by Beth Mikell
Brenna ordered a bath and a food tray in her room with Maude attending her, finding solace in her freedom Gunther had given. Though still fearful of him, but not as much.
She donned a white dressing gown after her bath and sat before the fire, brushing her damp hair until dry as Maude cleared away the remnants of her dinner and bath.
“Will that be all, my lady?” Maude asked.
****
“Yes, that will be all,” Darrius hissed, appearing behind the handmaiden, tugging off his mantle with urgent hands. Poor Maude all but fell over herself, escaping the room and he slammed the door hard on her exit.
He threw his wife a hard stare. “May I ask, my lady, why you did not appear for the evening meal?” He barely suppressed his anger toward her absence. At first he assumed she had attempted another escape and he sent Ian the Mouse to investigate, but he was informed his lady dined alone. Anger replaced relief. He wanted her beside him, if only to torture himself.
He missed her.
Brenna laid the brush to the side and shrugged. “I did not wish to be.”
Darrius snorted, still scowling. “So it would seem.” He didn’t know how to process the possessive emotions traveling through his spirit. He was out of his depth.
Without ceremony, Brenna pulled her long hair to one side, and then swung a wrap around her shoulders before facing him. “My lord, the truth is… I did not wish to watch you with your castle lemans. If I erred in judgment, my apologies. I did not mean to offend,” she stated in a solemn tone.
He pursed his lips, his gaze flicking over her body, his eyes mesmerized by the soft fall of her hair sweeping to her waist.
She cared. It gave him hope, where none ever existed. God above, he was undone. He strode further into the room, tempted by the heady scent of lavender permeating the air. Darrius took a deep inhale; his lungs enjoyed the blissful fragrance. “Does my manner offend, my lady?” He folded his arms across his chest, watching her carefully.
Brenna threw him a wary glance. “Well, I—I mean,” she began a little breathlessly, lifting her chin. “Aye! As a matter of fact your manner does offend, my lord.” She turned away from him to stand in front of the fire, her back to him.
“Why?”
****
Anger smacked her nerves, blazing a trail of unleashed fury. Brenna spun around and met him head on. “Why? It is disturbing how you demoralized me after I first arrived—flaunting your whores before my eyes only to—what? Grow a conscience? Forgive me, my lord, but what am I to conclude?” She said. “Be someone for the love of God and stick to it. You make me dizzy with your back and forth ways,” she said icily, crossing her arms over her chest.
He smirked, his eyes glittering as he inched closer. “And which parts of my character do you like the most, little dove?” he whispered with a silky husk.
His tone threw her off balance, and she hesitated a moment before answering, “T-the one that I can respect.”
“What kind of man would that be?” He reached up to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand.
She shivered at his velvet words, fighting his seductive draw. He was so close and so large, dwarfing her by his sheer size. She felt his body heat, and his scent bid a delicious welcome. His gaze seared her, making her tremble. She wanted his lips on hers, to feed the impossible ache firing in her belly.
Brenna closed her eyes against the rush of warm feeling bleeding through her veins. While mystified, even delighted with him, she remained leery. Until she sorted out her personal regard, she could not take another round of his strange seduction. She stepped away from him.
He was quicker, gathering her into his arms, ignoring her gasp of surprise. He tightened his arms around her, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You will know me, Brenna. You will know… me.”
As he enfolded her against the hard wall of his chest, his strange words implied more than his meaning. Before she could delve further, Gunther leaned closer, feathering his lips over hers.
He sucked her breath from her lungs and Brenna was unable to resist. She pushed her hands through his silky hair, holding him closer, savoring him. His tongue only teased hers, the barest hint of a caress, yet she wanted more. His lips moved across her cheek, his mouth whispering over the curve of her jaw, seductive, sensual, and completely unhurried. He blew through her inner defenses, tempting her. She moaned against the pleasure traveling her veins.
He groaned. Drawing back, he tilted her chin up.
Her eyes dilated, and she rasped, “How can you be so different?”
He brushed his lips across hers. “Please do not question it. You must trust me.”
Trust him? Could she? The answer was complex, but deep down she knew she could trust him—even with her life. The feeling liberated her.
As he lowered his head for another kiss, a knock at the door interrupted them. He shook his head. “Enter,” he said, moving to stand in front her.
Colin appeared with Simon, dogging his heels. “My lord, forgive the intrusion, but several vassals need your assistance.”
“Go wait for me. I will come directly,” he commanded, waiting until Colin and Simon left before turning to Brenna. He gathered her back into his arms, burying his nose in her hair. For a moment, he nuzzled her neck, and then pulled away. “Try to rest, little dove.” He retrieved his gauntlets and mantle, and his eyes held hers in a haunting glance before he left.
****
An annoying knock drew Brenna out of the deepest sleep she had ever known in her life. She sat up in bed as the knock pounded again.
“Enter,” she called out, reaching for her dressing gown, donning it as Maude appeared with two squires carrying a trunk. The boys dumped their burden at the end of the bed, retreating from the room.
“Maude, what is this?” Brenna pushed back the bed covers, padding over to inspect the trunk.
With a small curtsy, Maude explained, “My lady, it is a wedding gift from your husband. It arrived this morning.”
Brenna’s lips curved into a smile, surprised, yet delighted. “I dare say I am quite astonished.”
Maude returned her lady’s smile, her usual solemn features softening into radiance. “Indeed mistress. ‘Tis a gift and you were not supposed to know,” she said with a wink. “Shall I open it for you?”
She nodded, drawing her dressing gown tighter. “Please.”
As Maude lifted the lid, Brenna was shocked as dozens of gowns, fur-lined mantles, and extra fabric spilled forth in a variety of colors with soft linens, velvets, taffeta, and sheer lace. Soft kid slippers to warmer boots, hair circlets, and veils poured forth in a treasure trove of splendor. Never in her life had Brenna received gifts of such bounty and she could not imagine its worth, thoughtfulness, or the time such a present required.
At last, the handmaiden withdrew a large wooden box from the bottom of the trunk and she set it on the table. “My lady, Lord Gunther gave me a key for this box and asked that you open it personally.”
Brenna drew closer to the table, taking the key from Maude’s waiting hands and unlocked it, lifting the lid. Both women gasped in unison at the amazing throng of jewels housed within the blue, velvet lined box. Emeralds, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, and more glinted in the light. Sir William never indulged his daughters beyond what was necessary. The kindness of such a gift astounded her. She was overwhelmed by her husband’s generosity.
“Maude, perhaps my husband was too excessive.”
The handmaiden rolled her eyes sweetly. “Nay, my lady, it is your right as the Mistress of Dorling to be treated in such a way. May I?” She pointed to a smaller wooden box within which was carved more ornately than the larger box.
As Brenna granted permission, Maude withdrew the box and opened the lid. “Lord Gunther instructed me to say that while all the jewelry was bought especially for his bride—this was his mother’s and her favorite.”
Brenna lifted up the necklace. It was a very long, intricately woven gold design with a black, smo
oth, shiny stone set in the same swirling pattern of gold the size of a peach pit. She ran her fingers over the delicate stone, testing its weight. The necklace was beautiful and magnificent, unlike anything she had ever seen. Yet it did not fasten together as usual necklaces. She frowned, wondering how it worked.
“Shall I help you dress?” Maude asked politely.
With a smile, Brenna nodded her head and allowed Maude to pick one of the new gowns, a deep, blue velvet with wide sleeves, which clung to her body. She added a golden girdle about her waist, fastening the necklace to the dress at each shoulder, creating a deep V of gold across her breasts. The effect was quite sensational as it captured the light with every movement.
“Oh, I wondered,” Brenna breathed in amazement, lifting her hand to touch the necklace while Maude only giggled.
“Shall I also fasten your hair, my lady?”
Brenna inclined her head and Maude went about the task, braiding the thick mass, which hung down her back to her waist. She added a gold circlet and dark, sheer veil upon her head.
“There, my lady. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Maude,” Brenna said. “Also, as of today, please instruct all servants that I will no longer accept the laziness of a messy keep. Everyone is to begin cleaning, starting with the great hall armed with buckets of water and clean rushes—no stone undusted, no cobweb left behind. I do not know what they were used to in the past, but we must restore pride to Dorling Castle. If anyone has an issue or a complaint, please have them come see me.”
“Aye, my lady.” Maude gathered up all Brenna’s new finery, returning them to the trunk.
Leaving everything in her handmaiden’s capable hands, Brenna went to check on Linnea. As she neared the chamber, the door stood slightly ajar and the sound of her sister’s feminine laughter floated out to greet her. Happy to hear her sister in better spirits, she made to push the door open, but stopped when she saw one of Gunther’s knights, standing by the bed. He was the giant Brenna knocked over the head with a log over a week ago, though she had not seen him to properly apologize.
“Dugan, I am sorry for what happened,” Linnea said, pulling at her blonde braid, hanging over her shoulder.
“‘Tis nothing, my lady. Do not trouble yourself,” he replied.
Linnea smiled again. “I wanted to return your coin. I fear that my sister and I were overzealous in our attempt to leave.” She held up Dugan’s purse for him to take.
The large warrior shook his head. “Nay. I am in your debt, my lady.”
She frowned, appearing shocked. “Debt? How so?” She lowered the purse down to the coverlet.
Dugan came around, waving a hand to the bed. “May I?” he asked. “I discovered something,” he began, sitting after she gave a nod. “Your hand, my lady?”
Linnea tentatively reached out, her hand sliding into his. She gasped, snatching her hand away. “What was that?” she asked in surprise.
His lips curved into a wicked grin. “A miracle, princess.”
She lifted her chin. “I—I am not a princess,” she whispered.
Dugan’s smile never faltered. “You are to me,” he countered softly, placing his hands on the bed beside Linnea’s hips, he leaned forward.
Brenna worried her lower lip, not in fear for her sister’s virtue, but that somehow Linnea found something special Gunther may not view as acceptable. She would speak to him about it at the right time. It was almost certain Linnea would not be marrying Rowan. Without disturbing the two within Linnea’s bedchamber, she closed the door softly.
****
The servants of Dorling began a massive cleaning. Everyone soon realized their new mistress was not a sloth and she had no wish to further anyone’s desire for laziness. The kindness of her words and gift of her smile made even the crustiest servant melt and jump to do as she asked. Pleased that everything was going well, Brenna left to take a small stroll outside. The ground was covered in a thin layer of snow. Her steps crunched as she walked and her breath fogged in the air, but her path led her to the left of the keep into a small garden.
Simon the Clever strode closer and he stopped, bowing. “My lady.”
Brenna smiled. Her facial expression faded as she looked around the overgrown garden. Rotting garbage, tall dead weeds, and even animal bones littered the ground. One could surmise the hounds had enjoyed their meals here. There was plenty of fetid refuse to feast upon. Even an old battered mule cart was filled with animal manure, which added to the foul collage.
“It would seem that my lord’s garden has been severely neglected,” Brenna concluded.
Simon chuckled. “Neglected? I would venture to say a couple of torches would improve this garden, my lady.”
Smiling, Brenna agreed. “Yes, it needs tending. Spring will be upon us soon, and it would not be fitting for anyone to see such a mess.”
“My lady, I am sure I could find someone to begin the task. I will send some servants straight away,” Simon said as a squire came to tell him that Rowan needed at the garrison. “My apologies, my lady, perhaps we will speak later.” He bowed.
Brenna watched him leave, and then she strode over to a nearby tree. She sat down on a wooden bench, uncaring if the cold seeped into her gown.
With her eyes closed, she tried to envision how beautiful a garden it could be, but instead of flowers and sunshine, her thoughts turned to Lord Gunther. A man so different from when she first arrived. He was a puzzle to be sure. Oddly, she looked forward to spending more time with him. His touch last night had been gentle and pleasurable—more than she could have thought possible.
“My lady, are you trying to outdo your sister?”
Startled, Brenna shot up from the bench and found herself reflected in her husband’s glare. He appeared ever the lord in his fur-lined mantle, and the impressive strength of his body gleamed under his dark clothing. Her heart raced, and her lungs worked fast. She tried to quell the urge to throw herself at him. It was one thing to fanaticize about him secretly, but another to be caught in her daydream.
Flushing red, she trembled. “My lord?”
****
“Barely clothed? No mantle? Are you trying to freeze to death?” Darrius’ eyes roamed over her, soaking in her appearance. She stunned him one moment, and then angered him the next with her lack of warm clothing. Yet his anger was dismissed as his gaze fell on the stone she wore. He forgot to breathe.
The Order of Blackstone.
He moved closer, taking a deep inhale of her scent. Of all the jewelry he had sent to her, she chose that first. That meant something special. “And how do my gifts please you, my dear wife?” He reached out to caress the Order with one fingertip, though he hesitated over the stone, his hand only inches from her breasts.
“My lord, you are too generous,” she rasped.
He fought the urge to chuckle. “I sincerely doubt that, my lady.” Darrius slid his hand forward to cup her left breast, while the other encircled her waist. He gathered her snug up against him.
He teased her nipple through her gown, and her lips parted. She moaned as he increased the pressure of his fingers. Brenna had a faraway look in her eyes, something close to lust. A slow smile curved his lips, realizing she was not focused.
She frowned as if her mind cleared from a fog. “I am sorry, did you say something?”
He wished to take advantage of the moment. Darrius wanted to see where it would lead them. “I asked, what would you like me to do?” A lie, of course, but one he could live with.
Brenna’s breathing spiked, and she lifted an eyebrow. “Kiss me.”
He dipped his head closer. “How?” The anticipation was more than he could tolerate, his shaft throbbing harder.
“Like this...” She threaded her hand through his hair, drawing his head down until her lips met his.
A surge of heat sliced through Darrius at the touch of her mouth. She ripped open the gate of primitive male desire. She initiated the kiss and his heart skipped. He was ba
thed in pleasure, pulling Brenna closer. He was so afraid she was more delusion than reality. God, the titillating sweetness of her skin filled him, urging him over the edge of sanity. His hands pulled her hips tightly against his arousal.
****
Brenna licked over his tongue, tasting and feasting. She learned this from him, but still it was not enough. She ached to run her hands over his naked skin, and her fingers slid down his chest, testing the strength of firm muscle under her fingertips through the fabric of his tunic. Sublime, sensuous need curled through her veins, pooling at the center of her body.
He leaned back a little. “How about this...?” His tongue brushed over her lips.
She whimpered as he traced the round fullness of her mouth. “Yes.”
“Or this...?” He slid his tongue over hers with a slow deliberate caress before he pulled back slightly. “I think we should go upstairs to our room,” he murmured against her lips.
“Yes.” Her word was but a whisper.
“My lord?”
****
Lifting his head from Brenna, Darrius stared deeply into her green eyes. “If no one is bleeding or dead, they soon will be. Nothing could more important than the bewitching lips of my wife.” He turned his body to conceal Brenna, scowling at his cousin’s ill timing and glared.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Rowan said with a bow. “Robert of Chevington is here to see you.”
Darrius faced Brenna, running his thumb over her swollen lips. “It is a pity,” he whispered, stepping back. “Come Rowan, we will adjourn to my solar. My lady, it is cold here.” He offered his arm to escort her back to the keep.
Once inside, Darrius gave Brenna an intense look of unfulfilled desire, turning to leave. Then the two warriors went to greet his guest.