This did not make sense, for Duke William received word just before Hastings that Harold had decimated the forces of Tostig and Harald Hardrada. The only forces behind him would have been Mercia’s and Northumberland’s.
And whose presence at Hastings could have turned the tide against William. Had Harold thought himself in danger from his brothers-by-marriage? Had old rivalries and struggles for power added to the dangers and enemies Harold Godwinson faced in the waning days of his power here in England?
Brice considered that Harold’s son Edmund still hid among his followers, and in spite of the fact that his boy-king Edgar the Atheling and the northern earls were in Normandy now with William, there were still enough powerful, disenfranchised Saxon lords and landowners to cause problems. Especially if a strong leader materialised.
He released a deep breath. He’d warned his friend Giles that no good would come from sparing Edmund’s life those months ago and now he had a feeling in his gut that the results of that clemency were a pivotal part of what he now faced. Ironic that his fate was still tied to Giles in spite of the miles that separated them.
Thoughts of the woman in her chambers above crept into his mind then. Too many unanswered questions remained.
‘What does Oremund want with Gillian?’ he asked.
‘The same thing any nobleman wants with an unmarried female in his family—to use her to make connections to other families.’
This Haefen knew too much. Brice had the feeling that nothing he could do would make the man betray his niece. Watching the smith cross his arms over his broad chest, Brice wondered which of the two was the teacher and which was the student when it came to stubbornness.
‘Is your wife here at Thaxted?’
For the first time since spying Gillian with this man, Brice witnessed a weakness in him. The fleeting glimmer of pain fled quickly and, if he’d not been watching, Brice would have doubted anyone who spoke of it.
‘She is dead, my lord,’ he replied in a quiet voice that belied the power of the man speaking.
The grander scheme swirled around just out of sight, still vague, but threads of the web began to show themselves to Brice. The one thing clear was that Haefen was still in Thaxted for several reasons, but the first and most important one was to protect Gillian. From him or from Oremund, he did not know yet. Brice finished his ale and stood.
‘You may see your niece if you would like. I am certain she has much to talk about with you. Just give her time to sleep and come back before the evening meal.’ He waited on the man’s reply.
‘My thanks,’ Haefen said, bowing his head for the first time.
‘And on the morrow, bring the other freemen here so that we can discuss the needs of Thaxted and its people. I would have things settled as we rebuild.’
‘Aye, my lord.’ Another bow. Mayhap some respect growing?
Haefen left; Brice motioned for Lucais to accompany him back to the guard’s tower. It was the highest place in Thaxted and gave a view of miles around. And it was the only safe place to talk when he did not wish to be overheard.
It was hours later after his growling belly could no longer be ignored that he finally realised he’d not eaten yet and he’d not spoken to Gillian in any meaningful way for more than a week.
Worse, he’d not touched her or kissed her or even slept in her bed for fear of worsening her injury. Now, though, after witnessing that she was on the mend, he wanted to see her.
Truthfully, he wanted to peel off every bit of clothing she wore, especially that damned veil that covered her hair and most of her face, and discover what lay under it all while in the comfort of a warm, dry bed, with no one listening and no one near to interrupt. And he wanted to hear those little gasps she made when he touched her most intimate and sensitive places.
Now he was hard again, as always happened when he thought on his wife and he realised he must follow the advice he had given so naively to Giles—begin as you wish to go on. She was his wife before his men who’d witnessed their vows, but to the people here in Thaxted, he knew not what they had been told.
Now that she was recovering, restricting her to her chambers would be seen as making her a prisoner. Surely her uncle’s visit would show otherwise, but Brice needed her visible to the people of Thaxted. Though similar to the situation in Taerford, this was different, as well. In Taerford, when Fayth had been out of sight of her people, they began to ask about her and ask for her. Here, not a single person, not even her uncle, had come forwards to show their concern. Not certain of its true meaning, Brice knew only that it was not a good sign.
Those who slept in the main hall of the keep prepared to settle down as he walked through on his way to Gillian’s chambers. Brice asked one of the servants to bring some food to him and began to climb the stairs.
Begin as he wanted to go on, he thought. And he knew what he wanted.
Chapter Twelve
Brice noticed that Ernaut remained standing guard in front of her door, straightening as he approached. He would give the boy a new assignment in the morning and begin to rotate other guards through this one. Considering that very few chambers were on this second floor of the keep, someone could stand guard at that stairway and monitor those who came and went. As long as those who had access to the rooms were known to him or trusted by him, Gillian would be safe while in her chambers.
He dismissed Ernaut for the night and opened the door, expecting to find Gillian already abed. Instead, she sat on the chair, wearing only her thin shift and that lay down around her waist as Leoma applied some ointment over the healing wound. Since her back faced him, he could not see her breasts, but it did not matter—his body remembered the look, the feel, the taste and even the weight and fullness of them in his hands. He must have made some sound, for both women looked at him.
This only sent her waist-length hair flowing in enticing waves over her shoulder as she turned only her head to see him. Like some mythical goddess, she stared at him with those blue-green eyes and he lost the ability to speak. The moment drew out until Leoma broke into the silence.
‘My lord, we will be finished in a few moments if you’d like to come back,’ she said.
Come back? He had no intention of leaving now. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. ‘I can see to my lady’s care, Leoma. Why do you not seek out Danyel in the hall below?’
Although it could have become one, the woman quickly realised she would lose if she turned this into a stalemate, for she nodded and held out the small crock to him. ‘Apply this to both front and back and cover it with those bandages.’
Brice stepped aside to allow her to leave and then he walked over to Gillian’s side. She watched him with wide eyes as he reached out and smoothed her hair out of his path. She clutched the edges of her loosened shift so that her breasts were covered, but it did not relieve the growing desire within him or lessen the beautiful image she presented there. He met her gaze when she gasped at his first touch on the skin near the wound on her back.
‘Your pardon, Gillian. I did not mean to hurt you,’ he apologised as he softened his touch and began to spread the medicament on the skin farther away from the place the arrow struck.
As she relaxed under his ministrations, he applied it closer and closer, with gentler strokes. Though his mind knew what he did, his body reacted in its own way and soon the blood pounded in his veins and echoed in his head. He wanted her, oh, aye, he did, but this was not the time for such things. Also, he still was not certain that the night spent in her arms before the fight for Thaxted was not simply out of pity on her part. He’d wanted comfort that night; now he just wanted his wife.
Pulling his own needs under control, or making a brave attempt to, he finished smoothing the ointment on the back of her shoulder and moved around her, crouching in front now. Brice had removed his chainmail and other protections before coming here and now discovered that his erection was evident if one looked. He both hoped and dreaded that Gillian would loo
k.
Brice’s hand shook then, for now he could see her breasts through the thin layer of linen she held close. He could see her breath catch as she inhaled and noticed that she licked her lips several times as though they were too dry. He tried to ignore it, he tried to ignore the heat growing between them, he even tried not to notice the way her hands began to fall away from shielding her breasts from his sight. The worst, though, was when she closed her eyes and sighed as he touched her.
He dropped the crock and leaned in to kiss her. He would have stopped had she simply looked away or shown any sign of not wanting him to do it, but she turned her face to him and licked her lips one more time. Worse, she opened her mouth as he touched her lips and he lost most of the control he fought to have.
Brice tasted her mouth with his tongue, sliding it in to touch and caress hers. Then, when she imitated the movements with hers, he suckled on it as he wanted to on her breasts and between her legs. He shifted to get closer and let his hand fall to her breasts, allowing the back of his hand to glide over the smooth shift. He felt the tips tighten and he kissed her more deeply, using the other hand to steady her head and hold her close.
He lifted his face from hers and saw her move her hand as though to touch him, and the thrill and anticipation of it caused his erection to surge, larger and harder than before. Trying not to press against her, he waited for that first touch of her hand on him.
The knock on the door seemed so loud and startling that he lost his balance and began to tumble backwards away from her. Regaining his footing at the last moment, he stood and took a step back, noticing the glaze of excitement in her eyes and the blush of anticipation in her cheeks. He remembered telling the serving woman to bring food here only as her voice drifted through the door.
‘Your food, my lord.’
Brice watched as the siren became the innocent again, pulling her shift closed and reaching for the shawl that lay over her lap. He helped her gather it around her shoulders, having a care not to jostle the bad one, and then opened the door. Not allowing the woman in, he took the tray from her and closed the door with his foot.
‘You have not eaten yet, my lord,’ Gillian said. She began to rise from the chair but he stopped her.
‘Do not even think about moving from that chair.’ He carried the tray over to the bed, placed it there and sat next to it, all without knocking the bowl of soup over and spilling the mug of ale. Considering that his hands still shook, he was quite pleased. ‘I have been busy until now.’
‘Eat, then.’ She nodded to him, rolling her shoulders to loosen them. It was other places in her body that needed to relax, for her breasts ached for more of his touch and that place between her legs throbbed in readiness for more. Feeling this way, with heat building inside her, was new and Gillian was not certain whether it was a good thing or bad.
‘Is the pain bad?’ he asked in between mouthfuls of the mutton stew the cook had made for their supper. ‘Does that hurt?’ He nodded at her stretching movements.
‘’Tis better with each passing day.’ Gillian stood then and walked around her chambers slowly, waiting for him to order her otherwise. When he did not, she continued. Standing before him in only her thin shift felt strange, but he’d seen more while he spread the ointment on her skin than he could now with the shawl wrapped tightly around her.
‘Did your jaunt out to the yards make it bleed again?’
She stopped and looked at him—he was seeking information about how she’d left the room without being seen. Much as her uncle thought he might be trustworthy, the explanation would not come out of her mouth. She would keep the secret, for now.
‘It did not, my lord,’ she answered. ‘As you may have noticed, the skin is healed over and once the bruising lessens, Leoma says I will have full use of it.’
She did not know how he did not get pains in his stomach from the haste with which he ate, but soon he’d eaten every morsel on the tray and drunk the full mug of ale. When he stood, she expected him to leave as was his custom.
‘Am I a prisoner here, my lord?’
She’d wanted to ask the question all day, but feared his answer. Her uncle’s arrival had given her hope, but a visitor to her chambers did not mean she could leave. Worse, now that he knew she could get out, would he allow her to stay here or, as he’d threatened during his barrage of angry curses, tie her to the bed to prevent it from happening again?
He let out a breath and shook his head. ‘You are not a prisoner, Gillian. Ernaut or another stands at your door for your safety. Leoma is here for your comfort.’ He paused and looked at her with a fierce expression, one that made his eyes darken, as he ran his hands through his hair and shook his head.
‘At first, when I saw you creeping through the yard, I thought you meant to escape again. You may not think I understand your brother’s methods, but I know more about them than you might suspect, and you wandering unattended is simply baiting him into action.’ He shook his head. ‘Damn it, you are at the centre of whatever he pursues and until I understand why, you will have a guard posted and a companion at your side!’
If she did not know better, she would have mistaken his ire for concern—concern for her—but he was a man used to having his orders obeyed and she had not respected his authority. How would it be to have a husband who truly cared for her and not about the rest of it? He watched her with expectation on his face and so she nodded.
In spite of her claims of understanding him, her brother’s actions had been a surprise. Gillian had not appreciated his desperation until he showed his true nature before his enemies. That had not happened before. And a part of her was warmed to have Lord Brice’s protection, no matter his reasons. He nodded at her, and seemed calmed a bit by her acquiescence.
‘You are not a prisoner, Gillian,’ he repeated, but she could not be certain if he was trying to convince her or himself.
Then, he strode over to the far wall, the one where the entrance to the tunnel was and began feeling along the edges. She held her breath, for he was very close to the latch that would spring the door open. Lord Brice slid his hands along the surface for a few minutes and then turned to her.
‘Will you tell me where it is?’ She started to deny its existence, but he waved her off. ‘It is the only way you could have escaped under both your brother’s and my watch, so I know it exists. I just don’t know where it is.’
‘My lord…’ she said, trying to think of how to argue the point and failing.
‘You do not trust me. I understand.’ He turned away as he admitted it to her and Gillian would swear that regret tinged his voice. ‘Just tell me how many know its location.’
‘Only two now, my lord,’ she offered quietly.
His dark eyes narrowed for a moment as he considered her answer. ‘You and your uncle,’ he said. Before she could deny or admit it, he smiled grimly. ‘And I suspect that even your brother could not force the location from Haefen.’
She gasped then, for it seemed he really did know Oremund’s ways. Had Haefen told him? Or another?
‘Your uncle stays here only to see to your protection, such as he can. That much I know,’ he said. ‘A debt of honour, I suspect.’ Gillian nodded, not trusting herself to say a word.
‘But that is not what your brother seeks from you, is it, lady? There is something much more important to him that you control, otherwise he would have killed you the moment he took this keep after your father’s death.’
The walls of the room began to twist and spin before her eyes. She tried not to watch them, for it made the dizziness increase. Instead, she reached out, trying to steady herself before she fell. When she could not touch the wall, she clutched the shawl and tried to protect her shoulder from more damage as she pitched forwards.
Instead of the hard wood of the floor or, worse yet, the stone of the wall nearest her, she landed against the hard-muscled chest of Brice. His strong hands held her at the waist and supported her without jarring her injured sho
ulder. She felt him guide her down and when she regained her wits, she found that they sat side by side on the bed.
He kept his arm securely around her waist, while he gently moved her hair from her face and tugged the shawl free. When he had, he stood with her, pulled the blankets down and helped her onto the bed. His words terrified her, for he spoke of the hours, nay days, spent in the grip of the fever.
‘I could not claim to have never killed anyone, but I have never murdered a man. I can be as ruthless in battle as even King William is rumoured to be. It is kill or be killed and a man does what he must to survive, Gillian,’ he said as he walked over and blew out the several candles that lit the room. When he reached the last one, he gazed at her over it, which gave his eyes a glowing appearance. ‘But I will kill him for what he has done to you,’ he promised in a voice so cold she shivered. ‘Brother or not, half or full, he will die.’
His breath put out the last candle and she waited for him to leave so that she could think on his fervent promise against her brother. Her head still spun from the fear that she might have revealed something more to him during the madness of the fever, but now her heart warmed from his offer of not only protection but also vengeance against her brother for his acts. Though she occasionally wanted to forgive Oremund for his sins against her and everyone she loved, Gillian knew that not even her father, God rest his soul, would ask that of her.
The fire in the brazier had been banked, so little light was thrown by it, forcing her to listen for his steps to the door. Instead, his steps came closer to the bed. Then she felt him bump it.
‘My lord, the door is in the other direction,’ she offered.
‘I am not leaving, Gillian.’
She swallowed and sucked in a breath too quickly, making her choke. ‘You are not? Where will you sleep then, my lord?’
The ropes supporting her bed protested his weight as he climbed in beside her. He did not move too far onto it as though waiting for her to do so. ‘I have decided that I miss the comfort of my wife’s arms. I will sleep here.’
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