaled the sweet scents of drying herbs and rushes, the salty tang of newly slaughtered beef and pork laid down in brine, the moist, fecund aroma of ripening cheeses. Much the same activity would be going on at Winchester. Even this early, it was likely the Lady Edythe was at work. If she were still there, Brenna would be helping her, instead of standing unhappy and alone at a window overlooking a strange bailey, wondering where or with whom her husband lay.

  Determined not to give in to self-pity, Brenna went back to the bed. Huddled under the covers, she did not expect to sleep. But exhaustion and worry took their toll. Without her even being aware of it, her eyes closed, the tension eased from her body, and she drifted into dreamless unconsciousness.

  But not for long. The room was only a little lighter when Brenna next stirred. This time she was not alone. The hard, solid warmth of a well-recognized body pressed against hers. Guyon's right hand gently caressed her breast and his lips nuzzled the nape of her neck.

  "So sweet," he murmured, his other hand busy wrapping around her waist and pulling her even more tightly against him. Brenna started as she realized that before joining her in the bed, Guyon had stripped off all his clothes. Whatever he had been doing that night had apparently not dampened his ardor. On the contrary. She inhaled sharply as his manhood, hard and urgent, brushed her buttocks.

  "I'm sorry to be so late, love. There was so much talking... no one could agree on anything...." His voice trailed off as his mouth became better occupied. Brenna gasped as hot, moist lips closed on her nipple, tugging gently.

  But even as she groaned with pleasure, the thought of Elene intervened to taunt her. Too clearly, Brenna saw the other woman eyeing Guyon with hungry purpose. That, and the memory of the long, miserable night she had spent alone combined to freeze her senses. Stiffening, Brenna pulled back a little way.

  Instantly, Guyon ceased his voluptuous caress. Raising his head, he looked down at her in surprise. "Brenna," he questioned softly, "are you all right?"

  His concern could not have been clearer. Nor could his determination to refrain from lovemaking if Brenna did not share his desire. In the face of such loving consideration, her resentment wavered. "I'm quite well," she murmured huskily against his throat. "It's just that..."

  Reassured that she was not ill, and almost unbearably incited by the passionate response of her lovely body, Guyon returned without further ado to pleasuring his wife. Skillful, callused hands ran the length of her, sending shivers of delight radiating from a hot inner core.

  Helplessly, Brenna arched against him as a moan broke from deep within her throat. Slender arms embraced him, drawing his taut, muscled length closer still. Their legs entwined, smooth, satiny skin rubbing longingly against hair-roughened sinew. Guyon gasped as a velvet inner thigh brushed his straining hardness.

  Having studiously applied herself to learning what best gave her husband pleasure, Brenna was now quite adept at arousing and sustaining his passion. Before Guyon could guess her intent, she wiggled free of his arms. Small but surprisingly strong hands pressed him into the mattress. Straddling him on her knees, Brenna trailed fiery kisses down his chest. With kittenish strokes, her tongue teased into his navel, eliciting a purely male groan of delight. Now fully erect, Guyon tried to regain control of the situation. But his attempt to return Brenna to her back failed when she fought him determinedly. Giving up, he graciously allowed her to have her way.

  Were there women, Brenna wondered dazedly, who did not luxuriate in the special beauty of their husband's bodies? How sad for them. She found intense delight in every inch of Guyon's flesh. His taste, feel, scent—all thrilled her. Best of all, she relished the response she provoked when her small hand cupped the pouch beneath his manhood and squeezed gently, when her tongue ran around the arching tip of him before drawing down to caress him with her throat in the way that never failed to shatter his control.

  Guyon bore it through long, exquisite minutes until at last a harsh growl burst from him. "Enough!" Iron hands tangled in her hair, pulling her upward. Lifted clear, Brenna was at once impaled on his manhood as with a single, joyful thrust he sought the farthest depth of her. More than ready to receive him, she whimpered in delight as rippling waves of pleasure coursed through her.

  When that first small storm had passed, Brenna steadied herself above him. Smiling down at Guyon through the unruly mass of her glistening hair, she held herself absolutely still. Only her powerful inner muscles moved, pulsating in an ancient rhythm that quickly brought him to the edge of rapture.

  Perfectly gauging his endurance, Brenna drew back. Balanced just on the tip of his hardness, she teased him with undulating waves as the rosy peak of her breast found its way inside his mouth. Guyon was not content merely to suckle her. Unwilling to be outdone in their sweet combat, he reached an expert hand down to where she was so finely perched. Revealing the most exquisitely sensitive point of he
r, he began rapid, unrestrained strokes at the same time his lips and tongue continued to work her nipple.

  Spasms of delight shot through her. All thought of teasing vanished as her body closed round him, drawing him deeper and deeper. Securing both hands on her hips, Guyon drove upward. Lost in mindless ecstasy, they exploded together. The fierce pulsing of his manhood within her sent Brenna spiraling over the edge and beyond. She lost all sense of herself as separate from Guyon. They were a single being shooting heavenward. Consciousness splintered into a thousand whirling lights before at last dissolving into the mist of utter release.

  Much later, when Brenna recovered sufficiently to form clear thoughts, she conceded silently that if Guyon had been dallying with the Lady Elene, the woman had been cheated. Inexperienced though she might be, common sense reassured her that no man lately come from his mistress's bed could perform so ardently with his wife. So it was more than likely that Guyon had indeed been with the Duke. But knowing that did not entirely banish her resentment for the pain of the past night.

  The joy they found together was fleeting. When they at last rose to breakfast and dress, Guyon's expression was closed, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. There were none of the fond looks and touches they usually shared after making love. His failure even to notice Brenna's lingering reproachfulness piqued her further.

  Nor was she soothed when he returned his attention to her long enough to compliment the beauty of her dress. "I have always found you lovely," he said, eyes wandering over her appreciatively. "But your Anglo-Saxon clothes did nothing for you. Norman fashions suit you far better." Running a light hand down the silken smoothness of her leaf green tunic, he added, "It's just as well we have to stay in Falaise awhile. The needlewomen here are highly skilled and can make you a suitable wardrobe."

  Unlocking a wooden strongbox, Guyon dropped a pouch of coins on the bed. "That should take care of whatever you need. But if it doesn't, just tell me." A proprietary smile curved his firm mouth. "You please me far too much to wish anything but the best for you."

  At another time, Brenna might have appreciated such flattery. Lost in a haze of love, through which she had lately perceived the world, she might even have marveled at such thoughtful anticipation of her needs. But in her present mood, she did no more than glare at him. "I am used to having my own money, and spending it as I will. Don't expect me to run to you for every little thing."

  "Lord Harold did mention something about properties your father settled on you," Guyon said, frowning. "I suppose you draw on the rents from them. But such matters are handled differently here. Women do not own property or control wealth of any kind."

  "I know that," Brenna snapped, brushing her hair rather more vigorously than was required. Her failure to protest such an abysmal system earlier provoked her at least as much as Guyon's presumption that she would accept complete financial dependency without objection. Impulsively, she added, "At home we often spoke of how poorly the Normans treat their women. They are considered children all their lives and never allowed to make the smallest decision for themselves. And why not, since they have no value except giving pleasure and producing heirs? At least in England we are valued for something more than our bodies!"

  "Would you prefer I did not value your body?" Guyon asked, his voice dangerously soft. Coming to stand before her, he turned her by the shoulders until she had no choice but to face him. "Your body, at least, seemed well-pleased by what just passed between us."

  "How like you to remind me of that!" Brenna exclaimed. Her face flushed but she refused to look away from him. Proudly, her gaze met his. "If you imagine lovemaking and the promise of pretty clothes will keep me complacent, think again. I am no fluff-brained simperer to be bedded when you will and ignored the rest of the time. You go off and leave me in a strange place all night, with no idea of where you were, or who you were with and then you expect me to just..."

  Brenna broke off, stopped by Guyon's fierce scowl. "I will have no shrew for a wife," he informed her coldly. "Nor will I dance attendance on you and explain my every move. For both our sakes, I have responsibilities which must be fulfilled. You will accept that, without any more displays of temper, or I will show you exactly how poorly a Norman can treat his woman!"

  The threat was an empty one, since Guyon knew full well he could never do Brenna the slightest harm. She knew it too, but just then she preferred to believe otherwise. "Threaten me, will you! Why you—"

  "Enough!" Moving nimbly, Guyon just managed to avoid the small foot intent on kicking him. "I have better things to do than linger with a bad-tempered witch! Sweeten yourself before we meet again, madam, or it will go all the worse for you!"

  Brenna winced as the heavy wood door cracked shut behind him. For several minutes she stood in the center of the room, fists clenched, entertaining dark thoughts about men in general and one in particular. That mood did not last long. Regret filled her. She and Guyon had never argued since their marriage, and the experience left her shaken. She wished for all the world that she could call him back, apologize for her hasty words, and explain that she was only upset by all the newness, the need to adjust to so much, and most of all, by the troublesome presence of the Lady Elene who hung like an evil cloud over all her thoughts.

  In her fantasy, Guyon would soothe away all her fears, explaining that whatever he had shared with the Norman woman was truly finished and that there would be none other for him save his wife. But, of course, that was not to be. He was already gone to join his Duke on the training field and she had no choice but to go down to the Great Hall alone.

  As though Brenna's mood was not low enough, she had no sooner descended from the angle staircase than she encountered the Lady Elene emerging from chapel. Confronted by a vision in blue and white, perfect skin glowing warmly, large sapphire eyes seemingly wide and innocent, her back stiffened. No matter how she felt, the woman would not get the better of her.

  "Did you not sleep well, Lady Brenna?" Elene inquired with honeyed insincerity. "You look positively haggard."

  Under such an obvious attack, Brenna's anger eased a little. She understood perfectly well that, despite the argument which followed, Guyon's love-making had achieved its usual effect. She radiated the contentment of a well-satisfied woman. Realizing that Elene would prefer torture to any acknowledgment of a rival's beauty, Brenna could not resist a small dig.

  "I am but newlywed," she murmured with a becomingly modest downward cast of her eyes, "and my lord Guyon is so... vigorous. You can hardly expect me to sleep much."

  Dark splotches appeared on Elene's damask cheeks. Inhaling sharply, she hissed, "Vigorous, was he? After his meeting with the Duke, I'm surprised he went anywhere near you. Even Guyon's sensibilities, lacking though they are, should have kept him away. Or was he simply eager to reassert ownership, before you had reason to rue ever setting eyes on him?"

  "W-what are you talking about?" Brenna stammered. Elene's strange hints that the Duke's affairs somehow touched on Brenna were more than the younger woman had bargained for. A little catty parlay could be quite enjoyable, especially since the residual satisfaction of Guyon's lovemaking made her feel more confident of holding her own. But Elene was clearly out for blood, with weapons at her disposal Brenna could not even suspect.

  "I realize Guyon must have some hitherto unrevealed fascination with innocence," Elene drawled, "or he would certainly never have married you. But did he have to settle for such remarkable ignorance as well?" Pretending to consider the question, she looked Brenna up and down insolently. "Yes... I suppose it is better that you're so naive. You look healthy enough to be an adequate brood mare. As long as you're too stupid to do anything but spread your legs at his slightest whim, he'll be quite content."

  "How dare you!" Brenna seethed, all pretense at worldly patter gone. Never in all her life had she so wanted to strike out at another person. Her small hands clenched into fists, ready and more than willing to wipe the satisfied smirk from Elene's haughty face.


  Before the confrontation could escalate to an unfortunate conclusion that would have kept the court gossiping for weeks, a mocking laugh distracted both women. Amber eyes sparkled dangerously as Roanna stepped between her sister-in-law and Guyon's erstwhile mistress.

  "Out of chapel already, Elene? I'd have thought you would be in there hours yet, praying for all sorts of unseemly things."

  Without giving the startled Elene a chance to respond, she turned to Brenna, bestowing a warm smile on the ashen-faced girl. "How do you manage to look so lovely this early in the morning? Especially after Guyon has just dragged you across the Channel and half the width of Normandy with scarcely a pause for breath. Of course, we must be tolerant of my brother," she added, her smile tightening as she regarded Elene. "He has always known what is of true value, and never hesitates to claim it for his own."

  Roanna shared her brother's instinct for protectiveness. She would not permit Elene to wound her sister-in-law, especially since she was already so fond of her. When word came of Guyon's sudden marriage, Roanna was at first amazed and then worried. She loved her brother dearly and thought him worthy of the greatest happiness. Yet she also had no illusions about the ability of men to make sensible judgments regarding women. She feared he might somehow, despite all his experience, have fallen for some clever, hard-edged fortune hunter who would make his life a misery.

  Brenna came as a great relief. From the moment they met, Roanna understood full well why her brother had so speedily wed the beautiful English girl. She was a delight—lovely to look at, intelligent, high-spirited, and with an inner core of strength that would carry her through the greatest difficulties. Her decision to do everything possible to ease Brenna's adjustment to Norman life was absolute and irrevocable. No one, least of all the Lady Elene, would be allowed to threaten the marriage Roanna approved of so highly.