The Mercenary's Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

Instead of pain there as before, she could now feel the length and width of him as he moved inside of her, sliding in deep and then drawing out. The same throbbing, needful ache returned and soon her hips rose to meet his thrusts. He guided her legs up around his waist and then leaned down on his arms, keeping himself so close that she could feel the curls on his chest tickling and teasing her breasts.

  And it was wonderful.

  ‘Better this time?’ he asked, his pause only a slight hesitation before moving deeper and deeper still.

  ‘Aye,’ she replied. It was all she could utter at that moment.

  Her body needed no words, for her blood pounded again and her heart beat so quickly she could hear it and feel it in her ears. As he thrust into her, her woman’s core tightened around him and something swirled in the centre of her body, making her inner muscles clench around his hardness to keep him there. Hot sweat beaded on her skin and tracked down her neck and back, and Gillian could not form a coherent thought in her head. His body pushed hers into such a state of excitement that she shuddered and shook at every move or touch or caress.

  Gillian heard him urging her on to something, but her body responded without her control, seeking that peak that she’d found the first time alone, but now with him. She clutched at his powerful back, holding on tightly as she felt his length within her surge and pulse. Her body seemed to answer it by reaching her peak and feeling wave after wave of a pleasure she’d never known had existed.

  Brice stopped then, his face straining and his arms shaking under his weight and his exertions. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and met her gaze.

  ‘Are you well?’ he asked.

  Gillian had no answer, for her heart pounded and tremors flowed through her from the pleasure. Taking a breath and releasing it, she sighed. ‘I know not.’

  He laughed then and kissed her quickly before withdrawing and moving to her side. ‘A far better showing than this morn’s attempt, I think,’ he said, his voice exuding a masculine pride any woman would understand.

  Even more, she understood why he had been driven to do this now, when so many more important things needed to be done and said between them.

  First, Gillian knew that men’s lust rose just before and after battles and the need to couple increased at those times, too. She’d seen it happen enough times to know about it.

  Also, she knew that this man, her husband, had a certain reputation regarding his past liaisons. That bit of gossip she’d overheard while in the camp, from some of the other women who’d followed their men to England. A beautiful man who drew women to his bed like flies to honey and who never slept alone. A man who never left a woman unsatisfied, though until now she had had no idea of what that meant. So making certain that he tended to his wife as well as he tended to other women was important to him—and to his reputation.

  He guided her to her side and moved up against her, his flesh on hers, sharing the heat of his body in this cold night. Just as she sank into sleep’s grasp, she realised another reason why he’d pursued such pleasure and comfort in her arms.

  Brice accepted that he could die on the morrow.

  Chapter Nine

  Gillian awoke with a start. For a moment she could not remember where she was, but then her body, aching in places unknown only a day ago, reminded her.

  She lay abed with her husband.

  A Breton knight with hopes of taking Thaxted from her brother.

  A bastard knight gifted her by his king.

  A man who had given her such pleasure that it nearly took her breath and ability to think away.

  Nearly, for in thinking about those exact events between them since she had joined him in his bed, she could have never imagined so many different ways to offer or receive pleasure. Though the first time had been at a somewhat even pace, the other times he took her were not. Once he even entered her from behind, caressing her breasts, and that place between her legs, as he moved inside her.

  And the last time. She closed her eyes, remembering that the last time had been so powerful and fast and deep that she thought she might have fainted at the end of it. They’d both drifted off to sleep then, exhausted from their joinings and their day.

  She could hear the sounds of the rousing camp readying for battle. Gillian turned over to look at him, wondering how he would greet her or speak to her or look at her after such intimacies as they’d shared, but found an empty spot next to her on the pallet.

  Holding the blankets against her, Gillian sat up and looked around the tent. Her own garments lay across the bottom of the pallet while his were gone. She listened for a moment and then tugged her syrce and cyrtel on before anyone could enter and find her naked. In a few minutes, her veil and cloak were in place and she lifted the flap of the tent.

  But she found the camp nearly empty.

  Had she slept through the battle? Surely she could not have! Obviously, Brice thought her secure in his tent and left without waking her, but a battle would be too noisy to miss. Realising that he expected her to be with Father Henry, she set off to find him. Wending her way through the assembled tents, she knew from watching yesterday that the priest was located towards the eastern end of the encampment and, with the help of a few servants and women, she headed there immediately.

  Though she’d never been this close to a battle before, Gillian could not believe one could be this quiet. Then she realised that the deathly silence extended towards the walls of Thaxted. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she peered across the camp and found row after row of armed soldiers lined up around her keep. Without realising it, she walked in that direction until stopped by the priest whom she sought.

  ‘Lady Gillian, come with me,’ he said. Taking her arm, he tugged her back. ‘’Tis not safe for you there.’

  ‘Has it begun then, Father?’ she asked, not ready to seek the safety of the back when too many she knew were at the front of the attack.

  ‘Nay, my lady,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Your brother and Lord Brice are speaking.’

  ‘About me? About my lands?’

  Before he even replied, she realised her error—the lands did not belong to her any longer, nor did she have any rights now. Both belonged to the man she married. These Normans had a different opinion about the position and rights of women, different from those of England or Wales or Scotland, and even the Norse who’d controlled parts of it until only recently. To a Norman, everything belonged to the man.

  But so conveniently for their aims, they would uphold her father’s will by giving the lands to her while then entrusting its control and powers immediately to her husband.

  ‘They speak of peace and an amicable solution to this confrontation instead of one that will cost both men in lost lives, my lady.’ Father Henry had spent many years negotiating with enemies; it was clear to her from his soothing tone and choice of words.

  ‘And I am to play no part in these discussions?’ she asked.

  She could only imagine what lies her brother would tell him. And worse, the accusations he would make against her and her mother. Oremund would say or do anything to finally get control over Thaxted and any thing necessary to find where their father had hidden his fortune. Though, certainly, he would never mention the existence of it to her Breton husband.

  ‘Indeed, lady,’ the very man said from behind her. Whirling around, she found Brice and two of his commanders standing there.

  This was not the man who’d whispered endearments in a deep voice as he touched her most private places. This was not the man who pushed her, body and soul, to pleasure she’d not dreamed of. This was not a man…this was…the king’s warrior.

  Gillian had seen him in his chainmail and armour, his hauberk and helm and with his sword at his side. She’d witnessed him in command of his men on the road when she’d hidden in the forest. She shuddered as he approached, tempted to move closer to the priest. As though a mere man of God would thwart him in whatever his intentions were!

  ‘Your bro
ther wishes to speak to you and make certain you are well and safe. He has been searching for you for days and heaps praise on the Almighty that you were not harmed in your foolish journey,’ he said evenly, while his gaze turned darker and more intense. He spoke through clenched teeth and she watched as the muscles in his jaw tightened.

  Two men stood next to him and did not move or speak and Gillian felt sure that they were going to drag her off and hand her over to her brother. Suddenly her confidence was shaken and she feared saying anything to him about her brother’s true intentions. Considering her earlier thoughts on Brice’s possible duplicity, silence might be her best option.

  Though it was never her practice.

  ‘And you believe him, my lord?’ She crossed her arms over her chest, challenging him, she knew, but he needed to understand how her brother lied. ‘You would take his word over mine?’

  He watched as her eyes flashed with angry fire and the way she held her body screamed out the defiance she clearly felt. Much as she’d thrown herself into the passion they’d shared, now she was ready to defend herself to him with everything in her. But at this crucial moment, he could not allow it.

  Although Brice knew her brother to be a scheming liar who would sell his mother to the devil to get what he wanted, any sign that he was being swayed by Gillian would undermine his position right now. A man bowing and scraping to his wife of one day would be seen as weak, and he could not allow that.

  ‘He is a man, after all, lady,’ he said, not answering her question, but not denying it. Her face turned red and he thought she would explode, but instead her eyes narrowed for a moment and she met his gaze. Staving off more questions, he motioned for her to follow his men.

  Father Henry moved as though to step between Gillian and him. Brice had seen the old man do the same thing in Taerford, mediating between the lord and his lady several times. But coming now, it could bring about a bad ending to his plans.

  ‘You have no reason to be concerned about the lady’s safety, Father,’ he said. ‘She is my wife.’ The lady in question turned back to face him.

  ‘So you will defend my rights against my brother’s attempt to take them from me?’

  He felt the pull on the corners of his mouth and fought a remarkable urge to laugh. No matter that he admired most everything he discovered about her, he could not show approval. ‘You mean my rights, Lady Gillian, do you not?’ He reached out and took her hand, tugging her to his side. ‘Now that I control everything you brought to this marriage.’

  Brice thought she might dig her heels in, but she capitulated and walked at his side. At least, she would be near him and he could protect her from anything that happened. His heart calmed from its rapid beat and he thought about the scenarios that could play out before them this day.

  When he’d returned to the tent and found her gone, he’d nearly shouted out her name. His meeting before dawn had drawn him away for a short time and he expected to be there when she woke. Instead, he was met by an empty bed and a missing woman. His first thought was that she’d escaped again. Then he forced the rational part of himself to examine that likelihood.

  When he remembered that she’d told the priest she would help him this day, Brice knew where she’d gone and his irritation at her making him worry for even a moment boiled over in his greeting. Now, he wanted to reassure her, but dared not. She was an intelligent woman, she would understand when he had the chance to explain it to her.

  Surely she would.

  They’d nearly reached the open field where his men stood ready when she tugged her hand from his and walked by herself.

  Mayhap she would not.

  As he’d told her last evening, there were many things to be sorted out between them once this day was done. Now was not that time.

  They walked back through the rows of tents and soon approached the lines of men waiting to fight. Her confident stride faltered and she surprised him again when she held out her hand to him.

  ‘Is there no other way?’ she whispered.

  ‘Your brother said that he would turn the keep over to you once he knew you were safe and this was your choice.’

  Gillian stopped so suddenly that he took three paces before he realised it. Turning back, he found her standing with an incredulous expression fixed on her face.

  ‘Gillian, there is no time for this. Men’s lives are at stake here,’ he warned.

  ‘He is a liar.’ Crossing her arms over her chest, she challenged him yet again. Leaning over, she lowered her voice so that only he could hear her words. ‘He is a poxed, degenerate liar and a man not worthy of your trust.’

  Suspecting what he did while knowing even less, Brice could not reveal what he’d learned about her brother and his plans.

  ‘And you have been trustworthy? Tell me how?’ He took a step towards her, closing any space between them. ‘Was it when you hid from my efforts to find you? Or when you lied about who you were? Or mayhap I should trust you because you knocked me unconscious and fled? Upon which of those trustworthy moments between us should I rely for making such a judgement of you?’

  Her lovely face blushed and she looked away, not meeting his gaze. Their start had not been the best, but Brice believed it could be good between them—once he claimed his lands and took control of them. Giles had not had an easy time of it and they knew their grants were among the choicest in the land. Some of the most dangerous to claim, but the choicest still.

  ‘Come,’ he said more quietly, ‘your brother waits on you.’

  She said nothing more as he led her to the open field that separated them from her home and her brother’s forces. Her brother and two of his men sat mounted on their horses and watched just as silently. The flag of truce at his side was the only reason Brice had not already cut him to pieces.

  His men expected a trap of some kind and their alertness was palpable to him. Lucais, Stephen and the others in charge of sections of his fighting forces all watched carefully for his signals and for anything out of the ordinary. Plans had been made and put in place so that by the end of this day, he would be lord of Thaxted in name and in fact.

  ‘Ah, dearest Gillian,’ Oremund called out. ‘You are safe and sound!’ He dismounted and held out his arms to her. ‘Come, let me greet you as a brother should greet his dearest sister.’

  Brice noticed that Oremund’s smile did not reach his eyes and that Gillian did not move from his side. ‘The lady stays here until our business is settled, Oremund.’

  The only trait he could see in common between the two siblings was the colour of their hair, so Gillian must resemble her mother more than their common father.

  ‘I have given you my word, Lord Brice. Do you not trust me to stand by it?’

  The man frowned and waited for his reply. Brice could feel Gillian’s tension. He glanced at her to try to gauge what she was thinking. She said nothing, and stared forwards at her brother.

  ‘Your dead king gave his word to my king, as well, Oremund.’

  Not a denial and not an outright insult, but close enough to make certain he was not taken for a fool. The son of Eoforwic nodded his understanding.

  ‘Sister, Lord Raedan wishes to know if you entered this marriage of your own choice or if you’ve been forced to it,’ Oremund said evenly.

  Brice placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. From Oremund’s wary expression Brice knew he understood how close he was to drawing it in answer to the insult, but he had sworn to Oremund that he would not interfere with Gillian answering any question put to her.

  ‘I—’ she began, until Oremund waved her off.

  ‘Whatever has happened, whatever poor decision you may have felt compelled to make, Lord Brice has given his word to release you from it.’

  Brice felt her surprise and nodded to her, even though he had absolutely no intention of letting her go. Let them both think what they wanted—she was his. But giving her this chance to disavow her promises was like opening a window into the way she thought
and that would be valuable to him in the days to come. She stared at him while her brother continued, and he could get no impressions from the now-empty look in her eyes.

  ‘So, Gillian, do you seek release from your situation?’ her brother asked again.

  His men shifted restlessly behind them. Very few would understand the reasons behind his actions, but none would question him. At least not now, though from the glares of several of his commanders, there would be questions later. ‘No.’

  Her reply was shocking and simple and not what her brother expected of her, but then he never had under stood her. Gillian was not certain that Lord Brice did, either, but he’d done nothing yet that made her feel as terrified as her brother did. And though she’d like to be free of the control of men, she knew that was not the way of the world and would never happen. Since she had said the words, since she’d witnessed honour within him even when she provoked the worst in him, Gillian decided to truly cast her fate in with his.

  ‘Think on your words carefully, sister,’ Oremund warned in that silky smooth tone he used when others were listening. ‘The fate of your people, your family, lies in the balance here.’

  Another threat disguised as concern. So many of her people had been run off by Oremund or sold off as William the Conqueror’s forces and the ravages of a harsh winter without a fruitful harvest rolled across the land. The once thriving keep and village now withered under Oremund’s harsh hand. And with her mother dead these last years and her uncle able to defend himself, she worried not for them. So lost in her thoughts and all the arguments she could make, Gillian realised they waited on her.

  ‘Lady Gillian, what say you to your brother’s question?’

  Would he, Lord Brice, really let her go? Had she misinterpreted everything he’d said and everything she knew of him? There was not time to consider all the implications of his decision, but she’d already made hers and for reasons both practical and irrational.

  ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘Oremund, I stand by the vows I took.’

  Gillian had no idea how much she shook or how nervous she was until Brice walked closer and stood behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and she felt his strength.