Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four)

by Roberta Gellis

  Enough awareness remained to stop Gilliane from such coarse and blatant behavior, but her lips parted, her eyes closed, her breath caught. Although she gave no more overt sign of her response, Adam caught fire. He let go of her chin and brought both arms around her, crushing her urgently against him. It was not a very satisfactory embrace. Both wore heavy woolen under and outer clothing, topped by cloaks, for the weather was cold and raw. Nothing could be felt beyond the simple pressure, but heat flashed from their joined mouths and ran down, pulsing, through their loins.

  Gilliane could not lift her arms, which were imprisoned by Adam’s. Crushed almost breathless as she was, still she desired to be closer. She bent her elbows and tried to seize Adam’s hips, but the heavy folds of his fur-lined cloak slid under her grip, frustrating the attempt. Both their mouths were open now, Adam’s tongue seeking solace in a substitute penetration. Naturally enough, far from calming them, this activity merely inflamed them further. Blind to the fact that no closeness could remove the impediments to the union she needed, Gilliane began to struggle to free her arms. She wanted only to hold Adam closer, to seek through his clothing to touch his flesh, but he felt her movement as an effort to escape.

  “Dear heart,” Adam whispered, releasing her lips but not his hold upon her, “do not be frightened. I will not hurt you.”

  With the removal of Adam’s lips, some sense returned to Gilliane. She could not yet think what was best to do, but she could fear. At this moment, of course, Adam felt nothing beyond the desire she also felt, but later, when he was sated, he would know her for what she was—lustful, unchaste. A sob shook her.

  “Sweet beloved, do not weep,” Adam begged, interspersing his words with soft kisses. “I will not force you.”

  “Oh, Mary help me,” Gilliane wailed, “I do not fear you will force me. You will not need to force me. Have mercy. Do not let me make a whore of myself! Do not ask me what I desire. What I desire is foul. Help me!”

  “Love is not foul,” Adam soothed, kissing the tears that were running down her cheeks and then her lips. “Love is sweet and holy.”

  “Not for us,” Gilliane wept, finally finding the will to push him away. She might as well have pushed against the eighteen-foot-thick wall of the keep. “I am another man’s wife. It is matrimony that is holy.”

  “You said you were not willing,” Adam said, stopping his efforts to capture her lips again. There was a hint of sharpness in his voice.

  “Does it matter?” Gilliane asked wildly. “Does it matter that I would prefer to be bound to a venomous serpent? That poor, crippled, feeble-witted Gilbert was far more welcome to me? The priests say it is God’s law that a woman must keep her vows—no matter what her husband is.” Sobs choked her again. “Oh, let me go,” she begged desperately. “I do not fear damnation. I fear only you.”

  “Of all men in the world, you have the least to fear from me,” Adam protested.

  “No,” Gilliane sighed, letting herself go limp against him, her head falling back. “Any man can beat me or rape me or kill me, but only you can destroy me because—God help me—I love you.”

  Chapter Ten

  The three small words acted on Adam like a pail of cold water emptied over his head. He stared down at Gilliane’s passive face and knew that if he took her now she would not resist him, that she would probably respond with great passion. He wanted her so much his body hurt. There was a drawing in his thighs and in his groin—but she had said she loved him. If that was true, then the other thing was also true, he could destroy her.

  It was plain to Adam that Gilliane had been used and abused by men who thought her nothing, and she had withstood that because she hated them. The very fact that she had felt hatred, that she had not meekly accepted what was done, had helped her to survive. Now, however, she would accept—willingly, joyously, she would come to him, even though she knew she was sinning against the laws of both God and man. That would not matter to her—just so long as it did not matter to him.

  One part of Adam’s mind protested indignantly that, of course, it would not matter to him. Gilliane’s marriage vows were a farce. She had never knowingly sworn to “love, honor, and obey.” One cannot be unfaithful to what one has not sworn. Thus, she was clean of breach of faith. Why, then, should he think ill of her? He never would, never could, think ill of Gilliane. The little weight of her resting in his arms, the sweet, hurried breath he could feel, drew him to taste her lips again.

  They were offered willingly, parting readily under his, but Adam did not kiss them long. Her eyes haunted him, wide open, fearful and trustful at the same time. He knew he had thought ill of Gilliane, as little as a few minutes ago when he found her with Cuthbert. He did not, could not believe this was a game she was playing for profit, but…but… But what if after he took her, some other thing roused his suspicion? What if his quick temper brought to his lips words he did not mean—or worse, did mean? Knowing herself guiltless, Gilliane might weep and be hurt—if she loved him as she said—but, after she was cheapened in her own eyes, what once might have been a little prick could become a wide and gaping fatal wound.

  Gilliane trusted him. Before Adam could let her yield herself, he must be more sure of her and of himself. He closed his eyes, swallowed, and lifted his lips to kiss Gilliane’s brow. “You are a cruel taskmistress,” he murmured, “to lay upon me the burden of your soul.”

  “I am too weak to bear it myself,” she sighed. “It is yours. All of me is yours. You must do with me what you think best. I am lost to myself.”

  Adam sighed also, then shook her gently, his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “That is not a good thing, Gilliane,” he said soberly. “I am only a man. Do not ask of me more than I can do. I, too, can fail.”

  “Not to me,” Gilliane replied passionately. “Never to me. But I will try, my lord, to carry my own burden if you say I must.”

  “Say Adam,” he suggested, smiling. “You have made me your servant and lightly bound a load upon me. Is it not more fitting to call me by my name?”

  “Adam,” Gilliane repeated obediently. It was so very appropriate—Adam, the first and only man. “But it is the lord who carries the heaviest load, not the servant.”

  “You are quite right about that,” Adam agreed, and his smile changed to a wry grin. “And, lest the devil find some mischief for this lord’s idle hands, I had better set about mending the breach my carelessness has made in your storerooms.”

  “My carelessness,” Gilliane said firmly.

  “Our carelessness.” Adam laughed. “Although why you should believe you are to blame for telling a conqueror no more than he asked—”

  “I told you I never felt that. I feared you. You were always welcome to me, though, because you drove Osbert away. Only how… Forgive me, dear lord, if I seem to speak against your will, but the serfs are starving already. Many will die before spring. If you take any more from them, there will be none left to work the land.”

  Impulsively, Adam kissed Gilliane again, but it was swift and light, a mark of approval. He ended before it led to anything more. She was so wise, and so sweet in offering her wisdom, not rapping it out as an exasperated order—a habit too common to Alinor with her son.

  “Poor things. No, of course I will not take from them. If I am successful, perhaps there will even be a little excess we can use to relieve their misery.” Adam grinned with mischievous pleasure. “I will go raid the rich demesne farms around Lewes. Louis’s men have grown too accustomed to having their own way in these parts.”

  The light in the storeroom was dim. Adam did not see how pale Gilliane became. All her life Gilliane had feared on her own account. Even that morning, when she thought Adam would leave her, it was her safety for which she feared. She had not projected her mind into what he would be doing. However, it was no longer a question of guessing. Adam had told her: he was going to fight to get supplies.

  “No!” she cried faintly, catching at his arm.

  “N
o? Why no?”

  There was cold suspicion in the question, but Gilliane did not hear it. She was entirely taken up with the long-buried knowledge that her father had died in battle. She had barely known his love and comfort and he had been taken away. Now she had found love and comfort again, and again it would be snatched away.

  “You will be hurt. You will be killed,” she panted, clinging to his arm as to a lifeline.

  “I? Raiding a demesne farm?”

  Adam did not know whether to be furious because she was using the device of love to protect Louis’s man or because she had denigrated his fighting ability, whether to laugh at her sweet ignorance or be melted with tenderness because love could make his wise Gilliane so silly. It was frustrating not to be able to see her clearly. Adam slid his free arm around Gilliane’s waist and led her out into the bailey. Her blanched face made clear to him that, whatever the true reason, there was a desperate importance to her in the matter. He held her close for a moment, struggling with himself, realizing that he did not want to know. Why should it matter? If he never allowed her to influence his decisions… Adam swallowed. How long would he know his own mind if these few minutes had already changed him so much?

  “Well, then,” he said, forcing what he hoped was an indifferent tone while he watched her face, “if you do not like me to raid Lewes, I might try Dover.”

  The effort was not a complete success. Even though Gilliane was absorbed in her vision of a lover dead before he had even become a lover, she was aware of the strain in Adam’s voice and manner. She realized something was very wrong, but she did not know that Dover was King Henry’s castle and she did not know a trap had been set for her. She only knew that Dover was farther from Tarring than Lewes. Gilliane could only interpret Adam’s reaction as indignation over a woman’s interference. Yet, with his customary kindness, he had not hit her or even angrily told her to mind her needle. He had offered to change his plan. Common sense told Gilliane that the best and easiest would be the nearest place and the place first suggested.

  “No, do not go farther,” she cried. “Oh, pray, my lord, do not heed me at all. In my fear for you, I will say something stupid that will drive you into greater danger. See what I have already done amiss by pleading for the serfs. Better they should starve than you should be hurt—”

  Enormously relieved, and more than willing to believe it was fear and not a desire to aid Louis’s cause that drove Gilliane, Adam hugged her tightly, interrupting her. “Gilliane,” he said softly, torn between tenderness and laughter, “do not be so silly. Do you not realize that you are insulting me? How could I be hurt raiding a few farms?”

  “Can you not?” Her eyes were raised to his trustfully, searching his face. “Truly?”

  This, Adam guessed, was a subject with which Gilliane was totally unfamiliar. Because she had never cared what happened to any of the de Cercy men, she had learned nothing about raids, war, or fighting in general. Easy reassurance rose to his lips, but he could not say the words—not with her innocent, trustful eyes fixed upon him. It occurred to Adam that this was a danger he had not foreseen. He could not lie to Gilliane. He shrugged.

  “Be reasonable, Gilliane. God may smite a man any place, any time. I cannot say it is impossible. I can say that if I should be hurt, it would be near a miracle.” A tremulous smile made her lips irresistible. Adam tasted them again, but very swiftly. He was aware they were visible from the walls. The guards should be looking outward, but men’s eyes do wander, especially when attracted by voices. “Now do not argue with me,” he added firmly. “I will do what I must do. Go in. You are shivering with cold.”

  By the evening, his plans were set. Alberic and the majority of his troop and some of Cuthbert’s would stay at Tarring, closing it against all. Adam would take Cuthbert with about an even number of the Tarring people and his own. Alberic was not too happy with this arrangement. He did not like even the small chance that Cuthbert would turn on his master, although he admitted that the men seemed uniformly happy and grateful to be taken back into service. There had been nothing suspicious in their behavior.

  Nor did they fail in any way when Adam rode out with them the next day. Cuthbert knew the area well and was most assiduous in guiding them through uninhabited territory so that no warning of their attack would precede them. It was fortunate Cuthbert was an honest man for, in truth, Adam was not as alert as he should have been against treachery. His eyes looked where Cuthbert directed, but half his mind was back in Tarring.

  For Adam, the hours before he had left had been piercingly bittersweet. They were sweet because the companionship he was sharing with Gilliane was exactly what he expected marriage to be. The bitterness was engendered by his doubts. Had Gilliane’s absolute trust in what he had told her cured her fear, or had the fear been only a pretense? Did she truly feel love for him, or did she merely desire to be free of the hated Osbert? And if it was love, how was he to lay hands upon Osbert? What if he never found him? What if Louis was defeated and Osbert fled with him to France?

  Sweet was the moment of parting. Adam, his eyes full of the exquisite face and form in the chair opposite him, had become uncomfortably aware that Gilliane was not his wife. He had silenced Father Paul, whom Gilliane had invited to read to them, with a gesture and risen to his feet.

  “I must be abed betimes, Father,” he had apologized, “for I must be early away.”

  Gilliane stood up also, and in response to that movement the priest had folded up his book and gone away. “Adam…” she said.

  It was more than his name. It was an offering of herself. But even as she spoke and held out her hand to him, fear flickered in her eyes. Adam understood. Gilliane was afraid that if she let him go she would never have him. A surge of desire froze his expression and brought him closer. He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. Feeling it tremble, he realized that to take her would be to fix her growing fear that he had lied to her and there was danger. Before he returned, she would have convinced herself that harm had befallen him and she would have suffered agonies of terror. It was not worth it. Adam licked his lips. He needed easing, but he could take a girl on the road the next day.

  “I will be gone before you wake tomorrow,” he said.

  Gilliane’s eyes filled with tears. That meant he would not share her bed. Otherwise, how could she fail to wake when he did? Still she shook her head. “Whenever you leave, I—”

  “No,” Adam ordered, “do not come down, even if you should happen to wake. I will return soon enough—perhaps in three days or four. There is no need for you to lose sleep—”

  “Please, my lord! Please!”

  “No!” Adam snapped.

  “I will not weep or trouble you. I…”

  “No. Go up now to your chamber and obey me.”

  But she had not obeyed him—and that was sweetest of all. The devil of doubt within Adam had already put forth the idea that Gilliane had wanted him to come to her bed so that she could dissuade him from attacking her friends in the most forceful fashion a woman can persuade. However, even that devil could not make up a bad reason for a woman to kneel shivering, hidden by the curve of the stairwell, without a sound, only to catch a glimpse of him as he went down. Adam just happened to turn his head to glance rather longingly at the women’s quarters as Gilliane peeped around the curve of the wall. She uttered a squeak of dismay and fled.

  The comical aspect had hit Adam first, and he began to laugh, which prevented him from calling out to her. Then, even before his laughter had completely died, it was clear that his only safe path was to ignore the encounter. To condone openly such an act of direct disobedience was to make any order he gave in the future into a jest. Yet what could he do? Adam could not bear to think of scolding Gilliane for disobeying him on this occasion. As they rode out, Adam even berated himself for unkindness, wondering if the poor girl would fear he would punish her upon his return. He almost turned back, telling himself it was better she should be disobedient than unh
appy. What held him on his path was a nervous conviction that if he now got near enough to Gilliane to comfort her, he would not stop at that.

  The desire for Gilliane soon grew so powerful that Adam signaled Cuthbert to him with the intention of asking about the nearest village lightskirt. As soon as he formulated the idea, an intense sensation of distaste cooled him into complete indifference. Surprised by his own reaction, Adam asked instead about the holders of the land they would need to traverse. Doubtless he would have learned more from Cuthbert’s answer if he had listened more closely, but his attention was too often diverted by little things—by a pair of chestnuts the master-at-arms took from his saddlebag to munch that had just the rich sheen of Gilliane’s hair, or by the gurgle of a stream that had something of the sweet liquidity of her laugh.

  Fortunately, Adam was well enough trained to absorb details of terrain and manpower half dead, so the fact that part of his mind was fixed on personal matters had no effect on his efficiency in arranging the plan of attack. His new technique worked well and they had a rich take, gained without a single scratch. Grinning cheerfully, Adam dispatched the fruits of his cleverness down an open road toward Tarring where the tracks of carts and cattle would be meaningless. A guard of fifteen experienced men would protect against any chance encounter. When the loot was well away, Adam dispatched another twenty men under Cuthbert to muddy their trail. The remainder of the men watched the farm from various vantage points until daybreak. After that it was only a matter of time until the raid was discovered. Adam withdrew his men to a safe distance along the back trail, set guards to warn them if a troop should approach, and told the men to eat and get what sleep they could.

  At midday the watches were changed and, shortly thereafter, a scout rode in to tell Adam, amid much laughter, that his ruse had been successful. The raid had been discovered in the morning and a messenger had rushed to Lewes keep; later a party of armed men had ridden off north along the false trail Cuthbert had laid. Adam stretched and yawned and nodded. Then a thoughtful look came into his eyes and he sent the man to wake and summon Cuthbert.