Spring's Fury

by Denise Domning

  Gilliam stumbled back, having barely fended off the attack. "Jesu," he breathed in surprise. "I just saw my life pass before me."

  She opened her mouth to retort, but he had discarded defense and was coming for her, sword raised for an overhand blow. Armed with the power of his shoulders, this was the only blow of his against which she had no defense. Nicola dropped, rolled to the side and leapt out of his reach even as her husband's sword cleaved through open air.

  "Big men are so slow," she snorted in disgust, hands on hips.

  Gilliam laughed and tossed aside his weapons. "Slow am I?" he yelled, and started toward her.

  "Nay, we are dueling," she cried in protest, backing swiftly away from his steady advance. "Now, who is cheating? I cannot strike an unarmed man. Back off you!"

  He snatched her into his embrace. Her sword and shield clattered to the ground as he lifted her into his arms and turned a wild circle. "You are an incredible woman," he bellowed in pleasure. "And I thought you only half-trained. Hardly so. I will have you and only you as my sparring partner for the rest of my days!"

  "You are mad, stark, raving mad," Nicola protested with a laugh. "Put me down before your mail cuts me to ribbons."

  "Not until you tell me why you hold your blade so low," he retorted.

  "Fool." She filled the word with amused scorn and locked her hands behind his neck to hold herself in place. "Look at yourself, then at me. Where you are all shoulders and back strength, I have only my hips. It’s my only source of power, and the first thing I learned at my father's knee."

  "I am looking at you," he said, his blue eyes suddenly intense, the laughter gone from his face. "I am amazed by what I see. How is it I am so fortunate to be married to you?"

  Nicola drew a swift breath, for the magic came rushing back with three times the strength of a few weeks ago. She sought desperately for some defense. "Fortunate to be tied to the giantess of Ashby, with her cropped hair? The same ugly Amazon who dresses as a man and wields a sword?" Her pulse steadied with these words.

  Gilliam lifted his brows in an expression of disbelief. "You are no giant to me," he said softly, "nor are you an Amazon. Most likely you heard that from some jealous man who lacks the strength you own. As for ugly, that you most certainly are not. Your eyes are beautiful beyond any woman’s I have ever seen, and your hair full of marvelous life. I find myself so tempted by your form that I'm fair drowning in my desire for you."

  With that, he set her feet back on the earth, but did not release his arm around her back. Nicola found herself caught tightly to him. She released her hold on his neck and let her hands rest against his chest. His surcoat was soft beneath her fingers. Although she knew she shouldn't, she looked into his face. There was no laughter in his blue eyes, only desire.

  For her.

  She saw it in the softness of his mouth and the tight line of his jaw. Nicola shook her head in disbelief. No man wanted her. "Now, I know you are mad, truly mad." It was supposed to be a hard retort, but it left her lips as a breathless whisper. "You must let me go."

  The icy breeze curled around her, sneaking beneath her skirts to chill the bare skin of her legs. As had happened on the church step, his hold tightened, forcing her to rise to her toes. Still, she looked into his eyes. He wanted her, only her. It said so in his expression. He thought her beautiful. Nicola gasped at the wondrous pressure that filled her heart. Her eyes closed as he turned his mouth to meet hers.

  Their joining was warm and soft, no more than the passionless kiss exchanged in formal ceremonies. Yet deep inside her something throbbed. Her mouth clung to his, her hands sliding up along his surcoat to clasp behind his neck. When his lips moved slightly on hers, her breath caught in her throat. She sighed to release it.

  There was a tiny tug as he pulled off her head scarf, then released her. His hands came to either side of her face. His fingers threaded through her hair, his calloused palms rough against her cheeks. Nicola eased back onto her heels, letting him hold her so as he took her mouth in kiss after light kiss, teasing and taunting until her blood was nigh on fire.

  Within her grew a terrible, gnawing need to catch his mouth with hers and not let go. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she pulled herself hard against him, ignoring the bite of his metal coat. When her mouth took his, it was with the demand that he cease his play and kiss her in earnest.

  He gasped against her lips, one hand coming to cup the back of her head, his other arm catching her in an unbreakable hold. His mouth slashed across hers, communicating a need so deep she felt dizzy with it. Her answer to him came roaring through her, blazing with heat and desire. She tore her mouth from his to kiss the line of his jaw, then to nip at the lobe of his ear. His shudder was followed by a low moan that sounded almost like pain.

  It was Nicola's turn to gasp. She was shocked by what she was doing, yet she could not cease. The sensations they made between them so goaded her she was powerless against them. Her lips touched his throat, her fingers tangled in his hair, forcing him to lower his head so she could taste his lips once again. He groaned softly, his hand sliding between them to cup her breast. As a bolt of raw feeling exploded within her, she arched away in pleasure and surprise.

  Then his hand was gone, and his arms closed around her again. She was held tightly to him, his brow leaning on hers. "Dear God, but this is sweet torture." He breathed the words. "If you do not intend to lay with me, you must cease."

  Nicola frowned in disappointment. She did not wish to cease, not when his every touch fed what now lived within her. "But I—" she started, then could find no more words to speak beyond these.

  Gilliam released her and caught her hands in his. When he stepped back, Nicola freed a tiny cry of desolation. With all her heart, she wanted his arms around her again. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss into her palm.

  Her knees quivered in response. Nicola drew a sharp breath to steady herself. What was this magic he did to her? Again need rose within her, yet Gilliam still backed away until he was standing just beyond her reach. Her arms returned to her side, her hands yet begging for his touch.

  "Will you lay with me?" Gilliam's question was hoarse and deep.

  Nicola shivered as the cold wind swept away the heat their bodies had made. Its icy fingers drove the intoxicating sensations from her brain as it chilled her to the bone. She felt frozen and alone, but sane again.

  She stared at him, her gaze marking the rise of his fine cheekbones and the way the wind tossed his golden hair against them, the line of his jaw and the gentle curve of his mouth. His eyes were deep blue with his need for her.

  Oh, but he was a beautiful man Not only that, but he thought himself fortunate to have her. Gilliam was not disgusted by what she knew. Nay, he wanted her as his sparring partner.

  From the depths of her memory came the image of him standing before her father. She saw again the arc of his great sword as it came round and buried itself into her father's neck. Nicola's heart broke and her eyes filled.

  "It’s not fair," she whispered in pain as a tear traced its way down her cheek. "Why is the only man who values me for who I am is also the man who ended my father's life?"

  Gilliam turned his head to the side. "Damn me," he muttered. "He was nearly dead already. Why did I have to strike? I thought only to give him a quicker death than burning."

  Nicola caught back a gasp. Without considering what she did, she came to stand before him and pressed trembling fingers to his mouth. "I cannot let you blame yourself."

  She snatched back her hand, stunned at what she'd said. "What is happening to me?" she cried, torn to pieces in her confusion. With that she turned and ran, not caring where she went.

  Gilliam awoke the next morning, his head aching.

  He had not seen Nicola since she'd run from him yesterday. He knew she had gone to the priest; Walter had escorted her. So too, did he know she’d worked in the kitchen for a time. She had been within Ashby's walls when the gate closed at dark.

/>   Over this past month, each time he had cracked her defenses, even slightly, she retreated. She hid from him in her hours of labors, in her trips to the villagers, in the care she gave Ashby's servants and men. He had wondered how much farther she could run. Now he knew. She’d not come to sleep with him last night.

  He closed his eyes and remembered the stark confusion in her remarkable eyes. She hadn’t expected to forgive him for her father's death. That had come purely from her heart before she'd even known it was there. He had breached her last defense and left her walls ashamble.

  Moving to the bed's side, he opened the curtains and sat up. The room beyond the fabric was filled with dreary light, and the atmosphere was as icy as yesterday. Jos had retreated completely beneath his many layers of blankets. Roia lay curled tightly beside him. The dog pricked her ears at her master's movements, but stayed where she lay.

  "I should be insulted by your fickle affection," he said to her. "I think you are liking that boy better than you do me."

  His voice brought her to her feet, stretching and groaning. She lay her head in his lap, eyes beseeching. He scratched her ears for her then gave her sides a good drubbing. When he drew back his hands, Roia returned to Jos.

  Gilliam let his lips twist in a wry grin. "I suppose I cannot complain when I have given my heart elsewhere as well."

  He reached for his clothing. Perhaps it was a good thing Nicola had not come to him last night. Mary, but he was eating himself alive for want of her. The touch of her mouth on his neck, the fiery way she kissed him, it had all served to drive his desire almost beyond his control.

  After donning his chausses and shirt, he pulled on his boots. Standing at the bedside with garters in hand, he looked down at his legs. Nicola had taken to tying his cross garters as her own task. What if she chose not to share his chamber any longer?

  Gilliam shook his head. If she thought to leave his bed, he would drag her, kicking and screaming, back into this room. He would not allow her to escape him now.

  That thought made him sit down again. In one month he’d made no progress at all. Instead they’d but come full circle. Here he was once more contemplating forcing her where she did not wish to go. This time, he had not the patience to start the process over again. He wanted his wife.

  What if he forced her and it drove her away from him for all time? Gilliam groaned and fell back on the mattress to stare at the cloth stretched above him to make the bed's ceiling. It was more than desire he harbored within him for Nicola. He liked her; she made him laugh. lf she grew to hate him his life would be unbearably lonely.

  Gilliam struggled into a sitting position, his back yet bowed in pain. "Jos," he called loudly enough to awaken the boy, his voice tired. "It’s time to be about our day."

  The boy gave a squeaky groan and stretched. "It's the ale, today," he said around a yawn. "I cannot wait. Lady Nicola said she made my favorite, a fruit compote with stewed pears."

  Gilliam smiled. Over this last month Jos had found a boy's appetite if he didn’t yet own a lad's daring. "Aye, and since the hours will be taken up in feasting from midday on, there's no sense in attempting doing anything much. Why don't we do us a bit of hunting? Roia would like the run."

  It was not the dog that wanted to run, but himself. He could not tolerate the thought of meeting Nicola somewhere within these walls, only to find the rejection he feared reflected in her eyes.

  Jos sat up in surprise. "You would take me hunting?"

  "Is there a reason I should not?" Gilliam leaned down to wrap a garter around one leg.

  "My father said I was useless at hunting," the boy replied, his voice quiet and humble.

  That brought Gilliam upright in a hurry. So, it wasn’t just a mother at work here; both sire and dam had their hands in destroying their child's spirit. "Well my lad, I've yet to find you useless. Untrained mayhap, but hardly useless. I cannot think you'd begin to disappoint me at this late date." He was careful to keep his voice matter-of-fact.

  "Nay, my lord, I will not." It was a stout reply.

  Gilliam leaned down, not only to tie his other boot into place, but to hide his smile. Even if he and Jos returned empty-handed, the very fact they went would help the boy regain a bit of what had been stolen from him. The day would not be a total loss.

  * * *

  At midday Gilliam found his place at the high table as the last of the villagers rapidly filled the room. Soon, he and Nicola would be trapped together until late in the evening. Somehow, he would find the way to make things right between them.

  He scanned his folk. They all wore their finest attire, their gowns and tunics brightly dyed in hues of green, blue, and red. Not only did his people come with their own cups and bread, but a goodly number carried with them stools or benches. It had taken almost every piece of wood Ashby owned to make tables for them, leaving the hall short of seating.

  Gilliam frowned. There was still no sign of his missing wife. According to his men, she and Walter had departed earlier this morn, but no one knew where they had gone.

  Ashby's lord leaned to the side to let Jos set a water bowl onto the table, then held his hands above it. Gilliam tried not to look at the child, but was too late to stop himself. Jos had already managed to slosh water over the front of his pale blue tunic. As the boy tilted the ewer the tip of his tongue exited the corner of his mouth and a tiny line of concentration appeared between his brows. Slowly, carefully, he dribbled water over his lord's fingers and into the bowl then offered a towel.

  In an effort to stop his smile, Gilliam glanced toward the floor. Worse and worse. Clad in red chausses, the boy's thin legs looked like a mummer's painted stilts. He cleared his throat and regained control.

  "Well done, Joscelyn," he said to his squire.

  "lt is my duty to serve," the boy responded, then ruined the formality by smiling. Gilliam knew his pleasure came from the fact he'd not spilled the water in his lord's lap as he’d feared.

  Jos might be pleased thus far, but Gilliam counted on wearing a goodly portion of this meal. He looked down in regret at his only other formal gown, a scarlet affair emblazoned with lozenges of blue. From its place in his belt, the gem in the handle of his finest dagger glinted at him. Aye, he looked the part of a lord, but for how long? When he returned his gaze to the room, the cook was standing before him, nervously trying to get his attention.

  "Aye?" Gilliam asked to encourage the man.

  The cook frowned as if concentrating deeply. "Alice Atte Green. Lady Nicola ..." The man made a frustrated sound and grabbed the reeve as that man made his painful way past them to the table's end. Thomas looked a step up from his usual, what with his tawny hair neatly combed and wearing a bright blue tunic over brown chausses. There was an exchange of English.

  The village's highest-ranking official turned to his lord. "Seger here, says the meal's ready to begin service, but your lady has gone to the village to tend to Alice atte Green, who is giving birth. Lady Nicola sends her apologies and says you will have to begin the meal without her, my lord. She will return as soon as the child is delivered."

  Gilliam nodded to the burly commoner, hiding his reaction. Not only had his wife abandoned him, but her desertion left him helpless. This celebration was an Ashby tradition and had been her idea. He had no notion of the protocol expected of him in such an affair.

  The reeve pulled out a bench and seated himself to his lord's far right, leaving space for the missing noblewoman. Gilliam's table not only hosted the reeve but that pompous ass who owned almost as many fields as did Ashby’s lord. That man Ralph by Wood, and the battle ax who was his wife were seated at Gilliam's left, between him and Father Reynard at the table's opposite end.

  When Gilliam picked up his cup, one of the village girls who served this night came running to fill it with ale. She was a pretty thing, all pink cheeks and glowing eyes. He smiled at her, and she dissolved into giggles and shot him a coy look over her shoulder with just the hint of invitation in it. He raised
his brows in response, and she smiled a sultry grin. When she turned to walk away, her hips moved suggestively beneath her gown. Well, if his wife did not want him, there were other women who did.

  But he did not want them. He wanted Nicola.

  "There are others competent to deliver babes, Nicola," he said to his cup as he brought it to his lips. "You should not have left me."

  "Ah, but your lady's a hardheaded one who trusts only herself to do what's needed. It’s a failing of hers."

  Gilliam looked sharply at Thomas. With the noise level in the room nigh on deafening, he hadn't expected to be overheard. Nor was he certain he wished to share his marital troubles with a stranger.

  The commoner cocked his head to one side and sighed, the sound filled with masculine commiseration. "Learned that from my Agnes, your lady did. Not only did my Aggie suckle Lady Nicola, but 'twas at my wife's knee that yours learned her healing skills. Aye, my lord, I know well how you feel. I cannot tell you how often my Aggie turned her back on me and my commands to do for others. Women," he said with a shrug, a friendly glint in his deep-set eyes, "what can you do?"

  "I wish I knew," Gilliam muttered to himself. Still, there was some consolation in knowing that Nicola would have gone to the village woman whether she was running from him or not. "Thomas, I have no knowledge of this sort of gathering. What is expected of me?"

  The reeve again set his head to one side, as if doing so was what made his lips work. "We're a simple bunch, my lord. First, have Father bless the food, then say a few words in welcome to us and comment on the harvest past. I'll translate for you. After that, we eat. When the eating's done, the drinking begins in earnest. The night’s goal is to see who can hold the most ale without sickness or sleeping."