The Mercenary's Bride

‘Do you consent to this marriage?’ the Breton asked once more, this time in that voice so tempting that Eve herself would have fallen again from Paradise to say yes to him.

Though she wished that just once she could be considered only for her own worth and not as some valued commodity, Gillian understood the truth of her situation and the responsibility she bore. Mayhap at another time, she could do something just because she wanted to or could refuse something she objected to, but this was not that time and she had not the luxury of such a choice.

And so, wearing the dirt of the road from her travels and from her attempts to escape, covered in a servant’s cloak and standing before hundreds of men she knew not, Gillian surrendered her will and consented to the sham of a marriage. Worse, as she heard that sultry voice of his, pledging himself to her and promising to protect her and honour her, heat poured through every part of her body and sinful images of lying with him filled her thoughts.

When the words were finished and he leaned towards her to seal their agreement with a kiss, she knew exactly how Eve had felt that day when confronted by the devil.

He caught her surprised gasp when he touched his mouth to hers. She stood lost in her thoughts as they said their vows, but he wanted her to understand what she had agreed to. The ease with which she’d bartered herself to him in the tent had filled him with anger, but he tasted her innocence and fear as his lips slid across hers now. Stepping closer, he slipped his arm around her shoulders, both pulling her closer and keeping her from falling.

She did not fight him, but did not participate in the kiss, and Brice felt a small measure of disappointment that the spirit she’d displayed earlier had disappeared now. He wanted to taste her fire and her strength, but all he felt was her fear. Her body trembled in his embrace, so he kissed her lightly and quickly and lifted his head.

Her turquoise eyes stared back at him and he watched as curiosity, fear and surprise warred within her gaze. She reached up and touched her mouth as though she’d never been kissed. Regardless of her innocence or lack of participation, his body responded to the taste of her soft lips and to the promise of holding her close to him in his bed. He would slide his hands beneath her gown and caress every part of her before the sun’s light touched the camp once more.

Whether she understood it or not, her body did, for she shuddered as Brice stared into her eyes, wanting her naked and writhing at his every caress. She would warm his bed this night and every other one from this time forwards and he would show her such pleasure that she would never regret giving her consent. He tore his gaze from hers and examined her from the top of her head to her feet.

Her lush hips promised healthy babes and once he removed her brother from their lands and secured this area for William, he intended to breed many with her. All of them would bear his name, unlike his own father, for Brice had married the woman who would give him children. Now that she was in his possession, everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d laboured for and worked for was within his reach.

Taking her hand and turning her towards his men, he held their joined hands up and claimed her.

‘Lady Gillian of Thaxted,’ he called out loudly. ‘My wife!’ The cheering began slowly and spread out through the camp as one and all acknowledged his marriage and saluted his wife. He nodded to Stephen, who stepped forwards and bowed to Gillian. ‘Take the lady to my tent and guard her until I arrive,’ he ordered.

Brice had no doubt that the words spoken by her or promises made would fade as soon as she realised what she’d done. Therefore only consummation would make her understand she was now his and prevent any claim that could nullify their vows. Until that was accomplished and their marriage was acknowledged by all parties, he would protect her as the treasure she was.

Stephen approached and he felt her body tense. His man bowed to her and held out his arm to escort her as befit a lady and his wife. ‘My lady?’

Brice held his breath as he waited for her to bolt, but she placed her hand on Stephen’s arm and walked at his side towards his tent. Brice had to see to many tasks before he could retire for the night and if he appeared to hurry none of his men mentioned it.

An hour or two later, after messages had been sent and more guards set to watch around their camp, he stood in front of his tent and wondered which woman—the honoured wife or the escaping peasant—he would find within. Reaching out, he lifted the flap and entered.

Though she heard his approach and entrance into the tent, Gillian did not rise or look up to meet his gaze. As yet uncertain of the situation and the man involved, she’d pondered her options for the last hour or two. And that was after spending a while in complete shock over her new circumstances. Instead of becoming used to the ever-present changes in her life, she was truly tired of it.

Her plan to escape her half-brother’s control and to avoid this marriage and seek refuge in the convent had failed. Oh, it was ill advised at best from the beginning, but it was a better plan than the first three times she’d tried it. Both her brother’s threats of repeating the punishments he’d already applied for any future attempts and her need to flee his machinations had brought her to this.

She dared not seek Oremund’s help now. She could not make it to the convent. She had not. Sighing, Gillian knew she was out of choices.

‘Lady?’ His deep voice broke into her reverie and forced her gaze up to his.

How had she ever mistaken him for anything other than the leader he was? Even if she discounted his lack of a banner proclaiming his insignia, even if she ignored the uncouth and foul language she’d heard him use, even believing Oremund’s stories about the Norman—nay, Breton—and his plans, there was no way to ignore the inherent nobility of the man standing before her now.

He’d removed his chainmail and other accoutrements of fighting and war and stood there as just a man. Yet now he seemed even more dangerous than before.

He was tall, tall enough that he had to crouch down to walk farther into the tent and not hit the top of it with his head. He was large, with broad shoulders that bespoke years of training in his craft. He was. waiting. She swallowed deeply then as she realised he watched her perusal of him and allowed it. Gillian lowered her gaze to her clasped hands and waited quietly.

‘Did they bring you fresh water and see to your comforts?’ he asked softly. Without even lifting her head, she could see him moving closer to her. ‘Do you need something to drink or eat?’

With the time before he consummated their marriage running out, she decided to try one last time to dissuade him from his purpose.

‘My lord,’ she said quietly as she rose to her feet and stood before him, ‘I need nothing from you save your grant of safe passage to the convent.’

The tension between and around them grew as she waited on his word. When silence was her only answer, she lifted her head and looked at him. His brown eyes darkened even more as the intensity and heat of his gaze moved over her.

‘You have asked for one of the two things I could not grant you, lady, even if I wished it to be so.’

Had he done it a-purpose? He’d phrased his words so that she had to ask about the other. Did he know of her unseemly curiosity, something her brother and their father had decried as a flaw in her character? Her heart began to pound in her chest as he reached out and took her hand in his, tugging her even closer. Try as she might, Gillian could not stop the words from spilling out.

‘What is the other?’ She held her breath as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. He allowed his lips to rest there for a moment longer than necessary before looking back at her.

‘I could not let you greet the morning as a maiden still,’ he said.

Shaking her head, she pulled her hand from his grasp. Or tried to, for his fingers held tight and did not allow her to free herself. ‘My lord …’

‘My lady,’ he replied.

‘I beg you …’ Her voice caught as he slid the sleeve of her gown down her arm and followed it with his mouth, placing heated kiss after heated kiss along the exposed skin there. Flames seemed to grow within her and she could not find the thoughts and arguments that seemed so coherent just moments before. Her body trembled at his intimate touch and she reached her free hand up to pry loose his hold.

‘Nay, my lady,’ he whispered against her skin, not even pausing in his attentions as he caught her hand and placed it on his chest. ‘I could not allow it.’

With her hands held so, she was forced to lean closer to him. She searched his face for any sign that he would relent, but there was none. And when he turned to look at her and she recognised the glint of desire in his eyes, she knew she had no chance of escaping his intentions. Even when he released her hands, it was only for a moment and only to untie her veil and remove it. He tossed the linen aside and took her into his embrace, drawing her even nearer. When his mouth descended and touched hers, she lost her wits completely and every attempt to focus on her plan, a plan, any plan, failed as her body fell under his spell.

This kiss began much as his first had, but then it changed quickly into something seeking, something demanding, something seducing. She lost her breath as he turned his face and took control of her mouth and her body. Gillian felt his hands slide up onto her shoulders and then into her hair as she gave herself over to the kiss. Opening to him as his tongue touched her lips, she allowed him his way and felt the shivers pulse through her body. The thought that she’d never been kissed in such a bold and possessive manner flitted through her mind for a moment.

When he relinquished his hold of her hair and slid one hand slowly down her body, touching and caressing her neck and then her breasts and stopping to rest splayed over her belly, she pulled away from his kiss and tried to breathe. A kiss was one thing, but to touch her in such an intimate way was.

Decadent.

Forbidden.

Scandalous.

He did not force her to accept his touch, but he did not remove his hand from its place too close to the junction of her thighs. A place she’d not truly thought much about before, but that now ached for something unknown. And that ache spread as she saw the desire burning in his gaze as he waited on her.

‘This is ill advised, my lord,’ she forced out. ‘We know nothing of each other and yet you would bed me here, now?’

His hand remained in place, making it impossible to cool the heat that poured through her. But she must, if she was to avoid this next step.

‘The king has granted me these lands, this title and you, lady. In spite of your efforts and those of your brother—’ he began quietly.

‘Half,’ she interrupted. His brows gathered in a frown. ‘My half-brother,’ she explained.

‘Half or full matters not to me or the king,’ he said and then he shook his head. ‘In spite of the efforts to keep me from said lands and wife, I have found you and I will not risk any more delays or disappearances. I need to know nothing more than that you are my legally wedded …’ before she could think of another tack to take, he leaned down and kissed her again and continued ‘.and soon-to-be-bedded wife.’

Something finally sparked inside her, whether foolishness or bravery she knew not, and she pulled away once more.

‘And if you lay dead after the coming battle, I will know nothing of you save your name. Does that not worry you?’ From the entirely confident look on his face, she knew what his answer would be.

‘I will not lose the coming battle, lady. If anyone is dead after it, it will be your brother.’

His words startled her, for she’d not truly thought about the whole process enough. Oh, aye, she knew there would be a fight to gain control of Thaxted and she knew some would be injured or perish. God forgive her, she even knew of several names she hoped would be on one or the other of those lists, but so would others—others innocent of this game played between kings and nobles. Always the innocents paid the price.

‘Forgive me for those words, Gillian,’ he said, taking her by her shoulders. ‘War is not easy for any of those who fight and I ask your pardon for taunting you with words of your brother’s death.’

He’d shocked her again, he knew, for her turquoise eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. He was not a fool when it came to seducing women and yet all of his skills seemed to have deserted him when he needed them most. He must claim her this night. He must make her his wife in truth so that, no matter what happened in the coming battles, she would have the protection of his friends and even the king. Brice began once more to seduce her into his bed.

‘We will have many days to come to know each other better, Gillian. Let us take this first step now,’ he whispered, lifting the long curls off her shoulders and smoothing them down her back.

She shivered under his touch, whether she knew it or not, as her body readied itself for him. Brice leaned down and kissed her, not waiting for any questions or protests. At first she remained still, but when he probed gently with his tongue and began to tease and touch hers, Gillian closed her eyes and accepted the intimate invasion once more. He plied her with one kiss after another until he could hear her breathing deeply. But it was the breathy sigh that nearly made him lose control.

Although he was the one thinking his way through this encounter, his body reacted to the sounds of her innocent excitement and each sigh sent more blood rushing to his groin, hardening him until he felt as though he would explode.

Sliding one arm behind her shoulders and then scooping her up into his embrace, Brice kissed her again as he carried her to his pallet and knelt down to place her on its surface. Although clean, he knew it lacked the level of comfort and luxury she was used to having. The thought that he was taking her on a thin pallet in a tent in the middle of an armed camp struck him as he eased his arm out from beneath her legs.

A lady deserved better than to be tupped like a camp follower. A lady should be wooed and willing to give up her virginity. A lady wife should be honoured and taken gently in comfort and privacy.

Allowing only a moment of regret at the circumstances and surroundings, Brice guided Gillian down onto the pallet and stretched out at her side, his arm still holding her around her shoulders. When he was forced to relinquish her mouth, he kissed the soft skin along her jaw and her ear. Pleased when her body trembled in his embrace, he traced the outline of her lips with a finger. Brice followed the contours of her jaw, down to her neck and then across the swell of her breasts until he reached the laces on her gown. She gasped when he tugged them loose and then grabbed his hand to halt his progress.

‘Someone might come in,’ she whispered.

Though he knew no one would dare interrupt him, he tried to soothe her fear. ‘Unless this tent is on fire, no one will enter.’

Brice leaned down once more and kissed the skin on her neck, easing the ties loose as he did so. His fingers grazed the swells of her breasts as he slipped them inside the gown. Gillian arched into his hand when he touched the tips of her breasts, sucking in a breath as he continued to caress there. He felt himself surge then, ready to finish the act in spite of his efforts to follow a leisurely path and ensure the lady’s—his wife’s—pleasure.

He glanced at her face and saw that she lay with her eyes closed tightly. Only her mouth gave any sign that his attempts to ease her way were working. As he watched, she worried her lower lip with the edges of her teeth and then licked them with her tongue. Every movement and sound she made sent chills through his body and caused the blood in his veins to thunder through him. Though he wanted to tear off her garments and claim her, he settled for something more subtle.

Still watching her face, he slid his hand down, using the back of it to touch her breasts, stomach and then her thighs. She squirmed in his arms, her innocent body responding to his caresses even though she most likely understood it not. Then, when his hand slid over the tops of her legs and touched the place he craved to see, she gasped loudly and tried to sit up.

‘Nay, sweetling,’ he whispered, placing his hand over her and holding her still. ‘Let me show you the pleasure that can be between man and woman,’ he said, moving his hand ever so slightly and meeting her gaze as he did. ‘Between a husband and wife,’ he continued as he paused to gather the length of her gown in his hand. Her skin, as he touched it, was soft and smooth and her legs, exposed now to his gaze, were shapely and long. He almost had the gown out of his way when she grabbed his wrist.

‘They can hear us, my lord. They can hear every sound we make.’

This was one of the reasons he never took virgins to his bed or sought them out—their shyness interfered with the level of pleasure they could reach. And a bastard such as he was never good enough to have access to a virgin, especially a well-or high-born one like his wife was.

‘I assure you they have orders not to disturb our privacy, lady. Any sounds you or I make will be ignored, if heard at all over the din of the camp. Worry not on this.’

Brice placed his hand on the bare skin of her thigh and began to reach to touch the curls still hidden by her gown when she started again. This time she managed to push back out of his embrace.

‘Did you hear that?’ she whispered. ‘Someone is just outside the tent.’ Her eyes flitted from one side of the tent to the other and then to the entrance.

He listened, but heard nothing. If it would ease her in this, Brice decided he would make certain his orders were being followed. He doubted any of his men would have come close to his tent, but he nodded to her and stood up, tugging his braes so that they covered the proof of his arousal. Stepping to the flap of the tent, he lifted it and looked outside.

The guards stood in their positions some distance away. He could detect no movements or sounds adjacent to the tent or in the immediate area. As he turned back to tell her, he hoped that this would give her the reassurance she needed to yield to him.

He never saw the weapon hurtling at him from the shadows of the tent until it struck. Then it was too late.

Chapter Four

Gillian grabbed his tunic as he fell, making certain he landed inside the tent. Unable to believe her luck, she threw the heavy sword in its scabbard into the corner and looked for her cloak. She stepped over the unconscious knight and prepared to escape once more. Then she realised he’d not moved since landing face down on the ground there.

Had she killed him? That was never her intent, but she had swung the hilt of the sword as hard as she could at his head to stop him. Crouching down next to him, she lifted his shoulder up and slid her hand down near his mouth and nose. The heat of his breath touched her skin and she sighed in relief. Murder was never her intent.

She released his shoulder and let him lie as he fell, for there was not time and she had not the strength to move or secure him. Gillian did reach down and take the dagger from its sheath inside the cross-garters on his leg where she’d watched him place it. At least it would give her some protection as she made her escape. Peeking out of the tent, she saw that his men, as he’d said, stood some distance away.

Good. If the rest of his words about not paying attention to the goings-on in their leader’s tent were true, she could sneak away and get to the convent, less than a mile or so from here. Kneeling down, she crept on hands and knees away from the tent until she reached the edge of the forest, and then she ran. At the river she turned and ran along it, knowing that it flowed next to the convent’s walls.

Gillian never looked back, never paused, and never slowed as she followed the water to her goal. When she broke through the last copse of trees between her and safety, she skidded to a stop, unable to breathe and unable to believe her eyes. A line of knights, all of them mounted, sat between her and the convent walls.

Her eyes burned with tears of frustration as she realised that she would never outrun these men. Bending over, she drew in deep breaths, trying to calm her racing pulse and the fear that now filled her. If these men were here, their leader would have known where she would flee. He had known all along!

The men said nothing, only waiting as though it was their custom to chase down their lord’s wife in the middle of the night. When she could breathe evenly again, she stood and adjusted her cloak and veil and prepared to be dragged or escorted back to the camp … and to her husband. She shivered then, knowing that he would probably react as her brother had when she’d thwarted his plans—with anger and punishment. The Breton had new ways to punish her wilfulness and her assault on him, and she feared the coming night more now than she had before.

The sound of something breaking through the undergrowth behind and the way the men turned to look made her skin turn to gooseflesh. Gillian slid the dagger into her palm and pivoted towards the trees. It was not the size of the horse that terrified her, nor the length of the sword brandished in her direction. Nay, not those things, but the hardened expression of pure rage that filled the Breton warrior’s face as he beheld her standing there.

He’d not taken time to don his mail or even his helm, and indeed she could see blood streaming down the side of his face along the line of his hair and down his neck from the wound on his head. She swallowed deeply and offered up a quick plea for the forgiveness of her sins to the Almighty, for Gillian did not doubt that her death was imminent. It took every bit of courage and strength she had not to back away when he leapt down from the horse and approached her in slow, measured steps. She wiped her shaking, sweaty palms against her cloak and waited to meet her fate.

He stopped a few paces from her and seemed to realise then that he still threatened her with the sword in his hand. Without taking his eyes from hers, he slid the deadly steel blade back into its scabbard. She startled at his first step nearer.

‘Give me the dagger,’ he whispered harshly, holding his hand out to her.

She’d forgotten she held it, still frightened by the rage in his eyes, and, for a moment, she thought of the possibility of using it against him. But what would it gain her other than a swift death and the damnation of her eternal soul? Even now gazing into his angry face, Gillian knew that his death would help nothing … and it was not something she wished for even at her weakest moments.

Letting out the breath she’d held in for all those moments, Gillian turned the dagger and handed it, hilt first, to the Breton. So quickly that she nearly missed it, a flash of relief brightened the stark, masculine angles of his face, softening it for one fleeting moment. Then, the anger was back as he slipped the dagger back from where she’d stolen it.

Borrowed it.

One of the warriors called out something from behind her and she tried to translate his words, but he spoke too quickly. The Breton answered him in the same tongue, but whether he did it a-purpose or because of fear clouding her mind, she did not understand him, either. Finally, after an exchange of words that lasted several minutes, he looked back at her and shook his head.

Gillian searched her thoughts for something to say. Something that could explain or at least mitigate what she’d done to him. But, truly, how did one explain away knocking another person out? She knew what she’d done; he knew it, as well. All that was left was for him to apply whatever punishment he’d decided upon. Since she knew he wanted her alive, Gillian prepared herself. She’d already survived beatings and whippings by her half-brother, so she believed she could survive whatever this man would deal out to her.