The Mercenary's Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  She shifted then, moving and spreading out her hand as though looking for something. Gillian had moved aside, leaving room for him now and he decided that he was unwilling to sleep alone. He pulled off his clothes and slid in beside her, pleased when she turned into his embrace without hesitation. She might be caught in the grip of sleep, but there in this bed, she trusted him.

  Holding her in his arms, listening as she spoke her mind to someone else, Brice comprehended the basis for her lack of trust. Everyone in whom she’d placed it had failed her and unless she protected or planned or escaped on her own, there was no one she could count on to be at her back.

  Her mother and father, through no fault of their own but in death, left her defenceless against her brother’s machinations. He suspected that her mother’s death had broken the old thane’s heart and his will to live and he could not see past his pain to make arrangements that would keep his daughter safe. Especially in the face of Oremund’s defection and support for Eoforwic’s hereditary enemies in the north.

  A betrothal and marriage would have protected her. But her father was controlled by grief and missed the opportunity to do that.

  Her father’s most serious failing, other than backing the wrong king, was his disregard for his son. Oh, Brice had no doubt Eoforwic had his reasons, but by ignoring the situation brewing in his estates and with his only son, her father had brought about his own downfall and hers.

  Well, nearly hers. He smiled then and kissed the top of her head. His arrival had stopped that just as he would stop Oremund’s plan, whatever it was.

  But first she must learn to trust him.

  He knew just how to take the first step and he would begin on the morrow. She might not have friends and comrades as he had the other bastards to guard her back, but he would be hers. With that decided, Brice closed his eyes and began to let sleep overtake him.

  ‘Brice.’ She said it as though a sigh.

  ‘I am here,’ he whispered back. ‘I did not wish to sleep alone.’

  ‘I am glad of it,’ she said, snuggling closer to him. ‘I am glad.’

  He slept deeply then and woke in the morning with a new resolve about his wife and how he could gain her trust. When the sleeve of her gown slipped and he saw the darkening bruise in the shape of a man’s grip around her wrist, he knew there was not much time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Walk with me.’

  Gillian looked up from her work, sorting through piles of fabric they’d discovered in a trunk, and found her husband staring her with intent eyes. At first, they appeared to be black, but then the darkest brown showed as he tilted his head to her. The women with whom she worked lowered their heads, but not before she saw the knowing smiles on their faces.

  ‘Worry not, lady,’ Leoma said. ‘We can continue with this until you return.’

  She stood and took his hand, allowing him to lead her to wherever it was he wanted. Instead of heading towards her bedchamber, he walked out through the hall and into the yard. Gillian knew that he slowed his pace so she could keep up with him. She’d seen the way his long legs ate up the distance across the yard when he was in a hurry.

  Soon, they reached the door to the guard tower and he allowed her to go ahead of him as they climbed to the top. Brice reached over her to push open the heavy metal door for her and they stepped out on to the highest place in the keep. After dismissing the guards on duty, he brought her nearer to the edge.

  ‘I am planning to enlarge the walls of Thaxted and would have your counsel on some of it,’ he said, holding out a scroll to her.

  Gillian knew that there was more underway than simple repairs, for most of those had been accomplished within the first fortnight after his arrival. Opening the parchment, she examined the drawings there and smiled. Her father had spoken about doing some of these same things—enlarging the area surrounded by the wall, bringing the cottages of the freemen within, building a stable and a separate stone kitchen.

  ‘You would move the wall out here?’ she asked, pointing to the place on the sketch and then to the place they could see.

  ‘Aye. And this could be your own garden, if you wish, for growing what you wish,’ he said. ‘Such as…’ He paused as though trying to think of something to grow. ‘I confess I do not know what kinds of things ladies like to grow in their gardens!’ He laughed aloud then.

  ‘Have you never been in a garden before?’ she asked.

  ‘For certain I have,’ he said, nodding his head. The slight change in his skin—a blush?—told her his visits to gardens had nothing to do with herbs, vegetables or other growing things. Unless she included desire.

  ‘And what have you seen there?’ she could not help but ask.

  ‘Moonlight. A beautiful woman. Her angry husband,’ he said. ‘Mayhap we should not have a garden after all?’

  ‘I would love a garden,’ she said. ‘Over there, here…’ she pointed to the drawing again ‘…by this part of the wall where the sun’s light will be strongest during the morning hours.’

  ‘Just so, then, you shall have your garden,’ he agreed.

  They spent the next hour or so discussing his plans, changing them according to her suggestions and arguing about several items. Amazingly, he might have lapsed into his habit of cursing in the Breton tongue, but he never discounted or ignored her advice.

  Lucais and Stephen joined them and continued to offer corrections or additions for making the keep itself stronger and for improving its defences. She only realised later that they expected further attacks and had already implemented a number of changes without her knowledge to protect them all.

  Much of the morning had passed before they finished and Gillian was filled with elation and accomplishment by her involvement in the future of Thaxted.

  Something her brother would never have bothered doing.

  Something her husband had, despite whatever misunderstanding they’d had the day before.

  He made it clear to her and to his men that he valued her opinion and her wishes.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ she asked after Lucais and Stephen left them.

  He stared at her for a moment and then off in the distance as though trying to decide what to say.

  ‘I think that you have been on your own too much, forced to rely on yourself to see to your protection, forced to hide your intelligence, forced to flee when things became too dangerous. And through all of this, you have been on your own with no one to depend upon.’ He smiled and took her hand, rubbing it as he continued.

  ‘I have been blessed with constant friends and companions who have always watched my back—in battle and in life. They have counselled me, advised and harassed me and, most importantly, I think, rolled me into a safe corner when I drank too much and could not make it back to my bed.’

  She laughed then, wanting to meet these ‘bastards’ who had played such an important part in making her husband the man he was today. A man she was certain she could…

  ‘I also was fostered and raised by a man of sense and wisdom. I can still hear his words,’ he explained. Then he stopped and stared off again.

  Lord Gautier had fostered the three bastard sons of other noblemen, raising them along with his own legitimate one. Gillian had heard this part of Brice’s story from others.

  ‘I have always thought I did not have family, but now, considering the parts they have played in my life, I see that I do indeed have one.’ Tears burned in her eyes as she noticed their glint in his. ‘Now, I wish to have my own family. With you. And with children if we are so blessed, Gillian.’

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. ‘I want to show you that you can trust others—you have just not had the chance yet. I want you to be part of this, not standing outside looking on as I build a future, our future.’

  She wanted to accept his offer. Her heart wanted him as much as her body did, but she could not give in yet. He was right—every time she trusted in someone they betrayed that trust. Whet
her apurpose or through no fault of their own, she was left time and time again to fend for herself. And once she’d gained confidence in her own mind and thoughts and actions, it was difficult to acquiesce to another, to lay it all before them and allow them to take control of her life.

  Though now, learning about him as she had and seeing how he lived his life and the ideals he upheld, she wanted to. For the first time since her mother’s death and her father’s decline, she wanted to give it over into someone else’s hands.

  ‘I wish I could have the time to show you I can be counted on in good and bad times, but I do not. We do not,’ he said. ‘Though your brother does not proclaim it openly, he is in league with those who seek to rebel against the king. Even now he shores up support for Edmund Haroldson. This holding, your little Thaxted, lies in the crossroads that are necessary to launch an invasion into lands under William’s rule.’

  ‘Thaxted?’ She had never been farther away than the convent, so she had no idea of the importance of her holding—a piss-hole, as Oremund had called it.

  ‘Edmund has been gaining allies in Wales, and though the northern earls and Edgar the Atheling are in Normandy with William, their network of spies and those who do their bidding are at work even now to smooth his way. Your brother is in league with all of them.’

  Now Oremund’s need for the gold made sense. It was not about his inheritance, it was about buying a place among these lords who would use it to overthrow King William. She had no love for this Norman king, but she suspected that Oremund looked only for power, no matter who held it, nor the cost of it.

  ‘I must return to my duties now,’ he said, easing a step away from her.

  ‘I will think on your words.’ She promised the only thing she could right now, as too many strong emotions, fears and memories swirled inside her mind and her heart.

  He began to turn to leave, but she grabbed his hand then, wanting to clarify what was happening between them, trusting him a bit by revealing one of her fears to him. It was not much, but she forced herself to do it.

  ‘What happened yesterday? Between us?’ she asked. When he frowned, she was tempted to forget about asking. But she needed to know and to understand. ‘Do you not want me any more?’

  He surprised her then, lifting the front of his chainmail shirt and placing her hand over his very large hardness. She would have pulled away, but he held her hand there, letting her feel his shape and size.

  ‘I want you so much that it hurts to breathe, Gillian. I want you every moment of each day and, sometimes, I can think of nothing else than filling your body with mine again and again until we cannot breathe or speak or think.’

  She was breathless now, from the memories of how he made her feel, of how he had filled her time and time again until they could not move, of how much she wanted him, as well. He released her hand and rearranged his shirt.

  ‘Yesterday, I realised that there is much more I want from you than the use of your body. I want your mind and your spirit, your soul even.’ He smiled that wicked smile then, the one that made her want to peel off anything she was wearing and beg him to kiss and lick his way up and down her body. ‘Oh, I want that, too,’ he said as though reading her thoughts. ‘But the rest is even more important and I realised that we were no closer in purpose than when I found you on the road to the convent.’

  He leaned in and kissed her then and she tasted and felt all the same passion as before. It had not dwindled or disappeared at all, it just lay banked as a night’s fire was, waiting to burst forth.

  ‘I but await your word that you are…ready and you will find my desire for you is still there.’

  She let out her breath and tried to calm her racing heart. He nodded to her and began walking down the stairs. She decided to enjoy the cool breezes of the day before going back to her work. But, by the time she saw him come out the door at the bottom of the stairs, Gillian knew she must trust him.

  ‘Brice!’ she called out his name. Then once more when he did not seem to hear her. ‘Brice!’

  She turned and ran down to catch him before he left. She was out of breath when she reached the bottom of the stairway and ran past the guards about to take up their positions at the top again. Brice caught her in his arms and waited for her to be able to speak.

  ‘Brice, he was here last night. Oremund was here,’ she said. Clutching his arms, she explained, ‘I am sorry I did not tell you.’

  ‘Was he alone? When did he come? Where?’ Brice asked in rapid succession. He called out to Stephen and Lucais and then waited on the rest of her words.

  ‘I do not know if he was alone. He was in my chambers when I returned there to wait for you after supper,’ she said. ‘He left when you and your men arrived back in the keep.’

  He drew her into his arms and just held her for a moment. She’d taken a larger step than she probably realised in admitting the truth to him. But now he would ask her to take a larger one still.

  ‘Where does the tunnel lead?’ he asked, releasing her from his embrace so he could listen.

  ‘From my chamber to the smithy.’

  The blacksmith again. Her uncle. Could he be in league with Oremund? ‘Come, I want to talk with your uncle.’

  They walked across the yard towards the small cottage that Haefen used as his smithy. He noticed that her hand slipped into his and she clutched it as they walked side by side. Though she might not have noticed, he did and it touched his heart to know she was trying to trust in him.

  The shutters that would be opened to let in the breezes and light were closed and locked. Stephen banged on the door but there was no sound within. Without much effort, they broke down the door and went inside. Brice waited, standing between Gillian and the smithy. Stephen came back out.

  ‘’Tis empty, Brice. He’s not here,’ he reported.

  ‘Ask around. Find him.’ Stephen went off to investigate and Brice led her inside.

  ‘’Tis over here, in this corner,’ she said, leading him through the orderly cottage to the back.

  ‘Nothing looks amiss. His tools are here.’ Brice glanced around and saw no signs of struggle in the confined area. ‘Where does the tunnel open?’

  As he watched, she pulled what looked like a cabinet open to reveal a small, metal door. Reaching up to the left corner, she slipped two fingers into an opening and slid them up, down, then up again. The seemingly solid wall moved under her touch, opening to reveal a dark tunnel behind it.

  ‘Now close it.’

  She nodded and he watched as she did, using a slot in the opposite corner to move the door closed. Gillian stepped back and let him move closer. Though his understanding of wives was lacking, he understood locks and mechanical devices. He’d learned during part of his disreputable past, before being gathered in by Lord Gautier. Being able to pick or disable locks had come in handy many times in the past.

  Calling to Lucais, he searched for a torch and lit it from the smith’s coals. After giving orders to return Gillian to her chambers and with Ernaut summoned and at his back, Brice stepped into the narrow passage and began to follow the twisted path along until he reached the small stairway cut out through the stone wall. But before he climbed the steps, he searched for other branches and found two, each one hidden behind another doorway.

  They were ingenious devices, for the builders hid the doors and mechanisms well, and they were easy to use, so that even a woman could manage if she knew about them. As he crept on through them, he noticed signs of damage along some of the ground stones. As though someone had been searching for something other than doorways. Digging for something?

  Brice climbed the stairs and came to the end. From the position, he suspected he faced the wall in Gillian’s room and when he reached up and found the mechanism, the wall opened and he found her standing there, clenching her hands and looking very worried.

  ‘I was going to open it and come searching for you. It took you a long time,’ she said. She stepped aside to allow him and then
Ernaut to exit from the cramped space.

  Brice pulled the door and let it close, watching the way it swung. A counterweight moved it smoothly. Impressive. He could not help but admire the skill needed to design and implement such a system.

  ‘Your father had it put in?’ he asked as he let the door close.

  ‘Aye, when I was born—he became obsessed with an escape route in case of trouble.’

  ‘Wise. An excellent system,’ he said, dismissing Ernaut with a warning not to speak of it with anyone but Lucais or Stephen. ‘Did you know that someone has been digging in the tunnel?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I have never stopped to look when I used it.’

  He laughed then at her disgruntled expression. ‘It is not a place that makes one wish to stay within it. Do you use a torch?’

  ‘I have never had time to get one and take it.’

  Of course not. If forced to use the tunnel, she was running for her life and did not look left or right, up or down. ‘Did your father show you the path of it?’

  ‘Nay. He told me the path. Down the steps. Turn right. Take twenty-five paces and turn right again. He showed me how to release the door.’

  So, she had no idea of the other tunnels branching off the main one. But he suspected that Oremund did.

  ‘Can you lock it so no one can use it?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you think he will come back?’

  The question hung out there for a moment and only a slight nod gave him her answer. Brice looked around the chamber. These devices were usually made with a key that could interfere with the locking mechanism, making it impossible to release the counterweight.

  ‘Did your father give you any keys after your mother died?’ he asked. Hiding something in plain sight was sometimes the craftiest way to keep them guarded.

  ‘Only the household keys,’ she said, reaching down to the ring that hung from the girdle at her waist. ‘These.’ She released the catch and held them out to him.

  Brice took them and walked nearer to the window to examine them. Four of the keys were similar in structure and caught his attention. He recognised the design and took them from the ring.