Adam was tired and cold and irritable. Although his arrangements had progressed smoothly, he was very much annoyed with himself. He had eaten his meal at an inn in the town, an inn he knew well for the excellence of its cookery and the greater excellence of its serving wenches. They were not new to him, for it was his custom to choose one of them for a bed partner when he was at Roselynde. Alinor refused to allow him to tumble the maids, not out of morality but because it was likely to arouse jealousy and quarrels among them. Adam had been looking forward to a playful hour or so that would abate the strain his unaccustomed celibacy was placing on his nerves.
To his horror, Adam had not been the least interested. He had eaten an excellent meal, teased all the girls, looked them all over carefully—and found himself colder than the winter weather outside. It was disgusting! It was infuriating! When he remembered how often he had laughed at Geoffrey and Ian for their purity, how he had disbelieved their protests that they did not want any other women, secretly believing them to be afraid of their strong-willed, jealous wives, he could only curse himself.
Thus, he had made some jesting remark and gone out to finish his business and to ride home in a black humor. To top his dissatisfaction, he saw a woman’s skirt whisking into the stairwell just as he entered the hall. Adam knew the skirt and bit his lip with anger. Alinor had taken Gilliane away. Either his mother had become afflicted with an unnatural propriety or Gilliane had asked to leave the hall. Probably it was the latter. Damn Joanna and her warped sense of humor—telling Gilliane he was angry when she knew quite well he was barely restraining himself from kissing Gilliane publicly. Perhaps it was not that, anyway. Perhaps Gilliane thought he was making a jest of her suggestion about the ship in front of her men. Cursing all women and their inexplicable vagaries, Adam stamped over to the fire, threw his cloak on the floor, and cast himself into a chair.
If he could not have a woman, Adam thought, he could at least get drunk. Lifting his head to bellow for wine, Adam saw Gilliane in the chair opposite looking at him with an expression of astonished delight. She had been hidden while he crossed the hall by the high back of the chair and too involved with what Lady Alinor had done to notice his entrance. Indeed, Gilliane was so surprised by the realization that Alinor’s action had been designed to give her a time alone—well, almost alone—with Adam that she hardly noticed the temper he was in.
“I was not angry that you thought of the ship,” he said before she could speak. “I was pleased. Joanna was only teasing.”
His voice, harsh with irritation in the first few words, softened as he spoke. Gilliane smiled and rose to pick up his cloak, dust it lovingly, and place it carefully folded on a stool.
“I am glad of that,” she said softly, aware that Adam’s eyes were following her.
“And I hope you do not think I meant to make jest of you before your men. Perhaps I should not have—”
“I never thought that,” Gilliane interrupted, “never. You are always upholding me in their eyes.” She came closer, as if his look were a rope that drew her, and he took her hand and kissed it.
“God bless your sweet temper,” he sighed.
His physical need pressed upon him, but he was aware of the servants and did not draw her to sit on his lap. He was very glad now he had not taken one of the serving girls. Had his lips come from one of their mouths, he would have felt they soiled Gilliane’s hand. Shyly, Gilliane touched his cheek and neck.
“How can my temper be other than sweet when I know you do me only good?”
“We are watched by the servants,” Adam said softly, “kindly watched, but watched nonetheless. Go back to your chair and do not touch me or I will shame you and myself by seizing you here and now.” His voice choked between a laugh and a sob. “You are killing me. And I will not make a scandal and a hissing in my mother’s house. Ian would never forgive me for such ill-breeding.” It was true, but that did not make it much easier for Adam to watch Gilliane retreat, and doubt pricked him again. “Why are you so displeased at the idea of taking Wick?” he asked.
“Because I—” Gilliane cut off the words “fear for you.” Never, never put fear into a man’s mind. She lowered her head to hide her eyes. “That is only selfishness, my lord. I do not wish to be parted from you.”
The words were sweet, honey-sweet, but not what Gilliane had intended to say. Adam’s bright eyes clouded. He wished she would say openly that she was Louis’s adherent. Then they could talk about it instead of having this ugly pretense between them. It was useless to accuse her, Adam knew. Gilliane would only repeat that she did not care a pin for Louis. Well, perhaps she did not. That idea of hers about using the captured ship to guard the harbor had probably sealed Sir Matthew’s fate. Then what was she hiding?
The lowered eyes had lifted again, and Adam saw in them a desire so wanton that it made all doubts irrelevant. Heat flashed across his loins, and he was grateful for the skirt of his tunic that hid the betraying bulge in his chausses. Then Gilliane closed the eyes with which she had been eating her lover. She bit her lips and folded her hands tightly together so that she would neither cry out nor reach toward him. And yet it seemed to her insane that out of good breeding they should deny themselves what the coming battle might tear from them forever.
Adam’s mind was running along the same track. He had no fear of fighting at Wick, but he knew it might be several weeks before they could break the keep’s defenses. And if he could not satisfy himself with the relatively clean serving girls of the inn, the filthy whores of the camp would surely not arouse him. He must have Gilliane. Damn the season. If it had been summer, they could have walked in the garden and found some privacy. Restlessly, Adam shifted in the chair, twisting slightly. He was rewarded for carelessness and impatience by a sharp twinge under his right arm. A smile of sheer delight overspread his face.
“Ouch!” he said rather loudly. “This is the tenth time today that wound has pricked me. Come to my chamber, Gilliane, and see if it is healing properly.”
Gilliane jumped to her feet at once, and in the stairwell Alinor laughed soundlessly. “Oh, that sly, naughty boy,” she said softly to Joanna, as she pulled her daughter up the stairs.
“There is nothing wrong with that wound,” Joanna agreed. “I looked at it yesterday and thought it was near ready to have the stitches out.” She held back against her mother’s urging. “Mama, do you not think… I mean, Adam will take advantage of her. You know what he is, and Gilliane is so compliant to him…”
“Is that what Geoffrey takes of you—advantage?” Alinor laughed. “I thought he took—and gave—pleasure. Do not be a goose, Joanna. Did you see the girl’s face? She is as hot for him as he for her.”
Behind the closed doors of Adam’s chamber the truth of Alinor’s observation was being displayed. Adam had given Gilliane no time to ask about his hurt—not that she intended to. Fearful as she was for him, she knew an obvious excuse when she heard one. She was only aware of his need and the need for haste. They were close locked, kissing wildly, horribly aware that they had only a few minutes. To look would take no longer than that. They would have had more time if Gilliane could have brought in her basket of medicinals, but she did not dare fetch that from the women’s quarters.
“Beloved, beloved,” Adam was murmuring, “Let me—let me. I am afire.”
She did not answer—when had she ever denied him?—only pressed her lips feverishly to his throat, his ear. Holding her fast with one arm, Adam tore at the string of his chausses, which fortunately was not knotted and came undone. It was not possible to get Gilliane’s clothes out of the way so easily, and he had to release his hold on her to use two hands. It made no difference to the closeness of their embrace, for Gilliane clutched him all the tighter when he let go.
Now he had his tunic up and her skirt and he lunged forward, but they were too mismatched in size. Gilliane felt him against her, stretched up on tiptoe, but was still too short. Sobbing with frustration, Adam seized her thig
hs from behind and lifted her bodily. Without need for explanation or urging, Gilliane gripped his buttocks with her calves, locking her ankles together for leverage as they joined bodies.
It was the wildest, most unusual mating Gilliane had ever experienced. The haste, the vulgarity of what she and Adam were doing should have shocked her. Instead, her passion was stimulated so that within moments she buried her face in the curve of Adam’s neck, biting into tunic and flesh together to gag herself and muffle her cries as her body exploded into an agony that was pure pleasure. Vaguely, she heard Adam gasping and groaning softly, then whispering brokenly, “Gilliane, Gilliane… Oh, God. Oh, forgive me, forgive me, I cannot…”
Gilliane could not imagine what he was talking about nor could she summon strength to ask. She was only aware that her ankles had loosened their grip and that Adam’s hold on her had slackened so that she was sliding down along his body. Instinct got her feet under her and they stood, swaying, leaning against each other, sighing with exhaustion.
“I am sorry, Gilliane,” Adam said softly. “If we had five minutes more, I would try again, but…”
“What?” Gilliane mumbled, dazed but trying to respond intelligently. “What is it, my lord? I do not understand.”
She had lifted her head from his breast and now he could see her face. The glazed eyes, the half-parted lips told the tale without words. Adam chuckled softly.
“Nothing. It is nothing. I thought I had failed and left you discontent”
“I am never discontent when I am with you,” she sighed. “Never.”
That was true. Gilbert had often finished before her, but Adam woke such a fire that she was as quick as he or quicker every time. Gilliane sighed and shuddered, coming out of her waking dream of love to realize that had been yesterday evening. Now it was almost light, she was not yet dressed, and Adam was leaving that morning. She made what haste she could, but her cold fingers made slow work of fastening the tunic and cotte and Gilliane gave a worried look at the window in the antechamber where the light was already brighter. She did not wait to put up her hair, just threw the heavy chestnut waves back over her shoulders. It might take too long and Adam would be gone.
Tiptoe, Gilliane crept through the antechamber and out through the door. Her slippers were soft, but there was a whisper of sound when she crossed from the carpet to the wooden floor of the large central chamber. Lady Alinor rose quietly from her chair beside the hearth and followed, a discreet distance behind. She was almost certain Gilliane would make the perfect wife for Adam. Since the talk they had had, the girl’s behavior had been impeccable. Alinor smothered a giggle. Perhaps impeccable was not exactly the right word for what had taken place in Adam’s room—not that Alinor knew the details but the broad outlines were clear enough from Adam’s sated and besotted expression.
With the men gone, Adam had made less effort to hide his feelings, not thinking it necessary since he had announced to his mother his intention of marrying Gilliane. Gilliane had been more reserved—or more exhausted. It might be true that Gilliane was not strong.
Alinor hoped it was only that she was not accustomed to so much physical labor. Often girls were required to do no more than sew a fine seam or walk about the keep overseeing others’ work. Adam’s wife would need to do much more. Alinor thought she would try to toughen Gilliane in easy stages over the next few weeks. From the dark of the stairwell, she looked out in the great hall. It was not very light yet, but to Alinor’s dark-accustomed eyes, it was certainly light enough to see Adam’s face as he looked down at Gilliane. Alinor bit her lip.
The anxiety that made Alinor bite her lips was on Adam’s account. There were deeper emotions than sexual desire written on his face. Adam was committed to this woman only. If she were not suitable for him, Gilliane would have to die. If she died, Adam might eventually find another, but Gilliane would always be with him as Simon was always with Alinor. So Alinor bit her lip and willed Gilliane to say the right things. It was Adam’s voice that came to her.
“…not have come down to me, Gilliane.”
“You did not forbid me, my lord,” Gilliane replied, smiling. “I was very careful not to let the subject arise, remembering you forbade me last time.”
Adam laughed. “It is just as well. You disobeyed me then and, I suppose, would have disobeyed me now. At least now you are warmly dressed and not shivering against a stone wall.”
“Were you angry that I disobeyed you?”
“You know I was not. I would have gone to you, but I was afraid if I did…” He let that trail off, then asked, “What did you come for?”
“To fill my eyes with you. Oh, Adam, I cannot bear it when you go away.” Her voice shook.
In the stairwell, Alinor stiffened. Adam put down the goblet of hot wine he had been holding and put his arm around Gilliane, pulling her against him. After a moment, he said harshly, “Gilliane, do not weep. You do not know what pain it gives me. I ask and ask and you never answer. Why are you so set against my taking Wick?”
The warnings rang through Gilliane’s mind—a weeping woman clogs the spirit; men cannot be turned from actions of necessity; fear of death freezes the mind. She pushed herself away so she could look up into Adam’s face, and she smiled with the tears on her cheeks.
“I do not care if you take ten Wicks. I only care that I am left behind to sew and be bored to death. Will you not take me with you, Adam? I will be quiet and good. I will not suggest anything or interfere between you and my men.”
For the moment, Adam was struck dumb. Alinor clapped both hands over her mouth to smother her giggles. She had insisted often enough on accompanying her husband to unsuitable places, but never to a siege itself. However, there was no harm in this, provided the girl did not dissolve into tears again or have hysterics. Adam would be annoyed or amused or both at the same time, but it was not the kind of appeal that would distract him with worry.
“You will see,” Gilliane went on quickly, encouraged by Adam’s muteness. “I will be very useful. I can oversee the cooking and attend to the wounded men.” Her voice wavered over those words and she hurried on breathlessly to cover the slip, “And I can wash your clothes, or see that they are done, so that…”
Having recovered from his surprise, Adam caught Gilliane to him so tightly that she squeaked with pain as she was crushed into the steel rings of his mail. Then he loosened his grip enough to kiss her long and hard. At last he released her lips and stared down at her with a bemused tenderness, fondling the thick waves of hair that had just the smooth, glossy red-brown sheen of a new-hulled chestnut.
“Then you will take me?” Gilliane breathed, not really believing it but beginning to hope.
Adam woke from his trance and burst out laughing. “No, of course not. Dear heart, you are the cleverest and the silliest girl at the same time. And do not begin to give me reasons why you will be useful and no trouble. You will be the greatest trouble to me because all the time I will desire to be with you instead of about my business. And with your men there, I will not even be able to look at you. Do you wish to kill me?”
“It does not kill me to be near you,” Gilliane murmured reproachfully.
“Well, men are different.” Adam chuckled. “A state of…of desire that cannot be satisfied is very uncomfortable.”
He kissed Gilliane again, but lightly, and picked up his wine, drinking it more hurriedly as he saw from the gilding light that the sun had risen. He was not displeased by Gilliane’s appearance of subdued resentment. She was jealous, he thought. That could do no harm. He set down the empty goblet, smiling.
“I must go, my love.”
“Oh, wait,” Gilliane gasped. “Tell me when you will return and…and what am I to do while you are gone?”
“How can I tell you when I will return? How can I know how fast Wick will fall? Within a month, perhaps a little longer if the weather holds. As to what—”
“Adam, write to me,” Gilliane interrupted, “write often. I will—
” Her lips tightened over the words die with fear for you. She swallowed and went on, with only the faintest tremor in her voice, “I will wish to know what you do and…and how the men behave and all such matters. Promise me you will write.”
Alinor clapped her hands over her mouth again as she saw an expression of agony followed by one of resignation cross Adam’s face. To take quill in hand was for him worse torture than having a tooth drawn. He sighed.
“Very well, I will write.”
“Often!” Gilliane urged insistently.
“Very well, often,” Adam sighed resignedly.
A faint chirrup of laughter forced its way between Alinor’s hands. That was love, true love, total abject devotion. Nothing else could have drawn such a promise from Adam. The sound she had made was not loud, but Alinor dropped her hands and stepped out of the stairwell. Adam had quick ears and he would resent being spied upon even though he knew it was for his own good. Besides, the scene had gone on long enough. Gilliane had been perfect—enough emotion to show love and not enough to tear Adam to pieces—but there was no sense in putting too great a strain upon the girl. She would grow accustomed to partings—not that that would make them easier, but it would make her behavior more automatic and less of an effort. Adam’s eyes lifted from Gilliane’s face as Alinor emerged, showing he had heard her, but he smiled, thinking she had coughed or perhaps spoken to a maid on the stairs.
Still smiling, he looked down at Gilliane again. “As to being bored and what you should do,” he said, “I assure you, you will not suffer any problem in either direction. My mother has never failed to make the fullest use of any pair of hands and feet available to her. You are more likely to be too busy to breathe than to suffer from boredom.”
Gilliane flushed uncomfortably. It seemed dreadful that she should complain of fearing boredom in Alinor’s company, but Alinor laughed and took her hand for a moment. Then she seized Adam by the ear and pulled his head down to give him a resounding kiss.
Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four) Page 34
